The boy is eight when he sends his first balloon heavenward. It is bright yellow (his mother’s favorite color), and it will eventually get caught between the branches of a sturdy oak tree. Before the balloon is pumped with helium by his father, the boy inserts a folded piece of paper through the rubber opening.

“Ready, son?” his father says with a kind smile and with something like wistful sadness shimmering in his eyes.

The boy nods wordlessly and unclenches his fist, watches as his very first balloon floats up, away from his tight grasp. Through the translucent stretch of the balloon, he can see his worksheet nestled at the pit of the balloon’s bloated tummy.

That worksheet meant everything to him. It was his first 100 marks on a spelling test. He wanted his mother to know about it, praise him for how well he did. So he sent his test, with his own message to his mother illustrated at the back, toward the sky, where his mother now resided (or at least, that’s what his father claims.)

****

Hi Mommy!

I wanted to share with you about my 100 marks! Ms. Fletcher gave me a gold star and patted me on the head!

I tried sending it to you through email, but daddy says there’s no wifi where you live. Then I tried making a paper aeroplane, but the wind returned it to me. Daddy told me to send you a balloon and we went to the store to get a big yellow one for you!

Did I make you proud, mommy?

I miss you, mommy.

P.S. Daddy cries a lot these days.

P.P.S. When he reads this, he’ll roll his eyes. I can already imagine it.

Hugs and Kisses,
Jiminie

****

The boy is nine when he sends his second balloon heavenward. It is a soft shade of pink (like the carnations his mother loved to plant in their backyard) and it will eventually land on a lonely grandma’s lawn and it will be a wonderful, magical surprise to her otherwise bleak day. Before the balloon is pumped with helium by his father, the boy cuts away the stems of the wildflowers he had gathered during his school field trip and carefully places them inside the balloon.

His father hands him a marker and the boy scribbles “I love you, mommy” in his best handwriting.

“Happy Mother’s Day,” the boy whispers under his breath as the wind carries the balloon away. He can see the small flower buds dancing in the pink sphere that encloses them.

****

The boy is sixteen when he sends his third balloon heavenward. It is gray (like his mother’s eyes) and eventually a fireman will fetch it from a chimney, and he will attempt to hide his tears when he scans the contents. Before the balloon is pumped with helium by his father, the boy rolls up his prized essay and slots it in.

“I’m proud of you, son.” His father is smiling genuinely, eyes curving up into crescents.

The boy can’t stop smiling either as his essay floats higher and higher until it is merely a speck in the sky, winking down at him before disappearing completely. He conjures the image of his mother receiving the balloon with open arms and he pictures the way his mother’s eyes will light up and how she will break into a million-watt smile and he can’t help but shed silent happy tears.

****

First Prize – Short Story Category

My Mother’s Eyes
By Park Jimin

My first memory was two smiling eyes beaming down at me, gray and clear, and if you look closely, there are silver specks of wonder hidden in them. As I grew up, I realized that my mother’s eyes resembled the moon and its iridescent glow, quietly showering me with light and comfort.

I watched the light flicker out of my mother’s eyes as she lay on her deathbed. I watched as the darkness enveloped her and took her away. There was an eclipse that night.

Judges’ comment: Poignantly beautiful, extremely touching. Simple but raw and full of emotion.

Dear Mommy,

I see you in the moon, but I wish you were here when I went on stage anyway.

Missing you,
Jimin

****

The boy is 27 when he sends his fourth balloon heavenward. It is white, and it will eventually descend softly on an isolated beach and the waves will reach out and embrace it. Before the boy pumps the balloon with helium, he kisses the photo in his palm and slots it into the balloon.

He locks gazes with his beautiful wife before letting go of the string.

“I think our baby is excited to meet her grandmother,” his wife chuckles, hands tenderly rubbing against her stretched tummy. “She won’t stop kicking.”

“Is that so?” he laughs and kisses his wife lightly on the forehead, then bends down to press his lips gently over the fabric covering her belly. In the distance, he thinks he can hear his mother sigh in delight.

****

Dear Mom,

It’s been a while. I miss you dearly.

I bet you’re really curious about your granddaughter! I’m nervous! I’m going to be a dad soon! This is her, six months old, in her mother’s belly. Isn’t she the most precious thing?

I hope she has your eyes.

Always,
Park Jimin

****

The boy is 64 when he sends his final balloon heavenward. It is black. And this balloon is special. No one really knows where it landed. Perhaps this one reached heaven. Before the boy pumps the balloon with helium, he pours a handful of his father’s ashes into it and his hands are trembling so much that his wife has to take over.

He doesn’t want to let go, but eventually he does.

****

Dear Mom and Dad,

I hope heaven is happy and full of balloons.

Love,
Your son

—By Jean L., 18, Singapore