Monday, September 17, 2012

Three Things I Should Have Told You Already.

1. I'm scared.

I'm not scared of missing out. You fished me out of misery and everything with you still looks better than what I had back then. What I'm scared of is that you would actually convince me I want to live longer than is absolutely necessary. I have made my peace with dying, and anticipate it. But you came along, and now I'm changing my mind.

2. I don't know if I can.

I thought when you fall in love, everything will fall into place. At least, that's the hype. You are a wonderful person, but the few things that do annoy me --- it annoys me big time. Now, I am able to accept it, because two years is new and parts of our relationship is still shiny, but I don't know for how long. Something's got to change, and I see you trying, but what if I am not patient enough to wait for that kind of evolution? I want to. But I don't know if I can.

3. I do.

I am 85% sure that if you ask me now, I will say yes. I don't know how life will progress after that. But I already do and fast approaching 100%. Because even with all the little annoying things, which may become big annoying things, you still take my breath away with your gentleness and patience and love. I would be incredibly stupid to let you go. So it's really ironic that I think, if you wait longer than 3 years and then some, I may start getting disappointed, and it'll snowball to resentment.

I can't tell you face to face yet. I don't want to have to do the back explanations. But then perhaps one day I will lead you to this post, and we will just laugh hard about it. Here's hoping.

Friday, September 07, 2012

Like the Moon, Smiling

Some nights, I lie in bed whittling away seconds from the clock by letting my mind wander idly. Most of the time, my mind chooses to replay memories - some new and shining (or scathingly so), some not so new, some not so nice- reeling through the back of my head like a silent film showing in a one-seater movie theater.After all these memories are exhausted, only then do the ancient memories return.

These memories are so ancient, almost embedded in my body's muscle memory, that they ceased to be chronological impressions; instead, they've been replaced by symbolic images and sounds of a life once lived.

A doll. A pen and callused fingers. A gasping laugh. A comic drawing of a wavy yellow-bursting sun wearing dark shades.. A candle flickering. Darkness. The moon, full and shining.

The last is my favorite memory. It comes easily to me unbidden, unlike the others that needs some urging to come forward. But it always come to me after remembering Darkness, and like a much-hoped for salvation, the moon rises and smiles.

The moon reminds me of my mother's smile. Graceful, benign, shining incandescent. Not blindingly bright that hurts the eyes and makes you close your eyes --- but a glow that invites you to come closer, rest, and trust.
I suppose it does make sense that I remember her last and most easily.

I hurt all over, remembering the moon, smiling. It's the hurt of something precious lost, irrecoverable, but also kin to to the kind of hurt that reminds you something has been branded in your soul, irreplaceable. I make the memory of it my own tattered blanket, which I cover myself up with, as I lie fetal-like and vulnerable, while whittling away seconds from a ticking clock.