a happy turn of events / the eagle

There is no way I will ever figure this out. Life is just full of mysteries. There I was, slumped on the same sofa, burying my head under a blue-green retro print seat pillow, learning to accept the loss and the thumping pain that just won’t go away, when my phone rang.

His name flashed across the digital display.

Reaching out for the phone and hearing his first hello felt like a brief out-of-body experience. I wasn’t happy in an instant. I was simply RELIEVED. Oh yes, in capitals. I felt a big burden was taken off my chest. It was just pure joy to know that he cares enough to reach out. And it was immensely comforting to hear his old tone and to hear him call me by the name he gave me.

I shall take you back a bit. The first week of our encounter I decided to give ourselves nicknames after he started to call me “sweetheart”. I didn’t want him to call me that. Instead I decided a nick would sum up whatever closeness there is between us that he would like to show to the world or to express just between the two of us. After much thought he then decided to call me by the name of the Greek Goddess, Gaia.

Gaia was one of the Titans that had ruled the ancient Greek world. Her domain was the Earth. She didn’t rule the trees, stones, seas or skies. She was the trees, stones, seas and skies. Her smile is the breath-taking sunrise of the tropical islands, her laughter is the rustling trees of the lower alpine pine forests, her sorrow the dripping cold rain of a London afternoon and her wrath is the raging hurricane decimating the coast of the Mexican Gulf.

Gaia became a crown he placed upon my head. His admiration and respect lent sparks to the crown. Wearing it was uplifting and created a confidence like the one that grows in any girl that walks off the stage with a sparkling pageant crown.

But his continuous praises and relentless wishes weighed me down. The crown was decorated with bright and colorful gemstones that were beautiful yet heavy at the same time. I yearned to take it off. But once it was taken from me, I was dying for him to give it back to me.

And so it was immensely comforting when he called me by my name. The worries began to flash inside my head the very moment but I decided to sweep it under the rug (This is why only fools fall in love). I knew it was completely dumb and senseless but I longed for his voice, for him to call me by that name, and here it was.

The rest of the conversation really didn’t matter. He said he was sorry he troubled me with his disappearance. That he was like an eagle.

“You don’t have to worry about me. If I leave, it won’t be for long, I will come back. I am like an eagle that flies out into the wild. Eventually, the eagle would make its way home.”

(The next thing he said was a mix of apologies and small talk)

I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, it’s all my fault. No, I’m sorry. Really it’s not your fault, it’s mine. Truly no one is at fault. Let’s stop the blame game.

The conversation ended swiftly and I was left with a big grin on my face. I was relieved, but I guess it’s also happiness, too. And yes, the eagle has re-appeared and it has definitely brightened up Gaia’s skies.

buried alive

I am sitting in darkness that only gives in to small, flickering neon light in the corner of my Mom’s living room. The light illuminates an amateur painting of Saraswati, the Hindu Goddess of Knowledge and Wisdom, drawn in the common style of Balinese deity imagery. It seems to me that her eyes—at least from my view perched on the family sofa that lies adjacent to the painting—looks weary and swollen with tear. It almost looks like she is hiding deep in her soul an inexplicably great pain with holds a shattering force that banishes all happiness in her eyes. I could be wrong. If I lift myself up now and look straight now, I may see things differently. I am pretty sure the painter intended to paint eyes that exude wisdom, for that is what the Goddess stand for. But right now I have decided that Sarawasti is looking pretty grief-stricken, echoing what I feel at the moment.

I mourn for your death, Little Green. Daddy has decided to bury you. And now Mommy has decided to lie on top of your grave, mourning in silence. And all the while you are suffocating for you were buried alive.

Tonight proved to be tough, too tough. I felt wind blowing through my hollow chest that has not yet ceased to scream your name in silence, hoping for a sign or for you in any way to reach out to me. I miss you in the truest sense. The hours that are supposed to be filled with your soothing voice and enchanting laughter are now dull moments devoid of any joy.

And now I am lost. Your complete absence tonight catapulted me into a labyrinth without any sense of direction or time. I call your name again and again, in silence. I know you are hurting as I am hurting now. Come back to me.

I remember you said you believed in the metaphysics of our exchange. You said a certain force, the very force that makes up the basis of a relationship, is in the making now for we have an unseen bond that has always been there before man’s time. I believed you, but pretended I believed only half of it. As bizarre as it sound, for some reason I can feel your joy and pain although we are miles apart. And so I know that you too, are in pain.

My rational me steps in and dismisses this as a mere disillusionment. This is what fairytales brings to your life when you let them seep in for too long. But yes, I am a dreamer and dreamers are allowed to keep and live their dream. But I am also a coward, a big coward.

I can hear Little Green gasping for breath. I am lying on my side, hoping my tears that soaked the fresh-dug earth will reach her and tell her how much I love her. I could have done so much more for her, but instead I handed out the shovel that he used to dig Little Green’s grave.

I have not been fair to you. It is actually me who is the big liar, the big two-faced heartbreaker. I have not lost you, for I never had you, and you never left me, for you were never with me.

So don’t come back, move on and live your life. I shall mourn over Little Green’s death, and soon I will carve a tombstone out of the finest dark marble and plant a banyan tree to protect her grave, but please let me cry a little more. You may be the best I never had but I let you slip through my fingers. You didn’t kill our unborn baby. I did, long time ago.

uninvited

I didn’t think he would pick up the phone! A mix of feelings raced through my system. I was relieved, excited and nervous. Previously he rejected my calls twice. I thought I might as well give it a last try, to lend a ritualistic feel to the whole thing and take it as a sign to curb my longings for his presence if he decides to reject the call a third time. I never expected him to actually take this call!

His first hello echoed through my rump. It’s amazing how much he changed (to think that it was only a day after he sent that message). His voice was cold and unfamiliar. I realized he had stopped calling me by the nick he gave me. My heart slumped.

Dumbfounded, I didn’t have the slightest recollection of what I said there. But I know it was a brief, polite exchange. I hung up quickly; I was welling up with emotions and I wouldn’t forgive myself if I had lost control over myself then. It’s not that I am proud; God knows his mere presence strips me naked of all forms of childish pride. But I am afraid of his reaction, of a possible wrath and of a definite sadness.

I told him to take care. His answer was short: Yeah.

(Stupid girl. Just tell him how much you miss him. Tell him to come back.)

Another cigarette please, this is strike two.

The Day It Struck Me

Sitting on the barren concrete stairs of my office, I grabbed the menthol cigarettes wrapped in crisp white paper and inhaled deeply as the flickering light shrivelled its edge. I inhaled the fume, deeply as I any cowboy would, wondering how on earth I got addicted to these poison sticks 10 years ago. They taste ugly, smell foul and leave a nauseating after taste. I wrestled myself to quit many months ago, and did so for a few weeks, even months. But at times like these, my body craves for nicotine, thinking it could stuff the sense of void that sometimes life leaves you with. But unlike then, this time a big part of me realized that all this is done in vain. How much nicotine would you need to get rid of an emptiness the size of your chest? How many glasses of alcohol and caffeine drinks do you have to pump into your system to numb the sharp, throbbing pain that pulsates through your body, the same pain you feel when iodine is violently splashed on an open wound?

I know, I know, it's not the end of the world. It really isn't. I will continue to live my life, day after day, the same way I have decided to live it, the same way that life is presented to me. And the wound will heal with time, they say. But scar are scars, and I can't deny this one will leave a big nasty one. To think of it, I am at the crossroads. I can either embark on a so-called journey to search for answers, for one's identity, to discover pure joy in selflessness, all of those kinds of experience that have been made into betselling self-empowerment books. But I could also choose to stand still and learn to accept to live with the pain like car crash survivors who had to struggle with physical pain inflicted by the wounds of their accident.

At least I am aware of my options. I can't think right now, my mind is clouded by despair. Today I felt a big chunk of me was ripped away, vilently and without any mercy. The two lines you wrote in your last email sawed my limbs off and left me staring blank for the rest of the day, and your poems did the rest. I heard the sound of a rope torn apart somewhere in the distance that morning. You decided to cut the tie that bound our two souls, in your own right. I called your name out, at first a whisper, and later, a silent scream. But you never came. And by the end of my third cigarette, I realised that I may have lost the best thing I never had.

I understand your decision, but I refuse to accept it.

Come back to me.

Little Green

Born with the moon in cancer
Choose her a name she will answer to
Call her green and the winters cannot fade her
Call her green for the children who made her
Little green, be a gypsy dancer

He went to California
Hearing that everything's warmer there
So you write him a letter and say, her eyes are blue.
He sends you a poem and shes lost to you
Little green, hes a non-conformer

Just a little green
Like the color when the spring is born
Therell be crocuses to bring to school tomorrow

Just a little green
Like the nights when the northern lights perform
Therell be icicles and birthday clothes
And sometimes therell be sorrow

Child with a child pretending
Weary of lies you are sending home
So you sign all the papers in the family name
You're sad and you're sorry, but youre not ashamed
Little green, have a happy ending

Just a little green
Like the color when the spring is born
Therell be crocuses to bring to school tomorrow

Just a little green
Like the nights when the northern lights perform
Therell be icicles and birthday clothes
And sometimes therell be sorrow

[Joni Mitchell, 1971]