grieving

It was raining the day she passed away. My parents sat by her side, constantly reciting Qur’an verses that she tried to follow with all her remaining energy. I watched her letting out a long breath, then everything went quiet. The next thing I heard was my mother crying out loud, and the sound of my father stepping out of the room. One of our relatives entered the room to pull me up to her embrace and took me out to the living room. Rubbing my back to console me she said, “take a deep breath, dear. It’s okay. It’s okay.” I didn’t realize I was crying. I was still trying to grasp the name of the throbbing pain that felt alien to me. Everything hurt so much to the point where I started to feel the air slowly being sucked out of me too. Until the sound of a table being punched hauled me back to reality. It then followed by screaming and whimpering. For the first time I witnessed my father in such state of devastation, I knew things wouldn’t be the same after that.

I was only ten years old when she left. I didn’t understand much about that kind of grief from losing someone and not being able to see her again forever. So I just moved on. Little did I know that later in my adulthood I would continue thinking about her. Images of her searching for me in the neighborhood every lunch time, preparing a warm bath for me every morning, or taking me to the market were playing on my mind like old movie reels. It was unfair that she was in my life for such short period of time, when she’s the one who exhibited the kind of love that’s reassuring; the kind that established a safe space for me to run to. The love that I could feel in the warmth that radiated off of her on that cold December morning when I was swallowed up in her arms as she attempted to keep me off from hearing my parents fight. The warmth that I'd been struggling to discover ever since, in every person that I met and places that I went – only to no avail.

I often wondered if things would have been different if she were still here. Or even when the destruction was inevitable, I would at least feel less lonely. She would have saved me like she always did. She could be the rope that tied all of us together. Now each one of us is slowly slipping away, and we can't figure out how to hold on to each other. And I might have been running away for too long I just can't find my way home.

early to the party

"i don't think i can ever live with another person." he said, fiddling with his lighter. "yeah i find you a bit annoying actually." her answer made him chuckle. he stretched his arm to stroke her hair before fishing for a pack of cigarette from his worn out tote bag. 

"some days i just couldn't bring myself to live, you know, physically." she took the lighter from his grip to light his cigarette. "it was like a blackout from too much drinks, but for days." he took a long drag of it, craning his neck upward to exhale the smoke. 

"so you just sleep the days away?" 

"yes, but, i hardly slept at all. i couldn't stop thinking." he lied down on the floor with his left hand beneath his head. 

"thinking about the past?" 

"no. just trivial things. a lot of them." she peered over her shoulder to examine his face and coaxed a smile. for a while both of them didn't say anything and let the hustle bustle of the city from five floors below grow louder. he stared at her slender figure basking in pale light the deepening afternoon cast over the city. 

"i hate it when people think they know me." she blurted out before lying down next to him. "they say my life would get easier if i let people in." she continued. he stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray and moved to his side to face her. 

"i wonder how they do that. letting people in." 

he drew closer and gently brushed her cheek. ever so carefully, as if she was a porcelain vase that had been shattered and then taped together. in silence, they were slowly pulling themselves into each other's embrace for the first time. tightly, like it was for the last time as well.