Questa è Enida

It took me over a year to finally realize that I am now on my own. In this little wagon I am driving, there is only one driver seat. Gone are the days when I was just sitting in the passenger seat trying to make myself useful, pretending to know where to go and how to get there. Though I never held a map upside down, my journey came to a U-turn that turned out to be an I-turn when I, Enida the Questa è Enida, took a different path. My path. 😉

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Now, nevertheless, that I am behind the steering wheel on my own, I still don’t know where to go and how to get there. But I am doing it as I go along… with Monchies in the back seat. As long as we are on this journey together, I don’t really have to know where exactly we are going and how exactly to get there. We’re getting there, wherever there is. As a matter of fact, sometimes I don’t mind at all if we are not going anywhere. There is where we are. There is here. We’re together.

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But then, I know… I have to be prepared for my own inability to hold on to the steering wheel for ever. Anything can happen. Anytime. Just like what my insurance agent said (that got me to sign up with a plan), “Planning, if you asked me, should have been done yesterday. If anything happens today, your tomorrow is covered.” And so… I am writing my will and instructions. And in the process, I have been awakened by some gentle reminders that at some point of time I have to let go of everything.

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So when I saw my best friend recently, we had a good conversation to confirm what I would put in my will and instructions in the case of my absence — sudden or eventual. It was a sad but quick chat on where Monchies should go if anything happens to me. I fear not death, for I have embraced the reality that I am dying from the day I was born. I don’t mind death. (Hidup itu jodohnya mati, as I said to Cik Nan.) But I mind dying if I can’t live the remaining time to my full capacity.

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If I were given half a year, it is probably worth all the headaches of getting our Russian visas back so that I can be in the house where Monchies can have their Dad. I take no sympathy from him. No. But I know the kindest thing for me to do is to be kind to the kids, and kinder to their Dad. And I know that’s all that matters to Monchies anyway. If Daddy wouldn’t drop anything in this world for them, I would. At the end of the day, I could say I had dropped anything and everything for them. Drop dead! 🙂

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And six months would be enough for me to write a book on how happy Monchies would be and I know for sure they will miss me.

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I am not trying to be hopeless or morbid now. For heaven’s sake, I want to live as long as I can! I have so many I-told-you-so‘s to say to Kitreena and I have not rolled my eyes enough at Edrick’s jokes. We still have those trips to take: Kitreena wants me to take up snowboarding in the Swiss Alps with her, and Edrick is flying me to Rio, Rio, Rio! So help me God. If I can have 20 years, I will take 20 years. Or 30, max. But of course I can live without the headaches of getting our Russian visas back.

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On that thought, please pray for me… that my repeat blood test results would not number my days with the love of my life — the two good people I am raising in my Mesra house.

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