Questa è Enida

I am flying to Singapore the morning of November 27 and flying back the same night just for this.

It was a smooth sailing tour of duty yesterday, despite getting to the hospital not as early as I anticipated. I kinda knew the doctors would not be around as early as 0900 anyway. Plus the training took a little longer than usual (after being idle, gym-wise, for almost two weeks over the festivity time).

Smooth-sailing as it was, I did have an accident. No, I did not run into that overloaded trailer suddenly jumping onto my lane trying to pass a slow truck at 50km/hr, when I was going at 100 down the hills just before the turnoff to Selesa Hillhomes/Janda Baik. Thank God, no.

I actually accidentally forgot to wear my rings.

I don’t usually take my wedding and engagement rings off. Only once. And that was on October 4, 2008, when Be and I met up. I didn’t see his, so I took mine off right before his eyes. And no, I wasn’t trying to spite him, or be sarcastic or anything. I just didn’t want to be seen as a married woman dating a single man. Even though reality is, that ‘single man’ is my lawfully wedded husband. What a silly invisible paper! If only marriage contract had to be worn like a pendant.

At the hospital yesterday, I didn’t realize how bare my fingers were until I saw a silver ring on Dr Aziz’s finger. For some reason, almost reflectively, I brought my hands to my chest feeling profoundly empty, unbelonged and unbeloved. And later, driving through the mountains, though unlawfully fast, I tried to be the safest possible. I had to keep safe at least until the rings are back on my fingers.

Maybe not having the rings on my fingers was not the accident. Maybe the emptiness, the unbelonging-ness and the unbeloved-ness were all accidents rolled into one. Maybe it’s the rings that band me to the emptiness. But then again, maybe it’s the rings that bind me to fidelity. For all I know, I am wedded to mother Kitreena on my right, and Edrick on my left. They are the true rings on my fingers.

I got home safe and sound, raging through hell and high water on MRR2 and E2. But the funny thing was…as soon as I was home, the emptiness just went away. I didn’t put the rings back on my fingers until this morning. But I slept through the night feeling belonged.

I’ll be off to HUKM this morning to gaze into Dr. Aziz’s gray eyes see Dr. Aziz and pick up another troley of Mom’s medicine. The team decided that Mom needs a lot more into her before she goes into her first cycle of chemo this coming Monday. So, I am driving east, through the mountains, to get the medicine to Mom today. My tour of duty, with love.

Analogically speaking…
You know you like coffee. You know you have liked coffee all your life. And when we got together, you kinda hinted that you liked coffee. But that’s all they were. Hints. You never really did come out and say you wanted coffee. C.O.F.F.E.E. plain and simple.

And I…
I have been a tea personality. Not that I like tea all that much. Yet I like serving tea. T.E.A. even more plain and simple! And the fact that you never said anything about wanting other than tea, I took it that you liked my tea. Otherwise you would have mentioned coffee. Plus, you had nothing but praises for my tea. So Darjeeling it is, darling!

Being away from your tea wife, you found coffee. And you wondered why you were never happy with my tea. You accused me for never serving coffee when all you wanted was coffee and not tea. You hold on to your new-found coffee for the love of life and for the fear of ever having to come back to my tea.

Little that you know, all these years I have been waiting for you to come out and tell me that you wanted coffee. And in the meantime I have coffees piled up on me left right and center. No, I won’t ask whether you would come back to share my coffee. Not now. It’s not about liking coffee or tea now, is it? Coffee is coffee, whatever fancy names you order – Machiato, Cappucino, Flat White or Espresso.

It’s not the what question. It’s the which. And it’s all about being honest with ourselves.

Analogically speaking…
You know you like coffee. You know you have liked coffee all your life. And when we got together, you kinda hinted that you liked coffee. But that’s all they were. Hints. You never really did come out and say you wanted coffee. C.O.F.F.E.E. plain and simple.

And I…
I have been a tea personality. Not that I like tea all that much. Yet I like serving tea. T.E.A. even more plain and simple! And the fact that you never said anything about wanting other than tea, I took it that you liked my tea. Otherwise you would have mentioned coffee. Plus, you had nothing but praises for my tea. So Darjeeling it is, darling!

Being away from your tea wife, you found coffee. And you wondered why you were never happy with my tea. You accused me of never serving coffee when all you wanted was coffee and not tea. You hold on to your new-found coffee for the love of life and for the fear of ever having to come back to my tea.

Little that you know, all these years I have been waiting for you to come out and tell me that you wanted coffee. And in the meantime I have coffees piled up on me left right and center. No, I won’t ask whether you would come back to share my coffee. Not now. It’s not about liking coffee or tea now, is it? Coffee is coffee, whatever fancy names you order – Machiato, Cappucino, Flat White or Espresso.

It’s not the what question. It’s the which. And it’s all about being honest with ourselves.

It’s never easy to tell her that after all the hope that floats and all the roads she has taken to where she thought recovery was…she was actually about to jump off the cliff. She has nowhere to go now but down and hope that she’d grow wings before she lands. For she has cancer.

I know she has wings. She is my mother.

There’s so much to tell about an afternoon with a man who’s no longer wearing our wedding band. So much. But I am drained of words to even begin telling myself that we met, we hugged for the longest time, we sat, we talked, we touched and we cried. Yes, the two of us. I am home now and still asking myself, did we really? This song, playing on the radio on my way home was just a home-run for me.

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Sometimes When We Touch

You ask me if I love you
And I choke on my reply
I’d rather hurt you honestly
Than mislead you with a lie
And who am I to judge you
On what you say or do?
I’m only just beginning to see the real you

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And sometimes when we touch
The honesty’s too much
And I have to close my eyes and hide
I wanna hold you til I die
Til we both break down and cry
I wanna hold you till the fear in me subsides

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Romance and all its strategy
Leaves me battling with my pride
But through the insecurity
Some tenderness survives
I’m just another writer
Still trapped within my truth
A hesitant prize fighter
Still trapped within my youth

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And sometimes when we touch
The honesty’s too much
And I have to close my eyes and hide
I wanna hold you til I die
Til we both break down and cry
I wanna hold you till the fear in me subsides

.

At times I’d like to break you
And drive you to your knees
At times I’d like to break through
And hold you endlessly

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At times I understand you
And I know how hard you’ve tried
I’ve watched while love commands you
And I’ve watched love pass you by

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At times I think we’re drifters
Still searching for a friend
A brother or a sister
But then the passion flares again

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And sometimes when we touch
The honesty’s too much
And I have to close my eyes and hide
I wanna hold you til I die
Til we both break down and cry
I wanna hold you till the fear in me subsides

.

When we met up and sat down for a few hours today to finally talk for the first time in probably years, I knew… it was then that our fears and dreams collided. I wished we had sat down and talked like that a year ago. Things would have been different. Fears and dreams, or even moon and stars could collide for all that collision’s worth… things would have been different.

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I’m hurting. And I am tired of hurting. I have been strong. And I am tired of being strong too. So when I am still crying and tired of crying… I asked God as to why He made me and filled me with so much love, it hurts. I haven’t got any answer. So I am praying. And pray that I am never going to be tired of praying, and tired of loving.

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I am taking that walk again tomorrow and I know, God will be running towards me – with or without an answer.

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