50

I tried to hold it all in my head. Until I'm blue.

It's like those times we held our breaths underwater. Until we were blue inside.

I held it in my head, like a leaking water balloon, I reached home an hour later, that's the best I can do. No, that's not it. I went into the stores, into white light and pushing noises. The eleven o clock shoppers. I joined the queue and bought stuff I don't need. I bought a bagful of wafer biscuits I knew I won't eat. But it had to be done. Ritual is a ritual. When 63 died, bleeding his entire bed, I had spent the afternoon in the bar. Like everything worthy in life, self indulgence is a 12 step program.

At home in front of the computer, I unloaded and there was nothing. My head the size of a sunken balloon. All I could remember was the mixed emotions of relief followed by instant horror when he finally spoke.

I swore that was him speaking.

His first word after a 280 days of coma was his death rattle.    

Now I can remember that first time we met. He could walk then and he was in the isolation room. They said he's a bit crazy but don't we all? He refused to let the nurses shower him, so they get me, a dude. He's not crazy, towering and shaggy headed, but not crazy. In fact he's quite polite.

A while ago at his bedside where everything was ripped opened and him rattling for a good ten second, I could remember nothing. All I could comprehend is this thick muck of silence in my head.

On the train home I put on my ipod and tried to drown this fog of silence off. I can't. I'm defenseless even against myself. All I had were The Cure and Smashing Pumpkins.

For the longest time, I don't believe that this woman was his wife. She appeared only at the last two weeks. Spending 270 odd days with him, I had my doubts with her sudden appearance. But seeing her crying, calling and slapping his cold clammy torso, I believe she love him.

When the rest of the family came, the wailing imploded. Even that could not drown out the murky silence in my head. So I stood there and let both of the wailing and the absurd tranquility bathe me like how the sun and the moonlight do. I must have tell myself that I had in fact enjoy this. The hollow rotten bastard that seek pleasure through people's misery. I think deep down I have to keep telling myself I do what I do, so that I won't leave this job, or worse: join them and burst into tears.

Lean On Me Now

We are billed as the worst disaster as a couple.

We lost tons of stuff.

Always being shortchanged and taken advantage of.

We lag behind others in so many ways. We are not very bright and far-sighted.

We always get the worst bargain, worst quality of goods, worst service and worst luck among our friends.

Our strengths does not lend to compensate each other while our weakness combined and get blown up.

People actually afraid that we might:

A) Lost our baby.

B) Roll over our baby when we sleep.

C) Fall into drains.

But we truly love each other.

We will be happy even as luckless trolls, dumb and dumber and come what may.

We will be happy because in love nobody else exist.

If we are the world to each other than there is no such things as worst bargains or coming short in comparison.

We will be happy being just us.




 

Sleepless Tides

I wonder which is more taxing?

Guilt from harming others intentionally?

Or.

Guilt from harming others unintentionally?