The Day After

Couldn't sleep last night. It was terrible. Awful.

The minute I lay my head down to rest, the tap wouldn't stop.

Everything just came rushing back to my mind. Everything from the long past, to the bliss we were still living in just a couple of months ago preparing for our lives together ahead, to the future we had painted for ourselves. I could still see the kids and dogs and one big green garden we had wanted. I saw the two of us grey-haired, finally having the moments of our life.

Fuck - if nothing had happened, we would right now have been busy preparing for the renovation of the house.

Fuck - if nothing had happened, I wonder if we would have been married with a time-bomb hanging over our heads.

Was it good, or bad, then that something had happened?

It was supposed to be for the better, but now has turned out for the worse.


I had to wait for the tears to subside before I could allow myself some shut-eye - I didn't want to wake up with painful eyes. All the while, the man was lying peacefully on my big bed, long fast asleep.

It was probably going to be the last night he's going to bunk over at my place. I almost wanted to spend the whole night taking in the view of him lying peacefully next to me.

I wanted to feel the touch of his skin one last time, but the slightest touch made him move.

It was almost daybreak before I finally got myself to sleep.


There was some strange sense of peace and ease between the both of us the next day. It felt as if a load had been physically taken off from us.

No awkward silence, but just peace. It was like we were connected again in a way, knowing what the other wants without having to speak a word or ask a question.

We talked, we joked and laughed a bit. We were almost back to our usual comfort zone, except that this time, we had no physical touch.

I had taken down all the photos of us because I suppose they pain him as much as they do me.

We cooked both cups of instant noodles and ate them for breakfast because they reminded us of pain as well.

Heck, the two of us even ran errands together before I was to send him off to work again.

The silence in the car was no longer the painful kind. It was the same old silence I had known before - the kind of silence I was proud to have understood and readily offered. The space-giving, I-know-what-you-want kind of silence, the kind where I knew he was there with me without having to speak to me.

I stared at his uniform, his flight bag, his Gap shirt hanging outside the cupboard which I remember I had bought on one of my first trips to Portland, his good ol' ten-year-old Esprit jacket that I've been in love with since day one, his computer full of stickers which I had proudly stuck on like an excited four-year-old, all his messy flight books lying around, his phone, his wallet - while he was taking a shower.

It struck me that I might never get to see them again. They belong to my life as much as they belong to him. I was about to lose this familiar sight all around me.

After a day of peace, I had wanted to tear again.


I am supposed to help him pack up some stuff while he's away on his flight.

I really don't know where to start. Other than the shoes and clothes, I can't tell his stuff from mine. What is clearly his and what's mine, I cannot decide.

There's just too much to be removed from this room, that might just remind me the slightest bit about him.

I should throw away the bed as well.


It was supposed to be a night of peace for me - basketball night with my buddies.

But I had to see his longtime teammate CB on the same basketball court at Tanglin. Thursdays are usually reserved for us; why were CB and his never-seen-before friends down at our court tonight?

I turned my eyes towards the skies and cast a questioning look once again.


Dinner at Adam's was the usual after-training affair.

We had our dinner, and our fair share of jokes and bitching, and we got up to leave by 11.

But I had to bump into my good friend Les whom I've not seen for a while, having supper with wifey. Without fail, his second question, after asking how I had been, was, "Boyfriend leh?"

Argh argh ARGH. My voice was lost somewhere in my throat; I just hand-gestured a flying motion and shook my head at the same time. I only managed to mumble, "Don't ask."


My best friend, whom I've not caught up with for the longest time and who usually calls only once in a while when the moon turns blue, called suddenly and asked how things were. She is probably not the most Web-savvy friend I have, so I guess she never quite knew about the existence of this journal.

I just didn't know how to tell her. So I just said, "Yeah, I'm ok. Everything's ok."

And we just hung up after a while.


Is this a test of patience and endurance from You?