. . . . .
Monday, 3 December 2012 @ 14:40
I want to keep him near. Though my body pushes him away, though my
heart resents him, though my mind wants to block him from poisoning it even
more, though it made me decline others who want to love me, I don't want to ever
be apart from him.
It is said that sometimes you can't let go off love
because it is better to hurt than to feel nothing. Yes. I am scared of feeling
numb. It felt like death except it isn't cold. No anger, no sadness even. Just,
nothing. Like I don't exist, even so, I’m just a thin vapour in the air.
Floating about like an insignificant mist.
I don't want to not to like him. I want to like him. Because I don't have
anybody else to like. And I just don't like anybody. I like him. I want to like
him, in the most possible way of normal people liking another. I don't want to
let him go. I don’t want send him away. I want to like him and I want to keep
him near. Maybe not too near but I want him here in a space where I know I can
feel him though having not to see him, touch him nor talk to him. It felt
selfish but I do, I like him because of me. I want to feel the feeling of
liking other. And I just can’t stand the feeling of numb.
Yesterday I searched for The Great Gatsby like a pirate on a treasure hunt. Soon I discovered
that the gold were buried somewhere in the Leisure Reading room. The map was an
easy read but the gold was limited. Forgetting the serial number of the book, I
went shelf by shelf and there were about ten or more there but I continued
searching. I felt like a lost wild animal. I told myself that I am not to leave
until I found the book. At a brink of giving up and the library was about to
close, I turned on my laptop, logged onto the library search engine and began
searching again. Though at the verge of my weak battery life, I did it I
searched for it. And there was only one copy left according to the results. The
others were either on loan or borrowed by unknown Fitzgerald’s fans. I admit I am
not a fan. I don't know whether or not I will like Fitzgerald. But I wanted the
book so badly because it reminded me of him. It made me feel like if I read it,
I’m looking at the words he used to look at, understand and felt the joy of
reading as he used to feel. So, yes, the code was lrPR6057A319S66. I put my
laptop aside and looked for the shelf aforementioned. Why, bless my soul! I was
sitting next to it all along! And there it was, the book, the ONLY copy left unborrowed,
sitting there nicely waiting for me to grab onto it. I snatched it quickly as
if there were thousands of jerking hands reaching for the book too. I looked at
the row of books. Yes. It was the ONLY copy left and I got it.
Boy! Wasn’t my smile broad and I swore my eyes were
holding back joyful tears for I had grasped onto the remnants of him. He was
slipping through my fingers but I managed to get a hold of him though with just
a finger, I had him. And he felt near. I felt win.
Back home, I realised that I was to return the book
in a week. So, I should be reading it by now since it was quite thick and I was
poor at reading. Staring long onto the front cover, I waited for the drums of
my heart to roll. None was felt. So, I flipped the first leaf, and read…
Chapter 1
In my younger and more vulnerable years my father
gave me some advice that I’ve been turning over in my mind ever since.
Still, I felt nothing.
The words meant nothing to me. So, I closed the book, lied down on my bed and
stared out to the ceiling.
Slowly,
vivid images of February 1988 appeared before my eyes, echoing voices filled my
ears, later, smoke were forming colours and shapes and I saw him. He was smiling
right at me. He looked healthy and for the first time, he smiled. In an
instant, he was like a tease. He was standing at his window looking at me. He
looked very calm and happy, inviting me to pull him into my arms and not know
of me why I wanted to do that. He gazed at me with love and I want to grab onto
him but I couldn’t. Then, the chilly winter wind lovingly stroke on my cheek. Tears
flowed from the tips of my eyes and my vision became a blur. I cried for hours
and cried some more till it made me want to vomit.
I
hadn’t shed a tear since the evening I fell off my bike.
“Are you OK?”
He was my neighbour. The only friend
I knew. I was quite shy and he was quite sickly. That evening, when he asked
whether or not I was hurt, it was before his sickness worsened. Then, he was
never at school. Mum said he had contracted an incurable disease. It made him
bedridden. Often I just peeked through my window to look at him. He was always
on his bed with a chess set but mostly, with books. I only spoke to him once.
That was when my family paid him a visit and I remembered him reading The Great Gatsby. He said it was a book
for the big kids. And I was too young to understand it.
I never knew his name, or maybe my
mind had deleted him from my memory. I never knew how old he was from my age,
nor his favourite author. The only thing I knew about him is that he was the
person that I like. Day by day I started to forget about him. It made my heart
grew pale. I don’t want my heart to feel that way. And liking him was the only
way to stop my heart from feeling nothing. So, I don’t want to forget about
him. I don’t want to not to like him.
The next morning I woke up feeling
fatigue from too much crying. Weakly, I reached for the book on the bedside
table where I put it last night. This time, looking at the front cover gave me
a flush of anger. Suddenly, I was incandescent with rage and I wanted to tear
off the pages but I couldn’t because the book belonged to the library. I was so
mad at him, so mad for his weakness. Yes, the disease had eaten him up. He had
lost his strength to move but did his spirit to live, too?
Every
day I peeked through my window to make sure he was still breathing. Every day I
smiled at him wishing he would smile back. But, no. He was too weak to even
smile. He had surrendered himself to his sickness. He let them ate him bit by
bit. I knew that he would die from his disease but ironically, no. He was
perished in a fire. A fire ate his house in a gulp just like his disease eating
him. And I witnessed his ironic death. It was a cold night where I was awakened
by a flicker of light like a star in the sky. Then I learnt that the light was
coming from his room. I got out of bed and later saw a plume of smoke billowed
from his house. The blaze had burnt half of his house and was going for his
room. I mostly remembered that he was staring at me from his bed as I stared at
him from my window wishing he would save himself, wishing I could save him from
that fire. His face that night was calm as ever but he wasn’t smiling nor did
he wave at me. He was just blankly staring straight at me as I witnessed the
fire consumed his whole body.
Death
had taken him from me. Death had taken my warmth, my companion, my shelter, and
I was hard-bitten since.
I
looked at the book once more. I turned to the last page and I read the last
paragraphs,
…the orgastic future that year by year recedes
before us. It eluded us then, but that’s no matter—tomorrow we will run faster,
stretch out our arms farther…. And one fine morning——
So we beat on, boats against the current, borne
back ceaselessly into the past.
THE END
I closed the book as
if I have finished reading it.
Numb is certainly
something even scarier than death. Numb is what has frightened me. Numb is what
has consumed me and driven me to always look for the remnants of my past; the
remnants of him. Funny how the remnants that I found numbed me. yes, I felt numb.
I will have to return the book next week but then I chose to return it today. A book or no book, he shall never return. He shall never return even to my heart. He's dead. And so did my feelings for him. Why linger? Isn't it nice to just go with the current and see for yourself what you'll discover? Yes. I chose to just go with the flow.
After putting on my best clothes, I walked to the library. I returned the book. The librarian smiled at me. And I smiled back at her. Leaving the library that day, I suddenly saw that there were trees behind the park opposite to the library. There was a new waffle and hot dog stand in front of the post office. I looked at the people around me. And walked home that day believing that as long as I am attached to these, I could never feel numb again.
I will have to return the book next week but then I chose to return it today. A book or no book, he shall never return. He shall never return even to my heart. He's dead. And so did my feelings for him. Why linger? Isn't it nice to just go with the current and see for yourself what you'll discover? Yes. I chose to just go with the flow.
After putting on my best clothes, I walked to the library. I returned the book. The librarian smiled at me. And I smiled back at her. Leaving the library that day, I suddenly saw that there were trees behind the park opposite to the library. There was a new waffle and hot dog stand in front of the post office. I looked at the people around me. And walked home that day believing that as long as I am attached to these, I could never feel numb again.