Wednesday, February 20, 2008

Ever After In Your Eyes

Ever After In Your Eyes
Composed in the midst of frustration and pent-up emotions.
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Dear Franklin1,
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I've just settled myself down for an evening cup of coffee. Alone. The world seems so still, that I could almost hear my own heartbeat. Heart thumping. Fast. Restless. Were you still here, we would be sitting down by the window together, watching the city lights. We would be huddled together for warmth, wrapped snug with that tattered, fleece throw. You would be holding a cup of chai - 2 tablespoons of milk and 1½ teaspoons sugar, just the way you like it. We'd have heated exchanges about everything, from the worrying current state of politics, to which Bond is the best (I would have rooted for Sean Connery, you for Roger Moore). It was like a sport, our sport. How I miss getting exercised over triviality. Or sometimes we would just stay like that before the open window, enjoying the night breeze. I'd be contented enough just to know you're near, not having to speak. At times like that, sitting pressed next to you, I used to feel a sense of wonder at the reality of us, then a wave of emotion, a surge of tenderness and love would come over me. We could stay like that a long while and not speak2.
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The air, I notice, has a heavy feel to it. Took a sip of wine earlier today but it tasted like pickle water. This is wine without you. The sunny side up, chewy at its edges, and runny at the middle. This is food without you. Lifeless. Inert. Listless. Everything that once felt so vibrant and bursting with psychedelic colours, is now merely monotonous and dismal.
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There are many things from those days that I miss. But sitting at the alcove by the window right now, I realize that what I miss most is this. This part of the day when I would come home to you and deliver the narrative curiosities of my day, or days past, the way a cat might lay mice at your feet2. This used to be our special quiet time together. I can almost hear you laughing softly at my admittedly lame anecdotes, the sound that gives me a warm fuzzy feeling.
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There must be something about today, the way the memories of you make me feel sharp stabs of pain in my heart. The memories just come, like random photographs that one chance upon. When you picked up a crying child, you were loving. When you tried to dance, you looked hopelessly endearing. When you first came home with me and met my father, you were courageous and brave. When you run your fingers through my hair, you were gentle. When I was having moodswings, you talked to me as if you were treading on eggshells, your words rather awkward at times. You would try say the right things to cheer me up, though little did you know that I secretly found your awkwardness most touching. When you closed your eyes to sleep each night, you looked vulnerable, and like a child. Who would have thought that I would wake up that morning, only to find you motionless, forever asleep? The sun rose for me, Franklin, but it didn't for you.
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My cup of coffee is still untouched. Cold. I've stopped asking God why, but to this day, I'm still fighting hard not to cry. For the sake of this little babe in my arms that has your eyes and your smile, I will be strong - I will not cry.
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Forever your loving wife,
Beth
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DISCLAIMER: A work of fiction inspired from melancholy, a direct result of continuously reading depressing novels like 1Lionel Shriver's, Alice Sebold's and 2Anne Frank's. Also because I just watched a movie of Rico Yan's, released posthumously. Resemblance to real people, dead or alive, is purely coincidental.

9 comments:

milocup said...

wOw~! That was soO beautiful! Wish I could express myself half as well as you (no actually I wish I could do lots better, but that would just be asking for too much) and not just go "F***!" at everything.

Anonymous said...

yea that was a great 'karya'! u can sooo become a writer..seriously!

Anonymous said...

Without a doubt you have creativity many can only dream of. You should consider writing novels and share your literary gift with others who care to read. Best wishes

Indu Rumah Panjai said...

Acih meh sida tu di keduan nuan penapat inat. Enda di ambi nuan ari Anne Frank's diary utai tu? Siku ari sida tu angka apai dik pelaba aku.

Aku diatu benung ba Crowne Plaza,dua malam ba Kuching bc meeting. Pagi tadi nyadi flower pot, nyempulang CEO nyua ka sponsorship ngagai urang, lemai bc meeting, enda sempat ngena last flight, so aku lepak ba lounge diatu, ngirup wine.

Abis meeting di bai bala pangan ngagai Spring, ngirup kupi ba Kluang. Enda ga nyamai sepi aku, bc masam-masam after taste. Miss you & love you.Dad udah booked flight kami duai, ngena BA via Singapore, Heathrow udah nya baru ngagai Glasgow.

Mami

Daphne Maie said...

Thank you all, it means the world to me. Though I have to say, I'm nowhere as eloquent as the authors of the books that inspired me.



Mom,

Apa la nuan. Nadai aku beduan mensia maioh deh. Haha. Inspired by Anne's emotions, tang ditulis aku dirik empu. Anne Frank nadai kala belaki, apatah lagi bisi beranak. Apai aku nemu gik read between the lines. Kumbai iya Anne nyak aku or someone I angan angan to be, because he was like asking me "Sapa Frankie ko dik nyak?" Raya apai tuai nyak.

Indu Rumah Panjai said...
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
Anonymous said...

Dafi,who is the bog administrator - is it you: just curious. Maklumlah kami org utan ini

Daphne Maie said...

Yup, I'm the blog admin. Deleted comment from mom. Just because you know lah, main memuji until I shy. So I deleted. ;)

Who u?

Anonymous said...

who else but yr D