Floatsam

I wonder how it must be like living with such pain embedded in his heart, how difficult it must be living on a string that could break anytime, always waking up and facing life bleak and misunderstood, for it is but a vicious cycle: people shun the lifeless, they give up on people they fear. As for me I know I risk getting sucked in, and that my busy schedule needs-craves-demands that I spend more time at my work (Equity Assignment coming in) but I think this is the least I can do, to just be there and let him rant. But then again, it doesn't seem to be working. I was walking him to his place, where he was talking about how no girl would ever fall for him because of his lack of education, or how the church leaders had taken away someone very dear from him. I have to admit I cannot share the pain, as I have not experienced something like that in my life, and just giving theoretical advice would do nothing to solve the problem: he knows himself that he is his own greatest barrier to overcome this, there is nothing I can do but to pray for God to sustain and grant him strength to overcome this.

We were talking below the block when his mother came towards the lift. It was 1am

"Auntie", I muttered

"Why you all still here?", she stuttered, turning around to look at her son, "What happened?" He was tearing

"Auntie he is just a little upset", I replied, reluctantly

I sensed very clearly the resignation and the hint of fear in her eyes as she sighed. "You talk to him ok", she said, as she headed towards the lift

"Don't you know, It all happened because of what you did", he said, finally breaking the strained silence.

My heart skipped a beat, as I sat there, momentarily stunned, still on my bike, head bowed low, either out of respect or not knowing what to do.

"Boi ah, you know mummy and daddy are not the best parents, but we try, and we never like other parents lay a finger on you, we try our best, you know boy..." she said, with a pained look that only years of listening to the same cyclical comments from her son would bring.


It was followed by 10 minutes of the most painful dialogue I had to listen to, head bowed, not daring to look up, until I heard a loud slam on the concrete. "STOP THAT!", I shouted. He had punched the wall. Don't cry, shit damnit, don't fucking cry.

"Boy ah, you think we as your parents like to see you like that everyday?" replied, more painfully.

"Go. Just go home." he replied, looking away. I noticed redness and swelling in the knuckles, but I knew that he did that not to scare anyone, but more as to inflict physical pain to stop the emotional overdrive.

We chatted awhile after his mother went up, and after he calmed down I left, telling him the same thing that i say every time, "take care ok, I want to see you alive next week." I am glad, week after week, he shows up in church.

***

On cycling home, I remembered how when I was much younger, I had battled demons with Esther, the (then) first-love-of-my-life, feeling pain vicariously as I saw the scars on her wrists, and how i used to try to shake her up when she is in her depressive state, and how i familiarised myself with prozac, valium, lithium and a myriad of other drugs. How I always wondered after we broke up whether the guy she was with now would be able to take care of her better than I did. And always wondered whether she still starves herself in the week to club on the weekends, whether she did sincerely quit drugs because of me, and other melancholic thoughts, as I am prone to them.

Then today as I was borrowing Travel Guides on Kyushu at Library@Orchard self-service counter, I heard this familiar voice, a pitch and timbre that has eluded me for years lost.

"James", It was her.

I turned around and I could scarcely recognise her. Her blonde locks had reverted back to their original colour, she looks like she lost so much weight, but the books she borrowed, as usual, were by pseudo-intellectual western authors that I was unfamiliar with. It lead to instant flashbacks with us reading Milan Kundara side by side after a long wild night clubbing. Some things never change. We exchanged pleasantries, and she left. I don't remember if she said goodbye.

Love heals, Love kills.
We all float like debris on the seawaves.