Seven days.

The first day

The first day of your departure, i imagined snow falling on the streets of New York city. I could see the people walking hurriedly on the pavement. They look like they are in a looking for something, but do they know what they are searching for? The day you left this city, you left a chill in my heart. And since then, my body has become nothing but an empty shell.

I went to the cafe where we first met. As I walked into the cafe, the owner gave me a cheeky smile and asked me if we had a tiff because I was alone. I didn't answer him. I sat at the window seat where you always liked to sit. You said it was a nice seat, because you could look out the window and see the beautiful golden and brown maple leaves fall off when it was autumn time. I didn't understand what you meant- we lived in Singapore, how could there be autumn? And there aren’t any maple trees tropical countries like Singapore, I said. You just gave me a knowing smile and drank your latte quietly.

But I can see it now. I can see the beautiful crisp golden and brown maple leaves dancing in the gentle breeze. The maple tree looks so beautiful, and autumn is such a wonderful season to be drinking hot chocolate.

But I can't appreciate the beauty of the maple leaves; I can't taste the sweetness in the hot chocolate. Because I no longer have you by my side.


The second day

The second day of your departure, I sat alone on my couch, gazing through the glass panels at the clear sky. Then slowly, without warning, rain came. The rain was silent and gentle, but I could feel the sadness in my heart.

I remember you once said that you disliked the rain in Singapore. Like a curious child, I asked you why. You said, the rain always comes in huge spurts and in such a rough and primitive way. Oh, its always raining cats and dogs in Singapore, because we're near the equator and we’re a tropical country, I said in reply. You gave me a loop-sided grin and ruffled my hair.

How could I hear your words and not realize what they meant? How could I be with you and not be able to understand you? How could I not cherish you when I had you by my side?

I picked up the umbrella you gave me and walked out in the rain. I stopped underneath the huge angsana tree near you place. Do you remember? This was where we first became lovers. This was where I gave you my first kiss.

The rain was silent and calm, just like what you would have liked. The angsana tree was in full bloom but its leaves were trembling in the rain. As I looked up at the rain through the transparent fabric of the umbrella, I dropped the umbrella accidentally. My hand was trembling too.

As the rain came down on me, it was cold and wet, yet warm and welcoming. I stretched out my arms to welcome the rain, because it felt like you were hugging me. I closed my eyes and I could see you there, right in front of me. I felt my head lying in the hollow of your shoulder, my arms resting on your neck, and your chin on top of my head. Your warm embrace; your sweet hugs; your beautiful eyes.

But when I opened my eyes, you weren't there. The tears came but I couldn’t tell whether it was the rain drops or the tears that were on my face.


The third day.

The third day of your departure, I took leave from work because I fell ill. Maybe it was because I stood in the rain for a whole afternoon without an umbrella.

As I lay in bed, I imagined you next to me.

Remember the last time you came over, when I was down with fever? You said you couldn't just leave me at home because you said that I can't take care of myself. So you took a day off from work to cook for me.

I want to marry a chef in the future, I proclaimed with a proud smile, so that I wouldn't have to cook in the future! You cocked one eyebrow in disapproval and knocked my head with your knuckles. You lazy bum!

You cooked porridge for me the last time you came. I told you I hate porridge, didn't i? But you still cooked it anyway. Lying in bed, feeling hot and woozy, I couldn’t look at you properly. You helped me sit up so I could eat the porridge properly. When you wanted to feed me, I insisted that I could eat the porridge myself.

I know you’re a strong girl and you can do things on your own, but I want to take care of you, okay?

I gave in. It was the first time, and also the last time you fed me. But I could remember your strong, tan, long fingers holding onto the spoon, and the hot steaming porridge that warmed me from inside.

We were both young and reckless, and the future seemed uncertain. But I was sure that, I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you, because I didn’t want anyone else to take care of me. I only want you.


The fourth day

On the fourth day of your departure, as if by magic, I got well. The cold and flu left me promptly and I got better.

I went for work. My colleagues greeted me cheerily and welcomed me back to work.
Esther says I should forget about you and not think about you anymore, because you wouldn't want me to be sad. She even wanted to introduce someone to me. But I can't. I just can’t forget you.

The work was a welcome solace from all the time spent stoning at home. I plunged myself into case after case, momentarily forgetting about you and everything else. I felt numb, because my heart was no longer there. My heart was with you.

You know, you’re always on my mind. I blushed when you told me that while we were walking to the bus stop after work one day. At first, I thought you said it on purpose, just to tease me and make me feel embarrassed. But you said it with such a straight and serious face that I felt you meant every single word. That was when I started falling in love with you.

I walked alone to the bus stop after work. Somehow, the road seemed longer than usual. Maybe because you weren’t there to walk with me. And the scenery on the way to the bus stop was no longer so glorious or wonderful, because you weren’t there to appreciate it with me.

You would always wait for me at the lift, wearing your navy blue suit and carrying your black briefcase. On the way to the bus stop, you would hold my hand gently, but firmly, in your palm. Sometimes I wanted to tell you never to let my hand go.
That I would be happy just holding your hand and walking with you forever.

I sat at the bus stop, watching the buses comes and go. I turned my head to my left but you weren't there.


The fifth day

The fifth day of your departure, my mom called me. It was really nice hearing from mom, after not visiting her for so long. Her voice was mellow and comforting, like a warm blanket on a cold, rainy day.

Mom told me not to be too depressed, that things would only get better. She told me that despite your departure, you would always be in my heart; that you would never really leave me.

After she hung up, I dug out the shoebox from under my bed. I opened it and looked at all the letters you wrote to me and the photos we took together. I always criticized your handwriting, because it was always scribbled and messy. You retorted by saying that my hair was as messy as your handwriting and that you would have to live with my messy hair just like I would have to tolerate you ugly handwriting.

What an arrogant bloke you are! I thought to myself. But I was smiling.

You liked taking photographs, because you said that they captured the most true moments and memories in our lifetime. You said you liked the way I smiled naturally when you were taking the photograph. Posing for a picture seems so made up, you said, with a frown on your young face. Then you turned around and looked at me.

I like you just the way you are.

How could I forget? When it seems as though you are just right next to me...

When I sleep, I can imagine the brown sparks in your dark eyes and the wrinkles near your eyes when you smirk at me. At least, I can see you.

It always feels like you're there.


The sixth day

On the sixth day of your departure, I woke up from a good dream. But I couldn’t remember what the dream was about.

I decided to write a letter to you, so you would know that I haven't forgotten about you, that you, too, are always on my mind.

I found the fountain pen that you gave me on my birthday. You said you want me to write many, many letters to you using that pen. I took out some blank paper and started to write. I used blank paper because you said you liked it that way, simple and clean. Because fancy letter paper was annoying, you said.

I never told you, but I always thought that you were like the black fountain pen you gave me. You had a certain class about you, and you were always a cut above the rest. But you were humble, and simple and really really beautiful, in so many ways.

When I finished writing, I reread the letter again. As I reached the end, I realized that there was a huge ink blot at the end of the letter. I must have rested the pen there for too long and the ink flowed out and became a lot on the paper.

The letter seemed so perfect, except for the ink blot at the end. And my life seemed so perfect, except that you weren't there to live it with me.

The fed ex man scolded me. He said he couldn’t send anything beyond the boundaries of this earth. The postman said that I was cursing him; heaven wasn't anywhere within his reach.

Who can help me send this letter to you?

The last day


A week from your departure, I visited your grave. I brought along the letter that I wrote you and a sunflower.

You said you like the sunflower, because unlike the rose or lily, it has some bright cheerfulness and vibrant, friendly character. It is loud, brash, stubborn even. But it is beautiful. And you said you loved me because I was like a sunflower.

How I wish to tell you, that if I were a sunflower, you would be the sun. Because I want to follow you wherever you go.
I placed the sunflower on the cold marble stone and sat down next to you. I read the letter aloud to you, hoping that you would be able to hear it.

You say that, sometimes you can't help worrying about me, because I do really silly things sometimes, like dig in my bag for my wallet, when I have my wallet in one hand; or get angry at you and give you the cold shoulder just because a female colleague flirted with you.

But I do all these silly things because I love you. But you are no longer by my side. And I can never tell you any of this.

I sat next to your grave all afternoon, watching the sunset with you. I felt sure that you were there, right next to me. I could feel you holding my hand.

You used to say, that you weren't good at words, but you were a great listener.
'So you’ll talk, I’ll just listen.'

And that was precisely what I did.