In Continuum.

Concerning Karmas Ho

I wish you bluebirds in the spring
To give your heart a song to sing
And then a kiss, but more than this
I wish you love

This is a random memory of my childhood.

I was going home from school, the weight of the school bag pulling my back down and down, succumbing to the pull of gravity. The sun above my head sure wasn't helping, scorching my skin and back like a million tiny needles pricking the surface, teasingly and almost jokingly. There I was, in my shorts and drenched uniform, dreaming about the air-conditioned bedroom and the steaming hot lunch my mother was preparing as I made my way down the pavement.

But the smell of the imaginary lunch was interrupted by a filthy smell coming from somewhere within the bushes to my left, and at closer inspection there it was: The body of a snail with its shell crushed. The slippery insides of the snail spilled out from the crushed shell, rotting under the merciless heat of the sun and attacked by flies and ants alike. It was an awful sight, somebody must have stepped on the snail by accident or worse. The only recognizable aspect of the snail were the shells, splintered and shattered into a dozen pieces, and crawling over those were hordes of hungry ants and desperate flies. I watched, intrigued, and for the rest of the day I lost my appetite.

And in July a lemonade
To cool you in some leafy glade
I wish you health, and more than wealth
I wish you love

I was reminded of that random memory this afternoon when the strong wind blew in from the bedroom window, lifting the white curtains off the sill and towards the bed, threatening to tickle my drowsy self. I was woken up by the sound of doors and windows slamming from other corners of the house, and there I was in bed halfway through a nap, with the storm gathering above my head and the curtain fluttering in the air. The howling of the wind started the moment I dragged my lazy body out of the warmth of my clean sheets and closed the windows. The air rushed into the fissures and the gaps and reminded me of the fear I had for rainy nights when I was a child, imaging ghostly spirits at the windows with their hands cupped around their mouths, howling my name in the deep nights. I was terrified of stormy nights alone in my bedroom because I was so afraid of the ghosts outside the windows. But these days, stormy days terrify me for other reasons. Not so much for the howling of the imaginary ghosts but rather the ghosts of the distant past - memories.

I was reminded of that snail all of a sudden, that one I saw when I was going home one afternoon from school, crushed and rotted. It looked like a boiling pulp of some kind, it looked like a ball of steaming mucus. It looked like a broken heart after some time, it looked like the broken heart of mine. It kind of looked like my relationship right now, broken and rotted. The ants and flies like new suitors, invading the dead corpse of my heart to salvage the love that once was. You cannot blame the flies for their hunger over the rotting flesh, for it is their instinct to love such foul things on God's good earth. Blame the feet that crushed the snail so accidentally, blame the snail for crawling across the pavement at such a bad timing, blame it on luck, blame it on everything. Or even the shell, the shell that failed to protect, the shell that failed to prevent, the shell that failed everything - me.

My breaking heart and I agree
That you and I could never be
So with my best, my very best
I set you free

I had a talk with Karmas Ho, not her real name of course. Karmas Ho recently returned from a mission trip to Malaysia, and we were talking about the interesting things that occurred to us both in the view of cultural shocks. I told her about my trip to India last year and about how it opened up my eyes to the world and the history in that country, the literal smell of the culture and the beauty of the landscapes. She told me about the dangers serving in a province dominated by local mobs and gangsters, as well as the fear of being robbed at the very street I went to less than half a year ago. She took a picture with her group of friends before Petaling Street, a place where I stayed for my backpacking trip. We had a lot of fun talking, catching up, until the inevitable.

There is a certain point of anyone's process of breaking up when you get sick and tired of talking about it. As a person with a number of close friends all around, the same stories and lines have been repeated a million times, and like a stale chewing gum there isn't a point in chewing on it any longer. As if repeating the story in my head everyday isn't enough, concerning friends come along once in a while and ask if you are doing fine, and if they can offer any help. As courtesy, I tell every single one of them about my ordeals, sometimes in brief while others in detail. But all and all, I am starting to hate myself for the repetition, going over and over about my sorrows like a broken gramophone. I hope I have a pair of feelers somehow, like the ants that scale the walls at my home's balcony. Just touch my feelers and you can download the information from my brain and feel everything without the need for anything verbal. I wish, but I can't. I'm a human, not an insect. And when my conversation with Karmas Ho inevitably shifted to that region, I was hesitant to talk to her about it at first but, I felt Karmas Ho was genuinely concerned - like any other time - and unlike LiPing who asked me on the cab ride home, I thought she needed to know.

Karmas Ho," So have you gotten over it?"
Me," I've gotten over the romanticisms, but not the disgust. I'm still immensely pissed off about everything."
Karmas Ho," Oh no, that must have been how you felt about me."
Me," Don't be silly, I couldn't bear to."

Telling it all to Karmas Ho felt - great. She is the kind of person whom you can rely on for absolutely no repercussions whatsoever. There wasn't even a hint of judgment from her, no accusations or allegations in her voice. She was there with her ears wide opened and willing to listen to your every word and read your every emotion. Like the many conversations that we had before our own story which ended in a question mark, I felt immensely comforted and grateful for her presence.

The above is an excerpt from a part of the conversation that we had, and she asked later if I felt that way about her in the past. The truth is, I truly couldn't bear to do so because her reason was - as unreasonable as it seemed back then - acceptable. It was a matter of respect for one's beliefs, and there wasn't an agreement in that department back then. As saddened and depressed as I was, there wasn't a tint of depression in my emotions back then, or frustration. Just a sense of loss perhaps, and all the "What if" and "Could be" type of questions. Ultimately, the hopes died out with time and with it went the sadness and grief. But there we were, Karmas Ho and I, talking like we used to years from then, and I am grateful how we are still friends despite everything. Seriously, after my own ordeal, I lost hope in retaining any friendly and peaceful relationship with the past love interests. But Karmas Ho rekindled that, this thing that we share between us now: Hope.

My breaking heart and I agree
That you and I could never be
So with my best, my very best
I set you free

We had our lives to lead, our stories to tell. Now that I left mine in a nasty note, you are still going on with your beautiful story and still writing. You look happy Karmas Ho, you really do. I can't tell you enough just how good you look with Jelo. The greatest aspect of you, Karmas Ho, is probably the fact that you have kept true to yourself through the years and remained the same. You are still as giggly and cheerful as ever, and you hardly typed a sentence in our conversation last night without a "Haha" at the end or a smiley of sorts. As much as I miss the times that we shared, I am truly, honestly, really happy for where you are now.

The smile on your face, earned with every true happiness in your life, is deserved. Every one of them. Don't ever let anybody shed that smile from your face Karmas Ho, because that is who you are - and who you are, is the nicest human being I have ever met. Don't ever change, despite of everything. Don't you dare.

I wish you shelter from the storm
A cozy fire to keep you warm
But most of all when snowflakes fall
I wish you love

But most of all when snowflakes fall
I wish you love.

"Sorrow is but ephemeral in the hearts of the sanguine."

--- Sara