// 07 January 2018 - Geylang, Singapore //
Just when the bottle of cheap Champagne that I grabbed in the grocery store along the Sims Avenue was emptying, here came an e-mail from Manila. The boss, or in other words my sister, Yvonne, didn’t accept my resignation and instead offered I’ll be transferred to an oversea office in Kuala Lumpur—an extension of our family business, and my father’s birth place.
The company logo in the response letter carved deeper and deeper in my chest, got my breathing heavier and heartbeat faster more than the buzz of alcohol. And the new city, I was offered to go, it was where Ethan and I uttered it all together. Those promises. Plans of the future. And family.
Under the Petronas Twin Towers, then two hearts pulsated as one. Now, I wonder why love could be this cruel to me. How could I work as Marketing Head again if I, myself, couldn’t hold my head up and pull myself together.
I am not ready to launch a new me. And carry on a job that demands a lot of energy. At this very moment, I am a dead soul about to escape my physical body. I feel lost. About to succumb to despair that knows no real antidote.
***
// 08 January 2018 - Hotel near Soekarno-Hatta International Airport, Jakarta, Indonesia //
I dreamed of Ethan after arriving here in Jakarta, a side trip before Jeffrey joins me in Bali tomorrow. In my dream, Ethan was in his perfect tuxedo and bow tie.
And now, fragmented memories crashed me in like a tidal wave. I suddenly missed his freshly shaved beard, and the smell of his musk perfume after bath.
I could still hear his whispers in my ear, as he motioned over me, and took me to a magical place. Till now, I ache for that place. It was our own paradise, where only him and I were allowed to visit.
I am too absorbed with the past that I neglected to face the reality, the reality that he is now at the other side of the world. London, I heard.
It’s hard to let go when there’s still a part of him that remains inside of me. His smile, his touch, his smell—everyday they haunt me.
Sometimes, I wonder if it was my fault. Sometimes, I wonder if I wasn’t satisfying enough to fill in his pleasures. A decade with him, I thought I’ve always known him. Little did I know he was not always as he was. He had tales to hide. Lies to tell. How would I know then? For I was always this person with a certain level of passion. Everything I do now, every decision I make should have nothing to do with him now. I should be on my own now. Alone. In this less-traveled hotel in Jakarta.
***
// In the evening - The same hotel in Jakarta, Indonesia //
The sun finally settled in the west, and the golden glow beneath the dense clouds already faded into darkness.
I’ve been gawking at the sunset through the hotel window. Standing. Lost in my own thoughts. And the simple motions of life passing me by.
Yet a thousand of questions clamored still to be asked. Somewhere between the aches and pains, I began to question where I left my old self. That warm mestiza her friends used to look up to. Merged by western and eastern beauty by blood. Embraced with wealth and glitters at birth.
I longed to call my sister and find ease in her soft dreamy voice. Instead it was Ethan’s old messages that popped into view. Even my own cell phone betrayed me at this moment and conspired with the universe to make the misery even more difficult to bear.
Tonight, I hoped the capital city of Jakarta would be my friend and psychiatrist, too. I left the hotel and headed out for a quick walk. It’s better off this way than sinking on the edge of the bed thinking of how fool I was.
Jakarta was aglow at night, filled with diverse sounds and vendors across the busy streets and alleys. And the people—who I could tell have been working for hours—they spoke to each other with words I could not understand, although the words like "beli" and "lima" were similar to Filipino—the former meaning buy and the latter denoting the number, five.
Normally, in a new city, I go clubbing or attend exclusive parties by foreign affiliates, or acquire some paintings and precious stones, with Ethan by my side but…
Tonight is different, and I could still cry knowing Ethan’s arms are no longer here for me to cling to and warm me throughout the night.
Teardrops fell uninvited as I struggled to dismiss him from my thoughts. I pressed my eyes hard, hoping the pressure would stop the twinge. But all the while, thoughts about him went from one memory to another—rage after another—till I got lost in this narrow sidewalk filled with bargain handmade goods and dynamic people.
An elderly woman, selling in this particular stall, was cheerful and inviting, something that calmed my thoughts momentarily. There was this various collection of exquisite traditional fabric, beach sarong, which I realized I could use in Bali beach tomorrow.
I went through the displayed items, flipped one textile and another, and was deeply amazed by the fine craftsmanship this country is well-known for. For a moment, this sidetracked my longing for Ethan.
“Good quality. My daughter and I dyed them,” said the woman in fragments, searching for the right English translation. Her watery eyes and laugh lines told so she was likely in her seventies. She sounded so full of zest I almost wished I had the same vigor in life.
“Here, this white sarong is good for you,” the woman recommended, positioning the textile in front of me to prove that it suited me. There was a floral design in it, finely woven. There’s no denying it was the best selection in the shop.
I smiled graciously to her after handing me the white floral textile and declined to take the change. I wanted to give her the rest of the Rupiahs because the fabric deserved more than the price offered.
Softly, the woman smiled back, feeling more grateful, and I could only bestow her a simple hand on the heart. I see in this moment that no matter how life seems to be unkind, there could still be something to anticipate and be thankful for. Even in little ways.