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Tuesday, April 12, 2016

Somewhere over the rainbow

Can't get you out of my mind. Why. Should have known this day would come since you were first diagnosed with Stage 4. Should have been better prepared, should have tried harder to meet you, should have called you or Shu the moment you stopped looking at whatsapp.

Didn't do any of that. Was too busy with life and the whole routine of living which consists of kids, work, household stuff and CEB. Your death has made me question what life is about, and it should be no surprise that my productivity at work these two days has been shite. Thankfully it is somewhat of a lull period but it's ironical that as I prepare for the first trial in over 10 years, you, the first person I worked on a trial with, are gone. You, the person who would have enjoyed the fight and high of this trial, are at rest.

When I was driving home yesterday after a most unproductive afternoon at work (I was writing the previous entry, reading your blog and my blog which refers to yours), this song "Somewhere over the rainbow" came on the radio. It's the first time I have heard it on the radio. I thought you might be trying to say something. It also rained this morning as I drove to work, but it was bright and sunny yesterday morning when you were cremated. There is a belief that when it doesn't rain at the time of burial/cremation, the person is happy to go. And you must have been. No more tests, discomfort, pacing, struggles. You really must have wanted to go in the end, and so you did. You proved even in your final moments, what you had always believed in and lived by "Gotta hit it with your mind".

Used to say that to me all the time to encourage me. No matter what my struggles were. You called me your muse, diamond eyes and a capybara. But you were always there. You see, I'm having a real problem with you being gone because you aren't there anymore. We had this agreement, that if we were both unmarried at 40, we would marry each other. You turned 40 a month ago unmarried and then you died. Not that we could have been married anyway but my point is that you aren't there. And friends are supposed to be. Even with your diagnosis, it seemed impossible that you would actually just die so quickly and leave all the living who loved you behind. Though we didn't meet so very much in the last 2 years, I was safe in the knowledge that you would always be there. And when we met you didn't want to talk so much about the cancer. You didn't want pity, you wanted to live. Celebrate life. Life to you (and me, before marriage) was a great adventure.

With that amount of brilliance, your mind yearned for more and sometimes it seemed to me you were inextricably bound to your struggles because without the struggles, your mind would be just too restless to tame and you would just implode. We were good together, so good as friends - I could count on you to be there, when I needed you. And now you are gone. I won't ever dial your hp number again, I won't message or whatsapp you ever again. I'll tell you what - I'm going to print together a file of pictures of our times together - pictures, texts, whatsapp and that's going to be something I grow old with. One of the little treasures that I hoard through the years and that's how you are going to stay with me. I can't lose you like that. I can't accept the fact I'm not going to get another text from you saying meow, or you pulling me close to ruffle my hair and demanding a hug. Or accept the fact that the phone won't ring any longer - you used to call me so often on my office phone. It's all quiet and this silence is deafening and pounding,

Can you come visit me sometimes in my dreams? I always thought that there would be plenty of time for us. For friendships. For when the kids grow up and become more independent. Or after our last phone call, that you would still be hanging on and going in and out of hospital. I even told you about the oxygen masks and all, and you said you didn't want that. Heck, you even had the strength in the last call to grouse about Shu and her Korean movies, and also about your mum. How would I know that less than a month later you would be dead.

We ran out of time so abruptly. So used to your melodrama, I never believed you meant it when you said you might just want to stay at home and wait till the end. Should have called you daily, should have gone to your house, should have reached out to Shu to find out where you were. But I know why I didn't - it wasn't what you wanted and you said so in such clear terms.

I will see you again at your niche but until then, come visit me in my dreams.

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