letter to heaven.5
April 18, 2015 § Leave a comment
It’s been a while since I’ve written to you. In fact, it’s been a while since I’ve written anything of worth. I miss you a lot. I was imagining addressing you in poetry, but I’m afraid my thoughts are all in prose. Rhymeless prose. The only song in my head when I think of you is the last song you ever heard.
I finally asked Ama that question that I’ve always wanted an answer to. It was a selfish question that I could not bring myself to ask for quite some time until after you passed away. But I wanted an answer, and I wanted it in words. I asked him if you missed me when I was away.
You see, I know there’s an obvious answer to that, but there’s a difference in answering my own questions to someone else answering them for me. Especially when the question is independent of me, but whose answer I am dependent on. He told me you were always crying and you thought that you’d never see me again. To say that I felt a pang of guilt is an understatement. Yet it was a stark contrast to the neutral, brave front you always showed me whenever you called me in Skype. Sometimes I recall you with silent longing – a memory that performs a brief waltz in my head. Sometimes it’s in the middle of the night when I wake up in tears – succumbing to the treachery of my dreams. Sometimes, it is exactly as now – when tears still well up from my eyes and all that can comfort me is writing. Truly, there is nothing like going home to a mother, to a mom, to a nayoti, to a naychi, to a baby buddha – to half of everything that stood for all the past and present and future strength I had, have and will ever have. When the going gets tough, it’s easier to be tough and get going if you know your parents have your back. I miss knowing I have someone to tell my fears to, without being embarrassed about it. Ironically though, I rarely did that with you. In truth, we operated with a constant buffer to maintain emotional normality. If I count the number of times we both broke down in tears at the same time, I can only even remember two. The times I broke down, you always consoled me with your firm trust and resolve. The times you broke down, I always encouraged you to have faith and stand right back up. But I always believed that you felt my thoughts and knew my feelings. You probably just denied me of the superficial comfort derived from wallowing in self-pity; and wisely at that. It’s how I learned to follow suit. But now when I find myself breaking down, it’s hard for me to look for the same solid ground that you always made sure I stood on. I’m stuck in this limbo looking for you. Floating among old memories and flashbacks. Immobile and overwhelmed with an inconsolable loneliness. It is a brief paralysis, but it is a stroke of reality.