459: go forth

How long has it been? Every time it seems you get weaker and weaker. It is not enough yet, to just go. I wish that somehow I could tell you that this too will pass, but my Cantonese is not good enough, and I know that it is not true. All I can do is talk to you, stay with you, make you laugh for a while. Maybe that is all you need, and time. But all 95 years have gone by, and maybe you think that you have already had all the time in the world. I want to tell you there are people who love you, though you are old and weak, though you are useless. That love is what keeps the rest of us going, in the hope that when we are your age, other people too will love us the same way. I know that in the middle of the night when no one is around, you lie half-awake through the medication and think about how long your life has been, and how it is already long enough. But above all things, there is someone watching over you, as there is for all of us, and there must be a reason you are still here. You’re a fighter, and we will fight with you. 


458: the well of lost plots

You could think about all the ways this could have ended. But at the end of the day, the road never leads to wherever you want it to go. There are routes planned, ways to end. I keep imagining a highway running all the way down the hill, you driving the car down the slope, a vision of the city appearing beyond the horizon. Like the world is before you, and everything is possible. Then you drive all the way to the bottom only to realise that nothing can be done. You always think there is a chance at reconciliation before you remember that the anger is more than the heartbreak.

How does it end? Will it end? Does someone have to give in? Could it be that, after coming full circle, to where it all began, things will still never be the same? There are too many stories about walking the long way only to realise that what you wanted was right in front of you. But at the end of the day, even to cross the road is difficult, and is a lifetime apart.

When the night is dark, it is painful to realise that, perhaps, you are the only one that wishes things were different.