CG1/DT35

Disclaimer: please read this series of posts starting from EW29, then backwards.

A diversion, a fork in the road. Or mouths that the river will split into during his infinite journey.  Like how I was yours the whole time, just a distraction to get you by, something to pass the time until you could finally leave for the outside world.

Here is a station that everyone easily forgets. Nobody comes here on the weekdays, or when there are neither sales nor food exhibitions. You wouldn't come anywhere near yourself, unless I dragged you to a book sale.

In 2015 I went to a few without you; with my best friend who stayed by my bedside during the abortion, by myself when you were in camp. With my cousin, when you had other friends to entertain one weekend.

But my favourite day with you here was Labour Day 2016, when I still had my you, me, and the cat t-shirt that is missing today. You know about my strong memory, but how does it happen? How do these days stick to my head like they were just twenty-four hours ago?

It's easy, just use your senses. I remember the popcorn stand we walked by, which you couldn't resist. I swear I can still dig out some of the kernels that got stuck in my teeth. I remember the weight of all the books in the basket, which you made me put down and choose only ten.

The pictures: of you and the black and white cat, on that field by the mall near home. The huge plastic bag of books was resting on the bench behind me when I shot that, you in your dirty green t-shirt.

Your Snapchat of you and I, where you stuck out your tongue and I scrunched up my face; your caption, words on the banner spelling out balik yayy. Bring me on the train back to Tanah Merah again and I can show you which part of the route you snapped it.

But I don't want to go on the tracks this time. Stay in the hall with me, the rows and rows of books that excite me and irk you.

You know, sometimes this kinda warehouse sales got treasures.

I already found the treasure.

You got bored eventually, and when I didn't budge from your nagging and hurrying, you walked away. You went to the corner of the hall where a big piece of paper was laid out on the floor, for kids to doodle on for entertainment.

That scene of you looking over the railings and turning back towards me sticks for some reason. I was watching you, ignoring the stacks in front of me for a moment. It stung me some ways, about you and about the world.

At the time my depression was still growing, and I was in that in-between of finding zero worth in anything and trying too hard to be positive. I have diary entries from this time full of smiley faces and exclamation marks, but they are a contrast to the darkness that was coming on in my mind.

Just imagine: you, looking at that paper and, seeing that it's nothing of interest, turning to walk back towards me. I bet you don't even remember, What fucking paper, E'indah? But that look on your face made me so scared, I wanted to drop all the books and just hide in you.

If I could bring you back in time with me, only this time I want you to focus on my face, see the shock and fear in it. Why? I don't understand it myself. The world really scared me then, with its disabled people and lonely elderly and pathetic attempts at development.

It's hard for me to write and confess this, that I felt earthquakes just by looking at you look at paper. Imagine if I'd told you on the day itself; you wouldn't understand, you would shove it off with a sarcastic remark that would make me laugh. But I'd still go home and think about your face for the next few days, weeks, months, until now.

You're right, I have a crazy kind of intelligence.

A diversion on the green line. Like the books I drowned in to distract myself from the sad, sad world. Like the man whose hand I held to make me forget the people living in it, even when they pushed through me like I was a hologram. Expo, where pathetic exhibits breed my fear of the world.