Attachments…

“Attachments!!”

“What’s with them?” his friend asked. His eyes were very much focused onto the screen, fingers tapping the buttons in rapid fire.

“I might not wanna get so…emotionally attached anymore,” his tone was flat, with hints of absent-mindedness. He was also concentrating on the screen.

It is a newly released console game. It was rated highly for its state-of-the-art graphics and supposingly tantalising gameplay. They decided that they must not missed this new game. So they chose a day to hang out together and try it out. To see how good the game is.

So they did.

“Well, you’re bound to interact with people or some sort. You can’t escape from them…Wow!!” His friend was interrupted by his own dramatic shout. He had just lost a live.

Throwing the controller aside, he continued, “I mean, it’s unavoidable”. He now had to wait for his avatar to re-spawn. He continued to observe the screen, eyes on the re-spawn countdown timer. Every lost second caused him to itch more and more; he can’t wait to get started again.

“It’s just that being attached to people, emotionally, can be frustrating. Friends, I mean,” his friend was wearing a suspicious look. “Look, we all lead different life, each to our own aspirations, needs, and to fulfil our own purposes…DAMN!!”

Now it was his turn to be ejected from the game momentarily. He would also have to wait to re-spawn.

“Ha, just about time! I was hoping that we could team up and kick his ass again! Looks like the HERO’s gotta save the day,” taking up the controller, threw a smirk, his friend continued the onslaught, trying to take out as much enemy as possible before his partner returns.

“Even between you and I, though sharing so much in common, we don’t do things together all the time.Sometimes I want to do things together, but my friends won’t necessarily be there for me. Then I’ll get upset about all this. Attachments, disappointments.”

“What do you mean? Hey, you’re back in the game,” his friend tossed the controller towards him, continued the game saying,”You mean you don’t wanna hang out together anymore?”

“No, I’m just saying that people need their own spaces. And I don’t wanna always be the bad guy who trespass onto that space.”

“Did I do or say something that offended you?”

“No dumbass!! Well, apart from the fact that you’re in the lead now.”

At that moment, several seconds of genuine laughter erupted, taking away most of the tense, gloomy atmosphere in the room.

“So you don’t wanna expect too much from people huh??”

“Ha!! You’re dead again. Exactly,” taking up the baton from his unfortunate friend, he resumed his mission. His friend lied on his back, face sulking.

He continued, “The lower the expectations, the less harder you fall. I love being with my friends, but sometimes they just don’t need me to be there. I don’t want to ruin what’s there between us by being overly demanding. Crap!! This game is a waste of money!!”

The war zone image in the interface vanished. Instead, the words “GAME OVER” flashed on the screen, with images of blood and gore decorating it.

“You shouldn’t have hoped for too much…” His friend gave a sarcastic laugh. He gave no reply.

Throwing himself back onto the sofa, he stared through the glass roof into the starless night, sighing,

“You wouldn’t fall if you won’t climb. You won’t lost any if you never had them.”

“Then you are as good as dead,” he interjected.

“I probably am, the way things are now.”

Projected Image of Confession…

“Can we talk?”

They find this request alarming, and she felt something bad approaching. She takes a look at her friend, asking whether she could be excused and adhere to his bemusing request.

Before she could get any reply from her friend, he interjects again.

“You too, if you may. This concerns you too.”

Both their eyes reveal some sort of confusion that they cannot comprehend just yet. The fear of the approaching unknown entity begins to engulf them. They steal another glance at one another, and follows him out to the fields, where he is walking towards without turning back.

If only he could spare them the suspense, they would have enjoyed the day. It is sunny. Occasionally shades appear across the fields as the swift eastern wind blows the clouds westward. Birds are chipping around; a group of 3 little kids, probably not older than seven, running after one another, presumably playing hide-and-seek.

Why this queer feeling, she thinks. The playing children seems to remind her of something, something precious, but she couldn’t remember exactly what. Then she realises, he has stopped several feet in front of her, under the withered Willow tree. A few new shoots is growing out from one of the branches.

His expressions indicates that he is struggling for words too. Except that he appears to be torn apart for some reason, reasons that is still vague to them. She looks to her friend; they know something is amiss.

“We need to talk.”

Silence.

“I need to know something. About us.”

There is no answer. But instantly he could see that any colour that is on their faces begins to fade. How should I proceed from here, he thinks. But he is mercifully interrupted.

“It was in the past. Why mention it again?”

“I need to know for sure.”

“Can’t you just let go?” She retorts swiftly, then turns herself around, deciding not to face him.

“You have not let go, as far as I can tell.”

“I have.”

“No you don’t. You knew instantly and instinctively what’s this all about. And you,” turning to his right to face her friend, “you know what’s this about too.”

Silence.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

If there were any moment that she wished to be invisible, this is the moment. She could not muster a word, then buries her face among her hands. She starts to cry.

“Can’t you see that it’s eating her up too?” Her friend speaks for the first time, trying to defend her, so fragile and delicate. She stands between him and her, as if trying to shield her friend from this aggressive, seemingly hurtful proceeding.

“So has it been easier for me? You, you know it all. But you did not defend me.”

Immediately her face shows it all. A blend of twisted agony and guilt appears on her face.

He feels enlightened, surprisingly. After all these years, bearing a shame, a shame that is not his. Bearing the mark of an offender, an act committed in the name of friendship and love, paying for a crime wrongly pronounced onto him. But this is still far from over.

He is happy, some part of him, knowing that his instincts are true. For a certain period of time he began to doubt his own judgement, and blames himself for what has happened. Now he knows, the mistake is not his.

But he feels disappointed too. That the truth is not totally owned up to him. That her friend did not defend him, though knowing what really happened. That she, she herself never admitted her mistakes.

Then it appears to him that one of the children is crying loudly. He does not know why. They might have been fighting over some feeble things. A child throws a punch at the other. As the punch landed perfectly onto the child’s cheek, he falls backwards. How ironic, he thinks, this is just child’s play.

But it takes a lot of courage to do what he intends to do. He wants revenge, but knows that vengeance is not his. He knows he must forgive, but God, he thinks, I didn’t expect it to be this hard. He can no longer hold his tears back; it flows like a gentle stream downwards his face. He makes no effort to wipe them as the wind gently dries his skin.

He turns around and takes a piercing look at them. She is hugging her arms, while her friend is holding her hands across her mouth. Neither says anything. At that moment, nothing matters anymore. It is, finally over. He walks past them in the middle, as how he once walked into them. The overdue bond has been broken. There is nothing left between them. He stops just about a earshot away, saying “I forgive you, both. And I’m sorry too”, he walks away after uttering these words silently.

As he walks away, she drops herself onto her knees, sobbing loudly. The only words audible among her cries are “sorry, sorry.” As for her friend, she is staring blankly onto the horizon. At one point she turns and look at him, thinking that she caught him saying something, though unsure of it.

The children have stopped playing their game. One is walking out of sight, one hand caressing his injured cheek,  visions of him gradually obscured by the thick hedge. The other two are standing rigidly, as they observe their friend walks away.

Do you know?

“Do you know?”

“Know what?”

Would you feel that intense longing that I feel for you? If I think about you hard enough, would you know? If I dream about you in the night, would you, half a globe apart, think of me too?

If I close my eyes, while walking in town, or eating, sitting, standing, listening to the melodramatic Chinese pops, would you stand before me? If I were to sing a song now, bid the winds to deliver them to you, would you be able to listen to the whispers of my heart?

“Know if you know.”

What if I look at your picture, would you feel it if I stare hard enough into your motionless eyes? Or when my fingers caress your face, could you feel its warmth? If I think of you hard enough, would you heed my call?

Or is it because at the moment you think of me, that I would think of you? Could it be that when you say your prayers, and pray for me, that I come to think of you? Or is it that when you walk, stand, eat, sit or listening to songs that remind you of me, that I could feel it?

“I don’t know if you won’t tell me properly.”

“You’ll know if you know.”

Lunch Break…

“Do you know, or have any idea, of when is the loneliest moment one could have?”

It has been almost a month since she last seen him. They are the best of friends, having known each other since high school. But lately, each of them have been tied down by their respective commitments. She has been working hard to justify her employer’s faith in promoting her to become the department leader. As for him, rumours has it that he has recently acquired a new girl friend.

“What?? After so long the first thing you ask is this??” He could barely supress his chuckle, then runs his palm across his face, hiding his laughter with his head thrown backwards.

She gives no reply but a smile on her face, still focusing on him, as if trying to read his mind.

He then goes on to unwrap his lunch: a chicken sandwich. He takes out the first slice, pauses, then say, “Probably…during the night? I mean, when it’s all quiet and silent. Sometimes I would just think of crazy stuffs. Can’t help it…”

She can't follow what comes next as his chewing impedes his speech. She takes a gulp of her coffee, now looking towards the open sea. The sea breeze masks the scorching heat of the summer sun. This mixture of hot and cold blends perfectly, too perfect for anything or anybody, she thinks.

He probably won’t understand how she feels at the moment. She thought the same , that the loneliest time of the day is when she’s in her bed, quiet and solemn. It is then thoughts about him comes to life, thoughts she tries so hard to supress by her sheer determination and commitment towards her career.

But she realises, it isn’t that simple.

He is now stuffing the second slice of sandwich into his mouth, but his eyes are focused onto the interface of his mobile. It must be her message, she assumes, nobody could make him work when he is taking a rest. Suddenly she is jealous of her; jealous that she could capture his heart to that extent.

Sensing no reply from her, he prompts, “So when’s the loneliest time of the day?” He looks into her eyes, but fingers still firmly grasping his phone. She looks at his hands, those strong hands she wished she could put hers into.

She looks up, wanting to answer him. But he is now busy with his mobile again. How would he understand, she thinks, one in his shoes would never know. The fact that a girl likes a man so much that she’s willing to spend all her time with him, if possible. The fact that a girl is so thrill to have the boy she likes to share lunch with. The fact that despite having his body sitting next to her on a bench facing the sea, blessed with blue skies and cool breeze, yet his mind, is miles away with a different girl that he loves.

She can’t bear to break his concentration; his face glows and cherishes the tiny little messenger in his hands with great affection. She feels her hands tremble, the coffee in her hands almost dropped. Immediately she holds it with both hands.

“It is now”, she says very silently, yet wishing him to hear her, “now is the loneliest time of the day.”