I know it seems thirty-one days late, but I think I’m still in good time to bid 2009 a proper farewell. A fond one, hopefully.
Thirty-one days.
That’s the number of days I have spent thinking about 2009, about the events, the people, places I’ve been, things I’ve done, things done to me. About how I should close the chapter proper and say ‘bye’ with a peace sign.
I’ve read what some people wrote about 2009 in their own pages. And it seems most are eager to let 2009 go.
Me?
2009 could have been the best, or it could have not. But it almost changed my life.
Or, maybe it already has.
I don’t think I’ll forget 2009 for a while to come.
Let’s see if two-O-ten beats it.
*****
January. I remember January started off really, really bad. I remember what happened on the second day of the then-new year, that made me wish I didn’t have 363 more days to go. I thought my heart had been crumpled, my pride trampled upon. But I surprised even myself, when I made it through the following week like I had never been crushed. January also marked the first of only three trips I would make back to Singers for the whole year.
And then, January turned out to be the month where I thought I lost some, but it was also the start of something beautiful I unwittingly found.
February. One of the most painful moments of my life happened 339 days ago last February. It started really promising. Continued the merry-making with the boys, eating and drinking all over the place. We even made grand plans for a mass escapade to Hua Hin. I decided to get out of the hell-hole and embarked on a search for the better apartment. For more windows, a more photosynthesized life, and a rooftop for the kids to hang out. Found it. Fell in love with it. Decided to give it a little makeover, also as an excuse to keep myself busy.
And then, she ran away and never came back again.
My love is gone, it seems, for the rest of my life.
I cried non-stop.
March. Perhaps the start of a whirlwind that would last for almost the rest of the year. In the midst of everything, I sped up the furnishing and moving, so I could take a trip home that weekend to look for my baby. All 72 hours of running around, crying, driving, crying, pleading, crying, handing out stacks and stacks of flyers, crying, no sleeping, and more crying. Anger, sadness, pain – not the best of emotions to mix up on a weekend. Strangers called to tell me the same story over and over: that my baby was knocked down by a car, that she ended up limping in the middle of the busy highway. I choose not to believe that story. Drama-mamas, trouble-makers, shit-stirrers. Much as I wanted to hope otherwise, my 72 hours worth of efforts amounted to nothing. I took the plane back to HK, red-eyed and teary. In a few days, I would hop onto another plane and fulfill that grand escape plan to Hua Hin with my cronies. Some of the most guilt-ridden days I had to endure. And a week later, I flew further up to the most northern of China. My digits froze, my heart could just as well have died. But work kept on going. Not going back to a house where her absence would be painfully felt probably helped too. I went on with my life in HK, eating and drinking. Met Little Fat Cow for the first time. Bought my first EOS. Piper’s picture was always there right in front of me at home, but I would never dare take a glance. I merely counted days. I didn’t intend to forget. And for a while, I thought everywhere I went, everything served to remind me of her.
Then, in the last few days of March, I took the big trip up to the North of America.
Where something beautiful indeed happened…
To be continued…
