On the morning she passed, I kept my smile on. I met Cherry barely 20mins after the news, we both giggled, unsure of how to bear the weight of loss so dear and so near. We spent the day doing things that she loved to do, things that we loved to do with her. We ate macdonalds, we watched sitcoms, lounged a lot, and laughed needlessly.
When evening rolled around, I refused to read the numerous eulogies that people wrote for her. I refused to write a letter to her (at her sister's request). You see, I am a lover of words. I don't pride myself on being a wonderful writer, but the written word is special to me, and I believe that it was special to her too. While I love writing letters and cards and notes, I could not bear to address anything to her knowing that she would never read it. It hurt me to think that words of love would not reach the loved one, and what a precious loved one she is! She, the one who loves whales and is terrified of moths - so terrified she once yanked my bag apart in effort to get us both away from a moth-impersonating leaf. She, who didn't like Mandarin classes but would happily sing Jay Chou songs with me at kbox. She, the one who loves sashimi and would convince me to order overpriced plates myself because it was too wonderful to miss.
I remembered with a start that I had sent her a tweet a week prior to her passing, not realising that she would've been already unable to reply at that point. I wondered if I would've done things differently if I had known. Right now, I'm not sure it's necessary for me to know.
I'm still not going to write a letter to her. I don't have to. I take comfort because I know that she loves me, and I know that she knows that I love her dearly. So so dearly. I cannot be angry and I cannot ask for her to stay if it is time for her to go home. I've already had more time with her than I could ask for.
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