Saturday, 4 August 2007 - She throws away his toothbrush

She knows she has not been able to accept the reality of the situation just yet. She has made all the plans - to live the rest of her life without him - but none of them is fully executed.

Maybe she is not yet ready, maybe she never will be. Or maybe, just maybe, she is scared that when she has accepted the reality, when she has executed all the plans, she may have no anger left for him. She may stop missing him, she may have no memory left to cherish, she may have nothing to hold on to. She will then have to accept the ugly reality, that she does not have anyone in her heart, that she is alone, and lonely.

When she thinks long and hard about it, she realises that she chooses being angry lest she has to admit to being lonely.

She needs to find a way to sever all her affairs. What she needs to do from what she is doing. What she is doing from what she is thinking. What she is thinking from what she is feeling. What she is feeling from what she remembers. What she remembers from what she knows. What she knows from what she does not know - which are his other lies. Lies that he told her. Lies that he told himself. Lies that, in truth, do not matter anymore.

‘Move on’, the mere two words that sound so urgent and doable to her brain, so familiar to her ears, alas so alien to - and a million light years away from - her heart.

Last night she asked a good friend, “how long do you think I will take before I will be able to have sex again?” Probably a year, her good friend said. A year, which sounds like forever.

Lying in bed last night she pondered on their conversation, and about sex. Even then she felt weird. To smell not his smell. To kiss not his lips. To play with not his hair. To gaze into not his eyes. To smile to not his smile. To seek comfort from not his warmth. To breathe not his breath. It would be even weirder to be touched by not his hands. To hear soft whispers from not his voice. And what more to lie naked next to not his body.

She desperately wants to ‘move on’, whatever that means. He broke her into pieces. She knows she has to collect the pieces and put them back to normal. She surrendered her heart and life to him a long time ago and she never once glanced back. Now she cannot recall how normal looks like anymore. She does not know where to begin.

All his stuffs are still there, where and how he left them. She knows, for a start, she needs to be rid of them. Slowly, she consoles herself. To lead a new life is like being a newborn again. One little move at a time.

In despair, she throws away his toothbrush.

(Crying Lady photo is borrowed from here)