November 8, 2006


This very first entry is dedicated to Gat. Whoever he is, let this story begin and end in itself.

I do not have your shirt you gave me to sleep with anymore. I think my mother dumped it with the other clothes she gave as charity to the auntie next door. Or probably, if it was fortunate enough, it was made as a magic duster to serve my mom's furniture or was to keep our floor as untouchable every morning. But most presumably, just like all the drawings you painted while I sat down watching you, they faded.

We were meant to fade. And that moment you last waved at me while you boarded on that craft and slowly went off, I knew I will never turn my back. Never..
LIES. Your eyes held all the regrets you wish you could undo. My breath was held like it wouldn't take me back to life because you were at the upper hand of everything between us. I cannot shout nor slap you for a reason. You were given to me not at the right timing. And that was enough for absolution. You gave me a lesson and with that I must be grateful.

I was told that you went back to the life you promised to shun away. That the bits and pieces killing you in the night were back in your palms. I wish I could do more. I can only curl down in my bed and wish you good.


It doesn't pinch me anymore. And the drawings you once painted in my room wall were now scrapped off and was repainted plain. I cannot recall how exactly they looked like but I know somewhere the paintings you have started, even before you started painting for me, are more colorful and promising.

**image from