by Chris Fok

Created on: January 23, 2009   Last Updated: February 03, 2012

I thought of you again on that ash baby blue Wednesday.

Getting up, I always expect to first hear your soft breathing by my side. But I'm alone. My mind makes fast explanations for your disappearance: you are at the bathroom getting ready for work, or you might already be out the door with a piece of bread in your mouth as you furiously stab the lift button. But then I realize you haven't slept by my side in weeks. You worked as a stylist consultant in Ocean Towers, 'dressing up the tweeds' as you liked to call them. You had an uncanny gift for remaking the image of the person, but also highlighting what needed to be seen as well. You used to boast about how your clients went on to clinch big deals, in the smart suits you bought, and how they sent you jewelry as 'thank you' gifts, because you knew that they didn't know what else a girl would like. You were changing the world in your own way, you used to say, as you skipped off to work out the front door.

You never bought clothes for me though, said it would spoil whatever sense of self I already had. Whatever did you mean by that? Did I not dress well enough for your liking? Or did I not have the self-respect and patience required to keep myself from going under your fashion tirades of the poor wardrobe choices Singaporeans made. I do wonder now, sometimes, if all those one-sided conversations were a nudge at me to do something about my dress sense, if that was the reason you left me in the first place.

That is a joke, I never want to be told to my face.

Do remember of those hugs on an ordinary day, or the time I slipped out a meeting to be with you on the stairs for your friend's death. Maybe not just the giving's that you deserved, I gave you my heart in small ways as well; like packing your breakfast before I woke you up for work, or leaving the toilet seat up, even throwing a few packets of tissue into your purse because of your runny nose. I could keep on taking out these things I've quietly stowed away but... I'm going to be late so I tuck away that argument with the ghost of you, grab a slice of bread and walk out the door.

I kept thinking of you on the train, brushed up against the other collared workers, imagining it was your body pressed against mine. My hands contouring your back, and you shuddering close. I could almost smell the nape of your neck: that powdery fragrance, lily of the valley, you so copiously put on before you leave the house.

I catch a glimpse of auburn hair three people away and

• 1
• 2
• 3
• 4
• 5
• 6
• Next Page >>