Bottom's Up//Let's Drown

They said we’re shaped into His likeness. But I don’t quite get why. We’re the most appalling creatures; entirely unworthy of that description. And what right do I have to say that? Whatever courage or sense of mystery I used to have became nullified when she asked.

“Why?”

I admit I was a nervous wreck. Even before that, in the most pathetic attempt to cover my ass, I’ve practiced saying the inevitable. But at that moment, that hundredth of a second, my mind refused to conspire.

“Uh, I’ll never tell why.”

The phone vibrated,

“Irritating.”

And I turned the phone off.

...

It’s pathetic I know, but pretty much this is how denial goes. I took a walk down the aisles, looking and deciding on a drink to drown my sorrows in. It's not the most difficult choice to make you see. Same bloody shit, just different labels. I can pretty much classify these everyday sights into 4 broad categories, alcohol, juices, dairy or sodas (mineral, even if it sparkles shouldn’t be that drink).

“I’m such an idiot!” As if on cue, the phone vibrated.

I shook a random can. Agitate it so as to use a better term. When shit happens, when the situation precedes our wishes, people in particular get agitated to such a phenomenal level that their mastery of the mind falters and pretty much the human fight/flight response kicks into overdrive. Mine’s flight. Hopefully that’s not indefinite. But hey, I don’t have ichor running the machineries of this disease ridden body.

...

I sat, accompanied by some homeless guy, watching the city get ready for the night. Tired faces, stench rising of ammonia rising each time the toilet light flickers on. Cigarette smoke accompanying us like it’s an offering to our misery. Pasir Ris at night, there’s so much to see. But it’s not for me. And the wind smells like rain.

“Uncle, I’m curious. Why are you here?”

“Why you ask? Your business meh?”

“No. I’m just asking.”

The conversation wasn’t pretty. But I got what I wanted, a listening ear. And with that, he pretty much blurted out his sob story.

...

He would row out to sea, but these days the engine would suffice. Pretty much he lives off it.

But God does not play dice; he choked on a fish bone. And as he claimed, he laid there dying. Until someone, something helped him.

“Why don’t you be careful next time?”

He claimed it was an angel. But then I’d never know.

...

Cigarette smoke, it’s like an offering. To misery, to the doctor, we contribute to the economy, contribute to statistics.

I wonder. In the old man’s story, he had his angel. When will God give me mine? As I lay thinking, there was this annoying, incessant knock on the door. I looked at the time. It’s time for my medication again. I shook the bottle of cough syrup. It’s nice how this makes you drowsy; makes you forget everything.

Then it happened. All these while, I was trying to knock of heaven’s door. All these while, when Life shook my can up, I didn’t blow. All these while, heaven was knocking on my door, calling me. And I was there, just ignoring it. I walked towards the door.

And there she was, the Angel at my doorstep.

“Eat your medicine.”

“Okay Ibu.”

“As for guys I think they will be more protective towards moms’ when they start to see how vulnerable they are. For girls, I think the feelings they have towards their moms change as they get older, their relationship too. Like when we were younger we run to them for everything even then we take them for granted since a mother's love is easily available, we chase after fathers' love because that’s not easily given to us. Then we hit puberty and we start hating our moms, resenting them even. But slowly, we realize we are a lot like our moms and that’s why we fought with them so much. –Khine.”

We often forget, there’s always someone there for us and we feel depressed when things go wrong for us. We don’t always remember. But our mothers have always been there for us, when we’re sick, when because of a girl we forsake our mothers. For me, my mother, and this story is for my Angel. My mother