death

I've never had anyone die on me before. Give up, yes, but not dying.

His funeral will be my first mourning.

Smoke, ashes, memory.

I haven't cried this hard for the longest time.

I wish funerals wouldn't be this difficult.

At the top shelf of my dressing table lies a pen knife. It was the first and last gift from him to me.

I wonder if the airport staff would allow me to carry it by hand to his mourning.

I guess not.

I know deep down in my heart he still remembers me as I mimicked an aeroplane landing with my right hand and telling him in Cantonese that we flew from KL to see him.

Two weeks ago after I visited him, I told myself I'd try to fly more often; two months once. I guess someone up there disagreed with me.

I wonder if that someone has been digging deep in my thoughts, and following my dreams about him.

I'm sorry I wasn't there.

[music for the soul: death - white lies]