Five months later - How do you say goodbye?

I almost feel like I have a split personality disorder.
Half of me is wondering "just how good can life get?"
I smile endlessly, people catch me smiling endlessly, in Seattle, online, everywhere.
With everything that's happening around me, with all the experiences, with even Margie from Hong Kong visiting, how good can it really get?


and there is another half who is constantly in the dark, in grief, in chosen solitude.
Moments in the shower, on the way home, that huge black hole only seems to be growing bigger.

I would think that it should have healed, but looks like time is not doing its job yet. Over Skype with mum last week, I decided to bring up the topic - "Why am I still reeling from loss?"

And it turns out that im not the only one, mum and grandma still dreams of grandpa too.
I think about the space beside grandma left empty with grandpa's departure, I think about the songs he use to sing to me, I think about how he used to fetch me home from school, the scent of his cigarettes, the taste of his french toast, his husky voice telling me a story from long ago, his coffee sock, his white singlet, and most of all, his hands. His hands that once held mine, the hands that grew wrinkled and withered away. The hands I failed to hold one last time before they nailed the coffin. The hands that shaped the lives of everyone I love so dearly. He was my grandpa, he was my grandma's husband, he was ours.

Time and time again, I tell myself that urge to cry was because of pms, of eye irritation, of the cold wind, of something. But I cannot run away from the fact that I cannot fight these tears that have been lingering for the last 5 months. At any given moment, the thought of grandpa drives me mad with grieve. The images are so vivid, the degeneration of a healthy man, reduced to a bag of bones. How can I come to terms with this, the fact that I will never see my grandpa alive again. Did everyone else saw it the way I did? Did everyone remember how it was like to have had a loving grandfather? A grandfather who went out of his way to pick me up from school, to cook spinach the way I liked it, the grandfather who got frustrated with me when I interrupted his story telling sessions, who loved me enough, just enough, for it to hurt so much even after 5 months.


and I think about how everything about him is now written in past tense.

The arrival of spring, and many things else.

You had me at Hello.


TWO DOOR CINEMA super close proximity concert.


X's 2nd long delayed package.


Spur moment bangs (look how media law bores me.)


Images cannot sum up how full of happiness is residing in my heart.

Trump Card.

The scariest thing is always when we find out how to hurt each other the deepest. Because then we'll find it so easy, so convenient to play that card.

Jittery.

Can I really snuggle up in the safety of your embrace? Let it all go, and do a free-fall?