MIB Days, Circa 2008
We were all laughing and making jokes. Not having a care, well just a little bit, if we’re disturbing people in the other room and in the hallway. It’s been quite a long time since we hanged out together. But there he was, on the bed, laughing with us. The love of his life next to him. I wonder what she must be feeling about everything. I wonder what it must feel like to be in her place. I wouldn’t want to be in her place. He, on the other hand, has always been like that. The strong one, caring more for the people he loves, even though everyone’s worried about him.
The mood was happy, laughter filled up the room.
But me, I was anxious. Ever since I got a phone call from him two months ago. When he told me that he has a tumor. How when we had coffee and how fascinated he was of the slides of his scans, explaining to me the details. He’s always been like that, always curious and always open to new knowledge. From that ‘light’ mood when I asked him what kind of friend he wants me to be – the normal me who cries easily and worries, or a person who’d be strong for him and think with him practically, logically – what the next step would be in this whole process of determining whether it’s the big C or not. From more coffees and phone calls after that. From that phone call when he just cried, and I couldn’t do anything.
I had plans of going to Singapore and try looking for a job there. But during that month, I was already having second thoughts especially when I took a business trip in Hong Kong and discovered what my life could be in Singapore. And I honestly didn’t want it anymore. But when he told me about his situation, I knew I wanted to stay here for that. I wanted to reach out not just to him, but to my other friends. Their stories and their lives that I’ve been missing out on ever since I left for the Big Trip in 2011. I knew we were all leading separate lives already, but I wanted to reach out to those that truly matter. We may not see each other that often anymore, but I still wanted to be a part of their lives, and them in mine.
It was already late and it was time to leave. He also has to rest for his surgery the next day. I vividly remember that moment when I hugged him and I looked back at him as I was about to leave the room. I guess this is how it feels like to have that fear, and that desperate feeling of hoping that you’d still see a person the next day. It wasn’t just about hoping and praying that it’s not the big C, it wasn’t just about that anymore. It’s about the fear of losing someone. Someone important in your life. Someone who’s always been there for you for so many years. I felt that fear for the first time. And I was scared.
I never really tell people about this, even our close friends because I want all of us to be strong for him. But writing about it, it’s a form of release.
I’m so relieved and so happy that I get to see you this weekend. I’m so happy it’s benign. I know it’s still a long way ahead of you and Irene, I know there’s still the treatment. But know that we’re all here for you both. I know you’ll fight whatever is left remaining, your strength and your faith is stronger than that anomaly in your body.
For now, we pray for your fast recovery.
I’ll bring more dvds like you requested. And we’ll bring more cakes you can feast on. ;)
And to you who’s reading this? Try to reach out to the people who matter. Spend as much time with them, not just on facebook or texts or phone calls, try to see them in person. Life can change in a second. And NOW is always the time to cherish moments with the people you love.
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