i last spoke with him on the phone on monday. he died on friday.
i did not hug nor kiss him when i first saw him lying there. it just did not seem right because i only said hello pa whenever we came to visit him when he was still alive.
i went and touched his hand though and looked at his sleeping face. this was the first time in a long time i looked at him more than just a few seconds. it was probably the first time ever.
and i wondered, no i asked, in my head. he should be able to hear my thoughts now, right? well, yeah, so i asked him how he felt. how it felt.
it rained very hard this afternoon. i was still waiting for the taxi at the university lobby. it was particularly busy today. and i could hear people talking about it–staffs passing by, students shouting to each other, lecturers talking to their phones–like it was something that could give meaning to whatever they have been doing all day or are about to do when suddenly the skies turned grey and started to pour. i could feel that i had gradually let myself be sucked in again to the very life that suspended itself to routines. nothing could go wrong when we keep doing them. but the rain kept pouring still.
stillness. it keeps repeating itself. like an old friend, visiting at a bad time.