Touched By The Angel

Wednesday, October 11, 2006

She's still there, somewhere, he knows for certain

His head was throbbing this morning, it took every ounce of his self-control not to throw up, that'd be much too embarrassing.

He did not manage to make it home last night, yea the "drink, don't drive" slogan had worked its magic even before Anonymous_X had posted that reminder. So when her friends started leaving the cafe she owned, he sat in the corner, lost in his own stupor. Until someone approached him and offered him a lift.

But he was hesitant about spending some 20 minutes alone in the company of another man who too had given his heart to his Sparks. To put it bluntly, he was jealous as hell, and that emotion was most senseless at this point. He stared at the man who remained standing there, looking expectantly and kindly at him. Hell! He always lost the battle with kindness.

He stumbled to his feet, declining the additional offer of assistance. If he can drink, he can jolly well walk. The other man shrugged his shoulders and smiled: "Hey, you shouldn't feel lousy about this, you know. We all get drunk sometimes, it's not a big deal. Baby'd have a fine time teasing you about it if she can."

He shot the man a glare, thinking it'd silence him, but the man continued: "Baby would've tsk-ed tsk-ed at your action tonight. She'd not want anyone of us, especially those she loved to be this upset."

"Will you f**king stop talking about her in the past tense?! She is still here with us and I'm not going crazy, just in case you're about to say that! So, please, stop referring to her as if she is an item of the past, for crying out loud! Damn it!"

Yes he's completely screwed up this time. For one, the man facing him, on another occasion, at another time, in someplace else, would've been a much-revered contact. Or, as his editor'd call him, an important newsmaker.

It was a silent journey. It didn't occur to him at first, until some 10 minutes later to ask: "Do you know where my apartment is?"

No, said the other man. "But I was thinking you might wanna join me for a drink at one of Baby's favourite holes."

He knew where that was. The place she fondly named TUP, which means "the usual place". It was one that used to be frequented by the scribes, their spot to unwind. He had always wanted to ask her how she'd stumbled across it, but he never had the chance. Guess he'd never know now.

So there they were, two grown men, each lost in their private thought, however connected that thought was between them, mourning the loss of the same woman who had touched their hearts in such a way that there was no turning back.

They spoke very little to each other, their only exchanges were the times when they recognised the occasional song she loves.

Begrudgingly he found a new respect in the other man, when he was invited to spend the night in her lovely home. They lit the candles in her favourite spot, the reading corner, before sleep took over.

And this morning when he was about to leave her home, he saw these words, framed together with a photo of Sparks standing against the light of dusk in New York City. In her arms was a huge bouquet of her favourite flowers, tulips in shades of pale orange.

The words read: "It was dusk, that strange, almost mystical interlude when light and dark are perfectly balanced. Within moments the soft blue would be transformed by the fiery colours of sunset. Shadows were lengthening; the birds were quieting. Oh, how I love the musk of dusk."

It unsettled him tremendously, for he recalled what he had written in the latest entry of DW's Amongst Other Things.

Thus he knows for certain, she is still there, somewhere.

Tuesday, October 10, 2006

The bad news he received a month ago

Today is going to be one long day, for everyone who loves his Sparks. And when the night falls, emotions are going to run high and hopefully, there will be someone for everyone who is mourning. He will be drinking himself silly by tonight. The good thing of course is he does not have to report for work tomorrow morning, he had pre-empted that by applying for a two-day leave last week.

Today marks a month since she made up her mind to leave everyone and everything behind. He knows the decision must've caused her much pain; she is not one to give up on life so easily. Not even when she was lying in a local hospital in a coma sparked off by her failing heart. Ahh, that was a medical condition that could be left in the hands of the learned professionals to save, which to a certain extent, they did.

Until a callous line broke that already-fragile heart of hers. She almost did not want to believe it when she first heard it, she shared with him. She had wished it was a line of miscommunication, that perhaps someone was beside the other man when he said what he had. She said: "I had prayed somehow this was not true, not after all we have shared with each other. Not when I know some of his most intimate details, not when he has shared with me some of his deepest secrets. I just find it impossible to believe that he would say all that. Didn't he know it will break my heart? Didn't he care?"

The other man had hurt her terribly, and she never recovered from that pain. It was that air of wistfulness that had struck MOTM at the gala dinner in Sydney when they had met. It was not their first but his loins had stirred, he is a little ashamed to confess now.

He was bored that night and as she had correctly identified, he was also uncomfortable about attending such events and would probably have skipped it if he had not been on assignment. Then he spotted this special woman kick off her shoes and playing with her toes, totally oblivious to the disapproving stares her chaperone was shooting. He watched her for some 30 minutes, drinking in her every little action while he searched his sometimes failing memory to put a name to that face.

Then bingo! He remembered their first meeting at the Istana in early 2004. She was there with a Mediacorp actor and there were whispers in the background that she was his kept woman, and that was no good in their morally-uptight society. He had watched a Shin Min reporter approach the couple and he was impressed by the discreet manner in which she handled the situation, while the actor just walked away leaving her in the hands of a vulture.

He didn't realise it then, it had only occurred to him when they started dating a couple of months ago, but he had been attracted to her that night two years ago, especially when he tried to strike a conversation later. Well, he had his foot in his mouth and his lack of tact to blame but he was properly put in his place when she told him: "Don't mind my rudeness but I think you're quite a jackass."

Yea, he knows she has written about it in her blog but clearly, she didn't remember the exact line as well as he did. For till that moment, he had always been a ladies' man and she had broken the record by calling him a jackass. He didn't think the actor deserved her then. He still held the same thought when they chanced upon each other at a movie premiere a year later.

She had been laughing at a comment her date for the night had made when she turned and made eye contact with MOTM. She smiled politely and he could virtually see her churning mind as she struggled to recall where they had met. He walked up and a PR from the film company introduced them.

He could tell she remembered the incident when she said: "You are that one." Leaving him with sufficient hint to squirm, he made an excuse to get away. Yet he spent that night watching her, instead of the movie. Even his date had commented as much, and he had to pay for a ticket to watch it at another time.

There is something about Sparks. Everyone's been saying, she's special. But what makes her truly special? He wishes he could write about that but words fail the wordsmith at the most critical time.

Still he will persist. And when they next meet at the memorial service, he promises, he will have a beautiful eulogy to share.

Today he will sneak away to her favourite spot at the beach and spend quiet moments, reminiscencing their brief but dear days together. Then he will drink himself silly to prevent his tears from flowing.

Monday, October 09, 2006

Is she that easy to forget?

His best buds were worried about him. "Snap out of your misery, man," they told him. "She ain't coming back, you know. One good thing is, you've not been too long together. It'll be easier to forget her."

They meant well, he knew that. Yet he felt they were trivalising his feeling. Does the depth of one's love equate time spent together? He didn't think so. Or does "forgetting about her" mean "you can start living your own life" as a certain Juphelia wrote in his last entry? If they thought so, then he gathered, they have yet to realise what love really is.

Life for him hasn't changed, it was not that he was walking around like a zombie. He still attended media conferences. He still conducted the necessary interviews. He still filed his stories on time. He still saw his byline in the daily.

He just did not date. And he just did not drink, the way he used to, like a fish. But that's only because he wanted to stay sober till her birthday. For the countdown had begun and everyone who loves her is aware of the impact of that day. For a memorial service will be held that day, at her favourite church, attended by those who've had the opportunity to be a part of her brief life.

One of her best friends had entrusted him with the task of coordinating with the florist. He was not a fan of most florists for he has always felt that they extorted money for the most special occasions, yet perform his task well he must, and he will.

So on Saturday morning, he had gone down for a discussion with the florist. It was the beginning to a lousy day. The flowers, expressed the florist, were really not in bloom. "Oh but we do our best since we've known the family a long time." Yea right. It was more like they were paying an exorbitant price for the tulips, all 3,000 of them, in every conceivable colours there were.

A fellow journalist from a tabloid had chanced upon the information and she contacted him. "Hey, you think I can do a story?"

No, he told her firmly. The family would not want that, and besides, what story was there about tulips being used at a memorial service.

"Oh," she sang. "You should know what, you are a journalist too. The readers will want to read about how special she was, and what her family and friends are doing to remember her by."

Save it, he told the journalist, much to her consternation.

He had intended to spend the night at home, sipping their favourite wine and watching the City Of Angels again. It would be, he thought, his own way of remembering her. But his buds had plans for him. "Come on, join us for a drink at the club," they coaxed him.

And he went. Only to regret it the moment he saw Ms BB aka Big Boobs amongst the men. It was a set-up and he wished he had the foresight to see it, but he was now caught with his pants down. Literally.

Ms BB is a personal assistant to one of the leading entrepreneurs in Singapore, and she had the hots for him. MOTM that is. Only thing was, he wasn't quite into big boobs and bungling brains. Hell!

Still he kept his cool. Sure, if the guys wanted some fun, they could have it, so long as it was not at his expense. But as the minutes passed, yes he did not suffer fools really, his impatience was starting to show.

"Oooh, you look bored and you're only having soda. I never knew you were a goody-two-shoes," she tittled. "I get the feeling you don't quite fancy me, or am I competing with a dead woman?"

And he lost it. For some reasons, with that last quip from Ms BB, all the manners his parents had instilled him slipped into the dead of the night, leaving him to act like a real bastard. And the worst part of it, he was not in the least sorry about it.

Coolly, he told her: "You're right, I never fancied you, and I don't think I'd ever even if you were lying in my bed, all naked and wanting. I pride myself on being an arrogant bastard who knows what is quality and what is trash. And no, you are not competing with a dead woman, how can you when you'd not make it to her league, in this pitiful life of yours." Then he left, with everyone in the group, flabbergasted by his rudeness.

Not that he was bothered by it. Not that night. Not even now. And his best buds had better realise that.

Thursday, October 05, 2006

It was their last film together

Of course, there was no way he'd have known that then. She had been acting strangely after being discharged from the hospital. There was an air of melancholy but he was too preoccupied with the massive project that'd descend on the island. He had too many things on his mind, this was the only excuse he could offer in response to the recurring question, "Did you not realise something was out of place?"

He was the one with her, in the last 24 hours of her life in this country. They had talked into the night, even though she had shown signs of fatigue. Yet she'd declined to retire to bed each time he suggested it to her. In the end, she fell asleep with tears in her eyes, in his arms, on the futon at his apartment.

She had made breakfast for him in the late morning while he teasingly corrected her, "It's brunch, Sparks. No one has breakfast at 11am..."

It was a lazy day. They had a pact - their handphones turned to the silent mode, their notebooks tucked away in the individual cars.

They did nothing much - in the eyes of others; but now, etched forever in his memory is every word they had exchanged that day.

At her request, he had rushed to HMV to buy the DVD; and as they watched City Of Angels, he had been distracted more by her little actions, like how she'd bite her lower lip each time the two leads met.

His Sparks was so filled with love, as always, and he'd found it especially endearing when she leaned over and kissed him. He had wanted her then. As he had when he first met her. But he told himself he had to be patient. For she was still a patient. He hated that pun.

Very reluctantly, he had to drop her off at the airport later. He'd not even been able to accompany her in and bid farewell at the departure hall. He had an interview to do for the next day's papers. Her parents and her family would be with her, he'd assured himself.

The last he saw of her that day was when she turned around and mouthed the words, "I love you."

The next time he saw her was two days ago. And the photo of the angel you see next to his moniker? Well, that now marks the place she rests in New York City. The original photo he took is here.

Damn it. He sure misses his angel. It is worse than being in hell.

For once tonight, he wishes he'd been more techno-savvy. But he is willing to settle for this version of their last film together, which he had found on Youtube.

In the loving memory of his Sparks, the angel who touched his life.