She casually tapped my back and as I turned my head away from the monitor and looked at her, she shoved a book right in my hands. It was a blue purple scrap book. She smiled dryly. Her face showed a mixture of indifference and trepidation. And also a tiny hint of perturbation. Her eyes were watery and red. She’s been crying. I want you to have this, she said. Nervousness resonated in her voice, as if she was about to cry.
I could feel the eyes of my colleagues lurking, trying to figure out what was happening. Their curiosity however is the least of my concern right now.
I took the book away from her hands and before I could say anything, she walked away.
What an intriguing exit.
I opened the book and there was a note. I am leaving for Japan. I want you to have this. Her voice echoed in my head as I read those sentences. I will never get over these two lines.
As I turned to more pages, I came to realize that the scrap book was about her life. It was as if it was created and maintained ever since long ago for one particular audience that she has not yet known.
First few pages were snapshots and writings about her when she was a baby. There was a man which I assumed to be her deceased father holding her closely and kissing her on the forehead. Another picture showed the mom and dad teaching her how to walk. They were both holding her hands as she tried to walk clumsily. The kind of love that was shown could not be described by words. She was a very cute baby indeed and she was loved. I couldn’t imagine how she must have felt when she lost both her parents in the car crash.
Enter kindergarten years. She looked so adorable wearing a checkered pink uniform while smiling cheekily. She had two mini ponytails on the sides and she was also missing a front tooth. Must be the time she told me she fell off the bike. So this is how she got the nickname Chipmunk. How endearing she was has left speechless with a warm smile.
She went to an all girl boarding school and she looked very active in extracurricular activities. There were pictures of her posing with her friends in a scouts uniform and Red Cross. In one picture she was standing on a podium holding a medal that she had just won first place. I found a picture of her being a mascot for her school. She looked so darn adorable in the bumble bee outfit. She looked so confident and happy that she actually enjoys belittling herself just for the sake of it. She has a great sense of humour at such a young age. She was also wearing braces and big dorky grandma glasses and the more I look at it, the more I find her charming.
There was a phase absent. I am approximating it to be about two to three years. There was nothing about her when she was ending her high school years. This must have been the time when she lost both her parents and the only family she had at once. That’s when she stopped smiling. She wasn’t ready to have lost her only family at that period. She lost two years of her adolescent life when she was put in rehabilitation for having a psychotic breakdown. She stopped talking and she stopped showing any emotional feelings. It was as if she completely got disconnected with the outside world and her feelings.
There were pictures of her in her college years trying different hairstyles, different clothes and designs. It was that teen awkward phase. But there were no pictures of her smiling at all. Walking through these pages was like going through a complete opposite transition of her life. She was once a happy and adorable kid and now she was just dreading life. I could actually feel her sadness and loneliness deep hidden and covered by her indifference. There was a half torn picture of her standing with someone at a carnival. I dare not ask myself more. But there was her handwriting under the picture that says, He said that he can’t get through me. It made me sad as I can’t get through myself either. That must have been a big letdown for her as there were a couple of deliberately emptied pages right after the torn picture. She must have felt so lonely and empty.
There was a torn pink coloured page excerpt from what I assumed to be her diary. Dated the same day I read her a passage from a book. And that poem I wrote for her. She wrote that she broke down and cried when she got home and didn’t understand why. It was the first time she ever cried ever since she lost her parents. She felt so confused and she was practically begging to her diary, crying out for help and company.
It made me wish that I was there.
I took a deep breath. Somehow this blue purple book made me feel closer to her. She wanted me to know everything about her. She wanted me to understand her and love her possibly. And that is something never needed to be asked. I still remember. The first time I saw her, it was like magic. It was as if an angel has descended upon me and I could almost hear the voices telling me that what I have been waiting for all my life is standing right in front of me. I lost my composure and all that I could feel was this overwhelmed feelings that even up till now I have yet to fathom. Never in my whole life had I felt so weak and vulnerable. My guard was fully down and I was opened. I was vividly transparent. It was as if I wanted to share everything with her. I wanted her to know who and what I really am. Everything started to make sense and everything was falling in its places. She made me felt all that with just a simple hello.
She is beautiful physically, emotionally and in every other way possible. Beauty is one thing, she is something else. I do really want to tell her this. To write her something so that she could understand the way I see her and hopefully she would be able to see me back the same way.
A love poem. A poem for Adhila.
There was no time. I immediately called my wheelman.
Three ring tones and no answer. Pick it up, friend. I have no time to waste. He finally picked up and asked what he can do for me. I told him to standby at the parking lot.
I have a plane to stop.
