Distance is subjective-a bold claim bound to receive utter disregard from the scientific community. Well, at least it has Amy’s wholehearted support; as the thirteen steps up to the rooftop appears to remain thirteen irrespective of her laborious climb. When the journey becomes burdensome, one tends to drown in rumination: flying daggers never miss her bull’s eye, one becomes two, two becomes three. Without warning and reason, she succumbs to an endless bleed. Blood begins to seep through her shirt. A passer-by stopped to enquire whether she is ok. “I am fine! Don’t worry.” Corners of her mouth pulled upwards, the clown grins, practising the art of pretension. Chilled back to reality by a gush of unforgiving wind, Amy realises that she has arrived. The big, red fire ball hangs close to the horizon, ready to finish the day with her. Except, she has no tomorrow. Squeak! An unexpected toy ball rolled under her raised leg, into the frame entered her fluffy friend. He just wants to play. With a heavy sigh, Amy handed Nugget’s toy back, receiving his all-too-enthusiastic licks. Her icy palms begin to melt under these warm caresses, seducing her to reminisce about the day he jumped out of a box into her arms, the day he mended her broken self with those paws, the everyday he awaits behind those doors for her arrival. Recollections gradually shatter the glass that hides her hope. Tears unlocked, landing on her heated hands-perhaps she will give it just another day.
Love is a holy word, as the rise of Romanticism delivers a hugely-beautiful and often enjoyable template of what it is. Poets, film directors and painters alike have conquered the world with the idea that true love is often limited to be between couples, it should be dramatic and worth to die for, and is synonymous with accepting everything about someone. With such notions imprinted on our minds, only affections of this specific kind will register as legitimate. Therefore, it is so easy for us to overlook the subtler signs right in front of us: it could be a friend who picks us up and tells us, "stay here and I will come to get you", it can be a junior doctor staying behind to look after a patient in critical
conditions, or it could even be, in Amy’s case, Nugget’s warm licks during those desperate hours. So unnoticeable they are, when hearts are broken and hopes crushed, it is almost laughable to seek consolations from them. It takes a lot of humbling experiences to bring our expectations back down to earth, only then will we realise that we have always been loved, but just in a much subtler, yet more enduring kind of way.
Due to the fact that my biological mother still lives in China, our main method of communication is sending messages through Wechat. Since my immigration to Australia eight years ago, her most frequently-sent messages are “Have you eaten?” and “Take care”. To be honest, when the same phrase is repeated over and over and life gets in the way, I just cannot be bothered to reply all the time, I got used to ignoring her. But upon a recent return to China, the first thing I took notice of her was her greying hair. I simply cannot process it. It struck me that I subconsciously deny the fact that she is aging; that she will be gone one day, no longer able to annoy me with her messages. From the day that the cord is severed, her clinging grasps shaken off and the doors slammed shut, my lifelong pursuit of independence must have become apparent. What I was too ignorant to realise was that she has also spent her entire life loving me by just saying “take care”.
Dedicated to S.H, I will always love you.
09/04/2019
Comments