If I were a glass of water, I’m here because the bottle of water.
I haven’t met her for ten years at least. The first time I met her I knew immediately that it must be her that I had been waiting for all my life. No, actually, I didn’t know. How could I possibly know. But I had such feeling from time to time. It was a very brief moment that we firstly talked. But it was like heaven.
And a short while after we met, her life gone wild and have had a time of her life. She became so many things that a woman can dream of: art director, writer, character, TV show host and simply being clever. She became famous. And I disappeared from her life ever since. Perhaps it is my personal style to remain cool with famous friends. This time I think it was rather stupid thing that I did.
Now she is sitting in front of me for dinner. She is approaching her forty’s but still look like an angel. She says it must have something to do with her irregular hormones thing that keep that look with her. I’m pretending that I’m listening. In fact, I can’t take my eyes out off her face.
We both have certain things similar in our memories: built on love and torn by love. She did mention this in her book and compared it to a bird that keep flying into a glass window. The glass is there and then the bird, trying to fly through, hit it once and fell. Then, it would get up and still flying through the same stupid direction. With that persistence, it keep on trying and keep banging until death stop it. Poor bird. Now I found two of them at the dining table.
It was a dark sort of pizza restaurant in a strange corner of Bangkok. Almost like you own the restaurant because of lesser people at the table. I try to remember what is our conversation but it couldn’t. I feel like I was eighteen with sweet nothing dialogue. But it was so fluid and comfortable. Again, I feel the strange harmony coming. No, it is not just that. It is more like falling into the big deep hole. I was standing on the edge of the hole and about to throw myself into it. Part of me is so afraid. Part of me is so excited.
We talk about each other’s lives and beyond: trying to catch up after all this long ten years’ time. Was it because of something she said? I’m not quite sure. But I keep on smiling. I don’t speak much but we are surely having conversation. A very good conversation.
“Have you ever read my book?” She asked. “It was like ten years ago thing.”
” I didn’t know you wrote a book. Or, wait, perhaps I’ve heard of it. But, no, I never read it.” I confessed.
And I am feeling a bit embarrassing about that. But, hey. How would I ever know that we will both come to this table?
“Not many does anyway. In fact, only 200 of them perhaps.” I know she was disappointed about that. It does show on her face. “Anyway, it was such a kind of book that only few people will understand anyway.”
I wish I could have read it.
“I will find you a copy.”
And it was even before my request.
….
A journey into her book was such an amazing dive. A brief trip into an abyss of her simple and sophisticated mind. It was telling mostly about nonsense things that make sense. At least it gave me the idea on her passion about cat and life. Especially her love.
Her love is larger than this world. I never met with any woman who are more sensitive than myself so I am very much jumping. I know by the way she described those details: perception of love, how much she was moved by it and longing for it. Any man that she gave her love to must be the luckiest man alive. She told in her book shortly about her lost love and found love. Even for cats. She carefully described about her love of things that surrounded her. Including a glass of water that committed suicide.
That glass was a simple glass. And just like every glass, it was meant to hold the water. It has a passion for the certain bottle of water. The glass think that she belong to that bottle. She is here because that bottle of water. So when there is a new glass on the shelf that looks more sexy, she thought that the bottle of water will fall in love with the new glass. She jumped from the shelf and became shattered pieces.
And she wrote this somewhen ten years ago.
I stopped my reading at this point and looking out of the window. I was on the train again to the airport. A very small drop of tear build up in the corner of my eyes. It is not my type to cry so it remains small drop. And I know something is in my life is about to be changed again forever. This time, it is going to so big and so real. And definitely so good. And I had better be prepared. I am surely not ready for it. But I also can’t stop it.
I am about to fall in love again.
I Am Yesterday. You Are Present. We Are Tomorrow 