*you know how ppl have break-up songs, well this was my break story - one of the most cathartic things i've ever written. It funny reading it now, and remembering how it made me feel.
Coming To Terms With Arial
I'm in the student village at Uni - in one of the more expensive rooms that come with landscaped gardens. It's about three stones' throws away from my own slim walled, blue brick one, that has only got prickly shrubs. I'm sitting with my hands resting on the long black table that reaches across the room, facing a window. The weather is nice and cool because it's early evening nearing winter - maybe about five. I have a spacey look in my eyes and a gentle crease on my forehead. The door to the room is open behind me. I just sit there and gaze into emptiness.
She's home, and enters uttering a greeting. I'm not paying attention but I mumble something back. I realize now I do not remember any words, just the sound of her voice. Probably because I've heard it so many times it's stopped becoming special and more like a mundane tune announcing that another day has ended. She puts her bag on the bed behind my right shoulder. Removes her shoes and maybe a jacket to put on a hanger. She comes to me. I still sit there like a stone.
She moves on and shuffles up some scattered papers… picks up after me… asks' what we're having for dinner. I hear the words and decipher the message. Regretfully nothing registers. She talks some more and I still respond like a mannequin. We get through the night somehow by which time I find myself already in bed, next to her. She's resting her temple on my chest, I have an arm wrapped around her. I kiss her forehead. And the slumber goes on. I wonder if I ever got up in the first place. I must have, because we fell in love once.
All this and still ... still I want to write only in Arial. Still I swear her influence to be sacrosanct. I get angry, I get depressed and I'm clinging on to sweet dreams that are only in my head. My dear life bound to this sweet, uncomplicated font. I let out big fat sighs when I think of those times. I'll tell people they are sighs of regret or longing, but really they are smokescreens of vapor, warm air and a convincing actor. Admittedly it's not hard to see through them but at least they dupe the actor himself. Disolving away, I'm a hurt little boy.
I fooled myself.
I'm so not her type. Running and tumbling over myself like a child down a hillock is my idea of a good time. I'll chug beer but she'd rather twirl her wine and savor its aftertaste. I can chuckle about it now that it's over, how we were two separate beings in an even stranger environment. She was to say the least, somewhat dignified, with a poise that was all her own. For me at least, she wrote the book on Singaporean bourgeoisie, never looking out of place in posh eateries or snooty clothes stores. But in the same breath, she could be absolutely gangly and adorable.
I come back to her every time I sit in the office with a Word document open before me, as I'm typing out stories. Poking at the alphabets furiously, it will hit me after the first few sentences that I'm using the wrong font. No No No. This cannot be. I must only use Arial. I hear a stubborn voice in my heart reminding me. Only Arial! It's what she showed me which I adopted on that black table in her room. I'm not letting go of that now. Don't know if I'm perversely tugging my sentimentalities on purpose or if I frankly cannot walk away and not give a damn. My friends will happily vouch for that latter talent of mine though. I have a feeling even she will.
Some time from now, she will fall in love again. She'll talk of beautiful children with anime inspired names like she used to with me. I will close my eyes and say a short prayer of thanksgiving. That however, will not stop the occasional flinch. The wonderful stitches holding my heart together, I suspect, will loosen no matter if the hand of God laced them in place. I'll smile as I feel the stinging freshness of a graze getting wet and speak encouraging words. "That's wonderful news" or the more enduring "I'm so happy for you". Surely I will not be alone either. I will have my own companion to which to devote my heart. We would have grown up into proper adults but it will still feel like I was a child, running through a field high as a kite only to trip and break some skin. Some wounds, will always be susceptible to a little salt.
So yeah… maybe I will quit this whole Arial business. Burn my old love letters. Even cut my hair short again. No reason to leave it long now. No reason for much else if I stopped to think. You get this cruel domino effect when you build your life around someone because when that person isn't there anymore, everything else goes with them, one by one. All I need is heart. Heart enough to go through with my resolution.
But the tragedy of irony, dark and ripe, is inescapable. So much more so when in shoes like mine. Irony knows exactly where and when to gently tug at your shoulder, and whisper the stark parenthesis of your predicament. I want to cry but no matter how hard I scrunch my eyes, no tears fall. I want to laugh stupidly to myself but I end up choking and feeling like a good hurl might actually be in order. For as much as I need heart for strength, it's precisely my heart that will tear me down. Simple memories like walking home from grocery shopping with her jog up such intense emotions I almost crumble in a heap of shivers. I could be doing something totally unrelated, like staring blankly out the window of a car and suddenly my heart is vice-gripped with longing. Like being flung into the deep end of a pool and then fighting tooth and nail against froth and bubbles for the surface. I didn't even have time to brace myself with a gulp of air. Dramatic huh?
Anyway, I've called her. Out on my mosquito infested balcony we spoke. Underneath clothes hung out to dry, with my dad paying for the hour long hand-phone bill which passed as quickly as anxious words fly out of anxious hearts. She was careful not to aggravate me. Told me reassuringly no one will take her heart anytime soon. Sure he's been paying her a lot of attention. Sure she enjoys the tickles he gives. For sure their affection can only grow stronger. Oh the tremors and trembles coursing through me, electrifying every fiber. Not angry. Not sad either. Just trying really, really hard to let go. Not to let my mind wander and flesh out characters in the shadows in embrace.
I have to forget, if not it will eat me like cancer. You don't just rot away, you get all bitter too. God knows I’m only human. But I do wish you the best Wengyan. With all my heart. For you and for him.
Not faltering now. Moving up and moving forward. Nothing left for me to go back to. I've decided this is my new start. This is my catalyst for new beginnings. This is irony again and again proving the bitter sweet and faithful companion. What will my next chapter be like? A very thankful one I think. It's the simple things in life that make all the difference. Like the friends from unexpected quarters offering listening ears and a job that allows me so much free time, I could write you this story. Life is fresh and there for the taking. Living it with the fear of God is what makes the pursuit worthwhile. Whether or not Arial will be around, I can't say for sure. It is a rather pretty font.
