Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Touched
Have you ever been touched by a memory? A image of that point in time frozen in your mind that strangely move you to love?
I have different people in my life who left me with some poignant moments.
But this one I have, the mere gesture, the simplicity and the naturalness of it comes to haunt me every so often. Especially when I have exhausted my mind with sweet thoughts of human interaction.
****
Before sojourning to our designated hotel for our tryst to take place, albeit involuntary on his end and was to be the last time for us to come together, we used the public toilet in the carpark where his car was parked.
He relieved his bladder faster than I did and was waiting outside the toilet for me.
I got out of my cubicle and washed my hands.
I exited the toilet feeling disgusted at the lack of paper towels or a hand dryer. As usual, I had a little whinge.
He pulled out his hanky from his pocket and held my hand. A little sterned face, he gave it a good, serious wipe to dry one hand and took my other hand and did likewise.
The efficiency of a decisive man in charge of the situation. That simple action is one that suggested great care. Whoa, I wouldn't have shared my hanky with anyone, no joke, I thought.
Only older men carry hankies in their trousers.
He reminded me of my father- the many occasions he held his hanky to my face and let me blow my snot into it when I was a little girl during a case of emergency sneeze.
That day, I felt I was in love with him. More.
I relented. Afterwards, in the private confines of our room, I confessed and whispered "I love you."
*****
Alas, it was too late.
Have you ever been touched by a memory? A image of that point in time frozen in your mind that strangely move you to love?
I have different people in my life who left me with some poignant moments.
But this one I have, the mere gesture, the simplicity and the naturalness of it comes to haunt me every so often. Especially when I have exhausted my mind with sweet thoughts of human interaction.
****
Before sojourning to our designated hotel for our tryst to take place, albeit involuntary on his end and was to be the last time for us to come together, we used the public toilet in the carpark where his car was parked.
He relieved his bladder faster than I did and was waiting outside the toilet for me.
I got out of my cubicle and washed my hands.
I exited the toilet feeling disgusted at the lack of paper towels or a hand dryer. As usual, I had a little whinge.
He pulled out his hanky from his pocket and held my hand. A little sterned face, he gave it a good, serious wipe to dry one hand and took my other hand and did likewise.
The efficiency of a decisive man in charge of the situation. That simple action is one that suggested great care. Whoa, I wouldn't have shared my hanky with anyone, no joke, I thought.
Only older men carry hankies in their trousers.
He reminded me of my father- the many occasions he held his hanky to my face and let me blow my snot into it when I was a little girl during a case of emergency sneeze.
That day, I felt I was in love with him. More.
I relented. Afterwards, in the private confines of our room, I confessed and whispered "I love you."
*****
Alas, it was too late.
