All ending are beginnings. We just don't know it at the time. On hindsight, if you had realised that, would you have seen things differently? Would you have done things differently? If you had the chance, just one chance, to go back and fix what you did wrong in life, would you take it? And if you did, would you be big enough to stand it? By then, would you still want it?
Sacrifice, you made one. I made one. We all make them. But you are angry over yours. You kept thinking about what you lost… You didn’t get it. Sacrifice is a part of life. It’s supposed to be. It’s not something you regret. It’s something to aspire to. Little sacrifices. Big sacrifices. A mother works so her son can go to school. A daughter moves home to care of her sick father. I give up something so that someone else can be happy...or happier.
Sometimes when you sacrifice something precious, you’re not really losing it. You’re just passing it on to someone else.
People say they “find” love, as if it were an object hidden by a rock. But love takes many forms, and it is never the same for any man and woman. What people find then is a certain love. Love, like rain, can nourish from above, drenching couples with a soaking joy. But sometimes, under the angry heat of life, love dries on the surface and must nourish from below, tending to its roots, keeping itself alive.
Lost love is still love. It takes a different form, that’s all. You can’t see their smile or bring them food or tousle their hair or move them around a dance floor. But when those senses weaken, another heightens. Memory. Memory becomes your partner. You nuture it. You hold it. You dance with it.
Life has to end. Love doesn’t. Really? Yeah, love doesn't have to end. But when one chooses to end it, that is different. That, is a choice you choose to make.
Case in point; an excerpt. Doesn't matter it's fictional:
“Your grandfather and I met when I was working at restaurant as a dish-washer. He was the cook of the restaurant. When we saw each other, we knew it was love at first sight. He kept staring at me while he was cooking and I could not concentrate on my washing. I stole quick glances of him, amazed by his awesome cooking skills and his good looks. By the fifth day of my work, he asked me out. I did not reject. And so we went to a park and chatted about almost everything under the sun."
I tried to recollect memories of my grandfather. It was then that I realized I had never seen him before: He died before I was born. However, in my mind now, I was painting a picture of him: A young and handsome man who knew how to turn an uncooked egg into an omelette.
"We went on a few more dates. Unknowingly, we started holding hands. And as we continued dating, our love for each other grew so much that a day apart was intolerable. Whenever I woke up, I would wonder what he was doing. Whenever I walked to work, I would wonder if he was doing the same thing. If there were handphones during my time, I would have called him every single minute. Then one day, he brought me to a forest. Although I declined, he insisted. So we went into the dark forest, carrying only lighted candles. Suddenly, he disappeared. I panicked and nearly fainted, but he suddenly reappeared with a ring on his hand. He kneeled before me and proposed to me. How could I have rejected? How could I have rejected such an offer? I cried on the spot, and within ten days, we were officially husband and wife."
I realized that everyone had a story to tell: The auntie selling fish soup may have the most romantic love story; my old and stubborn Literature lecturer Mrs Goh may have the most tragic story to tell. Yet I always pondered on the poignancy of my own story, as if my story superseded all of theirs. Our relationship was as strong as a rock during our first few years of marriage. But everything soon changed. We began to drift apart. We seldom talked. There was just no reason for this rift.”
“You didn’t love him anymore?” I asked, curious. My grandmother did not answer me. She sighed, and then continued, “I thought of divorce. But during my time, divorce was a taboo. We continued living together, exchanging less than a few words a day. And as a tradition, we had to bear a child for our parents. And so your mother is born. Even with the addition of a new member in the family, we still behaved like strangers. Your mother, angry with us for not giving her a good family, married off when she was just seventeen. And when I was fifty, I decided to move out. I lived alone here for five years, until your grandfather called me. He said he didn’t have much time left. So I went to the hospital. Your grandfather asked me a question that made me think a lot: ‘Have you loved me throughout our marriage?’ I was lost for words. I spent the entire day thinking. And when I finally said yes, we hugged. Since then, I began visiting him in the hospital for his remaining days. He said something the day before he died which touched me very deeply: ‘I’ve been the happiest man in the world for two times: The first time is when you agreed to marry me, and the second time is when you said you had always loved me throughout our marriage. Because I have loved you all this while as well, but I just didn’t dare to say it.’"
My grandmother smiled when she finished her story. I knew that the memories of her dead husband were replaying in her mind.
“Your grandfather was smiling when he died. Doesn’t matter how long we live as long as we live with a smile on our face.”
No life is a waste. The only time we waste is the time we spend thinking we are alone.
