I caressed her trembling body.
If the restriction were to describe Aida in one word, it would be jovial, full of beans. Aida is the sort of person who would greet you with a genuine smile in spite of the nonsense you have thrown at her face. She greets good morning and bids goodnight to the gerbera daisy, which she regards as her babies. You could trace the loveliest wavelength perking out of her voice when she talks to her babies every time she waters them.
“They’re like us. They need interaction and they need love.”
She giggles when I snicker at her babbling. I still think it is claptrap talking to mute inhabitants. There is this gleaming light poking out of her face whenever she smiles it is almost impossible to argue with her in disgust. Even the darkest dawn is enlightened by her presence.
My sleep was nonsensical. The wake up in between was irritating. The white curtain was not dark enough to shield the determined sun. In a flick, my room became a battlefield of raging sunrays and I could feel an army of gleam fencing the corner of my eyes. Ah, I needed the sleep. I turned my body to the left facing my laptop, which was resting as though it too has had a sleep. Instead of reaching my arms towards it, I drew myself closer. I needed the move to wake me up. Before the timid enthusiasm left in my nerves managed to drag the entire system out of bed, I had my thoughts on Aida. Her boyfriend’s father had passed away.
The walk down Burlington St. felt hollow. It was February. The winter cold seemed dejected with my encounter. The slap of wind chill on my cheeks has my neck buried underneath the jacket. It was so cold I could not bother smiling back at the stranger who walked past me. As I let my mind wander within the emancipation of sadness, a distinct conversation emerges.
“Have you heard of the love island?” Aida asked.
“The one at Fiji?” I replied but my mind was still fumbling through the magazine.
“Is it really in the shape of love, or is that a myth?” she now has my full attention.
“Of course it is! Why would they call it the love island then?”
“Well… people abuse the word love, you know.”
“I think of the love island when I’m sad. It brings me to Dan, and he is my happiness.”
It is tough but the long distance relationship could not possibly smash down the wall of trust that they have built for nearly eight years.
I was already at the crossroad of Johnson St. when the flashback gradually wipes off my memory. The walking sign was on and I paced myself towards 521 S Johnson St.
Even the best fall down sometimes, even the wrong words seem to rhyme. The song Collide by Howie Day creeps into my head every now and then. Precisely when the world seems to disagree with most of my days. One of the setbacks of being far from home is that tears stream down as easy as when you turn the water tap. It is a setback because I seldom cry. It is a setback because this crazy rollercoaster ride of emotion drives me out of my rocker from time to time. I am strong, strong enough to be my own shoulder to cry on but I need comfort. The comfort of knowing that there is one person who will catch you when you fall. The comfort of knowing that that there is one person who humbles down this chaotic chase of materialistic endowment. I have Aida.
Fall 2009 is the prologue to the chapters of a wonderful friendship. Aida and I first met at a friend’s house. We attended the same course that semester but it was our quotidian coffee sits that form this beautiful bond. She first thought I was snobbish, slightly unapproachable and I wondered how different she was compared to the group she came to Iowa with. Ever since then, Aida becomes more than a friend to me. She listens patiently, speaks through experience and gives me enough space to decide what’s best for me. I joked when I named her Kakak but the name rings on until now. Aida is a sister.
I gave a soft knock on her bedroom door, just enough to acknowledge a visitor’s presence. My right hand turned on the doorknob and with a squeaking sound the door let myself in. The strong vibration of emotion perhaps signals the room because the room too felt her grief. The vibrant pink bed sheet, which has always been the heart of the room, somehow appeared mundane. Sorrow overcast the room.
“Aida?”
“He’s gone. Syaza… he’s gone.”
I caressed her trembling body.
“I tak sempat nak jumpa dia.”
Tears run like rivers down her cheek as she regretfully murmurs the time lost before his eternal departure. I held her tightly I could almost hear our bones clinking one another. She weeps even harder. What should I say? What could I say? Today, the one word to describe Aida would be somber. The jumping beans are resting. Today, the genuine smile hides underneath the pink bed sheet. Even the gerbera daisy quiets down at their gardener’s grief. They excuse her for not wishing them good morning and sending them off to bed. In between her sobs, I whispered to her, think of the love island.
That memory holds a special place in my heart. It was the day when Aida crumbles and the only day I could offer my strength to uplift her. She has always been the strongest between us. My issues are petty next to hers but she has never failed to lift me up. Today, May 12, 2011 Aida celebrates her birthday. This is my dedication to a beautiful figure. The story doesn’t turn out as you expected but if that day, when both you and Dan set your feet on the Love Island is the day when exigencies are farfetched. On an island with just the two of you celebrating the journey of stupendous souls intertwined. I wish you love. Happy birthday Aida Salina.
