liyana,

The little red balloons. I am constantly reminded of your little red balloons.

Of that time when you cried yourself silly when you saw something beautiful every time you visited faraway places that you have always dream of since you were a kid.

You described the first time you saw aurora borealis. You waited for few days in the cold frozen town up north, moving around in thick unflattering winter clothes, treading thick wet blanket of snow, and putting up with the merciless temperature. But you were determined. You went the distance. And when it finally revealed itself, you said, Mother Nature presents itself in a greatest show on earth. 

I said, Gaia. I didn’t think you hear me when you were all caught up with child-like excitement.

You cried watching James Bond movie, Casino Royale.

You wept at some point watching the theater production of Taming of The Shrew.

You hosted your very own little tea-party during live telecast of Prince William and Kate’s wedding. I know half of the globe population stopped to watch that day but you were slightly more excited.

You had tea at Carcosa. You had tea at Burj Al-Arab. You had tea in London. And you dressed to impress at these occasions. You who loved coffee every morning.

If I got one little red balloon for each quirkiness that I found in you, I would have become a balloon vendor by now.

And this particular unforgettable incident you told me when you were hanging out with your friends at Brickfields. You walked into this peculiar looking butcher shop. It was bloody, flesh of meats and chicken heads on the floor. You said there was this woman who sat by the wall hugging a monkey. You shrieked; what was the monkey doing there. Why was she hugging the monkey? Was she afraid that it might run? Why was the chicken heads on the floor?

Something along that line. I am terrible at repeating funny stuff. All I remembered was I fell off my chair laughing.

To you. To your incessant thoughts.

And you thought wombat was a type of bat.

These little things, liyana. They are like little noises buzzing around my world. My little luxury of comfort that distracts me from other mundane things in life.

I miss your little noises. Ramblings and senseless throw of emotions.

Without it, time becomes meaningless.

chairil