(The title is borrowed from Robbie William’s song, Coffee, Tea and Sympathy)
A not-so-close friend of mine had approached me one mid-afternoon and asked me a very strange question. “Hey Beth!” (not my real name), “Have you quit smoking?”
Now, you might want to ask me why I find his question strange.
Two reasons. One, I am sure that I don’t know this guy too well for him to actually know me to be a smoker. Basing from his tone of questioning, it seems like he had actually seen me smoke a lot. (Or perhaps I’m just being paranoid. It could be one of the side-effects of these meds I’m taking these days.) The second reason is that... I have on the contrary, smoked like a chimney for the past few days. So I don’t understand why he would ask me such a thing.
But anyway, I chuckled as a reply to the guy and said, “Dude, I’m trying.”
This had made me remember Dok (not his real name), whom I had phoned just now.
I tilted my head a bit while waiting for him to pick up my call. His ring back tune, (Three Little Birds by Bob Marley) had kept me entertained. And as usual, he did not pick up.
Dok taught me how to smoke. I never smoked my entire life, until I met him. I never knew love, until him.
He laughed at my shippish way of smoking. I never knew that there’s a right way to smoke. Oh gawd, I can still hear his laughter echoing in my head when I coughed so hard, almost making me puke when I attempted to imitate the way he smoked.
“You… young lady is never gonna die young by the way you smoke” he said. He grabbed the stick (Philips, his brand) from my fingers. He made it touch his lips (that I loved kissing,) slightly sucked a bit of it, he looked at me in the eyes and it was the first time I noticed that no smoke is actually coming out from any of the holes in his appealing face. I don’t find Dok handsome. But he’s got charms.
“You have to suck it in, Beth. All the way here” he was pointing at his heart. I don’t know why he was pointing it there but in the midst of my tipsiness out of the whole bottle of wine I drank that night, I still remember how he taught me of the right way to smoke.
Like how he taught me the right way to live life. Of course, there is never the right way. But there is always your own, right way. And according to him, we have to inhale the love of the people until here, (he was again pointing at his heart) and don’t let that come out. Just let it rot you, let it spoil you, because their love is what will make you genuinely happy. Take risks, show people how you love, don’t be afraid to get hurt, and remember to never keep bitterness too long here (this time it’s his whole fist pounding his chest.) “Beth, it is important to die happy, you have to put that in here.” To emphasize his point, he stood up and rubbed my head.
I am never a jealous person and Dok, to be honest has never become my boyfriend… (You know that one with a commitment?) But I had, for a long time been silently mad at him ever since I learned that he had found the girl he will finally love. And that wasn't me. He knew about how I feel, but we never talked about it. He is good at pretending that nothing is wrong, but we love to believe that everything between us is so right. Perhaps, because I am never the sentimental, nagging schmuck who will blubber the littlest detail of my pain and agony, of my jealousy and anger. We survived this complicated relationship without much fight, but I know that there was too much of an emotional battle within.
Dok is five years more matured than me. He died six months ago at the age of 31.
I was driving, I drank too much. He was trying to make me smile by tickling me that night. I got the steering wheel out of control while trying to dodge his tickles that had made our car smash ruthlessly against a speeding truck. He was thrown out of the car because he was so stupid not to put his seatbelt on. Dok, by the way, had always been stupid.
Dok said, "Forgive easy, forgive easy, forgive easy." Believe me, I tried so hard to do that. But it is impossible if you have to do that to yourself.
It is a lot tougher because I survived with just a bruised leg, a single arm with fingers good and strong enough to dial Dok's number over and over again…...and a cold, dead heart still waiting for my calls to be answered.
Author’s Notes:
1. I write for my pleasure. I find it pleasurable to create characters in my stories who are free to love, free to hate and whom I can kill without feeling any guilt. Stuff I can't do in real life.
2. This is fictional. Any similarities to actual situations or emotions are purely coincidental.
3. This story started, when I realized I might have been smoking too much. And I dedicate this to all smokers especially to Micah, because I am always scared of loving you. So sorry, I have to kill you
A not-so-close friend of mine had approached me one mid-afternoon and asked me a very strange question. “Hey Beth!” (not my real name), “Have you quit smoking?”
Now, you might want to ask me why I find his question strange.
Two reasons. One, I am sure that I don’t know this guy too well for him to actually know me to be a smoker. Basing from his tone of questioning, it seems like he had actually seen me smoke a lot. (Or perhaps I’m just being paranoid. It could be one of the side-effects of these meds I’m taking these days.) The second reason is that... I have on the contrary, smoked like a chimney for the past few days. So I don’t understand why he would ask me such a thing.
But anyway, I chuckled as a reply to the guy and said, “Dude, I’m trying.”
This had made me remember Dok (not his real name), whom I had phoned just now.
I tilted my head a bit while waiting for him to pick up my call. His ring back tune, (Three Little Birds by Bob Marley) had kept me entertained. And as usual, he did not pick up.
Dok taught me how to smoke. I never smoked my entire life, until I met him. I never knew love, until him.
He laughed at my shippish way of smoking. I never knew that there’s a right way to smoke. Oh gawd, I can still hear his laughter echoing in my head when I coughed so hard, almost making me puke when I attempted to imitate the way he smoked.
“You… young lady is never gonna die young by the way you smoke” he said. He grabbed the stick (Philips, his brand) from my fingers. He made it touch his lips (that I loved kissing,) slightly sucked a bit of it, he looked at me in the eyes and it was the first time I noticed that no smoke is actually coming out from any of the holes in his appealing face. I don’t find Dok handsome. But he’s got charms.
“You have to suck it in, Beth. All the way here” he was pointing at his heart. I don’t know why he was pointing it there but in the midst of my tipsiness out of the whole bottle of wine I drank that night, I still remember how he taught me of the right way to smoke.
Like how he taught me the right way to live life. Of course, there is never the right way. But there is always your own, right way. And according to him, we have to inhale the love of the people until here, (he was again pointing at his heart) and don’t let that come out. Just let it rot you, let it spoil you, because their love is what will make you genuinely happy. Take risks, show people how you love, don’t be afraid to get hurt, and remember to never keep bitterness too long here (this time it’s his whole fist pounding his chest.) “Beth, it is important to die happy, you have to put that in here.” To emphasize his point, he stood up and rubbed my head.
I am never a jealous person and Dok, to be honest has never become my boyfriend… (You know that one with a commitment?) But I had, for a long time been silently mad at him ever since I learned that he had found the girl he will finally love. And that wasn't me. He knew about how I feel, but we never talked about it. He is good at pretending that nothing is wrong, but we love to believe that everything between us is so right. Perhaps, because I am never the sentimental, nagging schmuck who will blubber the littlest detail of my pain and agony, of my jealousy and anger. We survived this complicated relationship without much fight, but I know that there was too much of an emotional battle within.
Dok is five years more matured than me. He died six months ago at the age of 31.
I was driving, I drank too much. He was trying to make me smile by tickling me that night. I got the steering wheel out of control while trying to dodge his tickles that had made our car smash ruthlessly against a speeding truck. He was thrown out of the car because he was so stupid not to put his seatbelt on. Dok, by the way, had always been stupid.
Dok said, "Forgive easy, forgive easy, forgive easy." Believe me, I tried so hard to do that. But it is impossible if you have to do that to yourself.
It is a lot tougher because I survived with just a bruised leg, a single arm with fingers good and strong enough to dial Dok's number over and over again…...and a cold, dead heart still waiting for my calls to be answered.
Author’s Notes:
1. I write for my pleasure. I find it pleasurable to create characters in my stories who are free to love, free to hate and whom I can kill without feeling any guilt. Stuff I can't do in real life.
2. This is fictional. Any similarities to actual situations or emotions are purely coincidental.
3. This story started, when I realized I might have been smoking too much. And I dedicate this to all smokers especially to Micah, because I am always scared of loving you. So sorry, I have to kill you
ehhh! good thing, i don't smoke! hahaha
ReplyDeletetell her, Dok's out of coverage!