Monday, January 12, 2009

In which I write about Cold, and mourning the loss of a day.

I always believe that cold is never synonymous to sadness, nor loneliness. 

Rain will always be a gift of joy, a nourishment of the soul, be it benevolent or violent.

This off the top of my head: Science teaches us that intense cold will lead to stasis, but if it meant that yesterday would never end, then I would have let it eternally preserve the moment when you held me in subzero. Everything will be motionless; but then again those around you will never leave your side. 

A trade-off for the selfish.


I lost a day yesterday. Yesterday's name was Maki.

Maki was a tiny Birthday Bear made out of black cloth decorated with moon and stars. His limbs were made of floppy felt material, his eyes tiny knots of thread.

Maki could sit comfortably in a small child's hand. Attached to him by a string was his tiny identification card; it stated his name both in the Western alphabet and Japanese katakana. The card also bore the date he represented: January 11. Yesterday. Maki was the January 11 Birthday Bear.

On January 11, 2009 I gave Yesterday to my beloved, and he proudly wore it on his shirt pocket.

We went off our merry way to celebrate January 11 in a theme park. Our cherished Maki bore witness to our precarious yet amusing moments when our eyes betrayed our irrational fears (his fear of heights, my fear of plummeting several feet into the water), and those sweet, wondrous moments when we braved the immense cold in an artificial winter almostwonderland, my hand in his.

When the day ended, Maki was no longer hanging from the button on my beloved's shirt pocket. He was nowhere to be found.

Maki, January 11, was gone. Yesterday came, and went, literally.

I still cry about it. It must be a bad omen, I told my beloved. Would this mean that we will no longer have another January 11?

To anyone who reads this: if you somehow find a tiny cloth bear, please pick him up regardless of the dirt obscuring the wonderful moon and stars on his small body. Consider him auspicious; after all, Maki - our January 11 - is the culmination of a year's worth of confusion, helplessness, and eventually bittersweet happiness.

I hope you're well, Maki. I hope that next year, on your day, you will bestow happiness on someone who needs it.