It's 10 PM, my son is fast asleep. Rain is pouring hard outside, the kind of weather where you just want to curl up under your blanket. I trace my baby's face slowly, watching his eyes close, listening to his calm breaths and feeling his fingers loosen, no longer holding mine. This moment slow me down and I'm taken back to the old days when I met the 15-year-old me.
Here I am, sitting at my grandfather's kitchen with a cup of hot honey tea, facing a middle school girl, with a cellphone in her hand. She's texting (or tweeting?) I don't know to whom, but something must be really funny, since she lets out a little laugh.
"Nice to see you again, thank you for inviting me," I say.
"Doesn't matter. It's Saturday night, I usually sleep at 3 AM," She replies absentmindedly. I purse my lips, kind of having secondhand embarrassment. How did I forget? She was me, 15 years ago!
My hands are drawn to a glass jar with a red lid, placed neatly beside the thermos on the kitchen table. I remember where to find the tea bag, honey and teaspoon. It feels like it was just yesterday when I left this house. This little nostalgia draws a little smile on my face. I miss the old days.
The honey tea is done. I take my tea and without any permission, I ask her, "What do you think of being 15?" She abruptly put her cellphone. The atmosphere around us changed. She inhales deeply and exhales hard. "Well, what do you remember about it?" She asks.
"It was 15 years ago, that's 2010. A very crucial year in our life. I remember being so happy at the top of my lungs, I remember the loss and the loneliness, all of it happened in that very same year," I say, staring blankly at her. She nods as she says, "I felt depressed, that I wanted to escape and disappear, figuratively and literally," she looks up, unsure if she's holding back her tears. "Indeed. That pretty sums up everything that happened that year," I say, rubbing the edge of the cup, unable to stand looking at her.
After a few minutes of an awkward moment, I offer her a cup of hot chocolate.
"Do you want some?" She nods. I fetch a mug, start making one for her. Breaking the silence, she asks, "Will it feel better in the future?" I keep myself in silence, letting her continue.
"You know, it feels hard to feel this loss, I keep wondering to God, why did He need to take him away from me? We still need our father. I don't know who I could tell my story to or who could ever relate. I feel like I don't have anyone to talk to, to grieve with. I want to cry, a lot, but I remember that I'm the firstborn, it feels so wrong to cry, you know? 'My family is now my responsibility', the uncles said to me. But, it feels heavy right here," She finally bursts into tears. The pain she’s carried for months spills out. It's all familiar. I know it, too well.
After a few moments, she soothes herself. Asks me in a very low voice, like a whisper. "But, did we survive?"
"We did. But the loss... It lingers, for years. But eventually, you'll overcome it. We survive," I don't know how, but something warms my heart. Maybe it's the realization that she and I have made it this far.
The silence between us makes the sound of the rainstorm sound louder. She looks back at me, wipes her tears, and takes a deep breath.
"Anyway, you're now 30, right? How does it feel? Being a stay-at-home-mom? I thought that you will end up being a corporate girl, living your best life like all the girls in rom-com novels I read." She says after drinking her hot chocolate. I notice that she changed the topic, oh to see this girl always avoiding the uncomfortable topics.
I smile at her. Those innocent eyes that I see, the same eyes which have cried her heart out, the same eyes which shone because of the friendship she gained while she felt lost. "I've been there, you will be there. We love writing, right? One day you'll get paid for it. I'm so grateful for having this kind of privilege," I tell her, proudly, reminiscing about what I had. "But?" She frowns.
"But, your dream might not be relevant 5 or 10-15 years from now. Plans can be revised, some dreams might need to be let go and that's okay. But you know what? This is also the best life I'm living in. Truly, I don't want to exchange this for anything," I taste the sweetness of my honey tea.
"You know what? Somehow it doesn't make sense at all, but I'll just let it go, since you passed all these years, you know better," She accepts it even her face shows disagreement. It's understandable, I myself needed more time to digest it, let alone a girl with a shelf full of rom-com novels about a life of corporate girl.
The rain is lighter now, no thunder for the last 5 minutes, at least. I sip the last drop of honey tea that no longer warm. I glance at her, smiling, and she does too. The imagery of a girl holding a cup of hot chocolate and a cellphone on her lap starts to fade.
The rain has slowed outside, almost like it knows that we've said enough. I'm back in my room, with the sound of my son breathing calmly and softly. As I rub his head, I realize, that those conversations I had with her might not solve everything. Some questions remain unanswered. The loss sometimes haunts me, keeping me awake. But the overflowing grace is something that I'll never ignore. Maybe that's the point of it all.
She made it. We made it.
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