that night in barcelona, the second night, i woke up, sort of, crying from a dream. « sort of » because i was only half-awake; the whole thing still feels far-removed, but when i think about it still theres an excavated ache. i was back at home, the old jurongwest appartment, for some reason scuttling back and forth my neighbours house and mine. i just came back from paris or something, and i couldnt find my mother. then this exneighbour (oh i still remember her face and her name- she was the older sister of a c/eca-mate) told me my mother could only be around during certain times, like certain months, cos she’s going to be away, cos she is very ill, and it so was that when i came back she wasnt around. i was very sad, i tried to bargain with the exneighbour, but after awhile i realised well its better than nothing. that i could wait for her to come back cos shes gonna be back afterall. even though i would of course want her to be around all the time, for her to not be ill, but really its better than nothing. then i woke up, and i felt this immense immense overwhelming pang of sadness because i realised i was dreaming and there really is nothing now. and then i started crying in my half-awoken stupor, until i fell back asleep again. and when i woke up it was a very hazy recollection, the dream itself, but the ache, it is still there.
this missing-people thing, it strikes you at the oddest oddest moments- even when you thought youre so sure youre withdrawn from the memory of the person (sometimes i get scared that there will be one day i will wake up and realise i cannot remember how she looks like anymore), even when you thought three or four years is time ample for the emotions to ebb, even when there are starting to be days when you dont think about the person anymore at all, then bam and ouch. its probably never going to be possible to extricate someone from your life, and my subconscience will probably always always be waiting. i dont know how to make it stop.