2007, my new year was spent consoling my inconsolable mother. Dad died in a car accident, en route to pick us up. I felt my phone vibrating and ringing in my pocket from all the phonecalls my friends did, wondering why wasn’t I at the party. The cancer ward was loud and cheerful, with volunteers and bald chemo kids ushering the new year, throwing confettis. We sat just at the corner of the section – Emergency and Trauma unit, displaced from the merriment and how foreign it felt and sounded.
2008, I was out cold, buzzed from days of not sleeping. I holed in my room the whole day, playing Warlords and eating not much else. I was aware of the text messages and missed calls but had no energy to lift even a finger. I just hoped my mom wasn’t one of them. After dad died, she was needy and demanded more attention from me and my brother than ever.
2009, she left me for good. On top of it all, Robin, my cat for the past I don’t know years, died. I can’t remember much about that day, only that I just can’t wait for the next year to come as seeing how 2009 was already shit. I think I spoke to mom.
2010.
November, I told you, that I’ve never really had a proper ushering in. New Year’s eve always have some sort of a bad ring to it. I have not been sober for many years on that date.
December, we celebrated mom’s birthday. You washed dishes with her, and I stood at the entry of the kitchen not really believing that this goddess of a woman is wearing dad’s apron and flashing me your ‘no worries about it’ smile. I felt funny, like the inside of a gooey caramel candy.
2010, you gave me a kiss and I was lost inside you, spiraling out of control so fast like a wheel out of its axle. As we reached the crescendo, I remember all those years this day that I passed out of consciousness, and how this feels the same, except that I have something – someone – at the end when I crash back down again.
