About Moving On and Out

Hello. This would be my first post in 2015, I think... I've abandoned this blog longer than I should. Hehehe.

There's this thing I like to do, that I don't share with anyone else:

I like writing letters.

To whom, you might ask.

Well, I write letters mostly to the people I'm no longer able to meet in person. Some of them have literally gone out of this world, while some others are simply moving on with their lives without including me in their future; and vice versa.

Writing letters help me cope with things. 

Lately I've been writing to Afham, my little brother who passed away sometime in 2013.

And so, tonight, allow me to write another letter to him. It's been a while since I did.

***

Dear Afham,

It's been a while since I wrote you a letter, isn't it? I'm sorry, I've been too occupied with life.  It’s been quite exciting and depressing lately – and it feels more horrible without you around, and missing you makes it worse, but then again I'll cope. Just like I did with the other people I'm losing in my life.

How are you up there?

I hope you're doing fine. Psh, who am I kidding… of course you're fine. You're no longer feeling any pain, and no one will scold you for eating too much. And I bet you're smiling all the time because you got the chance to be taken care by a bunch of angels who probably look similar to your favorite SNSD ladies, huh?

Anyway, dek...

It's February 8th, 3.24 AM. Just a heads up, honey, for I haven't written anything to you in a while... we're moving out.

It's weird and kind of sad in a way, though – because we're moving out of the house you spent your entire life in to the house that's initially built for you. Dad even designed the spacious living room to allow you to run around and play hide and seek without bumping into things. He made a swimming pool, too – because you’ve always loved swimming and the only option available was to put you in a plastic swimming pool because you’re still a kid and he didn’t trust any of us to take you swimming in an actual swimming pool.

You know what, Pem?

I remember this particular conversation I had with Mom months ago, when the house hasn’t quite finished yet.

“I think I’ll be a bit sad when we move out, mbak”, Mom said, her eyes soften as she saw your pictures on the table.

“And why is that, Mom? You’ve never really liked living in this house anyway, the design is weird and the owner is not the most pleasant family in the world”, I replied back, earning a chuckle from her.

“It’s not really about the house, mbak… but Apem was brought to this house a few days after he was born and he continued to live here until the day he died. So I don’t know, I feel like we’re not only leaving the house but also leaving him in here…”, she trailed off, and I remember seeing her wiping her tears.

Now you know how Mom had always been a religious person, do you? She was the first to smile during the first days after you died, and honestly if it wasn’t because of her being so tough and cheerful I probably wouldn’t have moved on this much from your death. She’s never been too mellow about your death, Pem. She prefers to talk about your cute antics and laugh at them instead of talking about the last days she spent with you or the day she waited up for you at the hospital all night before you died.

“That’s ridiculous Mom, you know he’s not here anymore.”

I remember chuckling a little at her for that, because I can’t believe that Mom can be so sappy. Her being sad doesn’t make any sense to me – you’re no longer here, and we’re going to move into a better house soon, what’s there to be sad about?

But you see, here I am, sitting on the bed, with clothes and other stuff scattered around me, realizing that she was right.

It feels kind of sad and I feel like I lost a piece of myself.

I spent the last two days moving and packing things into boxes and bags, and somehow I keep seeing you in the near-empty bedrooms. Somehow I saw you there crawling near the mirror and in my bed, fiddling with whatever toys I gave you to keep you calm.

Somehow what she said slowly sinks in.

It feels like I’m leaving you here – which is funny, because the fact is the other way around.

I think the hardest part about moving out are the lingered memories left in the small corners of every room; the what ifs and could-have-beens, the regrets about so little time we spent doing what we should have done.

But I also know that the happiest part about moving out is leaving those lingered memories behind and try to create the new ones at the new home.

So let me be a bit sad for tonight, Afham sayang.

Let me reminisce about you for a while before I finally leave for good.

P.S.:

Mom named the new house after you. And also she kind of forced the architect to write your name on the floor of the swimming pool. A bit too corny to my liking, but hey – I’ll go with whatever makes her smile. We both know she have endured too much and she deserves to be happy.

Attached below is a glimpse of the sight from our new home. Wish you were here to enjoy it with us.

Tons of love,

Azrina