100 Days

Someone asked me this question out of the blue: Between the one who has to leave and the one who's left behind, who suffers more?

She asked me this as if it's a contest and there should be a winner. I did not answer. In my silence she concluded that maybe both parties hurt just the same.

If I had replied, I knew my answer would be one-sided. The latter would hurt more.

It is the one who's left behind who has to deal with every scent that lingers on the sheets days after the other took off. It is she who has to live with the emptiness that hangs in the air, when all the noise had died down. There's no escaping it.

Nostalgic sadness is like having bags and bags of blood sucked out of you. It makes you so weak, you can't even cry. You can choose to be happy, of course. But there's always something about winter nights that just make you not want to.

It's been a day since my husband left. You see, this is why I'm partial to the latter. Until now, I still haven't broken into tears. What I do is stare at the ceiling and feel this hollow pain making waves of all sizes on my chest. And then I sleep, sandwiched between pillows and with the comforter over my face. I sleep before it hits me real hard that I'm alone again, I know that it will start to make me cry and I just extremely hate the part when snot starts to come out and interfere with my breathing.

My husband's presence is a baffling thing. His nearness is enough to make me happy, even when he does nothing special. Actually, my favorite moment with him was when he was in the bathroom, brushing his teeth and I was sitting on the bed, staring at the TV, but not really watching because I was half-listening to the sound he was making. And I just suddenly felt happy. It was spreading all throughout my being, the way the sun soaks you in its warmth in the morning and you close your eyes and let your soul respond. Yes, that's right. I found the right words, thank God. That was exactly how I felt when I realized that he was finally near me.

But now, he's left again. As if those ten days were a short trip to the toilet to shit and then that's it. Time moves too fast when you're loving every minute of it. I guess you just have to fight for the good days. You do this by not letting the bad days defeat you, because good days keep on coming. You just have to wait again for that ultimate return that makes his presence in your life more meaningful. Otherwise, watching him brush his teeth would simply be fucking annoying.

My husband and I have started a countdown. "100 days," he told me, "I'll be seeing you in 100 days."
He's always like that. Positive. Good-natured. So unlike me. He even reminds me to pray every night. "You lead the prayer," he'd say.

When he does that, it's as if the Lord also reminds me, "He's always worth the wait."

True. Always has been.