Purple Didier

It's been a long time since I last shed my tears...

 

Two weeks ago, I was so elated to see five baby bunnies come to the world. There are two brown and three blacks. They are such adorable creatures. I couldn't recall when was the last time I was so affected by small animals. Everyone in the family was too, overjoyed. We would bring the babies three times a day to their mother and make sure they draw enough milk from her. It is unbelievable that I have been occupied with them everyday since. And I even have their pictures taken. I made sure that everyone hear the news and be happy for me.

 

The spirit in me has become so lively. When I slept, the little ones come into my dreams. I surely enjoyed their company. Fur is growing on their body and has become a silky soft thicket over their vulnerable bodies. This has been very exciting as I had waited patiently everyday for this moment to come. What I'd be even happier when they finally open their eyes to see this world and to see me. They would definitely find this world beautiful when they discover that the world is actually painted with colours. What's more is that, they are here in time to celebrate Christmas 2007 amidst our family!

 

That is definitely a beautiful story that I have been telling. Tonight, one of the babies has restored an abilily to myself which I was once gifted. At about eleven pm, we woke the babies again from their sleep as usual to bring them a third time close to their mother's breasts. All became suddenly active and excited again except for one. A brown baby seemed to be upset. He didn't get excited over the meal. We suddenly became worried. Could it be that he didn't have enough during his lunch, which made him weak? He didn't answer. We tried to feed him with a help of a small straw, introducing some milk to his mouth, he swallowed it. Occasionally he pushed and stretched his limbs apart. He looked as if he was fatigued. For this, I blamed the barking dogs outside. They must have been making too much noise that the poor baby was prevented from his sleep. I brought him in my palm to the carpet in the living room. He continued to push his limbs forward every now and then opening his mouth. This time, he made some shriek and bit his teeth. Then he made "ga ga ga ga ga ga ga...", as though he's chuckling. But I was convinced that he's not. On the contrary, I knew that he was in pain. I felt so sorry. No! I must do something.

 

Decidedly, I brought him into the study and with him in my right palm, making sure that he's protected from cold, I found myself begging for help at the World Wide Web. I found numerous information and tips on caring for rabbits and especially a sick one. To my disappointment, they all recommended a vet. I looked at the poor baby with my eyes filled with tears. Many different first aid ideas came to me including fondling his stomach in case of indigestion, petting his forehead if he longed for my care. I don't believe that I actually prayed to god again after such a long time. Please do something to save him, don't let him die! I prayed. The rabbit became calm and slept for some time. I checked that his heart was still beating. I said to myself, perhaps he'd be okay after some sleep. Just this time, he stretched his limbs again with his mouth open, but this time with no cry and slowly loosened. It was so stupid of me to think that he was yawning again. No, after two seconds I waited, there was no sign of heartbeat. Quickly I fondled his chest, pinched his toes hoping that he would move a bit from some pain. All I could sense was the release of hormone in my body, somewhere not far from my own heart. And the next second, I was struck with some terrible spell. Needless to say, by this time, I was all ready to weep over the death of this innocent, of this lovely creature which had yet to open his eyes to see this world, to see how the guy who was petting him looks like.

 

I always thought if we continuously disturb a dying person from falling asleep, his heart would continue to beat forever and ever. But no, it stopped. He died after such agony. He didn't wake up again either after that. I wrapped it between my palms, slowly put it back to the box where its brothers and sisters were quietly sleeping cuddling together. Dear babies, say bye to your brother! Okay, let them sleep together again one last time. Tomorrow, its cadaver will be settled.

 

Yes, he taught me how to weep over a dead loved one once again...

Tonight, I discovered a love letter that I wrote long ago and which I have forgotten.  It was written in French but it might not be addressed to a Francophone, because I used to write things in a language that none of my close friends would understand.  I was rather conservative back then.  Still I cannot tell who that could be.  I have to believe that it was an unrequited love.  I should be so happy that I got over it.  Experience taught me how to distrust the spokepersons of "love".  I reject all sorts of promotions of love.

 

I am presently disconnected from the dream and I feel myself a complete different person.  I am sorry but I have to rebuff your offering, be it roses, diamond or "I love you".  I hope I can stay disconnected for as long as possible.  That is why my heart was smarting when I discovered this letter.  I however deem this letter as a proof of a purest love, and I am feeling pity for the author.  What kind of fictional love was he longing for!  I have no appetite to keep this letter a secret.  If you understand French, you are welcome to read it...

 

En chaque endroit, n’importe quelle époque, chaque personne a ses propres histoires. Et des histoires d’amour sont jouées jours après jours sans arrêt. On sent très triste quand une histoire est contrecarrée. Alors, mettons-nous à aimer ! Pourquoi a-t-on besoin de cacher son sentiment le plus profond ? Montre à celui que tu aimes. L’amour véritable ne peut jamais être arrêté. Mais, la mort sépare trop souvent des couples affectueux, cruellement, éternellement. Quoiqu’on ne doive jamais remettre le sentiment de chagrin, on ne peut pas beaucoup faire. Il ne nous reste qu’à apprécier ce qu’on possède maintenant. On devrait saisir le temps à composer la plus belle histoire, le poème le plus romantique imaginable. Que peut l’homme faire contre toi ? Ne leur donne pas l’autorité d’éditer ton œuvre d’art le plus merveilleux. Je dis ‘Lisa, Marie, Sarah ! Lâchez vos mains, ne me volez pas mon amant, mon amour !’ Dis-leur, chéri, toi aussi, que c’est seulement moi que tu aimes. Ne laisse personne nous bloquer. Notre chanson doit s’avancer. Or, je meurs, mon amour ! La seule dernière fois, je devais te le dire ‘je t’aime d’amour !’...

Mon bébé, mon tournesol

Qui a besoin de la lumière du soleil

Tu n’es lumineux qu’au soleil

Tu es si beau, tu éclats de joie

Je dis que le soleil va disparaître

Tu dis que tu ne regretteras pas

 

Le soleil disparaît comme d’habitude

Tu deviens aussi hagard que mon imagination

J’ai tort, j’ai tort

J’espère que la lune te sera rassurante

Tu dis que non

Et que ce n’est pas la même gloire

 

Oh mon bébé, mon tournesol

Ne te fâche pas contre moi

Car je ne comprends pas

Ta manifestation contre moi

Tant que je voudrais être un soleil

Je ne suis qu’un autre tournesol

 

Mais je vais t’accompagner, c’est promis

Jusqu’à ce que le soleil se relèvera

Je te rendrais ta joie en plein soleil

The rain was over.  It was a pleasant rain with no thunder; unlike the unbelievable award-winning thunder of yesterday (Kokorozashisho and I even filmed it).  It left the whole apartment chilly and refreshing.  I put down “Kafka on the Shore” and went straight into the bathroom.  At home, I hardly wear anything at all; in no time I was back to the nature.  Stepping into the shower area, I recalled talking to Patricia about installing a bathtub at home.  I said to her if I had one, I would disappear with [name deleted] into my room, where the bathroom is, and would probably reappear only three hours later.  I then recalled the figment of my previous imagination, a scene where [name deleted] and I are half-washing, half-fondling each other, kissing and chatting in the tub of bubbles, and occasionally giggling over some silly yet sweet little drivels.  Next, the identical scenes in “The Dreamers” and the deleted scene of “Wild Side” pierce into my mind, as if trying to reproach me for my lack of originality in the idea.

 

Unwilling to pursue on the scornful thought, I wanted to flush it away all at once.  I turned on the tap and a steady, continuous jet of water spouted from the hole above my head where I had detached the shower earlier.  I let the water wash down from my hair.  It was refreshing and invigorating.  This reminded me of our childhood joy running outside when it was pouring with rain; the more intense it was, the more excited we were.  This joy has been lost for quite some time.  I used to enjoy showering a lot too and would not leave the bathroom before the passing of one hour.  No one ever has ever complained except for my ex-sister-in-law when I went to stay with my brother and her.  I don’t know but I have to laugh every time I remember her water-saving theory.  My brother would definitely agree with me.

 

When I heard of Grandma’s death, it was 3 a.m. in the morning.  Soon after I hung up the sad-news bringer, I burst out crying.  At that time all I could hear was silence and the long, ugly howls.  At any rate, I did not think that they came out of me.  However everyone had already fallen asleep at this hour.  I could not believe it was from some ugly beasts either since the woods is hardly thick enough to serve as a habitat for any such beast.  It could not be anyone other than myself, my weakening logic told me.  In order to shut up these repugnant and horrid shrieks, I locked myself up in the bathroom and ran the shower down on me while hopelessly weeping against my knees, sitting on the floor.  I cannot tell if I was having my clothes on, but the coldness will never be effaced off my memory.  Despite of all, I must say, it was the shower that saved me.

 

Since god knows how long, I have dropped the habit of spending long time in the bathroom.  I only routinely go into the shower and briskly clean myself everyday without much thought and get out of the bathroom.  Today, it’s however unusual.  I spent a great long time just showering, nothing else.  Time is ticking away, I had no idea how long I had stayed there.  To say that I did nothing else other than showering may not be apt.  Of course we do all sort of things when the water is running; I actually did shampooing, rubbing myself and… performing the “bad habit” that every boy does.  Well, this is also part of the routine, I suppose; nothing worth mentioning.  I am a person who always gets disconnected with the real, present world and enters into the world of my own, where time sometimes contradicts itself.  I was like an outsider, though, watching the boy by the name Kanetake and his life.  During one of my visit to Kanetake’s childhood house, he was bathing with his sister.  He was nine then and his sister eleven.  Parents had been out whole day, so they had stolen several plastic bags from the kitchen and made costumes with them and put them on.  At that time, pubic hair and other hair were absent on both their bodies.  They clung on to each other slippery body and played all sorts of body game.  Kanetake took the order and got on all four, then, with no difficulty, his sister mounted his back, moving backward and forward, like riding a horse, gliding her flesh against his.  It is not usual that they had this kind of close body contact; in fact, it was the first time Kanetake learned about this sort of sensation.  This sensation left him listless the whole night.  Several days after that, the two invited their elder brother who was twelve to join their second and the last series of their discovery work.  This time, they explored each other’s body, quenched their curiosity.  None was bashful, and they were definitely unaware of the transparent visitor.  It is the nostalgia of these small details of my childhood which lingers on till today that moves me and tells me that I am alive.  Whenever I’m drowned by emptiness and loneliness, I would return to my childhood memory – my refuge.

 

Nowadays, I do not feel as much as I used to the need to love and to be loved.  It seems like sex is all the concern no matter what.  Maybe I am overfilled by love, and lacking of sex.  Maybe I am wrong…  I lifted my head and scanned through the whole bathroom, something caught my attention.  It was a metal flacon of Lancôme Homme Smoothing Shave Foam; at the sight of it I had to blush a little.  It used to have an intimate share of my pleasure, but I gave it up.  Anyone knows what I am talking about here?  When you are taking shower, you are free to think of anything you like.  I am just thinking maybe I should consider taking long shower again.

     Sleepless night, it is when I am filled with thoughts of childhood memories, it is when I reflect on what I have done.  It is when I am lonely.  Behind the close door, there I am, alone on the double bed.  Books are stacking on the side table; I do not know when I will finish them.  On the bureau, homework lies idle.  Looking at it, I only feel the impossibility.  The night is all too quiet, except for the bugs who are still awake, crying for help.  Try to listen closely!  Are they trying to tell us something?  Are they not complaining to us, telling us how short their lives are?  Let them cry while they can.  Tomorrow, they may no longer be there…

     At this very precise minute, my mind is so peaceful, so calm.  As I listen more carefully, I hear my heart beating.  It is these beatings that keep me awake.  But I am wondering when they will stop.  There is one question of which I wish to know the answer -- Did grandma die peacefully five years ago? -- Yet no one knows the answer.  Why did I leave her behind at the first place, to attend this idiot of university?  She must have suffered without me.  I am sure she was feeling the same way I am now, when she was lying on the white sheet alone in that air-chilled room…

     A night without sleep is a night without dreams.  Without dream, what colour is there in one’s life?  The sun is rising soon; hope the golden rays will bring colours to the milliard creatures on this earth.  God shouldn’t have punished Adam.  It is not his fault after all.  Blame all on the coquettish woman.  It is her who transmitted the incurable disease to the entire world…

     Mom left me when I was still one.  Under others’ mummy, I was brought up.  So, all this while, it is her who is lying, wanting us to believe that it was my father who had been unfaithful.  Thinking back to the past, it was really silly of me where I would cry out to her so innocently every time I had been bullied. Anyway, she owes not a thing to me.  In the same way, I owe her nothing.  That is perhaps why I did not have any intention to visit her during my stay in Kuching during the Chinese New Year’s period.  For that, my dad has come after me asking why I have not done so. So I told him frankly what was in my mind.  “She didn’t even call me”, said I “why should I see her then?” Within seconds, a slyest smile appeared on his lips, it is one that is of the greatest happiness or contentment.  I thought I was surprised by his reaction, but it didn’t take me long to comprehend the logic.  All this while, he has been jealous as we would speak to our mom with such timidity, while to him, rudeness and unwillingness, at least this is what he thought.  So naturally, he has had to think that he had defeated my mom this time.  Me, I will call that childish…

     Eversince I have undergone an operation to have my appendix removed, I have always slipped into reveries.  It is not that this has been uncommon for me.  In fact I have been at all time too much concerned with my teeth that it puts me into a light trance. However, I feel that it is significant that I talk about this subject because of the freshly recruited member—my scar.  I feel deep inside me a kind of inexplicable intimacy with my scar at the lower right corner of my abdomen.  Not only am I fond of indulging myself in the pleasure of fondling it with either hands, the name “cicatrice” that the French has given to it simply gives me the tingling sensation at the bottom everytime it is summoned.  I at first was most enthusiastic about showing it off to friends.  But as experience has taught me, I should keep it under the dress when I am out in the society.  I learned that people who demanded to have a close inspection at it would also have the tendency to demand to see the other part of me.  I of course would think that it is merely out of the instinct of curious animals that such ones would advance with the request.

     For the reason that I am living in a prudish circle, I intend to speak not of aberration.  And to clarify my intention of writing this text or to evict the possible ambiguity of my readers towards my text, I am expressing the feelings and emotions that a naïve boy has towards his little friend.  This little boy apparently has the desire to liken his newfound friend to himself, or to find his feet in the new playground at the invitation of his friend; it is more of the latter however.  Short while before or even at present, the darker “cicatrice” is resting on my smooth, white nakedness.  It is through this will of transforming into the quality of this little friend of mine that I have found the pleasure of lying under the sun.  Long hours of sunbathing have certainly brought some colour to my skin.  But what “cicatrice” does not know is that I am actually beginning to fall in love with suntanning.  This untruthful friendship between me and my “cicatrice” is lead by observing other sunbathers.  Needless to say, these enthusiastic practitioners were, too, enjoying themselves. And their ecstasies and agonies are inextricable, for agony is ecstasy itself.  This may seem farfetched to the observers’ eyes, but not to an accomplice like… me.

     After hearing my story, I would beg my readers to keep it under cover.  For my furtive action is an effort to safeguard the amity.

     In life, I have always dreamt like any other homo sapiens.  There are times I would dream of seaside scenes.  They are all beautiful, but never has there been any that can compete with this one.

     There is an isle, hardly two strides away from the mainland.  The size of the isle is that of the circumference of the base of Eiffel Tower, with its four legs lightly dipping into the sea.  The isle is by no means empty.  There are boys and girls chasing one after another around the only tall coconut tree.  They have their upper half bodies naked, boys and girls alike.  They are shouting, they are splashing water onto each other's, now tanned, skin.  The water is dribbling down from their chests, past their navels, down to their hips.  As I watch I get more and more excited, but at the same time, thirstier and thirstier for their pleasure.  I am ever so tempted to join them, save for the isle is filled, so much so that it would not allow even my skinny bone to enter.  As I was still envious, my attention was drawn to the water dribbles.  Before they can reach the ground, they are all consumed by the sun, leaving behind the ugly streaks on their bodies.  The streaks resemble those left by the substances like mucus or semen, dried up under the sun, combined with searing heat.  Suddenly, I am so much repelled.  And so I walk away, in another direction.  They go on to have their corrupted way of fun, but their moans of ecstasy cannot reach my ears, for the ferocious waves are striking the shore, along which I am walking.  The water is as dark as the blue ink; it is a colour that is perfectly mixed, as contrast to the greenery of le Douanier Rousseau.  I cannot resist the beauty but to join my feet into the palette of blue.  I look down to my feet as the water comes rushing against my legs and quickly passes through them.  The sand is so dense that it does not give way to the roaring waves, and the water is free from any turbidity.  Then I begin to think to myself, "isn't this a heaven or a paradise?"  Surely it is.  That is when I decide that this is the place where I will burry myself, burry a body that has long been dead.  I continue to walk towards the seabed.  As I walk, I strip off my shirt, and then my dirty old jeans.  Now that I have my private part below the water, I realize that I am being watched.  The boys and the girls are watching me with jealousy!  But I do not care much except to have the full baptism of my body.  I am tired.  I need to sleep.

     As I thought the story has perfectly ended, I realized that it was just a dream.  Now I am sighing by the window, saying "How can a human's life be so beautifully attained?"