She wears a layer of wide and slim gold bangles around her tiny arms that clinks and clanks as she moves her hand to sweep her curls or cover my own hands resting on the table. The teardrop-shaped tiny danglers of her shoulder-length chandelier earrings dance below her ears as she tosses her head to nod or smile – a reminiscent of a wind chime at a farmhouse’s doorstep. If your imagination is as wild as mine, you can add the joyous chirps of the passing flock of birds in the scenario.
Her smile is as warm as her embrace and if the iron wrought coffee table in between us prohibits her from reaching me fully, she holds me in enveloping clasp through her eyes.
I named her WISDOM. And yeah, you can book me to a Psychiatrist now, I turned into schizo… tada!!!
Immaturity and the anonymity of her being, pushed me to running away as fast as I could whenever I bump her in the bars, catch her shadows at train stations or as the air blows the scent of her perfume.
Until exhaustion and dehydration left me lifeless at the deep end of the pit and I found her reaching out with her hand while the other shaking a glass of frozen margarita in the air – well, you guessed it right, the drink was just a figment of my imagination... :)
The next thing I know, after she helped me on my seat opposite her in the unfamiliar dim-lit room and after an hour and more of uncontrollable sobs and tears and sweat-smudged mascara and foundation I subjected her into, I welcomed without resistance the embrace of this haloed creature.
Yeah, deep inside my sober being was a familiarity of her. But to some, friendship does not happen in an instant. And to top it all, I’m six pockets and a bag full of strings of missteps and heartaches I knotted myself into.
There goes the free consultation to my winged friend to help me haul from my self-inflicted misery, she called it ‘normal abnormality', interesting and comforting :). This is while I am consoling a friend in the same ordeal. A weekend of enduring 30 episodes of Gossip Girl without being able to detach myself while I know it’s purely fictional and their lives and lies have nothing to do with my life. Sleeping and waking until my eyes bleed with Andrei Agassi’s OPEN without understanding anything about tennis. Dining out with non-fictional friends and hibernating unexpectedly, missing my church activities and all. Reliving histories and enumerating excuses to have other people to blame... ‘PATHETIC’ is quite an understatement, yes.
A few more desperate days later and 3 kilos weight gain due to oversleeping and binge eating, Wisdom peeped through my window (the first of many) and dropped to my bedside a box neatly tied with a golden bow (one of Wisdom's special perks). Perfectly knotted that I wouldn’t dare to untie... And guess what, inside was a gift of choice to leave my old life for a brand new heart. A fist-size life supporting organ with not a single stitch evident to show the unnecessary drama after drama that I tortured the old one with. On the hindsight, it’s not bad to lose things or people which and who are lovely but health hazardous, perfectly right?... Including an organ.
“I was hoping it was a bangle or a nice bag”, I muttered without a single hint of disappointment but instead with the widest smile that my mouth can stretch and of course the stream of tears flowing on my cheeks to make the scene more dramatic.
“Close your eyes my love, this is just the beginning. Look back into the past to forget the hurt but not to ask: what ifs. Count your tears and thread them like precious beads. Not to remind you of the knots that cause you pain, but a priceless jewelry that come out of it. Instead of mistakes, why not call them experience?”
Yes, why not? With the newly painted red toenails, a brand new heart works best.