I Gave In to Gravity A Day Before Valentine's Day

/ Sunday, February 13, 2011 /

06 Ingrid Michaelson - Creep (Radiohead cover) from Mei Goh on Vimeo.
We were both praying for rain that night but it never rained anyway. We ended up eating leftover chicken sandwiches for dinner; I complained about how bland it tasted and all you gave me in return was your I-am-not-forcing-you-to-eat-that look. I gamely answered back that I've been starving to death since my last meal that morning and that I did not have a choice. You didn't say a word; you simply stood up from the couch and disappeared into that little makeshift kitchen that I've grown to love for the past few weeks.

I called out your name and yelled sorry about how rude I was with my comment on your sandwiches. I can see you from where I was sitting, with your back on me. I wanted to run my fingers through your unruly hair, lean my head on your shoulders and stop thinking about the world outside for even a few minutes. But you looked busy in the kitchen, you were probably doing the dishes that had been sitting in the sink for three days. The Marcos documentary on TV was a bore so I decided to finish reading Munro's Runaway instead.

I probably dozed off for an hour while reading. I woke up to the sound of crowds cheering on the boob tube. It's Silva versus Belfort, you mumbled. I replied back that I do not care at all and that I have to be home in an hour. You blankly looked at me while I rolled my eyes to emphasize how pathetic you've become with those almost naked barbaric men hugging themselves to death on national television. I headed for the washroom and when I went out, the match was over! In three minutes, Silva took down Belfort with a single kick. And you kept saying that you still don’t get it. It's 1:44 a.m. and I murmured an inaudible goodbye.

After checking and feeding your obviously hungry kois, I headed for the door and waited outside. You followed and I reminded you again for the nth time about feeding the poor fishes on time. You simply nodded like a drugged teen and I asked you about the brown paper bag you’re clutching. You held and squeezed my hand so tight that it hurts and asked me to stay until morning. You wanted us to spend the rest of the night up on the house’s roof. You sounded so sure about it so I said yes and we climbed our way to the top as discreetly as we can to avoid waking your grumpy landlord. And there we were watching the city lights, eating a huge pack of ube piaya, strawberry yogurt and this time around, freshly made chicken sandwiches. We laid on our backs, waited for stars to fall out of nowhere but not even a single one moved. We listened to Ingid Michaelson's cover of Radiohead's Creep over and over again on your iPod but the stars stayed fixed to where they were.

"It's about time we stop believing about wishing on some random celestial objects", I whispered. "Perhaps" was your only reply while you reached out for my hands.

Perhaps, it's about time I stop myself from getting too attached. The moment I do, everything inside me crumbles. But I did not tell you that. We both knew that whatever we have between us now, the laws of gravity do not apply- which explains why there was not a single shooting star that came by. Because in this game that we play, we can only hold hands on a Sunday. And we can only hope and wish that it would be enough.

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I usually say, in the end, okay, it’s love and it’s work — what else could there possibly be? -- Maira Kalman

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