The Beginning

Certain people wear their sorrows like the pieces of clothing they choose in the morning.

But before then, while sleep is still fastened onto their eyelids, they momentarily forget who they are and what they should feel. Then, awareness clambers onto them like a faithful lover. Their tired hands feeling the surface of their beds as they steady their minds. It’s that first blink of clarity that brings them whole again. Like a shirt unraveling down their chest, they remember. 

Arif wakes up every day with a single reminder: I no longer have a wife. 

Everything else is happenstance.

Give it time, they say. But Arif has too much time now and every day begins with an empty bed. As though by default, his hand would reach out to the space on his left, seeking the warmness of another person. It falls flat instead on a cold surface. And then, Arif would remember and no amount of sleep could erase the memory in his head. How her voice sounded. How her mouth said goodbye for the last time. How she would shrug her shoulders when she smiled. He does not dare to say her name out loud anymore. It’s like singing in a hollow cave; a constant reminder of emptiness. He wished he could say something, do something, for one last time. 

The media called it one of the biggest tragedies to occur in Malaysia. An oil tanker truck crashed into a speeding vehicle, careened off the highway and fallen directly onto the road below. The explosion was instant. Death was instant; 35 lives lost, 90 injured. She was gone. How could fate steal her away in a such meaningless way? From Arif’s logic, twisted by grief, he feels that she deserved a different death; the kind of death that befitted her soul, her beauty, her person. She deserved more than this, he said to himself. She deserved more out of me. 

For days, Arif could not receive any rest; every day is a reminder of her passing. The media reported expansively on the tragedy. Colleagues left awkward messages in his inbox, a balancing act of sympathy and awe. Family members came by but ushered themselves out quickly when they found the widower too blind with sadness that he could barely speak. His lawyer wanted to meet up, talk about technicalities; Arif has yet to reply. He just wants them to leave. His wife, Soraya, was a quiet woman. She wouldn’t know how to handle this attention. And for once, Arif knew how it felt like to be the one with a lead tongue. 

Death has other effects on survivors. Arif has forgotten how to be himself. He has always been a morning person but lately, it takes him an hour to find the strength to get out of bed. He feels immediately tired but here is another day, another day without her. He must take it. This is what Soraya would want him to do, he thinks. He never knew what she was thinking. She had always been a mystery to him. That was one of her appeals. 

Today is the 10th day without Soraya, and Arif wakes up, puts on his clothes and goes to kitchen for breakfast. He pauses in front of his refrigerator, wondering what kind of food he would force himself to eat but then decides on just a cup of coffee. It is almost lunchtime anyway. He goes to the small dining table in their apartment and turns on his laptop; less out of duty and more out of habit. He scrolls through his emails, ignoring the subtle pleas of his colleagues to come back to work. He has done enough work, he couldn’t care less if the office burns down. He contemplates on replying to his colleagues that he won’t ever step into the office ever again. But then an email catches his eye. 

Ginette Cho. Important. 

Arif squints at the laptop screen and moves the cursor to mark the ‘spam’ checkbox. But there is a niggling thought in his mind – Ginette? Where has he heard that name from? It feels like an echo trying to reach him. He leans back and frowns, trying hard to remember – a difficult task, seeing how he has gone through days of emotional burden and memories he would rather forget . He remembers somebody mentioning that name, not a client nor a colleague but… 

Soraya. He heard it mentioned on a phone conversation while she was in the kitchen. A friend of hers? He frowns at the word “Important”; a strong word, devoid of sentiments. He instantly clicks the email open: 

Dear Arif, 

We have never talked and I feel almost guilty for contacting you now. I have restrained myself from contacting you, per Soraya’s request but I feel that the circumstances have changed. 

But first, I am sorry for your loss. The last few weeks that I have spent with her will be missed. She was an incredible person to work with and I will miss her dearly. I am saddened that we were never introduced while she was alive. 

For the past few months, Soraya had been writing a manuscript. I have the draft copy but she was supposed to hand me the full manuscript for a children’s book. Unfortunately, fate was not on our side and I never received the copy from hers. However, I have not halted the project completely and I hope that we are still able to produce Soraya’s work as she was looking forward to have it completed. Do you know where she might keep the copy? Is it possible for you to look into her computer for any document that might be it?

I understand if this seems out of place. Please do contact me at my number below so we can have a real chat. 

Best regards,

Ginette Cho

Editor,

Lightning Publishing House Sdn Bhd.

016-XXX XXXX

Arif steadies himself as he rereads the email. If he had been asleep all this while – all his life now, he wonders – this is the rude awakening that was meant to happen. The rash of new information did not make any sense to him. Soraya, a writer? He had never seen her show any interest in writing. Soraya had been involved in something, for months, without even mentioning it to him once? She had went out, met this woman several times…

“I feel almost guilty for contacting you now. I have restrained myself from contacting you, per Soraya’s request…”

Why would his wife make such a request? 

And despite the fact he was already sitting down, Arif felt as though he was slipping - falling deep into something he did not quite understand and is not ready to understand. 

Awareness clambers onto him, like a faithful lover.