Solo Flight

Alone... what a tragic word it is I've come to understand.

It is tragic to wake up in the morning and make a mental note of why I should force myself out of bed...
1. must shower
2. make an effort to have a decent breakfast and organize lunch
3. can't miss the train
4. ensure to arrive work wearing the happy face, masking the feeling of tediousness

It is tragic to walk the vibrant streets of Sydney with heavy feet... dragging myself... unmindful of the bustling scenes around me as if they were mere clips from a silent movie... no smelling of the flowers because all that matters is to get from Point A to B.

It is tragic to eat meals and know that I can possibly count the number of times I chew my food... or drink my flat white and count the number of gulps I make... if only to distract myself from longing for the company of Edwin and Cerise... oh how I ache to fetch for extra cutlery or a second serving of tamoto sauce.

It is tragic to have the luxury of speaking with the both of them every single day for hours on end... even see them on video, thanks to advanced technology... and still, the wanting doesn't cease.

It is tragic to finish work at the end of the day and not have something... someone to look forward to even as I go home... because it isn't really home.

It is tragic to not look forward to the weekend because when I'm not working, I don't seem to know what to do with myself.

It is tragic to meet new people, nurture friendships, learn new things, keep myself entertained, see interesting places and still each day seems to be a replay of the previous day.

Someone suggested I should "enjoy" the "single" life because when Edwin and Cerise finally move to Sydney, it is back to old routines. But that's just it. I am NOT "single". I am a wife and a mother. And that doesn't change whatever i'm doing, wherever I may be. And I like our routines. I long for them. Not once in the past 6 or 7 years did I find myself wishing I wasn't a wife or that I wasn't a mother. So how can I even begin to make sense of that suggestion?

The last time I remember crying myself to sleep was when I had my one week of baby blues shortly after I gave birth to Cerise. Now I'm doing it again. But unlike the baby blues, I do know what's causing my crying spells. Not that I regret moving to Sydney. If anything, I feel more convinced than ever that this is the time for us to be here. But I just miss Edwin and Cerise terribly. I've never known loneliness in my life until now. I contemplate... is this how and why people spiral down to depression?

Thankfully, as my friend Si pointed out, I know the end date to my desolation unlike others who don't even know why they are depressed let alone when and how they will snap out of it. It's been hard but I am hanging on.

It's just a matter of time. Not long to go. I should really look at it this way...

Every day is one day closer to 22nd December when I fly to NZ for Christmas.