The missing sock

Hi there! Meet me and my partner. We’re socks! We are white in colour, and our job is to warm our master’s feet and to protect his feet when he wore shoes. Our home was in a clear transparent plastic package before our master bought us from the store. We were washed when he took us home and worn with his running shoes. Our master cleaned us fairly often. When he sees us getting grey with dirt, he puts us in the laundry to wash.

It was raining one night. Our master had sent his other socks to the laundry and he only had us to keep his toes warm. So there we stay on his feet when he went to bed. We were very happy to do the honour of keeping his feet from the bitter chill of the downpour air of the tropics.

Soon the rain stopped. Our master’s foot isn’t cold anymore. Slowly we felt his foot getting warmer and we felt ourselves started soaking the sweat. Our master was getting restless. He was getting uncomfortable. He was tossing and turning in bed. He reached for my partner and peeled her off his feet and threw her away in the dark. Unable to do anything, he peeled me off his feet as well and threw me across the room where I landed in the dark corner of a dresser.

I hated it there. I felt lonely. I was alone. I wanted my partner with me just as we had so many days together. A spider decided to spin its web on me, stretching it to the dresser. I didn’t know how many days had passed since that unfortunate night. The spider web had collected some dust and the spider was gone. It had decided to abandon it probably. Once, I heard my master call out to his father whether he’d seen me around because he can only found my partner. He knows I’m missing! Sometimes I saw glimpses of my master’s shadow fell over me and I will with all my heart that he’d see me here. But he never noticed.

More days had passed since. I was getting anxious. Most people will throw away the single sock when they can’t find the other. I was scared my master might throw my partner away if he couldn’t find me. What would become of me then? I’d end up in the landfills with other garbage and rotten trash. Then one day, I heard the sound of the floor being swept. I heard the sound of furniture being dragged across the floor from its place so the tight space under and around it can be swept clean. I heard it getting nearer. The dresser was then dragged away and I saw my master’s amazed face finding me in such place. He picked me up, beat me against his thigh to clear the dust and puts me in the laundry basket.

As water and soap wash over me, so does my relief. My master washing me means, he still kept my partner somewhere. I was rinsed, wringed and put on the clothes line where I let the sun dried me. I was white as snow when my master picked me up. When my master sorts the laundry out in his bedroom, he picked up my partner, folds and rolls us together and puts us in his underwear drawer.

The next morning, my master picks us up again and wears us during his routine walks. I was just happy I’m together with my partner again.

Because ordinary failure just wasn't enough

Someone who was in my life that I miss

At first, I can’t decide if I wanted to publish this post. I have been keeping this to myself for quite a few years. When writing this post, telling one story might reveal another. But in the end, I decided to be professional and publish this post. This is a story of forbidden love. I won’t use his real name here, so I’ll change it to Mr First Love.

Ever since I went to school in KK, I learnt from my friends that first loves aren’t necessarily your first boyfriend. That’s true though. I met Mr First Love at his workplace. Nineteen years my senior, he’s not my first boyfriend, but he was never my boyfriend either. He’s just someone who’s so dear to me. Who would have thought that I would fall for him so much when I first met him?

I have spent so much of my time after school with Mr First Love. When I don’t feel like going to school, I went and hang out with him, coming home in late afternoon. Even when I was sick with menstrual cramps, I’d hold the pain in and ride the stuffy bus to his workplace. We would just talk and talk endlessly.

It seemed like there’s an unspoken agreement that we’ll only be each other’s best friends and not more. So we talked about the two women he dated, about the boys I liked but didn’t like me back; we talked about his workplace and I talked about my school; we talked about our families and our homes. When I’m in doubt, I’d ask him for advice; we exchange jokes; we exchange experience; he told me such amusing stories of the two women he dated. I really enjoyed our time together.

But then during those times together, I fell in love.

I didn’t tell him. I didn’t tell anyone. He’s the only person I loved who I kept in secret. I want to keep him and all my feelings for him all to myself.

Mr First Love occupied my mind. When I’m in class, when I eat, when I drink, before I went to sleep and when I wake up. It was safe to say that in every breath I breathe, he was always in my mind. I can’t help but wonder if he thought of me the same way as well. I can’t help but wonder if he could possibly fell in love with me as I had fall in love with him.

I guess the relationship between us was too casual. One day Mr First Love revealed to me, through a picture he set as wallpaper in his phone, he’s dating another woman. That takes the count of the women he dated to – three? I got jealous. I was right there, in front of him, for almost a year. Yet he didn’t date me. I swallow my envy and asked him how he got to know her? He tells me everything without sparing any details aside. Once or twice, he let slip of how in some ways I am better than her. That made me felt good. I told him I didn’t believe him, but in the frown I displayed, there’s a relief knowing how he thought of me.

I asked Mr First Love why he didn’t pick me to be his girlfriend. I gave him a look of mock jealousy, when what I truly want is to show him how jealous I truly feel. He told me that he did want me. But he cared about me too much. He wanted to protect me from anyone who wants to hurt me should they find out I’m in a relationship with him. Looking back at the time now, I realised that he also meant he can’t trust himself not to hurt me as well. We can’t be in a relationship together because he’s such a player of women’s heart that he might one day inevitably hurt me.

That’s when I realised he had feelings for me too.

One day, I got myself a boyfriend. Then I stopped being friends with Mr First Love. He called me and texted me a few times, probably because he missed me, but I didn’t answer or reply. When we met face to face at his workplace, he gave me a mild look of resentment and accuses me of forgetting him now that I had a boyfriend. But that’s not the case. I just can’t be around him, feeling what I felt. He both made and breaks my heart. Soon, he stopped calling. Soon, he stopped texting.

There were times, over the years after that, where I thought about Mr First Love, wondering how he’s doing. For the past months so far, I have been missing him so much. My random scribbling had been about him, my daydream always had him in the background. Maybe because our friendship ended so abruptly, we haven’t had any closure.

I made a promise that I’d tell Mr First Love one day. Writing about this gave me a sense of relief. As if a weight had been lifted off my shoulder, I felt a little better now. One day, I’ll meet him, just me and him alone to talk about what happened in the past. We both deserve a better closure than we had all those years ago.

(Dear Mr First Love, Happy birthday)