with my left eye, one frame at a time

From a height, Tokyo, Japan, November 2009

I don’t do well for birthdays. I forget, or sometimes, despite some effort at remembering, I don’t manage to make wishes and/or presents materialise in good time. And in the spirit of such patchy brainwork, it just occurred to me that this coming Saturday will be someone’s birthday.

Someone who doesn’t need me to celebrate his birthday anymore. Someone who, if he were still alive, I may or may not have attached import to the day (on the day itself). I think I am the sensible sort. But sometimes, the night gets to you, and some thoughts that run into your idling mind take root and spin a few circles before they’d leave.

I remember the words that came to me that night in November, just before I flew off for Japan. As they go, these moments come suddenly. That was me tearing at the departure lounge, typing into my iPhone not too furiously. That was me telling myself there’s no need to be this way, and hey, who ever managed to type properly while suffering from impaired vision. And then, as swiftly as it seized, that moment let go its grip.

When the day comes, I will be in a rather good mood, I expect. For one, a colleague (affectionately known as “saigang warrior”) will be getting married.

But then I remember another image. The one of Daddy standing at the window, staring into the north. I asked what he was looking at, and he talked about the trees and how they remind me of his carefree days. He was always missing something, it seems, or holding some sadness within.

Maybe, I learned melancholy from him.