Spiritual kin

I didn’t give birth to you, but you were mine.
The littlest, most gentle, with eyes that looked like she saw the world when they were set on you.

We met in unlikely but fitting manner, and from there there was something about your life that would always come back to link to mine.

You are amazing. You are talented. You are so beautiful and kind, you are so real and thoughtful. You are God’s precious, and He will use you in ways you didn’t think he would have.
But throw all those plans, throw everything you thought. Even if He brought them back, let him be the one who does it. You just drop everything, and restart with the Lord.

It took time, but you grew. And you grew and I enjoyed every moment of you being tall enough to shield me and strong enough to stop me and exhibited all the love I recognize from the father, and poured it back in measures of coffee and pastry and sleepovers and tea and books and thoughts into my life. I enjoyed my little one growing up, not needing my caring for, but still wanting my caring for.

Though you aren’t mine, the pain of letting you go is something I wasn’t ready for.
Spiritual kin is bonded in solid gold and it will never break.
But you need to take flight, you don’t need me anymore.

I need you as a friend. I will always be here.
I will always be your spiritual kin, but I will be your friend.

lei

Dear mornings

This morning as per usual, I wake up in my lovely room on the 9th floor of my hostel overlooking apartment blocks and double-story terraces with the backdrop of the body of water connecting the island to the mainland. It rained recently. And at 9.48am this morning, as the wind blew cool breezes, one familiar gust encircled me in memories of living in a little house owned by an elderly couple behind a park.

I lived there for two weeks of my life here as I began my final year, I lived there in a little one bed-room with my closest friend of the time. At about this time of morning, I would wake on our queen-sized bed. Stretching a little, naturally I’d turn to my right and pause to check for any motion; if the sleep had worn off from my companion’s eyes. On days where I’m the one who wakes first, I’d give it a good few minutes of snooze between peeks over to my right. After a few stirs we both would realize each others consciousness. Then we check our phones (but there isn’t much to do without wifi in the residence). She’d sit up propping herself on the wall adjacent to us and I’d roll around to her, popping a hello in form of a ‘meow’ and a grin before having to crawl to the loo and entering again announcing I’d get us hot water for our teas.

It’s always a slow morning. Partly as there’s not much to do with the sem just beginning and partly because we both loved to linger in the early moments of the day.

Hot mugs of steaming water, some cut up fruits and red bean bread from last night’s pop into the kedai runcit would accompany us by our bedside. Little conversations about nothing really and updates from our phones would be shared, but other than that just sipping sounds and murmuring over the enjoyment of tea in the morning, together.

Usually I’d lay back down on bed for a few minutes as we plan our day, sometimes resting on her lap I’d tease her about something random she’d always do with her face or gesture but never notices. She’d either hit my bum or say I’m a crazy cat, something to that effect. Two weeks with my best friend of my life now, they were good memories.

Especially the mornings. As light filtered in through the gap of the slightly pulled curtains and my friend sat by the wall looking down at her phone, I sat there just watching, as times of our lives passed knowingly, peacefully. Time I knew would be well spent.