At 5:15 a.m. my Hubby's alarm rings (and yes, it irritates my good sleep!) but he pulls himself out from bed only after another 15 minutes. This has been his sincere ritual for the past two months since he began cycling. For some reasons, he is pretty excited about this new joy he discovered on the old bike my brother had shamelessly discarded.
The next 10 minutes run almost in a bustle, I submit my regret for buying the wind-proof jacket which seems to make the most horrible cracking noise in that serene hour of the morning. After planting a kiss, he leaves with the reminder, "Darls, time to get up," and I complain, "Not when you and your jacket disturb my sleep," and I lull back to sleep.
A colleague is supposedly elected in the 2013 election. I run to him with congratulatory excitement, all the way praising him for his capability even otherwise and more so for being a MP-friend! Just as I give him a hug, my friend sheds a teardrop - a sign of happiness. (Fast forward 30 years) - I am a widow and so is this MP-friend (whose wife happens to be another of my many on-off friends). He proposes to me that he had always had a crush on me from our College days to working days and then after. I am wary of the thought that people won't like us getting together after 30 years, but my worry circled more about the grief that I was widowed hardly a year ago.
The intensity of pain - even to think that I will have to live a single day without my Hubby. Having always prayed if KP were to live for a 100 years, may I live for 99 years and 364 days so that I won't have to live even a day without him. I swear I won't be able to pull through, although the reality may come a little harder or more acceptable.
The colleague explains that he will make the rest of my life happy, despite the grief around our necks. After thorough contemplation, I ride the bus to Phuntsholing to meet him. But no, I am not happy meeting him. I am still sad and uncompromising.
Just then I hear the door creak. KP is back from his cycling. After landing the cycle, he walks into the bedroom, opens the curtains, pulls out his sweaty clothes and begins to exercise. When he sees me wriggling in bed, he comes near me and kisses me, "Wake up Darls, it's almost 7:00 a.m." I pull him closer and hug him tight. I walk out of the bed and give him another hug. He doesn't know for what but I am thanking him for coming back, for being there in the reality.
Because, if he were to live for a 100 years, may I live for 99 years and 364 days so that I won't have to live even a day without him. He is my reality. Weird dreams make him a better reality.