I am a possibility whose name is not even confirmed. Supposed mother wants Ramses, some pharaoh in Egypt in the ancient times. She also thinks of Raphael, an archangel and a painter’s name. I think I’d go for the former. The latter’s apparently quite common, especially in that country they call Italy. She also plans to put a second name. She is still choosing between Gabriel, another archangel’s name, and Gideon, which means a warrior. It’s supposed to be Hebrew. Well, it doesn’t really matter now. I am a possibility that will never go down the pipe to realization.
No. It’s not that they have not met. They did. They met early in their life. Perhaps too early to the point that what could have been a beautiful union as lovers, ended up as a tightly-bonded friendship. Supposed mother liked father, loved him in fact. Supposed father, however, did not.
As I float in this sea with other possibilities, I watched them. Supposed mother always, everyday of her life, whispers supposed father’s name, as if beckoning him to come home. He on the other hand, remembers from time to time, but eventually shrugs the idea of her off. The only thing I felt then was disbelief. How can something seem meant to be, but will turn out differently? I cannot be an impossibility. I will hold out. Perhaps it is not yet time. Thus, I waited. I kept hanging as time passed, as other possibilities became real and only a few of us are left behind. I kept thinking, there is no one else for them, but each other.
You see, supposed mother has wanderlust as much as that of supposed father. Every time they see each other, all they do is travel, eat, and enjoy. They listen to the same type of songs and watch the same kind of shows. Whenever he can, he will call her and ask her where they will head next. She will always be there to roam the world with him. They will head to the beach in the middle of the afternoon and spend the night by the shore. At times, he will drive with her to the hills and stay there until they freeze. When exhaustion sets in, they will stop by the nearest hotel to rest.
She never complained. He loved that lifestyle. She loved being with him. He loved being out and about. She loved him, but he never loved her back. All the similarities didn’t matter. Everything, all the things they have gone through together, and the memories they made, defeated by a four-letter word, intangible as it is. It was impossible to accept, even for supposed mother.
He was her reality, those tidbits of bliss that make her life bearable. He was her madness, the uncaged inspiration in her dreary every day. He was her past, more importantly, her future. But she had to let go. The way I had to let go.
We were both in denial. He might just be in denial, and eventually he will find that she is all he needs. We did this together, her not knowing I was backing her up. We waited. Patiently. Understandingly. This, however, was to no avail… obviously.
I am now an impossibility. I am a possibility that will never go down the pipe to reality. Supposed mother’s future now feels bleak to her as much as mine is to me. I heard her tell herself before I swam to the swamp of thrashed possibilities, “I will live I guess. I have to.” I felt like she was telling it not only to herself. Yes supposed mother. You will survive to meet all other possibilities and make them real.
For my supposed future son
12:46 am
27/1/12
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