the story within the egg shell

another rant? this place is after all the one where i come in to shout, to scream, to hide and to download, so humour me.

they forgot. after 36 years of existence, countless friends, numerous relatives and a handful of precious ones, they forgot. my chinese birthay. oh, it's very easy to remember the other one, with the flip of the table-top calendar and a scribble of the pen, it takes but mere effort to remember one's english birthday. to even fail that miniscule effort is pathetic to say the very least. yet, that's okay by my books because you label your friends by that very action, or lack of action. those who can hardly be bothered about wishing me a simple greeting definitely will not have more concern about my well-being on other days. i do not grieve about the lack of love from people i don't love.

the chinese birthday, on the other hand, requires a little more work, but still no rocket-scientist task, which is usually only expected from very close relations. it is more than a little depressing to realise that after 36 years of existence, nobody has bothered to make that little effort. which perhaps goes to show your weight in their life.

a husband of 12 years. a partner of a span so long i've since lost count. when you come to the realisation that even someone like him has never bothered to note down a date that is so much a part of you, it's very hard to ignore the ache that vibrates from the very core. with all his talk of love and actions, in all the 17 years.....it never come across him to take a few seconds to pen down a fact that will probably be erased the moment my mother passed on. taking for granted that someone will always be around to shoulder his responsibility of loving me. a detachment from the very things that mean so much to me. how do you go on and pretend that it is alright?

a brother since i have taken my very first breath in this world. a sister-in-law that has become a part of us. little nieces and nephew that i have spent countless hours lavishing love and entertained. a little boy and a little girl who cries 'mummy' and spoke of a love so great. a mother-in-law that i once thought loved me more than my own family did. all of them forgot. a more accurate way to say it will be, all of them didn't bother. to them, it was just one more day, no different from the rest. no love communicated.

the solitary red egg. the significance so great within its thin shell that cannot be contained within. the fingers slightly marked by the reddish tint, so filled with love, an action so simple yet conveying so much affection. a quiet wish. to the person taking a gingerly bite of the tender white flesh to have so much that is good in his/ her life. a silent hope that he/she will understand the love behind the action so pure. when you have just come to realise and appreciate the very significance of the simple tradition of love, it's excruciating to realise that people around you do not hold you in such high regard.

the realisation was slow but days before, i knew that they would have forgotten. deliberating, musing, i wondered about my choice of reaction. i'm too old to sulk, to scream, to cry even. not that it will bring back the attention of those i love. if i rant, if i shout, they will perform to please, but an action prompted by guilt, is that what i wanted?

having anticipated their impassiveness, i tried to approach the day as equally detached as i could. still, i couldn't stop the splotches of tears that threatened as i made my own red egg. as i took a bite into the love that only i myself had for me, the saltish drops streaked down and acted as condiment for the egg.

realisation for him came a little too late, when he saw me preparing the egg. he tried to make amends but how do you rectify a situation like that? the pain that came from disregard. he cooked the longetivity noodle that usually followed the solitary red egg. without prior preparation, taking whatever he could from the fridge, the past-its-expiry noodle tasted of cockroach droppings. still, i kept my mouth shut. what does it matter how it taste like? it has since lost it's meaning. there was no point in me twisting the dagger of guilt into his consciousness. there will be no joy for me in seeing him hurt. so, i ate the noodles quietly. i couldn't keep the hurt from my eyes nor the pain from my face. but i kept the words from spilling out of my mouth. words will not be able to fill the gap impassiveness has created. words will not be able to turn back the clock of time.