First night alone in a long, long time. So far, no problem. But then again, it's not bed time yet. As much as I claim myself to be an independent, modern woman, I actually hate living by myself. I do enjoy my own company when I have a good book and a glass of ice cold chocolate soy milk, but I won't last very long that way. Once my eyes are tired from reading, I would want the company of another person nearby.
I have not been separated from my boyfriend for more than 24 hours since July 1st, 2008. This afternoon, however, he flew to Europe to attend his beloved grandmother's funeral on Friday and won't be back until Sunday. What the hell am I going to do with myself? Yes, thank Goodness, there is cable TV and for the next 4 days, I can watch whatever I want there without being interrupted by hockey matches, football matches, rugby matches and the rest of them. I can finally have french language channels on at all times, in the hope that, unconsciously, my brain will pick up new words here and there. Wishful thinking, I know.
I don't even know where the hell am I going with this journal entry. I guess I just feel like talking, but there's no one here I can talk to because I'm not a telephone person and because it's a weeknight and I don't feel like going out anywhere. Plus, I'm starting to get a cold again. My throat is feeling scratchy.
AGGGGGGGGHHH.
Don't worry, it's actually not so bad :) I'm just whingeing because well, I'm just so not used to being in this apartment by myself :)
By the way, my boyfriend's grandmother died last weekend. She died at 1am Belgium time, which would have been 8pm here. Here's the funny thing. Earlier that evening, we had a nap, but I woke up at around 6.30 while he continued sleeping. At 8pm, however, and I remember this because I just read a little clip on lapresse.com saying that the Canadiens were down 1-2 after a 20-minute period and Saturday night games normally start at 7.30, my boyfriend screamed out of his sleep. He said that he dreamed that the Canadiens scored. Over there in Belgium, though, his grandmother died at that same time. Isn't that so freaky?
The freakiness doesn't end there. Later that evening, we went out for dinner and, I can't remember what led to that topic, we started talking about our dead relatives. I think he first mentioned about All Souls day and he then explained to me what it was about. He said that on All Souls day, he used to go to his grandparents' graves (the ones from his dad's side) and put fresh flowers there. I then talked about how I, too, used to go to my grandfather's grave in Jakarta (in freaky Joglo cemetery yg becek banget kalo abis ujan) with my parents, aunts, uncles and cousins, and we used to put cakes, oranges and the like around the grave for my grandfather to "savour". From there we talked about our other relatives who had died.
It was the morning after that he learned from his mother that his "mamie" had died. It's heartbreaking to see a grown man cry. I hope I'll never have to see him like that ever again.
What saddened me also was that, I realized that I wasn't there for my parents when their parents died. My sister told me that my mother and her younger sister were crying the hardest at my grandmother's funeral. I know my mum often dreams about her and I know that sometimes she cries in her sleep - a mix of sleeptalking and whimpering.
AGGGHHHHH. Excuse me, but I'll have to continue this another time. It's such a depressing topic!
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