Affectionate Recovery

Olas.

We're up to 9 days in Ramadhan now. 3 more weeks to go, or less. So far, fasting here in PALAM feels natural, doesn't change much from when I was in Shah Alam.  Maybe slightly better, even. Back then, I didn't care much on my diet, only making sure it was enough to keep me going for the tight schedule. As long as it's food, I'd be fine with it.

Here, I could have space for my preferences. Granted, there aren't much variety up here, but yknow, we make do with the best we have. What I preferred, I'm free to pursue, and vice versa. It's the little things that feels more gratifying than we'd think.

I don't call home that often, once a week, maybe. I guess it was more often than before Gawai, but that's neither here nor there. I call to check in, both for their benefit and mine.
I missed one last week, Dad didn't pick up. So I called again tonight, and Dad called back.
The usual chit-chat is always refreshing though it rarely changes.
I just like hearing their voices. When it's not scolding me, that is.

With Dad, I always end with an "I love you, Dad.". It's not surprising by now. It was, the first time he said it when I was in boarding school, having to call once a week with a public phone on weekend nights. It never fails to give me strength, at that time.
Every time I say it, sometimes I'd remember how people would look at me afterwards, if the call took place in public. They'd have a shocked or wonder-like or amused face, as if never expecting the phrase to pass the lips like the likes of me. I hate stereotypes.

I'm never embarrassed to express my affection. Sure, they're near impossible to gain but once you have it, you are welcome to it. Most of all to the people who literally gave me life, and still giving me life to this day. A simple "I love you" to the end of my days would hardly be enough.

Dad sometimes asks the right question, and he's persistent when it comes to the right things.
He's always easy to laugh, and always open to hugs and affectionate gestures.
His jokes are near ridiculous at times, and like all dad-jokes, near unbearable too. But we always laugh our assess off. I love hearing them laugh, and mine sometimes take me by surprise at how good it feels inside.

With family, I'm too easily emotionally constipated. The smallest things can hurt like a bitch, and the smallest gestures can lift burdens off the shoulders miles high.

I remember when sleep was the thing I craved and feared the most. I craved to never wake and feared it never end. The smallest shake would jolt me from it, fearing the alien hands on my skin while I thrashed. I hated it. It made me feel sad and small and pathetic.

Now, sleep comes as natural as everyone else. I wake slowly, fluttering my eyelids and having time to focus my sights. My breathing is calm and easy, no longer panicked and harsh when I was trying to gulp everything in before it gets choked off.

I stretch, and smile at the loss of nightmares.