loss is a childhood friend

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I met loss at the age of four.

 

I do not remember how but when he came, it felt like I have known him for a long time. Perhaps this is because I have seen him through the pictures and items my parents showed me. He felt familiar to me like I’ve seen his face before in one of our family gatherings, but I never made an effort to approach him.

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He came over on a Sunday afternoon for our first play date. The house unlocked its doors and granted him a key.  

 

Loss loved dressing up and making clothes out of scraps. He liked looking through my drawers, cabinets, and closets just to take out the objects he likes—and doesn’t bother putting the items back to where they belong. Loss enjoyed playing games, especially hide-and-seek because he knows the best spots to disappear. Loss embraces you when you least expect it. Loss broke a porcelain ware and left them without apologizing. And Loss looked like the type of person who knew everybody in the village and would wave hi whenever they passed by someone. 

 

At first glance, I already knew that I was going to share my youth with him because I had no choice. It was like having a neighbor that would knock on your door even when you are not in the mood to play, but you have no other option but to spend time with him because your parents have already let him in. When he comes in, he runs straight to my room without taking his shoes off and lays down on my bed with dirty clothes on. He leaves one of his belongings so it could come by the next day.

 

And even when I’ve left home, he comes by and drops off gifts for me to unbox. He still gets invited over our family dinners and intimate gatherings. I have memorized his peculiar way of knocking. Three short taps. Knock. Knock. Knock. And they’ve let him in. 

 

Loss is a lifelong friend. 

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