I'm up early today though it's my off day from both work and college...thanks to the renovation works of my neighbours' house. So.pissing.off. I can hardly sleep past freaking 8.30am! Sigh. So much for taking a break on my off day. I suppose now would be a nice opportunity to wake someone else up but that would be purely evil so I shall resist the temptations to do so.

Anyway, I've got something up for all you loyal readers out there. You know how attached I am to someone who's been around to mould how my life actually works out? Well here's someone I'm sure you've heard me speak about. Mr.Letchumanan. So who can this Indian man be? No way, I don't call him by his name. I call him by something that brings me closer to his heart; an unspoken bound of relationship between this young brat and that old chap. I call him my acha. It is without a doubt that I have yet to let go of the fact that he has passed on though it happened 3 years back. That numb feeling still lingers in my brain as my father told me the truth. How did I go pass it? How did I attend the wake, the funeral and the prayers without completely breaking down? How have I moved on in life pretending as it never happened?

The truth is, I don't. For everything that I write to him or about him, I still cry. I still find tears hanging by my lashes and I still find myself sobbing uncontrollably like every other family member of ours in that side. Yes, we aren't related by blood but we are related by our emotions. We are related by the love we have for each another. We are related by how we care and how we matter to one another. Somehow when one lives, we seem to take things for granted. We take people for granted. We take time for granted. We take love for granted. Only when someone passes on would we learn that we have always been at fault. For a while, we would repent. We would regret our days and make promises to be closer than before but do we keep to our words? Sadly, we don't. As the days pass, our promises seems to have gone with it. And when the cycle continues, we are hit once more with the pang of guilt.

We smile as we think of the good old days. We laugh as we think of the good old jokes. We get angry as we think of the good old insults but all the same, we feel the love as we remember the warm and firm hugs from those who care. These old folks aren't going to be around for too long; and that's the saddest truth. The fact is that those wrinkled hands and a smile full of sorrow is what brought us up and yet we are all ungrateful little pests. We don't say "thank you" like we mean it anymore. We don't say "I love you" like it's true. We don't plan visits unless they ask for us and neither do we plan outings unless we're being reminded to. All we have is a sense of responsibility and only when there's death to dawn toward our feelings would we realize that we should have said "thank you" for every sacrifice, "I love you" for every day they were around, visit when we can and plan outings for every little occasions. Yes, we'd still regret but at least we'd know that we've been there once. Just once is enough for a lifetime of your memories. Just once would be enough for you to think of your every moment with them. Just once would be sufficient to make you think of the times "back then".

Acha, I'm still sorry we never stayed longer that day in the hospital. That final hug you gave me as you got my name right (FINALLY!), that kiss on my forehead that still burns my skin and that warm smile of yours as I told you you'll be fine...it all still haunts me. I'm sorry all I ever did was sit in a corner to play with my Gameboy SP back then. That I felt as though spending quality time with you was a waste of my efforts, your stories were to be repetitive. I do remember how you told us about your stories about being a police back then. That glistening handcuff is not something you'd forget JUST LIKE THAT. I'm sorry that I could never sit for too long in a place before I'd move away although you've only just inched closer to make me feel like your real grandchild. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. And I'm sorry. I wish I could take it all back and make it different. Maybe then you would have smiled a lot more. Maybe then you would have been a happier man. Maybe then I wouldn't have such regrets and be able to accept the fact that you are gone and no longer returning. Ever. But it doesn't work that way. You're gone and that's the truth. I'm wrong and that's the fact. I love you for being the man you were, Acha. You never stopped loving any of us. You never stopped thinking of any of us. For that, Acha...you're bloody awesome. Happy 84th Birthday, Achacha. I still miss you every day of my life.