My Other Half

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Alone on the rooftop with Jon Hopkins' Cold Out There on repeat, I stare at the spiraling glow of the cigarette slowly eating its way to the filter. The never-ending, nagging question presents itself again: Why are you doing this? 

Because it makes me handle the loneliness. Somehow. 

But there's another way to handle that. 

What? I ask and there's just silence. 

Tears begin to roll down. I'll be 38 in two days and I look back. I've been waiting for 20 years because I was so sure back then that at 18, he'll come around and sweep me off my feet. I was so certain of that, as certain as I was about the most important person in my life: Marti. I was always sure of him, known he was coming into my life since I was 8 when I held my cousin Paola in my arms and knew I was going to be a mother someday. But where's my other half? 

Marti is my life. But my other half, he's my meaning. He's my unanswered question because all the other questions in my life have been answered: daughter, sister, mother, friend. 

So I ask again, what other ways are there to handle this loneliness? And the answer just pops right out: 

He's coming, Len. 

It wasn't instant relief that I feel; more like comfort. It's not so much as the promise that he's coming but the endearing nickname that was used with it. There are only 3 people in my life who calls me Len affectionately and they are 3 of the most valuable, up there with my sister who calls me 'Ate' and my son: my Mom, my Dad and my godmother/ 2nd mother Ninang Joy. 

Maybe it was my Mom or the Lord using that nickname on me, not only to hang on in there but more to console me on this rooftop. And maybe I'm not really alone in hoping, praying and waiting for my other half and that thought alone makes this journey seem a little bearable. 

 Meantime, this dirty habit has to go. Permanently.