A Joke Played Out Too Soon

“If people have essence, I would think that mine is of similar elements to hers.”

[Click]

I get her.

Wait, how did I first know her again? Oh, right, someone mentioned her name just because I came out as a nonbeliever to them, since I was young and foolish and feeling too enthusiastic about my newfound identity back then.

But, yes, knowing her has once got me thinking, “Ah, we’re alike.”

“Ah, I get her.”

[Click]

And so she’s become one of the few people with whom I can talk to without feeling guarded.

“If people have essence, I would think that mine is of similar elements to hers.”

But then I’m still as distant and detached. If people ask me do I know her well I can only answer, “I wonder… Probably a bit? A wee chunk here and there?”

Yes, I’ve known her for four years, give and take a few months. We’re even in the same peer group, if that of any helps. And yet, I still think we weren’t so close. Quite, but not so close.

But I still get her then. Sometimes I would think that I can sense how her train of thoughts goes. I get where she comes from. I get her reasoning.

I get why she succumbs to social standards. I get why she doesn’t even try to fight it. I get why she’s been crazily, desperately trying to lose weights. I can’t explain how, but I get her. Hence, I didn’t even attempt to stop her.

It would feel too hypocritical.

“If people have essence, I would think that mine is of similar elements to hers.”

Only she’s a lot more pretentious than I am. So proudly pretentious. That’s her game, anyway. I couldn’t possibly beat her at her own game. And she could be so gruesomely evil at people. Every so often, I might add.

You: “Was she sweet?”

Me: You’re asking the question I just answered.

“If people have essence, I would think that mine is of similar elements to hers.”

Only she got a few strange features mixed in.

I didn’t consider those strange features to take full effect.

And so it goes.

I woke up to the news that she was already in coma, with platelet count hitting an all-time low at 400. I woke up to that news, and yet still I think so conveniently like a moron, “The doctor will do something about it.”

“What, can’t they transfuse some?”

I was so caught up minding my own business that day. I had deadline to destroy, translation quota to be filled up. So when I finally had the time to check on my phone, I was dumbfounded.

[”Sasa passed away.”]

I could only think, “What the fuck.”

And for a few seconds more I still couldn’t elaborate, “What the fuck. What—Fuck, what? WTF?”

Only after then, while still trying to finish translating stuffs, could I come up with the real question. Somewhat perplexed, somewhat stunned. Nothing resembled tears or sadness.

“What has she done to herself?”

“What the hell has she brought upon herself?”

“What the fuck, Sasa, what kind of shite have you done?”

Another moment passed, and new questions surfaced.

“Will I grieve?”

“She’s someone close, right? Will I grieve like everyone else? Or am I already grieving by being not sad at all?”

Because, me being me, I feel like I’m already somewhat seeing her all freezed up as a distant memory. One that I know will be momentarily forgotten for some time, one that I know will suddenly resurface while I was, I don’t know, grocery shopping, probably.

I hope it’ll hit me for real by then.

In memoriam: Sasa


“If people have essence, I would think that mine is of similar elements to hers.”

I get her. I never asked if she gets me as well, though. But at least she could tell you immediately what is the brand of my favorite soap, a fun-fact kind of knowledge that she seemed so pleased about.

A year ago, to be fair.

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