I love him.
And I hate him.
Sometimes I think I hate him more than I love him.
But when I hate him so much, I feel that I love him more than I hate him.
Each time after not meeting him for a long time, I tell myself that the next time I meet him, I want to be fierce and I need to scold him, to tell him I’m angry. But each time I meet him after a long while, I just look at him. And no matter how angry I am before that, I’m no longer the angry person I wished to be when I see him. His tired eyes. The look that is trying to hide the one thousand things that’s going through his mind. That cigarette in his hand. And the other on my lap.
I don’t know where I get the patience that always put me in a waiting mode that seems to cross decades. I know I’m exaggerating. Let me be.
Just as he was driving me back after dinner and wanted to bring me somewhere to jalan-jalan, his car broke down. He flagged down a taxi for me and I went home alone, while he waited for the tow truck to come. He wasn’t talking or answering to any of my questions while he checked out his car so I just let him do what a man’s got to do.
He called when I was about to reach home and then again when I reached home. My tone of voice when I got into his car before dinner was like he owes me a million buck, because I was angry and I just wanted to shout at him la. But tak jadi because the heart suddenly went cuckoo and so the feeling inside me was like milo mixed with tequila. Hard to decipher and decrypt.
Then after I got home, I talked to him so nicely. I don’t know lah. Aku sakit hati.