Wrong Number

Solo Flight With A Dog

It's another Halloween, then Christmas comes next. These are the times when I truly appreciate the Jewish in Manila, they remind me I'm not the only one who's does not do Christmas and usual New Years and just knowing you're not alone in this - eases the loneliness a lot.

My Australian editor invited me to a Halloween party, much to my chagrin. Her fakery annoys me. Her fake illness, until I hung out in her usual Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf, and pretending we didn't see each other. How does one can get an illness from a pet dog other than rabies?

I ignored my work phone, and put some music on. My small pet dog had caught some ticks from another dog at the park and tending to him and his ticks would be better, than such fake happiness with fake friends on a Halloween.

It isn't the same with Ethan's enthusiasm of showing me how Purim is done in Tel Aviv. A time of the year for him to be unlucky with chicks, like in all days of the year.

So I chose the company of a Shih Tzu with ticks, getting it one by one drowning them in isopropyl alcohol as I gave him a tablet for his ticks. Truly, a dog is a man's best friend.

It is this mentally numbing nights with the hands working, and a dog with me - that made me thought of 2011 date. I still have his number, the contemplation just gets stronger. My long long best friend came in mind also, so I did message her. Same old boring lawyer, we really do lose friends as we age.

Then I thought about my second conversation petition, and I know that being part the Halachic life - I must seek for forgiveness to the people I've hurt.

I don't really know if I've hurt the feelings of Mr Baldy 2011. It won't hurt. In a secular way of thinking, it's just live and let go. But for a religious life, a forgiveness must be made. Oh wait, atonement is putting it correctly.

I tried to sleep on it.

Another night of sleeping on it.

Another night, two nights, three nights... seven nights have passed.

It's a Friday night, and why not?

This is more like a ripping the band aid off moment.

If Drake doesn't remember me, then move on. At least I've said sorry.

If Drake remembers me, then shit, just say sorry. And make sure he's fine. Just say sorry for not getting in touch after a coffee, it's just I did find you ugly and bald. I've grown my immature ways.

After psyching myself, and taking deep breaths, I finally said the most awaited:

'Hi how have you been? We met years ago. Cheska.'

It was one in the early morning, Manila time and it was just five in the afternoon London time. I wasn't anticipating a quick reply, perhaps wasn't even expecting a reply at all. But his WhatsApp profile photo looked a bit too old for what I've remembered of him. The man though, is thankfully still bald.

I turned my phone on silent, and let in turned it over. If there would be a reply I wouldn't how to react. For some reason I hoped he wouldn't reply.

I distracted myself with news via YouTube on my iPad. The dog. The ticks. Thinking of seeing my best friend Ethan again.