Wasuremono

forgetting

When Miguel went to bed last night at one in the morning, he forgot to set his alarm. And because he forgot to set his alarm, he woke up late. And because he woke up late, he realized he forgot to iron his work clothes last night.

So he ironed them out, which delayed him, and with all the preparations, he forgot to eat breakfast. So when he got to his workplace, he was kind of groggy and sleepy and overall just... not there.
Everyday was a routine for Miguel now. He got used to waking up at the exact same time and getting ready the exact same way and getting everything done just right. So when there was a break in that, everything was set back and he felt kind of lost. Almost as if he forgot how to function.

The report he had to turn in today? Forgotten on the small table by his front door. His lunch? Unpacked and still sitting in the fridge. His phone? Dead in his pocket because he forgot to bring his charger in his haste to get to work.

Nobody else noticed this uncharacteristic lapse in Miguel except himself. Because Miguel took pride in the fact that he was purpose-driven, goal-oriented, independent, and dependable. He didn't like to disappoint anybody. Especially not himself.

As good as it was that he knew what he wanted and did everything to get it, there were downsides to his behavior. It usually led him to ignore those he promised to spend time with; usually made him delay returning the calls of a worried, aging mother. It usually led him to ignore the pleas of a younger sister to come visit them someday soon. It usually led him to chose professional relationships instead of the romantic one he had promised to "work out on" like he "truly meant it," like he really "wanted the best" for him and the lady involved.

And so, really, Miguel couldn't think of anything wrong right now. He couldn't think of why there was a dull ache in his chest but no actual pain. He knew it wasn't a heart attack because his heartbeat was normal and he seemed fine, just fine. The ache in chest was almost like an undertone, dull and undulating in slight waves the way the ocean is like on a calm day.

It was only during his lunchless break that he realized said ache, and that his stomach had been upset with him too.
But he had tried to relieve himself, tried to pass gas, tried to quell the pain with two cups of coffee in his empty stomach.

But the ache kept pulsing through the cavity of his chest, and in turn all the other vital organs were being affected. It wasn't getting any stronger, but he had become more aware of it as the day passed by.

He really couldn't figure out what was causing it. He wasn't feeling physical discomfort. It seemed as if it was all just in the mind. And when the minds thinks it's in "pain," then the body will be put in "pain," even if there was really nothing remotely wrong.

And maybe wrong to other people was not wrong to Miguel. Maybe wrong to Miguel was not wrong to other people.
And maybe being forgotten is not wrong. Sad, maybe, not wrong. Especially when the forgetter had the right reason to forget the would-be-forgotten.

There was something wrong with Miguel today; with what the forgetfulness and the lapses in judgment and character, but he did not know it.

Because 3,070 kilometers; a four-hour plane ride away, someone was forcing him out of her life. She was purging everything out of her memory, making sure that his scent of cinnamon gum and cologne did not linger in her lungs. She was pulling the wings off the butterflies in her stomach. She drank alcohol that burned her liver, because before Miguel she had lived a life away from intoxicating things and he proved to be the most intoxicating one and so what was the sting of alcohol if she had already tried the deadliest poison that was Miguel?

She was trying to change her heartbeat, making the thump thump thump different so that her heart and Miguel's did not beat as one like she thought they did before.

Because they were not one now, not anymore. They never had been one at all.

To Miguel, she was temporary while to her, Miguel was permanent. He wanted her like she wanted him, but only for a while, and emails could only be ignored for so long.

Skype dates could only be postponed for so long.

A woman asking a man to love her before anything else could only wait for so long.

So she was forgetting him, and unbeknownst to each other, they shared the same pain. Because being forgotten hurt both the forgetter and the forgotten.
And sometimes it hurt like a stab to the chest but most of the time it hurt like the friction caused when two smooth silk handkerchiefs were being rubbed together.

It was subtle but there.

And maybe it never really went away.