Yellow

Amber

I am a guy. I am the guy who does not understand love and will never understand love. It's my fault why she encountered something like this. It's my fault why she had to have an ill-mannered fate.

I am the reason why she died.

I remembered her smile that shone brighter than the sun, how her eye glistened like the Morning Star and her voluptuous body wearing a sunflower dress.

The days when we ate ripe mangoes topped with powdered milk flashed before my eyes, and her voice echoed like a symphonic minuet in my mind that would liven up your mood.

Her frequent visits in our mansion even made me felt more guilty. She would knock three times in my dark room. Soon I will see a streak of light from the door and her face would pop up. She would then comfort me in a corner where I sat and dried my tears with her jaundiced hands.

Sometimes we would eat marmalade roll or mushroom custard and pair it with a cup of Lipton tea. We laughed and snorted under the sparkling chandelier. That was the night that felt like sunrise; and I hoped that it would never end.

The time came when she was about to get her gallstones removed in the US. Sunlight pierced through the clouds as we drove to the airport, and we all had our hopes up — the hope that she will finally be worry-free  and live longer with us. The three of us (she, me and her mom) boarded together.

But everything changed when the plane crashed.

As the plane staggered midair, she had an asthma attack and I fished the inhaler from her bag. And, as if time was playing with us, later I heard a boom and a thud.

I thought that thud was an ordinary thud.

It was not.

I saw her face, lying by the plane's windowsill, bleeding.

Everything happened in a flash. I cried and cried. The plane crashed in a desert under the scorching sun, and the next thing I saw were helicopters coming to our aid. It all happened too fast. All I did was mourn with her mother, until we reached the hospital.

What made my heart felt like it's been thrusted with a knife a million times was when the doctor pronounced her 'clinically dead'. That was when bitterness filled my heart and hatred dictated my decisions.

If only I gave her inhaler on time. If only I held her in my arms. I should have died instead of her! She's all I've got. She's the  only reason for my being.

At her funeral, as I was mourning in front of her coffin, a policeman came and told me the words I could never forget:

"You're Mr. Teng, I believe? I reckon this belongs to you. We found it in Miss Amber's jacket."

He handed me a piece of paper with bits of sand in it. I lamented all the more when I unfurled the paper.

To My Dearest Hun,

A lot of colors surround the world. Different tinges defined different stories. Different shades concealed ambiguous meanings. But one hue has surely stood out in our relationship: the hue of hope.

This didn't only dye my skin, but it colored my empty soul as well. When my world  was falling apart, that tint has brought it back to pieces.

This color has made my life as sweet as the mangoes we ate, as aromatic as the smell of the marmalade roll we devoured and as serene as the tea we drank.

This tinge made me smile brighter than the sun, made my eyes shine as the Morning Star, and made me look radiant as the sunflower dress I wore.

This color is what brought us together — under the sparkling chandelier, laughing and exchanging stories.

Your world need not be iridescent. This hue alone can bring people together because it gives life to the lifeless. It is hope. It is what makes winter seems like the summer and  the evening seems like the morning. It makes people see in the darkness.

This color held our story. So, I would like you to teach others how to find it in this shattered world.

Let other people see how this color can patch up their broken pieces and turn it into a mosaic. This color, after all, represents the healing power of the Almighty One.

This color is meant to outshine other hues, so I hope it outshines your problems. Be healed. Be blessed.

I love you.

This is now the new color of love for it has patched our deepest heartaches and wounds.

If this letter has ever reached you, it only means something has happened. But don't lose hope. Don't worry, I'm surely in good hands now.

Signing off, Amber.

From that moment on, I gave up living in misery. The color of hope has held our story, and has a lot more to unravel. For the sake of Amber and the others, I will dare to share this wonderful hue of hope.