I went home late at night, then suddenly I saw him outside our house. Just standing and looking from afar. He’s quiet. When he saw me, he faced me and I saw his eyes of regret. I just looked at him. There was a control to neither embrace him nor hold him. There was a distance; the air of stiffness to both of us surrounded us. I stared at him, read, and observed him. I was not thinking of myself but of him. I took my place into his. And it’s hard. I can’t believe how hard it is especially when he told me, “I’m dying soon, Kamile. I got this disease unexpectedly when I slept with another man last year. I didn’t know that he acquired AIDS before.” I wanted to scream into his face but instead, I went with him to see a doctor. “How could this man who inspired me got that illness?” I asked myself. He was just even busy in feeding kids, teaching them passionately and I didn’t know his untold story.
Does knowing he’ll die soon make me apathetic?
Then he cried in front of me. I went closely as he was repressing his tears. He runaway swiftly then the darkness covered the street until I heard his deep wail. A wail that awakens my senses.
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