I wish I never had to part with the Timekeeper.
I wish I could take him with me everywhere; when Ade got married, when Anggi's turn come, when I'm rocking it with folks my age.
I wish I were as indulgent with my parents as much as I am with him. I feel like all the love and pleasure to serve (the kind that I cannot offer my parents), pour forth with reckless abandon for him.
I understand that things happen and that the time we have with each other is predestined. Sorry. I meant that; Life is predestined. "This many hours ye shall be with so and so. This many hours ye shall be alone."
And for only this many hours left ye shall have in the Timekeeper's company.
It rings in my ears, like an automatic stop to excess. I cannot linger under my shell anymore; because tea-time is up and this is "one less cup from my stock of tea-times with him. So I have to make every sip count."
You know? I'm writing this at the mall. Four-hundred kilometers from the Timekeeper and waiting for Souma to arrive. My darling Souma, how I love her. And from loving her I check myself: Do not love too much, said Jesus and Sayyidina Muhammad and Buddha. Even if it is the Timekeeper. For, even he is but mortal.
The thought of a mortal's predestined life comforts me, actually. Although life is brief, and our meetings are short, and every cup is just a sip, love reaches far and beyond for as long as kindness is passed on.
It was the Timekeeper, my master and spiritual father, who taught me the dignity to accept kindness and bear its counterbalance. As long as I remember and practice that lesson, he will be with me.
