The Woman by the Yarra River

Dear one,

It was an autumn night - her first in Melbourne.

Freezing from the cold breeze that was blowing, the woman wrapped her jacket closer to her chest, sat on a bench by the Yarra River and poured out her heart. She told the story of a great love - her love story. You would think that so many years after it had ended, the twinkle in her eyes and the lilt in her voice would have faded away with time. But no. She told the story like it was only yesterday that she wrote that letter. Every little detail seemed all fresh in her memory; more so, what happened that day he made the choice and said goodbye.

She didn't cry by the river. Or maybe, the shadows of the night hid the glisten of tears from my view. With tears or without, I knew then she bore a heavy heart.

Only a few people have seen her cry. After all, she is a strong and determined woman who knows exactly what she wants out of life. She is not one to do anything haphazardly. Everything that she does, she does with her whole heart into it. That must be why she felt so mad that night in Vietnam when I told her my own (non-)love story. She might have been thinking that I haven't given the best of my effort into that person. Well, eventually, she came to understand that I did give my best but, cliched as it sounded, my best wasn't good enough.

I did see her cry once. On the eve of her 31st birthday. Her tears were just flowing like a river without ebb. It was that moment at the Yarra River once again - when she laid her heart bare for all to see.

Rivers punctuated the friendship I shared with her: the Yarra River when she first told me her story, the Mekong River and that night we argued, the Seine River and the fulfillment of our Europe dream, the Kaohsiung River and the second time that we stayed awake together, chatting about my life until the clock struck the first hour of my birthday.

By the Mekong River, we sat down and ...

Our view of River Seine from atop Notre Dame

The irony of loveless-ness at the Love River of Kaohsiung

But if there was one river I'd like to mark another milestone in our friendship, it would be the river of her joyful tears on the happiest day of her life. On that day, I couldn't care less if I will be baking the cupcakes, singing at the reception or helping her with the train of her gown. I will be there to stand witness to her joy - a testament that no matter how much it hurts today, it would be a happy day tomorrow. I hope she knows I am praying for that for her because I know that the woman I met by the Yarra River two years ago deserves nothing less than that.

P.S.

Dear one, if our happiest day ever comes, I have to warn you, she's singing "Eternal Flame". I did try to dissuade her. But, as you would expect, she's all hell-bent on doing it. So how? LOL.