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Once, you lost your voice due to an overworked season - too much yelling and too little listening. Nobody was really interested in hearing you out. The customers, all they wanted was to complain about the soup and the cheap house wine. In the kitchen, voices were lost in the midst of boiling stews and bursting vapours, clouding the words people wished to say. You came back home to me, your speech wanting to tumble out but not able to, and all I did was to place my finger to your lips. The whole night we practiced speaking to each other in silence.
Five is the number of times I tried calling before I gave up. Twice is the number of attempts you performed to switch off your phone, the first attempt failing because you actually forgot how to do it – you haven’t turned your phone off ever since you bought it.
Yesterday, I got a case of swimmer’s ear. I think it is due to the amount of earwax clogging up my insides, causing the water to be stuck within, maybe via capillary action. I remembered that term ‘capillary action’ from biology class a few years ago. The way things get stuck to surfaces, not because of gravity, just because…they can.
People say, a dulled sense leads to reliance on the other senses. Following this train of logic, I suppose my blunted hearing lends to my other sense being more alert. The other day, I was scanning a cereal box on my table, one that probably deserved to be thrown out a few weeks back but its perseverance to remain won me over. The box read ‘Cornflakes sweetened naturally with no added preservatives. Real fruit added.’ My eyes were able to pick out the curls that ended the alphabets, especially the ones that tend to twirl more than the others, the ‘s’s, the ‘l’s, the ‘g’s. How funny it is that food manufacturers have to sustain claims that their foods are ‘real’. Hmm.
I wonder if this carries on to my dreams as well, this heightened sense. I remembered seeing more vividly, the colours becoming more jarring and the outlines bolder. The world I moved within was pointed and acute, not wispy enough to be surreal. There was a kind of shape that held that world together, the edges pinched upwards and twisted sharply to ensure nothing fell through. I think I saw you, or your shadow, inch across the floor towards me, a figure growing more confident with each step. Then I woke up and remembered that you refused to pick up my calls.
I guess it would be a good thing, since I would not be able to hear you much clearly anyway. The reverberations dragging and bouncing off my inner ear drums would soak up your words, wetting them with a stubborn refusal to be heard. You would probably become even more frustrated at me, each ‘huh’ and ‘what’ ripening into grains of sand that remain lodged in the soles of your shoes.
