Table for One: Anthea
Anthea, 10pm, 11th Nov 2009, NYDC Restaurant Wheelock Place
Its been two and a half months since I had last photographed a lone-diner and I thought, amongst many others, that I had given up and forgotten. Yet it seems that till now, like a hungry leech clinging onto an aged-crusted-wound, forgetting is a feat I can't seem to shed yield.
For two and a half months, I tried to make myself believe that I had found a closure and that I could start moving on without you. As with several other mornings, in a perverse game my mind plays, I will wake up premature from my sleep to reach into the darkness for my handphone to routinely jolt my eyes by the screen's bright emptiness and wake my heart up to the bitter truth - that you'd never ever call or text again.
3 months ago, I met Anthea when she was having a late dinner at NYDC. I was really excited when I came forward to her, for it was the first time I found a young Singaporean lady dining alone, a rarity I could not give up and an individual I could identify with.
Anthea agreed for me to join her in her meal with a suaveness that won me over into admiration. Almost flawlessly concealing her bewilderment at my audacity to ask, she agreed for me to photograph her. As if resuming the play button after a short pause on a video clip, she continued to eat her pasta as soon as I left the table to start my work. In getting to know how she came to eat alone, Anthea had for me very matter of fact answers, answers the crisp folds of a well-pressed linen. What she had to said was really inspiring for me to hear, especially when my heart strings are tangled in meshes.
A month later, even before I could send her the images Anthea surprised me with an email. She asked me whether I had ever asked myself why I wanted to be with you. I could come out with a million answers and one time and end up with none the next.
This morning, I woke up at 4am to stare blankly at my handphone. I buried my head back into my pillow and tried to erase whatever residual light from the emptiness that was left in my retina and get back to sleep again. The last line of Anthea's email rang in softly in my ears:
"What's meant to be, will always be, no matter how hard, how long, and how far apart."
I felt the tightness in my chest loosen and I got up from my bed to write.
Today I shall try again, continuing through in the many days after, no matter how hard, how long, and how far apart.