Something utterly dreadful has happened. I knew that Que was pregnant with Ton's child, and I can't exactly say I was happy about their reunion, but I certainly was glad our family name would continue. Though this confused me greatly, because I also knew that Ton had married another woman and even had two boys with her. I didn't think my brother could ever do such a shameful act.
I suppose I was right in some way. Ton had died. Of illness, they said.
I felt sad at first. But then my stomach clenched in rage knowing that if Ton was with me now, he would never have fallen ill in the first place. I would have taken care of him. I was furious, because my brother had been driven away by unfair idiots claiming to bring justice.
I couldn't sleep at night.
I felt guilt.
I was guilty because I could have told him to come back. I could have forced him to stay. He could have rebuilt our honour with me.
But no. Men are so weak, aren't they? So what if you're ashamed? So was I, but now look where I am.
I think there's more shame in running away than there is in living in suffering. I am proud to have stood here all my life, unmovable like a 1000 year old tree whose roots have grown so thick and long that it simply is impossible to get rid of.
But I still couldn't get any sleep for a few days. Not that I slept much anyways.
I sat by the courtyard, dreaming of the days when Ton and I used to sit here together.
A curious thing loss is. This isn't like losing a house, or rice paddies. I can get those back. You can even reclaim honour, but you can't bring back a life.
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