I Swear You Will Be Fine

Dear Josh,

This is the last birthday-related letter, I swear. Remember how earlier this week, when I wrote the first birthday-related letter, I mentioned that you wanted us to have dinner at this pizza place? We didn’t end up going there. Instead, you booked a cable car ride and a table at a pretty restaurant on the peak of Mount Faber. It was so dreamy that thinking back to that day still makes me feel like I’m dreaming. I’ll start from the beginning.

Same as always, I was at your place from the morning. We spent the day together and at around 4pm, we started getting ready. I originally wanted to go home to get ready, but you said we’d have more time together if I brought my dress and makeup to your place, so I did. You took a simple shower and started getting your clothes ready. By the time you were almost done, I was still just at the beginning of my makeup routine. We’d been through this before – for Halloween Horror Night – and you were already used to how long I take. It’s not that I put on a lot of makeup either, I just take a long time and do it really slowly (thank goodness you had patience and a ton of jokes to make about girls and their speed). Anyway, when I was almost done, you decided to put on your shirt. This is when the famous ironing story happened. As your mum tells it, we struggled with the iron. She isn’t even exaggerating (I wish I could say she is, but it really happened that way). You brought your shirt to the ironing board, the iron wouldn’t turn on, and when it finally did, water started dripping. You panicked slightly because you said it’s too much water, and I was trying to rationalize it because the iron didn’t seem broken, so I said it’s normal to have water when ironing (in hindsight, I probably meant it’s normal to spritz water before ironing) and we carried on. After a few strokes of the iron, we resigned to the fact that it’s indeed broken and your shirt’s now neither ironed nor dry. You then called your mum for help.

Prior to calling your mum, you were telling me our plans for the evening and said that she’s not going to stay at home for long because she’s in a rush to go out. So, when we failed at ironing and you called your mum, I thought, “Oh gosh, Joshua’s mum’s gonna be upset because she has to help us when she’s in a rush.” So I tried to say it’s okay and that we’ll figure it out – I mean, we’ve both done IQ tests, and I know we’re not incompetent, so it can’t be that hard to fix a wet and crumpled shirt, right? Wrong. Turns out, we’re only good at IQ tests. The problem-solver in us thought of using a hairdryer to dry the wet spot on your shirt (we tried, it didn’t work), and I was assuring you that you’d still look good in a slightly crumpled shirt (it truly was not that bad) but you had gotten off the phone with your mum and said she’d help. When she got home, she sprang into action and saved us… with the iron we thought was broken. I swear, the iron was dripping water until she touched it. Magical!

After the shirt was ironed and you looked dashing, you said we’d take a cab with your mum so she wouldn’t be late. I agreed because I didn’t mind that at all. Five minutes later, you came back from speaking to your mum and said that she had decided to take her own cab so we could have our alone time. I didn’t question it at that time, but asked you several times if she’s alright. It’s only this year that I found out you didn’t actually ask her if she could take her own cab, you basically told her that it’s weird for her to take a cab with us when we were going on a date and urged her to get her own cab. Honestly, your mum has the patience of an angel because when I heard this I was like, “WHAT??” You also told me that her destination was out of the way for us to go together, but I found out that it’s actually on the way! My gosh… I don’t know whether to be flabbergasted or impressed by your wit.

Anyway, thanks to your mum, we got a nicely ironed (and dry) shirt, and a cab to ourselves. I was so excited in the cab because you hadn’t told me where we were going. I still hadn’t guessed after we got off the cab because I was unfamiliar with where we were. Imagine my excitement when we got to the cable car station! And, the cable cars were Sanrio designed! How nice! I was quite excited to see that too but you claimed you didn’t know it was going to be designed. As we were waiting to board the cable car, you even asked the man if we could have our own car, and he agreed. You’re so good at things like that, honestly. The cable car ride was so nice. We took a bunch of pictures, and I sent videos and photos to my parents (who also thought you were really sweet).

When we were just about to enter the restaurant, the service staff confirmed your reservation by asking for the name you used. You then said, “Josh G” – which made me giggle because I said you sounded like a rapper. The seat we got had an amazing view and we took soooo many pictures. The service staff very kindly offered to help us take pictures too. My only regret for this day was not taking enough videos. I think that’s my constant regret. Actually, my second mini regret was ordering so much food! You wanted us to have an amazing dinner so you asked for appetizers, mains, wine, and dessert – all of which was fantastic but our appetite could not finish it all. We were sadly full by the end of our appetizers and neither of us finished our main.

Throughout our meal, you were awfully excited to get to dessert. At first, I thought it was because you wanted to head home early, but when dessert actually came, I realized it’s because you had asked them for a birthday dessert. I didn’t tell you this before that day, but I’d always wanted to have birthday dessert in a fancy restaurant, so this made me extra happy. When the birthday dessert arrived, you (and the service staff) sang the birthday song for me and we cut the cake (and took a whole bunch of pictures). Just as we were about to share the dessert, you realized that they forgot about my nut allergy and brought a cake with nuts. You looked quite annoyed with this and insisted that you had told them about my allergy in the email, which I fully believe (no one was as cautious with my allergy as you are). You wanted to tell them off for the nutty cake, but I convinced you that it’s alright and I’ll just remove the nuts. We slowly picked at the cake and finished what we wanted of it.

The only reason we left earlier was because the live singer entered the venue and you said she had a dreadful voice and that you couldn’t stand listening to her. I can still remember how she sounds, actually.

Before we left, I sat there for a bit – looking at you, the view, the place. I was taking it all in. I must have had a sad expression on my face because you asked if something was wrong and I said that I’m sad the night is over, that I wish with all my heart that this won’t be the last fancy dinner we have. I had this strange feeling in my gut that we wouldn’t get to have this again. I’m not sure why, because you were happy that day – like you were on many other days – but I just couldn’t shake that feeling off. You assured me that it will definitely not be the last fancy dinner we’d have, that you had plans in mind already. “We’re going to have fancy dinners like that for the rest of our lives, babe. Trust me. Don’t worry that a nice thing will go away.” You said that it was just a trauma response – that I was just afraid of being happy because I was too used to sadness coming after. I believed you, and we happily left the place. You had said the right thing – I was worried that we were too nice to last. I was worried that this nice thing will go away, believing that I was destined for a sad life. You also promised that we wouldn’t wait a year before our next fancy dinner, and a month or so later, we booked another fancy dinner for 17^th January 2025. There was no occasion, just one of those countless fancy dinners we were supposed to have. But, as we know, we didn’t make it to that one. You were taken from us 17 days before our next fancy dinner. That birthday dinner we had was indeed our last fancy dinner. I guess, as much as I hate it, that weird feeling in my gut might have been right after all.

After we left the restaurant, we waited a little while for a cab (and took more pictures) and just as we got in, it started drizzling. Another notable moment – the cab left Mount Faber and minutes later, almost collided with another car coming in the opposite direction. Like, the driver had to slam his brakes and swerve to avoid hitting the other car. It was an instantaneous moment where I feared we’d get into a massive accident, but you recovered quickly and joked, “It’d be real funny if we ended the night with both of us just dying in a car accident.” My response to you was, “Well, if we die tonight, at least we’ll die together.” You laughed and agreed, but said, “Or, we could not die until we’re old.” Well… I guess in our next lives we could die when we’re both old.

The night ended with us getting back to your place and spending more time together (the whole day wasn’t enough; it really wasn’t). You then walked me home in a drizzle. I wish we got to have more fancy dinners together. I really struggle to understand that gut feeling I had. Was that really a gut feeling that it’d be the last one? Or were you right about it just being a trauma response? If there is someone out there listening, was that them trying to give me a sign to pause for a moment and cherish it all because I won’t have it again?

I hope you liked reminiscing with me. Oh no, this letter is almost 2000 words… Sorry for the long read! I am glad I wrote it all down though, so I could relive the memory again. I can still taste the food we ate, the wine we drank, the smell of the cab we entered, the scene of the almost-accident, the scenes after…

I can’t wait to live life with you again. I think that’s another hard part of not having your physical presence – not being able to experience life with you. Again, I just have to tell myself that you’re still experiencing it with us. We’re never alone, not with you around. I love you more, always, and forever. See you soon, lovey.

Love always,
Sha