AND I, YOU, QUADFOLD.

That best portion of a good man's life,
His little, nameless, unremembered acts of kindness
and of love.
--William Wordsworth (1770 - 1850)


A bough fell on my car on January 2nd, leaving a 5 cm dent and some ugly scratches. I made an insurance claim, and went to the insurance-company-affiliated-repairshop, which was quite far from my house, the following Saturday. They told me to get the car back the following Friday.

At first I thought that since I didn't have the ungodly 7 AM class on Fridays, I could just take a bus to work (not just 'a' bus, actually, but 3 different ones plus some walking, making a total of 2 hours travel), then later on take a taxi from work to the repairshop. But on Thursday it dawned on me that I didn't only have to substitute a colleague for 1 morning-class, but 2 classes, in addition to my own noon class. If you knew anything about me, you'd correctly guess that such a sudden, unplanned thing wrecks me senseless, making me utterly nervous.

Yes, I really am a quivering bundle of nerves.

So the next morning I woke up at 4.25 AM, and was ready to leave the house at 5.30 AM, when my sister asked why didn't I just take the car to work. And had him come to my workplace that afternoon and then went to the repairshop with him and asked him to please drive the other car home.

It is 5.30 AM, I reminded my sister. 5.30 AM to him is the same as 22.30 PM for me. He'd be fast asleep. "Call him," she said, and the temptation of not having to take 3 different buses to work was just too hard for me to ignore. So I called him. And he said yes. He said yes. It still puzzles me sometimes as to what makes me deserve so many favours from him.

So that Friday afternoon he took a bus and arrived all sweaty at my workplace, and I drove us to the repairshop. He noted that the repaired car almost had no gas left, and the nearest gas station was about 500 metres of bad-traffic-jam away. "That is why I am taking this car," I said, handing him the key of the other car. "You take the other car. See you in the gas station?"

"No, that is why I am taking this car. So if the gas ran out in the middle of the traffic, I'd be the one who handle it," he said. I am so used, so used of handling problematic car alone (albeit fearfully) that the thought of him helping me to handle this one was overwhelming. I guess it says something not just about myself being alone for too long, but also about my being arrogant all this time, in terms of not letting people lending me a hand whenever I need it.

In short, we made it to the gas station, he was all sweaty because there was no way he could afford turning the air-conditioner on, with only 2-3 litres of gas left.

Then we drove home, he driving ahead of me. I felt kinda funny, having to drive behind him, wanting him in the car next to me. But this was the price I had to pay for not taking the bus to work in the morning.

At one junction we were both stopped by a red light, I was trying to fight back the glaring afternoon sun, at the same time looking at the back of his head visible from his rear window, when my cellphone beeped.

A message from him just seeped into it: "I love you."

My head was full with the images of him being sweat-drenched because he took that car instead of this one -- because he couldn't turn the air-conditioner on -- because there had been almost no gas left in that car -- because I hadn't filled up the tank before I took the car to the repairshop ... I couldn't quite figure how a person was able to say he loved someone who had put him in such troublesome situation.

And I couldn't quite figure how suddenly tears filled up my eyes. It must be the sun. Must be the glaring afternoon sun.

ARGH.

I can't write.
Can't write a decent blog post, that is.
Tried twice so far.
To no avail.
Music and coffee didn't help.
This is bad.