On this day
There is always the smell of cigarettes and medicated oil in the room. You say we should tell the oils apart, cajeput oil, sandalwood oil, ginger oil, tiger balm and so on, but to me they are fated to be called only medicated oil. You use it the way other people overuse painkillers. Its scent makes people think of weariness and illness; that is the smell on your body. I still cannot get used to it, perhaps I never will. I still have to open the window at night, even on those days when the wind is strong and we both feel cold, but I keep feeling suffocated. We endure each other by letting you endure the smoke and me endure the medicated oil, enduring so that neither of us turns away and grimaces when we are close. Yet that is not fair either, when both of us smoke while I am always drunk on the smell of medicated oil. You never care about such things. There are kinds of medicine that belong to one’s private liking; I cannot force you. When you curl up in your little cat’s nest, nightdre...
