Apples and Wine.

Some things just don't make sense. I suppose, that's why they call life, Life.

A lot of people don't understand why I don't drink, not even a drop. On social occasions, there'll inevitably be someone asking me to try an alcoholic drink. Last night was no exception. Just a bit, it's mixed with a lot of other stuff, don't worry, it'll be nice. Just try it. They tell me it's very mild, they're not trying to get me drunk, it'll be fun, they'll drive me home, it's just for me to know the taste... and they always fail. Because they just don't get it. Even I don't.

This has nothing to do with the morality of alcohol. Yes, even Jesus drank wine, I know. And it's not just that I don't like the taste.

You know, I never knew how much impact a person could make on someone else till you confessed it to me. You did so, so terribly sheepishly because for as long as I've known you, you've refused to tell me why you won't eat apples. I offer them to you, I tell you about their antioxidant properties, we're both convinced they're not poisonous, but you just won't touch the darn thing, even if it's masked in cinnamon and sugar. The funniest thing is, you insist it is not the taste you don't like. Your dislike for them is almost pathological. One can tell by your response.

I never understood. So I stopped asking.

Just like how most people don't understand my reason for not touching a drop of alcohol. They stopped asking eventually.

Then one day, I asked. And you told me.

Your mother died when you were very young. And she hated apples. And that's why, since then, you've never touched the forbidden fruit.

Because she hated them. Period.

That was that.

Suddenly, when you told me that, a million things went off in my head. Because, my reason doesn't make sense in the exact same way yours doesn't, too. Our reasons don't make sense, they're completely embarrassing, and yet, they make total, complete rational sense, too. Since that day, I began to muster the courage to attempt to articulate and piece together my reason for not drinking.

It's not a morality issue. And it's not about a holier-than-thou attitude.

I've always looked up to you. I don't drink because you hate it. Period. End of story. I don't drink because you never did, because you told yourself you'd spend time with us instead of socialising unecessarily. And while I know perfectly responsible parents who drink and enjoy wine-tasting, I also respect you deeply for the choice you made. I don't drink because you've spent decades fending off peer pressure when people ask you to drink because you always want to be 100% safe for us, and you never want to be caught in a situation of a slippery slope. I don't drink because I saw that look of utter disappointment on your face when you found out J was drinking, even if it was only socially. I don't drink because I promised that for all my foolhardiness for travelling overseas and doing things too adventurous for your liking, I would never find myself in a compromising situation. I don't drink because I hate what drinking reminds me of, how its indulgence ruins lives, how it sits there like a screaming temptation, how it causes liver disease and all the awful things which make me depressed at the hospital wards, how I know it is an evil that could destroy mine because it opens doors to things I rather not ever know, how I'd rather shut off those doors than to allow them to linger as an option.

You always told me, "Keep good habits. Drinking is not one of them."

I guess, I wouldn't mind trying something new- I'm usually quite adventurous. But I don't drink, not even a drop, not even tasting now, because when I do, I feel I am betraying you.

It doesn't make sense. That is the closest to what I can make out of my pathological dislike for alcohol. That is all. I never talk about it because it doesn't make sense, and nobody needs to know. People can laugh, but doesn't matter to me.

Friends who love me enough don't pressure me. They don't even ask me why. Once, I had a friend bring a bottle of juice specially for me and only for me because he brought red wine for everybody else on his birthday picnic. There's nothing wrong with alcohol, but I do save special admiration for a person who can say no to it at all times. You've got to be wholeheartedly convicted for that sort of commitment.

One night you couldn't sleep so I kept you company and talked till past midnight. We were having one of those conversations again. "Remember to marry a patient man. And remember, Jia, don't be so difficult- you know how difficult you can be. And you just be sure about these 4 things- he mustn't smoke, mustn't gamble, mustn't womanise and mustn't drink. "

"Mustn't drink. How about socially? Like wine or cocktails and stuff."

"Alcoholism always starts off with social drinking."

Senior Pastor also encourages us not to, but he acknowledges it's something between ourselves and God. I didn't press you further, I knew your answer would be the same. I never judged you for not eating apples anyway.

Three times a week, you would faithfully walk three streets from your office to buy me the sweetest and costliest american apples you could find, and lug them three streets back to the carpark. You know how much I love apples, how I eat them every day. Your text message would be, "Bought you apples today. Enough to last till I get back."

Till you get back.

Because you travel all the time. So I've stopped caring when the occasional person makes fun of me about not having a night life and for always needing to leave early to go home, because I know for all your life, you made it a point to be home early for us too, and you'd like to see me home before you go to bed. I know you're tired. You are always tired, now. So I often say I have to go so I don't keep you waiting. I don't care what they say anymore, the looks they give one another when I say I've got to go, see you guys next time, have fun. I have to go home to see you, because as it is, we have so little time for each other. It saddens me when I go home, to see you... asleep already. Again. And you're flying off the next day.

Some things in life just... don't make sense.

And yet, it makes total complete sense. Like how I eat bittergourd not because I think I grew up liking them, but because when I eat them, it reminds me of you. Like how I enjoy sitting at the front seat of the car at night (no matter whose car it is and how old and creaky the car is)because it reminds me of how we used to go for spins when I was little. Like how I still buy the really cheap 70-cent Macdonalds icecream cone even though I now think it's really awful in comparison to REAL icecream, simply because it reminds me of how you always specially drove me out for half an hour just to get me one, whenever I felt down and needed a little cheering up.

Love, very often doesn't make sense, and yet, completely does.

Love you.