Ninety-Nine: Chronicles of Madrid (Part Two)

December 7, 2008. This should be my final diary entry.

Ever since I learned of my illness on April 21, 2005, I have made it a habit to write in this diary every day, leaving behind a small memento for myself, regardless of whether anyone will ever read it.

But now, I fear I no longer have the strength.

Not long after returning from Beijing, my condition began to deteriorate rapidly, and every organ in my body is failing at an alarming rate. Yesterday, I heard the doctor say that I have, at most, two months left to live. In other words, the year-long rehabilitation treatment plan has been a total failure.

Heh, that is the only good thing about foreign hospitals—they do not hide anything from the patient.

Actually, when I was in Beijing, everything was still relatively normal. I could run and jump; I even climbed the Hero’s Slope of the Great Wall all by myself. Yet, only a few months later, I am unable to get out of bed, and I lack the strength even to press the keys on my keyboard. For me, my days are truly numbered.

The bed next to mine has remained empty ever since that girl left. Perhaps, after a certain day, this bed will be the same.

However, this trip back to Beijing did bring closure to one thing, and what made me even happier was seeing my sister. When I took that ring left for me by Beizizhu from her hands, my tears fell again, without warning.

The ring is beautiful. I will wear it always.

His despair and degradation over this past year have filled me with such profound guilt that I decided I must make him let me go completely. The only way to make him let go seems to be through hatred. Only by making Beizizhu hate me entirely can he return to the normal path of his life. Only by letting him hate me can he be free to love another girl without any lingering regrets. This is likely the only thing I can do for him now.

I had my sister upload the photos I took at the Bird's Nest to my QQ album.

Beizizhu, you always said we shared a telepathic connection. If that is true, I am certain you will see them.

My sister said, "You are such a fool."

Heh, perhaps I am! Beizizhu, since I cannot let you love me for a lifetime, then let me make you hate me for a lifetime. At least that way, many years from now, you might still remember me. At the very least, you will say, "There was once a girl in my life who deceived me."

A month passed, and there was still no news from my sister, which made me anxious.

But fate has its own design. On October 3, 2008, exactly 365 days since I left Beizizhu, I finally received my sister’s call: Beizizhu had seen the photos.

This meant the truth was not far from being revealed. Yet, Beizizhu will never know that behind this lie, there awaited another helpless deception of mine...

November 13. What was meant to come, arrived.

Beizizhu, you wanted an explanation, but I truly could not give you one. All I could do was keep saying I am sorry. I am sorry, Beizizhu; I truly had no other choice! As my body continues to fail, I do not know how much longer I can hold on. Six months, a month, or a week? Perhaps even tonight.

No one understands my loneliness. Lying alone in this empty hospital room, I can only stare at the ceiling with hollow eyes—a helplessness that comes from watching life slip away while being unable to grasp it. I have not cried for a long time. Over these years, I have learned to be strong and to face things with composure, but the moment I heard your voice, I finally broke down.

I used to love crying in front of you, watching happily as you scrambled to comfort me. I had grown accustomed to your pampering.

The plan was a success, but I cannot find any joy in it. I can exhaust every means to make you hate me, but I can never face my own soul. Sometimes I wonder, if you had come to find me two years ago, and I had been able to steel my heart and refuse you, would we both be better off now? I also hate myself for ever choosing to love you—loving you, yet being unable to bring you happiness, and leaving you so deeply wounded.

Six years ago, you came to my home for the first time, held my hand for the first time, held me in your arms for the first time, and kissed me for the first time. Yet, I felt guilty, as if I had stolen your heart from Chuchu, and that everything was merely a mirage. Because of that, I never took your promises back then as reality.

I hated Chuchu—or rather, I was jealous. I was jealous of why she could make you fall in love so easily, while I had to sacrifice a thousand, ten thousand times more. Thinking about it now, I feel I was truly naive and ridiculous. After all, you did love me in the end.

November 18. Beizizhu, do you remember this day? It is our six-year anniversary! Six whole years. Without realizing it, six years have passed. Six years is a long time—long enough to completely change a person.

On this day, I lay in bed and thought about so much. My heart was filled with hesitation and conflict. Beizizhu, do you know? After hearing your intense reaction on the phone that day, I suddenly lost the courage to continue the lie. I kept questioning myself: Is this really right? Is it really worth it?

Beizizhu, I think I regret it!

Perhaps two people in love should be honest with each other, rather than deceive and hide things again and again. After much deliberation, I felt I should tell you the truth completely. As for the outcome, I have no more energy to care. Yet, why, after finally writing the email, did I still lack the courage to send it...

This morning, my father asked me, "If the day comes, where would you want to be? Spain or China?"

I smiled and said nothing.

"China?"

I shook my head.

"Spain?"

I shook my head again.

Father looked at me with confusion, his eyes filled with that unique, doting love of a father: "Tell me, whatever you decide, I will support you."

"Take me to the Aegean Sea. Take me there, to the most beautiful place in the world..." I had watched the Aegean Sea countless times on television; I imagined it must be an incredibly beautiful place!

Father, you cried. You held me and sobbed. In my blurred memory, this was the first time I had ever seen you weep in front of your daughter. I am sorry, Father.

"...We must call Mother when the time comes; we will go together. Ever since I was little, I have always longed for a day when I could travel with the whole family..."

I just leaned against my father’s broad shoulder, whispering to myself.

(October 21, 2010. This chapter has been revised. The book is complete.)