Hugs

Whenever I feel my world is crumbling down, I sometimes imagine making a clone of myself. Then I would tell Laila-the-Clone to hug me.

I’m quite picky in choosing hugs. I used to only like big hugs from someone who’s bigger, taller and thicker than me. They’re the best. They cover you securely, like a warm duvet.

But on especially bad days, I believe a hug from myself would be better, because my clone would exactly know why I need the hug, and how I want her hug to be.

Laila-the-Clone wouldn’t ask questions, she wouldn’t judge either. Her hug wouldn’t be too tight, nor too loose, nor awkward. And because we have exactly the same built, her curves would match mine when we embrace. Like two pieces of jigsaw puzzle put together.

She would also occasionally throw “add-ons”, like a caress on my head, light pats on my back, and whisper stuff like, “Shh, shh… It’s OK. It’s really OK. This is temporary. Nothing last forever.” You know, stuff we always need to hear.

But not too much of that add-ons, though, because she knows the hug is what I need the most.

And when I finally break down and cry on her hold, she would stay silent and understands.