She never talks about what's going on. Probably doesn't want to. But I feel maybe something in her feels cared for. I didn't try to dream of her, but to know someone dreamed of you AND wanted to comfort you in a dream and seems to have had a good intuition about your internal state... that probably feels good.
***
This morning, flag hoisting ceremony. Not everyone was there: we are a lot of people in my building, but the team was not full. They were stationed in the space opposite of mine. I saw Cetus, Libra, Cygnus... but no Cassiopeia, no Hopoe, no Cepheus... not even Grey, Austral, Oria (ffs Oria where did you go?), Gill, Old Major, Bootes... no Megara, no Jolene... basically, not everyone was here. Might've seen Chin but I especially remember Cetus, Libra, and Cygnus. In my own service, which has a lot of civilian workers, the military personnel was on one side and the civilians on the other. I stood behind my head of service.
***
Should find her a name, by the way: perhaps a queen's name. Not one from a constellation, those are reserved for my father's former team. Or maybe yes. Or I don't know. Perhaps that of a star. But one thing that might lead me there is that there's a little detail about her that I can't help but notice.
She wears a pearl, just like me and Hopoe. But while mine is white on a golden chain and Hopoe's is black on a silver chain, she wears a white pearl on a silver chain. And she's the person who hired me back there, in Hopoe's building, effectively becoming... a bridge. Even as they likely don't know each other beyond glances, or names.
I should do the same for my warrant officer. Find her a nickname. Just like for Esme, Patty, and the others.
***
There's something I deeply love about those ceremonies. My knees and hips hate standing still for long periods of time, but... the quietness of the quarters, the procedure that is very obviously very symbolic in every of its stiff gestures, and the voices of all the people singing our anthem echoing between those 19th century buildings create an atmosphere that is unlike any other. Some people were watching from their windows. I was tempted to wave them hello, but I wasn't exactly keen on fooling around when a general was there.
Later on, I actually drank beer. Yes, beer. I hardly drink at all, usually to forget or endure a social situation, but I had a full-on Leffe. In the late morning, a commander who has just finally reached the rank of lieutenant-colonel gave an appetizer in a meeting room. At first I declined the beer, but then I thought, why not. After all, I'll have some Hinano this weekend, might as well prime myself a little for meeting with the most murdered girl in the entire world.
I drink. I talk with colleagues. One of them, who I like a lot, asks me about the meaning of my tattoos. We talk a little, especially about those people who get tattoos in Polynesia just to "bring something back from their affectation/mission/trip". I personally heavily dislike that: tatau is not a costume and should never be treated as a souvenir. I call those "tourist tattoos" and instantly think less of whoever gets them. Plus they're fairly obvious: they don't hold up as much as actual tatau does. You can literally tell people went to the first fucking tattoo parlour in Papeete or Arue that they've found, without caring much.
But then, it's time to go. I'm already half-drunk because I can't drink slowly. I get up from the table and go say goodbye to my superiors, my head of service and the colonel who is at our head.
Wow Hi'iaka, you hold your drink quite well! he says.
I don't remember what I said, but I chose this as the perfect moment to tell my Hinano joke that I have been brewing (pun entirely intended) for months at this point.
If you ever kill a girl named Hinano, make sure to hide the body in a recycling bin!
...Neither of them got the joke.
I felt a hint of shame. I explained it, still didn't work. Guess I just embarrassed myself in front of two superiors, but hopefully by Monday they'll either have forgotten about it or they'll just assume I'm young and a little tipsy. They were surprised that I exited taking the dead bottle with me: I said I was going to the glass container. To hide the body. They laughed. But I guess they probably said I was drunk after this.
I told my warrant officer she was a good person, and told Esme I wasn't happy about her leaving soon. Because yes, she's getting transferred back to a regiment soon, and I'm gonna miss her. Warrant officer said she really loved my "naturalness", my spontaneity. I think I was too intoxicated to remember the proper words, but my heart was warmed.
Back to my room, I was proper buzzed and I almost felt dizzy, but ate lunch without much trouble. My potato salad had frozen on the top shelf of my fridge, right below the freezer: I guess that's good news for my pot of Half Baked (aka, the nectar of gods). I threw away the original one, not quite trusting it'd still be good since it sat in my freezer while it was still not at max: bought another one.
***
I had sobered up when came the time to go to the midwife's. It was hot, but not too unbearable: I've walked further distances and survived worse in a heat wave.
She was young, perhaps even younger than me. Sweet, professional but still gentle and someone I may trust. I explained it all to her. My symptoms and all. She isn't sure if what I have is endometriosis, though the urinary and digestive symptoms do ring a bell, but still prescribed me some medications (mostly anti-inflammatory medication, antispasmodics and your regular painkillers) and an endovaginal ultrasound to be sure. I booked an appointment with the specialist right away: on June 10, the ultrasound will tell me...
But still, as I came home, I felt a surge of sadness. If it doesn't turn out to be endo, then what? It means I'm indeed too sensitive? That I'm "just" inflamed all over when my period is here? That it's "normal"? I'm just afraid of what it means if I don't turn out to have it. I guess it would prove that I'm just a pussy. That I can't stand normal pain like most people. But hey... I guess I'll know in a couple of weeks. Still. I hate saying that, but I wish the diagnosis is positive just so I know I'm not broken, or being silly.
***
So after the fridge yesterday, now I got a proper kitchen. Of course I spent a hell of a lot, but... those things are bought once. Normally. I also cleaned my car and put some fuel into it: let's not go to my festival tomorrow with a dirty ass car. What would it make me look like, a drug dealer or sumthin'?
I got myself a little stove, a pan, a pot, a few more knives, a couple taller glasses for bigger drinks, various utensils, even more kitchen towels. The pot of ice cream I mentioned, some apple juice, salt, pepper, basic stuff. Going home, I washed all that new gear. I guess it's time to do the Hopoe tactics. One of my colleagues told me that basically everyone cooks, so they don't really look much. Just, if we learn there is an inspection, hide your stuff, but since they don't look inside your cupboards unless they truly have to (suspicious smells, dangerous behaviour, basically some fringe cases at best), you're good.
This tiny 20 meter square room feels more and more like a home. I even got a colourful tray to put under my kettle.
And tomorrow, I'm going to that festival. I want to buy, especially, mother-of-pearl earrings. If I can find a good pair that's not going to wreck my budget, then I'm in. Perhaps a couple pareus and flowers. And a bottle of ylang-ylang mono'i. Been curious about it ever since the day I asked Hopoe about her favourite, and she said it was this one. Mine is sandalwood-scented, but... what if I could use both? Or also have vanilla, regular, or coconut mono'i? Try them all?
But now is the time to let the bubbles of all the fizzy stuff I drank today come back up, and then wreck that Ben & Jerry's. And sleep because I got 4 hours last night, says my watch... gotta be good for driving tomorrow morning.
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