Fingers & Hands

Frustrated and vexed, the police officer repeatedly pressed my right thumb on the transparent sensor and rolled it meticulously across it.

The words "Fingerprint not recognised" flashed on the monitor again.

He tried with my right index finger and it failed as well. And then my left thumb, and left index finger, and so on and so forth....

"This is so baffling! It has never happened before! It can't be the machine coz' the dozens of people who did this before you had no problem. The machine must have hated you..." The roly-poly constable exclaimed while pulling his hair out, or whatever was left on his crowning glory.

I stared at my fingers. What went wrong, I asked myself. I just needed a set of fingerprints to obtain a police clearance from my homeland. The machine simply refused to recognise all, except 2, of my fingers.

"Why, she has no fingerprint? Does it mean she can rob a bank or steal a diamond ring?" He, who was visiting Sydney at that time, commented lightheartedly.

I returned to the police station a few hours later and attempted once more, unsuccessfully. We aborted it and decided to send whatever prints that were recognisable to the Singaland police headquarters. And prayed for the best that I would be granted an identity and criminal clearance.

This was twilight zone and way beyond my plausible medical explanation.

***
His hands are almost twice the size and thickness of mine. They are strong, warm and gripful. Yet at the same time, they exude gentleness, love and security.

They become my source of heat when I shiver in the cold of winter and blowing air-conditioners.

They are my companions when we take long walks along the lakes and bridges.

They guide me through times of difficulties and frustrations, in the forms of writing words or dialling on the phone.

They provide care and concern, by running through my hair or caressing my face.

The scars, though old and healed, break my heart and I bleed from within, knowing how much he had journeyed alone before I came into existence.

The fingers, rock-solid and steady, intertwine with my spindly ones, filling up the gaps in my life and soul.

I love his pair of hands and yearn to hold on to them for as long as I can.

"I love a hand that meets my own with a grasp that causes some sensation."