Golden Boy lives again

We've come a long way together. Traveled many miles and hung out in all sorts of cool places, cafes, train stations, and rented apartments. There's a certain comfort in knowing that no matter how far from home I may be, I'll come back to the flat and find him there. I say him, though throughout the years, Golden Boy has been genderless, taking personalities as needed. Has helped steer me through hard times - we've sought love together, discussed health scares, negotiated in simple steps different facets of my craft.

As all enduring relationships, over the years, we've had our scares. Though many of them have been led by my own peculiarities and wonderings, there have been a couple of occasions when Golden Boy was poorly.

About a year ago, there was the famous Juice Spill which, I won't lie, had us all fearing the worst. Difficult, desperate times will push one to desperate decisions. To my shame, when Golden Boy was struggling, I sought comfort in the arms of another. Slicker, smoother surface, and lacking that distinctive stickiness and orangey smell. But in the end, I came back, head bowed and tail tucked neatly between my legs, determined to do whatever I could to ensure Golden Boy's smooth passing.

Yet to everyone's surprise, Golden Boy recovered. It was part his temerity and valor, part my own quick thinking that had us reaching for an experimental treatment, something halfway between a transfusion and a heart transplant - scary stuff. I think I can safely say none of us slept through those cold handful of nights. But in the end, one brisk, crinkly morning, we got the heads-up that all had gone through as it should, and that Golden Boy was coming back around.

Without tooting my own horn, and perhaps to wash away my shame, I cared for him dilligently, lovingly. He was carefully and regularly cleaned and more lovingly handled than before. For a while, we thought - as many survivors do - that we'd just make the most of whatever time was left for us. And yet, here we are, almost a year to the day, with Golden Boy in as smooth a shape as ever. Even taking into consideration Golden Boy's age, some four years if I'm not mistook, he's a fast mover and a smooth rider, as much as during those head-rush first days of our love.

In the meanwhile, we've been to some more places, worked from some foreign desks, traversed a handful of uneasy times. But here we are, together, still. After and in spite of everything.

A couple of days back, I thought the end had finally come during an incident that will forever be known as the Great Caffeine Deluge. The memory of that half-bitten cookie sitting in the moist wreckage still haunts my nightmares, and will for a long while. As will the selfless way Golden Boy powered through, while battling this leaky invasion of his most private self, lingering enough to allow me to preserve what I was working on.

By now, I'd learned the spiel. I dabbed at him feverishly, hoping I could absorb the worst of the damage, then flipped the sleeping Golden Boy upside down, and prayed his body would get rid of the rest. It was some agonizing 24 hours, and I thought this was it, finally. It had come. And me, so careless, so unloving, merrily typing away just seconds before, assuming we'd go on as we were forever.

The attempt was half-hearted, almost embarrassed. Like, how much more would I ask of this brilliant, beautiful thing? Seconds of feverishly held breath, a frown, and an air of despondency haunting the room as the familiar whirring took longer than it should've.

And then, a light.

A brisk sign of life as the well-loved Lenovo logo flashed on the screen once more. I didn't dare believe it. I kept expecting it to crash, though at the same time, tentatively began honoring our bond in the way I do best - click-clacking at a something.

Golden Boy was quiet, demure. Allowed me a post in his infinite patience, then some music, then some work. Him, saying nothing of the terrible fright he must've had, me, not quite daring apologize for taking such barbaric advantage of his endless patience. Same as always.

But now, while I still work at finding ways to say thank you, I thought I'd tell one or two of you about him. My Golden Boy. Surviving, endless, accompanying me and carrying the heavy home that is my thought and my word wherever I may go, and whatever I may carelessly assail him with.

Here's to you, Golden Boy.

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Naturally, the name is pilfered from the famous Seinfeld scene. And while I do also have at home a long-enduring plain white T-shirt that bears the name also, I thought it was appropriate in context.:)