Autumn

Trouble seeped through her garments like ice-cold water. For the longest time imaginable she fixated her line of sight towards nothing but the blank ceiling, frantically lacerating the innocent air with her long manicured nails, her toes autogenetically quivering at the edges of her feet – like they had their own consterning feelings to worry about. Although she was as silent as his empty bedroom, the disquietude inside her head – the grief-stricken noise, the emotional conflict, the painful cries of regret – were all echoed by the tears that fell from her eyes. He wiped her tears with his fingers; beamed a smile; kissed her lips; and wrapped her body with his. And then he stood up, half-resolutely walked across the room and unhinged the windows, opening them wide enough for the smell of the falling leaves to enter through the curtains.

She allowed her back to fall onto his bed where the mild afternoon sunlight unwound. He slowly crept beside her, and stared at her, almost dispassionately, yet with an obvious sense of concern. “I never realized,” he said, “those dark brown eyes.” She smiled, wryly, shifting her gaze towards the calendar that hung at the far corner of the wall.

“September’s just ended?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s October now, isn’t it.”

“Is that a question?”

“When is May?”

“Seven months from now.”

“I see. So it’s May then.”

“It’s October.”

Eight o’clock. Four hours had passed and there they were, still side by side, still as the black and white animal portraits on his wall, both their lips shut tight like they’ve never been opened before. All of a sudden she curled like a wilted plant, as if something inside drained all the energy she had for herself. He looked at her, and as if he had to wait first for a laborious instruction he grabbed her right hand and kissed it. “I’m sorry,” he said, “but I really have to go now.” He stood up, dressed in his work clothes, and planted a kiss on her cheeks.

Left. And probably, she thought, would never come back.

She then got up and stood by the window, penetrating the moonbeams with her most distant thoughts, embracing herself for warmth, arms crossed over her breasts, hands firm on her shoulders, feet tight on the ground, seemingly afraid to slip and fall down. In his comforting absence, inch by inch her hands slowly moved down, traversing the contours of her body, until finally resting on her womb, where the flowers of spring had already begun to bear fruit.

The settle down

They both sat on an old and rustic wooden bench facing the setting sun, their windswept hairs glowing under cold carrot-coloured hues, their eyes faintly reflecting the culminating grey of the clouds and the endless sea of indigo above them; their slouched backs gently sinking beneath dark silhouettes, and their shadows longitudinally growing in length, as if eternally stretching themselves to find some other outlet, some unfamiliar space, some different brand of solace somewhere far away.

But those were the shadows, opaque and lifeless in their entirety. The afternoon, for the lack of a better word, was beautiful. She was at awe with the tree leaves falling gently; so much so that she began entertaining the idea that the air had numerous invisible hands that plucked out the leaves one by one from the tree branches, settling them down on the ground in graceful and lightweight fashion. She was amazed at how the nearby stream brought music to her ears with the sounds of running water; at how it eternally murmured a string of different words she could barely, if not at all, understand; at how those different words made themselves heard to the trees and the fishes and the grasses and the frogs and crickets and to her before heading further downstream. Minutes after swimming in her imaginations, she realizes a hand gently brushing her hair, running a thumb through her cheek, a few fingers down her neck, the smooth skin-to-skin friction working to get her senses back after going off on a tangent for a while. The masculine familiarity was so hard to bear, that she eventually turned around to look at him, the one who owned the hand that caressed her and pulled her consciousness away from her meandering thoughts.

He looked at her in the eye and glanced away into the horizon before them. He then examined the area like a refined soldier, quiet and meticulous, careful not to make a noise or move that would distort his present view, like he had a piece of sensitive and sophisticated radar equipment ensconced within his skull, scanning the vicinity with utter precision and, for some reason, preordained images of the future. There, will be the playground. Beside that, will be a small grass area for us to play with our kids and dogs. A few trees on the side, and a flower garden to add colour and vibrancy to the green backdrop. Here, in this plot of ground, will be the house. Probably don’t need a big garage. A basement here, it will be cool and cozy for work. Three bedrooms, one floor up. Living room, kitchen, and a small fireplace for the cold winter nights. And the bench – this bench – will stay here.

The images coagulated inside his mind into lego pieces, moving on their own free will, forming outlines of a prospect in life that he never thought would come into fruition. That he never even once dreamed of nor desired to have, for he was scared of commitment. He was afraid of failure. But that didn’t seem to matter somehow, right at that moment. Right where they sat together, hand in hand, dreaming of the future they could build – a house, a home – seemed all right in place. Like it was the only thing in the world that hasn’t been done, and thus had to be done accordingly so, you know, he thought, he could be with her. Be one with her. Forever.

This is it, he said. This is the place.

And before they knew it, the sky had already completely turned dark.

The strobe lights

I find it totally amazing how the mere flickering of electric-coloured lights in a dark cold room can already put you in an indescribable state of trance. Not to mention the seeming aleatoric array of overly-synthesized sounds and noises blasting through the tunnels of your ears, normally causing you to palpitate and vibrate like an epicenter of some mad earthquake, a good way of releasing mixed feelings of agitation and excitement. The never-ending river of alcohol, perfect for those craving for a chance to temporarily switch themselves off from the rest of the world. The collision of bodies, the inevitable friction of human skins, the exchange of dripping sweat, of thirstquenching kisses, of fleeting yet burning glances among provocative eyes. The smell of people screaming, the taste of people dancing, the sight of people raising their hands up in the air, as if worshipping some nonexistent deity.

Your heart pounds with every music beat. Your eyes cringe at the flashing of the strobe lights. Your throat burns with every shot. You head spins. Your feet, uneasy. Your hips, they are grinding. Your hands moving, exploring every inch of skin, every strand of hair. You, forever spiraling down to a state of restlessness.

The Sea

It felt like a convoluted sense of relief, knowing that it was soon going to be over. It felt like waking up from a dreamless sleep, from a long and deep metaphorical sleep (quoting a friend), only to realize how many things have already happened and how much has already changed. The whole journey had been filled with inseparable uncertainties, perennially caught in between god knows what. How I survived swimming in a sea of question marks, I could never explain – but perhaps what matters now is that somewhere from a distance, from where I am currently struggling to keep afloat, is a new shore that can be visibly seen, a piece of land where the solidness of the ground, in every perceptible aspect, might be a little less unsettling for any intrinsically terrestrial creature.

I guess there is no point diving for inexplicable hearts, for abstruse pearls that lay on the grim seabed. There is no point holding your breath while fighting against the strong undercurrents that only threaten to drown you forever. However irresistible the mysteries these deep waters exude, what a person like me truly needs right now, more than anything, is a time and place in space to watch the stars in the evening sky, while thinking of new ways to reach for them.

The only way is up.

So I keep swimming.