The Note

What’s with the weather? Disappointment strikes me as I was looking ahead to a brisk sky. Don’t get it wrong though, I’m not yielding to superstition, it’s nothing but my concern over the pair of pure white sneakers. Nevertheless, I make it to the destination I have in mind, slightly drenched by the drizzle. This place still reeks of musty old books to some degree, still it isn’t too much a bother by any means. “Morning, Mrs. Regina.”, I bid her informally. She looks calm as ever. With a hint of grin creasing her face, she responds, “Good day, sonny. Here’s the piece from Ms. Tuesday.” The note is now in my hands. What’s this feeling I’m getting? I’m lost for words to describe. “Thanks again ma’am, I guess I’ll stay for a while.”. “Should I wait for the right moment to read this?”, my inner self questions.

A Favour

Me doing grocery shopping? How unlikely. As a matter of fact, I’m lending a hand to my neighbour next door. Starting from the top of the list, butter. I push the cart to the dairy products section. I’m looking for the SCS sign from the assortment of butters on the display fridge. Grabbing two low-fat yogurts along the way, I turn at the junction and stop right at the rack full of condiments. Let’s see, one bottle of mayonnaise and chocolate syrup, preferably Hershey’s. The cart is slowly filling up as I go through the list. Trying to be in line at the shortest queue, I stumble across Mrs. Regina. We greet each other. “She left you a note.”, I hear her saying. “It’s a little earlier than expected, I thought she ought to be there only on this coming Tuesday.”, I reply and notify her that I will drop by tomorrow.

Soundcrafters

It’s simply awe-inspiring to learn what people can produce with a few pieces of instruments and vocals. The creativity is limitless, making it so full of potential. Since we are born in such diversity, there will always be an audience, even if the work is outright unorthodox. It’s a matter of choice, whether you are in it solely for the money or for something intangible that is far superior. I look up to those musicians who complacently stick to their ideas and identity like a barnacle despite travelling away from the crosswise street. They are inspirational and they send a message. A message that reads, “Always be true to yourself”. Whenever I’m struggling to succeed in any endeavour, I remind myself not to stray from my path. I hope there will be more true artists in existence.

---

I close the daybook and raise from my chair. At that instant, I reach for the player and recover the compact disc. Heedfully, I place it back into its jewel case.

The Reunion

I’m sitting alongside my former associates in this eatery where many would have to patiently wait just to grab a table. The interior is fairly ostentatious, accompanied by the low lights and lounge music playing in the background. At our table for ten, they prate on how they have changed in appearances and the trivial yada yada that you can expect for a reunion alike. I can’t find the words to utter so I just listen loosely to them while sipping the drink from my glass. A little carried away, I find myself attracted to a certain individual at the opposite table. Similarly, she seems isolated from her gathering. I notice the glass in front of her. To my astonishment, it is just what I ordered for a night like this. Surrounded by indistinct chatters, we exchange glances.

Jaunt

The leaves are reflecting the rays of the sun, looking crystal-like. I rove barefooted in the green, feeling the grass. The breeze gently brushes through, my arms spreading widely in return. I’m soaring. The mild friction brings me closer to nature. I make a beeline for a shady tree a few paces away. Under it I repose and gaze into the distance, savouring the lush greenery before my eyes. What an ideal paradise, I think to myself. The pleasant moment with nature reminds me to be appreciative of life. I compassionate the blind for not being able to take delight in such wonder, the very essense of nature’s exquisiteness. I feel a sudden rush of contentment.

The Reply

I bear a wound, a long inflicted one. All these while I’m trying to suppress the pain. Time heals they say, but I’m afraid it penetrated so deep into my emotional flesh that I can’t help to wonder if it is ever mendable. I was naive, and awfully frail. There was no turning back to begin with. I fell completely for her, genuinely. Everything else faded, she was the only glow. I was merely building sandcastles, taking pleasure in the transient beauty. How I wished the waves never came, but they did. My soul was wailing in the realm of melancholy. Now that I’m out of the realm, the throbbing scars remain with me. Would you treat this lacerated soul of mine?

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As I reminisce, I share my woe in words. My left hand, assiduously imprinting them on the torn paper with the pen. I’m sure she is bright enough to recognise the paper or the handwriting. I fold it and deliver it to the librarian. “Do you mind giving this to Ms. Tuesday?”, I ask for a favour. “That wouldn’t be a problem”, she replies with a smile.

Discovery

Clouded by bewildering thoughts, I discard my initial intention. Once more, I find myself approaching the librarian. “Did anyone leave this to you?”, I wave the clenched daybook. She nods and clarifies, “A young lady kindly returned it yesterday, in the morning I believe.”. My heart just stops a beat, brimming with exuberance. This entails a change to my mundane life at the very least. “Does she come here regularly?”, I enquire. I’m told that she usually visits on Tuesdays. “Thank you ma’am, that was helpful.”, I express my gratefulness. Before knowing her in person, I have the notion of corresponding with her through written messages, just to keep the mystery intact. With patience at heart, I return to the carrel. Laying on the chair with my head leaning against its back, I set my eyes on the ceiling. I revel in the song of silence, just for a brief moment.

Retrieval

Pacing through the sidewalk, I inhale so deeply that I can feel the nippy air filling my lungs. Without a doubt, a walk in the morning is verily exhilarating. It’s been a while, I should do this more often. Steadily hastening my pace, I see the humble building two blocks away. A gentle push on the door, I make my way to the counter. In a polite manner, I inquire about the daybook which I assumably left here. “This must be yours.”, she hands it to me. Indeed it is. I thank her in gratitude. As always, my usual spot is unoccupied. Opening the daybook, my fingers run through the pages and halt to a stop. With the pen firmly on grip, I’m about to start expressing yesterday’s musing when something peculiar on the previous entry catches my eye. A brief line of seven words at the end, obviously not my handwriting.

The Day Before

I stare into the naked sky through an open window from the corner of the room. It is almost identical to the shades of blue on a polaroid. The world is a massive canvas covered with a myriad of animated paintings, as if the creator is a connoisseur of beaux arts. Every distinct piece holds a different story, modestly waiting to unfold its discreet meaning. How can one find the time to interpret all of them? Like a daydreamer lost in reverie, I envisage to my heart’s content. My hand slips into the backpack, feeling for the familiar texture. It is not here. The page remains unwritten. In this very room, I find bliss in my solitude.

Inception

Everytime I see a couple holding hands, I can’t help to wonder how it feels like. Perhaps there is more to it besides the warm sensation that you get. The chemistry that works between two human beings really intrigues me. How does this driving force of affinity stimulate such great motivation and at some point strip off the sense of rationality from people? If it is ephemeral then what causes it to wither? I do hope to find out, albeit knowing the fact that there is very little possibility of me experiencing it myself. If I were to obtain these answers from others, I doubt it will be satisfactory.

“I would love to find out too.”

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Slightly startled by the line, I rest my pen down. Who would actually drop me a postscript? I’m partly excited and partly put at unease. The curiosity, it is suffocating me.