A Love Story

I cried on the day I knew she was not going to be mine.


After the initial shock wore off, I naively thought that I could get over this unscathed. I told myself that I was strong enough to stand it, but once again, she proved me wrong as you always did.


The first time I saw her, she was with her group of girlfriends. She was not the prettiest, she was not the hottest, but she was the one I noticed. One of my friends ever equated love on the first sight to the thunderbolt. Once you were struck by it, the effect would be lasting in you. Astounded by her beauty, perplexed by her charm, I found myself inferior, that's why I never approached her until that fateful day.


Tossed and turned on the bed, I could only ruminate over one thing. What love was? Was love as banal as the passionate lovemaking in those soap operas or was love as noble as the deed you would only see in the Bible? I couldn't come out with an answer.


Now facing the imminent death of mine, I realized how silly a man in love could be. All those sleepless nights, in retrospect, were so rich in emotions. The sensation of having emotions welled inside you, was still indescribable. As if the flow of blood just went into opposite ways, emotions choked me and my limbs were strangled by some invisible mantles. They were so strong and overwhelming, then before I even fought the losing battle with the emotions, tears were welling in my eyes and blurring my vision.


Being insomniac didn't make me a smarter man. i still couldn't grasp the essence of love and so I acter like a fool. Fool, contrary to conventional wisdom, was not always bad. Only by being a fool, I managed to muster all the courage I had and at last, to my delight, I finally got to know her. And that's how she proved me wrong for the first time.


In one of the sleepless night, I tried to picture her. I created an imaginary her and like a tireless puppeteer, I played her story. As ludicrous as it sounded, I even gave her a second life. In her second life, she was quiet and melancholic. She came from a broken family and she fought hard to come to the state of life she had today. Again, while I looked back to all this, i could feel blood gushing through my ears and my face was burning. How could I defile her in such an obscene way?


She, in fact, was cheerful, talkative and strong. No longer a frail girl in her second life I granted to her, she impressed me even more. The more I listened to her captivating voice, the more i surrendered myself into the endless illusions I created now and then.


That's when I thought those tormenting sleepless nights had finally departed from my life.


Again, she proved me wrong. The day I found out she had a lover, I was totally broken apart by this harsh sobriety test. Never once in my fantasy that I had surmised that she might have a lover. Maybe that's why i called it fantasy. Fantasy was supposed to be something you couldn't achieve in your real life. Now, though I was wiser, certain parts of this story were still inexplicable. Why could i be so wishful back then? After so many painful years, amazingly, I hadn't learnt any thing. Optimism, which was normally helpful, was a coup de grace to me.


After I found out about her lover, I suddenly found myself at the crossroad of my life. I could either wait for her, god knows how long should I wait, or, god forbid, I could forget her totally and pursued for what I deserved. Two choices, I must choose one of them, the right one or the one I want. And, I chose for the one I want, not the right one.


That's when all the tragedies and beautiful things started happening simultaneously in my life. I became her friend and i bought my time. My friend who knew about this girl advised me that I should go aggressive to wrestle her from her lover. I refused to do that. Until today, i still couldn't tell whether it was a right decision. Only thing i knew back then was, if she were to leave her lover for me, she might as well leave me for other guy. Perhaps I was wrong, but one thing for sure, I was adamant to my decision, I never wavered.


Hence, the only thing I was able to do was, wait.


I waited faithfully. Waiting, turned out to be not as easy as i first thought. Whenever she mentioned about her lover, I felt my heart twitched in agony. His name didn't make me jealous. But the his name intimidated me. 'You are a coward' taunted my friends. I wasn't angry because deep down inside me, I knew they were right. i was afraid to lose her, I was afraid of holding her, i was afraid to erase my pasts...


Miracles only happened in the Bible, claimed my best friend. Just when I was about to succumb to the fact that miracles were rare, if not unheard of, she told me she had broken off with her lover. Even before the euphoria which was supposed to make me insane registered in my mind, I reflexively held her tightly in my arms. Impulsive? I only knew I couldn't care less of other people's curious gaze. It's such a magical moment. While I let my reflexive reactions dictate my every move, I hardly noticed that she was expressionless.


"Can I ask you something?" asked her softly in my arms.
"Why are you doing this?" She didn't even let me answer her first question.


x


I still cried whenever this question was reverberating in my ears. The sheer brilliance and simplicity of this question still astonished me because i still didn't have an answer for that. Why all the tears? Why all the passionate hugging?


I was still speechless, just like the day I first heard this question. i could have answered her in thousands better ways. However, I was tongue-tied. She stared at me, waiting anxiously for my answer. My mind was shrieking at its highest pitch, my body was burning at its highest temperature. But, my tongue was glued.


To say, "I love you", on a spur of moment, I realized was not about promise. it's not even about commitment. I perhaps had practiced for that moment thousands times in my dreams. Reality, eventually, was still different. I could deceive myself and her. I could have just patronized her and got what I always desired. But, the waiting had changed me.


I might still hold her in my arms impulsively. However, the thrill of holding you had long deserted me. And I realized, it's the real love. Real love was not tantamount to a crush or infatuation.


What i discovered was, I was still stuck at the infatuation state of 'love'. There's no real love because real love didn't take so long to register. Real love never came late. Real love never came after impulsion.


Staring straight into her eyes, I felt the world had suddenly become hollow. I didn't know what to say and I didn't know where I was. So, i just turned to my back and started running. I ran, I cried with her image hanging in my mind before I was lost, for good.


A part of me was gone, with the love.



p/s: A simple story is the hardest to write. Finally I understand what do they mean. This story is so soapy, so normal, so mushy, but it's ultimately tough to write.

I have a dream

I have a dream,
that I happily live in, without worries, without reality.
Spring is everlasting in that dream,
Birds are chirping like a symphony,
Breeze smells like barley.


I have a dream,
that I dread.
Because it's too scenic,
Because it's too deceptive,
Because it's too luring.


I have a dream,
that I call delusions.
Winter is omnipresent in that dream,
Symphony sounds like merciless taunt.
Wind brews like inevitable disaster.


I have a dream,
I too indulge in,
Until I can no longer differentiate,
What lies and truths are.


The dream I have,
So fictional yet so real.

Rose Of Solitude

I made you a rose. A yellow rose, to be precise. Why rose? Why yellow? Why now?

Why solitude?

There's a dark prophecy about the yellow rose.





When you receive a yellow rose from someone you love, the tree of love inside you will wilt. You will miss that person, but you could never find the impulsive love again.

I used to think that I'm not a person person who believes in horoscope and those myths as well as the legends. To me, yellow rose is just a yellow rose. It signifies nothing, it proves nothing.

I used to believe. I used to.

Not until I folded you my first yellow rose. It's so delicate in my hands and I was afraid to crush her. Everything was magical. Though i tried to be casual, to my dismay, I couldn't. While I held her in between my fingers, i felt life. Life that is neither present nor past. People call it memory, I call it love.

Love is a large illusions. Delusional it is, I succumbed into her hug, accidentally, painfully. I define love as a life that is caught right between present and past time. It can be skewed to either side. Nostalgic love, passionate love, those are lives created by you and me.

Then suddenly, it's all gone, like a bubble, disappears without a trace. Reluctantly, I'm hoisted to the present, facing my coldest nemesis. Life is my nemesis. Every time i stray too far away from my path, he drags me back, mercilessly, forcefully.

Solitude is omnipresent. Final drip of passion evaporates and coldness descends. Time has come. She walks among us, breathing word of wisdom into our ears and she sings...

Why you despair?
Why you refuse to leave?
Why you stand still?
Why you weep?
Why you remember?

We forget everything.... I forgot, i returned to my life, I faded...until I made the yellow rose once again.

She brought back everything. The apparition of everything is just too astounding and all of a sudden, I find myself breathless again, just like the first time I saw you.

Friendship, is the mother of everything. Slowly she morphed, painfully she crawled, exuberantly she summoned me. What an amazing yellow rose I have folded! Effortlessly, she explained everything and I listened like an obedient school boy.

That's it. That's it. Friendship! One term that has been absent in me for quite some time. She is the mother of love. She is everything I have.

Even though it's just a friendship. I tried to care and I will continue trying.

Oh, you are the jollity.


Oh, you are the friendship.


Oh, you are the life.

Rose of Solitude

Vivaldi's Winter

I've never seen flakes of snow tumbling down from a clear blue sky before. To me, winter is an abstract term. I saw snows on tv, I heard about snows from my friends, and I felt snows inside you. The very first time I saw you, you reminded me of Vivaldi. Violin pieces laced with staccatos and short notes, that's you. People might find it difficult to picture a person in a violin concerto. I used to think so, but not after I met you.


You are the winter of Vivaldi. Agitated, anxious, ambiguous. Unpredictable you are, I find it rather intriguing. I introduced myself to you. You didn't look surprised. I was the one who was chilled to my core. There is certain quality in you that I can never fully grasp. You speak with conviction and I'm awed.


I've never seen a real snow but I can still portray it in my mind. I draw it and it's you I'm thinking of. Or it's just your illusion I'm mulling of? It's a touch question to answer, even tougher to ask. I don't have the guts to question anything in you. You are the winter of Vivaldi's wildest imagination. No, I don't think so. Vivaldi didn't have you in his mind while he composed The Four Seasons. It doesn't make sense as well. Are you his prophecy?


I'm lost, in the confusing mayhem of my mind.


How will i define you? Allegro non molto, allegro or even resplendent largo? I refuse to define you. Define your beauty is tantamount to defile your body. The temptation is unbearable, the waiting is excruciating. Answer, is the final key to the Holy Grail. You have the answer, allegro non molto, allegro or largo?


When I tell you I want the answer, flicker of disappointment flashes in your pulchritudinous eyes. You tell me your voice is as weak as the winter's leaves. No rustle presents, you have become voiceless. How could it be? I inquire. You smile, a very faint grin, actually. And then you sigh.


When the snow thaws, I'm no longer myself. I've a new life, perhaps when that time comes, I'll have an eternal voice that reverberates in the history, for good.

Allegro non molto
To tremble from cold in the icy snow,
In the harsh breath of a horrid wind;
To run, stamping one's feet every moment,
Our teeth chattering in the extreme cold

Largo
Before the fire to pass peaceful,
Contented days while the rain outside pours down.

Allegro
We tread the icy path slowly and cautiously, for fear of tripping and falling.
Then turn abruptly, slip, crash on the ground and, rising, hasten on across the ice lest it cracks up.
We feel the chill north winds course through the home despite the locked and bolted doors...
this is winter, which nonetheless brings its own delights

It's that hard to become myself? Maybe it's all Vivaldi's fault. Winter is too short to be memorable, you complain. Then, I smile for the first time, because I finally realize something. I don't own anything, including my life. You belong to Vivaldi and I belong to the illusions I created.

Ces't La Vie, This is life.