like butterfly kisses in the dark
Two Christmases ago, I was in London for about three weeks. I had this grand idea of getting lost in a big city. It was my cheesy-sounding way of finding myself again. I was feeling burnt out from work...from putting in all my energy into work, and achieving goals I didn't feel connected to. (It sounds stupid on hindsight, but when you're busy achieving goals you're not connected to,sometimes it takes you awhile to be aware of that.)
It was a beautiful holiday. I met a busker at covent garden. His name is Alonso. His covers of Cat Stevens and James Taylor left me standing in the crowd, close to tears. I felt the heartbreak in his voice. And many who stopped to listen did so not only cos he had a wonderful voice but there was something in his singing that resonated in them as a human being. It was soulful. I made new friends and many new experiences that Christmas.
And in my solitude, I started to write for my own pleasure, as a need to create, to express... and not just cos i was on a deadline. I felt the rush of joy in writing again.
Amidst all the happy moments though was this nagging disappointment/episode that's been bugging me all these months. I keep thinking of this man I saw at the window seat at a chinese diner in Chinatown. I walked past this diner noticing the guy's face. He was alone, andlooking very sad. There was despair written all over, it was the heavy way he held his head, his listless eyes and the deep lines that furrowed between his eyebrows.
"Phine, that guy looks so sad. I feel like i have to do somethg," i gripped my childhood friend's arm. (phine was living outside of london then.) Our stroll came to a halt.
"Which guy?" she asked.
"He's sitting by the window of that chinese restuarant we just walked past."
We back tracked. To confrim the the look on the guy's face.
"I wanna tell him that everything's gonna be okay," i said without even totally understanding myself.
"DO IT!" Phine said, echoing the words in my head.
I didn't.
Till this day, I still think of that guy at the diner. I wonder if he's fine.
It wouldn't have taken anything from me just to say hi or to share a smile.
why didn't I? I'm a silly cow for feeling shy and afraid over nothing.
lesson learned.
i'm suddenly reminded of that guy after reading han ee's blog.
an excerpt his entry:
"People come, people go. We are but individuals on a solo journey. But sometimes in our sojourn, we are blessed that visitors/passerbys have left an impression, a memory, a touch that we can cherish and smile in retrospect. We all have separate adventures we must embark on. Sometimes our journeys intertwine, sometimes they diverge. But this does not make them any less related. We are all in this together, embarking on our individual journeys. A paradox worth mulling over: Together yet separate. We must always remember our visitors because they are indeed part of the adventure."
***
"the journey" is a theme very close to my heart. * (see poem "Homeless Man On G Street"... first published on this site Oct 16, 2005.) the journey may be lonely at times...and that is why i am so filled with joy when i hear expressions, thoughts, crying and laughing over the journey (poet Mary Oliver is a master in this) cos there's a beauty and comfort in knowing you're not alone in being alone. the poignant irony helps turn fears into faith in life.
Here's a sneak preview (as requested by curious george) of my first untitled, work-in-progress novel.
An excerpt:
"As her feet shuffles around the corner to the bus stop, Lynn secretly wishes that she might see the old lady today. Being so far away from home sometimes offers you the strangest companions…. they make it less lonely. Just knowing that the old lady might be waiting at the bus stop at this time kinda rooted her. She swings around the lamp post, by a newspaper stand and lets out an almost audible gasp when she does see the old lady there.
“wow,” she mutters. Her light whisper distracts the black guy walking by her, both their sleeves brushing each other gently like a baby’s touch, a baby's breath, like butterfly kisses in the dark."
It was a beautiful holiday. I met a busker at covent garden. His name is Alonso. His covers of Cat Stevens and James Taylor left me standing in the crowd, close to tears. I felt the heartbreak in his voice. And many who stopped to listen did so not only cos he had a wonderful voice but there was something in his singing that resonated in them as a human being. It was soulful. I made new friends and many new experiences that Christmas.
And in my solitude, I started to write for my own pleasure, as a need to create, to express... and not just cos i was on a deadline. I felt the rush of joy in writing again.
Amidst all the happy moments though was this nagging disappointment/episode that's been bugging me all these months. I keep thinking of this man I saw at the window seat at a chinese diner in Chinatown. I walked past this diner noticing the guy's face. He was alone, andlooking very sad. There was despair written all over, it was the heavy way he held his head, his listless eyes and the deep lines that furrowed between his eyebrows.
"Phine, that guy looks so sad. I feel like i have to do somethg," i gripped my childhood friend's arm. (phine was living outside of london then.) Our stroll came to a halt.
"Which guy?" she asked.
"He's sitting by the window of that chinese restuarant we just walked past."
We back tracked. To confrim the the look on the guy's face.
"I wanna tell him that everything's gonna be okay," i said without even totally understanding myself.
"DO IT!" Phine said, echoing the words in my head.
I didn't.
Till this day, I still think of that guy at the diner. I wonder if he's fine.
It wouldn't have taken anything from me just to say hi or to share a smile.
why didn't I? I'm a silly cow for feeling shy and afraid over nothing.
lesson learned.
i'm suddenly reminded of that guy after reading han ee's blog.
an excerpt his entry:
"People come, people go. We are but individuals on a solo journey. But sometimes in our sojourn, we are blessed that visitors/passerbys have left an impression, a memory, a touch that we can cherish and smile in retrospect. We all have separate adventures we must embark on. Sometimes our journeys intertwine, sometimes they diverge. But this does not make them any less related. We are all in this together, embarking on our individual journeys. A paradox worth mulling over: Together yet separate. We must always remember our visitors because they are indeed part of the adventure."
***
"the journey" is a theme very close to my heart. * (see poem "Homeless Man On G Street"... first published on this site Oct 16, 2005.) the journey may be lonely at times...and that is why i am so filled with joy when i hear expressions, thoughts, crying and laughing over the journey (poet Mary Oliver is a master in this) cos there's a beauty and comfort in knowing you're not alone in being alone. the poignant irony helps turn fears into faith in life.
Here's a sneak preview (as requested by curious george) of my first untitled, work-in-progress novel.
An excerpt:
"As her feet shuffles around the corner to the bus stop, Lynn secretly wishes that she might see the old lady today. Being so far away from home sometimes offers you the strangest companions…. they make it less lonely. Just knowing that the old lady might be waiting at the bus stop at this time kinda rooted her. She swings around the lamp post, by a newspaper stand and lets out an almost audible gasp when she does see the old lady there.
“wow,” she mutters. Her light whisper distracts the black guy walking by her, both their sleeves brushing each other gently like a baby’s touch, a baby's breath, like butterfly kisses in the dark."
posted by mypurpleink at 9:55 AM
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