~ recommended music: you get me so high - the neighbourhood ~ “You know what’s wrong with you, Song Mingi?” Yunho slurred, the bottle of soju still in hand. Mingi was swaying his hips from side to side to music only he hears in his head. On the makeshift table – made out of a big box and a piece of plank on top of it – were speckles of white sand - or diamond dust, Mingi calls it - and he had some on his sharp nose as well, which he wiped off with his fingers when his nose started itching, sniffing at it to get as much into his system as possible.
“What?” Mingi asked, not as curious as he was lazy.
“You’re too clingy to me, that’s what.”
Mingi smirked at the comment. “Clingy? You’re the one who’d be too lonely without me.”
Yunho shook his lowered head as he swished the soju bottle in the air in disagreement. “Do you really think I only have you?”
“I’m starting to think so,” Mingi said, the smirk lingering on his face playfully. “If not, why are you here?”
“How can I leave you alone when you do shit like this?” Yunho asked, looking straight at Mingi now. He was trying to be serious but he can’t help but feel his eyes droop. God, I’m so drunk, he thought to himself. The cold November air wasn’t enough to keep him awake, and the drop from this 11-floor apartment building’s wide open rooftop scared him but not enough to keep himself from downing two whole bottles of soju.
Mingi started humming Illusion under his breath.
“Hey, the moon kinda looks like a purple sun, right?”
“But the moon’s white,” Yunho replied.
Mingi chuckled, and it annoyed Yunho. “You’re not seeing it, man. The moon’s purple. Look.” He pointed at the sky. It was cloudy tonight, and the moon was barely visible; just a slither of light to make a crescent.
Yunho didn’t know what to say. He was worried but Mingi wouldn’t remember anything if he scolded him now anyway. “You’re crazy,” was all he could manage. He stared at the sky for a while, and suddenly he felt Mingi’s arms slide from behind over his shoulders. A pair of hands meet across Yunho’s chest, and he felt the other’s head rest on top of his.
“You look so beautiful right now.”
Yunho suddenly felt like drinking a little bit more of that soju. He was embarrassed but he liked the warmth Mingi provided, despite being able to feel the hands’ coldness as it seeps through his jacket and to his skin like ice. He took them with his own cold hands and tried to warm them by rubbing them together. This made Mingi come closer and pull Yunho into a hug, his cheeks rubbing against Yunho’s hair.
“Thanks,” Mingi said.
“What for?”
“Just… for being here.”
Yunho turned to face the other. “Are you sober?”
“What’s a sober,” Mingi rolled his eyes. He let go of Yunho and went to open another bottle of soju, taking two gulps then wincing as he put the bottle down. Yunho sighed and his mouth moved to one side in disapproval. “Hey hey, you’re blushing,” Mingi mentioned, pointing at the other.
“What? No I’m not,” Yunho replied, putting his cold fingertips on his cheeks as he jutted his lips out a little, feeling accused. Okay, they’re a bit warm, Yunho thought to himself. “It’s just so cold out.”
“Yea,” Mingi chuckled. “Sure.”
“You sure you’re not sober?” Yunho asked, standing up. He started to walk towards Mingi, who was facing out into the neighbourhood.
“The key to being a great artist,” Mingi almost shouted. “is to never be completely sane.” He stretched his arms out, taking in the cold wind as it blew slowly and painfully. “That’s why van Gogh cut off his own ear. That’s why Beethoven was so great; he was spiralling down his own sanity from being deaf. That’s why-”
Mingi stopped when Yunho kissed his cheek.
“You’re cute, but research is showing that van Gogh’s friend was the one who cut off his ear.”
Mingi didn’t know what to do at first, but Yunho kept his eyes on the boy, waiting for a response. His cheeks were still flushed red, but he wasn’t shy. He just really, really wanted to kiss Mingi.
Mingi didn’t know what he was doing when his hand reached out for Yunho’s chin, pulling it closer to his own face, then landing his lips on the other’s. They moved away for a second, then came back together, separating their lips to feel the other’s warm tongue. They felt their heads spin, their blood flowing at rapid speed. They stayed there, kissing each other for a minute. Yunho pulled away first – he looked at the other’s eyes, then looked down. He wanted to leave from embarrassment, but Mingi took his hand.
“Why did van Gogh’s friend cut his ear?”
It took a moment for Yunho to come to his senses to reply. “They were drunk.”
They kept quiet for a bit. Irony works in funny ways.
“They were drunk and the dude was harassing the girl who worked at the bar. Van Gogh thought of the girl as his own sister, so he pulled his friend out of the bar so that he’d stop. The dude wasn’t happy about it, and pulled out his sword at van Gogh. Still, the friend was running as a minister in another country, and van Gogh didn’t want the crime to stop him from winning. So he claimed that he did it to himself.”
“You’re not making this up, right?”
“There’s proof.”
“So van Gogh’s just a really nice person huh?” Mingi sighed.
“You’re not too bad yourself,” Yunho said. He walked away, and swept the leftover ‘diamond dust’ off of the tabletop. “You can be great without the insanity. The world’s a crazy place already.”
Mingi watched as Yunho walked through the door to the stairwell. The effect of half a gram doesn’t do much to him anymore. He still tries to enjoy himself around Yunho, to show him that he’s okay. The thoughts need to disappear, even if it’s only a few minutes. Things are better if Yunho’s around though. He can tell Mingi weird stuff – like van Gogh fun facts – and make him forget about the voices.
I’ll just keep clinging to you then, Mingi thought to himself. It’s the only way I can stay sober, for now.
once I dreamt of a great adventure
where we fought the demons
that clawed its way
through our souls
we were on our knees
skin smudged with blood and dust
when I woke up
by the sound of morning classes
and dreaded judgement
once I dreamt of a great love story
I watched you pass by on a bicycle
from the inside of a bus
that was our last goodbye
when I woke up
you never left
but you never loved me neither
once I dreamt a tragedy
but the greater fragments
are lost through reality
I do not remember where we were
only that you were there
maybe our desire to live
made us hope
for stories we were told
through pages bound
in between our slumbers
be it fighting demons
or romance turned tragedy
I wish to live a dream
to live
for something more.
you avoid meeting too many people
you don't like noises
and big crowds
when you get attached
you distance yourself
under the mask that you've created
no one will see
the timidness behind it
your scarred and fearful face
then one day someone tries to break it
and the fear that you'll be figured out
turns to anger
to violence
because there are two types of troubling people in this world
the ones who talk too much
and the ones who don't talk enough
of course you would remember the first time you met eyes.
at that time he was no one. he was another person to fill the pores of your skin. then he talked to you with those eyes.
of course you remembered that time he said hi to you at that corridor. it was no big deal; just a hi. but not to you, who felt invisible under the sheets in your bed.
of course you would avoid the road where you two met eyes and waved at each other. of course you felt special. he made you feel like you exist. like he saw you.
he saw nothing.
of course you would be upset to know that he was not who you thought him to be.
of course you would be heavy-hearted to smile at his jokes, or the stories of him your friends tell you.
of course you would be hurt.
of course you would cry.
there is no wrong in being weak; in being human.
it's okay, it's okay.
you can live without him in your life. you don't need him. you don't need anyone to fill your life with greatness; you are the epitome of potential. you were made for lazy nights and ocean waves. and it's okay to want to have someone, but know that that won't destroy you.
it's okay, really. it's fine, you are going to be fine. of course you are.
When we read each other’s hearts and minds, but on the outside we pretend nothing’s going on.
It’s somewhat a secret; a silent joke. We look at each other and we know, but we don’t say a word. What’s left written in black and white, we don’t mix with our colourful world. It’s all too complicated to handle in real life anyway.
We know. But we keep silent. It’s our tiny little secret.
-
the other day it was just me and him in the kitchen waiting for a pizza to cook and I asked him "If you could go overseas, where would you go?" and he said he wanted to go to U.S., specifically, he mentioned New York. "Tau New York tak?" and I nodded, smiling. "Best dowh, kalau pergi New York." before I could ask him what he would do there, a customer came in. and continuously, it was always that; work, people, time. things that stop two people from just talking, dreaming.
-
so i was out with an old friend that i haven’t met in five years and i told her “you wanna know something weird? i love those knives that have that rigged part on the back side” and she was like “yea we saw that in frozen when they cut the ice” and i’m like “yea maybe it has like a better cutting effect like the back-pull will cut the ice more evenly?” and she was like “this is very weird elyna, having preferences to knives” and i just realized that all these while my mother told me that i was weird? it wasn’t our generation gap. it was just me.
-
i wanted to look at the back of his head and his face.. his nose, his eyes, how his eyebrows were slanted and his cheekbones protruding and his square jaw and the lines of his neck and back… but he turned so i had to look away. now all i can remember is the shade of brown of his shoes when he stood next to me.
-
As I reached for the familiar glass bottle filled with dark liquid from the door of my fridge, I started to wonder if all cough syrup addicts start like this. First, it was just to get some sleep. Then, they start getting dependent on it. Soon, they can't pass a day without a bottle full. Maybe this is how I'll start intoxicating my body with medicine I don't need and get into hospitals for over dosage.
But I knew it wasn't gonna happen. Because before I took a spoon of the thick dark liquid (not the pink syrup like I read and had taken when I was younger before we knew it was addictive) I whispered "Bismillah".
Dammit fiction seems so much more interesting than real life. How did my brother do it? It feels like i've been stamped and delivered to the good girls' boarding school for life.
-
I didn't realize what I was really feeling about certain things until I talked about it with her. "I never really understood when those people say they have to put on a mask when they go out," I told her. "I didn't feel like putting on a mask so that everyone else likes you was necessary. But later I find out that putting on a mask doesn't just mean you're pretending to be someone you're not, it's to--"
"--hide what you actually feel," we said simultaneously. Smiling at something like this felt sad. It felt like it was something we can't change, therefore we both agree against frowning about it and smile instead.
It's awful because he knows that in a way I'm trying to avoid eye contact with him.
It's awful because he has such a handsome smile.
It's awful because he's not worth the thought.
It's awful... because when I saw him this morning I didn't hate him, I didn't want to avoid him, but in a way I know I ruined it, or I never had a chance at all, and I was so upset I ran away from the world.
extracted from a letter to m.jup dated 18th April 2015.
"You took the train, then walked a bit to your apartment."
"Oh. What day is it?"
"Saturday."
"Kate?"
"We parted with her in the train at a different station. She said she had a good time."
"It's winter break."
"Yes it is."
"How did you get home?"
"I took the train, and walked a bit to your apartment."
"Funny. Where do you live again?"
"Further down town, on Westchester's."
Finally, you look up at my face. Not just glance to make sure who I was like when you first woke up, but actually look at me. My reflection. My mess. The smothered eyeliner and bird's nest of a hair. You looked confused. I wonder if I should explain myself. If I should explain why I bothered so much about what he did and if he would end up okay.
"Someone had to make sure you got home safe. Now stop asking shit and take the aspirin."
Green. Blue. Blue. Shades of last night. You couldn't shut up about Kate and I couldn't shut up about how I longed for you and you were blind and you replied with "I'm blinded by the light in her eyes," and I sighed a white mist out of my mouth and wiped the tears with my free hand and heaved your arm over my shoulder to make sure you didn't fall on the icy cold tar below us. I wanted to kiss you, I wanted to kiss you and the alcohol mixed in your saliva so that I could be as drunk as you, drunk enough to do things without thinking it through, but I was still sober, too sober, that I thought it wouldn't be right for you, because you wouldn't remember a thing, and I wanted you to know how my lips taste like, and not merely just as memories - I wanted you to know them, so I'll wait.
Blue. White. White and black. The lines that sketch our surroundings. You took the shirt off your back without saying a word and headed to the showers. I stood in your room silently, waiting for you to say something but you kept quiet, the shower running steadily, water hitting the tiled floor in a tempo. I waited, until you came out in a towel around your waist, a surprised expression on. I walked out of your room and you said loudly that we're heading out so I decided to wash up at the guest room - a familiar place, unlike his own room. When I look in the mirror, it's terrible to see what I've become in one night. Winter break. Bar party with classmates. It was horrible.
We laughed and drank and talked in loud, rowdy voices as if nothing was wrong when everything was. He looked at her and I looked at him and she looked at the boy with dark blond curls growing down his thick neck and we glanced back to our drinks, letting the rocks hit against the glass, clinkering against each other, eyes subtly saying everything we couldn't say, so no one made eye contact. Little that we know that later the girl would be locking lips with him and I would be there to watch and he would be sighing about his dreams coming true (but they were all lies and I couldn't tell you) and I would be sighing my misery away (but it decided to stay).
I washed up, and when the soap started to get too painful for my eyes I decided it was a sunglasses type of day, and I slipped on a sweater over last night's blouse and jeans and hopefully the coat and scarf was enough to cover up the scent of last night (although it probably reminded me more of how real it was). You were in fresh clothes, looking nothing like last night, except for the dark circles under your eyes, and you wore last night's coat and scarf too, and the lift flashed back memories of me sobbing and you singing while standing against the cold metal casing. But today you stood still and quiet, except for the slow hum of the machine moving and the "Coffee?" that I could only hear because everything else was so quiet. I glanced at your dark eyes for a second and looked away, nodding.
We walked side to side to a place we both knew, closely but not close enough. I wanted to pull his hand closer and lock arms with him but at this point I don't know what he's thinking and although it's probably about Kate I didn't want to give any more impressions that I loved him or anything like that so I ignored the idea. Sitting across from each other in the cafe didn't help, when our knees were almost touching and out feet trying not to knock each other out of the way. Finally we started talking like before and you told me to take off my glasses and although I didn't want to at first I melt at your every word and you tried not to laugh but it's okay because when you laugh I laugh and you're the cutest thing when you do so and I both hate it and love it and you bring out both the darkest and lightest sides of me and I feel miserable knowing you're not mine.
And as we walked back to my place I knew nothing will ever be right but if you walk with me like this everyday maybe I would be miserable but I would be miserable with you and that's fine. Smothered eyeliner and alcohol breaths, were all fine. I would be here and you would be here too. So I gave you a long hug before heading down to my basement apartment, embracing the fact that you are here, now, with me, and not with her, who would eventually break your heart, but I would be there to listen to it shatter.
Green. Blue. White. The colors of your scarf. Black. Black. White. The colors of the night sky. Flashes, flashes. "I'll be fine. See you."
The bathroom echoed painful coughs, her throat feeling rusted and peeled over. She washed her face and started coughing again, the blonde lock of hair that she had swept behind her ear falling over her eyes. Her eyes closed shut as she bent over the sink, feeling her coughs echo through the drainpipe. She scrunched her eyebrows, the fit lasting longer than usual, her lungs giving out for air. She opened her eyes, pausing to take a breath. Her lids widen at the sight of the white sink. It was tinted with blood red liquid, and as she looked up at the mirror in front of her, she observed a similar colour tinting her pale, thin lips. She looked at her bloody palm, and felt tears forming in her sockets. Her heart ached, and she felt the room tumbling down over her body. Her knees grew weak so she let herself fall on the tiled floor, biting her lips. She wanted to cry, she wanted to cry so bad, but her lungs hurt and she felt like coughing again and and her muscles ached for bending for so long and at that moment, she felt like the weakest person on earth. She hugged her knees and hid her face in her arms. She wanted to sleep. She wanted to sleep forever. She doesn't want to know what's wrong. She just wants to go away to a better place. She felt so much agony that she thought maybe it was the last time she would ever feel pain. She felt cold. The cold tiles touching her naked skin, the cold blood in her palm, the coldness running through her blood and bones. She felt cold and numb, and later, she felt nothing. She closed her eyes and fell on her side, and knowing she would wake up later, she prayed to God that He would take her life before that happens.
Kyungsoo paced slightly quicker, catching up with the taller. When Jongin did not see him, he decided to lunge his arms over the taller's shoulders, trying to choke him with his forearms but to no avail, pulling Jongin back due to their height difference. Jongin turned around, his eyebrows raised. He laughed slightly and turned back to the front. His steps wobbled a bit when Kyungsoo stopped walking, not letting him go.
"What are you trying to do?"
"I had a bad day. Carry me home," whined Kyungsoo, his arms still over Jongin's shoulders from the back. When Kyungsoo's leg faltered, he dragged Jongin down with him.
"Argh, stop," Jongin told as he bent back, but not doing anything to remove Kyungsoo's arm. Kyungsoo did as he was told, grinning quickly, but pouting again as he moved to Jongin's side. They moved towards the school gates together. "How bad a day did you have?"
"Kinda bad. Suicidal bad. But I guess that's nothing new."
"You scare me," Jongin told. "And I would love to carry you home, but I'd rather carry a chick back home. Sorry."
"Well, that's you," Kyungsoo sighed.
Jongin smiled at the smaller, then he slung his arm over Kyungsoo's shoulders. "Don't take it too badly. Hey, I'll send you Baby Don't Cry's music sheet tonight. You practice that and feel better, okay?"
"Yea, sure," Kyungsoo mumbled. He could smell Jongin's breath as he talked, the handsome face looking down on him and grinning. What did he have for lunch? Kyungsoo wondered. Cheese and ham sandwich? I didn't have lunch with him, so who did?
As they walked pass groups of students crowding the front gate, Jongin released his arm so that they could walk by faster. Jongin smiled at a few people who greeted him. Kyungsoo wondered if he was holding Jongin back. Maybe he wanted to talk to those people. In the distance, Kyungsoo spotted a familiar face. He knew the kid from his vocals class - not exactly the best vocalist but his looks made him popular - and he saw Jongin hang out with the kid once in awhile. They looked close the few times Kyungsoo saw them together; laughing at private jokes and sharing water from the same bottle. Kyungsoo wondered if Jongin had lunch with him.
"So like, you know that Sehun kid?" Kyungsoo asked softly, afraid the owner of the name heard him.
"Yea," Jongin said, then paused for awhile. He guessed Kyungsoo wanted an explanation, although what for he was not sure. "He's in my dance class."
Jongin looked at Kyungsoo, wondering if that was enough, but the other was not looking at him. Instead, he was staring uncomfortably at Sehun, his eyes wide and unreadable as usual. Does Kyungsoo not like him? Did Sehun do something wrong to him? Before a 'why' slipped out of Jongin's mouth, Kyungsoo stopped in his tracks, right before they passed Sehun.
"I'm waiting for the bus," Kyungsoo told.
"Oh okay then," Jongin said. "See you later." They both knew Jongin walked back. They knew a lot about each other that did not need to be mentioned. Plus Kyungsoo was not much of a talker, so Kyungsoo presumed they were okay with silent moments between the two. Jongin admitted the knowing look on Kyungsoo's face and the silent wave with a smile before he left was something special - something he could only do with Kyungsoo - but he felt a slight relief not having to think of what to say anymore or if he should say anything at all. Sehun was fun to be around - new and full of surprise, like a video game he just started playing. He called to Sehun as he passed by, and Sehun's blank face turned into a toothy smile. Jongin punched Sehun's stomach lightly then ran away. Sehun motioned to hit him, an arm over his abdomen. But instead he just laughed, his feet not moving away.
Kyungsoo watched from the edge of his eyes as Jongin walked the opposite way while looking back at Sehun, grinning widely. He stopped looking. Soon the bus came and he got on, and so did Sehun. Sehun bumped into an acquaintance and started chatting with her. Kyungsoo noticed their loud conversation, plugging his headphones on. The world seemed further away with music that he kept to himself. He watched the people in the bus - couples, friends, old women with their grocery baskets, Sehun and the girl. And then there was him.
Later that evening, Kyungsoo stared at his laptop screen. He had one foot up on the seat, his back leaning on the rest. He needed to finish an assignment, but his thoughts were not in control. He cannot seem to concentrate before he thinks about something else - that book on his reading list, that new album by an artist he wanted to listen to, the Baby Don't Cry sheet, Sehun, Jongin. He loved and cared for Jongin, he really did. Although the handsome factor was the main reason Kyungsoo was attracted to Jongin, the two got to know each other non-romantically and Kyungsoo was okay with that. In comparison to their three year friendship, who was Sehun? Sehun is a new kid. His friendship must matter more to Jongin than Sehun's, right? Kyungsoo admitted his old crush must be affecting how he thinks and cares about Jongin, but the realization does not make it stop.
He wiped his face with one hand from forehead down, his eyes closing for a second. He blinked, trying to refresh himself like he does with his desktop page. It does not work the same though. He decided to check his email. He remembered scribbling his email address on Jongin's notebook. Did Jongin notice it? He typed in the website address and the with two letters Chrome immediately found out where he wanted to go to. He pressed two buttons on the keyboard and his email was unveiled. One unread mail in his inbox - untitled, with an attachment. Kyungsoo smiled at the name of the sender.
I gathered my things; my backpack, an empty glass jar, and my favourite black pair of boots. I put them on and headed out. I stopped at the front door, hesitating on whether I should take my umbrella along. After seconds of looking at the transparent tool, I had decided otherwise and left without it, heading straight into the falling drops of rain as I made my way up the road to the top of the hill.
As I reached the top of the hill, I started to feel lighter on my feet. I made my way to my usual spot with the fallen tree trunk and dropped my backpack onto the muddy ground. I dug into it and took out the empty glass jar, lid off. The sound of rain drops hitting the clear base of the glass echoed into the air and caused a sequence of repetitive 'clinks' and 'clanks'. It was like a mini orchestra that only exist with the rain clouds, accompanied by an empty glass jar.
My name is Alem, and I am a rainkeeper.
That is what I like to call myself anyway.
I sat on the muddy grass and leaned back onto the tree trunk, as I watched the glass jar slowly fill up with droplets of glowing green rain. I watched how they come together into the jar and dance with each other as waves were created each time another drop joins them. It was not long before the jar was filled to the brim, and I tightened the lid back on. I picked up the jar, and as my finger tips touched it, a tingling sensation came about. Even when the jar was sealed, the water in it was still dancing.
'Nothing can stop you from doing whatever you want.'
I sat in the rain for the rest of the morning. When it was settling down, I got up and headed my way back home.
I took the glowing jar out of my backpack. It was still tingling under my skin, as I brought it into my room. At the far right of my room, there was another door - and behind that door was a room filled with many other glass jars such as this one.
'9.47am; Will,' I scribbled onto a piece of note and taped it to the side of the jar.
Then, on it went onto the shelf with glass jars of different shades of green, the others being different shades of red, orange, purple, etc. One from each time it rained, each representing the 'feelings of the weather'.
I am the rainkeeper, and this is my job.
---
It is raining.
It was late at night, but I still got out of bed anyway. I grabbed my backpack and put on my coat, before leaving the house, unsheltered by an umbrella. It was quite heavy, the rain - almost like a storm but not really. I was not scared though. How can I ever be scared of the rain? I am the rainkeeper.
I made my way up the hill in the dark, getting soaked from head to toe in the process. When I reached the top - greeted by the sight of the fallen tree trunk - I took out an empty glass jar and set it onto the puddled grass. I leaned back onto the tree trunk and looked up at the sky. It was an amazing sight that I would never get tired of. If only a pictures could be taken, then I'd have it framed up on the wall in my room. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the sound of the rain.
I had apparently fallen asleep, as I was woken up by the sudden stop of rain drops hitting my face. I opened my eyes and saw an umbrella above my head, followed by the rolling eyes of my best friend, Mac and a bright light from his flashlight.
"I knew you'd be here," he said as he rolled his eyes for the second time. I looked down and back to my now three quarter filled glass jar. It glowed a bright turquoise. Mac sat down next to me, umbrella in between us.
"Here," he said, handing me a flask. I opened it and steam flew into my face. It was hot chocolate.
"Why are you here at this hour?" I asked. This was his first time ever to accompany me in the rain. He would usually leave me when it started to rain and called me 'Craylem' because he thought I was crazy to be out in the rain to collect its drops.
"I couldn't sleep, and it was raining. I knew you'd be crazy and do this weird rain collecting again. What do you do with this much rain water anyway?" Mac took the flask from my hands and poured me a cup of chocolate. He handed it over to me.
"Nothing," I answered, as I reached out for the warm cup. "I just keep them. It's pretty."
Mac looked at me weird, and then up to the sky. "But it's dark, and grey. It's so depressing," he voiced, before sneezing. "Aren't you cold? The jar's full now, hurry up. We need to get you home and dried before you get sick again like before.
I looked up at the glowing bright sky above us as I took my last sip of the hot chocolate. "It may be grey to you, but in my eyes, it's like the Northern lights," I said and stood up, and Mac followed with the umbrella as I stepped ahead to lid the jar. I picked it up. "Oh," I whispered when the usual tingling wasn't present. The jar felt warm - almost hot - like the hot chocolate Mac brought. The water in it was a calm turquoise and it glowed brightly. It was especially comforting to the touch.
"What?" Mac shone his annoying torch light at the jar, "What did you say about the Northern lights - and hey, why's your face like that? Are you amazed that the water is so clear or something? Okay wow clean water, should we boil it and drink it?" he asked mockingly. I kicked him and handed the jar to him, as well as snatching the umbrella away from his hands. I grabbed my backpack and walked ahead.
"Hey!" Mac called from behind, "Give that back, I'm getting soaked! And take this jar with you, it's like I'm holding iced water in the rain - HEY."
I stopped and laughed to myself, as I watch him half run half skip in the rain, towards me. I took the glass jar back when he reached and held it tight in my arms. I smiled as the jar warmed my hands.
'Doing whatever it takes for someone or something you cherish.'
Back home, we washed up and each got into a fresh pair of clothing - all the while complaining about how I dedicate my sleeping time to getting soaked in the rain in order to collect a jar of it. Eventually, Mac decided to stay over by falling asleep on the couch.
While so, I taped a note onto the side of the night's jar of rain, before setting it onto the shelf.
'2:44am; Mac's first night out in the rain. Loyalty.'
---
It is not raining.
It is an obvious fact that the rain does not come every day. On days like these, I would rather stay home and read a book, than to go out into the dry empty grey space. It is not that I dislike the outdoors, but if I were to go out to enjoy myself, why so when you can't do what you enjoy doing best?
Even indoors, I would always end up in the room where I keep my collected rain, the "Jar Room".
I entered the Jar Room and walked pass the two shelves by my sides, fingers tapping at each jar I pass. Courage, faith, motivation, hesitation, and so on. The feelings of the weather each time it rained, I have collected over the years- sometimes having more than one of the same kind. What's amazing is how each jar of raindrops have its own characteristic and feelings. Some had drops that danced, some swirled in patterns, some stayed stagnant, some moving in a calm motion, some warm, some ice cold, but all of them glow according to their own brightness.
The Jar Room is something I take pride in and it makes me happy. I arrange them according to the shades of colours they glow and have labels on them. However, even if I have arranged them in colours, if I were to stand by the entrance of the room to look in, a rainbow they would not see but instead a room filled with moving lights of sorts as it makes the room glow.
It is a sight of which I wished Mac and everyone else could or would see. I often take photos to show him, but I always end up not showing any of them anyway.
As I stood at the back end of the room, I took out my phone and snapped a picture of the room. The picture was displayed onto the screen and what could be seen was not the beauty of lights before me, but simply a room with water filled glass jars.
It is apparent that I am probably the only one who is able to witness this sight. I have once given Mac a small jar for his birthday. It was a light glowing red and had a mini tornado spinning in it, but all he saw was simply a jar of water. I'm just glad he still keeps it, eventhough it probably means nothing at all to him. I appreciate how he's the only one who understands how much I love the rain.
I took one last look into the Jar Room before closing the door shut.
'What is dull to someone else, can be beauty in my eyes.'
---
It is raining, and Mac won't let me out of his house.
I eye my backpack, which was placed beside the front door. I can almost hear the soundless cries of my glass jar in it. I had also brought along a few other jars, because I'm running out of jars and it's about time I empty them.
I look up at Mac, who was busy talking about his girlfriend, and complaining about how she keeps threatening to break up with him if he doesn't throw away his gameboy. "I mean," Mac says as he throws his hand in the air, "how can she even say that? I need my gameboy, it is my life!"
"Can I go?" I ask.
"NO, stay," he answers immediately, "She should know by now how important it is to me. It was a present from-"
"Me," I cut in.
"Exactly! You are my best bud, my man, my brother, and it's definitely a treasure to keep. How can she do this to me?" Mac flings his arms everywhere, "What gave her the- HEY!"
I grabbed my backpack and exited the house before he could finish talking. It was raining and I need to get out. I walked into the rain without any form of shelter and made my way to the top of the hill. Since I came from Mac's house, it would take a little longer to reach there. "Are you crazy?! ALEM!" I could hear Mac calling through the rain.
I guess he was right, I might be little crazy, but he doesn't see what I see, and what I see is a glowing sky of colours.
By the time I had gotten to the top of the hill, it was still raining. I sighed in relief and unzipped my backpack, to take out the jars I had within. An empty one, and three others which were already filled from times before. I set the empty one aside, lid still on, and arranged the remaining three jars in a line. The rainwater in them were already defying gravity, ready to go. Another amazing thing about the collected rain, besides setting my room aglow, is that it goes back up into the sky whenever it rains.
I quickly removed the lids of the three jars, and stepped back to watch.
"Woah," someone said. I turned my left and found Mac standing there with his umbrella in hand, jaw hung. I looked back to the three jars. The first jar that had a calm green was swirling its way out of the jar, while the second one was a bright yellow that I had collected during a lighting storm and it was zooming its way out of the jar and around the green. The last jar was a jumpy purple.
Mac had made his way next to me, "DUDE. Is this for real?" he asked.
I looked up at him, confused, "Mac, you can see this?"
"Is this what you've been doing with the rain all this while? This is awesome!" he said, slightly hysterical. The rainwater from the three jars were swirling around each other and in a split second, shot up into the clouds above. I quickly twisted the lid of the empty glass jar open and within minutes, it was filled.
Someone hit me, it was Mac. "What is happening? What is this, what am I seeing? Alem?" he kept asking the same questions over and over again. I would answer them, but I didn't know how. I didn't understand how he could see it, either.
The jar was a light red. I put on the lid, and something I have never witnessed before happened. Half of the collected rain had disappeared and suddenly it was raining inside the jar.
"Wow," I whispered.
I picked the jar up and I could feel the rain fall in the jar. I could feel the 'thumps' each raindrop made in the jar, and due to that, the jar slightly vibrated in my hands.
"Family means nobody gets left behind, or forgotten."
I looked at Mac, smiling. He made a weird face and said, "What? What's wrong with your face? Don't look at me like that." -
That night, at his house, as I explained everything to him. He didn't believe it at first, but at the same time, he did. "Craylem, this is crazy," he said, still in disbelief- but I knew he liked it. He was smiling and I could see that he was itching with excitement.
We stayed up all night talking about the rain, and about how he wants to start collecting rain too.
The jar of red rain was set on the table, between us as we talked, and on it was a note stuck on;
'Family,' it said.
My name is Alem, and I am a rainkeeper. I collect the rain, it is my job. It is not weird, but an amazing thing to do. The rain is an amazing thing.
I slipped the thin strap into a buckle of the shoe around my
ankle, looking up at the man in front of me. He had black slacks on, a blue
shirt and a black coat over it. His tie was undone under the collar of his
shirt. He looked outside to see if anyone was around. I stood up, pulling my
pale red dress down to remove any wrinkles. I looked myself in the mirror by
the door while stabilizing myself on the three inch heels and checked out my
hair. The sun from outside highlighted it a burning fire. My pale skin was
smooth, my cheeks brushed pink and my lips were coloured a somewhat pinkish
red. The thin strap of my dress revealed an obvious collarbone - what I get
after bulimia. The scar on my shoulder blade where my father placed the end of
a burning cigarette butt was just as obvious.
I looked at the man near the door. He was
staring at me, his eyes an unreadable black. His nose was slightly bent, his
lips not too thin but not too thick. I wish he would smile more often, but the
only times I've seen him smile is when I refuse his offerings of a smoke. He
was good looking, but he looked even better when he smiles. His black hair was
slightly unruly, so I went to him to comb it back a bit with my fingers. He
didn't move, his eyes locked on me.
"You feeling okay?" he asked.
"I'll be fine."
"If you need me-"
"You'll be here. Four till ten. Got
it."
He let out a sigh. I hadn't known this man
for more than two months but I like him more than anyone else I've known my
entire life. He listens. He doesn't say anything, which I won't say is the only
thing I need, but it's comforting at times. When I don't seek advice but a
listening ear, I come here. Things go further but we don't discuss it.
I don't know what he does for a living,
but he has to have a job to afford a place like this and such nice clothes. The
house isn't the fanciest I've seen, but it was considerably big for a stop-by
place. I know I had never lived in such a building. Double storey, three
bedrooms and two bathrooms, a working stove and a six foot fridge.
I never asked what he does. By the looks
of it I probably shouldn't, because I saw him load his gun once before slipping
it into his suitcase when he thought I wasn't looking. It was dark, and I heard
clicking in the cold air. I turned around in the white sheets, keeping my eyes
closed. There was a pause, but when I heard him opening the zip I peeked
through my eyelids. He kept the bag under the bedside table and went back to
bed. His cheeks had a glinting line, what I thought looked like a tear stain.
He stared at the ceiling and whispered to himself, "I can't do this."
I have no idea what I'm doing; being here
with him almost every night, leaving behind my own house, my family. They don't
know. They best not know. They have marriage planned for me.
"Do you have a life?" I asked
him once. I was wearing only his shirt while getting myself a glass of O.J. He
was sitting in a sofa in front of the TV, flipping through the channels,
uninterested, clothed with a white t-shirt and shorts.
"It depends on your definition of
life," he replied, landing on the news. "I got things figured out,
but it's not exactly what I'd call living."
"So you're settled in?" I asked,
walking towards him.
"I guess you can say that." I
sat next to him, folding my legs on the seat and resting my head on his
shoulder. The cold skin of my thighs touch my calves, making me shiver.
"Why? You're not?"
"I can survive," I tell him.
"But I have no freedom. I'm not happy."
"You can't expect being happy to be
easy."
"You can strive for it though."
He turned slightly to look at me through
my red hair, then he turned back to rest his cheek on my head. "Have you
thought of a way?"
"By setting this whole city on
fire."
"How do we do that?"
"Pour kerosene everywhere. Poke holes
into the tyres of firetrucks. Then we light that fancy lighter of yours."
"You have an idea how we'll get all
that kerosene?"
"You're rich. I'm sure you can get to
it."
He snickered. I wish I saw his face,
because I'm sure he looked better than the straight face with the slanted
eyebrows I usually see when I get here. "I'm not rich, but okay, what will
we do after that?"
"We run."
He didn't say anything. I took his hand
and observed it. There were so many cuts; deep lines that went across his palm,
a long stitch scar on the back and his phalanges protruding against the
pink-tinted skin. I stroked the back side slightly with my thumb, and he gently
grasped onto my hands.
The diner was quiet as usual. Only clanks of plates and
cops and cutlery being washed in the kitchen sink can be heard, the employees
rushing to get home before dawn breaks. It was almost three in the morning when
the man wearing a dark green coat that hung over his broad shoulders glanced at
his watch. He then took a sip from his warm dark coffee, his eyes watching the
cream coloured counter as a wrinkly hand wiped it with a dirty towel. He was a
regular, and although he did not initiate conversation with the middle aged
waitress, she appreciated his company for they do not usually get welcomed
customers at this time of the shift.
"Still haven't found what you’re looking for?"
she asked him, her small glasses on the edge of her nose bridge.
"Wasn't expecting it tonight, anyway," the man
answered, trying to assure himself more than the other. The rectangular pin on
her chest suggests her name was Griselda, but he never called her by name.
"But you come anyway," she grinned.
The man took some time to answer, considering the reasons
he comes to this diner every night. Finally, he replied simply with
"Hope."
His facial structure lighted up as he looked up at the
television on the wall when a short familiar melody played. He had wide eyes
and a high, slightly dented nose, his lips dry and dark from the cigarettes
above a goatee. His dark brown hair was tucked under a baseball cap, the ends
sticking out at the back unkempt. The screen showed the weather broadcast, a
re-run from the evening news. The typical pre-autumn weather - cloudy and rainy
in some areas, windy in others - was predicted.
"Looks like it's gonna keep drizzling this whole
week," Griselda mentioned. "It's either I get sick or waste money on
cabs. The world these days just ain't for someone like me."
"Itneverhadbeenforme,"the man thought as he took another sip of
his coffee.
---
"But you just got home!" Heidi's mother wailed
when she said she was going out for fresh air. The drizzle up ahead did not
worry her - a sturdy umbrella was in her hands, ready to fight the wet combat.
"I won't be long, mother," Heidi replied, pushing
her dirty blonde hair back, the soft ends falling on the back of her
khaki-coloured coat. She wriggled her feet in her boots.
"Don't come back too late!" Heidi's mother told
before she stepped out of the house.
"No worries," Heidi smiled. "I'll be back
before midnight."
It was 3.24am when Heidi found the diner she used to hang
out with all her friends. Her smile was a bit too bright in comparison to the
crowd - if it could be called that -when she entered. She kept her umbrella in
the bin by the door, reminiscing the old times when she was a teenager. Heidi
and her friends hung out here almost everyday - Marissa, Leslie, Frank and
Willy. The five of them had always had each other, until they went to different
colleges and lost contact.
Heidi took a seat on the counter, smiling at the middle
aged lady dressed in a pink checkered dress, an apron tied to her waist,
glasses on the edge of her nose bridge.
"What can I help you with?" the lady asked in a
friendly manner, forming a curve with her lips.
"Umm, coffee would be nice," Heidi replied.
"No sugar."
A man on her right coughed. She glanced at him, but decided
to ignore the person, seeing how suspicious he looked. As her attention went
back to the waitress, the man pulled his baseball cap lower.
"Do you still have Old Jenny's apple pie?" Heidi
asked.
“That's a classic," the waitress replied. "Rarely
anyone orders those anymore. You're lucky I'm on shift tonight, or else you
wouldn't get it the same no more. Not like before."
The old lady swiftly made Heidi's coffee and served it, then
made her way to the kitchen. Heidi watched as the lady worked on the kitchen
surface. Her attention diverted to the man from before as he came closer to
her. He left two seats in between them, not looking her in the eye. Heidi
looked at him curiously.
"Can I help you?" Heidi asked, rising her
eyebrows. The man glanced at her, slightly surprised and shook his head. He
took a sip of his coffee calmly. Heidi turned her mouth slightly.
"Do you come here often?"
The man did not look up when he replied. "Every
night."
"Wow," Heidi replied. She was not curious why.
"I used to come here every day, too," she told him. "It was
years ago though, when I was still a kid. Although I don't look it, but I'm
turning 32 this year. I feel so old."
"As vain as ever," the man said under his breath.
"Excuse me?" Heidi asked, but the man only shook
his head, a smirk on his face. Heidi decided to ignore him and went on. She was
in the mood to talk tonight. Maybe he was not the perfect company, but she had
wanted to come back to this diner since the day she graduated college. And now
that she's here, all the memories made came running through her mind like a bullet
train.
"At that time The Beatles was everyone's
favourite," Heidi reminisced out loud. "They had a hit, Golden
Slumbers. I knew all the words. Sang it everyday with my friends. I can't
remember much but the first few lines. 'Once
there was--'"
"'--a way back
home,'" the man sang with her. The two stopped singing and looked at
each other. While the man looked contently into Heidi's eyes, as if looking and
digging for something, Heidi only smiled in amazement.
"You know the song!"
"It's the story of my life," the man told,
looking back at his coffee. Just then, Griselda came back from the kitchen, a
plate of a miniature warm apple pie in her hands, two forks by its side. She
set the plate between the two knowingly.
"Enjoy."
Heidi felt warmth coming up to her face but the man ignored
it. When the lady passed, Heidi took one of the forks and sliced through the
pastry. "You should try this," she told the man, shoving the piece
into her mouth. "It's the best pie in the whole wide world."
"I would know," the man replied. Heidi did not
know how to respond. He had tasted it before? He must have been around for a
long time.
"What is the
story of your life, anyway?" Heidi decided to change the topic.
"If you can't tell, I'm slightly trapped."
Heidi had heard those words before. "I'm trapped. Nowhere to go."
"No way to go back home," the man and Heidi said
simultaneously. They looked at each other, and suddenly they were brought back
to sixteen years ago when they said the same things at the same counter,
sharing the same pie.
"If you're not around,
Heidi, I wouldn't know where to go," the man had said, then still just a boy. "You're my way home."
"Frank," Heidi whispered, looking closely at the
unshaved face. Had he really lost his way? In the end he came back here, in
case someone came to save him.
Frank smiled, his dimples showing through the goatee. “I
miss home."
---
thank you to yen fern for helping me out with this. inspired by a few things : a Japanese movie called "Golden Slumbers", the song itself, and also Angus Stone's Monsters.
Her face was a faded grey, shaded from the sunlight that came from the window behind her. She couldn't see it, but her hair looked a bronze in that light. It looked so smooth, I moved my hands slowly to touch it. But I was careless and woke her up from slumber. Her eyelids fluttered and closed, then her eyebrows scrunched itself in confusion.
"Good morning," I said.
She turned her face - eyelids still shut - towards me and came closer, looking for warmth. "Were you staring at me sleeping? That's creepy, you know."
"You're too pretty," I told her, slightly joking in the sincirity. She didn't say anything, but instead she smiled slightly before burying her face in my shoulder. I pulled her closer and felt the warmth from her back and the chill from her arms. It was odd, but she was beautiful like that.
"I wonder how you can look in the mirror and not ponder on how pretty you are," I told her.
"Because all I see are my flaws," she whispered.
It made me slightly uncomfortable - as if she felt insecure, but the reason I was here was to make her feel better. To feel safe - no matter where she is or who she's with or who she is. So I touched her face, brushing her cheeks - slightly rough from the acne in her adolescent years, but warm to touch with my cold fingers - and told her "Your flaws are pretty too."
---
Just a little drabble.
I would wake up to see your face every morning. Not wanting to wake you up, I just look at you silently, wondering when you'll open your eyes to meet mine. After what felt like hours, you wake me up instead, telling me I've overslept. I laugh.
"I was waiting for you to wake up."
You smile, your high cheekbones making your face look so perfect. "Well, I woke up." You're sitting up straight, ready to spend the weekends however we would decide to spend it. I pull you back down, your head landing on the pillow next to mine. I look you in the eye.
"I don't wanna wake up yet." You smile.
"Then sleep, by all means." You close my eyes for me, but I open one, peeking on you as you stare at me, smiling away. I close my eyes, drifted away by both drowsiness and your love.
---
I would be at work, in front of the computer when I notice it's already 12:30pm. My stomach growls, and I wonder what you've eaten for lunch. Knowing your mighty appetite, you might as well have finished a few dishes by now. I text you :
Honey, what did you eat for lunch? I'm hungry T T
I wait for awhile, staring at the clock. It wasn't even a minute when you texted me back :
I haven't eaten. Wanna go eat together? ^^
I imagine the forty-five minute drive between your workplace and mine. Sometimes I wonder why you come up with such ridiculous ideas.
Don't joke around, go and eat already. I'll just buy a burger somewhere near.
You don't reply and I get worried. I go back to my computer, deciding to finish off this draft before I go out to buy something. When I was about to put on my coat for the windy day, the office front door rings open. You walk into my sight, smiling a sigh.
"Honey," I manage to say.
"Did I make it on time? Or did you eat already?"
---
It's our first anniversary. You have my eyes blindfolded, holding me by the waist to lead me somewhere. I just got out of the car when you told me the place we're having dinner is a surprise.
"Are we there yet?" I ask.
"No, not yet," you tell me.
"Don't push me off a cliff or something, I know I've been annoying you recently," I say.
"Nothing will make me love you any less."
Finally you tell me to get ready, and unknot the blindfold. The smooth cloth sweeps away, giving me back my sight to one of the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. We're at the beach. There are little lanterns floating in a small area of the sea, just giving us enough light to see a small table for two before it. On the sand below it were pink petals scattered around, colouring the ground with it's softness.
You lead me to the table, seating me at one side of the table.
"Don't tell me a waiter is coming," I say jokingly.
"No, just you and me tonight," you inform. You take off the lid from a big dish that's been in the center between my plate and yours. It reveals a huge lobster, salad on the side, along with small pools of sauces. I smile, looking up at you. You just grin your silly grin.
After the peaceful dinner, we head back home. You wouldn't let me change first though.
"I have one last surprise," you say. I was going to take my present for you - it was hidden somewhere in the bedroom - so as you were occupying yourself in the kitchen I ran to our room to go and get it. When I get back, the dining table had cupcakes with alphabates on it, arranged to say :
"YOU ARE ALWAYS PERFECT TO ME"
Your present fall from my hands. Tears form and run down my cheek. I remember how the past few weeks had been hard for both of us since I had a new project at work and you had to go for a meeting in a different state for a few nights. The night when you first looked at me with those eyes as our fight that had begun with laundry problems worsen. We got it together specially for today, but I wasn't sure what would happen after tonight.
You come over to me, slinging your arms around my waist, leaning your forehead against mine as I begin to sob. I was embarrassed, but nothing can surpress my feelings anymore. "I'm sorry," you say.
I wipe away my tears. You cup my face as I look you in the eyes. I can feel my eyes are red and hot from the tears, but I don't run away from your gaze. "I'm sorry too," I whisper. Your lips land on mine just as I finish my sentence.
"I love you."
---
I am so sorry for the dead blog. Seriously there's only been me around, what with Najiya in boarding school and Hanis stuck in Tumblr-land. I haven't been writing a lot of good stuff, and that's why I haven't posted anything - I don't it's worth it.
So since there's no major exam this year, I might be writing more. Please do wait for us! >< Thank you for being so loyal~ <3
Dearest Carla,Happy Fourteenth Birthday.I am so sorry to not be there for you,to hug you and tell you how beautiful you have become.To tell you to stay away from wandering men.I am so sorry,dearest daughter.All I can say is sorry,yet you have no idea how I feel.
Please don't think I left you willingly,Carla.For I certainly did not.I don't know what you've heard,but I was forced to leave you.That was the deal I was forced to make:six months with you and I'm off.I had to.Ever since your father's mother-bless the woman's heart- found out about my marriage to Jerry she demanded that I leave immediately.Of course,during that time,I was pregnant with you,Carla.So that was the deal.After your birth,I had six months to spend with you and I would leave.
Why didn't Jerry follow me?Simply because his mother didn't let him.Well,that's what I want to believe,anyway.Somehow I am doubting myself though.Honestly,I think he never really loved me,as much as I loved him.As much as I hate to admit it,sometimes in a relationship there is one who loves more than the other.As much as I hate to admit it,it's me.
But I'm not complaining about Jerry.I'm sort of thankful he didn't follow me.I would have done things I never thought I would.As I write to you,Carla,I'm on a train.A train!I never went in a train ever in my life,I kid you not.Simply because Jerry is disgusted by public transport!I know,being on a train isn't exactly a wonderful achievement.But it's more than that,Carla.I feel so free,so limitless.I no longer feel scared.I don't want to hide anymore.It's a whole new life for me.
The six months I had with you,were the best six months of my life.Honest.I was always so scared you'd think
I left you willingly.I was so scared you'd never know about the fight I put up to have you.I was so scared you'd think of me the wrong way.I was so scared to leave you.I kept on thinking how you'd feel every night,wondering about who I am.Maybe you not wondering at all.I was always wondering.The thing is,you were the best thing that ever happened to me.
Sometimes I can't forgive myself.I can't believe I left you.I can't forgive myself for not doing more.For not trying harder.For not fighting back.People say I have to forgive myself first.But I keep on feeling guilty.I think about how you are every night,Carla.If you're hurt,if you're all right.A mother's love never dies.
I am sorry,Carla.So sorry.I love you very much.Sorry I can't be there for you,I have asked Jerry to give it to you on your 14th birthday.So this is it,Carla.Remember,stay strong.Don't be like me.I don't want you to regret anything in your life.Be happy,daughter.I will always love you.
