The Jade Table for Two

There was this posh jade table for two at the front corner of my favourite joint. I loved to sit there and admire its artistic features; its perfectly round cut, semi-opaque (yet at the same time, rich) green colour, and rather coarse texture. It became a special spot to unwind whenever I visited. A safe haven, even, where no random friends could just sit across mine and listen to whatever things I had in mind. Just like any other sensible human beings on the planet, I chose my company carefully.

I went to the restaurant one day in a pretty bad shape. I felt like I was on the edge; the inside of my head tensed up from all the things that went south that week. All I could think about was giving myself an ample time to calm down in solitude. I guessed it simply made sense to do so. And so what happened next was totally out of my foresight.

"Meeru?" I heard someone called my name. "You okay?"

I lifted my face and found a man standing in front of my jade table. I knew him for quite a long time already, but as I traced down my memory, I realised that I hardly talked to him. It was not surprising that we stumbled upon each other there, though. I heard he often roamed around the area.

"Handa," I gave him a slight nod while flashing a polite smile. I must have been looking pretty ghastly that he could see through my emotional state at a glance. There was no point in hiding something that was so obvious, so I plainly replied comme ci comme ça.

"Mind if I join you?" he asked.

I would normally (and harshly) decline such a request, but there was this inexplicable gravity pulling me into saying that I did not mind. The next thing I knew, he took a seat across mine, and we talked for hours. 

A Simple Fire Pit

She spent one serene, rainy night sitting by a fire pit. It was on a whim. There was no expectation whatsoever from the agenda, except from being able to just stare blankly into the flame and let her body cradled by the swinging hammock chair. Her gaze might appear empty, but not the mind behind.

For some moments, she forgot that grieving was not only about mourning the deceased, but also about losing other things. Grief had been throwing her out of balance, engulfing her in a storm of countless (and often unrecognizable) emotions. Steve Garrigan said it took his soul and wiped it clean. Rumi exquisitely put it as a crowd of sorrows, violently sweeping your house empty of its furniture. They were true.

She had zero appetite for weeks, and food tasted bland when she ate. Although sunflowers and bouvardias bloomed during the day, she broke down the second she arrived home at night. She pushed herself to go out for an entire week only to find herself mentally and physically drained in the end. When she hit the sack, the viable option was either sleeping too late or waking up too early.

The scariest thing was that she never knew when all these would dissipate. The journey was unapologetically unpredictable, just like the fire she was staring at. It blazed and flickered every now and then in an erratic way.

A Self-Fulfilling Prophetrip

I was having a virtual catch up session with my college friends on a late April night when I mindlessly said that I really wanted to travel to Europe. The world has been slowly entering an endemic, so I thought I could have my annual overseas holiday again anytime soon, though I wasn't quite sure if it was already safe enough or not, and who the heck would be willing to accompany me anyway.

Until I realised that Amindari aka Cici was still in the Netherlands to pursue her master's degree -- in fact she's still there now that I'm publishing this story. Not to mention a couple of lecturers back from my uni days currently having their doctoral studies, and a few colleagues who just moved to work there. Solo travel to Europe suddenly felt highly possible. And so I bought flight tickets to Amsterdam a week after to depart in two months, with a mindset that I did this to mainly visit friends. 

Without me knowing, this would become a self-fulfilling prophecy.

I couldn't care less about the title

You slowly open your eyes. So much dazzle and vitality in the world around. Gardenias bloom. Planes take off. Thousands of cakes are bought to celebrate life today. All flies ever so swiftly that you are sure you must be missing something when you blink.

Life feels like a long drive to the sea. Up and down the mountains, through the tunnels, past the intersections. The music is good when you nod your head to the rhythm, but sometimes it sounds like a total crap that you just turn off the stereo. Funny and a bit ironic that it is in fact your own playlist, which you curate ever so carefully.

And sometimes you find yourself asking, to which sea are you heading again exactly?

How long have you been driving?

Isn't it about time you arrive?

Why haven't you arrived?

When you don't feel like turning on the stereo again, you know you are screwed.

The Enigmatic Summer Read

Spring officially ended last month and it finally felt like summer. The reverberating sound of cicadas was everywhere in the air, as it got sultrier with each passing day. There had never been a daytime when the sun did not shine brightly in this radiant season. She kept on walking while looking down at the road, adjusting her hat every once in a while to cover her face from the direct sunlight.

She was done with her chores when she decided to take a late afternoon stroll. The countryside was always nice at this hour. People usually took a break in between work before wrapping up whatever the tasks they did for they day, so it gave a relaxing siesta time atmosphere.

"Going for another solitary time out, eh?" a familiar voice called her from behind. She turned her head to find an old man on a horse-drawn wagon, steadily approaching her, with a bunch of haystacks on his back seat. "You're still reading that one book from the last time?"

She stopped on her track to allow the wheeled cart to catch up.

"I guess so," she answered, playfully swinging around the book in her hand. "Where are you heading to?"

"Home."

"Good work today."

She politely refused the offer to hop on his carriage. The old man then bid his farewell as he passed by.

A gentle breeze rustled the dry leaves and swayed her skirt. As she continued walking, she could see children raced through the meadow from between the trees that were lined up on each side of the road, running wildly while shrieking with laughter. Looked like a lot of fun. I wonder where they get all that energy from. 


She sat down at her usual spot a couple of minutes later, under a tree overlooking a poppy field. Her shoulder loosened up as she leaned her back against the tree trunk. Without further ado, she opened the book that she had been carrying, and started picking up where she left off.