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. 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.

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.

Your Code to Decipher

"Have I told you how much I love stations and airports; trains and aircrafts?"

It was a comfortably gloomy day as the sun took a day off. Dark clouds kept pouring down droplets of water since dawn, taking everyone hostage at home and leaving the asphalt covered streets empty. However, she was a free soul. She went out nonetheless.

The man who sat in front of her shook his head. "No, you haven't. Tell me."

"I love them so much."

"Why?"

"Because they give me mixed feelings," she answered. "There are sadness and joy. People who come and go. I imagine myself feeling excited to board my plane to see the other side of the continent while also feeling sad because I have to leave everyone I care about behind."

He smiled.

“It’s interesting. I have a friend who hates airports. And I have another who loves it for a slightly different reason from yours.”

“How come?”

“Both only see one side of a single coin. One hates it simply because he only sees the partings. Another one loves it because she only sees the exhilarating anticipation of going places.”

He ended his story by gulping a spoonful of salad and washing it down his throat with mineral water. She observed him in silence.

“People view things differently. And that’s okay,” he continued. “But in order to be wise, it’s always better to understand various, different perspectives. It’s easier being said than done.”

She slowly stirred her tea, making clattering sound as her spoon touched the inner side of her porcelain cup. It was his turn to take his time and observe her mundane gesture. Every time she’s lost in her thoughts, all he can do is wait. And he does not mind waiting.

Blest be the Moonlight

Everyone had already left when I heard him play.

The poignant tune of the piano caught my attention. My heart skipped a beat the moment I recognized the song.

He sat tall on the bench as his slender fingers gracefully danced across the piano bars. He was as calm as the placid Greenland fields; as peaceful as the serene Himalayan mountains. He was so immersed in his own little world that he did not seem to realize my presence.

The haunting melody echoed all over the room, its feelings were perfectly conveyed. He played the song just right.

I was helplessly drawn to him.

In the Honor of the Snatcher

"I see you took an immediate liking to him."

"To whom?"

"To him. The guy you came across at the exhibition last month."

"What makes you say that?"

"How many times have you opened his page since your encounter that day?"

"I open his page every once in a while."

"That didn't answer my question. And by once in a while, you mean once every two or three days, so it makes you have opened his page like.. 10 to 15 times already."

She laughed. A faint blush was slowly become visible on her cheeks. I couldn't help but smirk.