The neighbourhood grows quiet. A thunder rumbles in the distance. I watch as the people next door start to move their chairs and coffee table indoors. The bright sky is slowly being washed out as muted blues gradually turn to grey. Clouds start to hover, shaded in deep charcoal and the sunlight can no longer break through the thick blanket in the skies. They move with languid heaviness, filling the sky with an unsettled stillness. As if the sky is holding its breath before releasing the storm, the stasis spreads through the neighbourhood. The children are no longer shrieking in joy as they play a game of tag, the honks have died down. It’s going to be a slow day.
I curl up in my blanket not wanting to leave the bed. The room is cast with a gentle shadow, a darker shade of grey where the familiar brightness has faded. The blues have shaded my heart, melancholy creeps in as the sunshine decides to take a break. If nature can pause being its usual bright, sunny and chirpy self; I think it’s perfectly valid for me have those dull days. It just bothers me, that the pause right now, has lasted longer than it should. I pick a Taylor Swift Mix playlist and sink deeper into the pillows, letting the music carry me in its rhythms. ‘The Lakes’ is on speaker. And when she sings, ‘I want to watch wisteria grow right over my bare feet ‘cause I haven’t moved in years’ — felt like these lines were written just for me.
With music fading into the background, my thoughts wander around. You know, every time I watched those cheesy romance movies and every other Korean drama that I could possibly find; I thought about how stupid it was to watch the main leads move in slow motion. That drastic pause, the silence that stretches a few seconds longer, the locking of eyes and just standing there — oh so gushy, but that doesn’t stop me from loving each one of those shows. Come to think of it, that stillness holds every word and every emotion in itself, all that unsaid proving that it’s not just for dramatic effect. I can only imagine the weight of those emotions they carry in their hearts, waiting for it all to break free. Every second of that stretched silence cradles words silently echoing in their hearts, those sparks of passionate love, the hope for a future, the dream to come home after a long tiring day to sweet nothings.
I see the brilliance of those pauses, not just on screens but also in prose. An ellipsis, leaves a trail of unsaid words hung by threads of anticipation of what’s to come next. Just like those soft and swollen blanket of clouds obstructing a sunny day, there is a break. This beauty fails to go unnoticed. And yet, when my life comes to an abrupt halt, all I see is my pathetic self, loathing and blinded to this mesmerising change; I don’t see a scenic view here. And those grey days seemed like they were meant to last forever. This wasn’t a quick change in the weather, it was a crisis that no climate activist could fix. As I look back, I think it was all for the better. As though I were a character in one of those awfully romantic Korean dramas, where one receives a call from the ER. When that call shatters the stillness, a rush of panic floods through me, revealing the depth of my love for writing—a lifeline I hadn’t fully appreciated until now.
I often take it for granted. The love a diary gives me, the comfort that these words bring me, the lullaby that they sing when my heart is a restless wreck on a downward spiral. More often times than not, wondering if I am capable enough to hold onto to the love I get, if I am worthy to be loved this way, if I want to remain a poet and never the poem because oh to find love between the pages, that space between the lines becomes my veil of safety and warmth, to find solace in this solitary is beyond what I can say with words.
I went through a phase of feeling like a character waiting to be rescued, longing for someone who would resemble a hero from my favorite romance novels. I doubt I’ll ever become a hopeful romantic; that’s a conversation for another time. I waited for someone to notice me—a friend, or just any fellow human being. I sat patiently, clinging to the notion of rescue, all the while ignoring the lifeboat right beside me. I feared that the Horcrux in my heart, holding my dreams and ambitions, would shatter sooner or later. I would become nothing like I envisioned, becoming everything that contradicted my true self. I almost succumbed to that deception—almost. Then I turned to my journal for the first time in months, ready to have this long-overdue conversation with my beloved.
A surge of emotions take over my heart, mind and soul. I take a moment to admire what I missed all these days. I half expected words to never flow, alphabets never to disclose their strengths, my narrative proving to be true. This isn’t some fluke or a blessing or a miracle. No matter how far I go, no matter if I turn my back and let belief evaporate through the pores on my skin; my heart will always be here. Even on days when I don’t trust myself, when I am lonely and in all those times I hoped there was someone to whisper endearments, I had forgotten something. I just couldn’t see. I pick up my pen and ever so subtly the ordinary paper turns bright, somehow radiating warmth.
It whispers, ‘Welcome Home.’