Coincidence is the start of something funny, perhaps love. It’s the first curl on someone’s lips after finding out you watch the same kind of movies. It’s the plans running in your head as you talk about this quaint coffee shop most people haven’t heard of. It’s a song slowly fading in on cue when you both laugh at an old stupid joke your neighbor used to tell. It’s when you share the same opinion about politics and then decide to talk about conspiracy theories instead. It’s the excuse hopeless romantics use to meet again on this upcoming event. Coincidence stops when they finally meet on the event and went for beer after. It stops when they arrange to go out the next weekend to watch a new horror movie. It stops when they check out the quaint coffee shop and realized it wasn’t so empty like they expected it to be. It stops when they both start making time for each other just to talk about aliens and the moon landing, to listen to corny jokes and cheesy songs, to decide to officially see each other and meet again and again and again. Coincidence stops when something funny finally happens, perhaps love. And probably commitment.
We owned Talisayen Cove for 24hrs. The month was November, the weather was great, and no other group of campers decided to stay there, not even for a day tour. Calm and quiet, untroubled and excited, fun and fulfilling—just some of the words to describe what we felt in that moment. We were disconnected from the world, and as selfish as it could be, we enjoyed it. Sometimes, the simplest way of living makes up the grandest days of our lives.
This post is part of #thestrangehertravels photo essay project.
Time will lead you back
to old conversations
to forced messages
to sweet words
Vaguely asking questions:
has the heart healed
is the love still there
did the pain go away
are feelings just dormant?
I hope in your mind the answers land.
The beautiful creaking sound of the wooden floor as I carefully tread the empty gallery is satisfying.
It was a territory I have always been familiar with—my well-planned steps on the way to your heart.
And just like the gallery, it’s empty.
You can’t force art.
That statement has long been in my mind since I skipped blogging for a month, I just can’t seem to bring the words straight out. Since then, I have published three posts which imply that very thought. And two of them share a connection surprising enough for me to write about it.
October last year, I wrote “the pen ran out of ink,” sharing how I kept writing but stopped publishing for a while, the reason being I barely get to finish a piece I could proudly put out, and claiming that my ink needs to stop bleeding from time to time, just like my heart. February of this year, “Inks and Pain” came out, and in it I talked about struggling to produce bittersweet or sad stories because my heart stopped bleeding at once—almost as if it’s feeling no more—driving me to ask for pain when it rains, so my ink could bleed again.
It’s not just because of the ink that the connection was made (I just really like that word) but more so with the contrast of emotion from both posts which affected its bleeding. The abundant feelings of last year obstructed me to write but the emptiness of today doesn’t make it any different. Even this post took me a while to make!
Now I rarely write down ideas on tissue papers and receipts or on anything I could take a hold of, my Notes don’t receive sudden thoughts I could turn into poetry, I am lost for words and my mind is probably still on vacation.
You can’t force art, but you can force yourself not to think too much about it and try out other things and just live. And maybe then, art will introduce itself again.
To the one who liked me,
I know what you did last December. You hugged me, we were sleeping next to each other. I let you, I was trying to feel if my heart will waver.
But your hand on my stomach didn’t even make the butterflies come out, your breath on my head didn’t even bring any shiver down.
Swallowing for air, both of us are aware. Awake and aware. Pretending to sleep, we decided not to care.
In case you’re reading, I apologize for having written this down to paper. It’s just hard to ignore the words once they appear in front of you and make you remember. But I guess it’s not hard to ignore this particular letter, just like how we ignored what you did last December.
From the girl who liked another man
P.S. Some details are tweaked for privacy purposes.