Years pass; seasons change, relentless.
—
We drove out of Bangkok again this weekend to feed the fishes near the temple – a tradition now.
As we threw food into the river, I noticed a new set of fish I’d never seen there before. Their small yellow bodies swam against the current, making slow but sure progress towards their undefined destination.
Oh, it looks like there is a new species here!
She laughed. No, not a new species. These are babies of the same species.
I beamed, suddenly full of an inexplicable happiness, lightness. I realized this is the first time I’d come to the Chao Phraya in winter. Spawning season must have just passed.
I so dearly want to pass seasons, lives, building intimacy with the places I love.
—
I hope one day we all end up where we are meant to be.
It’s snowing in Moscow.
We landed before dawn, the plane’s lights illuminating the slowly falling flakes in the dark. I watched in awe through my window.
—
My body is at its limits, but I couldn’t be happier. Life continues to be terrifyingly good to me. And, I’m headed home.
My heart is so full.
I don’t know what we’re doing, and I don’t know where we’re going. But for now, I’m going to keep loving you with everything I have.
On Dancing at Hell’s Gates (Alternatively, Clarity in Love and Patience)
My head buzzing, the flesh beneath my skin beginning to cook. I inhaled the fiery steam slowly, drenched by the greatest heat my body had ever experienced.
Is this what Hell feels like?
A lesson in grit, patience – in finding the optimal confidence level. Dancing dangerously close to the threshold, careful not to exceed it.
—
I opened the door of the steam room, and was immediately hit by the cool, thinner air of the main room. Dizzy, but returning to clear conscience, I walked across towards the showers – nude steps suddenly full of an unfamiliar confidence. Brazen, almost.
After showering, I returned to the main pool, and settled into a spot in the back corner, with a wide view of the water and bodies before me. I slowly moved my core, arms, and legs to allow the water jets to carefully massage each of my muscles. With an insular focus, I stared across the jjimjilbang.
1:14 AM.
Visceral clarity – a stroke of confidence, self-love, and optimism.
(Eventually, I realized he was floating next to me, watching. I wonder what went through his mind in this very moment.)
—
I’ve been waiting for so long now, each and every day – unwavering. But I’m learning patience.
This is 57th Street.
She rests her head on my right shoulder, and immediately remarks, “Your shoulder is so bony!” We giggle. I fold up my jacket and cover my shoulder with it. She puts her head back down, and closes her eyes.
This is Lexington Avenue / 63rd Street.
There is a couple next to us. They talk quietly, laugh, and occasionally caress each other. Their love looks gentle. I am happy; I hope they are, too.
This is 72nd Street.
I lean my head gently on hers, but keep my eyes open. I watch our reflection in the window across from us. We sit this way, unmoving, silent, breathing lightly. The train speeds along. I think she is asleep now.
This is 86th Street.
I continue to watch our reflection, but my mind wanders.
I remember crying together at goodbye in the airport on the way back from Mexico. I remember our phone call when I was sitting at the top of a tower in LA and we realized how important we were to each other. I remember our late night talks about vulnerability. I remember when she called me, lost and devastated, when I was studying in my loft in Vienna.
And now, finally, we are here. Our bodies truly touching again after over half a decade. We are in the same country, the same city. And we are resting on this bench, together. Nothing separates us anymore.
This is 96th Street. This is the final stop.
I tap her gently on the forehead, and she slowly wakes up. “Hey, we’re here.”
Ode to Seafront
In these kinds of moments, I dearly – dearly – miss those perfect summer nights at Seafront.
I miss the raggedy tables and chairs, plastered with nonsense student org ads. The 21 HKD dinners. The purple sweet potatoes I only let myself get once a week. The jee mai lo I’d never be able to find anywhere else. The couple that ran the kitchen – smiley, comforting, home.
On those hot, sticky summer nights, I would walk over from Hall IV, order whatever they had prepared that day, and clean every last grain of rice off my plate – every time. Most nights, I’d end up staying there for an hour or two more – maybe my classmates would come in, or my friends from Hall IV, or the dragon boat boys. Usually a combination.
In those late hours, we would chat, play cards, drink, laugh, work in that tattered, beautiful fish bowl next to the ocean. And for the briefest of moments, we would be carefree.
august has returned.
—
i woke up this morning in a pink cottage next to the water. windows open, i can hear the waves against the rocks. our boat bobs calmly in the distance. the summer storm seems to have passed.
when i breathe, i smell my favorite nautical smell.
the sea greets me.
The yearning for home continues to intensify.
I don’t cry much anymore, but when I do, my heart begs – loudly. The pains in my chest sharper than ever.
—
On the way home from the river that afternoon, we stopped by a quiet temple.
It was raining as we entered. We took off our shoes, and quickly stepped up on the stone platform. We shuffled around and quietly prepared our flowers, incense and candles.
After lighting my candle, my hand began to shake, anxious. Unable to steady myself, I rested the side of my little finger on the cool metal for leverage, and finally succeeded in planting the candle upright.
Rain now pouring down all around us, I returned to my original spot, and inhaled, the smell of the river, rain, flowers, and incense enough to fill even the deepest corners of my soul.
I put my hands together, and prayed.
One minute we were celebrating, and the next he was on the floor, pulse gone. We initiated CPR and called 911.
—
My grandpa stroked my arm as he lay on the hospital bed. After a few minutes, he looked up at me, and smiled.
[messy translation, but frustratingly english will never be able to accurately capture the intimacy of his words]
You’ve gone everywhere, you are so smart now. You are happy.
I smiled back down at him. I know this is the last time I might be able to.
—
This weekend has been extremely humbling, and I feel nothing but guilt, anger, and confusion.
I’m lying right now in the bed I slept in growing up. Artifacts of my youth surround me. Old artwork, old clothes, old gifts remind me of how much things have changed in just a few short years. I am uneasy.
I had some upcoming writing with snippets of my recent adventures, but I think for now I will hold off on it all. I feel wrong for going so far, for leaving.