January 29th, 2015 (Revisited)
It was a Thursday. And because it was Thursday, I stayed behind after school. But instead of walking home with the other members of the club, I was nearly alone. For about a fifth of the way, there had been someone to accompany me.
We walked in tandem.
Because it was the 29th of January, the sky stayed a nice, soaked, empty blue that reflected brightly in the air, causing my eyes to burn. Just a little bit, enough for me to complain.
I hate this time of day. My soul is seeping away from me. The colour of the sky isn’t rich enough, and yet, it’s too intense for me. I want to close my eyes and run away—but you can’t run away from the skies.
And then he said:
There’s this Japanese word without an English counterpart—yuugen. It’s that inexplicable feeling invoked by an awareness of the universe. It is neither happy nor sad. It is subtle. You can’t explain it, but you know it when you experience it. That’s why I like this time of day; that’s why I like this shade of blue.
He was always one for profundity. I gave him a little shrug.
And he left. I watched his back as he walked away from me and disappeared into the gates of his townhouse complex. He did not wave, did not give me so much as a glance.
The edge of the sky was dipped in orange, and I could see it through the trees’ leaves. I kept walking slowly; the sky dimmed with each step.
I was no longer on the sidewalk but on a thin dirt path near the edge of a grassy field. There were large rocks on either side of the path. I sat down on one.
The sky had darkened to a deep, dark blue, and the moon was a small, white disk: almost a circle. Was it waxing or waning? I could not tell. The air was cold. The air was cold winter air, peering over the edge of spring.
Four airplanes passed by, only distinguishable by their flashing white and red lights. Around them, the sky was yet darkening. With each breath I took, icy air froze my lungs, but I had to keep breathing.
Yes, that’s right, I have to keep breathing.
I listened to the cars that passed by, the sounds burning inside my cerebrum like ice burning fire. Behind me, a row of grey apartment buildings designed for low-income families stood on the opposite of the field. I turned to squint at them.
Not every window was lit. Of those that were, some were filled with orange incandescent light and some with bright white fluorescents. Some had their blinds down, some only had curtains. Cheap patio furniture decorated a few balconies. The rest hosted drying laundry on their railings.
A man came out and started having a smoke. I shivered and put my hood up. I watched him finish his cigarette. He threw the butt over the railing, down two floors, and went back inside. The wind started blowing stronger.
Several cars passed by, blasting loud party music that was muffled by the wind. I could only hear the bass that could have served as the foundation of almost any popular song. The songs vibrated in my body, competing with the beating of my own heart. If I hadn’t been careful, I could have been swallowed up by the beat of the music.
Go home! someone said. There’ll be a storm tonight.
I turned around.
The sky is clear. Dark and clear. I can see the moon.
Take heed. It won’t be so clear forever. The skies are turning fast, they replied and drove off. I watched the tail-lights disappear into the darkness.
I understood then.
Wait, I wanted to call to them. Come back. Tell me where you’re going. Tell me what repetitive pop songs you were playing. Tell me something—anything.
But it was too late.
I looked up at the stars, who had just decided to surface from the deepness of the night. And by them, the moon shone as bright as ever, glaring down at me.
Screw you, I said to the moon, you control the tides more than I do. And I swam up, towards the moon, in all its incandescent glory. I breathed in the air, and it burned my lungs.
Whatever. I have to keep breathing.
I wrote this on January 29th, 2015 and posted it on March 12th that year. I decided to rewrite it and dramatise the events a little more. You can find the original here.