the spaces in between

by The Dreamer

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what i find the most endearing in my everyday life are the gaps in between time, the moments that would simply slip right past and forgotten for an eternity if we do not hold on to them and relish in their beauty like precious diamonds.

what i’m talking about are small instances such as the fifteen minutes left before classes begin after recess when the same group of girls in my class just gravitate together, huddled over someone’s phone mindlessly fawning over makeup tutorials, or plugging in our phones into a dark classroom’s stereo system, music bleeding out and getting reprimanded by teachers next doors, in which we shrug and look at each other sheepishly, grins wide and hearts beating wildly.

i’m talking about walking to the next classroom or to the next lecture hall, gazes blank and shoulders bumping into each other carelessly, time seeming to stagnate into tangible fistfuls that i stuff into my coat pockets as my friends and i talk about the most random of things, never running out of things to say.

i’m talking about bubble tea during guitar sessions and lighthearted moments amidst the seriousness of the impending concert that would mark the end of our cca activities.

i’m talking about squeezing into the backseat of my dad’s falling-apart car after a long day when the sun is midway down the horizon, hiding behind the monstrous silhouette of my school. receiving warm greetings from my family as we drive for dinner.

i’m talking about holding my 89 year old great grandmother’s calloused hand tight as we wander down the streets of chinatown with tummies full of dimsum and tea, feeling her heartbeat pulsate through her veins as she recalls her youth – pointing out the exact spots where the squatters she used to live in, demolished to become banks and shopping malls. i notice the tremble in her voice as she tells me vividly about what she did to survive in the japanese occupation, and i can almost taste the bitterness in the words spilled out of her mouth. when she switches to cantonese she becomes more emotional, more heartbreaking, more animated, and all i can do is hold onto her tighter like i am her lifeline because she seems so fragile that she might just collapse under the weight of her sad stories.

i’m talking about counting down to the very moment when the second hand flicks over to 12, and i refresh the youtube page to find the music video grinning back at me.

i’m talking about quiet nights under my blankets reading stories on my phone, too enthralled by the plot and the words to fall asleep, even if my eyes burn.

i’m talking about the spaces between dreams and reality.

i’m talking about reminiscing, like what i’m doing right now.

钧 x x

j e a n x x

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