beyond wonder; be yonder

by The Dreamer


and when my tummy vibrates with your presence and my sleepiness is aroused by your consciousness, your voice pools in the pit of what feels like emptiness in me, filling me with  warmth. you wrote about our early mornings like it was something magical, and there and then i cried, because i thought it was something i conjured out of my own wishful thinking and that you weren’t really present, but

you were there, and you were my present, and i’m so thankful that it was special to you too. miles away, and both in the dark, but i feel you close to me. thank you for 6.45 shared smiles and comfortable silences because you didn’t have to but you did anyway for fear that i would be lonely. thank you for falling in love, not with me, because i can now properly love you.

as a friend.


Gah. Gag.

That was so mushy. Too mushy. I feel like an overripe banana.


There’s something about the after-rain weather that calms me down so much. The sweet dewy scent of the earth lingering in the air, the slight chilly breeze, the crunch of wet leaves under my feet, all the dust and grime of the city washed away. It makes me feel renewed, fresh, at peace. I’m ready to begin again.

Which is great, because recently I’ve been caught up in a metaphorical and physical slump, in academics and in my overdue pieces of writing that I have yet to produce because staring at a blank document is much too daunting.

Numbers – this has been my greatest fear at the moment. Dismal results, the countdown, the number of unchecked boxes on my to-do lists, dollars and cents, battery percentages, viewcounts, number of likes, number of followers. Numbers seem to be everywhere, inescapable, and it scares me. I kind of want to hide in a place where letters and numbers are merely hieroglyphics and nothing more.


My heart is heavy, burdened with a secret that feels like my soul is being crushed. The sadness is overpowering and saturating the air with dampness that would not be peculiar if I found them clinging onto my cheeks.

The secret makes me pensive, perceptive. I’m thinking back about two Tuesdays back, graduation. Holding back a sob as I sang the school song for the first and last time. Thursday, Jimin’s birthday. My friends tolerating my antics and singing along to the Korean version of happy birthday as I pretended to blow out the candle from the $2.70 slice of cake. Friday, head buried in good wishes and heart soaring with love. There were tears but mostly laughter.

I see the human in our Teachers. I definitely saw it today. And all I can say is everything is put into perspective and I am simultaneously saddened but also comforted in this final juncture.

In a sombre tone, we talk about what ifs and one days. We talk about life and people and humanity and the universe. We talk about literature and future adventures and the smell of old bookshops. And then we talk about dedicating our first biographies to each other, and we talk about lyrics that make us sad, quotes that make us think, sober thoughts of how to deal with this secret.

It is always in these moments where we find connection, intimacy, honesty and warmth.

The past few weeks have been a turbulent ride of highs and lows. I embrace the gravity of everything and nothing. Allow me to suspend myself in these moments, allow me to fossilise them in amber, allow me to swim through the charged electricity and the constant draining of time; allow me to breathe.

For you, for all of you, a thousand times over.