Posted by: Sarah on: August 5, 2010
Ordinary. That was the word that came to mind as I stepped onto the metro and took a seat by the window. Ordinary filled the metro’s yellow plastic seats and stood upon its spotless gray flooring. Not a face among the passengers sharing my car seemed unfamiliar. Neither had ordinary’s cast neglected the gray river lazily meandering its way through a jungle of concrete outside my Plexiglas window. Not even my destination, the streets of downtown, qualified as unusual. The impulse to hop a train and wander aimlessly through the city’s maze of steel and concrete seized me so often it’d become second nature. Everything was simply ordinary.
That wasn’t to say I was dissatisfied with ordinary and waiting on extraordinary. All this ordinariness is only important because on that day and on that metro extraordinary waltzed in and sat down across from me, bringing with it sheer delight. And when you are lucky enough to enjoy extraordinary’s presence, nothing in that moment short of euphoria will do. Only extraordinary never lingers. And when it departs, it leaves you broken and aching for its company; and for a moment ordinary’s offer of simple contentment seems so ghastly unfair and completely unbearable.
Yet in that fleeting moment you sit in extraordinary’s brilliant presence nothing else matters. Its brilliance dazzles you such that any practical thoughts of the ineludible aftermath of the elusive extraordinary’s departure are peripheral. And in that moment, you wonder how you could’ve ever been content with anything less than extraordinary. You ponder the unthinkable—an eternity with extraordinary.
It was that day on that train that extraordinary marveled me with its tantalizing beauty.
At precisely four forty-three in the afternoon, ordinary got off and extraordinary boarded in its place.
And at exactly four forty-three I looked up and saw it: Extraordinary.
Extraordinary manifested itself in the shape of a man. A very beautiful man. One so beautiful my heart ached with fierce longing.
Shy I quickly averted my eyes, but not before I realized his approach as he took a seat in the hard plastic bench across from me. My nerves jittered in excitement, and my heart burst at the seams. Hands shaking, my fingers wove themselves into the hem of my t-shirt, and I prayed desperately that Extraordinary—as I’d dubbed him upon sight—hadn’t noticed my reaction to his presence, ever so similar to that of a blushing schoolgirl.
As he took a seat, I felt the accidental brush of his knees against mine, and my insides melted. Seated, his knees just barely touched mine, making me so painfully aware of his person. A part of me wanted to reach out and draw him into my arms, and yet a part of me—the embarrassed part—wished I could simply disappear from the face of the earth. As much as my heart longed for him, I knew I could never measure up to Extraordinary’s standards.
The metro lurched into motion before I dared raise my gaze and look him properly in the face. I appreciated the regularity of his features and the smoothness of skin, but what I was truly enamored with were his eyes, so dark and dazzling. The depths of his shining black orbs reflected a person both charismatic and intelligent. His eyes alone told me he was all I could ever want. From his liquid eyes I saw mirrored an image of myself and imagined what it’d be like to see myself mirrored there each and every day for an eternity, sparkling especially for me. Of course, my eyes, too, would always specially light up for him. We’d be so happy together.
A bubble of elation rose within me, and again I itched to fling my arms about him, this time proclaiming to him I’d found eternity. Couldn’t he see just how extraordinary life would be together? An eternity together could only promise bliss. It already showed in his glittering eyes.
The metro jerked to a halt, briefly jolting me back to reality. I tore my gaze away, knowing the impossibility of my fancies. My fingers tightened about the hem of my t-shirt, my knuckles turning white, as I attempted to remain calm and resist indulging my girlish fancies. Just as I regained my poise, the metro jumped once more into motion.
All resolve quickly came undone when his long legs twitched, and his knee bumped once again into my own. A shock of electricity shot through me. My fingers reached out in reflex, brushing against his knees. Warmth tingled through my every fiber in response, bringing me to my senses. Abashed with awareness of my traitorous hands, I hastily snatched them back and wove them once again into a tangle of hemline. I flashed him a shy, apologetic smile, but he scarcely seemed aware. Upon catching my eye he turned away, face expressionless.
A stab of pain struck my heart. I hadn’t made a mark on him. I wasn’t his Extraordinary.
The train slammed to a stop, and the automatic doors slid open. Without so much as a glance in my direction, my Extraordinary got to his feet and walked off the metro, away from forever. Alone I sat, yearning still for him and an eternity of shared bliss in spite of the bitter realization of rejection.
The blow of disappointment rendered me breathless. One sentence filled my thoughts: Forever is but a beautiful dream promising more than it can actually fulfill.
Ordinary swooped in on me and perched there as if its dull presence could take away the sting of my tears. Nothing could fill the void of the temporary ecstasy Extraordinary had brought.
Then again, that is exactly the nature of Extraordinary—a sense of sheer joy so great it can’t endure for long. Ordinary exists to remind us of how great Extraordinary is when you chance an encounter with it. Extraordinary is not something to capture selfishly and hold forever. The luster of its beauty would dull, and it’d become ordinary.
Resigning myself to ordinary’s embrace, I shed bitter tears and whispered a soft goodbye to Extraordinary. Eventually I’d grow content again with ordinary, and the fierceness of my longing would tame to but an occasional sigh.
Posted by: Sarah on: July 8, 2010
A/N: I wrote this for my mother’s birthday. It’s what “P.S. I Love You” morphed into.
Photographs and Promises
I thought of you last night while I sat next to a mother-daughter duo. They sat there gabbing and giggling as they held hands across their table. I imagined us in their place, holding hands and sharing secrets between sips of wine. My eyes grew misty watching them, and my heart swelled with nameless emotion. A pang of longing overcame me.
I wanted my mommy.
I thought of you again this morning when I stumbled across an old box of photos. Curiosity drove me to opening it and rummaging through its contents. It was filled with pictures of an impish little redhead on a pony or dressed in her detested Sunday dresses, a valedictorian ready to take on the world, a woman with her friends and sisters, a woman in love, a woman newly married… The unmistakable sparkle of blue eyes and fiery red hair linked together all of these girls and women. Scrutinizing each version of her, I wondered what it would have been like to know her at any of these points in time and whether we would’ve been friends.
I reached a picture of this same woman holding a baby, marking her transition from newly wed to mother—my mother. The distinctive cerulean eyes and flaming hair of my mother connected her to the other girls and women in the box. I extended my fingers and tenderly brushed the face of my mother. My touch lingered on her radiant smile and a well of tears filled my eyes, my vision growing hazy and blurring together the colors in the picture.
I flipped through more pictures, watching the woman blossom into the mother I know now. This woman loved me so much.
Not for the first time and certainly not for the last, realization dawned on me: I never cherish you enough. I was going to try though. I would try to not get cross with you or brush you away. I was going to be a better daughter. I was going to be the daughter you deserved.
The moment was broken when you yelled out from the other side of the house that I needed to do my chores. Hastily I brushed away my tears and dropped back into the box the stack of photos cradled in my hands. I jammed the box back into the cupboard and rushed out of the room, crying for you to hold on a moment. As the vehement words spilled out of my mouth, I took into account the sting of my tone and bit my tongue.
Didn’t I just promise? If I went back on my word, how would I ever come closer to sitting at a table with you gabbing and holding hands like that mother and daughter duo of last night?
But I couldn’t take back the fierceness of my tone. I’d already hurt you, like the countless times before and like the countless times I probably will again. My heart grew heavy in bitter recognition of my failure, and I dropped my head in defeat.
I will never be the daughter you deserve, but I can keep trying to be a better daughter.
Posted by: Sarah on: January 17, 2010
A/N: Because this amused me so much, I figured I’d post it here. I wrote this quite a long time ago. Although when I found it again and reread it, I made a few alterations and finished the chapter. Enjoy it! Or throw me a tomato. Lol. I promise I’m a little saner in real life.
~
Chapter 1
I stood staring at myself in the mirror, admiring my handiwork. A paisley scarf covered my unruly curls, and with an exaggerated flourish, I slipped on a pair of dark sunglasses. In my opinion, I looked like a woman from an old American film, about to alight in a convertible with the debonair man of my affections at the wheel as we take off on a refreshing drive through the countryside. I liked to think I resembled a short Katherine Hepburn at this very moment. We did share a birthday at the very least.
But, this wasn’t going to be romantic. This was different, for I did not come to Taiwan to meet someone and fall in love. Rather, I came to kidnap the object of my sisterly affections with the help of my other sister, who like me was bent on having Ella Chen as our sister. We didn’t care about the consequences; we just knew that she was meant to be our sister. In our self-esteemed opinions, nature had committed a serious crime against us, and we needed to correct that.
Some might call us crazy and maybe we were, but we didn’t care. Ella was the only thing that mattered to us anymore. Anything that did not pertain to her might as well have been Greek to us. We lived, breathed, and slept Ella. She was our obsession, our goal, our world.
She mattered enough for Nat to throw all caution to the wind and quit her job at the laboratory. Nat had had it with assays and noxious chemical fumes. She only wanted the sweet fragrance of Ella’s shampoo. That was all the chemistry she needed.
Our decision of leaving everything behind—all for Ella’s sake—had developed over a period of time. Somehow, Ella had worked her magic on us despite the Pacific Ocean’s attempt to separate us. But we couldn’t handle this unjust distance; we couldn’t just be another face in the crowd to her. We had to mean something to her. She had to remember us. And we knew that she’d find us just as irresistible as we did her. We were certain that with time she’d yield to our charms.
And so, through a series of MSN conversations over the past year, Nat and I had concocted and perfected a plan. I was to stay on course and go to Taiwan on the pretence of being an exchange student. After all, someone had to speak enough Chinese to communicate with our new sister and make her feel comfortable, as she grew accustomed to her new circumstances.
Nat was to find an apartment and work under the pretense of being a remedial English tutor for struggling students. Her apartment was to be our planning headquarters, and she’d made sure to find one close to Chengchi University so that the commute wouldn’t be too hard on me.
We’d began gathering information of Ella’s schedule online, and only when we were absolutely certain that she was out of town, dared we approach the H.I.M. building to start scouting out Ella’s favorite haunts. Already thanks to my 妹妹, Wen, I’d learned that Ella loved the bentos at the 7-11 next door.
And so we began with 7-11, which to us had become holy ground. Here, we felt so close to our beloved 姊姊, even though we knew she wouldn’t show up. We even worked up the courage to each buy a bento in attempt to achieve a state of nirvana, and I willingly sacrificed for this divine experience my vegetarian diet and bought a meal of chicken in honor of Ella and her omnivorous ways. Once we’d bought them and taken a seat on the curb outside, we treated our bentos as a pious Christian would treat communion, bowing our heads reverently over the meal and thinking of Ella.
But on this very day, I had the sole opportunity to step into 7-11 with the hope of catching a glimpse my new sister-to-be, for Ella was in Taipei and Nat and I had decided we needed to start taking a few risks. Nat had really wanted to join me, but at the last minute she’d had to hold an emergency cram session for a student that just couldn’t wrap his poor mind around the English language and still had to pass a major English exam on the morrow. Despite Nat’s sudden change of plans, she’d urged me to go ahead and risk it, saying that maybe we ought to start running solo scouting operations so as to avoid any serious suspicions—and most especially Ella’s. If Ella balked from us in fear, it’d dash all our plans to pieces.
I smiled at myself once more in the mirror of a small restaurant’s bathroom several blocks away from Ella’s 7-11. There was no possible way for anyone to clearly recognize me as that strange foreign girl that passed by every so often. I’d successfully hidden my hair, my most distinguishing feature, along with my eyes. Add some pantyhose and I could rob banks, I thought grimly. No way would Ella pick me out as a fan, considering my ridiculous foreign appearance—that is, so long as I kept my excitement well concealed.
The sound of someone knocking at the door drew my attention away from the mirror and I sighed reluctantly. I might as well relinquish the bathroom to whoever was knocking and start out on my pursuit of Ella. There was nothing else left to do since I’d already finished and paid for the small meal I’d ordered for myself, and I had practically taken a photograph of my appearance given how long I’d stared at myself.
My nerves began to sing in a mix of anxiety and excitement as I left the restaurant and headed towards the holy convenience store. Ella was within my reach!
“Relax,” I chided myself as I glanced into a dark tinted window to reassure myself that nothing about my appearance had altered. “She’ll be impervious to my charms once we’ve taken the final step and truly made her ours, and today, there is no way she can recognize you as her fan. Your foreignness is on your side this time. All you need to do is ask for her to help you pick out some toothpaste. Don’t let her think you’re any more than a silly foreigner that’s just moved to Taiwan. You must ‘jia you’ as Lu Reixi would put it.”
I tore my gaze away from the window and forced myself forward. I’d come this far; I couldn’t back out now. Besides, Nat and I weren’t only thinking of our own welfare; we were considering Ella’s too. She needed us just as much as we needed her. She just didn’t know it yet.
Faces blurred by me, my usually observant eyes incapable of registering anything, too intent was I on reaching my point of destination. The world had gone mute. Even the familiar voice so forthright in criticizing me, thus incurring my own self-doubt as to whether Ella would really like me, had silenced itself. I felt as if a hand were pushing me directly to the convenience store, and until I’d reached the 7-11, shining like a bright beacon welcoming me home after so long, it refused to release it’s relentless grip on me.
A dopey grin plastered my face once my mind had registered that I now stood before the door to the holy temple of Ella. I skirted the storefront, peering in vain through the glass. A sigh of exasperation escaped my lips, for I knew that I had to enter. I hoped that the storekeeper wouldn’t get suspicious should Ella not be inside, forcing me to leave and return upon her entrance. He’d grown used to my frequent appearance, recognizing me by sight and greeting me jovially, when I came to scout it out under the guise of purchasing small necessities.
Maybe, if Ella were not there, I could attempt to buy some toothpaste and when it came time to pay exclaim that I couldn’t find my money and must’ve lost it along the way. I could leave, muttering to myself about my carelessness. Then, I’d lay in wait near the H.I.M building until Ella came out. Once she was far enough along, I could stealthily stalk her to her point of destination. My story could change—a necessity in this business. Besides, I could always play the helpless-foreigner card, the only real perk to being foreign.
Taking a deep breath, I pushed through the door and made a mad dash for the closest aisle, smiling to myself when I heard the storekeeper’s startled grunt. He must’ve been half-asleep from the sweltering heat. Poor man, I hadn’t made it any better by disorienting him.
I waited, trying to slow my erratic breathing before daring to creep through the store, on the prowl for the goddess-like Ella Chen. Once my breath no longer came out in short shallow gasps, I cautiously skirted the shelf, hoping that he wouldn’t notice me in the large mirrors meant to keep an eye on customers.
But to my disappointment, as I went through the little aisles of shampoo and snacks, I did not catch sight nor hair of Ella. Only the fact that the clerk remained unaware of my presence consoled me. I’d have to go out again.
Crouching low, behind a colorful display of potato chips near the door, I watched the heavyset clerk as his eyes drooped, his hand lethargically swatting at a lazy fly. Now seemed to be as good a time as any to make a dash for it, out onto the safety of the sidewalk. Using my hand to propel myself forward, I pushed against the floor, ignoring the grime beneath my palm and set off at a sprint, escaping onto the street before the clerk had a chance to register the door chime. I refused to break my sprint until I’d retraced my steps and backtracked through the alley to reach the backside of the H.I.M. building.
The building itself was rather mundane, but it didn’t matter because I was more interested in concealing myself from plain view behind an expensive blue Mercedes. Crouching low to the ground, I panted as I caught my breath and contemplated how best to ambush my darling sister. Although I didn’t have to think too hard, for Ella walked unawares into my reach before I’d even concocted a new scheme of approach—and all thanks to Humphrey, my hiccough.
Peeved at my failure in the convenience store, I muttered to myself in French, contemplating aloud my ideas when Humphrey suddenly seized me. As Humphrey echoed loudly throughout the alley, I panicked. Humphrey had betrayed my hiding spot. No one could hear Humphrey and not grow curious. It was like a universal law, and I always pitied the strangers subjected to the disturbance of my startling hiccoughs.
“What was that?” inquired a voice so familiar it sounded like music to my ears. And before I even had a chance to reveal myself, her face poked itself around the side of the car, shining radiantly before me.
My eyes grew wide, and my heart raced wildly. There she was right in front of me—so close I could reach out and touch her. And yet I hadn’t even had a chance to pop in a piece of cinnamon gum so as to assuage any worries of my potential, yet always nonexistent, halitosis. Overwhelmed with a mixture of excitement and anxiety at being graced by the magnificent Ella Chen’s presence, I blabbered incoherently in what could only be 莎拉語. I noticed her growing nervous as she took in the scene before her: a foreign girl attired in bright clothing and squat behind a car in a back alley was indeed a strange sight to behold.
“What are you doing?” she asked in stilted English, her accent suspiciously similar to those of Southeast Asia. “This is my car.”
Shocked, I fell flat on my butt and gulped nervously. I had to speak, or she’d guess of my secret affections for her. “Umm, sorry for startling you Ma’am,” I replied in awkward Chinese, determined to practice my language skills. “I sometimes hiccup really loudly, and there’s no predicting it. Actually I have two kinds of hiccups—the normal kind and that one just now.”
Ella stared at me, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. I could only imagine just how weird I must’ve looked to her. “What are you doing to my car?” she asked, switching to Chinese on me.
I grew excited at her change in language and grinned. Just maybe she would accept me as her sister after all. But I had to contain my excitement and feign nonchalance. It was practically impossible, though, when my new sister stood before her in all her magnificent glory and all I wanted was to wrap her in a big hug. “I dropped something, but I can’t find it. It’s okay, though. It wasn’t that important.”
Ella hesitated before offering to help me with my search. I shook my head, reluctant to make her search in vain for something that didn’t exist. It would be sibling abuse, and I couldn’t stand for that.
I pulled myself to my feet, careful not to touch the holy vehicle and thereby sully it. “I’m sorry for interrupting you Ma’am,” I replied as I dusted off my backside and backed up against the wall along which her car was parked. “I’d best be going now.” Nervously, I began to twirl an escaped curl around my index finger and continued to back away from my poor sister. It all happened too quickly, and I barely had time to bask in the glory of Ella when I had to abandon her so as not to arouse her suspicions. Fate played a cruel, cruel game on me.
“All right,” Ella replied with a nod of the head. “Good bye then.”
I caught a glimpse of confusion in her eyes just before I reluctantly turned away and left behind my beloved 姊姊. If one thing was certain though, it was obvious just how much she suffered without us. But we’d make it up to her once we adopted her and righted the course of nature.
Posted by: Sarah on: January 5, 2010
A/N: This is called 候鳥, or Migratory Bird, based off the lyrics to S.H.E’s song. Obviously the lyrics aren’t my own. The Chinese is way to good to be mine. Lol. However, the story is of my own imagination. Here are the translations to the Chinese scattered throughout my story.
你往北向南說再見: Bound for the north, you say goodbye to the south. (Er, that’s not the best translation, but it’s the way it makes the most sense to me in English.)
南方的冬天: The winter of the south
我含淚面向著北邊: My teary face faces north. (Still, trying to make this sort of make sense in English. I know my translations suck.)
變成記意裡的明信片: Becomes memory’s postcards.
你的愛飛很遠像候鳥季節變遷: Your love flies far away, like a migratory bird in the season’s changes.
過境說的永遠隨著漲潮不見: The forever said in transit disappears with the rising tide.
我站在河岸邊被樹叢隔離想念: I stand at the river’s side, the thicket blocking me and missing you.
你的愛飛很遠像候鳥看不見: Your love flies far away, like a migratory bird that disappears.
(Okay, all my translations suck. It’s hard to translate. Sorry.)
~
候鳥
你往北向南說再見
Love had reached its end, and together they stood on the verge of goodbye. All they would ever have left of one another henceforth were memories—love’s postcards. Nothing would bring back what had been lost. The passage of time would only serve to further distance them from one another and blur the beauty of memory.
They stood in the midst of a sea of people, flooding by as carelessly as would the rising tide. Neither spoke as she raised her hand in gesture of farewell. This was it; she would go on alone. Her leaving marked the passage of summer, for with her would go the sun.
“Goodbye,” she said softly, her voice still lingering with wistful affection.
南方的冬天
She sat on a bench at a local park one afternoon, the hot sun high overhead. Her gaze focused on the mien of a man at a distance from her; in his countenance she discerned a dark cast of clouds oversetting his smooth features. Something about the sadness settled over him drew her to him like the tide to the moon. Here was someone that she thought could use a smile. Unfortunately, she couldn’t think of a way to give it to him without awkwardly encroaching upon him. After all, she couldn’t just directly approach him without violating serious codes of social conduct. Sighing helplessly, she kept her eyes trained on him.
She hated witnessing the pain of others, worn so visibly on their countenances, and knowing she couldn’t do anything for them without making them more uncomfortable. Yet the way she figured it, too much despair wasted the ephemerality of life. Life pulsed with hidden joys, and discovering them could drive away so much of life’s despair. But there was no way she could make that apparent to the rest of the world: her influence was too small.
Growing thirsty her gaze broke away from the man, and she reached into her pocket to retrieve a couple of coins. She glanced about her surroundings in search of a vending machine and sighted a bright green machine at just a little distance from the man’s bench, set back in a little alcove of trees. Apprehension overwhelmed her. She felt uncertain at the idea of passing the person of her attention. Still, he didn’t appear aware of her gaze. And she was thirsty.
Assuming a nonchalant gait, she ambled towards the machine. Still nervous, she fiddled absently with the coins she clutched. As she passed by the bench where the man sat, her fingers lost their grip of the coins, and the coins bounced to the ground, scattering in a tinkling disarray. She watched in dismay as they rolled off into the thick growth of grass. Quickly dropping to her knees, she followed the path of one that had rolled before her feet and into the grass. Hunting frantically, her fingers combed between the blades of grass when she noticed from the corner of her eyes the figure of a man getting to his feet. Her heart fluttered wildly, and nervous, she feigned ignorance.
Her crawling came to a halt when a pair of legs barricaded her search. Looking up, she noticed him nervously wringing his hands. Raising her eyebrows in question, she waited for him to speak. Finally licking his lips, he asked in stilted English, “Are you need help?”
A grin tucked itself into the corners of her mouth as she replied with ease in his native tongue, “I lost a few coins.”
He blinked at her in surprise, very obviously taken aback by her response. His expression of astonishment only added to her mirth.
“You’re welcome to help if you want,” she continued as if unaware of his sudden speechlessness. “I had only just enough for a drink, and I’m rather thirsty.”
He gulped and licked his lips nervously. “You understand me?” he asked incredulously.
“Usually,” she replied casually, all the while crawling around in the grass, her eyes intent on seeking out a gleam of silver hidden in the thick jungle of grass blades.
A smile of relief replaced his amazed expression, and he knelt down at the sidewalk’s edge to begin his own search. Earnestly he helped her search, combing the grass carefully with his fingers. Not a word passed his lips in the duration of their efforts, but she could still clearly see the subtle shift of expression in his countenance. As he absorbed himself wholeheartedly in helping her, his brow furrowed in solemn concentration; it was as if this small task had woken in him a sense of purpose and momentarily driven away his desolation.
Their efforts were, however, fruitless. Growing impatient, she plopped to the ground and halted her search. “It’s okay,” she sighed. “It was only a few coins anyways. I’ll just wait until I get home.”
His concentration broken, he stopped mid-action and looked over at the strange auburn-haired girl. Feeling as if he’d failed, he nodded disappointedly. She smiled encouragingly. Something about that smile magnetized him, and he knew he didn’t want to part ways just then. Hesitantly he stammered, “How about I— Well… Would— Let me take you to get something to drink.” He blushed and looked down, giving her no chance of meeting his gaze.
“Oh,” she started uncertainly. “I don’t think—”
Her refusal was interrupted as his eyes met her gaze, and she read there the sincerity of his invitation. She hadn’t meant for him to invite her anywhere. Even though her curiosity urged her to say yes, she hesitated. The sudden luminosity of his pupils faded as the invitation sat awkwardly between them, and she sensed there the hurt she’d cause if she refused. “All right,” she relented with a sunny smile.
我含淚面向著北邊
Without another word she turned away, pretending not to have seen the stream of tears carving its way down his cheeks. A part of her ached for him, and she yearned to turn back and wipe away all trace of tears. But it was too late. Even if their disjointed hearts still belonged to one another, love had flown away. He no longer needed her, and in the face of sadness she could no longer disregard her wanderlust. Gritting her teeth, she tightened her clutch on her bag and pressed forward without a backwards glance. Only in acting callous could she remain strong against this painful parting of ways.
變成記意裡的明信片
He’d led her to a small café, neatly tucked into the folds of a small alley. Hidden amidst the potted trees and flowers decking the wooden patio, they took their seats at a metal table outdoors. He handed her one of the table’s two menus and took the other for himself. At their perusal of the menu, silence washed over them.
She decided quickly on an iced green tea and set aside her menu. Her gaze swiftly ascended on his face—drinking in the smoothness of his complexion and the darkness of his orbs. His eyebrows knitted together in serious contemplation as his finger carefully traced down the list of beverages. It appeared he was not one to make decisions lightly. His finger came to a halt on a chocolate-flavored milk tea at long last. Decision made, he drew his head up and his eyes met hers. A sense of pleasure swelled suddenly within her, and she shyly glanced away. She liked the man seated across from her for some inexplicable reason. Maybe it was something in his eyes.
“Have you decided?” he asked.
She nodded in response, while the man raised his hand in gesture of beckoning over a waiter. A passing waiter caught his motion and nodded in answer. He quickly took their orders and left just as immediately.
A silence of uncertainty lingered uneasily between them until she spoke. “Thanks for your invitation.” He nodded in acknowledgement of her gratitude. “I’m Clare. What’s your name?”
“Aidan,” he replied with a hesitant smile.
Upon catching sight of his smile, her pink lips cracked into a broad beam. “I hope my clumsiness hasn’t inconvenienced you in any way,” she added.
“Not in the least,” he answered, his tone relaxing.
The waiter returned bearing a tray with two chilled teas. He swiftly placed the tall glass of green tea in front of Clare and the tall glass of milk tea in front of Aidan before retreating just as swiftly as he’d come.
Conversation resumed between the new acquaintances. Friendship blossomed as their teas disappeared. And so absorbed were they in their conversation that they remained at their table long after they’d finished their drinks, totally unaware of the two empty glasses sitting between them.
The initial glum etched into Aidan’s features vanished as if by magic. Some elusive quality about the foreign girl had captured his rapt interest and raised his spirits. He could not quite name what precisely, though. She possessed a sort of joie de vivre that drove away the loneliness, always threatening to sink into him. He hadn’t even had to confide in her his grief so as to experience it either. In no time, he was laughing with her as she shared tales of misadventures she’d met all around the world. He hadn’t felt this good in so long—in fact, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed this much or enjoyed the company of another human being as much. His seemingly endless winter had rapidly thawed into summer.
The sky darkened as the café’s patio lamps lighted. His phone rang, interrupting her tale. He tried to ignore it, but just as he reached out to silence it, she protested, “Don’t ignore it.”
He nodded and reluctantly grabbed it. With graceful swiftness, he rose to his feet and retreated to a private corner to answer his caller.
“Aidan,” greeted the terse voice, “change of plans: our clients are leaving a day early. We need you to have that presentation ready for tomorrow.”
Drawing a deep breath, Aidan glanced at the intriguing woman with whom he’d spent the entirety of his afternoon. “Of course, sir,” he sighed in acquiescence.
He automatically snapped his phone shut and rushed back to the table. “Clare, I have to get some work done this evening. I am so sorry to cut out like this on you.”
Nodding in comprehension, she replied, “Work comes first. Thank you, though, so much buying me a drink. I had a good time talking to you.”
“Well then… Goo—” Aidan faltered on his words. It couldn’t just end like this. He wanted to see her again despite the voice in his head alerting him not to let his path merge with this woman. Ignoring his usual overcautious instinct, he fumbled in his pants pocket for a business card and handed it to Clare.
She received it with a bright smile and handed him hers in return. His hands clasping around it, he flashed her a luminous smile and pocketed it.
“It was a pleasure meeting you Aidan,” she said in farewell.
“Same here, Clare.” He gave her a last wave and disappeared; all the while, her eyes never left his figure.
你的愛飛很遠像候鳥季節變遷
He’d seen the trace of tears carved into her cheeks just before she’d turned her back on him. Try as he might, he couldn’t understand her abrupt departure, but at this point the injuries were too deep to hope for love’s return. The seasons had changed, and love was flying far away, attempting to beat the onset of winter.
He couldn’t trap her at his side as he wished; she’d, otherwise, weaken. She was like a migratory bird, always following the sun. She was a product of summer, in constant need of the sun. No, he wouldn’t cause her anguish.
But he wondered if he could make it without her.
過境說的永遠隨著漲潮不見
She’d changed him somehow. He couldn’t even say when it happened. One day his heart resembled an empty void, but within a matter of weeks, the ache had lessened. Six months later it was gone. That didn’t change how much he missed his mother, but he knew he could continue waking up everyday and face the world—all because of her. He hadn’t talked to Clare a whole lot about his mother’s passing, but he didn’t have to. Just being with her was enough to lift his spirits.
At this point, he couldn’t imagine a day without Clare. He wanted to tell her he loved her and make her his. Yet his friends cautioned against it. No matter how familiar she was with their ways, she was still different. Who was to say she wouldn’t just break his heart? Not eager for another heartache, he’d heeded his friends’ warnings and refrained from saying anything; instead he’d continued contentedly in pursuit of friendship.
But he wondered if his friends were wrong. He sensed her way of treating him to be different from that of a mere friend. The feelings were there in the way they accidentally brushed hands or in how their gazes would linger a second too long on the other. Her tone of voice became especially soft whenever they were alone together.
But he’d been too nervous to attempt pursuing her. Until now, that is.
Gripping the bouquet of flowers, he reached out and knocked at her door.
“Come in!” he heard her holler.
He effortlessly pushed open the door, exasperation overtaking him—she really ought to exercise more caution and keep it locked. “Clare!” he called out, adjusting his jacket as he stepped into the entryway.
“Hold on!” she called out from her bedroom.
He walked into her living area and took a seat on her couch. Bored, he glanced about the cluttered little room that doubled as kitchen and living space. Books and empty dishes sat piled on the table. More books were carelessly strewn about the living room. Typical of Clare, he grinned. She was always scattered and lost in her thoughts. He liked that about her, though.
His eyes caught on a glossy pamphlet placed on the table beside the couch. Curious, he extended his arm and picked it up. On it were printed the words “Sénégal: Un Pays Qui Attend Votre Aide.” He couldn’t make out more than the word Sénégal, but he had a vague idea of what it all meant. Clare was planning on leaving him.
The thought of it stabbed his heart.
Clare emerged from her bedroom, adjusting an earring as she went towards Aidan. Upon catching sight of him holding the little brochure, she stopped mid-track. “Aidan,” she gasped nervously.
He looked up and met her gaze squarely. For a long moment, he kept his silence. And then he spoke. “You’re leaving, aren’t you?”
At a loss for words, she gulped.
“Well?” he demanded impatiently.
Averting his angry countenance, she dropped her head in a curt nod. Before she could regain her composure enough to speak, he wordlessly dropped both pamphlet and flowers and stormed out of her apartment.
She didn’t dare chase him. Tears slid down her cheeks silently as she fell to her feet in bewildered hurt. He shouldn’t be angry with her—she was going to tell him. She’d only barely begun to plan these changes as it were. He didn’t need her any longer; he seemed already happy enough. And she couldn’t bear another moment of agony, hoping he might confess to her. The feelings had been there, she was certain of it. She’d been patient, for she knew getting together took longer where she was, but even her friends had told her he was being ridiculously slow. In the meantime, each meeting was silently killing her, for it never resulted in anything more than an amicable outing—and if she was lucky, an accidental brush of the hand. Her heartache only increasing, she knew it was well time she left.
Using the sleeves of her shirt to wipe away the tears, she looked over at the abandoned bouquet of flowers. The sight of abandoned daisies wilting helplessly before her tore at her heartstrings, and the wounds of her heart bled afresh. Getting to her knees, she crawled over to the bouquet and grabbed it, burying her face in it.
She wasn’t a damsel in distress. She could take care of herself. And she would. By starting anew in another country. She could be used in Senegal. They needed people like her, and she was beginning to itch for a new adventure.
She just wished leaving didn’t feel this bad. If only her heart hadn’t foolishly believed in the promises of forever. Love’s fragile forever was easily washed away by the tide.
我站在河岸邊被樹叢隔離想念
Just before passing through security, she stole one last glance at him. He seemed so broken, and she worried he wouldn’t stay strong without her. But they’d already caused the damage, and their hearts no longer fit together just so. She was glad he’d at least come to see her off—even if he refused to hear her explanation. Maybe their paths would cross again at a more opportune time, but for now it had to be goodbye.
She tore her gaze away and stepped through the barriers of security. From now on he was only a part of the past to be missed.
你的愛飛很遠像候鳥看不見
Posted by: Sarah on: October 7, 2009
So, I just realized I made a mistake. Next month is NaNoWriMo. Woops…
I also, unfortunately, have had no time to write. Hopefully soon.
Posted by: Sarah on: October 3, 2009
A/N: Here at long last! And it starts out a bit different than your typical drama, but just wait and see. Plus, it’ll be hard for me to work with clichés. Sometimes I most want to resist them.
Prologue
Obscured by twilight’s shadows, he smiled and walked into the narrow alley where he knew she stood waiting. Intoxicated by the sheer anticipation of holding her to him, his gait quickened. Almost as if by prearrangement, she stepped out from the darkness of her doorway just as he approached. A chuckle of pleasure escaped his throat, and he reached out for her, reeling her in for his usual kiss of greeting.
He liked their clandestine rendezvous, and he knew she did too. Neither could deny the exhilaration of stolen kisses and stolen moments. The secrecy of it all was intoxicating and empowering. No one really knew. And no one ever would—unless they confirmed it. Even when they dared risk meeting up in public, they always parted ways undiscovered. And outsmarting the media was no small feat.
A burst of heat erupted between them when lips met and limbs tangled. No longer could the two lovers distinguish where one ended and the other began.
This was the closest to bliss they’d ever been.
A whirlwind swept through the alley, lifting with it the scattering of dried leaves hidden beneath the parked cars and motorbikes. The leaves danced in a chaotic whirl around the lovers, veiling them from the view of any potential passersby.
Only when the lovers had lost their breath did they pull apart, and with the greatest reluctance for that matter. “You look beautiful,” he complimented with a debonair smile, pressing his hand to her lips in secret gesture of affection.
She blushed, her cheeks turning a rosy pink and contrasting against her fair skin. Refusing to stroke his cocky ego, she said nothing in return and asked instead where he planned on taking them.
“Oh,” he dismissed pompously, “you’ll see.”
“I take that to mean you want to risk it.”
“Maybe,” he answered with a wink, his eyes twinkling mischievously. And without further ado, he pulled his sunglasses down and reached into his pocket for his hat. Wordlessly mirroring his actions, she reached into her purse and grabbed her large-framed designer shades.
Hand reached for hand, and together they walked to his car.
Posted by: Sarah on: September 30, 2009
So, I contemplated the insanity of doing NaNoWriMo. Unfortunately, although I have an idea, I don’t have the time. Maybe I’ll develop the idea further and turn it into something at a later date. I’ll let you know how that goes.
However, in honor of the occasion, I have started on my “drama” story, entitled “Our Little Secret”. The prologue will be out very soon. I pretty much have written it to satisfaction. So any time now.
Happy October to everyone.
Posted by: Sarah on: August 27, 2009
It’s been so long my dear friend, and I’ve missed you so throughout the duration of our separation. Emails and online chats don’t compare to seeing you face to face. Nothing can compare to beholding you with mine eyes. And now that I’m back I only desire the privilege of your company. I’ve waited so long for this moment.
You call, and I answer. I can barely contain the excitement coursing through my veins and edging into my voice as I cradle my phone with my hands. I note with pleasure the trill of joy your voice conveys, and I’m practically jumping with glee. You too anticipate our long-awaited reunion. As you mention my coming over, I suppress a squeal of delight so as not to deafen you before I’ve even had a chance to embrace you again. I don’t even quite know how I manage to finish the telephone conversation without excitedly dropping the phone and racing out the door immediately, but I can proudly say I do. As I hit the ‘End Call’ button on my cell, I am distinctly aware of my trembling hands.
Cell phone still in hand, I dash out the door and race towards you. I squeal as my feet pound against concrete, and I’m almost certain that all other passersby assume I’ve lost it. Maybe I have though. All that time away from you had me missing you like crazy. It could’ve had a deeper psychological impact on me than I’d initially realized.
Even sprinting makes little difference in the interminability of time. I might as well have been trekking the rugged terrain of the Andes Mountains in lieu of racing across the short distance stretched between us. But when I reach your door, everything about that dash is but a hazy memory of trees and blurry faces.
Trembling I form my hands into a fist and reach out for the door but hesitate. Suddenly I worry. What if it’s not the same in a bad way? What if we’ve changed too much? What if we can’t recognize one another any longer? Maybe we shouldn’t…
As if having a life of its own, my fist surges forward anyways, disregarding all vacillation. My heart thumps loudly against my chest, and I hear the sound of footsteps—a response to my knock. As you walk on the other side of the door, my heart beats in time to your footsteps. The anticipation is building, and the passage of time has slowed. The knob turns and I hold my breath, watching in silent fascination. The door opens at long last, and I stare in shock.
You’ve…
I can’t get my mind around the thought. There are no words. My mind is blank. Blank and white. I just know I’m looking into a mirror. You’ve morphed into a reflection of myself. The horror of reality sinks in, and I grow sick in the pit of my stomach. I never wanted this for you. No, not for you my dear friend. I feel the prickle of tears form at the corner of my eyes.
Yet you seem oblivious to my reaction. Your smile never falters as you beckon me in, reaching out with open arms, expectant of a hug. Of course I can’t deny you the hug. My arms spring open, tangling with your own. I melt into this embrace of sweet friendship, trying to push aside all worries. But to no avail. I feel the jut of bone against mine own, and I dissolve into tears. My tears seep into the cotton of your tank top and mould your shirt into the depression of skin against bone, emphasizing the harsh angles of your form.
How could this happen to you of all people? You who loved to eat so. You who always sang to me praises of your favorite foods. You who I always remembered for her adorable chubbiness. What happened in our separation?
Do you know what awful trap you’ve dragged yourself into? Your smile would indicate otherwise. The trek ahead of you is one of loneliness and guilt. The further you travel, the more you’ll realize just how much you’re not only hurting yourself but also the ones who love you. Yet there’s no turning back—only despair ahead. The gnawing ache of hunger will be the only reassurance of life. The journey you’ve set off on, my dear friend, is dark and full of stumbling. But no one will fully empathize with you. Those who’ve never suffered this illness can never fully understand; they can only judge, and they’ll judge so cruelly. My heart aches for you as I contemplate my sufferings and the hardships yet awaiting you.
We pull apart and your eyes meet mine searchingly. You see the tears trickling down my pallid visage, and your expression sobers instantly. “What’s the matter?” you inquire with concern.
I shake my head, unsure of what to say. I’m so happy to see you, and yet I’m grieved at this unexpected and undesired change in you. I smile weakly and squeeze your arm, noting the feel of paper-thin skin directly against bone.
“You look like you’ve lost weight,” I manage to state, almost inaudibly.
But you hear me nonetheless. Your grin is nothing but pride at that comment. “You have too.”
I nod miserably, a pang of guilt smarting deep within. Nothing about this illness should leave one glowing with pride like you do before me. I feel responsible for this alteration in you.
“I just quit eating,” you announce enthusiastically. Obviously you have yet to face the darkest valleys to which this illness will bring you. “And when I do, I try to throw it up.”
I can’t say a word. Advice would only be the pot calling the kettle black. I’d be a hypocrite trying to warn you against the darkness of my sufferings.
“You were my inspiration,” you continue so matter-of-factly. “One day I looked into the mirror and didn’t like the reflection staring back at me. And then I thought about you and how perfect having your reflection would be. And just like that I gave it up.”
You beam so brightly. I want to erase it. I want to turn back the clock. If only we’d never met. Maybe you never would’ve… I can’t bring myself to say it.
I behold you in your shrunken state, and more hot tears fill my eyes. You stand before me in a leopard-printed pair of underwear and a deep purple tank top. I can see the valleys of sunken flesh, stretched taught against your bones. Your eyes are hollow, a cheap imitation of what they used to be. And I know that I look just like that. We are mirror images.
“No,” I manage to gasp, horrified. I sink to the floor as the tears stream down, and I mourn this tragedy. I never wanted to be a role model. I created a monster. Why couldn’t I have been a little stronger? Why couldn’t I defeat this disease so wont to overpower all rational thought? Had I been stronger, you never would’ve fallen ill. You wouldn’t be trudging this wretched trek right along with me.
You kneel beside me and fling your arms about me, attempting to assuage my insurmountable guilt and grief. And I know by your caring embrace that I still at least have you. I take comfort in that small fact.
But things will never be the same. Never again.
Posted by: Sarah on: August 17, 2009
Well, I’ve officially transferred over to wordpress to post my fictional works. I probably won’t blog here, but on occasion, I’ll give updates on my upcoming works.
Currently I have several project ideas–all in various states of progress.
Shorts:
1. A Seat Across from Extraordinary: A short on magnetic attraction. The age of story of girl sees boy and is drawn to him, but because they are strangers nothing ever comes of the attraction.
2. Mirror Image: When change goes awry. Meeting up with a friend after a long separation only to discover a startling truth.
3. PS. I Love You: Not the movie/book. Nor is it even romantic. It’s a letter from a daughter to her mother.
4. 候鳥: Obviously a story inspired by the lyrics of S.H.E’s song 候鳥. It’s a love story, and for my original fans, you’ll have a good idea of what that’s like. Though this time it’s made up of fictional characters.
Full Length Story
Currently untitled: Since I finished watching My Girl, I’ve had this desire to write a story full of cliché and like an Asian drama. A girl that doesn’t quite know how to be a girl. A guy that falls victim to this awkward girl. The premise is that the girl discovers a shocking truth about the lead male’s intended. The lead male then pays her off and gets her to write articles praising his girlfriend. Things take their course from there, and no longer is this a story of protecting one’s girlfriend so much as it is a story of falling in love with another woman. And of course it’ll have all the Asian drama twists and turns.
That’s the skinny. Keep an eye on my blog and you’ll have plenty of treats. And to my old fans, it’ll be as if I’ve never left. Except all my writings revolve around fictionals.
Cool deal.
