Just before the culmination of my journey, I fell apart. What was left of me, fluttered like a heart on the verge of breaking. And the world fractured into prisms of pain – each hue more vibrant than the rest and the me who gorged upon sun drenched summer days died a little in the darkness. And if not melodrama, what else do I have? Who else am I except the dramatics of someone easily forgotten? The taste of forever doesn’t sit well on my tongue and I am always a breath away from tears but then the question is asked, why live on when you doubt this is life and I, coward that I am, have no answer. Just words and even they beseech me mercy.

The elaborate glamour in countenance – it haunts him – the look in her eyes as though he has never meant anything more to her than – than what?

What exactly is it that he keeps searching; a cracked crayon. Bleeding colour all over the sidewalk. Save me said the afternoon but the Sun was too amorous of Twilight to listen and there you have it.

The five different flavors of heartbreak. Bitter in each taste.


Or is it the ripe taste of summer that beckons him out of his shell and into this world – this horrible world – again. The fragrance of a song on his tongue and the falseness of her goodbye.

What does it mean if it did mean something to begin with that his heart is not a leaf in autumn but one in spring? And when it rains the red dust settles and he calms down and learns again to breathe – to leave in the past things that belong there.

And what about her? When had she learned to un-become; unravel; un-exist. Like a spool of thread that kept on extending until there is none left and yet she takes each step back into nothingness with a smile and there he is; still holding on; still looking to savor a memory that hasn’t yet been made.

The delicate differences in the rhythm of his pain is his own private joy and there are several people inside of him and they all play a different instrument so when he cries it is an orchestra and it is music and it is divine.

But being tortured is not the trend, oh no, that is a thing of yesterday. Today we live with blasé confidence; our bridges are made of eggshells and yet we wear heavy shoes because bluster is all we have while he – he is a fool. That he is.

Love is pallid, an archaic word and to be true, to be honest all it inspires are snickers. Though truth is a story the history books no longer tell for fear it might incite rebellion in the masses.

-then the pencil broke and the words stopped.

"I wrote an eulogy for my deceased innocence
On a farthing paper I bought
from a vendor of stolen dreams..."
            -26th February

"...what dreams you dreamt
of sailing to Gibraltar
in a tiny paper canoe..."
         -7th March

"4 more mintues and I would have been lost
His desultory charms would have
charred my forever
As it is, I realized upon a blink before
the final credits rolled
That this is not how I want my story to end."
               -undated

"..you evoke me into being.."
          -3rd April

"Deseo de volar. Deseo de vivre.
Too late by a century and a smile."
           -17th April

"Life is not a question. It's an answer."
          -23rd April

"I spent the better part of my Sunday morning in a teacup."
        -14th May

"Capital letters are overrated."
        -21st May

"It's an empty house, this soul of mine."
           -30th May

"Make the magic, sister,
I have the corset blues."
        -June 1st, 2006

"I'm a contraband girl.
Touch me. I'm real."
     -June 18th

"I woke up today to a new ending
Opened up my eyes to an old beginning
Return to start, my life said
Two turns left, smile and look ahead."
          -5th August, 2006

"There are no fringe benefits to depression."
          -26th September, 2006

"Sometimes it is easiest to lie here and listen
to my heart beat and wonder that it still does."
         -11th November, 2006

(we skip December every year.)

I wish I could
speak a language
one in which
you didn't exist.

I feel like a metallic kitchen
on a winter morning
a blue tabletop, one abandoned jar of cold milk,
the dew on the windows
white oblong tiles with a star in the middle
Clean. And barren.
I feel like that.

Maybe now
when I hear footsteps
I won't think it's you
And when someone touches me from the back
I won't turn around and expect it to be you
And perhaps when I wake up suddenly
it won't be with your name on my lips.

It left, the Love
stormed out, actually
The Hate?
yes, it was here but fleeting
Like that first feeling at the sight of a sunrise
Now I'm like that thick glass, you remember,
on the window above the front door?
Still intact but with tremors of cracks embroidering it
Just like that.

I wish I lived a life
drawn in charcoal
Then how easily I could have reached out
and erased you forever.

Write my life out with bloodless fingers clutching a depleted pen empty of its ink it refuses to record memory Write my life out of hiatus and urge it into the highway and write it out of the blackness, the hopelessness, the shroud, the wailing and the sadness Write it out of the hearse and out of the grief. Write my life back into the place sunshine smells like sweet rain and pain is as rare as finding three-leafed clover in a field of red tulips Write my life out of Death, funerals pyres and the almost consistent hurt Take a journey inside of me, travel the battleground and take stock of the survivors and note the dead Travel the path created by the mascara when it abandoned my eyes and eloped with the tears My hands clutch the air in a vain attempt to wrest control, to create control where none exists, when destiny knocks insistently two doors down, the yellow sunflower door marked 7. I hide under my blankets and pretend not to exist. I am who I am and I am a cliche. One marigold to forever served with cream and grapes. Write me a violet sunset and end it with the lament of a nightingale.

I crept, as stealthily as I could (not much considering I was wearing really high heels which made that annoying clickkity-clack that some guys consider highly attractive).

Hmm.The kitchen light was on. Highly, highly suspicious. I snagged a baseball bat that was lying near Sebastian's closed door and crept closer to the light.
I peeked around the corner and the sight that greeted me befuddled my poor addled senses. I raised the bat, prepared to beat the intruder who was making merry with MY MANGOES! Unfortunately the danged heel click-clacked at the moment and the intruder looked up. Which, I suppose, was just as well or Sebastian would have been sporting a rather large lump on his head.
"What are you doing?!"
"What am I doing?! What are YOU doing?!"
Was I supposed to feel better because he retained the grace to look guilty?
"You greedy pig! Those are MY mangoes!"
"That's the pot calling the kettle black! It won't hurt you to share."
"Oh yes it will! It will hurt a lot! In fact, I am already WOUNDED! Want to bet I am bleeding inside?"
He did a double-take.
"What?"
"I've never seen you so undressed."
"Oh shut up. Did you take my black sheath? Cuz if you did, I want it back. Right NOW. First you take my clothes, then my mangoes!"
"Why would I take your sheath? Do you think I am gay or something?"
I stared at him.
"Well, of course you are gay. Why else do you think I am sharing this place with you? A gay guy who doesn't like cleaning, grrr. If you had told me this before!"
"I am NOT gay!"
"What do you mean you're not gay!"
"I mean I am NOT GAY!"
"Are you sure?"
He looked as if he was about to beat me up.
"Oh sweetie, did you have a fight with your boyfriend?"
"Tamara, I DON'T HAVE A BOYFRIEND."
Well geez. What was this, an identity crisis?
"I suppose that hottie hanging all over you last Sunday was just a "friend," then?"
"As a matter of fact, he was."
Yeah right.
"Okay, if you insist." A blatantly insincere smile passed along my lips.
"You are making me very mad."
"Just cuz YOU are having an identity crisis-"
"For the last time, I AM NOT GAY!"
"You have pink boxers!"
"Why were you going through my underwear?"
Oh. Erm. Well.
"That's not the point!"
"It is too." He grinned.
Damnit. I don't like it when he grins. He's evil when he grins.
"So you like me."
"That's a lie!!"
"And you felt frustrated at liking a gay guy."
"Excuse me, Mr Iamgayeveryotherweek, I do NOT like you!"
"And now that you have found out that I am not gay, the possibilities boggle your mind."
I really don't like him at this moment. Okay so I admit, I have had tiny thoughts, here and there. He has a great bod and all. But he is gay!! Isn't he?
"Do you know why I ate your mangoes?"
"Because you are a whore?"
"No. Well, only sometimes." Hmph!
"Because you went out on a date with someone ELSE. Someone other than ME."
"So you ate my mangoes?"
"So I ate your mangoes."
Wait, wait. Rewind! He was jealous? Woohoo!!
"So it means you like me?"
"I like you lots. I know you like me."
Hmm....
"And you are sure you are not gay?"
"Tamara!"
Grin.
"Then that means you owe me mangoes."

Once upon a time, in a city of winding pavements, hotdogs, bimbos and ice cream, there lived a skunk. Now he wasn’t really skunk but had been turned into one by the Great Fairy Goddess (kinda like the Beast in the Beauty and the Beast story, ya know?) cuz he had broken this schoolgirl’s heart.

Now the Great Fairy Goddess told Sorbet Skunk (that’s what we are calling him) that all he had to do was convince a girl, (a nice girl who wasn’t paid) to kiss him and he would be turned back into his handsome human self. Now you would think that this would be very easy, but alas, it wasn’t. Poor Sorby was quite distressed by this dilemma. How many girls would want to kiss a skunk anyways? And do remember that the kisser and the kissed had to have a “relationship”, not like... “Hi honey!! Mwah!! Byeee!”

So yes, Sorby was getting quite desperate for someone to kiss his skunky face, cuz he was getting up in his age… with a beer belly, greasy fur and that gold tooth he had had the dentist replace his old tooth with).

One hot afternoon, when the sun was grinning madly, and the air was rife with exotic smells such as popcorn and candy floss, Sorby Skunk saw HER! Yes, her!! Yes she was another school girl, short skirt, bubble gum, pony tails, glasses and a copy of Dante’s “Inferno.” Sorby swaggered his way to her, his skunky heart beating like a choo choo train.

“Hello there, babe.” Sorby.

The girl put her book down and stared at Sorby curiously. After a few seconds she gasped, “U are a skunk!! No no, you are THE skunk!! The one whom the Great Fairy Goddess turned into a skunk!! Ooooh!!!!!”

With that she swooped down, planted a big *SMOOCH* on Sorby’s skunky face, and skipped away giggling.

There was a sudden flash and Sorby the Skunk disappeared. And in his place appeared..a..*croak* toad!!!

Moral of the story: Follow instructions.

She wants my boyfriend.I have seen her gazing at him secretly. Let me amend that. She thought she was being covert, surreptitiously letting her lustful gaze wander its wanton way over the planes of his face.

She just transferred to our school three weeks ago. I know, it’s a cliché. Crushing on the first guy she bumped into (accidentally on purpose) as she sashayed her way into a new school, skirt extra short, legs smooth. Emanating that sense of newness. That air of mystery.

How could anyone resist that? Resist her?

Or so she thinks.

I know what’s going on in her mind. I read her thoughts before she grows conscious of thinking them.

“Rainie, you have a scary look on your face.” Ariel, my best friend and other half leans against my desk and follows my gaze outside. “Ah.” She says and turns to me, inquiring.

“I’ll take care of it.” I smile sweetly. She nods and pats my shoulder. She’s not being reassuring. It’s her manner of telling me to be cautious.
Jolin, my newest rival is standing right outside my window, two stories down, flirting with my boyfriend. Is she aware of my existence? Mm, I don’t know. But she will be soon.

My boyfriend, Kingone Wang does not have a clue that she is hitting on him. He’s dense like that. Thank God. He’s being polite to her, answering her questions in a friendly manner befitting the president of the student council. He’s a cliché too.

The most popular guy in school, good looking (it’s a given, how could an ugly guy be the most popular?), warm mannered, athletic. The list goes on. It’s enough to give a person an inferiority complex.

I suppose you’d expect his girlfriend to be his equal, you know, the school princess? I hate to disappoint, I really do. I mean, who would think that the future valedictorian would be dating the queen of the delinquents? Not me, that’s for sure.

If you are wondering how this season’s beauty and the beast came to be, don’t worry, I’ll tell you. In fact, I might go into some detail and if I do, I need you to forgive me with an indulgent smile. I am a high school girl in love after all. I can be allowed to have tapioca for brains, right?
Appearances are deceiving. Take me for example. I look like the sweetest girl in the entire world. Complete with the sweet smile and a pony tail held up by a pink scrunchie. No one ever suspects me to be the leader of the most dangerous cats in the city. Ariel knows who I am, of course. She’s my partner in this. Everybody else is fooled by Rainie, the Cutie Princess who wouldn’t hurt a fly.

Hah.

Kingone caught my attention one hot summer day when I was walking home from school. It’s the corniest thing. He was helping an old lady cross the road. I know, can it get any more clichéd? If he wasn’t my boyfriend, I would have hurt him into being bad. Anyway, his niceness caught my attention. I am not around nice people a lot and so it was really novel for me. I followed him around, told my boys to get some data on him, let’s just say it was a whole lot of drama. I hadn’t fallen in love before, you see.

Any other girl would have waited for him to notice her. That’s what Ariel says anyway. Not that she’s a good one to talk, flirt that she is. But me, when I realized that I really liked him, I approached him.

He was completely oblivious to my existence. I told you he’s dense.

He was sitting in the student council room, working on something or the other. Knowing him, something so charitable that an angel would gag. I think there were other council members around, I don’t remember. They weren’t important.

I knocked politely. I have an image to maintain so of course I am polite. *wink*

He said, “Come in,” without looking up. I walked up to him and cleared my throat. He looked up and his eyebrows furrowed as he tried to place me. Failing he went for his President smile and asked, “How can I help you?”

I smiled my megawatt smile. “I want you. Let’s go out.”

I think I shocked the hell out of him. For a minute he just gaped and then, recovering his senses he managed to gasp out, “Excuse me?”
I fixed my gaze on him, inserting a bit of innocence and hopefulness that men are too foolish to resist. “I like you.”

He started and then blushed. “Really?”

He really is cute. The tips of his ears were an adorable tomato colour. Excuse the sappiness. I nodded and the rest as they say, is history.

We have been going out for six months. No, if you wanted to know, he does not know who I am. Maybe I will tell him before we get married or maybe it’ll be a surprise when he wakes up the morning after.

Back to the Jolin problem. I narrow my eyes and focus in on her hands which keep on fluttering around Kingone. She brushes her hand against his arm. Ah, another pat on his shoulder. She ducks her head, as though shy. He’s making his excuses, uncomfortable now, finally realizing that she wants him.

Ariel puts a bottle of cold Pepsi on my desk and I smile my thanks. She sits down opposite me and we both watch the show unfolding.
She’s taking out a letter. Oh my, she’s certainly fast.

Kingone looks shocked. My poor darling. He’s going to blush any minute now. And he does. I can see her perking up. Now he’s going to tell her about me.

I look at their lips moving, feeling as though I am watching a pantomime. At first, she looks shocked and then she takes a step back. Kingone gestures to my window and she looks up.

How can I resist?

I wave at Kingone. He beams. She flees.

“She’ll do something.” Ariel leans back in her chair, amused.

“Am I providing sufficient entertainment?” I ask dryly.

“Well…” she rubs her chin. “You could add in a fight?”

“Bitch.”

“I love you too.”

She’s incorrigible.

-------------------------

I feel the whispers prick my back as I walk the hallways to the student council room. The atmosphere is anticipatory. Something has happened that I don’t know about.

Ah well, I will find out about it. Sooner or later.

“Hey baby.” I greet Kingone and his face lights up. It’s a good feeling when you know that your man loves you. He pulls me into the circle of his arms and rests his arms against my tummy. I ruffle his hair. “Rough day?”

“I got confessed to.” He sounds so guilty.

“I saw.” I grin.

“Eh?” He looks up, surprised.

“It was a lucky guess.” I shrug.

“I turned her down.” He adds.

I focus on his face and let myself smile. “You’d better have.”

“Hmph.” He says, content. “I have a lot to do today so why don’t you leave first?”

“Hm, I think I will.” I too have something to do today.

“Should I drop by when I’m going home?” He asks, looking hopeful.

“No.”I tweak his nose. “You have an exam tomorrow and you are not so much of a genius that you can afford to play the night before.”
He looks chagrined. I give him a quick kiss and leave.

Aren’t we gag-inducing? Sometimes I disgust myself too but eh. My footsteps quicken as I return to the classroom to get my bag. I sent Ariel on ahead today. She needs to represent our group at a fight and if it’s her, I know she’ll do me proud.

The classroom is empty; everyone else is either at their clubs or has gone home.

As I am picking up my bag, with my back to the door, someone, no several someones enter the room. The back of my neck prickles. Ooo, a confrontation?

How sexy.

I fix a clueless look on my face and turn toward the door with a smile. “Hi?” I inquire pleasantly.

“Rainie Yang?” Jolin is accompanied by three girls who think themselves as tough.

“Yes?” I play along.

“We need to talk to you. Come with us.” Sandra B points her thumb toward the door.

“Sure.” I follow them meekly, a lamb being led to sacrifice. This is so much fun.

They lead me to the back of the school, a place hidden from the rest of the world by dense thicket that purportedly preserves the natural beauty of the school. Yeah right, they’re just too lazy to clean up.

“You need to talk to me here?” I look around dubiously, displaying a hint of puzzlement.

“I’ll do the talking.” Jolin strides forward and stands looking down on me. She’s dressed in black pants and a black t-shirt looking like she strutted right out of some funeral.

I raise an eyebrow.

“Break up with Kingone.” She says quite pleasantly. I should give her points for behavior. Not many chicks can carry off it off.

“Why?” I have to ask.

“Because I want him.” She replies, tossing her hair and looking haughty.

“So?” Oh now I’m needling her, I know but it really is fun.

“So you need to break up with him!” She sounds a tad frustrated. Oh dear. “Look at you and look at him!”

“We look good together, don’t we?” I say with a bit of pride.

“Like hell you do!” She’s reaching the end of her tether. “Girls, please teach her a lesson.” Oh, so the Sandra sisters are here to do the dirty work? I’m so disappointed.

“Wait.” I hold up one hand. She perks up. “Let me take off this top. I just bought it yesterday and I don’t want to ruin it.”

I tighten my ponytail, and pull the baggy sweater over my head. I am wearing a wife-beater underneath. “It’s a sunny day, isn’t it?” I say pleasantly as I carefully fold the sweater and put it in my bag. The girls look confused by my apparent fearlessness. I turn my back to them and I hear sharply indrawn breaths as they notice my tattoo.

It’s a snake winding all the way across my back and its tongue flickering out at the nape of my neck. I have to be quite careful about what I wear to hide it. My identity might not be known but the tattoo certainly is. Ariel has an identical one. Together we are known as the deadliest gang leaders to grace the sin steeped streets of our cities.

I turn and raise an eyebrow at them. “Is something the matter?”

“I’m sorry. We didn’t know!” Sandra stutters, looking green. Jolin looks dumbstruck for a minute and then hisses at them, “What the fuck are you saying?”

“Girl, you don’t wanna mess with her!” Twyla replies, backing off. “Forget this, kay?”

And they’re gone.

How predictable. She watches them run off with a perplexed frown and then turns to me. “Well, I can handle you by myself.” She says. “I didn’t want to ruin my manicure.”

I guess I’ll be having my fun after all.

She notices my tattoo and eyebrows raise. “What’s that tacky thing?” She drawls.

“It’s something every gang leader has to undergo. A test of courage, you could say.” I say conversationally.

“Gang leader?” She stills.

“Yep.” I go into fighting stance. “Do you want the first blow or should I?”

“You’re a gang leader?” She’s disbelieving.

“It would seem that way, yes.” I wonder where I should aim first.

“I don’t believe you.” She sneers.

“I don’t require asking you to.” I think the stomach region should temporarily stun her.

“Does Kingone know?” Snarky cow.

“No.” I think I’ll hit her face. Maybe knock out a few teeth.

“Maybe I should tell him.” She grins, certain now that she has the upper hand.

“You could do that.” I nod. “Then I’d just hurt you really, really bad.”

She rushes me. I skip aside. “Come now, you can do better.” I taunt.

“I just like him.” She’s angry now. Her face is flushed red and she’s breathing heavily.

“I don’t stop you from liking him.” I stand still and look at her. “But when you try to poach on my territory, it pisses me off. And when you piss me off, it tends to get dangerous.”

She looks at me and then runs towards me again. An angry bull? Haha. One movement with my legs and she kisses the ground. That must have hurt.

I squat down to her level. Tears are leaking out of her tightly closed eyes.

“Kingone? Mine.” I clarify, enunciating each word carefully. “Hands off. In fact, don’t go anywhere near him if you can help it. Do you understand?”

A minute passes. Another. Am I going to have to hit her some more?

Then she nods, sobbing, wheezing.

“Good.” I pick up my bag and turn to leave. “By the way, you should get up, your t-shirt’s going to get really dirty.”

---------------

As I walk toward the school gate, I hear Kingone calling my name.

“You’re still here!” He says happily, grabbing hold of my hand.

“So I am. Turns out I had cleaning duties.” I lie really smoothly. It’s one of the requirements of the job.

“I’m glad!” He’s a dork. A sappy dork. I love him anyway.

Then someone bumps into him. We look down to see a beautiful girl looking up at Kingone with stars in her eyes. She completely doesn’t notice me.

“I’m sorry.” Her lip trembles. Designed to bring attention to her luscious lips. “I’m going to transfer here tomorrow. Could you show me to the principal’s office?” She turns on her charm at Kingone.

Sigh. Here we go again.

It was a cold day today and it is a cold night tonight. We sit huddled in the field behind his house. The one with the overgrown grass that is always somehow softer than it looks. The blades are varying shades of green, depending on the amount of sunlight it manages to get. Not that we can distinguish between the green at this moment; the night has stolen all colour.

Someone lights a cigarette and an orange flicker briefly disturbs the darkness. There are many stars out, the heavens are astonishingly clear tonight. We’ve been silent all day. As if not speaking will make it not true. As if not communicating will make this all a dream.
 

We are not fooling anyone. Lest of all ourselves. But this summer before we become adults, before we separate, we will allow ourselves a last indulgence. To be children once again, to believe once again in the pretty lies of parents who know better.
 

Erika sighs and I know that she will speak. She is always the first one to speak. Even that day. Even the day we first met. She was the one who came up to me and introduced herself.
 

Out of the corner of my eyes, I see fireflies. Two of them. They are winking at me and I know of them is going to disappear soon.
 

“Guys…” Erika speaks. We all give her our attention. Three girls and three – no, two boys. We’ve been friends since grade two of primary school. Best friends. We’ve been together through so many things.
 

“Don’t Erika. Just let’s sit for a while, kay?” Mao wards her off, wrapping her arms around herself. She was close to him. They had been cousins after all. Born within two days of each other, they had been family. But more than blood had connected them, they had been friends. I had been jealous of her for so long, not realizing foolishly that she had always been my staunchest supporter.
 

Pi puts out his cigarette and slings his arm around Mao. He pulls her close, rocking her as her shoulders shakes with the force of her sobs. Ah. It hurts.
 

Erika bows her head, defeated and I look at Kame. He’s looking up at the sky as if the answer will somehow present itself to him, maybe the stars will blink it out.
 

“Shit.” Erika swears and gets up. “Shit, shit shit!!!”
 

“Maki.” Kame grabs my balled up fists. “You okay?”
 

“What do you think?” I reply.
 

“Sorry, stupid question.” He rubs a hand across his face and I immediately feel remorse. He is hurting too.
“What are we supposed to do now?” Mao takes a deep breath and moves apart from Pi. He remains silent. Talking has never been his forte.
 

“We say goodbye.” I say softly.
 

“Goodbye?” Erika is incredulous.
 

“Yes.” I whisper. I have to keep it together. Do not cry, Maki.
 

Erika shakes her head in denial, walking away. Kame runs after her, holding on when she tries to shake him away. She finally howls a scream tinged with raw pain.
 

I look away. Grief, you know, is personal. Death is not. Death involves everyone. Everyone who knows you, everyone who loves you.
 

I have always known him. It seemed that way. He always existed somewhere inside of me and when I met him, he gained tangibility. Toma. He had stuck his hand out and introduced himself to me. Grade two. Then he had pulled Mao who was hiding behind him and introduced her. Mao had pulled on Pi’s arm and all three of them had regarded me with curious eyes.
 

Then Erika had walked up and claimed me as her new slave. There were five of us then. For three years. We had met Kame in middle school when we were all sent to detention for skipping school and going to the pool. He had been the subject of Erika’s desires ever since. This was the main reason we had adopted him into our group. Not that she has told him that she loves him. It’s silly but she says that he has to say it to her first.
 

Pride is going to kick your ass, Toma used to tell her.
 

When Toma had first fallen in love with the girl who sat next to him in class, it had broken my heart. Mao and Erika had treated him coldly for weeks. He hadn’t understood what he had done to deserve the cold shoulders and they wouldn’t tell him. So he had sought me out and complained.
 

I had looked at the lift of his lips and the shine in his eyes. The song of his hands and my tears had fallen of their own violation.
 

He had been horrified at the sight of them.
 

“Do you remember when Toma found out that you were in love with him?” Mao says quietly and I jump, startled.
 

I nod my head and smile. It had been at the school festival. At night we had had a party. He had told us that he wouldn’t be able to make it since his girlfriend wanted him to take her somewhere. We had grumbled but we were used to his capricious ways by now. I had gotten remarkably good at hiding my feelings.

“We were playing secrets.” Erika hiccups. It was a game she had invented where everyone whispered one secret to the person beside them – only the secret wasn’t theirs. Somebody else’s secret. It didn’t make sense but it was fun.
 

The entire class was there. Mao had told my secret to the person beside her. Who had exclaimed out loud, “It’s not that much of a secret!”
 

This had led to everyone clamouring to know. Mao had glanced sneakily at me and as I watched with growing dismay, she had laughed, “Maki loves Toma.”
 

Everyone else had laughed and agreed that this wasn’t much of a secret. What we hadn’t known was that Toma had been standing right outside the classroom listening in. His girlfriend had changed her mind about going somewhere else.
 

“He was such a dork.” Kame snorts. “He called me later that night and made me meet him at Pi’s.”
 

Pi smiles his half smile. “He said it was a crisis. That he didn’t know what to do.”
 

Mao laughs. “He called me later, you know. After you guys dropped him home. He sounded panicked as though the world was ending.”
 

I hadn’t known that. “What did you tell him?”
 

“Heh. I told him that you were too good for him.” Mao gets up and Pi immediately looks up concerned. These two have been together forever. I used to dream of finding a love like theirs.
 

I had, you know.
 

It had taken him some time and a lot of courage but one day he had approached me. Somber faced and nervous. He had been pacing outside the girls locker room. Erika and I played volleyball.
 

“Maki…,” he had croaked.
 

I had turned, surprised. He had swallowed and I remember being curious. After he had found out, he had avoided me. Kame had told me about him hearing. I had supposed that if he were to ask me, I would just deny it to save face. But he hadn’t.
 

“Hentai, what are you doing in front of the girl’s locker room!” Erika had come to stand protectively beside me.
 

“I want to talk to Maki.” He had bristled. They didn’t get along too well, these two. They were both territorial animals and apparently I had been the decided territory.
 

“She doesn’t speak to dense fools.” Erika had turned up her nose at him.
 

“Then why is she talking to you?” He had retorted and I had sighed.
 

“Eri, I’m fine. Let me talk to him.” I had put a hand on her arm, showing gratitude for her support. She had given him a look and stalked away.
 

He had led me to the room and we had stood there in silence, watching the sun go down. I had been too nervous to talk.
 

“Um…Maki.” He had bitten his lip.
 

“What is it?” Anxiety always made me snap.
 

“You like me?” He had swallowed and forced the words out.
 

“So what?” I was being brash but at that moment I hadn’t known how to react.
 

“I think I like you too.” He had said slowly, feeling out each word. My eyes had widened and I had stared at him, shocked.
 

“You have a girlfriend.” I had pointed out, hoping he had not just conveniently forgotten that very pertinent fact.
 

“We broke up.” He had muttered.
 

“So now what?” I had to ask.
 

“Will you marry me?” He had grinned, regaining his composure and sense of mischief.
 

I had stared at him. “You are joking around with me, aren’t you? What a bastard. I’m out.” I had turned to go but he had grabbed my arm and swung me around.
 

That had been our first kiss. I remember the softness, the taste of his lips on mine. He had been eating mint candy and wearing his Calvin Klein cologne. The texture of his shirt had been rough underneath my hands and his heart had been beating so fast. Almost…almost as fast as mine.
 

“Let’s build a fire.” Kame drags Erika to search for dry twigs and Pi clears some of the grass away. Only I remain unmoving. Numb.
 

We were together three years.
 

“Mao.” I say and she looks over. Her face is still streaked with tears. “Can I hug you?”
 

Her face crumples as she walks over and I put my arms around her. He’s not here anymore. And Mao had been the closest to him for so long so maybe if I hug her, it will be as though I am touching him.
 

People die.
 

It’s a fact. An unchangeable one.
 

But why him? And why now?
 

“I’m going.” Erika comes storming back. She has finally given in to the grief. And Erika hates people seeing her cry.
 

“I’ll take you.” Kame says from behind her. He is stoic but now I know that he is using Erika as an excuse for privacy. I nod and Erika comes over and hugs me tightly. “Come with me.”
 

“No. I want to stay here for a bit.” She steps back and nods. She understands. “I’ll call you tomorrow.” I add to reassure you. They leave.
 

The crickets are making the usual sounds. There’s a slight wind rustling the grass. Pi looks unbearably alone. Mao walks over to him and he immediately grasps her hands into his. Ah. I always thoughts that Pi was a bit cold but I guess you don’t need words with some people. His face smoothes out and he breathes easier.
 

We sit in silence.
 

When we graduated last month, Toma had surprised me with a ring. I had been alarmed since I had no intention of getting married so young. He had laughed a bit self consciously and blushing, announced that it was a promise ring.
 

“What are you promising me?” I had laughed at him.
 

“No, I’m giving the ring. You should be the one doing the promising.” He had insisted.
 

“Okay…what do you want me to promise?” I had played along, ridiculously pleased.
 

“Five kids.”

“Too many.”

“Four and a half?”

“Three and it’s a deal.”
 

He had beamed and pretended to write it down.
 

“Breakfast in bed every Sunday.” He had said next.
 

“You are welcome to cook it for me.” I had retorted.
 

“Our kids will not marry Erika’s kids.” He had sent a glance towards Erika who had just entered the room. She had stopped and glared at him. “You need to ask my permission before Maki marries you.” She had told him.
 

“Hmph.” He had scowled and pulled me close. “All mine.”
 

I had rolled my eyes at their antics and laughed.
 

Mao starts coughing. I look at her concerned. “Go inside, Mao.” I urge.
 

She looks unwilling but Pi gets up, his concern for her overriding everything else. “Come in with us.” She says when it’s clear that he’ll make her go inside whether she likes it or not.
 

“I’ll be in a few minutes. I just…” I trail off and she nods, understanding.
 

“I’ll be waiting.” She says.
 

“Will you be okay?” Pi asks me. I wave him away. They leave and I’m alone for the first time since it happened.
 

It has been two days since…I can’t make myself say it. Wait, let me breathe.
 

Two days since he was hit by the car as he walking on the side of the road. He died en route to the hospital.
 

I was waiting for him at the bus stop. His car had been giving him trouble so he had decided to take the bus.
 

Who do I blame? The old lady who had a stroke while on the wheel? Or God? I remember rushing to the hospital, disbelieving. How could he be dead? It was a sick joke, yea? This is Toma we are talking about.
 

Not a stranger. Toma. Who smiles the brightest in the mornings and who hates saying goodnight. That Toma.
 

“Will you see the body?” The doctor had asked us.
 

Body? That’s not a body. That’s Toma! Erika had held my hand and Mao had clutched my arm and we had walked into the room, to the bed.
 

He was there, bruised yes. His eyes were closed and his skin was waxen. I had shrugged off their grasp and walked that few steps. The sheets were white.
 

“Toma?” I had whispered, leaning down as though he might whisper, as though he might open his eyes. “Wake up.”
 

“Maki…” Erika had tried to pull me away. I had recoiled like an angry animal.
 

“No.” It…this couldn’t be true. There was no way I was going to believe that the Toma who danced in the sunshine was the same as this still creature on the bed. “NO!” I had yelled. “No…” I had entreated. “Please.”
 

The funeral arrangements had been made quickly. He had been buried in a brown tuxedo his mother had bought for his graduation. There had been sunflowers present – his favourite flower. We had played his favourite song and people had said nice things about him in speeches. Then he had been buried.
 

He is gone.
 

Forever.
 

But me. I continue breathing. My veins still fill with blood and I continue breathing.
 

“Do you love me?” He had asked me once.
 

“Not at all.” I had replied, tweaking his nose.
 

“I love you.” He had been unembarrassed but my cheeks had flared red.
 

The wind grows stronger and I wrap my arms around myself.
 

“Now what?” I am drained, bereaved.
 

Last summer, Toma had gone to camp with his kendo club buddies. The night before he had put his arms around me and held me tight. “Can I ask you something?” He had whispered.
 

“Anything.” I had rested my head on his shoulder.
 

“Will you remember me when I’m gone?” He had been solemn.
 

“Yes.” And that had all that had been required.

 

My story does not start with “once upon a time” and chances are it won’t end with a “happily ever after.” If you think you can handle that, then continue immersing yourself into my world but know this, once you do, your thoughts, your reactions and the very direction you walk after this story; they all belong to me.


One day, I was. I woke to find myself at the foot of a grassy mountain, the bruised grass petulantly holding me. The green had rubbed off on my bare skin and I luxuriated in the feel of the warm light. I didn’t know who I was or what I was or even my purpose for being. For those first few minutes of my life I just was. For those scant minutes I flirted merrily with bliss, real bliss, the kind which comes unmarred and only to those oblivious.


All too soon however, conscience trickled in like an icy mountain spring. My eyes widened at the barrage of information that invaded my mind with such impetuous familiarity. I looked around me and recognized the sky as the blue blanket above me, the grass on which I rested and the mountain whose majesty sparked in me some respect. My thirsty eyes turned to my own body and I discovered my legs, my fingernails, my breasts and my hair.


Where before I had just existed without knowing who or what everything was, now I knew that the trees laden with fruit (which were succulent, their nectar sating me beyond anything else I imagined would) were orange fruit trees. My gaze flew around, making a 360 degree turn so fast that I felt dizzy. I made myself stop and capture each new sight slowly, slowly so that I might have to time to taste the sights. I was surrounded by mountains; grand beasts which I fancied might come alive. And at their foot was my little valley, I maintain that it is mine because that was where I was created. In the valley were trees of every variety, hue and size imaginable. I could hear a gurgling which after further exploration I’d find came from a spring.


There were birds singing somewhere, not that I knew what birds were but the new information in my head told me it were the birds who were making the melodic ruckus. And over the entire valley poured this warm light. No, not the sun, the sun is gold but this light was white and it shimmered as if it were a living being feeling satisfaction in providing the light.


A curious feeling in my stomach propelled me to approach the trees with wary steps as if at any minute the tree might speak up and haughtily demand a reason for my proximity. When I hesitantly picked an orange, I did so very fast. I picked the orange and ran from the tree looking over the shoulder to see if it was in pursuit. It wasn’t so I stopped and looked at the orange in my hand in fascination. I tried taking a bite but the bitterness of the peel deterred me. That knowledge, somehow innate now whispered,”Peel it.” So I did. I put the fruit in my mouth and gasped in ecstasy at the taste.


Just then the light began to dissipate. Slowly but determinedly the white late faded only to be replaced with patches of darkness. The darkness wasn’t similar to the night. The night is made of different shades of black but that darkness was just one colour: black. I remember the feeling that clawed at my chest, the feeling that I later discovered was terror. I hid under a tree, crawling into myself, whimpering as my entire world was claimed by the darkness. And then all of a sudden there was a sudden explosion of golden lights in the sky. I stared up. There were no stars just a constant burst of golden showers, so powerful in its beauty that it calmed me and I slept.


And so ended the first day of my life.


The following days were similar. I made certain discoveries in my explorations. Pain for instance when I went wading in the spring and cut my foot on a sharp rock. I stared in puzzlement at the red drops welling from under my skin and touched the cut, hissing and rearing back when it hurt.


After a week I became conscious of a certain feeling fluttering in my chest. At first I thought it was hunger so I ate more fruits than usual but all that ended me up with was a too-full stomach.


So I spent the day talking to the mountain, conversing with it, asking it the reason for my hunger for a something that I couldn’t identify.


I wrote a letter to the sky on orange peels carefully preserved. And then I went to sleep, certain that in the morning when I woke there would be an answer waiting for me.


And there was an answer. In my head. I had to climb the mountain. The idea scared me. I was still convinced that the mountains were just enchanted beasts waiting for the right moment to awaken. But the hunger in my heart was stronger and soon I was climbing the mountain giving the grass more reason to seek enmity with me. I clutched at it to push myself forward. I don’t know how long I climbed. I do know that I did succumb to weariness once or twice but finally I reached the peak. I climbed to the peak with my eyes tightly shut as if afraid to see what lay on the other side. I believe I would have continued like that if I hadn’t heard the music.


I took a deep breath and opened my eyes and my mouth dropped open too. For before me stood an eerily empty city. Oh, I didn’t know that it was a city at that time. It had large domed buildings and cobbled streets and it glowed. And from somewhere inside the city came the music. So led by the sound I navigated myself through the empty city, which sat curiously animated in its silence. As if suddenly it would be full of people who would lay claim to each of its corners and alleys. Finally I reached the centre of the city. A large circle, in the middle of which was a tree with one red fruit on it.


And under the tree was someone who looked a lot like me but not. The person did not have breasts, and as I later learned the person was a man. His shoulders were broader than mine and his limbs were finely matted with hair. He was playing a flute; his lips pursed as he delicately made love to the air and their union created the most beautiful sound that my ears had ever heard. Somewhat like the song of my spring but more beautiful. I stood staring at him while he played on with his eyes closed, unaware of my presence.


And all of a sudden, I knew my purpose.

It is a secret relationship. In fact, I would go so far as to say that it is shrouded in even more secrecy than the confidential matters discussed in the Pentagon.

If it ever leaked out, it would cause a furor. Oh not in the sense that it would threaten the peace (whatever little of it exists) or the security of any country – I am not quite that important. But it would cause a barrage of questions to be directed toward us – questions that neither of us have any particular intention of answering.
 

Being a celebrity means that your life and your personal business is constantly subjugated to the probing of your fans. The more popular you are, the more intense these probings tend to be. That's the way it always has been and unfortunately this is the way it always will be.
 

If you can't take the heat, you shouldn't be in this field. I have wondered at the appetites of the common people for gratuitous gossip and speculations into the lives of those who are not even aware that these people exist. Why do they have an opinion about how I dress and who I talk to? Can they not draw the line at the work I do – can I not just give them the entertainer and keep the person for myself? My personal relationships are juicy topics for discussion – whether it is among housewives gathered in a beauty salon or teenage girls giggling over magazines at recess. I could sneeze and it would make the front page.
 

I have been told of my fans getting into passionate stand-offs with those who don't prefer me, not as an artist nor as a person.
 

Foolish people.
 

The world is falling apart around you and here you are wondering what kind of underwear I have on.
 

My manager is the only one aware of this relationship. And that too is out of sheer necessity. I believe that his manager and mine are the only ones who know.
 

Right now, I am standing in the corner of an over-decorated ballroom, surrounded by a gaggle of arduous admirers, watching him flirt with other women. It is a gala for the birthday of a too rich business man in a too poor country, and social obligations demand I put in a presence and a fake smile to greet the birthday boy.
 

He is there in his corner, the women buzzing around him as though he were the flower. Does it bother me, you wonder? Of course it does. Perhaps almost as much as it bothers him to see me with these men. I am not worried about his fidelity – but for his sake I hope he doesn't cheat. I have been told that I am rather terrifying when I am angry.
 

"Would you like a drink?" Ethan Ruan Tian, a friend and a co-star asks me.
 

"Only if you go get me one." I tell him huskily, enjoying the flush of pleasure that floods his face before he leaves to fulfill my request. As I wait, I engage in small talk with the men present; who got which role and whose film flopped. Catty conversation that one wouldn't expect in male company. I discreetly yawn.
 

"Oh you look like you're having fun." Ethan says in my ear as he rejoins the group with my drink.
 

I reach up and flick his nose. "And you've mastered the technique of sarcasm." I tease back.
 

He smiles at me and we share a moment of platonic friendship. A moment that *he* notices and I am certain that *he* will ask me about later.
 

"Let's mingle," I murmur, and we excuse ourselves from the group whose conversation has grown intolerable.
 

The band has set up and the opening notes of a popular waltz sound. Ethan and I exchange amused looks. A waltz in this time and age – it's akin to finding a dinosaur promenading in Central Park. But there's no accounting for taste.
 

He and I had our first fight last night over the phone. It was an inconsequential matter – an opinion I still hold to. The movie I am doing with Ethan right now requires a lot of physical content; I am trying to be delicate, so exercise your neurons and seek the meaning. He's an actor so it isn't as though he doesn't understand, but it bothers him that I will be attending this party with Ethan as well.
 

I explained it as patiently as I could, but he was being childish and my ire was stoked. So words were said, and we have maintained a chilly silence since then.
 

I feel fingers dancing up my bare arm and turn to be faced by Mike He's debonair person. "Well, well…is this my lucky day?" I look him and down, appreciating the lithe form his suit so lovingly encases.
 

"You look beautiful." He returns the compliment, and I let my smile acknowledge it. Of course I do. I hire the best in the field to ensure that.

"May I have the pleasure of this dance?" Mike holds out his hand and bows. Old charm, so difficult to find in this era of brash confidence. I let myself be beguiled and we glide onto the dance floor.
 

Mike and I are the focus of several gazes, and I am sure he is looking too – I see him do so. He is simmering with heat underneath the façade of an indifferent face. It's a studied detachment that he has perfected over the six months we have been dating.
 

Mike twirls me around the floor and my dress, silver and shimmery, lends its radiance to my skin and I throw my head back and laugh, suddenly intoxicated by life.
 

As the dance comes to a close, I excuse myself and slip off to a hidden alcove. A secret assignation was requested and the request was granted. But before I reach the alcove, I am waylaid by Joe Cheng.
 

"Where are you off to in such a rush?" I look helplessly over my shoulder, and he watches as I am led away by another man. His displeasure is apparent in his narrowed eyes but there is nothing I can do about it.

Joe leads me to a group where my other leading man, Wu Chun is holding fort with his jokes and anecdotes.

"Oh Ariel," Chun says, catching both my hands in his. "You become more beautiful every time I see you."
 

I smile wryly. I lose to Chun where beauty is concerned. A sore spot, but a woman needs to know what battles to choose for herself. I decided to let this one go.
 

Conversation mills around me and I let myself be swept along.
 

We had known of each other, of course. The entertainment circle is small enough for that, but apart from the usual greetings, we had not had a conversation. And then we worked together and things changed.
 

I sneak a look at him. He's standing a few meters away with his friends, looking more impatient by the second. He well understands that he shouldn't expect me to soothe his ruffled feathers. And usually he's grown up about our lifestyle, but I want to make up too.
 

"Excuse me. Restroom." I try again and this time succeed in escaping. I reach the alcove and find my manager there.
 

"This room." She hands me a key and points to a darkened hallway. I take it with some surprise and follow her directions out of the ballroom, down the hall and into a room. It's a living room with couches scattered around, creating an atmosphere of relaxed elegance. I sit on one of the couches and wait.
 

He arrives two minutes later, slipping into the room after a brief battle with a key that suddenly refused to cooperate. He is bright eyed and flushed. I stand up, suddenly nervous.
 

He moves towards me and his hands reach out. One quick movement and he's on the couch with me on his lap, facing him. His arms go around me, and I rest my head on his shoulder. Our quarrel forgotten and forgiven in that one instant.
 

Neither of us have spoken, that is true but sometimes words aren't necessary – with him words aren't necessary. I slip my hands into his hair, comforted by the silken feel of it. Then I raise my head, my hands leaving his hair to trace his lips. He closes his eyes and I use this moment to steal a kiss. He tries to deepen it but I pull away. He pouts.
 

"It's getting more difficult, Ariel." He finally says.
 

"I know," I reply and I do.
 

"I think we should come out." He looks up at me and his eyes are serious.
 

"What?" Shocked, I move away from him.
 

"I want to hold your hand in public. I want to be able to tell people that yes, she's mine!" A pulse ticks furiously in the corner of his forehead and I am momentarily silenced. He has given this a lot of thought.
 

He looks away and I move closer to him, worried. I had no idea that he was feeling this way. He hasn't given me any indication that he is feeling entrapped by the secrecy.
 

"Hey…" I say softly, and this time he takes the initiative. Pulling me closer and back onto his lap, he captures my lips. The passion flares up immediately. The passion we have been trying to quench, the passion that seems depthless.
 

We break apart and I feel my lips swell. His eyes are hooded, and we both take deep breaths.
 

"Ariel?" He wants an answer. I am not ready. I let the silence answer for me. My phone rings once. It is my manager letting me know that my disappearance has been noticed.
 

I flip open a compact and fix my makeup as he leans against the door. His face is shuttered. He is upset. I can read him perfectly. I sigh inwardly.
 

Do I think as a woman or as a celebrity? I will lose him, I know this. Do I want to keep him badly enough?
 

"Ready?" He questions. The public exterior of his is in place right now and the serious look has been replaced by a flirtatious one. He is known for his silliness.
 

We exit together for once – and yes, as luck would have it, we run into a reporter. Isn't that just like life? So very convenient.
 

The reporter is surprised. His vulture instincts have been piqued.
 

"Hello!" The reporter purrs. "What might you two be doing together?"
 

I could make a believable excuse. He could laugh it off. And if that fails, both of us have enough power to shut the reporter up.
 

In fact, he turns, a light hearted quip on his lips but I slip a hand into Jiro's and successful forestall him.
 

I turn towards the reporter and smile, "Today is your lucky day."
 

----------
 

As I said, being a celebrity is difficult. If you can't take the heat, you shouldn't be in the business. Me? I happen to like fire.

A packet of nails. A glass of darkness. And me.
One hour of silence. Eyes full of sleep.
Two thimbles of light. And the ambivalent pain.
A matchstick struck. The answering brightness. The softer shadows.
One song of forever. That initial betrayal.

We are not enamoured of bliss.

The stale gingerbread house. The salty eye water. And the clumsy cacophany of Goodbye.
One closed door. The empty room.

And me.

I will decorate your body with tangerine kisses. Sprinkle comfort on your burning skin. The twilight clings to you and I want to be numinous. Share your sunshine and I will save you from the night. Your fingers are slender and poised. Siphon my impatience away.

I may keep you for a later delight. You could be my midnight snack.

Whet your appetite. Passion is an art and I am a fledgling connoisseur.

“So he said to me, why are you so dumb, bitch?” Shahin says.
“Oh. And how’d you reply to that?” I ask her, somewhat curious, mostly uncaring.
“I said, listen you fucked up excuse for a human being, I am not as dumb as that dead bulge in your pants. Ya hear me?”
“I bet he loved that.” I stifle a grin.
“Oh hell yea, he went positively purple. I thought he was gonna have an apoplexy and I was wondering whether I should call 911 or leave the bastard writhing on the ground begging for mercy.”
“He had a fit?”
“Oh nah, he was just being a turd, wanting me to dress up real skanky so he could show me off to his friends, show them what a fine piece of meat he’d got.”
I turn and stare at her, digging my hands deeper into my woolen coat.
“But aren’t you dressed skanky always anyways?”
She elbows me and I shriek, “Owww! I’m kidding!”
“Hmph. Well anyway, he said that if I was that stuck up, he’d hit up Marlene and she’d not be so prude as to refuse ‘hanging with the boys.”
I puff charmingly away at my cigarette. Yeah yeah, I know, cancer stick, will kill me, soon enough, okay.
“Stop your smoking, bitch!”
“It calms me.”
“You know what would calm me?”
“Cutting off Istifaaq’s head and then leaving it in Marlene’s apartment so that the police discover it at her place and she gets life for his murder?”
“God, you are morbid. Though the idea has some appeal, I’d go for some coffee.”
“You want coffee to calm yourself?!”
“Well, yes.”
We enter a coffee shop right outside the biggest mall downtown. It is small, crowded and dim. Just a little shabby too.
“So girl, what’s up with you lately?” Shahin asks, propping her face up with her hands.
I shrug.
“Come on, tell all.”
We both get cappuccinos, hot and bitter, which erodes everything in its path as it slides down our throats right down to our stomachs.
“Did you tell him?” She’s nosy, Shahin.
“Yeah, I cornered him at work. Told him I knew.”
”Bastard. What did he say?”
”Nothing.”
”What do you mean nothing? He must have groveled, gave some pitiful excuse at least.”
”Nope. Actually…”
”Actually what?”
”Actually he said he was glad I knew because it would save him the trouble of telling me himself.”
”That fucker! He actually said that?!”
I shrug again.
”Oh god, hun, you okay?”
”Yeah, I’m okay. It’s not a big deal.”
”No big deal?! Girl, you are pregnant with the bastard’s kid!”
I avoid her gaze.
”Wait, does he know you are?”
”No, I didn’t tell him.”
”Why the hell not?!”
”It’s not his.”
And I smile.

You look for peace in all the wrong ways, in all the wrong places and worse yet, in all the wrong people. Listen to the rhythm of the world and seek your salvation in the heart that burns the brightest. When your eyes sting with raw tears, remember the papery softness of a smile you received some day when you didn’t expect one. We always walk upstream against currents and we fight every day ourselves who would rather go with the flow, be comforted by the rush and the ever addictive feeling of belonging. We live in a world where anything other than a bland indifference to the world is scoffed at so know that should you dare feel for the decay in the air, should you dare stand horrified by the world, should you show gaiety, anger, depression you risk being ostracized. Not all dreams are born within downy sheets but all nightmares gain tangibility in the dark. There are 720 minutes in one day and if even for ten of those you walk in the right direction, destiny will meet you half away and you can also be a framed success story on your mother’s wall. Don’t let the relationships you have or the promises of them stop you from realizing who you truly are: not a reflection of somebody else but you, with your own unique way of laughing, smiling and crying. You mean so much more than the entertainment you provide or the emotions you evoke. Perhaps when you are gone, they will forget or you will be replaced but the world will always mourn the space you used to be.

At 3:00 a.m, I am determined to paint my nails orange. Bright orange just so I can look at my clicking fingers and pretend I am the dawn or something such magical fantastical that takes me out of my humdrum life and lets me believe that I am something someone more than I might be. There is this vein, skein of excitement running around in my head, dancing to the music I can't hear, no, not even in my head. The rhythm promises me release from even my most secret fears and tempts me to find a ledge and jump off so I can feel the wings unfurling in my back. This kind of feeling is what makes me live from one day to the next week to the next year. I've been stubbornly convinced that I'm going to die at thirty and have in fact started preparing for the day since time moves so fast and I'm  going to be there in less than five years no matter that my mental age couldn't be more than twelve. So what is satiation other than a grown up realization of grown up desires and just because Peter Pan was a story doesn't mean Neverland doesn't really exist in some hidden heart in some grown up kid. Why should I let the world dictate to me how to temper my enthusiasm and what I should laugh, love and cry about. So yes, of course there are limitations to liberty, it wouldn't be a real world if there weren't but we all know very well that liberty is nothing but a veiled utopia presented by those who would use our naivete to their own gains, our starry eyed innocence would lead them to the very power they seek. And what in the world am I talking about? Why, the world of course. When in the morning, instead of getting up we just flail, flail like the fish in our much depleted oceans gasping for breath. So do you think that this is the downward incline of humanity? Oh right, what am I saying? There is no humanity left in men. We've squeezed out the humanity out of our race and now - now we are the race that thrives, that kills, the world and each other and we do so very happily. What will cause our end, do you wonder? Will it be a meteor or is it more realistic to think that we ourselves will kill ourselves?

I think I hear the world celebrating the thought.