Becoming

 I want to become more

more than what I have been or perhaps will ever be

I want to spill out of these confines of skin and bones

and mingle with the rain and the snow just like how the wind does

 

I want to become more

than this world will ever understand

or will ever be able to define as something other than a surplus or abundance

I want to become more than a mere contrivance

 

I want to become more

in ways that a spark ignites an idea of an everlasting dream

in ways that the pause between each of my breaths tells me,

it is the understanding of the little deaths between living that is liberating

 

I want to become more

than the formless thoughts that arise in my mind

that come into existence in the form of the words

rolling out of my mouth

 

I want to become more than the colour of my skin

and the history I have carried so long within

a story about reckless struggles and scars

from the battles, I could never win

 

After all the days of comings and goings

years of pondering

I tread upon the crisp white snow

of this strange land

where

  I

   learned

    how

     to

      measure

       joy

        and

         sorrow

          with coffee spoons

 

just like everything else is measured and meted out

 

This land where the trees are so tall

that sunlight hardly ever reaches your heart

this land where I am always going round in circles

and coming back to the spot where I first started

This strange and distant land

this hinterland of my very own making

                                                                  - y.l.l

*artwork by Kelly Vivanco

A Chance

A Chance

He sits across her in the subway. His eyes wouldn’t have fallen on her had it not been the book she was reading. Her face hidden behind the paperback with the title I know you printed in big bold letters.  He in his late thirties is plain, quiet, shy and uneventful. Single and resigned to a life of bachelorhood, he has fought his battles and has made his peace. Now headed home like every other day in the same subway, through the same route, with many familiar faces around him except this one. Except, this person sitting across him because he has never seen someone with a book in this subway before.

A rampant thriller.

No a mystery.

It must be speculative. He guesses.

Romance? Maybe?

He never read romance novels. He wouldn’t even come close to one. Most of them were flimsy and ridiculous.

Well, what kind of person reads romance novels? He wondered.

His gaze moves over to the fingers holding the book. Small hands with neatly manicured nails painted in a nude shade.

Yellow stockings and naughty boys in patent leather. Who wears patent leather? It’s loud and garish. Her legs are slightly plump and he can judge that she is small.  A few heads shorter than his hundred and eighty-one centimetres.

He is curious. He wants so to see her face.

Why? He wonders.

It’s not like he wants to talk to her. He could never be able to talk to a woman again.

Never. Not since her. Not since the day she abandoned him for another.

Despite all his attempts and endeavours to keep her happy, she had packed up one morning and left without a goodbye.

Why then, after three years, is he sitting across a woman and wondering what she looks like?

The subway slows at a station. Elm Gardens the sign reads. The book shuts and he sees her looking straight back at him.

Round and bright, she’s got a baby face. Her lips pout like a sleeping infant’s and are moist and pink. Her cheeks are flushed probably from reading all this while. But it’s her eyes. They’re incredible. Dark and slanting, they’re marvellously arresting. Long curled lashes curtain them as she gazes down.  He realises that he has been staring but he can’t help it. He can’t move his gaze away from her. People rush to get out at the station. She pushes the book inside a cloth bag and stands up. He stands up as well although this is not his stop. As people rush towards the door she disappears amidst the crowd. He gets pushed outside and he realises that in the chaos he has lost her. He stands on the platform of an unfamiliar station and looks for her amidst the sea of faces. He is looking for that one face in a million faces. The doors shut and the tube slides away leaving him behind.

As the tube moves further into the dark tunnel, the white halogen light inside stands out against the growing darkness and he sees her sitting on the seat he left behind. Those dark eyes looking straight back at him.