The Lake of Tears of Weeping Willows.

Spring Reflections by JancyLi



The willow's thousand and one leave,
Shimmer and ripple, trembling in sorrow.
She is stripped bare, full of naked unease,
Drunken and swaying outside my window.

J. W. - The Woodlands School

They walked in silence. He tried hard to find something to say but could not find the words to break it. She looked ahead, afraid to look towards his direction. Afraid her face will reveal too much and afraid it will be misread. And with each passing moment, silence seized a stronger hold. Neither the cool morning breeze nor the birds’ chirpy songs could lift their gloom. Like soldiers marching to a certain doom, they dragged their heavy feet forward.

They threaded through the village and they walked through the town. It was a Sunday and there were not that many people around. Those that were, were so caught up in their daily survival quest that they did not pay these early birds any attention. The road led to a winding path at the edge the other side of town. It offered an opportunity for MingYu to cut through the veil of silence.

This piece of land once belonged to a rich man who built a beautiful villa at the edge of a small lake. He loved the weeping willows and had them planted evenly spaced along the bank of the lake and used to joke, “The water of the lake is filled by the tears of the trees I planted”. What he said is true for on a windy day, you can see the trees weeping and the tears rippling the surface. He is a romantic soul and said “I planted them for lovers”. And lovers flocked here, a pair under each tree. He was pleased. But he had tempted the jealous Gods to strike back for intruding into the domain where they reigned. His wife drowned in the lake. And every morning in the balcony, he saw the trees weeping for him reminding him of his sorrow. Now the tears were for real. Afraid he will drown in this lake of tears, he gave this piece of land and the villa to the state authorities as a park with a condition to leave this place without any development in perpetuity. Then he disappeared and no one ever heard of him again. The lake is now called “Tears of Weeping Willows” and it is even more popular with lovers for lovers love a tragic tale.

We walked through the front gate to reach the garden at the back. Though in a state of disrepair, he could see how grand it was in its heyday. Now, the ghost of the rich man’s wife wandered through the lonely corridors searching for her departed lover. The silent mansion echoed with the sounds of helpless sighs and despairing moans. He shivered at the chill. Little Rain stopped at the moon gate leading into the garden. He stopped behind her. Would she turned and leaved this place without meeting him? Or was she bracing herself for the encounter? He knew there would be no resolution, no closing of the chapter if she was to flee now. Yet that is what he hoped for, for he was now afraid that he would lose her. They would meet. They would reconcile. They would say heartfelt sorry to him. And he would return to the sea, alone.

She turned and saw the look on his face. But she did not say anything to assuage him. He could see that she was trembling. She waited for him to say something. But he had no words for her either. “Come, let me introduce you.” And with that she walked through the ominous moon gate.

They first came across a lotus pond, the broad leaves proudly opening out high above the water surface. It has been a long time since he had eaten lotus seeds. He hurried up to walk besides her, as close as he could without touching. They walked under the covered corridors till they came out into the open again. Huge white clouds billowed above and swallows were sweeping across the sky. They walked beyond the stone steps, out another moon gate into an earthen path that was lined with trembling willows and resonate with a thousand insect calls. There ahead was a small stone bridge that led to a pavilion built into the lake. Inside the pavilion was a round marble table and four round stone stools. He could see a figure standing in the center of the arched bridge pacing about.

She looked down as she walked – through familiar ground. It was not apparent she saw the figure at the bridge but he knew she did. Every tree they passed temporarily blocked the sight of the bridge but also brought her closer to him. The closest he had to this feeling was when he was racing against the wind to reach the shore before the storm hit. Except now he was racing into the storm. Her steps picked up the paces. Was it anxiousness to meet him? If he had said, “Please don’t go”, would that have stopped her? But his thoughts had no time to wander further for she was standing in front of the figure now and him a couple of steps behind.

He was a handsome young man, tall with delicate fair skin like a woman, His thick but soft hair parted in the middle just above eyes that dreamed too much. He carried himself with the poise of the confident mellowed by the gentleness of a scholar. The fisherman hated him already. He called “MingYu” with a voice strangled with emotions and stepped forward to hold both her hands before he could react. She pulled them away abruptly and turned quickly to look at the fisherman with concern. He will never forget that look. He knew then even if she did not love him yet, she cared enough to be deeply concerned about his feelings and hurting him. He will always cherish that look. And whenever he wanted to remember her, it is that look of genuine concern that he will recall.

She turned back and said to the boyfriend in a steady and slightly harsh tone “This is my husband.”

The boyfriend gave such a miserable expression that he felt like drowning him and put him out of his misery. Instead, without addressing him; he spoke to MingYu “I’ll wait for you.”

MingYu gave him a look of gratitude and added “Don’t wander far.”

He walked back to the end of the stone bridge giving them space and privacy. When he looked back, he saw deep in hushed conversation. He noted that there was no more attempt to try to hold her hands again. They stood apart engaging in agitated conversation. Then he decided that it was awkward for him to be standing there and that his still nearby presence may make it uncomfortable for them. So he walked down the path and under a weeping willow which branches did not obscure his view of the bridge. He stood there and looked across the water at the two figures facing each other on the bridge. For anyone chancing on them, they would think that this was a couple of lovers having a romantic conversation on the stone bridge. And indeed in ways they were.

He was so engrossed in the scene and lost in his own thoughts that he did not sense her presence until he was shocked by a mellifluous voice asking “Don’t they make a lovely couple?’’

It was spoken by a slender lady with a round face and a tiny mouth given life by thin but sensuous red lips. Two pencil thin lines formed a gentle arch over small slanted captivating eyes that seemed to observe without looking. And a small round nose provided contrast without taking center stage. By itself, none of the features were singularly outstanding but put together with her lily white skin; what he saw was a classical Chinese beauty. Put her in a cheongsam and she would look like an old time Chinese painted model. But this girl was dressed in conservative Western clothing. It was a face masked in neutrality; he could not read any emotion in it.

“Yes, they do” he replied without thinking wondering who she was.

“They were made for each other, you know.” Did he detect an edge in the velvety voice? “Everyone said so. The rest of us could only watch with envy. How is it they could have found each other so early in life? To be so completely happy. Their happiness made us all unhappy. For it showed how inadequate our lives were. It set us on our own fruitless quests to seek our perfect companion. And we held them up as example of who our partner and how our relationship should be. But they were an anomaly. It made our quests impossible. They broke a lot of hearts and were totally ignorant about it.” This time, there was no mistaking the bitterness in her voice. “So we were secretly happy at their misfortune.” And she smiled. But it was not a smile that took pleasure in another’s misfortune. It was a beautiful sad smile that mock at life’s irony. That smile told the fisherman that her bitterness was directed at fate and not at the couple.

“And we suffer from the guilt for feeling so. For they have meant us no harm. All they did was to love each other. And they are genuinely nice people. How can we hate people like that? But we do.” The fisherman suddenly felt very sorry for her. She did not hate them; life would be simpler fro her if she could. “At the same time, many of us would love one of them if they will love back.” She continued as if speaking her own thoughts.

“And would you love him?” The fisherman asked.


He was shocked by her reply “I love him even though he does not love back. I am his fiancée.”

To be continued...

And Then I Spoil It All By Saying Something Stupid…

Rice Padi by Nefarious Kitty.

The time is right
Your perfume fills my head
The stars get red
And oh the night's so blue
And then I go and spoil it all
By saying something stupid
Like I love you
I love you...

- Robbie Williams (Something Stupid).

The atmosphere at the dinner table was giddy if not tipsy from too many drinks. And drinks did flow liberally. Everyone drank. Even MingYu and mother Chen. A pall has been lifted from the Chen household. MingYu is back. Disaster has been averted.


The fisherman was dumbfounded how he could be the catalyst for such a change when he was just one of those swept away by the tide. Events have moved so fast that he was not sure he liked it even when the outcome was favorable. He did not like having so little control and felt like a pawn of the Gods. He wished for quiet moments to digest it all.

It was hardly 6 p.m. when dinner was done. They ate early in this part of the country. Mother Chen spoke to MingYu “You best be going.” Though old man Chen would have liked to retain the fisherman for a chat, he also waved them on “Go, go.” Everyone one seemed to know except him.

But he dutifully followed MingYu though a little reluctantly. He ought to speak to her about letting him know what is going on. But that thought melted they walked along the path separating the sprouting padi plants, “I’m sorry for not letting you on before hand what is going on. I hope you’ll continue to be patient with me a little longer. It is unfair to you, I know. But it is still difficult for me to explain things. So I just dump it on you without warning.” How could he be angry when she begged for compassion and understanding with those sorry eyes? “Soon, everything will be clear to you. I will answer every question before we leave this place.”


He pondered over that last sentence. Does it mean he has to ask? Will she not volunteer to tell? Once again, the fisherman wondered if he is being led by the nose like that huge black water buffalo being led by that barefooted boy through the muddy field. Doubts and a little resentment built up but at the same time, he knew he could not walk away so was upset when she said softly “You can walk away any time.” How can he walk away now without guilt? Was she saying it to make herself feel better or has she taken him for granted. But he chose not to be angry. He chose to ignore what was said and instead focus the faltering insecurity and appealing note in her voice. He reminded to keep his ego in check. Where did he get this instinct to handle woman?


After half an hour, they came to a lone house at the edge of the village. The roof was sagging and in need of repair and the perimeter fence would not have kept out any intruder whether man or beast. In parts, the wall has crumpled and exposed the interior of the kitchen blackened with smoke through which they were emitting. He was wondering why she took him to this place when a young girl with pouncing pigtails rushed out the main door. She saw MingYu and gave a squeal. She was about to turn and shout when MingYu silenced her by lifting her finger to her mouth. She called “Ta jie” affectionately. MingYu grasped both her hand.


“Is Po po in?” MingYu asked.


The girl nodded her head and in a broken voice said “Grandma misses you. Her health is not good. She worries too much for you.”


That broke MingYu’s composure. She pulled the girl to her. Tears streamed down her face and the young girl was sobbed loudly. “I’m so sorry. It must have been difficult for you. So very sorry.” That only brought more violent sobbing.


“Ta jie, I miss you too. It hurts me so much to imagine your pain.”


When the crying stopped as all crying must, she introduced XiaoTing (little grace) to the fisherman. She eyed him suspiciously and her expression was critical. “Xiao Ting!” MingYu protested “He saved my life!” Little Grace looked down at the earth. Apparently that was not enough to earn him her favor. MingYu whispered into her ears “you will get to like him” but XiaoTing stubbornly shook her head.


Leaving her to sulk, MingYu led the fisherman into the bedroom at the back of the house. She lifted the door curtain to reveal a pitch dark room without a window. It took them a while for their eyes to get accustomed to see a small room with a bed that occupied half the space. She took the stool and sat near the head of the bed. On it was an old woman with untidy silver hairs running down the side of her face. She was all bone and skin and her cheekbone protruded prominently due to her sunken cheeks. She was asleep with an open mouth and there was a faint trail of saliva on one side. MingYu took out her handkerchief that still wrapped the hairpin and gently wiped her mouth with it. The old woman woke up with a start and stared blankly at her. As her consciousness adjusted to the reality, she smiled broadly and said “I thought I was still dreaming.” All of a sudden and quick for a sickly old woman, she slapped MingYu’s hand where she could reach.


“Ouch! That hurts” MingYu complained. “You deserve that and more, for making an old woman worry!”


MingYu said softly “You know I’ll be back.”


“Yes, I know. I only worry I’ll not live to see it. And I worry how you are coping even as I know you are a strong one and will find a way.”


This encounter was very different from the previous ones. There were no tears. Though even more poignant, they were like old friends paying a visit after a brief separation. MingYu was stroking the old woman’s hand after helping her to sit up against the headboard.


“And who have we here?” asked the old woman. When told, she smiled “You worked fast, coming home with such a big fish.” MingYu laughed, “And who taught me to fish?” He saw the old woman searching MingYu’s expression and once again, he saw relief. The fisherman thought – had he really done so well or had the expectations of everyone being lowered so much? No, not everyone. Little Grace thought her elder sister deserved better. Being young and idealistic, she did not waver in her expectation.


“Come here so I can see you better.” The fisherman stepped forward and brought her face close to her. She ran her gnarly hand over his face and suddenly pinched his cheek hard. “Ouch!” MingYu protested, “Grandma!” She chuckled “Good! Good thin skin. Good catch, good catch. You are one lucky fish; you know that, don’t you?”


“No, she is luckier.” The fisherman replied in the same vein which earned a “Hey!” from MingYu and a slap on his back. The grandma now caught hold of the fisherman’s hand “I think I’ll keep this pretty boy myself.” Now, I know where MingYu got her mischievous nature.


MingYu said “Po po. Pretty boy got a gift for you.” And she handed her the hairpin and the bundle of cash. “How thoughtful of you to think of an old woman. MingYu, he is right. You’re the lucky one” she said with a twinkle in her grey cloudy eyes. “But I can’t take your money. The hairpin I’ll treasure.”


The fisherman took the initiative and said “Po po, the money I can earn back. But if you won’t accept it, MingYu will always worry about you. And you won’t want her to worry, would you?” (The fisherman was glad that he now knew why MingYu needed the money). The old woman did not reply, just looked at MingYu with tear stained eyes “I worry so much. But now I’m so happy for you.”


Then she coughed. Not the clear cough of the young but the guggling cough of a flooded lung. MingYu reached forward but the fisherman was nearer so he patted her back till the cough subsided. The old woman then dismissed him and he left the two of them in the room while he went outside to wait for them.


The green fields were separated in untidy blocks by the earthen banks. They stretched out far into a sea of green. He felt a figure came and squatted beside him. He knew without looking that it was XiaoTing. He did not turn to look or say anything. After a few moments of silence, XiaoTing hesitantly asked “Do you love Ta Jie?” He heard the accusation in her voice.


“Do you know what I see?” His fingers swept across the field. “I saw the sea. Where I came from, the sea was everything. It can be as calm as a field of padi swaying in the wind, but empty. For a lonely person, the sea best represent his feelings. That is why he loves the sea so much because he thinks it understands him. So he consoles himself that if he has the sea, it will be enough. But deep down, he also wishes for someone to share his love of the sea. Sometimes when I returned from the sea, I looked at the rocks. Do you know what I hope to see? I hope to see a pretty mermaid. If one day, I should be so lucky and actually see that mermaid, do you think I will love her?”


Under the shade of the outstretched branch of the solitary tree in front of the house, the two figures looked into the distance in silence. XiaoTing appealed naively in a voice full of emotions “I beg you. Please take good care of Ta Jie.” The fisherman unbuttoned the top of his shirt and pulled his necklace over his head. It was a black string through which was strung several small smooth shells. He untied and slipped one shell out and placed it in XiaoTing’s hand. “My promise.”


On the way back, MingYu told the fisherman that the old woman was her wet nurse and nanny. When she was too old to work, she refused to stay in the Chen household though they treated her as one of the family. She wanted to die in her own home, she said and that is one request they could not denied her. But they all knew that the real reason is that she not wants to be a burden to anyone. XiaoTing was hired by the Chen to look after her. MingYu visited her often until she had to run away.


“Come. Let me take you to a special place.” It was a small hill with rather steep side that stood out in the plain. She was agile and climbed like a mountain goat. He was more cautious but followed her footing till they came to a clearing near the top. Spread out before them was a field of matted green. He told her about his own little hill and she expressed a desire to see it. He liked the image of the two of them sitting there watching the sun descending into the sea.


After a while, they fell into silence; each lost in their own thoughts. They must have come here many times and sit in this very spot, he thought. They have history and he has none. This thought depressed him and he was jealous. “Are you thinking of him?” he could not resist asking. She did not reply him. And his suspicion was confirmed. This hill, this beautiful scenery did not belong to him. He will need to give her a new hill, a new scene, a new experience, a new memory. He stood and wanted to suggest leaving this place which will be forever haunted with their past.


“Please stay with me a little longer” she said in a small voice that was hardly audible. “I’m sorry to bring you here. But I need to see this place for one last time.” He told himself not to be too harsh. She was just trying to wrestle with her feelings. So he sat down besides her again. She leaned against him. Then she buried her face in his chest. He was afraid she will hear the pounding of his heart.


Through muffled voice, she said “I was so confident when I led you here. I thought I had conquered my feelings. I did not expect the hurt to resurface. Now I know it will take more time to heal. Please give me more time. Please be patient with me. I know it is unfair. Too much to ask…” And he felt the warm spreading wetness in his chest. They burned like acid, burned through his skin and into his heart. But he placed his hand over her head and gently stroked it. At that moment of shared feelings and raw emotions, he wanted to tell her he loved her. But he chocked back those words. This should be the happiest moment in his life. But the woman he loved and was holding was crying for another man. When they climbed down that hill, the fisherman was a little bitter but in his unhappiness he did not realize that he had seeded the hill with his memory.


That night was the first time they shared the same bed. They slept stiffly apart. She reached out for his hand and said “Thank you.” And then after several moments of silence, added “Tomorrow please accompany me to see him.” When he was sure she had fallen asleep, he whispered those words he was afraid to say.

“I love you.”

To be continued...

The Painting of Endless Sorrow.

They sat shoulder to shoulder as the rickshaw made its way nosily down the cobbled street. While her face was composed and she occasionally let out a nervous smile, he could feel the stiffness in her shoulder. She had fallen silent as if she needed to focus all her attention to curb an erupting heart. Or is she afraid to betray her vulnerable emotional state by talking? He understood. Some feelings are just too private to share even when you wanted and feel you ought to.

It must be difficult for her to come back, he thought. And he admired her guts to go back and tied all loose ends. To close this chapter in her life so she can begin a new one. At least, this is what he thought.

Her whole body suddenly stiffened and she braced herself. He looked at her and saw her eyes misting over staring straight ahead. He followed the direction of her gaze and saw two figures standing in front of the main door in one of the houses in the distance. A tall old man in his grey Chinese suit and a shorter, more rounded woman were waiting anxiously. She clenched her fist crushing the life out of her silk handkerchief. He found his own heart accelerating its beat, beating as if in tandem with hers.

Before the rickshaw even came to a complete stop, she jumped out and rushed forward. There was a heartbreaking cry of excitement, joy and anguish all combined into a shattering note of broken string from the older woman. They rushed into each others arms and the cries of many subdued nights all bursts forth in copious volumes. Their bodies shook even as they grasped each other tightly. The tall thin man remained rooted where he stood, his face screwed up tightly forcing back the tide. He looked stern, disapproving, but the tenderness in his eyes betrayed him.

The old man lifted his eyes and saw the fisherman. He could not bring a smile to his frozen face so he gave a slight nod of acknowledgement. The fisherman had by now arranged his face into one of neutrality and he lowered his head in a polite gesture. They both stood behind and a respectable distance apart from the two women still convulsing in deep embrace. Gradually, on what seemed liked a very long time to the two uncomfortable gentlemen; the cries subsided to be followed by a long line of questionings and protestations in-between. MinYu (yes, that is her real name he learned that day), through her quiet sobs just replied to every questions with “I’m alright, I’m alright”. At this juncture, the man broke in by saying “we are making ourselves a spectacle, let us go inside before we continue”. Everyone suddenly realized that is a wise thing to do and they all went in depriving the neighbors of further dramas.

(Min means nimble, sharp, quick, and sensitive. Yu means rain. So should he consider her nimble rain, the image of a gentle rain running with the wind pleases him or should he thought of her as sharp and sensitive rain. In the end, he thought both are appropriate and the name suited her well).

Inside the courtyard before they stepped into the guest hall, MinYu introduced them. “These are my parents” she said to the fisherman. And to her parents she said “This is Chong, my husband.”

Even though he knew they would have suspected such a possibility, they still could not hide their shock and dismay. After a few stunned seconds, it was elder Chen who recovered first. “What manners! Welcome In, come on into our humble abode.” He admired the way he recovered from the shock thus saving all of them from further embarrassment.

The hall was not lavishly decorated but it had a large picture of high cliffs pushing through dense suspended clouds. A poem in classical calligraphy read:

I long to live among the clouds
Hidden from friendly eyes
But the source of my sorrow
Return me to its muddy water.

He had asked MingYu to read it to him when they were shown to their room. He thought it was beautiful and complemented the painting well but it was so sad. Why would anyone want to hang such a depressing piece in their hall? MingYu was surprised by his innocent remark and a thoughtful expression crossed her face. He thought he had offended her and started to apologize when she said “No, you did not”. It was then he realized that this is the first time she had connected her misfortune with the poem and cursed himself for being so stupid not to see it coming. He was about to make a second apology but knew the damage was already done. Instead she said “you continue to surprise me” and he knew she meant it as a compliment.

He asked who the poet is but she told him it was actually written by a relatively unknown poetess. Poetess is not held in high regards but his father is a man of rare taste and not governed by fashion. It made sense, he said, “women grieved more than man” which brought another smile to MingYu.

After a brief time together, MingYu went to have a private conversation with her mother in her room while old man Ng received the fisherman in the hall. “I heard that you’re a fish merchant”

He looked at the old man’s hopeful eyes and decided to come clean with him out of respect “No, I’m a fisherman.” Then as a second thought, he added more for the old man’s benefit than his own. “I have my own boat and a crew working for me.”

“I see.”

In spite of himself, he could not help thinking. What do you see, Chen XianSheng Did I disappoint you? I’m sorry I’m not more deserving of her. And for once, he wished he was rich so he could assure him that he could give a life of comfort to MingYu.

“A fisherman’s life must be tough.”

“It is okay once you get used to it.” Looking at the bookcase full of books, he said “To me, the life of a man of letter is tougher.” He immediately regretted saying it, worried that the old man may think him a country bumpkin.

Instead, the old man laughed. “I guess you are right. Every profession has its own difficulties but most of the time, it is only difficult because we are not familiar. I’m just worried whether MingYu can get used to such a life.”

The fisherman shared the same thought so he said “I’ve the same worry. I’ve asked her to reconsider. She is free to leave anytime she wishes.”

This time the old man looked at him with genuine surprise. He stared at the fisherman for a prolonged time not sure what to think. He must have approved for he gently patted the fisherman’s hand and said “Thank you. Please take good care of MingYu for us. It is her luck to find you.”

“No, I’m the lucky one.”

After this they stopped talking about such personal matter which though is necessary is difficult and a little painful for the men. But with mutual respect, they found it easy to talk to each other about other things. They were both genuinely curious about the other’s way of life. The tension evaporated and they felt comfortable enough to give their personal observation and opinion on the topics they discussed.

The old man noticing the fisherman’s interest in his favorite painting was happy to take him for a closer look and explained its beauty. The fisherman asked, “The painting of the hills is so serene but the emotion of the poem is so troubled. I hope you don’t think it rude of me, but can I ask why you would hang a painting with such a sad poem in the hall?”

The old man smiled broadly at the question “It is sad but it is not depressing, or it is depressing only if one yields to it like one would to opium, allowing it to sap all your energy. Let me see how I can explain it better.” He thought about it a while and then thought the only way was to use a personal example. “When I bought this painting, I had the same feeling. I found it very beautiful but thought it would be more appropriate in my study room which was where it spent most of its time in this house. Then one day, while looking at it; I thought. The source of my sorrow is sad and a little painful, even today; but it did not destroy me and is not continuing to. Rather, it taught me valuable lessons, made me the man I am and taught me how to treasure, not only love but also life itself. So while I can hide myself away in the hills, I will never be free of the swirling, agitated waters of the river I swam in. So why deny it? From that day, I moved it from my study to my hall. It is not a grim reminder of my lost. It is a reminder of what I have become from my lost. I treasured both, not separately but as a single entity. For me and what I had lost has merged into one. And I don’t find myself depressing! Ha-ha.” The old man let out a loud laugh.

Listening to the old man, the fisherman seemed to have fallen into his own thoughts. Surveying the painting and as if speaking to himself he said, “How relevant to MingYu too.”

That remark shocked the old man into silence. His face turned somber and sad. The two men stared at the painting both wishing that MingYu’s outcome would be as positive as the owner of this painting.

MingYu and his mother came into the hall, sorrow were erased from their faces and replaced by a new gaiety. They can almost be described as happy. “You two seemed to be getting along fine, what is the laughter about?”

The old man said “Your husband. He is amazing.”


MingYu looked at the fisherman with pride, “He is, isn’t he?”

To be coninued...

Story Of A Small Town.

A small town has many tales
Full of joy and sorrow,
If you come to a small town
You can reap a bountiful harvest.

- Teresa Teng’s “Story of a Small Town”

I think she was recognized in the station of that small town. Heads turned, hushed whispers followed our passage. She just walked through like one would through a mist, conscious of, but treating it no more than a mild annoyance on the road to her destination.


The minute she stepped down the train, she transformed back into that serious, intense, rebellious woman he first met. Holding her head high, she projected an air of invulnerability and even a tinge of haughtiness. He now knew this was not her true nature but even then, he had to recall her tenderness to convince himself that it was all an act. But it was more than acting. It was as if she had stepped into the skin of another woman. Everything about her changed, the way she carried herself, the way she walked, talked and her general facial expression. If it was acting, it was flawless. I observed the transformation with amazement and not a little admiration.


And she didn’t just cut through the crowd. She nodded to some and exchanged greetings with others in a steady confident voice. At her request, I’ve worn my best set of clothing. The only silk I owned that was passed down from my dear departed father. It was hardly worn (never saw my father in it) sew in the timeless fashion of a conservative gentlemen. All I need to do is to live up to the apparel. I took the cue from her and assumed a leisurely bored air. It was amusing to note the response and respect people paid to the clothing. I had initial misgivings but as I walked along I began to feel a sort of secret enjoyment that I did not know I possessed. Maybe I am also an actor at heart. She was opening doors in me that I did not even know was there. And as an actor, I found I could put guilt and embarrassment aside as I had become a different person. There was a strange sense of freedom that a poor fisherman from down South can never possessed. It changed me that day. And though I was and always will be a fisherman at heart, I was no longer the same fisherman. And though I will always be with the sea, my world has reached beyond that sea.


I picked up strange dialects with different intonation, heavy, guttural and to my unfamiliar ears spoken fiercely as if in a quarrel. The ladies’ speeches were flighty, lighter but faster like an excited sparrow skipping on freshly hoed earth. But when she spoke the dialect, it sounded different. It was like the flight a gliding sparrow over a field of grain, musical. She did only casual bargaining as if it was beneath her station to involve in deep haggling. But she was firm with her prices and walked away if they were not met only to have the hawker running after her to accept her offer. She bought several pounds of choice cuts reddish pork, two fat chickens all tussled up, several rolls of succulent Chinese sausages, a large bundle of fresh “Emperor’s Green”, a few flasks of aromatic rice wine – enough to prepare a feast for a king. She then beckoned a street urchin without shoe to send them to an address written on a piece of paper and a note announcing her return. The grinning boy with the unbuttoned shirts happily clutched the few coins she paid and hurried away with the load.


She bent over the table looking over the displays of hair pins. The stall owner was just about to fawn over her when she silenced him, just with the lifting and holding up of her hand. She looked over them until her eyes came to rest on one that had a phoenix craved on a turtle shell. I thought it was too old for her but she held it tenderly, brushing it like one would stroke a cat. The intuitive stall keeper volunteered “only 50 Yuan for a sharp lady who appreciates quality”. She immediately put it down and walked away. “20 Yuan!” but she continued walking. I took a 10 Yuan note and pressed it into the protesting keeper’s hand and hurried after her with the hairpin.


We took a corner table in the balcony of a restaurant overlooking the busy street. She ordered the food and we sipped Oolong tea waiting for it. A player somewhere was playing a sentimental canto-pop, “We met in the middle of an empty street…” Away from the crowd, she seemed relaxed, even happy. Though now and then, a shadow will fleet across those fathomless eyes, which raised her eyebrows without her realizing it. She quickly dismissed it like one intended on having a good time despite an approaching storm. And she told me stories. Stories about the town and the people in it. I waited anxiously to see it if the stories will lead her into it. Though as interesting as the stories were, what I was dying to know was her role in it. She told the stories with so much details and feelings that she must have lived them but there was no mention of her though I was sure the observations was made by her personally. The tales told me she was happy in it. Why did she leave?


She looked across the table at him listening intensely to her tales. A little smile escaped her lips to be followed by a frown. He too loved her tales and she told them to him by the lake under the weeping willows, on the branch of that large oak where they dangled their feet, in the empty classroom of the school on a weekend, even in that old cemetery at night when eerie winds blew and where the tales were shared by more than the two of them. She loved to pour out her heart. She did her thinking in her words. And she always came to have feelings for those who appreciated her tales. “What is a story-teller without listeners?” she once said. “You gave meanings to my tales, so you gave meanings to me, to my existence.”


Now a fisherman was listening to her tales. He wished he was him. But it could not be. It will never be. She felt that tug at her heart and tasted the bitterness in her tongue. Her eyes threatened to betray her. But she forced them all back. She will not cry again. She had cried enough. She swore she will never shed another tear for him and she will keep that promise. She will defeat her sorrow. That old sorrow that she refused to indulge in. If she has to take on new sorrow to replace it, that is okay. The new sorrow will not have him in it. Slowly, the new sorrow will drown the old and him along with it. Only then will she be free. So she will embrace new pain to drown old one. It made strange sense to her.


Even to herself, she did not want to admit that she also needed to drown her shame. She was convinced she can only love one man in her life. So she held her love until she was sure she found the right one to give her heart to. Her suitors were many but she bid her time until her soul-mate came along.


When she was ten, reading a book under a tree at the back of the school; she heard a quiet voice softly enquired “what is that you’re reading?” She looked up at his shy face with hair neatly combed and parted in the middle. His hands behind his back and he was gently swaying like a reed in the wind. His eyes were on her spotless shoe and there was a gathering glow on his cheek. That day, she told him his first story until it was interrupted by the recess bell. But the next day, he came back to hear the rest of the tale. When she ran out of tales from the books, she made up her own. She could spin a tale from anything, a blade of glass swaying in the wind, a bent old lady struggling down the street, a smile on a young girl’s lips, a flash of lighting, a striking of a bell or the twinkling of wind chimes. He would challenge her by calling up an object, a scene, a person, anything and she would effortlessly continue her tales from there. It became a sort of game between them.


Everyone in town knew they were destined for each other. People would smile and pointed them out as the town’s pair of Mandarin duck. Everyone assumed they would marry once they came of age including their parents who had no objections to their relationship. She never has another boyfriend, there were no need to. She found her soul-mate early and the other suitors just melted away into the background. She grew up pretty, vivacious and witty. Many boys were interested but all they could do were to envy him and they did not try to be more than friends. It would not have matter anyway. She would simply be not interested. She had found her “one-love” early and she had no need for any other.


The fisherman looked at her falling into her reflections. He frowned at her growing silence but did not say anything. Let her get it out of her system. I wished she would share it with me but he knew he was not and could be no part of it. And he could not help. The only good he could do was just to be there for her.


She suddenly realized she had slipped into silence. She looked up embarrassed and saw the frown on his face which he immediately tried to hide.


“I’m sorry.”


“Is there any way I could help?” he asked even though he knew what the answer will be.


She shook her head. I must break free of this malaise, she thought. That is my past. It has no relevance to my present and my future. I must break free. I will. I must.


“Sorry. It will not happen again” she said not too convincingly. She knew that she can keep it at bay guarded but when her guard was down, it can silently creep behind and overwhelm her. But I will beat it. It will take some time and much effort but I will beat it into submission. It is alright to suffer but it is not alright to be defeated. And I will not be defeated. My pride is all I had left. But that thought almost broke her and she had to gallantly struggle to regain control. I don’t know why I’m still so vulnerable, she thought. I hate it and I hate him for making me feel this way.


She regained her composure, smiled at him, held his hand and said “let us go. It is time to go home.”


“Wait,” he took out the hairpin and gave it to her. He liked the look in her eyes. She carefully wrapped it in her embroidered handkerchief. They sat in the same rickshaw as it went rattling down the dirt road.

To be continued...

A Train Away From It All.

He looked out the window at the countryside scenery of padi fields and duck farms as the train laboriously chugged along the metal track grinding and groaning on its reluctant journey. Acres of static greens, instead of endless spread of turbulent blues. The swirling clouds dancing on the clear blue over land told him a different tale than when they were over the sea. It was a tale he could not decipher. But land did not seem so fearful, so far. Maybe, it was because she was with him.


He turned to look at her gentle feature lost in troubled thoughts. The firm pursing of her lips and the intense focusing gave her a stern expression. At that moment of weakness, he said softly “Yes, I will marry you”.


She was jolted and turned to him with a surprised and shocked expression, her guards completely down. At that moment, he glimpsed another hint of the vulnerability that was so carefully shielded.


“I’ll marry you if it is the only way to solve your problem. But we do not have to stay married when it is done. I’ll marry you in name but you will still be a free woman.” Those words did not come easy but they are words he wanted to say and he was amazed at his courage for saying them. It was liberating. But there were more waiting, he will have to force them out.


Her intensity dissipated. Replaced by a tenderness that melted his heart. Her eyes were like a waning moon on a misty night reflected upon a serene lake. And it watered. It sought to convey gratitude that no words could express.


That gave him the encouragement to say what he really wanted to. “But I hope to marry you because we love each other. I know I can, no. I already do love you.” As a fisherman, he was often called to make instant decisions which could decide the outcome of a catch or the safety of his crew and even in matters of life and death. For the most crucial needs, he relied on his guts instinct and he had never been wrong where it really mattered. His instinct told him more convincingly than his heart that he had fallen in love. “I’ll wait for you, to love me. But you do not have to wait if you do not want to. You can leave whenever it suits you.” These however were not words he wanted to say but he had to. As a gentleman whom he felt he is, he is compelled to. It did not make him feel more generous. If anything, it made him feel silly for surely such this she could decide for herself without any suggestions from him.


To his surprise, she covered her face with her hands and started to sob. Silent but violent sobs that shook her body, letting out whatever she had bottled inside her little frame. She lowered her head keeping her face hidden as if in shame. It was painful to see. He hesitated but then rested his hand on one shoulder to console her. It was warm to his touch though he had kept his hand almost just floating above her skin. After a few seconds, he rested it more firmly and then gripped it communicating to her, he was sharing her pain. Amid her sobs, he heard her weak, broken voice “I’m sorry. To put you through this. I’m truly sorry.” And he knew then she did not love him, yet.


This realization strangely gave him a boost. He gently pulled her over and she rested her head on his shoulder. That was how she fell asleep as the train cut through the land taking them to a place he had never been or ever thought of going. He thought about how his crew will be waiting for him in the jetty this morning and felt guilty. They will go to his house and found it empty. There will be a buzz this morning as people looked for him and the dilemma his crew will be facing on whether to take the boat out to fish without him or to continue to wait. And later that evening, the whole village would be in an upheaval. He hoped someone would go into the house and found that hastily written note that said he had to be away for a few days on urgent business and the speculation that came with it. What was that, that took him away? The visualization unsettled him and troubled him for causing the people who cared for him so much worry. But as he felt her stirred against his body, there was no doubt in him that he did the right thing.


Her head was heavy and his arm was going numb from the pressure but he tried to keep as still as possible in spite of the uncomfortable position. His mind wandered back to last night when she entreated him to follow her back to the village for her to do something she had to do. What it was she could not tell but it was very important to her. After which, she would be free and she promised to be a good wife and served him well the rest of her life. He was somewhat offended. Did she take him to be the type of man who will accept such kind of bargain? To her, it may be an honorable way of settling a debt. But how much difference is there between her proposal and those of the lady of the night for didn’t they both offer to sell themselves for money irrespective of how worthy or urgent the cause? A sale is still a sale irrespective of whether it is to one customer or many customers. He knew actually there are many subtle differences; he knew questioning it this way is unfair to her. But he could not help it. Maybe, he was secretly angry to be put in such a situation where there can be no win for him. Or was he angry that he was been made use of because he is a good man. The fact she did it reluctantly and that her need was so great that she has no choice only assuage his unhappiness somewhat. But he is not one to dwell over this type of conflict for long, same as he is not one to push aside thoughts when they came up. He let them have their said and them let the sea breeze blew them away.


Only now the wind that blew was from the land. They had a different smell. Sometimes of damp earth, others of dusty roads or polluted towns. Each minute, the train was taking him further away from the sea and he now began to feel a certain longing slowly starting to assert itself. But he liked looking at those leathery skin water buffaloes with those ridiculously large horns casually walking in the mud occasionally flipping its tail. He also liked the view of the mass of white ducks that stood out in great contrast with the dirty ponds. And when suddenly for no reason, one duck scrambled away in a half swimming, half flying rush; all the others quickly followed in a blind panic. Suddenly, the thought hit him. If she were to ask him to stay with her on land far away from the sea, how would he answer? Would he choose her or the sea? He was seized with a panic himself for he knew that is a choice that he will regret whichever way he chose. Is this always going to be the way with her? Difficult choices?


She woke up. Sat up straight, straighten her shirt. There was a dash of color on her cheek. Was that a blush?


“You are a good man.”


“I tried to be” he replied matter of fact.


She was about to speak, then checked herself. Yes, he thought. No apologies please. It would get tiresome if repeated throughout the whole journey. Instead, she took on the role of a guide explaining in detail the towns and places they passed through. Her voice low but clear with great confidence as she explained the geography, history and culture of the places they passed through with the authority of a researcher. He was amazed at her knowledge and listened rapt with attention as she cleverly spun in anecdotes with facts to make the tales engrossing. She seemed even more in element than when she was in the kitchen. And when she quoted poetry, doubts began to seep in. She must have read the worries written on his face for she asked “What is wrong?”


“I did not know that you’re so well educated.”


She was so caught up with her tale that she did not realized that she had exposed herself. She would not want him to feel insecure in any way so she reach out and hold the hand closest to her. He almost made an involuntary withdrawal on first touch before her hand caught his and held on to it. He looked at her soft smooth hand holding to his hard coarse one. This did not dispel his doubt but he liked the feel, so his fingers closed in on hers. How many more surprises was she hiding?


“I’m not well educated, just had a little bit of education. It only appear impressive to…” she quickly changed the subject by directing his attention to a passing sight. He was not fooled “To a country bumpkin? Was that what you were going to say?” He thought but did not let on what he was thinking.


“This is not going well. What can I do?” she pondered when he surprised her by saying “I enjoyed your stories; please continue telling them the way you did.” She looked at him. She smiled and thought. “You are not a regular chap, are you?”


She enjoyed herself telling and sharing stories with him all the way. He was an attentive and intelligent listener asking questions that was challenging, delighting her in seeking for the answers and sometimes offering his thoughts on it as well. She had not expected to find herself enjoying such a stimulating conversation with a fisherman. She was not a snob but had confused intelligent and wisdom with education as young people tends to do. “He is more intelligent than many of my classmates.” The thought somehow pleased her, a lot. Now that the ice has been broken, she used more poetry and proverbs in her conversation and he seemed genuinely interested and asked her to explain the meanings. And when he questioned the ways some metaphors were used, his naivety and puzzlement caused her to laugh. At other times, he showed a surprisingly quick grasp of difficult concept and complex association. And even offer his comparison with life in the village and of the sea. He was not shy to disagree with the ideas of poets. All this she found to be stimulating and even enlightening. Before the end of the journey, the thought did occur to her that the idea of living with this man may not be as great a sacrifice as she originally thought.


She had secretly wished that this train journey could go on forever. She had not been this carefree for such a long time. But the train pulled up with a screeching stop to their destination and she was slammed hard against her waiting troubles.

To be continued...

An Impossible Situation.

He stood in front of his house, afraid to go in. He knew of the crushing emptiness waiting, should he find her gone. Not one afraid to meet his destiny, he pushed the doors aside and walked into the dark.

The sea never stopped its mournful tune but all he heard was silence, and the beating of his heart. His legs did not want to move forward. He was ashamed his feelings were making him weak. Resolutely, he stepped forward. The package he was carrying hanged like a useless baggage on his hand so he threw it on a chair and marched into the kitchen expelling his breath.

She was not there. He suppressed his anxiousness and braced himself for disappointment. He lifted the curtain to his mother’s room in the hope she was taking a rest. She was not there either. He had expected a soft blow of disappointment which he will shrug off like water on his fishing coat. The blow that slammed into him and crushed his heart, squeezing the life out of it; he was not prepared for. He swallowed his saliva and weakly stumbled out of the room.

His eyes now accustomed to dark, saw the food laid out on the table under a food cover. A weak smile forced its way up. At least she had the decency to cook him dinner but he did not feel like eating. He will feel better tomorrow morning. He sat on his bed and was about to lift up his legs when with a shock he saw her sitting on his writing chair next to the table opposite his bed. Questions ere pushed aside as he hurriedly lit the small oil candle. He was sure she had been crying. Where is that strong woman he met yesterday and left this morning?

He stood there over her, not sure what to do or say next. She looked up and all he could think was how beautiful she was.

“Will you marry me?” she asked.

He stared at her in disbelief. Then, reality stepped in. He was no fool and he would not jump into conclusion. To calm himself down, he pulled a chair from the hall and sat down besides her. He looked at her calmly and asked “Why do you want to marry me?” He immediately realized his mistake. That is an impossible question to answer. “Sorry. Please tell me your trouble and how can I help?”

She lifted her head and he saw her pride. He was not sure what she will do next. Angrily get up and leave? Calmly explained herself? He waited for her decision. He can see her struggling with her options.

“I’ll be a good wife…” He did not like where this is going. But she stopped. She bowed her head and said “Sorry” in a low voice. “That is not what you want to hear. You have been kind and honest. I owe you more than an explanation but there are things that are difficult to say. Please understand. I am not hiding. I just cannot tell.”

“How can I help you?”

She went straight to the point. “I need money.” Alarm bells began to ring. He dreaded what he will hear next. Instead he asked “How much?”

“Three thousand yuans.” That is a lot of money. In fact, it is almost his entire savings. Savings he was putting aside for his marriage. He looked at her. She looked back into his eyes. He cannot read them but they are challenging him to doubt her. Should he? Why even take the risk? He would be a fool to take such a risk for someone he did not know. A fool even for someone he did. Why did she need the money for?

He checked himself and not allowed himself to stoop so low to satisfy his curiosity. If her intention is to deceive, all he received will be a lie. If he did not want to lend her the money, the reasons would make no difference. If he really wanted to, the reasons would not matter. He was a dilemma because he wanted to trust her and for her to think well of him.

“I’m sorry”, there was no change in her facial expression but a shadow fleeted across her eyes.

“Please understand”, why is he apologizing? “I could not give you an immediate answer. I need a few minutes to think about it.” She nodded and looked down at the table as if pondering what she is going to do should he turned her down.

He has a practical way of dealing with difficult decisions. Instead of asking what he should do, he asked what he will regret more not doing. Will he regret more not helping her in spite of the risk of being cheated (which he did not think so but could be wrong)? Or regret losing that amount of money? The answer was clear to him now.

He went and extracted out a heavy box from under his bed and unlocked it. He counted out the money and placed it before her without saying a word. There was no word of thanks. But were those tears at the edge of her glistening eyes?

He was stunned when she said “I’ve a more difficult request.”

An Explanation - (Not Part of The Story)

I wrote this story because a friend asked me to write a story for her. I do not have a complete story ready (in fact, the story was created on the spot) so I’m writing it as I go along. The idea of using ghosts to tell the story came about from the theme of ‘ghost’ that I used to unite my blogs. And I wanted to write a love story. Other than that, I’ve no idea where the story will lead to or how it will end or if I’ll even manage to end it (she will kill me if I don’t). It may take 6 months or a year to complete the story but I cannot write faster. Every 2 weeks (if I can manage) when I sit down, I take the story from where I left it and continue but try to ensure it has continuity.


The Fisherman ghost just returned. So may the moonlight ghost or the railway ghost but I’m not sure if and when. You may think it strange that since I’m the one writing, how can I not be sure? But in a way, the story is writing itself. For every time I sit down, depending on the mood or what happened recently or what memories I recalled, the direction dictated by the ghosts are determined by them not me. This much I know. There will be more ghosts to be introduced. For I don’t think the tales can be told without them. They will reveal themselves to me when the time is right.


How this all can come together into a coherent story is a challenge and sometimes when the juice is not flowing, I think I’ve bitten off more than I can chew. Those who stumbled on this site and who are equally insane to want to continue reading, you should start from the first post – “The Ghosts & I” or you’ll never make head or tail of what is going on. I’m writing this story to fulfill a pledge as much to myself as the one I’m writing this story for. I’m not looking for readers for this blog – try my other blogs where I welcome readers. But if you want to continue on this dubious journey, maybe you as mad as me and as mad as the narrator/narrators of the story. Maybe you believe in ghosts.

A Woman's Honor.

Originally uploaded by: rosenaldo

He woke up with a start. It was still dark. He had a dream about being lost at sea, engine dead and a storm gathering. As he braced himself to ride out the storm alone, he heard the chugging of another boat. He could not see in the dark but the sound became louder and louder and that was when he suddenly woke up.


The sound was so real. He listened carefully, heard nothing but the sea. Just as he relaxed, he heard that sound again. He jumped out of bed. Before he reached the door, he realized that he was not alone in his house. She was in the kitchen busy preparing breakfast. The sight gripped his heart and he knew from this day, his life will never be the same.


He was not a romantic man. He did not see this woman he saved as the woman he will marry. But for the first time in his life, he felt he should have a wife. Someone who could cook for him in the morning. Someone he could return to after fishing. Someone who could fill the empty spaces and emptiness in the house as she is doing. He will probably look for a simple wife among the village folk, someone who understand the way of life here and who could take the hardship and joy of being dependant upon the sea. An outsider is unlikely to fit in. There would be no shortage of prospects as he had his own house, his own boat and a good reputation. The village headman would be delighted to help him find a match. Maybe, even among one of his many relatives. He was surprised at all these thoughts flying through his head that the mere presence of this woman brought. But she would be the wrong woman for him, why he did not know.


After the initial surprise, he was no longer surprised at further changes in him. He understood the natural flow of things and how useless it is to fight against the tide. It is much wiser to go with the flow and benefited from it. When the currents of the sea changes, he does not waste time pondering why. He just responded to it.


There was economy and effortless grace in her movements. Tenderness settled in the face that was no longer fighting back and it was beautiful. Usefulness trumped beauty any time but there are the rare occasions when they came together to make a woman truly desirable. She was fair, quite different from the dark skinned beauty of the South. That exoticness added an air of mystery but also suspicion that she was somehow weaker despite her portrayer of strength as tough as any local women.


She moved through and used the kitchen as if she had been born to it. How can that be? How can she be so familiar with the unfamiliar? It suddenly hit him that there was something not quite right about his kitchen. She has rearranged it! How did she move that large earthen pot used for storing water closer to the stove? The knives and cooking utensils had been moved to the right side of it and the bowls and plates had been moved to the left. Even the kitchen cabinet had been shifted to create more rooms for movement around the stove which is now the new heart. The bulk of the woods have been shifted to a corner just leaving a few ready to be used nearby. She seemed to prefer to sacrifice preparation space for more freedom around the cooking area. The condiments and ingredients were individually prepared before hand and neatly placed next to the wok.


Like an opera show, he thought. He was always amazed at the vast amount of materials that have to be moved in for such a show. Hugh boxes after boxes of all kinds. Enough to fill a small house. Yet when the performance actually began, all the actions took place on a small stage. With this realization, also came an annoyance. She had no right to shift his things without his permission. Even if it is an improvement. She should have asked him first. In fact, she should not even do that; she should not intrude herself into his life. How can she misbehave like this? It is not proper. His annoyance born out of having no control at the course of events boiled to the surface. He will tell her off. He will ask her to leave.


He will… She turned and looked at him. Her large brown eyes robbed him of his will. He stood there rooted till his anger re-resized control. The anger now directed at himself. Why is he so easily unbalanced by her presence? Her look was steady but soft.


“I’ll leave if you cannot let me stay”.


That deflated the wind from his sail. While he was searching for something to say, she continued “I hope you’ll let me repay my debts. It troubles me greatly to owe so great a debt of gratitude. I cannot be lucky again. Besides I’ve no place to go”. He was not sure whether the last sentence was meant to make it easy for him. But he could understand that part about settling debts of honor. The village headman understood that too. He knew that to say “there is no need” is superfluous because the need is in the other party. But honor is a man’s perspective. A woman usually just accepted it and is grateful to be saved. She confused him. He thought about it for a while in silence. If she believed in honor, then he had to find an honorable way out for her.


“Can you sew?” he asked. She nodded her head.


“If you can do that, you can learn to mend fishing net. I’ll talk to the village headman. He’ll find a place for you to stay. My house is not appropriate even though there is an extra room, for there are only the two of us. You can earn a living mending nets and also doing other odd jobs. I’ve some nets that needed mending which I do have the time for and it is too expensive to get it replaced. Whenever you’ve the time, you will mend my net. When you’ve finished it, you’ll have repaid me in full.”


They both knew that a fishing net do not equate to a human life. They also knew that debts need not be settled in full (for some debts can never be) but the token and intention is important. Honor can be restored in this manner. That will be something the other party can live with. She did not reply to this suggestion.


He sat by the table and allowed her to serve him. He had not had such an elaborate and delicious breakfast since his mother died and almost chocked on it. She looked away and let him finished his meal in silence.


“I’m going now” He felt strange saying that yet elated at the same time.


He picked his crew up from the jetty. They found him unusually quiet the whole day. After trying unsuccessfully to engage him in conversations several times, they left him alone wondering what was bothering him. But they were not alarmed as every now and then, he drifted into such mood. In spite of that, their catch was good that day and the crew was happy.


He had never been so anxious to return yet he did not go home immediately. Instead he went to the evening market to buy some food and condiments. After some hesitation, he borrowed a bicycle to cycle to town where he would be less likely to be recognized. In one of the many street which sells clothing, he approached a vendor to buy women clothing. He was thankful his dark complexion and the fading light did not show up his blushes. Embarrassed to bargain for long and he knew he paid more than he should. He bought other things that he thought a woman may need, a basin, a large metal cup, toothbrush, a towel and a hand mirror. Though he still had his mother’s things, he did not think of passing them to her.


It was dark by the time he reached home. No light was shining from his house. He quickened his steps and sweats were dripping down the side of his face. His heart was pounding madly from the exertion. Had she gone?

To be continued...

Destiny.

Midnight Storm originally uploaded by Nate Weibley

“No, I don’t want to talk about them. I don’t even want to think about them for every time I did, I stir the river bed. The debris safely gathered at the bottom churn up and its’ murkiness depress me like storm clouds on a sunny day. Then, I cannot get rid of their intruding images threading all over my brain. And my heart got acid burns. I want to forget them only sometimes I can’t.”


“So I learned to activate defense mechanisms. I had to or I would have gone insane by now or my heart would have been pounded to mash. I sleep if sleep can come. I exercise to wear me out. I keep myself busy so I don’t have to think. If these don’t help, I think of other things”.


As I speak, my mind wanders to the Fisherman of Snake Mouth. I turn to face Beth but she was no longer there. In her place, sits the Fisherman calmly smoking his pipe disregarding me.


Looking at him sitting there smoking contentedly, I feel a violent stab of envy. Sure, a person can be contented when he knew the person he loves love him in return. He can go to his grave with the smug feeling as if he had achieved something. I loved, and I was loved in return but they all eventually left me and I was left to ponder my failures. Why are my many loves not equal to his one? At this moment, I almost hate him. But I know it is not him I hate. My mind stray to what is fair and what is not. We are never fair to the one who loves us but appeals for fairness from the one whom we love.


The Fisherman could not sleep after leaving the girl that evening (September 2007 Post – “Once There Was A Hill”). He tossed and turned in his bed worrying about what will happen to her. He told himself it is not his business. The world is full of unfortunate people. They will survive, somehow. He had done all he could. But he still could not sleep. So he gave up, got up to look at the sea. That always calms him down. And there will be a full moon tonight.


He swung open the wooden door and as he stepped out, his leg kicked on something soft. He was shocked to see a figure curled up with the knees against the chest outside his door. His heart jumped when he realized it was the girl he rescued. She stirred, forced herself to sit up and looked at him with those unflinching eyes. Concern and pity overwhelmed him. She must be cold and hungry yet he said “You should not be here”. He wanted to invite her in but what would the neighbors think? While he hesitated, she stood up and walked into the house uninvited.


Not knowing what else to do, he followed her in. His chivalrous nature took over “Have you eaten?” She shook her head. He will deal with her after she had eaten. As he headed towards the kitchen, he heard a firm “No!” that stopped him in his track. She walked pass him and surveyed the kitchen cabinet. With deft fingers and a confidence of experience, she began several tasks at once, boiling water, slicing, cutting, seasoning. She was a delight to watch and for the first time in his life, he pondered what it is like to have such a woman for a wife. Before long, a pleasant aroma rose up to mix with the night air. He wondered what her cooking would taste like but was quite sure it would be delicious.


He watched her from the dining table. She carried out a large bowl of rice noodle with slices of fishes and some vegetables. “She must be really hungry. I will have to work harder and catch more fishes if I will to have a wife like this”, he thought.


(As I picture the scenes, I look over and catch a tiny smile that has stole its way up the lip of the Fisherman ghost though he pretends to act nonchalantly and continues his smoking.)


She sat opposite him and surprised him by placing the bowl of noodles in front of him. He had not expected her to cook for him. He looked at the appetizing meal but asked, “What about you?” She just shook her head. He swore he could hear the growling of her stomach. He started to push the bowl towards her but palm placed at the edge of the bowl stopped him. He was afraid to exert any further pressure fearing the hot soup will spilled and burned them both. He stood up and returned from the kitchen with another bowl. He poured half of the content into this bowl but instinctively leaved slightly more in his own. He placed the second bowl before her and in a serious voice, commanded “Eat!” Without looking up, he started eating. It tasted wonderful. He stole a look at her and was pleased that she was also eating her noodles too. They ate in silence, both lifting the bowl to drink every last drop of soup.


A sudden gush of wind slammed the door startling them. He went to secure it and smelt the dampness in the air. It was going to rain soon. That decided it. He could not be chasing her out in this weather. He went to his bedroom and came out with a spare blanket. She took it without a word, her face still solemn and defiant. He had analyzed her character, there is no reasoning with her; she is stubborn as a mule. He lifted the door curtain to his room and went to bed.


He laid there that night with a very strange feeling he never felt before. As he drifted off to sleep, his last thought was – what was he going to do with her tomorrow?

To be continued...

Memory.

Hard & Soft: Originally uploaded by accrama

“I woke up to see you peeping through the curtain. I took my camera and surprised you with a shot. (When I had it developed, it was my turn to be surprised for you had taken a picture of me while I slept). You screamed, rushed over and tried to wrestle the camera from me. When we stopped, your laughter was replaced by tender looks from those doleful eyes. You hang on to me and did not want me to leave for the college. You also did not want to leave the apartment together with me.


I should not have left you alone. What thoughts must have gone through your head? I could not concentrate at the lecture from lack of sleep and a nagging guilt and worry. Despite several cups of coffee and constant washing of face, I could hardly keep my eyes open. I finally gave up and skipped the balance of the classes.


When I opened the door to my apartment, you ran forward to hug me. Sitting at the edge of the bed, you told me you have spoken to your priest. You told me in a rather cheerful voice that he asked you to leave me. This did not seem to alarm me. I felt it was something you had to do and that it is not something that will not come between us. I started kissing the nape of your neck as you continue speaking. It is quite similar to our situation now, one of us talking as if the other is not there. As if talking to oneself. As you continued talking, I caressed you. I slipped my hand inside your shirt and cupped your breast. You gave me a gentle scolding but did nothing to stop me. Now, I wonder why. When you already decided that will be our last moments together and if the reason came from the church, why did you allow me such liberty? Or were you just borrowing strength from the church?


The phone rang. Your best friend Gloria came over not long after that. The two of you talked in low whispers in the kitchen. I got along well with Gloria and liked her but I did not know what her opinion of me was. I did not believe she would steer you in any direction. She would listen and agree with whatever you decide as good friends will do in such matter. You need the strength of her support. I could probably change your mind then, couldn’t I? But I was only nineteen. I was not ready for such commitment. I doubted you were too. Why did we rush so fast into a situation that would force us apart? Had we taken it slow, what would have happen?


But when you left with Gloria that day, I did not expect that will be the end as in The End. I never saw or heard from you again. Not a single phone call. I did not grieve. I did not pine. I just forget. Completely.”


I stopped my rambling. I waited. I dared not look at her. I did not dare to ask any question because I felt I had no right to. I wished she will say something but the silence is not uncomfortable. It wraps round us like a warm blanket. I’m used to silence. I’m used to being alone. Before the ghosts, I was always alone. When I sat with silence, my mind wanders listlessly like a languid river. When it reached the sea, I looked up at her large expressionless eyes that were the most prominent features of her plain oblong face. Did I hurt her again? Can a ghost be hurt?


A sudden chill seized me. If she is here and if she is a ghost, then she must be dead. But how did she die, so young. A fear swept over me and I desperately hoped she is just a figment of my imagination. “Beth, are you a real ghost?” A shadow crossed those eyes and she stands up to leave.


“Please don’t go. I need you.”


“You didn’t need me then.”


“I need you now.”


“What do you want from me?”


“Please teach me how to forget.”


“You seem to be a very good at it.” I feel that cut deeply. But she is entitled to say it.


In spite of my shame, I appeal “I’ve forgotten how now. Teach me how to forget. How did you do it?”


“It is ironic you should be the one asking me. You must be really desperate. It hurts, doesn’t it? You wish the memory would just disappear. But time does not seem to dull the memory or the pain. If anything, it just exacerbates it. Do you know why? It is because you cannot let go. And do you know why you cannot let go?”


“Tell me, please.”


“No. Telling you won’t do you any good. Let us talk about what you cannot forget. Shall we start with a rainy day in a small hut in Thailand or would you rather start it with a bleak autumn evening in the heart of Tokyo?”

To be continued...

The Night Before. The Morning After.

Originally uploaded by: .bek

You stepped quickly into my apartment but stood there in the kitchen refusing to move into the room. You looked down at the floor. Your whole body was trembling. I thought you were on the verge of tears. You would not let me hold you or led you in. We stood there facing each other and I was at a loss on what to do.


Gently, I asked “do you want to go home?”


You did not answer but the question seemed to force you to a decision. Even with your head bowed, I could see you struggling with your thoughts and emotions. Then silently, you walked into the room and sat on the edge of my bed.


I sat besides you making sure that our shoulders did not touch. Looking back, it was kind of amusing, wasn’t it? Just minutes ago, we were in deep embraces but now we just sat there apart, afraid to touch. Hesitant conversations gradually stole its way in. Inconsequential and meaningless conversations to fill the void and erased the edges. As we feel more comfortable, I put my hand over and enveloped your shoulder.


You stiffened, and then relaxed. You leaned over and rested your head on my body. I softly brushed it with my hand and ran my fingers through your hair. I held your head to my chest to hear the thumping of my heart that must have sounded like an echoing boom from an endless cave. There was a spreading wetness on my chest. You were crying again. But your hand tightened round my back as if afraid I will draw away. The other hand reached out for one of mine and clasped it. We held each other like this for a long while, sometimes giving each other a little squeeze to show our affection. That was how I will always want to remember us.


It was a serene and comfortable but temporal state. It could not last. For passion does not flow like languid water. It crackles, erupts and burns, fiercely.


We reached out for each other. Our tentative kisses became more intense, more urgent. The dam had been breached. There were no further restraints. The emotions we had kept in check burst forth. Nothing matters any more except giving all and possessing all in return. Your strength was surprising. Your hunger was amazing. I found your desire for me so beautiful. And that fierce tenderness I felt, how can that not be love? It was too beautiful to be called lust.


I looked up at Beth and saw tears in her eyes. In a trembling voice, she said “I was so ashamed of the intensity of my emotions, so ashamed I never knew what my heart is capable of holding. And how little control I had over it. All that my heart can feel, I felt it all at once. Fearful and joyous, troubled and euphoric, hopeful and sad. Yes, sad because I knew I was lost. Overcame by a desire I had no control of nor did I even want to try.”


“I was brought up a proper Catholic,” she continued. “What we did I knew was wrong. What we did was sinful. And I was so afraid. If what I felt was not love, then it must be lust. But I was beyond the point of caring. Tomorrow I will confess and leave you, but tonight…”


“And then when I was ready to give you all, you asked the most stupid and hurtful question. I had also not heard a more beautiful or noble question since. “Are you a virgin?” I froze. You did not wait for me to continue for it was not a question to you but a stating of fact. “You must save it for the one you will marry.” With those words, you destroyed me that night. As your words sliced my heart, it also severe any doubts and hope I may have. You were such a beautiful person. I loved you.”


I reach out to hold Beth but only touch air. Tears roll down her cheek and drip onto the floor collecting in a small puddle. I do not understand the reality of the ghost world or how it relates to ours.


“I am not a weak person. I do not cry easy” Beth said. “But you make me vulnerable. I hate it and I don’t. I was a happy person, you changed that. It took me a long time to be happy again.”


“I’m sorry” I said.


Yes, I remembered your easy laughter. In a crowded bus ride to Pasay, I was amazed how easily you made friends with strangers and talked to them like old friends. When I asked you what were spoken, you always reply “oh, nothing.” But then, you will volunteer interesting details about this person and that. I could never be like that and admired you for it. I am sorry I hurt you. But it was you who left me the next morning.

To be continued…