When I switch the light on in my room I still see the traces of the night before—it’s like everything’s thrown into a cavernous pit of darkness and melancholy. The world is in complete greyscale, like my eyes have never seen what red or beige or blue is. I want you to know that when I open my door, all I see is vast emptiness that mirrors what I am feeling inside. I am left helpless and I can’t cry because I am too weak to cry.
I want you to know that the feelings I’ve felt when I first started making conversation with you, those feelings that made me happy, are the same feelings that are lashing my back right now. I want you to know that it pains to remember because all that’s left are memories.
I want you to know that I have been listening to All Too Well by Taylor Swift before I sleep and sing it on my way to work because when something that used to make you smile sheepishly for no reason, when something that makes you feel happy and excited and extraordinary, when those somethings are gone, all that’s left are reveries, you do remember them all too well and it hurts. Continue reading “I Want You To Know That It Hurts”→
When I met you, I couldn’t be happier than I was before. I can’t wait for the day when we both greet each other good morning with a kiss on the lips not minding how sour our breaths are. I can’t wait for you to climb the bed and cuddle me good night. These things and more, have long been overdue.
My midnight thoughts would normally be like these:
I come out of the bathroom fresh, beads of water still running down from my jet black hair as I try to wipe them out. My partner’s abed—busy with his phone. He raises his head at the sight of me half-naked. He looks at me in the eye with so much longing and love and fascination, his eyes talking of intense passion, like he need not to search no more. I am his, and he is mine.
He reaches out for me. He takes the towel off of my hand and wipes me dry. He hugs me from behind, his cheeks pressed against my nape.
“What is it, honey?” I ask. A hint of smile on my face. I feel his, too. A shy smile. A triumphant one because he longs for this moment his entire life.
“I just feel so happy you are here with me tonight.” He answers.
I free myself from his warm embrace and I look at him in the eye and say, “I will be here until you say stop.”
“I don’t want this to stop. I want you . . . always.”
I lean down and feel his lips trace mine as we drown ourselves in the comfort of each other’s heat on the soft white mattress we call our love.
It was when the last cymbals and gongs were hit and the beating of the drums got drowned and distant that made me realize the extent one can sacrifice in the name of love. Miss Saigon refreshes us of that very thing—that love transcends all forms of boundaries that limit it, and love is a powerful tool to weather the storm.
Set in 1975, fanning from the Vietnam War, fall of Saigon and the Reunification, we find a young Vietnamese girl named Kim selling beaucoup amour in a club for survival. She then met Chris, an American Marine, who is almost fed up with all the fire and powder and who is caught in a senseless war fought out of a lost cause. Eventually, the two fell in love and led us to a journey in trying to keep their love alive amidst a broken vow, a world torn by war, a poignant and an uncertain future and betrayal. Hence, the line “how in the light of one night did we come so far?”