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There is a girl no different from any other. She stands on a land of dust and sand around her, where breeze is an occasional visitor. She took off her shoes and dug her feet into the hot sand; it burns and tingles at the same time. She likes the feeling but everyday she longs for the ocean and ravenous wind blowing in every direction. When she was a little girl, she used to play at the edge of the waters. Half-afraid yet half-excited if she went any further, the waters might sweep her away into the unknown. If she shuts her eyes tightly and prayed to the gods above, the universe might transport her there again. She was young, free and oblivious to the realities of the world around her.

These days, she dreams a lot. When she wakes up in the morning, she pens these dreams down detailing everything she could remember, desperate to hold on its recognition and its relevance. Last night, she thinks she dreams of driving a truck and running over a small child. But a man came out of thin air and made the child disappear. It frightens her. Not about running the child over but the man. He’s been in so many of her dreams. The same man dressed always in a black suit, a white open collared shirt and a boutonnière of white gardenia. She can’t see his face but it is always the same man. Who is he?

She reads too much into every sign, working out every possibility. Words comfort her, it gives meaning to hold on to. She made herself a cup of chamomile tea and sits at her desk, thinking. She eyed her notebook that she’s been filling out the past two weeks. Thick and dripping with every dream she’s had about the elusive character in her dreams.

Flipping the pages of her notebook, she searches for the first recollection of memory she had of him. She reread her entry, hoping to find a clue. But it’s hopeless. They live in different worlds and her memory is failing her. Maybe he was just a memory invented or an illusion crafted. He doesn’t exist. He only visits her in her dream, when she is sleeping because he knows that way, she can’t chase him and he can still linger about, taunting her. On the first dream, she was in her room, lying on her bed reading when he appeared with an old, blue wooden cupboard. It juxtaposed with the other furniture in her room. He placed it down, opened it and went inside. She walked to the cupboard, unsure what to think and tried opening it but couldn’t. Knock knock, is anyone in there? No answer. A while later, she heard a whisper, don’t worry, I am here. I just miss you. She knocked on it again but no more words came out.

In the morning, she got up, opened a fresh page and jot what she could remember from her sleep. She wrote a string of sentences which doesn’t make sense but then again, her dream didn’t make sense either. Inspecting her room, she focused on where the cupboard was placed. She thought she smelled something, a whiff of him perhaps.

I just miss you. But who are you?

The next few dreams were all different but he was always there. He continues to visit her at night and in the morning; she jots down every detail she could possibly remember. Some days, when she is confused, she writes him a letter. She concocts her words like a potion, in the magical belief that the wind might carry them off to him somewhere in the globe where he actually existed. She sprinkled it with her words and sounds, occasionally peppering it with little stories of her day. It is certainly a desperate act she realizes but she feels a strong compulsion to know him. Maybe when he reads this, he will want to find her too. Sometimes, she thinks she can see him from a distance, if she tries hard enough. Perhaps if she concentrates really hard, she can bring him to life.

It frustrates her badly and she felt foolish.  Today especially. She lit up a cigarette, let it fills her lung. She drank her cold tea and stared into the empty space.  Dreams can manipulate but they can also cast some meaning, don't they, she queried. Holding the notebook in her small hands, she whispered, you must be somewhere and you must mean something, why else would you come to see me every night?

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As I get older, a lot of things changed. I no longer have patience for time when in fact I should. I don't understand why people get so excited about new movies, fashion or latest gossip. It's different when I was younger. I was braver, riskier and sometime relish the desire to be in some sort of trouble.

Now it's different. I used to think travelling solo was enjoyable, not so the case now. I get annoyed at the hawkers trying to sell my their wares, I hate queues, I dislike other tourists, I secretly think they are nothing but one bunch of ignorant fools and above all I get irritated at not being able to share and swap stories and grievances.

As I get older, loneliness suddenly seem scary. I yearn for company, even with the strangest of soul. I yearn for easy chatter in the early hours of morning and yet when they go off tangent, I get irritable under my skin.

And yet the more I seek company, the more obstinate I become in isolating myself from the troubles of the everyday, preferring my own solitude and its quietness. The paradox of all these continues to baffle me. Sometimes perhaps I over thought these things.

The more I live, the more I ought to have learnt, which means I should be wiser and yet I am not. It's strange sometimes. I used to presume getting older means I understand the world better but I haven't and I'm still lost. I have no clue how to solve poverty or cure AIDS. There are days when my heart is empty of empathy.

Perhaps this is what it is - this is what it means to get older and be alive. There will be lost possibilities and things and events I cannot changed no matter how hard I tried. No way of changing the world or people. Just a way of accepting it. It's not resignation or accepting defeat but perhaps a means of coping and understanding why life turns out this way - bad or good.

This is what I think. We gained and we lose some along the way. We fall and we get hurt and then we get up again. The things we treasure so tightly sometimes are snatched under our noses and it hurts. We fall in love and it's not enough, we patched our hearts back and we move along, hoping. We trust and it's broken. We hurt other people unknowingly and we damaged them. We cry and there's no one to wipe our tears. We carry on our lives in silence and solitude.

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Theirs was to be a difficult journey. One that would take them into strange lands, long distances, unspoken sacrifices and many days filled with tears and desperation. Equally this was a journey that only they two could understand. Coming from worlds apart, they were both hardened by what they have seen in life. Determined to make life work, they hold on to a profound conviction that life is hard but love is kind.

One cold morning, she opened her eyes and breathed in the moment as she watched him sleep. She well understood that time is a factor. Time is always tearing them apart. Time is their greatest enemy. He turned and looked at her, stoked by her beauty and strength. She is the other half of my soul that I have always been praying for. He is my muse, my best friend and my love, she smiled.


There were many times when they fought and sparred over unimportant things but they were many more moments when they quietly basked in their respect and admiration for each other. That kept them strong and anchored their love.

Their lives were unconventional but their love for each other simple and pure. The kind of love that asks for nothing, expects nothing and desires nothing. It is patient and kind. But it’s a love they both are willing to fight for. And they fought for it every single day and every day they will strive towards the day when they two will come whole.

When time comes for them to part, he kissed her gently and said, “I am nothing special of this is true but my heart beats with yours and is yours alone and I await the day when our lives will start.”

She took his hand and placed it to her cheek and quietly said, “When that day comes, I will not ask of you more than you can give. I know you have dreams, hopes and ambitions and I will not hold you back.”

That was the last time they spoke.