1.

It was just another day. In the breakfast table, my mother said, “Did you hear? The boy who lived next door, who was in the same class as you, was found dead this morning.”

My heart skipped a beat. I asked, “How?”

“Suicide case, according to police.”

I could barely eat anything more after that. I didn't even know that boy. Maybe saw his face one or two times while passing by, that was all. Then why was the news of his passing hurting me this much? Actually, death news always comes with a shock. Or maybe it was the fact that he committed suicide that shocked me more. I never imagined someone I knew doing it.

He weighed on my mind all day. What was hurting him so much that drove him to that point? Did he have depression? My heart ached at the thought of him. The strange thing was, up until yesterday I didn't even know him, but today I was unable to focus on my daily life because of him.

He was probably lonely up until yesterday. But today, a lot of people who knew him and who didn't, would gather around him or talk about him, maybe even shed some tears for him. Not a single one was there to stop him when he made that drastic decision. Now their empty condolences would not do any good for him.

After tossing and turning in my bed for hours, I finally fell asleep that night. And I dreamt.

When I woke up in the morning next day, the feelings from that dream still lingered in my heart.

The dream was so vivid that I remembered every trivial detail even after waking up. Unlike my usual haphazard dreams, it was as if everything that happened in the dream was actually real. It was natural for something that you’ve been thinking about to appear in dream, but that dream was...different.

The dream was about the boy who passed away yesterday.

* * *

I was sitting alone when I saw someone coming towards me. When he got closer, I recognized him. I remembered his face from the funeral.

He was wearing a grey hoodie, and his hairs were messy. He sat by me. For a long time, we sat in silence.

He was the one who started the conversation, “Beautiful view, isn’t it?”

“Hmm.”

“I come here when I need to clear my head.”

I looked around. I didn't know this place and I didn't remember coming here before.

“What place is this?” I asked him.

“It’s 3 kilometres west from the city. You should go there someday.”

2.

I dreamt of him again the next night. And the night after that, and after that...it continued, like a series. And all of those dreams were vivid like the first one.

He kept silent most of the time. When I asked him something, only then he would answer.

I asked him about his life. From what he told me, his life was nothing much different from an ordinary university student. He liked reading and disliked socializing. He didn't have any close friends.

Waking up, I would wonder whether the things that he told me were really true or just a product of my imagination.

There was only one way to find out, and that was to talk to someone who knew him in real life. But during daytime, I rarely thought of him since I was so busy with my life. After the initial wave of shock, I could’ve just forgotten about him. But thanks to the dreams, he was still on my mind.

There was one question that lingered in my mind but I could never ask.

One day, I decided to ask my mother if she knew something.

“Mom,” I said in the breakfast table, “you know, the boy next door who passed away...can you tell me about him?”

“Well, how can I know about him? I doubt whether even his mom knew him well. You know, boys of your age are like that, secretive. You are like that too.”

“Hmm...but I supposed since you’re friends with his mom, maybe his mom told you something about him since moms love to brag about their sons to their next-door neighbour friends...”

My mother seemed to be thinking about my question.

“I don't remember anything much, really. I wasn’t that close to his mom to begin with.”

I gave up. And I forgot about him soon after, until night came and I dreamt of him again.

* * *

“Did you have depression?” the question escaped my lips.

“No,” he said, “I mean, not clinically. I did feel depressed from time to time, but who doesn’t.”

Then why...

“I know what you are thinking,” he said, as if he could sense my silent question, “I will answer you someday. But not today.” With those words, he let out a sigh.

3.

The next day, I met two boys on my way to university. While passing them by, I heard snippets of their conversation.

“I still wonder why on earth he did this.”

“He never looked like someone who could do something like this...I just don't understand.”

I wondered whether they were talking about my late neighbour. We went to the same university but studied different subjects, so we never crossed path even in university. If they did talk about him, then their question is my question too. Why? And, why did he choose me of all people to have conversations with?

Maybe it was because of the fact that I didn't know him. Sometimes, you feel more comfortable sharing your secrets with a stranger than with someone you know.

* * *

“Are you thinking about something?” I felt weird asking him that. How could someone who was no longer alive possibly think about something?

“Do you know what’s it like to cherish a dream, only to have it shattered?”

“Dream? I never had any to begin with. That doesn’t mean I am aimless, though, I do have a goal that I want to reach. But if I lose it unfortunately, I will just have to find another one.”

“Find another one...huh, how easy that sounds. Wish I could think that simply.”

“Hey, it isn’t that easy.” I tried to assure him, “You will feel lost and frustrated at first. Pressures from parents won’t leave you alone, either. But life goes on. If you lose your way, you have to find a new one unless you reach a dead end.”

“To me, every other way except for the one I decided to walk on was dead end. So when I lost that way, I didn't have any other choice but giving up at the middle of the road.”

“How were you so sure that the road you decided on was ‘your way’? Maybe the way you choose wasn’t originally meant to be yours?”

“It’s totally pointless talking about it now.”

After a moment of silence, he spoke again.

“You know, it pierced my heart when those adults said that our generation is a lost generation, or something like that.”

“I heard that a lot too, but I just brushed it off and forgot afterwards.”

“I feel stabbed every time I heard that, honestly. Sometimes I just felt like I shouldn’t have been born in the first place...”

“Hey, but our parents who are saying that now, they must’ve heard it from their parents too.”

“I was just too tired, you know. Constant fight with realism and idealism... I was too exhausted from living like that every day. It was suffocating, leaving me with no room for breathing...”

I couldn’t say anything.

He suddenly hugged me and started crying.

“I just wished someone would’ve told me that it was okay, that it was normal to go through this at my age...but none of the people around me could think straight, you know. They were way too complex, and I was afraid to turn out to be a shitty adult like them...I was afraid, I was afraid of growing up...”

I guessed that was the answer to my question.

I hugged him back.

Waking up, I discovered that my cheeks were wet with tears.

4.

He never appeared in my dreams after that.

I didn't believe in dreams before. I mean, dreams are dreams, they are just illusions created by our brains that had nothing to do with reality.

But this series of dreams made me wonder. Why did he repeatedly appear in my dreams and why were those dreams so vivid? Could it be that he wanted to tell me something through these dreams? Who knows.

He probably had no one to share his burdens and thoughts with, and he had something that he wanted to be known to someone. Something he couldn’t tell anyone when he was alive. Once he let it all out, he stopped appearing.

Or probably it was because I wanted to know so badly why he did what he did, and his death hurt me in subconscious level. Maybe the whole thing was just something in my head.

I went to meet his family one day. They didn't welcome me with open arms, since a lot of people bothered them ever since his death. I didn't tell them about my dream, I just made up some excuse. I wanted to know about him better, though I already knew a part of him that probably no one else knew...

Maybe out of sheer curiosity, or maybe for a reality check, I searched for the place that I saw in my dreams with him. And I discovered that a place like that did exist.

I went there on the first anniversary of his death.

Sitting there alone, I thought of him. I couldn’t understand people like him. Maybe I never would. I would forget him someday, probably. But then again, he must have wanted me to remember him. I still wonder, why me of all people to whom he chose to confide in?

There are some questions that you will not find the answer of, even if you pass a lifetime. For now, all I can do is to grant his unspoken wish – to save his untold story and pass it on.

We're having fog up here as well

Yep. Persistent fog. It dampens, past

the skin, perspiration, permeates the brain

We forget things too, time, we waste aways

but what am I saying? pls forgive me, I get it

in Limbo these things aren't the issue...

That raised me.

A shitty spring, to a farmer that wants to sell manure is a wonderful crick in words. Rough and tumble, unpredictable, late, early, she comes when she wants. A perfect woman shoehorned out of womanhood. She'd tell me if she wanted me to say more about her - be careful, she may be just around the corner. Or, acres down the way, she runs on her own time.

A blazing summer to a farmer that wants to grow pot is a catch-22. The heat laze combined with the green haze combined with the warmth of summer days means the advertising of summer activities is misleading; summer is for resting. A lazy, perfect woman, allowed womanhood on a technicality. What a lovely time and way of life, to toast everybody to perfection, hold them, warm them, love them gently.

Autumn after summer - I don't have a sibling born in fall, only one who was almost namesake'd the season. Mysterious woman - allowed as the blueprint. Nobody knows what she should have been, and in that, her personality blooms. Shhh - let her be silently unknown and known. It's what she wants. Start layering and covering up for the next, trial your fashions before the next season.

Winter. My best friend. A love hate relationship, as -22 can bite - the real activity season. Despite being ineffable during the entire rest of the year, we all love her for the contrast in temperature. Layers, hot chocolate, wasn't Christmas made to celebrate each other? Would you be more comfortable opening gifts with sweat dripping from your nose? A woman made by comparison - this one's the goat. She doesn't care for the scorn three fourths out of the year. She's only cold to drive people together. A sweet, shy, beautiful old woman who's more than happy to wait her turn.

I'm sorry, mom.

For all of the stupid things I do

that annoy you on a daily basis.

Biting my nails,

hugging you every five seconds,

talking your ear off;

I'm sorry.

And for the days when I feel like

no one loves me,

the days I doubt your heart;

I'm so sorry.

And I don't treat you badly on purpose,

I love you,

more than I show it.

I just have days when it feels like

the whole world is against me-

it's not your fault though.

If I'm having a bad day,

please don't assume it's your fault.

And if I don't make it as far in life

as you have,

it doesn't reflect on you-

I don't blame you for any of it.

Just know that I love you,

mom,

for everything you've sacrificed for me over the years,

and all the troubles you've gotten me out of.

I am eternally grateful.

Thank you.

I can't title this as a letter, as a "Dear ____", as a painful series of sentences designed to make me reflect and feel pain. My children are cells that have not yet divided into fetuses, into little versions of myself, into generational trauma and sticky fingers that reach for an absentee mother.

I suppose this not-letter has to be abstract, because that's what my children are to me, what my relationships with my mother is - a once and future cloud that erupts into thunder when I'm asked, "Do you want children?"

There is nothing quite like dreams to keep me going, nothing quite like hope to inspire a future with a son or daughter.

Life is hard. It's a series of rejections, sickness, and bills to pay. It is a series of rock-bottoms, or maybe that's just what I've experienced.

Can I let my failures as a human being already cloud my perception of motherhood? Will my children suffer for having me as a mother, for watching me reach for something other than their love when I'm down and out, aching for a substance to heal me when family is right in front of me?

I would want more for my children. I want them to be happy, to experience life to the fullest. To hit rock bottom, and instead of bottoming out, to see it like the seasons. A spring of blossoms, rain that creates new life but does not wash away our lessons learned. A summer that does not scorch old terrain and make us want to obliterate pain, but makes generational trauma come out behind shadows; the sepia light reflecting off only what is there to be physically seen, and not just psychically felt.

I want more. I know there is life beyond pain, and I would want that for anyone, whether or not they share my DNA.

I am going to end this not-letter by saying that I am in love with life, but not in the same way a mother loves her child - in a fragmented way, in an autumn of sorrow, in a winter that lightly coats everything in snow and melts away to uncover the peace I so desperately crave for myself.

I am not a mother yet, not by a long shot. I shall be an amazing aunt long before I have my own children, however in the interim as I am, I would like to dedicate this to my child.

I am your mother. I am not good, no, but you are the best parts of me- within the cracks in my foundation you have seeked to nurture. Those cracks have long been filled by the brilliance I know you shall bring this world, my son or daughter. And I thought I was above crying- I do not cry for anyone but those who eat alone and animals and even then it is jaunty.

I will make a million mistakes before you become of age, and further several million when you're able to detest me for them. But I will make this world good for you- our world. I cannot ensure the planet, nor the many people good and bad that inhabit it, but inside you will have me, and your other parent, and your loving uncles and cousins and grandma and great aunt and... god, the list is endless, isn't it? You will be born into the world with the endless amounts of support I feel myself welling in thought at.

I will anger you, hurt you, and you will likely hate me and wish you had any other mother at that time. And I understand. We come from strife, don't we darling? But I'll be around for you, when there's a nick on your finger or you simply long to come home.

I am your mother, your confidante, yours solely. You are half my heart and all of my soul.

my grandfather at 103

randy romanian

born with a hard-on for life

the women who passed near

even now nursing home housed

suffered endured smiled laughed

at his roaming hands up their skirts

down budging begging bosom blubber

to be harassed sagging nipples sucked up

violets popping through warm spring earth

made to quiver between raspy puckered lips

blue veined forefinger probing prodding

gooey gummy grimy earthwormed flesh

to resurrect a feeling flutter flickers flow

wheelchair tires entangled causing alarm

a victimless crime really yet the FBI lacking

those posing existential threats to the globe

took him away

spoon in hand

a gulp away from slurping savoring

a bowl of celebratory fish head soup

the sunset can be beautiful

the way the bike makes the world pass by - magical

captivation can grab you up and hold you tight

its not a forever captivation

not if the road ends, you tire, darkness falls

or potholes explode into the journey

all life is like this- something grabs you up and lifts you

until it does not

then you are just slammed to the ground with less time and more trust issues

skinned knees and bruised interest

cement charming

I've made a lot of noise on this website. Been here since 2018 or '19...? I can't remember. Let's go with '19 even if it may be '17 cos it feels like it might be right. What can I say? I want to be seen sometimes. When I scream out into the void, it's nice to imagine I am heard by someone. Sometimes, just as often, I don't want to be noticed at all. When I'm in the mood to share a bit, spill out, I come here. See if anything tickles my fancy. The challenges of this website have brought out some really real, really raw stuff from me. Reminded me of good and bad things. Bittersweet is the word I'd use cos that's what it tends to be. The website was there for me as my mind spiralled and when I left my old hell to a new, better university I'd like to call purgatory since it's in a more neutral plane of being. Writing helps me understand myself and I guess I'm tired of trying to make it pretty enough when I know for a fact this place gives you pretty free rein. I've written mostly sad things, sometimes genuinely good. My writing has gotten better. I'm able to explain my emotions rather well now. I entered this challenge cos I've been gone for a beat and honestly, seeing even more changes is something to adjust to. Yet I'm intrigued with what comes next. I tend to stick to what I'm familiar with so I'm not likely to look for another site any time soon... This will be a home for my random thoughts, memories and emotions for some unpredictable time to come.