Here I am, seated comfortably in an airplane headed to a foreign land, and it is late at night. Rows of thin clouds are scattered across the sky outside, and to me they look like velvet– soft to the touch, exquisite to the core. Stars dot the horizon almost recklessly, and against the dark skyline they look like lost diamonds. Inviting. Enticing. For the first time in a long time, I am in awe.
Inside, the in-flight movie is about to end. The Young Girl has just stepped out of her house to meet the Young Boy in her yard, that boy who’s currently toiling under the sweltering heat to plant a simple but significant sycamore seedling, that very same boy whom she wished out of her life almost as fervently as she wanted him in. As they stare at each other across the lawn, she is reminded of how dazzling his eyes are; he, how gorgeous her hair looks. As their hands touch together in the soil beneath the sycamore and the credits start to come up, I find myself smiling. For the first time in a long time, I find myself feeling a strange warmth in my chest. Strange, but deeply comforting. Weird, but deeply relaxing.
For all the pains and confusion and heartbreaks I’ve experienced this year, what with the career crossroads and the exam blues and the failed attempts in searching for The One, I never thought that I’ll be able to relish such a rare moment of peace. In this gap and in this silence, I find myself appreciating the fact that things have turned around for the most part. Where once there was an option, there is now a resolution; where once there was doubt, there is now an absolution. For the first time in a long time, I can truly say that I am happy.
And now, as I listen to instrumental Christmas songs that remind me of family, of home, and of an innocent kind of joy, I rummage through my bag to look for a pen and a sheet of paper.
From the tip of my pen comes truth. From the tip of my pen comes beauty. From the tip of my pen comes, well, love.
For the first time in a long time, this feels like the first time.
