To you who finally knotted the cherry stem with your tongue

At last.

We were both lying on that very comfortable mat in that by-the-beach bar where they played lounge music or something (forgive me for my almost non-existent functional music literacy). It was a starless night except for some truly rebellious twinklers that peeked every once in a while when the grayish clouds forgot that it was supposed to be a cloudy night. You held my hand; I held yours. We both tried our best to appear oblivious. I felt I was the most awkwardly acting man in the whole island that time. You were the coolest, the most suave.

And then there was that cherry with its stem still attached tenaciously to the red, succulent globe. You asked me to eat the fruit and took the stem from me. You seriously looked and held it, a bit raised. “The cherry stem,” you said. “Oh, I remember,” I said.

The cherry stem disappeared before my sight. Although it took you several minutes, I felt I did not have any right to be impatient. I prayed to the hidden stars that they help you knot that slender cherry stem. Finally, it was over. You looked at me, smiled a meaningful smile,  and let go of a perfect cherry stem knot.


For the hiatus

I was absent for six days, and the five nights and six days felt almost like forever. I knew I badly needed rest from all the repeating and redundant pastiches of the academic life, and rest I got it. I felt readier, more poised this time to re-conquer the world.

Aside from another year added to my life (I just turned 24, but interestingly, my mind is telling me that I ought to think more like my age for once), I have a more even tan this time. How I regretted not having burned my skin even more. I want to be as dark as charcoal.

Thank to those who kept on reading and shared their thoughts here.