–A Weekly Chronicle Series
Week Eight ||
I was away for a while and there are a lot of stories to where I have been; struggling careers, poorly examined life, even love never meant to last, included. All immured into late night discussions with concoctions of bitter rum, also sweet margarita.
There I was, reflecting on their stories reverberating in my mind. Some were familiar, some I have never heard of, some I have heard from myself a lot before. Over the time, I have learned to scoff it off, sworn not to sink into those acrid memories again and was doing pretty good at it—– But the czar of all irony is hammering again. Sometimes no matter how hard you try to forget, nostalgic places drift your thoughts to scenes you longed to blur. Heck, someone is awake now, writing this at 4 A.M. I could use a little free-verse poetry right now. Here it goes.
Some People Have Stories
Some people are innate risk-takers,
Some people cringe back to comfort zones.
Some people make love with someone they don’t have feelings for
Some people can keep loving someone without making love.
Some people never admit loving the person,
Some people choose getting hurt.
Some people love at all cost immensely,
Some people nonchalant about the love, there is.
Some people seek the merriment of a crowd,
Some people enjoy the solitude, alone.
Some people adheres to understand,
Some people only know how to judge others.
Some people are here, some people are left there.
In the end, we’re all the ‘’some people”. We’re all stories with hazy prologues. Below is a recent picture of me with a friend’s dog named Momo. The dog and I don’t have a story just yet but maybe someday, I’ll have one.I have so much love to give I might need a pet.
Planner that I am, amazing it was how a spontaneous break-away to the city brought me ephemeral joy and realizations. Things never planned come out perfectly, sometimes.
Most stories have songs hang on their background. I can still envision it; the three of us inside the cabin of the black car, I was sitting on the cushioned bucket seat at the back. We were driving around the city, while this track was thumping loudly from the sophisticated car stereo , the luminescent yellow street lights flickering outside.
We sang with the song. It encapsulated the cabin with happiness, I just couldn’t explain. It felt so light inside. I wished time would stand still. I wished the music would not stop. The lyrics were also poking the two persons in front of me. It was like their love story harmonized into a song. Then I remembered someone, somewhere and wondered, “If we ever meet again, would I ever be the same?” It would be another story, probably.
We we’re singing the lyrics again. I was overwhelmed. Inside the car I could exactly quote what Charlie said in the book The Perks of Being a Wallflower, “And in that moment , I swear we were infinite.”
I love hearing stories. Let’s find time listening to yours. There might be a perfect track for it.