liyana,

When I was 14 years old, I cut out a picture of the city of Prague. Of castle and bridges. I taped it onto my bedroom door, right next to my Baywatch cutout. I looked at it every morning, (castle in Prague i meant not the hot babes in red) before I go to school. I had no idea where it was, but I always wish I was there in the picture. Instead of going to school. I still don't get why you like school so much.

Fifteen years later, you told me you have been there. Alone and terrified. You slept with a stack of plates nearby your pillow so that you can grab it anytime and throw for protection in case if anyone breaks into the apartment at night where you were staying at. 

And you claimed that Charles Bridge was not as romantic as it portrayed to be when the tourist all flocked in during summer.

And I get bored easily at school, so I drew the rail track of Trans-Siberia at the last page of my Geography textbook. One that crosses from St Petersburg all the way to Kamchatka. I measured each distance of imaginary landscape of tundra, desert, and undisturbed territories against a journey of solitude. I thought this one would take me home wherever it goes to.

I told you about it.

I told you all these places that I dreamt of going when I was a kid.

You on the other hand, were crazy about Santorini. The white stacks of clay houses rested at the edge of the cliff. Your friends thought that you might cry yourself silly too if you reach there.

You saw Aurora Borealis. You travelled to Jaipur. You walked the Patagonia trail twice. You danced in Vienna. And topping that list was your dream to enter the wilderness of safari in Africa.

I thought animals in the wild were hardly romantic. They stink.

At that point I started to wonder where do we have to meet to find reasons to be together.

And then one morning you told me that you dreamt of chasing the wind riding the wild horses on the steppe of Mongolia. Green lushness of Mongolian outback. Surrounded by snow-capped mountains.

That was your version of romantic journey.

I didn’t mind the horses and the outback. And to be truthful, I didn’t mind the safari either.

As long as the journey was with you.

I would sail to Antarctica for all I care, if that makes you happy.

liyana,

It all started when I saw the Swiss Alps for the first time when I back-packed in Europe several years ago. I stared at the mountain with the thirst to be impressed. But instead I felt hollow.

The majestic scenery made me feel empty inside.

The pain was sharp and poignant.

I realised then that all mountains looked the same. The Swiss Alps are nothing more than just formation of rocks. They all had one thing in common. They are foreign.

And the realisation of it hit me, when I turned around and I could not see your face.

I was not with you.

Happiness is about sharing, liyana. And you were not there.

chairil