paper lanterns – divine love affair, pt ii

part i.

Everyday I walk to the ocean, once in the morning for the sunrise, once in the evening for the sunset.

Some days, the sun doesn’t rise. Other days, it doesn’t set.
Some days, it’s neither.

Once in a while, I will take a trip to myself in the wilderness, and get away from the city. I spend my time driving up and down the coast, in search of one called God.

Some days, she is there. Other days, she is not.

This is the third trip that I made this year and this time, I’m camping out in Big Sur.
I’m walking on a trail in the Redwood forest, meandering in step and in thought, when I spot a patch of red paper in the distance.

My heart elates. I step off the trail and carefully way my way through the brush to untangle it from the shrub.

The candle is still barely smoking, emitting gentle pulses of warmth. I unfold the slightly-torn lantern and look inside.

There is ink on it,
but it is smudged away by rain. It is barely illegible.

Sigh.

I pack the scraps in my bag, step back onto the trail, and continue walking.

“Table for two?”

“One.”

She smiled.

“Right this way.”

Days are slow here.

I chose to leave the noise of the city, but some days, I cannot stand the silence.

The California coastline is one of my favorite places in the world. I’ve never been to Big Sur before so I give it a shot.

Yesterday, I spent the whole day in the woods, so today, I decide to go to the water. The cliffs here are incredible and I could probably spend the whole day looking at the waves crash into them.

But there is a thick fog that has rolled in, and the ocean – along with everything else – carries a deadened gray hue.

It is underwhelming.

I try again the next day. And the next.
But the persistent fog refuses to leave. Every day, more fog rolls in and covers the sky and I am unable to enjoy the scenery.

Time passes at a strangely slow tempo here.

No sunrise. No sunset.

They say God speaks in mysterious ways.

“I opened for my beloved, but my beloved had left;
he was gone. My heart sank at his departure.

I looked for him but did not find him. I called him but he did not answer.”

I’m driving up and down the golden coast, in search of God. I trek through thick Redwood forests and scale cliffsides, hoping for a mere glimpse.

“Maybe this is a good place to look.”

Oftentimes, I do not know if I really found her.

I have a memory that still sticks with me, one that
even after all this time, still glows.

The sun is setting, but the air is dense and humid. We hurry up and finish painting on the red fabric for our mobile love letter.

Mom shows me the characters once more, slowly swashing brushstrokes with care and finesse. I try to imitate, but I was never good at calligraphy, or anything artistic, for that matter.

My characters look gloppy and messy – like a child’s watercolor painting. But the sun has set, so we finish up our inkwork to prepare for liftoff.

I watch as my mom slowly folds and creases the canvas, repeating the motion multiple times, until the ink-splattered piece forms a paper orb.

“Woah.”

I am mesmerized watching Mom turn our messy paintings into paper lanterns, soon to take flight.

Each of us takes a lantern and runs outside. Mom places a small dish of strange jelly inside, telling us it will help them fly.

There are crowds outside, other rowdy Taiwanese families eager to send off their own lanterns. The sky darkens, and the crowd hushes.

It is time.

Mom takes the lighter and ignites the jelly. Our lanterns inflate and take a life of their own. Soon enough, they begin floating and lifting off the ground.

I am a little scared to let it go, knowing how much effort I put into my Taiwanese-American characters, but I feel the thing pulling and tugging away gently.

My mom nudges me, “It’s time to let go.”

My small hands are clenched but after hearing Mom speak,
I unfurl my fingers.

I watch in awe, as the glowing lantern floats away,
higher and higher into the sky,
joining hundreds of other lights,
like a swarm of fireflies.

“Where will they go??”, I ask Mom.

I don’t remember what she told me that night.

But a part of me – the little Taiwanese child part of me – wants to believe that it floated somewhere far, far away beyond the horizon, where somebody else would be watching,
waiting to catch it.

I’m snaking my way through the winding Highway One.
It is a mind-numbing, mostly-gray drive.

I see a restaurant on the side of the road, and without thinking, pull over. I stop the engine, pull the key out of ignition, and sit in the deadened silence for a while.

I step outside my car, and walk inside.

“Table for two?”

“One.”

She smiled.

“Right this way.”

I get seated and look through the menu, but I’m heavily distracted by what’s in front of me – or rather, what’s not. Every few minutes, I peek over the menu, and hide behind it again.

“All ready to order?”

“Um, few more minutes.”

I forget what I order.

I sit around waiting, letting the feeling sink in. Twiddling my thumbs by the candlelight. Checking my phone with no reception.

Staring into the gaping, empty chair in front of me as I eat,
listening to other peoples’ conversations,
other couples’ conversations,

thinking to myself –
“Is this what desperate people do?
Am I crazy?”

How do I love you if I can’t even see you?
How is this going to work between us?

Is this our relationship?

I drive home that day, slightly buzzed from one too many.

The next morning, I scrawl onto a dinner napkin –

If it weren’t for this dreadful fog, 
these waves would be so much bluer,
the hills would be more alive,
spirits would be lighter,

life would be so much more colorful.

It’s been three days. Or, has it?

“Lift the fog.”

By the third – or fourth – day, I’m feeling ready to go home. I’m sick of hearing only my own voice, so I pack my bags.

I drive out into the woods again, and snake my way through Highway One, spotify on shuffle. Meandering in route and in sound.

Within the first thirty minutes of winding road,
the clouds clear, and the sun abruptly pierces through.

Finally, the fog lifts.

Then, I see it.

A speck of red, buried in shrub.

I slam my breaks and pull over at the next turnout. Emergency lights on. Treading carefully through the brush, I make my way to the paper lantern tangled in the foliage.

The candle is still barely glowing –
emitting gentle pulses of warmth – even after all this time.

I pick it up. I see traces of gloppy, messy letters, smudged and weather-worn after its long journey.

I unfold the torn lantern and look inside.

She looked off to the side, the way she does when she’s thinking – like her mind is onto something. Gentle pulses of warmth ebb and flow from the candlelight between us.

She pulled out her pen and grabbed my napkin.

“Let me show you something.”

And on she went, scribbling and scrawling whatever idea was up her sleeve. I looked intently, as she drew with care and finesse. I could see the resolve in her furrowed eyebrows.

Pen click. Push napkin.

“Here.”

I looked at her inklings. They looked great, but I didn’t understand.

“Looks like a wine glass… and an elderly man with a cane. Um, walking stick.”

“So.. what do you think?”

“Well, they both.. smell funny.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Think.”

“Okay um… well the wine glass reminds me of romantic dinners and fancy things. An expensive treat. And the walking stick makes me think of old age.”

She kept her eyes fixed on me, as if I would suddenly read her mind and understand everything.

“…Am I close?”

“Mmm you’re getting somewhere.”

“Growing old. Together.”

“Mhmm..”

“Oh, like an old couple. Wait, are you..”

“Hey. Focus. What do the two have in common??”

“They both.. smell funny.”

“They both age well.”

I picked up the napkin and examined it closely, then looked at her. Then back at the napkin, then back at her.

“The longer you let wine sit, the better it tastes. It draws out a flavor that is sweeter, darker, – yet richer. Sure, it might be harder to appreciate than say, apple juice, but it’s an acquired taste.”

“And acquired tastes are the best tastes.”

“Right.”

My turn to look off-screen. Her words took their time, sinking in.

“Hey… we’re both getting older.
Don’t you want to save the magic??”

I drove home that night feeling slightly buzzed, and it wasn’t just the alcohol. I took the napkin and stuffed it in my coat pocket on our way out, when she wasn’t looking.

What she said still echoed in my mind –
about growing older and how much harder it gets,
about deepening the flavor.

Aging well.

I thought about all the transitions I’ve made into adulthood recently and how much harder it’s been. Time has done its due and I am getting older. Searching for the Kid has not been the same.

I thought about how Kid Wonder keeps disappearing, again and again, and why he can’t just sit still in one place.

And I think the answer has something to do with romance.

The way it ages, but only gets better and better. The way it gets older, then becomes young all over again.

The playfulness of it all.
The teasing, the inside jokes, the roleplaying,
the cheesiness and the ridiculousness,

– the childlikeness.

The way it hides, then shows itself for no reason again.

Kid Wonder is still out there, so I must keep looking for him.

Everyday I walk to the ocean, once in the morning for the sunrise, once in the evening for the sunset.

Some days, the sun doesn’t rise. Other days, it doesn’t set.
Recently, it’s been neither.

I drive up and down the golden coast, in search of God. I trek through thick Redwood forests and scale cliffsides, hoping for a mere glimpse.

They say God speaks in mysterious ways.

“…for your love is more delightful than wine.”

“We rejoice and delight in you; 
we will praise your love more than wine.”

– Solomon

Oftentimes, I do not know if I really found her.

It is day four, and I decide it is time to go home.
Back into civilization, back into 4G LTE cell service,
back into adulting life. Whatever that means.

I’m snaking my way along Highway One, spotify on shuffle. It is refreshing to see the sun for once.

One lane eventually splits into two, then three,
and “Paper Airplane” starts playing. I listen to the words and think, maybe this is the type of relationship God wants with me.

Sending letters, throwing paper airplanes across the ocean,
and such.

Longing for our lovers, but at a distance.
Separated by spacetime.

Waiting.

I drive out into the Redwoods and travel along golden coastlines, scouring the land for messages in bottles, lanterns from faraway places, any sort of trace of her.

I look for any sign, that she is still out there,
still also looking.

Somedays, I find something. Other days, I do not.

Before I leave, I write a message of my own. I fold the delicate fabric, carefully creasing at the right spots, and craft my own paper lantern.

I place a small dish of strange jelly inside the orb, and ignite it with flame.

The lantern inflates and my mobile love letter is now glowing.

I am scared to let go, but I feel it tugging and pulling gently, as if nudging me to release.

After a moment, I pray that it will reach her, and let go. The lantern lifts up and the wind blows it towards the horizon. I stare at the floating light – the singular firefly – before it floats further and further away beyond eyeshot.

I cannot leave until I see it cross the horizon, because it is so sad, yet so beautiful.

As if watching a second sunset.

I’m not sure who God is,
but I can’t help but think that our divine love affair is like a long-distance relationship.

the chronicles of jamarcus brown – olga

this is what happens when you’re an english teacher and you don’t give your students enough guidelines for their projects.

our job was to read an old folk tale, discover its moral, and write our own unique folk story, delivering the same message.  we got a story by the name of “Gooloo the Mahpie, and the Wahroogah”.   what.  yeah, i’ve never heard of it either.   but short story even shorter, Gooloo was some wicked old woman that convinced a group of women at a tribe to go scavenging for food and supplies.  initially hesitant, the woman were eventually persuaded and off they went, leaving their children unattended.  Gooloo gathered all of them into her house and they were never to be found again.  the end.  moral of the story: trust your instincts. [i don’t even know if that’s the moral of the story, but our teacher just told us that].  had the women trusted their instincts, they wouldn’t have left their children in the hands of a shady old hag.  okay.  trust your instincts.  folk tale.  1 page, double-spaced.  psh. we got this.

to give you some context, me and my partner never really took our english class seriously.  we always partner up for everything and come up with the most ridiculous stuff.  we don’t end up with the best grades but hey, we have fun.  and i think our teacher likes us.  in our previous adventures, we created a certain character named Jamarcus Brown.  Jamarcus Brown is a beast.  I don’t remember specifics but he was like at least 9 feet tall, had monstrous legs, was ridiculously buff, and extremely good lookin’.  he was black.  he did have some flaws, however; he had tiny t-rex arms, tons of earwax, and social awkwardness problems.  as i was saying, we came up with the most ridiculous stuff.  but that’s what happens when you don’t give your students enough guidelines for their projects.

so anyways, we used Jamarcus in our most recent venture, the folk tale paper.  and this is what we came up with.  in about an hour.  brace yourselves.

     Once upon a time in the shire there was a young boy named Jamarcus. Jamarcus was smart and extremely handsome but he had one detriment which was his shyness (also his large feet and t-rex arms). Because of his shyness Jamarcus rarely made friends at school and was forced to seek friends online. Relatively he could have normal conversations online without worrying about his image so this was a good alternative to real life interactions. Pretty soon, the internet became his newfound home; it was a social refuge to him, a place where he could hide from the real world and fully express himself without the fear of being judged.  The internet became his life.

     Everyday, he would come to school without having said a word to anybody and immediately return to his computer to talk with his “friends”.  Everyone that a normal teenager would’ve found in school and real life, Jamarcus found online.  He found his BFF’s, his wingmen, his awkward friends, and even his enemies. The one thing Jamarcus couldn’t seem to find was a girlfriend though. After years of searching online no one matched his ideals.

     This was all until one fateful day when the username of Olga messaged Jamarcus on one of his numerous chatting websites. Olga described herself to Jamarcus, she was a well built and exotic female.  She had gargantuan bosoms and a nice round and firm butt.  Her cheeks were perfectly proportionate.  She was bold.  She was everything that Jamarcus wanted in a woman. Jamarcus was so infatuated with this online character and would stay staring at his computer screen for hours on end. He would stay up all night to talk to his newfound love. Olga seemed to always suggest that Jamarcus and she should meet each other in person. Jamarcus liked the idea at first but thought it would be weird to release himself from the own bubble he had created and approach a stranger he had met online in person. Eventually Olga persuaded Jamarcus to pick her up at her house to go on a date.  Her enticement was far too great for Jamarcus to handle.  He gave in.

     June 6th.  It was the last day of school and summer would finally be here.  AP testing and finals would finally be over, the end of another terrible year of school.  Good riddance.  But what was even better was that Jamarcus would finally meet the woman of his dreams.  Jamarcus had been looking forward to this date the whole last month of school and it was here.  Bubbling with excitement, Jamarcus rushed home, slipped on his best formal clothes, gelled his hair back, and gave the address to his momma so she could drive him there. Momma Jay was very supportive of her son’s decision to meet Olga as she had thought her son had no friends whatsoever. As Momma Jay approached Olga’s house, Jamarcus could contain himself no more.  He abruptly started screaming in Indian tongue and crashed through the window; he could not wait a second later to meet her.  Jamarcus’ mom understood that this was a thing that Jamarcus would have to do himself and drove away hoping her son would find happiness in this woman. He galloped across the street, made one last turn, and her house was now in view.  It was the last house at the end of the street. Jamarcus was bounding up the driveway on all fours like an ape but he was stopped in his tracks.  The house was eerie and dark.  There was a strange and creepy aura about this house.  Something seemed fishy about Olga’s home but Jamarcus couldn’t quite tell what it was.  

     “Maybe I shouldn’t have come..”, Jamarcus thought to himself as he gazed at the looming house standing before him.  There was definitely something shady about the house but Jamarcus could not resist the his dying urge to meet Olga.  Eventually, he succumbed to his temptations and walked to the doorway.  There was no doorbell so Jamarcus gave three loud knocks on the rotting wooden door.  Jamarcus checked himself in the mirror and fixed his hair one last time.  After what seemed like an eternity, the door finally creaked open.  Jamarcus let out a loud giggle but the smile was soon wiped off his face.  The door opened and there stood an elderly man with prune juice in one hand and a wide grin on his face. Jamarcus was unable to react in time to the foul sight and was quickly snatched by the man. Because of his many days of computer usage, Jamarcus was relatively scrawny and had no way of fighting back. Though Jamarcus’ body was never to be seen again, his screams are still heard today from the dark, desolate household.

yup.  trust your instincts.  should’ve stayed at home, son.  oh, Jamarcus.

i had fun with this one.  we actually typed this up together on google docs so even though i couldn’t talk with my partner, i was laughing the whole time.  man, i really enjoy stuff like this.  i’m a huge fan of storytelling, especially verbal storytelling.  but i’m not going to read to you guys but expect more written stories.  some of them will be true, and some will be more about jamarcus brown.

oh, summer, please come to me now.

but until then.

the chronicles of jamarcus brown [debut] – olga.  to be continued..