From the Vault (Short Stories & Poems #1)
During the pandemic, I wrote dozens of short stories and poems. Most were fuelled by my longing for human interactions. The unpredictable yet undeniably human moments only created when others are around. Although lockdowns are a thing of the past in my part of the world, the loneliness of that time still lingers.
I share these stories in honour of everyone who has supported me these past two years, showing me enough kindness for me to understand how to give it to myself. With all my heart, I hope that even one of these stories moves or entertains you.
Wind Tunnels
I shrug my shoulders to my ears as another gust of wind attacks me from all angles. Shivering, I pull my scarf further up my face, retreating like a turtle. It’s these damn skyscrapers, creating wind tunnels that fuel the autumn breeze, like kindling for a bonfire.
Shoving my hands into my pockets, I walk a little faster. Tears form in my eyes as I battle another fierce current. I stumble backwards a few steps, then lean forwards to prevent myself from being blown away.
Autumn in the city isn’t romantic. There are no orange leaves lining the ground. No children sipping cups of hot chocolate on a park bench. Autumn in the city is a test of tenacity, of whether you’ll make it through the upcoming winter.
I can tell who forgot to check the weather forecast before leaving their house today. The man with the ballcap, both arms wrapped around his head as if his life depended on it. The teenage girl in a summer dress, desperately trying to pin her skirt down, undoubtedly fooled by the sun in the sky. The sun offers no warmth on days like this, no protection.
Autumn favours the prepared—like me, hat free and wearing long pants.
The wind howls, echoing off the tall buildings. The sound is taunting, as if the wind is laughing at those who dared to underestimate it today.
Hurriedly, I pull out my phone to check the time. My grip isn’t firm enough. One unexpected gust is all it takes to send my phone hurtling into the pavement. I scramble to pick it up, inspecting it for any cracks.
As I clean the screen with my scarf, I can’t help but chuckle. The wind has humbled me today. Looks like I still have much to learn.
Your Youth
In spring
You dance under blue skies
To the music of your youth
Like this moment will never end.
In summer
You turn your face
To the sound of laughter
Like a sunflower following the light.
In fall
You find love
In the folds of a borrowed sweater that feels
Like a hug from your mother.
In winter
You nurse your heartbreak
In the hopes that spring comes again
Like a warm shower to wash away the frost.
And in life
You will laugh, and love, and learn
And change
Like the seasons.
Goodbye 2020
I have never felt as seen
As when the businessman sees me approaching from far away
And he holds the door open until I get there,
Or when the student on the subway notices me walking in her direction
And moves her backpack off the seat beside her without me asking.
Even without any verbal acknowledgement of our encounter,
The subtle glances in my direction
The awkward shuffles to avoid bumping elbows
The polite pushes to pass me on the escalator,
All remind me that I am here.
That we are here.
That I have been seen
In the theatre of daily life.
I’ve loved living in the city.
Simultaneously,
Privacy and isolation;
Nobody to judge you, nobody to care.
Yet I feel connected—
When I look out the window at night
I see a million other lights,
Glowing with the same ambition and despair I cycle through on an hourly basis.
People can live a hundred different lives in the city,
Sometimes all in one day,
As they scurry from one coffee shop to the next
Attending their business meetings and lunch dates
(Maybe both at the same time).
Today, I am only living one life.
One life repeated over hundreds of days
In this square box called an apartment.
In a city that was once familiar,
Now an inhospitable stranger.
I am unseen
We are unseen
Except through screens
On screens
In screens.
So here I will wait,
Invisible,
Until the day we can breathe a sigh of relief
As we pass each other on the street,
And that whisper will sound like,
“Welcome home.”