Dear Damien Drew, what if I love you?

Dear Damien,

I am standing staring at the ocean on the rock my sanctuary where we often used to frequent and I am captured once again by the beauty of it all on this quiet and still day. I stand and stare at the silhouette of the hills behind the still blue water and I hear almost like a beckoning call, calling me to come. I had so often wanted to run into those arms but I do not know how, so today maybe I will just run as fast as I can and jump and hope that it is those arms that will catch me.

I have been riding on the waves of my superficial facade for a very long time and as we both know, that facade is but a thin shell that would one day break. It was close to breaking last night, and as I wake and felt I could hold on another day, I know it will be in time that that hollow shell that I lean upon will collapse into the deep chasm of darkness that lies beneath. I was scared of that happening before, but now I know how it feels like to fall deep, and I know that it will eventually happen. Unless I choose to hang on to something other.

I am sick of making stupid jokes and talking about the latest model of the BMW. I am sick and tired of having pedicures and manicures with endless girlfriends when I do not even care about my nails. I am sick and tired of initiating endless activities that would be in the interest of all walking flesh in my family just to make sure we all feel connected to each other. I am sick and tired of initiating connections that most often, fall flat. When the tide of that predictable structure of time comes and space comes between us I see how frail my attempts have been and the limp shell of our relationships break. I know, beyond that thin shell everyone lies disconnected and destined to face what is to come on that next wave, alone. I just do not know how to hold on. I do not know how to root in deeper, dear Damien.

Do you remember Damien, about that one time when you told me while sitting on your window sill that sometimes you feel the world is spinning so fast and all you can do is wish you were a part of it? And you said you do not know how to hang on, and I said to you that we cannot move at the world's pace, we just have to set out own and hope something catches on. All we can do is go at our own pace and hope it is moving in rhythm with the world's and somehow we would start spinning together. And you smiled and then we walked out hand in hand to get a coffee. The coffee store was so full we somehow knew that the rest of them at the coffee store were walking to our pace too. And I felt that I was connected to you, holding your hand. And it felt good walking beside you and your parachute print hoodie with coffee in hand. We talked about how good it was to feel like the world was walking at our pace and you said even if they weren't it felt good that I was walking at your pace.

And then another time you told me that you felt like you were moving so fast being so caught up that you just want to stop. You said you were tired and you didn't care if another train goes by without you. I asked you, why are we all so obsessed with catching them trains anyway? You stood surprised when I said that I would rather stand in front of the train so the world collides with me. And then I will be imprinted in their memory. You asked me, what for I want to go around colliding? Colliding breaks them shells I said. And then you said that we may break them shells by colliding but then it ain't enough to break them shells. You need to leave a mark too. People collide without remembering, people collide without connecting. I laughed and said to you, the conversation is starting to feel like a dark dark cloud that would sit above our heads for a very long time and I want to go back above while I still can. So we went and got ourselves a pedicure where you told me you had stood in front of my train and collided with me and then you lingered to make sure I was not just a dent in your little shell. I told you softly that you often stood at the edge of my thin shell ready to be immersed into what lies beneath. I often wanted you to leave your trail but I never knew how to allow my precious thin shell to crack open. Not even for you. Not then anyway. But then I would complain at how we only touch one another at a very shallow level.

We all touch one another at a very shallow level don't we? I asked you one day, and you said we all choose to be touched at a very shallow level for often we are unaware of the depth. And you said to me that I didn't know but I had cracked your thin shell. And it was one in a million. I had not touched you shallow. And I saw in your sparkling blue eyes that you spoke the truth. And you laughed. One in a million darling, one in a million. But now you know what connecting underneath the thin shell feels like, you were dissatisfied, you said. I said that I was sick of layering another coat of enamel on the thin shell that would someday crack. I want to dive in, deep. My friend Candy once told me that there's this pill that takes you far away. I tried that pill once, twice, and three times too many, it messed with my head and then I came out of it realising I have floated beyond the thin shell, floated far far beyond in the wrong direction. I was not deeper. It took me to another place so I forgot about the thin shell and all that it covers. What a waste of time, I wanted to go inside that thin shell so I know that one day when the thin shell cracks, there is more. I am dissatisfied I said to you tears in my eyes. You took me in your arms and we floated someplace else. And I know this was a different place to the one Candy's pills took me to. I think this was your place you brought me to. Inside your thin shell I saw a burning fire. And you told me it was your heart. I wish I did take you to mine. Because right now I am so dissatisfied.

Dissatisfied like not watching the end of a movie. Dissatisfied like not finishing a very good book. Not because I didn't want to but because I cannot find the end. Dissatisfied like an unfinished meal. Dissatisfied like watching a life cut short. Your life Damien. You told me once that you had a long time ago felt you had enough and were sick of life, and so you planned a clever way of ending it. You said you had it all sorted, you had the time and place, the letters written, the way you were going to do it, all the things you needed. And you sat down to go through with it and then you realised that you could at any time end your life. In that moment you felt you were in control of life and you could stop it at anytime you wanted. And so you stood up and left the room, and left the city and lived. And then you went on to do outrageous things like winning them oscars.

And then one day it crept up on you didn't it? Before you were ready. It took you when you were riding your highest waves. You may have been in control of it while you were living Damien but you weren't really in control of death were you? Really. But where does it leave me Damien? Leaves me dissatisfied. Dissatisfied while watching a life cut short. I am dissatisfied, and as I stand staring at the ocean on the rock, my sanctuary where we often used to frequent I want to jump into it and be a part of it. I am dissatisfied at just standing and looking at the beauty of it all. I want to run into those arms. And maybe I might. Today.

I was not ready to let you go. I was just beginning to have hopes for us both. I was just beginning to fall in love with you. To let you in beyond that thin shell. I am just starting to get connected with you Damien Drew. You went beyond my thin shell and you held on. Tight. I don't know how to do this myself.

Did you remember how I resented you when we first met. Walls of stone erected around my heart at the sound of your name for your story went before you. You were quite the teenage heartthrob and there were more than 10 things I hated about you. Your reputation went before you. But I had been charmed, just as the world was as they watched you impressed at the million roles you played out. And then you came in, and lingered and dwelled. I started to like you. You and your parachute print hoodie. I stopped resenting you the day I saw your thin shell crack. The brilliant Damien Drew, the waves of your superficial facade were definitely high, and you rode it. But you weren't interested in painting that facade to me. You showed me the crack. The day I found you sitting on your window ledge playing in your head your goodbye scene. I could not understand why a guy like you would feel the way you feel at night, until I see underneath that thin shell. And I crept inside.

Many a times you played that goodbye scene, and many a times you allowed me in to hold you back, and then one day I saw you loved me, not above, but underneath that crack. So we planned many a days together in the sun, and you pushed to crack my thin shell. I said one day you would see underneath that crack. You reached in and held on tight so that the crack would see the light, like yours. You said. As I tread softly but deeply as you allowed me to you said that light flooded in, and the cushions of light floated in that deep dark chasm underneath the thin shell of yours. I did not understand what you meant but I guess the deeper you went, the higher your tides went because you were starting to fly, Damien. Your deepest darkest was your highest and brightest time. And then you left. You did not live to find out did you? You left. Snatched away and now, what is left in my thin shell is a crack.

I have managed to ride on the waves of my thin shell but I know the time is coming when it will collapse into that deep chasm. Because I haven't learnt like you to allow them cushions of light underneath. Maybe a collision will break that shell, and then I won't be so afraid of that deep dark chasm because maybe then like you said, light can flood in. So maybe today I will run really fast, sprint and jump into that beauty around me so I can collide with it. Maybe today I will collide with God.

I just ran and jumped, Damien. Trying to collide with God.

I am lying here in pain but wow. All I can think of is that quote from that movie we watched so many times together and I hear Tomtom saying it over and over again "after I jumped it occurred to me life is perfect, life is the best, full of magic, beauty, opportunity... and television... and surprises, lots of surprises, yeah. And then there's the best stuff of course, better than anything anyone ever made up, 'cause it's real." I could have waited like you and slowly learnt how to hang on. Slowly learn to reach beyond all those thin shells. Slowly learn to hang on to something other. Life was a choice, full of choices and I could have chose to slowly wait and slowly learn to choose to reach beyond the world of thin shells.

My mind wanders to the things I have heard about suicide, how it's a door straight to hell. I don't want to go to hell Damien. I never wanted to commit such a thing, suicide. I just wanted to collide with God. So I did cry out to God. For it was at this time when I needed to know Him most. I needed Him somehow to rescue me. I was falling fast. And as quickly as I cried out, as quickly I fell and as quickly I felt His hand wrap around me and I heard Him calling to me telling me it'll be alright because He loves me. I held this warm hand and said I was sorry about jumping but I just wanted to collide. He said He forgives me because He loves me.

Love is that what it is? Love is that what it is that will awaken what is beneath that thin shell. Love. Is that what it is that will allow the light to flood into that deep chasm. Love, is that what it is that will root in deep. Love, is that what it is that will crack the thin shell and leave a trail. Love. Love. Love. Is that what was burning in your heart Damien? That fire I saw when you showed me your heart? Love is that what it is that have connected us, Damien? Love is that what I should hold on to? Love. Love is that what it is that had caught me? That had allowed Himself to be collided with me? Love is that what it is that I should've chose to learn to do? Love.

I should have learnt to love. Maybe if I loved you Damien, pure like He loves me. Dear Damien Drew what if I loved you?

The light is fading and it is getting too painful to keep writing this letter. But I will decide to love Him back and to love you right now. It is okay Damien, I am fading out but I will be alright, He loves me and I accept that. I will be alright, I may even see you in a few minutes. I will be alright, maybe I will love God back. What if I do?

It is not too late I hear Him say, I know for now I see the deep chasm and it's filled with light. Apparently I have all eternity to love Him back. The pain is fading.

Sincerely, truly and genuinely,

Maya Madigan.

...enamorarse de mi..

The breeze offered a warm and comforting caress. The air was fresh with the smell of the morning rain and it was beautiful. The mist was illusive and the shape of the hills seduced onlookers to stare and be captivated. The sunrise coloured the dull grey sky that had begun to lighten and it was quiet. So silent. So still. It was beautiful. Serene. I often waited and wished this would last forever but my alarm clock would crack the atmosphere with its shrill cry and reality would crashe in through the cracks until I was wide awake to face it.

Some dreams were so sweet we never want to wake.

My eyes darted around the room and the first thing in sight was my big black burlap sack. It was ugly, it was heavy and I have to carry it around everywhere I go. I closed my eyes to snatch another minute of my sweet dreams. And I dreamt of Him. I dreamt of the man who would offer to carry my sack, and with strong arms pick it up and carry it all the way. The man with whom I will dance in the sunrise, and wait for the sunset. The man with whom I will walk up mountains hand in hand and when my feet hurt, the man who will carry me. The man whose strong arms are tender enough to wipe my tears and gentle enough to hold my heart. The man whose words can heal a thousand wounds. The man whose smile can light a million moons. The man whose eyes can melt my stone cold heart. The man whose tears could water a garden of roses. The man who will take my hand and walk me home.

I still dream of him you know? I just never met him. I sighed as I opened my eyes.

I dragged my big black burlap sack around and looked hopefully in the eyes of men who walked about. The more hours I awake the less I remember His face the less I remember how it felt like in those dreams with Him, the more I looked, the more I grabbed. The more I grabbed the bigger my sack, for some of them left me a little weight from their own bags. I dragged the sack, and it got heavier as the week passed by.

Hard work. And then Friday came by.

I entered the room. The sound of music mixed with chatter and laughter and heels on the wooden floors dancing to the rhythm. Swaying was irresistible, even while sitting. Heads bobbing, feet tapping, hips swaying, all sorts of body movements filled the room. It was vibrant. Big black burlap sacks were hardly in sight. They were left outside, to be picked up later. Later when the night was over, when the last laughter has died down, and when the last body has left. I picked up a bottle of beer and lit a cigarette before I sucked in the foul fumes long and deep. No one said it was good for me, but at least it was comforting, it brought some relief. I walked over to the bunch of people who were most familiar to me, and was greeted with such enthusiasm although only a few would recognise me if they bumped into me on the streets. She smiled at me knowingly, I shrugged, we both thought the same things. Who cared about superficiality now? At this moment we all danced the same dance, moved to the same music, and we had all things in common. The night drew on, and I danced the dance, I wished with all my heart it would never end. The hustlers, the ones who stayed until the end, the ones who knew how to have a good time, we danced until the last song is done. And the night was done. I snuffed out the cigarette in my hand and smiled as we turned to walk out the door.

I knew it would never last. The moment we walked out the door together our bag of realities sat waiting to be picked up. Loneliness sat deep, deep inside the depth of every huge heavy bag. We all took a deep deep breath, got ourselves ready and braced ourselves before we picked up the weight again.

I watched her and bowed my head in shame. She was so unwilling to pick up her baggage. So she fell asleep inside and hoped that when woke she would find the baggage gone. I would pick it up if I could, but it would weigh me down more. Mine was heavy enough. I opened it up to see if I could lighten the load. But there was nothing in there I could take away nothing I could carry for her.

I did not know whether to wake her from her dreams, especially if they were sweet as mine. Some dreams were so sweet we never want to wake. I still dream of Him you know?

I went back in to wake her up. She looked at me knowingly. Its okay I know you cannot carry it for me. I shrugged and wondered if I would ever have baggage light enough I could carry hers. I opened my bag and was plagued with many burdens. So plagued was I that I forgot I was still sitting beside her. I bowed my head and whispered to her in shame. I am sorry, I have too much to carry, my back was aching in fact it was breaking from the weight of the big black burlap sack. She put her hand softly on mine and heeded me to go on, it's okay she said I know that my burden, I have to carry on my own. I sighed. She closed her eyes to snatch a bit more of her sweet dream before she walked out into the dark night.

Some dreams were so sweet we never want to wake.

I dragged my bag into the night, and left her alone sitting now my bag is heavier. I had packaged the guilt I bore for leaving her behind. The guilt was wrapped with self-condemnation; you are so selfish and unsacrificial. I sighed, and put it in my bag, its weight now twice heavier.

I trudged and plodded all the way home, my shoulders sore. I finally lay the bag down by my bed and went to sleep hoping I will not wake up tired, or be plagued with nightmares, for tomorrow I have got to get up, and carry that bag to work again. Again. And again. And again.

Hard work. And then it is Friday again. Time to put on my dancing shoes and sway the night away. I can't wait to leave the baggage at the door of that vibrant happy place. I let my hair down and pick up some cigarettes along the way, leave my baggage outside, walk in and there we go again. The laughter and greetings, the hugs the kisses, the chatter. She walks up to me and gives me a hug and smiles knowingly as every Tom, Dick and Harry pretend to care for me. I roll my eyes and raise my brows and raise my wine glass to theirs.

Once again I dance and dance with all my might. Hoping hard that the night won't end. Once again we hustle. And then it ends and today I am too tired to pick up my baggage. Tom, Dick or Harry they just left me on the couch all wasted. None of them interested in picking up my baggage. I close my eyes and go to sleep and hope when I walk out, someone would have picked up my bag, and carried my baggage for me.

Some dreams are so sweet I long to dream it again and again. Some dreams are so sweet we never want to wake.

I open my eyes to see her smiling down. Let us go she whispers. I walk out with her and pick up my black heavy burlap sack. She slings a red little handbag over her shoulders.What happened to your bag, I ask. Follow me and you will see. You will see.

I drag my feet up those steps pulling that blasted sack. We walk through the lush green garden. It was fresh. I breathe in deep as we walk pass the rose bushes, and the peonies, the lush green bushes and trees, the sweet smelling fruit trees, the delicate flowers, more plants than my botanically challenged knowledge would ever learn of. She push open the palace doors. I gasp as my eyes see the grandeur of the place. Father, Father are you there? She meekly cries out. A voice gently replies come on in. She rushes in towards the throne and leaves me standing, in awe.

And then I see Him as He saunters in. His gentle eyes caught mine, and holds my gaze. I still dream of Him you know?

I still dream of Him but I never thought He is real. He smiles and raises His hat politely to me as my heart skips a thousand beats. She turns and runs towards Him. She grabs his arm and drags Him towards me. This is my brother she introduces with such brightness and gaiety. He holds His hand out and gently reaches out to shake mine. I am going in to sit with the Father, she says.

And she leaves me standing with Him. And I search the depth of those soft eyes to see what I can find.

I still dream of Him you know?

You can leave your bag by the door He says as He turns to walk away. I drop my bag and follow Him. He shows me around the palace, there are many empty rooms. He shows me the gardens that she and I had briskly walk through. We walk pass the lakes, the streams and stop at the waterfalls. We chat and laugh and open doors. He leads me to the dining room, and sit to dine with I. The music begins, that rich deep sound surrounds us and He extends His hand, I’ve seen that you like to dance. His gentle voice so inviting, I take His hand and stand up to join Him. We move in step and sway as one to the rhythm and to the music. I hope and pray that this would never end.

I look in His eyes, and my heart of stone melts. My tears streamed down and His strong hands tenderly wipes them away. I gracefully and confidently dance securely in His arms and pray and pray and hope like crazy that it would never end.

He stops and I realise the music had stopped. He allows the silence to surround us as I linger in His arms. You want this forever He asked?

His gentle hands take mine and He leads me to the balcony. A million stars shone bright as if they shone just for me. He smiles. You want to dance with me forever?

Can I?

If you marry me.

I’ve seen Him before in my dreams. In fact more than once. He was the knight on the white horse that had saved me from tall towers. He was the prince charming who found my lost shoe. I’ve dreamt of Him before. He smiled at me. I dreamt once I was lost in the desert and He came on the back of a mule and offered me a drink. He then carried me on the back of His mule out of the desert, home. He looked at me. He fought swiftly and won many a battles for me. The man in my dreams. He was only the man in my dreams.

But I do not know you. I whisper quietly. He replies firmly. But you dream many dreams of me.

You do not know me. I protest meekly. Oh yes I do, I knew you even before you were born. He assures me.

Silence. In the silence I hear His voice. So clear, so firm, so gentle, so kind. Come beloved. Come away with me. I had heard Him say once in my dreams. In that dream He lifted me up with one swift move to rescue me from the quicksand beneath me and we rode away on horseback into the sunset.

Just a fairytale, just a dream. I whisper under my breath. I am real, beloved. I am true and I stand here right before you.

I look at Him and His face so warm and so kind. He smiles and extends His hand, Come here and be mine. Come be mine my beloved, forever.

Why? I ask, a little puzzled and a little surprised. Because I love you, with a love everlasting. The sure voice replies.

But I do not know if I can love you. I say sadly with a sigh. You will learn. You will learn.

Really, will I?

I open my eyes and realise that she had been nudging me. I look at her and shrug. I want to close my eyes but she stops me.

Some dreams are so sweet we never want to wake.

My heart sinks as I heavily walk out the door. I look around for my big black burlap sack and found and turn to see her sling her red handbag over her shoulder.

I raise my eyebrows.

A slight tinge of hope at the corner of my heart.

But my heart sinks again as soon as I see my big black burlap sack. I reach down weakly to pick it up.

A gentle tap on my shoulder. The slight tinge of hope spreads a little and I turn around.

There He is standing with a little green handbag in His hand. I look at Him questioningly.

This one matches your dress.

I sigh and turn to pick up the blasted sack as His warm hands stop me. I will carry the rest, He whispers.

The man who would offer to carry my big black burlap sack.

I turn and take the little green handbag and sling it over my shoulders.

He extends His hand, let us go home, He whispers tenderly in my ears.

The man who would walk with me hand in hand, home.

A smile breaks across my face as I look at His hand and hope and pray hard that this will never end.

He turned to kiss my cheek, everlasting He whispers and winks as I take His hand.

Everlasting.

We begin to walk, hand in hand, home.

will there be room for me?

My heart sunk as I watched him tiptoe through the lunchroom. He tiptoed across the lunchroom to the field outside. He tiptoed across the field, across the picnic tables to the corner of the field under the mustard tree. Where all the rejects sat. In all his life at this school, Benjamin had never found a seat in the lunchroom. Cruel faces scowled at him, lips mocked and laughed, hands pushed, pushed him away. There was no room for him in the lunchroom. Never. He took out his guitar and sang the blues. In his father's house where he belongs, he's sure to have a room. Red and yellow black and white, they are precious in his sight. But in my father's room, will there be one person too many. Will there be room for me?

She ran up and down the corridor finding the door to her room, to find she didn't have one. My heart sunk. Marcia had to go back to where she came from. Her friends thought it be a good joke to hide her camp application form and that left her without a room. And not one of them offered her theirs, so she had to go back where she came from. The camp leader sent her back on a bus and closed the gates behind her. There was no room for her at this camp. So she took out her guitar and sang the blues. In her father's home where she belongs, she's sure to have a room. But in my Father's house will there be one person too many? Will there be room for me?

This is my land said the tall china man. When was it taken, stripped and then broken? This is my land said the tall shanghai man. Since when I was not allowed into the land tilled by my own father's hand? I looked into his eyes and he wearily pointed to me, the signs in the old town that said no chinese allowed. I looked around, we were in China weren't we? No chinese allowed. I was horrified as my eyes were opened to the number of mouths that spat at his face, and my ears hear only shirks and swear words in a million languages but chinese. Chasing the tall china man, away from his own street, his own land.

Thinking back to the times when my father was king and he was here for me. I was welcomed a million, more than one room there was for me. I was invited to every party. Doors were opened a million times over just for me. Since when was I the one to be cast aside? Since when?

I looked at his face as he braces himself for what he is about to see. There was nothing he could do as he watched and waited for the inevitable consequence to take place. The smooth china, untouched, and invaluable wobbled and fell out the window ledge onto the asphalt road five floors down. I cringed as I watched his fist clench tight. I squeezed my eye shut, tight as the china shattered into a million worthless fragments. His vase, once invaluable, now broken. A million pieces.

How did you feel, how did you feel when a million hands uncrowned you king?

The mild weather was comforting and refreshing. Nothing too bright or hot, neither was it dark nor cold. The sea and the sky were is hues and shades of blue and grey, and the blue and grey blanketed the atmosphere. I dreamt of the airport and flying off to places I have never been. I still dream the same dream. Sitting with my iced coffee hearing my friends talk the talk that I know they will walk makes me smile. Dreams to be dreamt, places to go, things to see. Uncertainty surrounded most of our realities. I analysed each of their faces, beautiful and different. Red, yellow black and white they are precious in his sight. So the song goes. So the song goes. One day we would all live together in our father's houses, will there be one colour too many? Will there be room for me?

The china vase sits on the window ledge, shinier than it had ever been before. The skillful hands of the wondrous potter, had unfell the fallen, and unbroke the broken. He patiently put the pieces back together again, and by fire smoothened, strengthened. The beautiful china vase sits on the window ledge unbroken and flawless. Whole.

A potter so skilled, a heart so pure to unbreak a million hearts again.

A million hands uncrowned you king. A million hands a-broken. A million hearts rejected you as king. A million hearts a-broken. Watch the inevitable consequence of a million hearts shattered.

His fist clenched. Tight. My eyes shut. Tight.

A potter so skilled, a heart so pure to unbreak a million hearts again.

The rain came down and wet the dark grey asphalt driveway. I sat looking out the window enjoying the smell of the rain. It's been a while, it's been a while a while since I have sucked the serene smell into the depth of my lungs, since I have stepped up into the misty grey and allowed the cloud sifted rays from the sun to kiss my skin. Been while since the calm has drizzled itself down around me. Been a while. Been awhile.

Been a while since I have driven my car down my father's driveway, and sat in my room, looking out at the sea. Been a while since I have heard welcoming words, since my father welcomed me. Home. One day we would all live together in our Father's house, will there be one body too many? Will there be room for you? I know I have a room, you see.

living

… is being 5, hopping in puddles and fearing only the smack of Mother on your bottom.

… is being 21, fresh out of university, wiping your sweaty palms on your pants before greeting your prospective First Ever Real Boss.

… is being 50, facing menopause and scared shitless.

… is watching a tropical thunderstorm, feeling the thunder rumble in your chest.

… is dancing in pyjamas and golden heels.

… is indulging in a glorified slice of cheese toast, rich like hell – allowing the blankets of cheese and smothered refined dough to rest briefly on your tongue before your teeth commit digestive murder.

… is sitting on a swing and feeling like an immortal child, singing to the sea at the edge of a cliff, eating chocolate everyday, grilling muffins and over-boiling spaghetti.

… is being tickled till you can’t breathe, kissed till your mouth aches, whispered sweetly to till you cry.

… is getting hopelessly trapped in your duvet cover, listening to a wrinkled man talk, looking into a beggar’s eyes while you drop change into his cup.

… is walking out of church to find God, being dazzled by stars, slow-dancing on the beach, listening to your favourite song over and over again.

… is confessing stupidity, being proud to dance in front of 500 people, making stories out of clouds, loving someone and showing it.

… is.