part one: high school student

you feel the warm heat against your back as you step out of the metal school gates, and join the bustling throng of other students as they either loiter around on the pavement or walk into the noon sun, chatting about lunch plans. it is spring, and daylight is a welcomed presence. you think you have not seen the afternoon sun for a while, since studies have been such a pre-occupation lately. today is a regular Wednesday afternoon.

you reach automatically into your black bag to pull out your cell phone. as you extract it from its lime-green sock, your eyes involuntarily glance up in search of him. he disappears, all the time. yet recently, you caught sight of him heading towards the opposite direction of where you always head towards for home. traveling by train is more convenient for you, and you think, perhaps he takes the bus instead.

you wait. and wait.

and wait.

the number of people around you decreases, and all that remains is a quiet, peaceful after-school atmosphere dotted with soft conversations and the occasional laughter and shouts from the baseball field within the compound. until a distinct figure finally catches your eye, and you watch him stride purposefully away, a hint of desperation concealed in your lowered gaze. and he does not look back; he does not realize.

he eventually disappears from sight. at last, you turn to leave. and a misery consumes your breath. and you avoid looking at the happier people around you, ashamed of your loneliness.

part two: salary man

the small figures on the flickering screen were melding into an incoherent pattern, as you try to shake the fatigue out of your eyes for the sixteenth time since your first cup of black bitter coffee this morning.

a swift glimpse of the utilitarian clock hanging from the wall ahead of your claustrophobic work cubicle informed you that it is two minutes into lunch hour. it is then that you notice the relatively quieter surroundings, evidence of your colleagues’ prompt disappearance earlier at twelve noon.

you reach as usual, for the boring white phone sitting on your desk, pausing to consult the takeaway menu of a nearby Chinese restaurant stuck somewhere close. which was more of a habit than a necessity. you can almost taste the stale rice, overdone chicken and soggy vegetables that you eat at least four times weekly. you think maybe today you could afford to order an imitation Japanese bento from another restaurant a block down instead. a lunchbox that costs twice more, but tastes only a quarter times better. it takes you a few minutes to weigh the consequences, before calling to order items number fourteen and eight off the Chinese menu.

part three: basketball player

the rock music pounding in your eardrums is a comforting rhythm; you breathe raggedly while keeping pace on the treadmill. the soft murmuring of others in the gym, their occasional (but unhostile) glances and the clink of metal around you fade away into nothingness, as your pulsating heartbeat fights for attention. a persistent smell of dirty sweat and unwashed grey socks fills your unwilling nostrils while your eyes fixates themselves on the wall before you, longing to be even more oblivious. the dusty old equipment around you is an obligation you can not refuse; and strange like white in summer. and your skin prickles with the physical fatigue that starts from your neck and works it way down.

dizziness overtakes you, and you have twenty-seven more minutes left to keep on running.

part four: high school student ii

the buildings around you are vacated, their occupants basking in the sunshine somewhere. they echoed sometimes with murmurs from conversations you are not a part of. and you stare at your cell phone nervously to mask your fear of being noticed.

the odd drop in temperature despite summer was augmented by the coldness in your touch. your mind’s eye searched desperately around you. a furtive glance. your nonchalance a perfected façade of the desire to see him another time.

but the luck you sought for is like pink grass and indigo apples and the needle-pointed rain of the past two days merely made you realize you are barely alive.

part five: fan

and he is a familiar silhouette outlined by the brilliant stage lights; once again a reminder of your distance. you call his name repeatedly, struggling to be different (even if only slightly) from the other similarly hoarse and hopeless voices that envelope you. and he smiles in response, which you are uncertain if it is reflected in his shadowed eyes.

and desperation marries loneliness to give you something close to resignation. the painstakingly precious placard in your hand you lower just a little; and the illusive image before you smudges fleetingly as a spicy sadness tinged your eyes. and the deception is made complete, in the pounding noise so loaded with longing, you understand.