Catherina - Day 27 FINALLY I MADE IT!

A night of heavy rainfall had flooded this city without light, and yet hoards of men, women, elders, and kids came out of their cozy shelter, struggling against the muddy knee-deep water. My family and I were among many aiming towards the subway, which seemed a suicidal attempt in such weather. No one spoke, or that the howling wind had masked anxious whispering. Step by step through the currents that concealed whatever danger awaited underneath, we bowed our head low and pressed the bags tightly into our chest. Deeper – my fingers had sunken into the cold, wet fabric as if trying to devour it into my body. How could I not treasure this dear property? No suitcases in the back of our comfortable SUV, this water-proof pack contained all I had left.

With water flowing down my face and blurring my view from behind the glasses, I lifted my head to see the people moving in front of me – families. We followed each other in a straight line as if migrating birds, and behind me were strangers who could share the same goal and fate as us. A muffled sound – water splashed – came from somewhere down the line, indicating a fall – whether temporary or permanent, I did not know. Besides, I did not care. At this moment, an individual's sole focus would be on him/herself. Survival first, family next, and property the third. At ordinary times, I would have at least tilt my head to the direction of the noise; at this eerie hour, however, the storm masked everything, including our human side of selves.

Bullets of light were quivering in the distance, boosting the flame of hope that had faded over this damp journey. I murmured, "the station." The word was contagious, as my mind's ear heard its echo resonating from the head to the end of the inching line. "The station!" That echo soon became feverish, and suddenly chaos replaced order. An excited figure passed me, tumbling in the growing water to that lure of the monkfish.

My family kept that constant pace, letting others overtaking us. At first, I did not quite understand my parent's calmness, but then, I saw that it was not patience that had slowed them down; instead, it was experienced desperation: you fear nothing, for dying in peace had become a luxury. Shhhh. Did you hear it? The muffled sounds were now ahead of us. One by one, the overtakers vanished in the darkness, where the rain had swamped them.

"Keep your head low and don't talk." My parent hissed by my side. Now that the original linear progression disintegrated like a chopped-up snake, our family gathered in a small group. Steady forward with trembling legs, we migrated through town towards our goal.

At last, we walked up three staircases and down a much longer stair, venturing through a mess of muddy footprints and leaving our own. A mark of temporary victory – we had entered the subway station.

Now that I could not remember the exact process of us getting onto the train, the next part of my memory would start when we settled down in a cabin empty with only a few souls. Taking off our soaked coat to be dried up by the air conditioning, we leaned our labored neck on the back of the seats and rested.

I zipped my bag open and took out a hard-cover book. Indeed, how it came into my possession was a mystery, for I knew neither when I had obtained it nor why I ranked it so high that it took up such precious space in my pack. Anyway, since I had already saved it, I'd better make good use of it.

Though its cover slightly soaked at the edge, the book was mostly intact. Having an instinct that it had neither a contents page nor a preface, I flipped over a few blank pieces of paper and landed on the title page of chapter one: "childhood."

I was watching a pair of kids playing – a girl and a boy at the age when they had not the slightest notion of gender or separation of biological sex. They were in the middle of a game on a lawn when I had arrived. I stood behind the pair, observing in silence. I could not shift my focus from the kids, because I found my existence in this dimension queer – I was more of an audience than a visitor, and now the boy and the girl seemed the center of the picture. Within my limited view of this place, I discovered that the lawn was well-cared for and possibly laid the front of a lush construction. At the edge of my sight, I could sense a vague outline of a pond encircled by blooming trees. Emerald green, cherry pink, and ivory white – colors of spring had lightened this space. Though my presence was in the form of an apparition (but I could only assume, for no apparition had revealed its physical properties), I could feel a warm breeze, with a slight touch of coolness characteristic of late spring to it, flew by my ear.

Back onto the kids, who were now picking up wildflowers. Ah, I thought I know what they were doing – making a garland! I smiled, for I was acquainted with that game, while a stream of soothing familiarity flew into my mind, enveloping it in a mix of cherry jam and molten chocolate. Oh, the good old days when I …… Wait a minute. I scrutinized my memory and realized that not a clip of it was associated with making flower crowns. That humidly suffocative city was where I belonged. My presence grew clearer when a world of fire and storm flooded my bloodstream, and the two kids were fading away. I squinted my eyes to capture their last facial expression, and perhaps their last few words. I saw - the boy with dark hair crowned that girl, who's neatly braided hair loosened into strings of curls, with a twisty floral garland.

My mind was blank for a moment until I realized that I was back on the train. Looking down at the book I was holding, I realized that I had finished the first chapter. Around me, things were the same as before, only that several new faces had come to our cabin – maybe we had passed another station. Beside me, my parent snored softly, and that had eased my nerves pulled up for a new round of refuge.

The second chapter had no name, but a piece of dried petal laminated on its title page. "Dried flowers," I whispered silently.

I was sitting in front of an antique desking, writing on lined paper with an ink pen. I wrote, "Dear ……," and paused for a second as if considering the proper diction for the next line. Looking up into the thick glass window in front of the desk, I saw a European-styled building across a green field. That was my school, and I was sitting in a dorm. As if a narrator for a movie, I knew everything here by my heart. Then, I took a different perspective, watching myself writing from behind his back. I had dark hair and brown skin. Young, probably a high school student. Bold shoulders with traces of bulging muscle under the white shirt – could be a student-athlete.

Beside my left elbow lay an opened envelop, and upon it was a few dried flower petals and a black-and-white portrait of a young girl. At that moment, my perspective shifted, and I was sitting beside the girl, the subject of that photo, watching her picking up a little pink flower – the kind with five petals common to roadsides.

I heard her thoughts, light as wind and heavy with sorrow, flowing towards the boy an ocean apart.

The homeland was at war. I wish you are back to be by my side, but at the same time, fear that you could be enlisted. Am I selfish to be glad that you won't serve the country?

How are you doing there? You said that winter approaches with chilling winds and cotton-like snows - coldness, what a romantic term for us who grew in the tropic. But you could be missing your home, and here is a flower with my dearest wish of luck for you.

Time has changed. The old garden – and now I saw a gleaming pond with lotus on its forever calm surface – was there no more, leaving a ruin that had buried our garlands along with it.

……

I had missed years of your life, and so you did mime. I knew a mere portrait could not make up the loss, although I hope in vain that it would slightly ease your nostalgia to see your childhood friend. My dear, be safe. We will see each other soon.

Here, the girl sealed the envelope with a cherishing kiss. Lips pressed against the ivory white paper - one color of spring flowers. I watched the girl with a queer passion, a flame burning in my chest, urging me to step forward and …… and what?

Then, I saw a mix of scenes like overlapping film strips. I saw myself – the boy – running down the street, sweating under the midday sun. I saw the girl brushing her hair by her bed. Again the boy – stood alone in an empty train station in a long trench coat, and the tips of his ears were frozen red. At last, the girl – her lips moving to forge a sound: "New Delhi."

New Delhi. Don't forget me.

New Delhi.

I woke up. New Delhi - that Indian city engraved its name in my memory. Spring had passed, and so did summer, will the boy be back before the snow starts?

photo credit: https://freestocks.org/fs/wp-content/uploads/2018/04/craft_envelope_with_dried_flowers_closeup_2-1000x667.jpg