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What a beautiful night.

It's the kind of night that you want to share with someone close: a friend, a loved one, a lover. But tonight it's just me, just me and my thoughts. So I go for a walk.

The breeze is cool, the moon is glazed over by a thin cloud. What a lovely scene amidst an otherwise ordinary town. Where are those flowers whose scent I smell? So sweet. A night that smells so sweet. So sweet that it whispers words of home and exotic places and envelops me in memories of smiles and even tears, and resurfaces feelings nestled so deep within they can't be expressed, only felt, though I do try...

Yes, that kind of night. The kind of night that I would rather share with someone else, but it's just me tonight. So I continue walking...

I find a park and I wander towards the swings. I get the sudden urge to swing... I sit on the nearest one and pump my legs. I keep pumping until I get higher, higher and higher and can go no more... So this is what loneliness feels like. I'm on top of the world and no one to share it with.

But I remind myself, this loneliness, it's only skin deep.

I look at the time and realize it's getting late. I should be getting home.

The walk back is just as pleasant. Just as cool. Feelings just as crisp. And though I have no one to walk with, and though the trees, the wind, and the moon and the sidewalk hum a song of loneliness, I'm content. For this loneliness, it's only skin deep.

Strolling Down Memory Lane

Last Thursday, I was cycling home on a path by the river. My rear tire was giving me problems, so I had to pull over periodically to pump air into the tire.

At one point, I was slowed down by two older men on bikes. They were riding side by side, and one of them was on the lane meant for incoming bikes, so I couldn't pass them. Instead of ringing my bell and making one of them move, I observed the men for a while. They were probably in their seventies, taking a leisure ride while chatting and having a good laugh about something. It was so nice to hear them laugh freely in public. Most people here are very careful not to bother those around them, and this includes refraining from having a good laugh in public, so as to not be noisy. Understandable?

Something about the man on the left reminded me of my grandfather from my father's side of the family. I'm not sure if it was the khaki colored pants, or the white t-shirt that he wore, but he reminded of my grandfather. Even though my grandfather became thin during the last years of his fight against diabetes, the man's healthy weight resurfaced older memories of my grandfather, memories from before the diabetes took a toll on him. Above all, I think the man's spirit reflected my grandfather's personality. The man seemed to be gently teasing his companion, and they were having a good laugh because of it. My grandfather was known for teasing. Every time my siblings and I would be laughing or relaxing, my grandfather would ask us, “Are you mad? Why are you mad?” Of course, since we were too young to understand that he was joking with us, we would become angry that he was “mistaking” our good mood for a bad one. How I wish that I could have gotten to know my grandfather as an adult. If he were here now and asked me those same questions, I'm sure that I could have replied with a witty remark and we'd be having a good laugh. Having a good laugh like those two men riding in front of me.

Sometimes it's nice to remember.

The men noticed me riding closely behind, so the man on the right moved over to let me pass. I sped up and passed them. At this point, I could feel the metal frame start to grind against the rubber and the cement, so I looked for a clear patch of dirt or grass to stop on and pump air into my tire.

I had pulled over onto a clearing, and was in the middle of pumping, when the two men passed in front of me. I looked up, and right then, my grandfather's twin spirit rode by and beckoned for me to come along as he said something to me in Japanese. His gestures and playful smile let me know that he was teasing me about not being able to pass them this time.

All of a sudden, I was ten years old again and my grandfather was teasing me about something.

You don't always need to understand a language for it to move you. And you could have said goodbye to someone more than ten years ago, but still remember them with the same intensity of affection. Miss you, Grandpa.