somenias

[somenias]

A skein of yarn and a knit pattern

The house is so full of its filaments, manifested in various forms. A mountain of plastic bags and free tote bags with a food brand stamped on each. A sea of empty make up bottles. A bag of rigid toothbrushes that will hurt your enamel and expired tiny plain toothpastes from hotels. Unusable phone cables broken at their wrists. Empty jars of balm and its lingering striking smell when you open it, whose production date stamp has grown out of its durability.

The house is stiched in knots and twists for years, and nobody corrected the mistakes. They simply acknowledged, threw a fit, and moved on, only to be slipped in a sarcasm, wrapped in a joke, covered by a half-hearted laugh, pushed away by commenting a degrading joke, told by an overpaid comedian on TV.

They did complete a sweater. A beautiful one that people praised it, put in on display, clapped for it. Something you could wear to survive a cold breeze, wrapping you with its fabric-made warmth. But its back rested tangled threads and filaments, twists and knots they would refuse to see, praise, clap for, and wear if they knew.

A skein of yarn, a knit pattern, and a messy fit of a green sweater.

[somenias]

Living

"Hurry up!" I said, half yelling, as the repetitive beep sound announced its end. We both jumped in the train, right before the door nearly caught your jacket. One look at each other sent us to giggles, inviting humid air into our lungs.

I tried to catch more oxygens with my wide-opened mouth. You gave me your famous small smile and cupped both of my pale cheeks in your hands. A quick, tiny kiss was planted on my forehead. The train is starting to run to its next destination.

Our breaths and hearts synced. You rubbed your thumbs against my cheeks as you watched my chest and shoulders became less exaggerated. "Better?" you said. I nodded, still working on the cold on the ceiling of my mouth.

You met your forehead with mine. Those pair of eyes sunk deep into mine, maybe looking for more answers than a nod. Unsatisfied, you rubbed your nose with mine, just like we always did whenever you're anxious. I could feel your warmth and sweat climbing from your palms, the start of your set of affection routine, of which I'd call, "headbutt-cat-like."

"Hey, not here!" I whispered, although my heart is racing in yearning. "People will be watching."

Your eye lids kissed mine as you rested your sight. Faintly, I could feel your nose rubbed mine once again. "Let them be," you breathed. "For we're the only ones actually living."

[somenias]

I can never be an artist.

I can never be an artist. Suddenly, a boy in the Canary Islands knows that I find it hard to erase feelings and memories. A girl in the south knows that I sometimes replay the cloudy nights we spent in your room with the faint TV light on your face.

My high school classmates will suddenly remember how I used to laugh at my phone under the table. I guess my economics teacher can recall it, too. The friends of lost connections exasperate quiet whispers in the wind, full of saturated phone calls and mindless texts.

The neighbors will question my dignity and state of life to people who are supposed to trust me with all their heart. And I will take it all, chapped lips pressed together, in the darkest hours of winter nights. And you are still not here. And I’m still waiting for half of your heart.

[somenias]

Glue and Doyle

Most likely part one.

I was raised in a household where I had to be the one to pull people back together for the sake of the whole team. I thought this was something people learnt at one point in their lives, sooner or later, but hopefully before 30.

Recently, I realised the group I was randomly assigned to had a dynamics break. One of our members showed no sign of being dedicated to the team—we'll call them Doyle. Albeit the team only lasts temporarily, I think it's common sense to be an active member of a group, especially when grade is involved.

Under the pressure of a recent group assignment's deadline and their piling workload, another group member, Sky, reached out to me and another member, River, individually with a shared document link so the three of us could work on it discreetly. Maybe they thought this would send Doyle into panic as they would have nothing to submit (individual submission was required to attend the next class) and force them to show up in group chat.

It's a relieve to know Doyle wasn't dead. 6 hours before the deadline closed, they simply apologised for not checking their messages. By that moment, the three of us already worked on the assignment and submitted it, again, discreetly, so Doyle had nothing to submit.

Contrary to my (and maybe our) expectations, only silence came next.

On one side, I felt victorious. It seemed like a long-awaited revenge that I didn't know I had for all the leech-like groupmates I had to deal with when I was a student.

On the other hand, it felt a little bit unfair. What if Doyle was facing a hard time and couldn't bring themself to tell the group? What if they needed a different approach?

As I'm writing this, my brain told me he's simply a douchebag since he had already apologized twice for his lack of participation and still changed none of his demeanors. But I'm keen on walking side-by-side with empathy and this is a group, so I have to at least try to understand his side of coin and properly tell him how the group felt about the absence of his responsibility.

I see this as a story to help me grow past my old life principles and learn to redo the strings. Past me would have let Doyle walk over me for free and piled another grudge. Now, I believe in trying to be the glue.

Maybe with a little anger to keep myself grounded.