Wind

“Absence is to love what wind is to fire; it extinguishes the small, but enkindles the great.” – Roger de Rabutin

TO BEGIN WITH

Now attempting to continue to write my fourth novel titled “Wind.” I remember starting this in 2008, and managed to go through only five chapters in five years.

I still don’t know how I can finish this one but I hope I do.

Sharing to you the first chapter of the book. Kindly tell me what you think about it.

WIND – CHAPTER ONE

Friday, 7:00 am.

The rain had eased a little when we got here. The old stilted house looked incongruous with its newly pale blue-painted veranda. I can see from where we walked that it was spacious, decorated with a rattan sofa, a square table and several sea-battered monobloc chairs, same as the three other structures filed in a neat row. It was the smallest and farthest out to the ocean, situated on a white sandbar several kilometers off the mainland. The houses seemed to levitate above the water in the middle of this forlorn sea.

“There it is, ma’am,” one of my guides pointed, “your cottage.”

Thanks to the unasked for low tide, my guides had to drag the bangka more than 150 meters from the sandbar’s edge to get to where we’re going. But my eyes were fixed, my heart expectant. I’ve already decided that this is what I have to do.

Reaching our destination, the other guide – the senior one –  deftly tied the small boat in one of the stilt foundations as I slowly went up the wooden porch. There was a gloomy feeling looking around, black and white photos of the place in the old days hung on the cottage walls, their details more or less indistinguishable in the bright morning light. I called out, “Anyone here?” But there was no one.

I found the front door open and walked inside. There were three small rooms – the main one should be the living area, a bedroom and lavatory on the far corners. Following a quick inspection inside a decaying cupboard, I found only two packs of instant noodles and three 1-liter bottles of mineral water then dismally went down to the bangka again, unpacking my things for this 3-day retreat. It’s going to be a long and rough stay, I said to myself.

Rain began to pour again as both of my guides lifted up the stairs one by one five large containers of fresh water for my bathing and toilet needs. Placing them side by side near the window, the younger one manufactured a paper funnel made from an office folder. I realized it was intentionally aimed at the largest container so that rain can be converted into usable water. For sure this provision won’t last very long, I thought, maybe these guys watch too much McGyver.

“Everything fine, ma’am?” the elder one asked. I nodded. “We return on Monday at 9:00 am.” With these parting words, they left me alone, stranded in this seemingly fragile but adequate abode.

I glanced at my supplies for this trip, all hastily grabbed from a countryside market without much deliberation: two kilos of rice, four pieces of corn, some green vegetables, bananas and a can of soda. Just then, I realized I forgot to buy any meat for the carnivore in me, and, more importantly, drinking water. Despite of the earlier disappointment, I suddenly felt relieved there were three bottles in the cupboard. Hope that would be enough, I whispered under my breath.

After everything was in place – linen and pillows crisply made on a mattress over the floor in the bedroom, teapots and stove prepared in a makeshift kitchen – I sat on the railings at the porch and scanned the horizon. In my backpack was a poetry book I’ve been reading recently. My legs dangled over the light-emerald sea. Water, water everywhere, I thought.

If only I could tear out my heart and throw it into the deep, then my pain and longing will be over, and I could finally forget. Rain descended harder as the wind chilled tears on my cheeks. Then tears became rain and rain became tears. It was as if heaven itself shared with my grief.

I wish the wind would blow all of my tears away, that I may never remember this day that once more I cried for him. I wish the wind would blow all of my tears away, that I could forget this beach, the church below the hill, the midnight mists, and the paths we walked together. I wish I hadn’t read these poems from him again, and just went on with the simple life. From the first stanza I was completely captivated, and to this day I’ve never forgotten the feeling I had when I read them for the first time. Even now, thinking about it, all wet and cold, I get the same warm feeling that I had then. How could someone reach into my mind and express things that I wanted to but could only dream of having?

I remember that night, a night when either a “yes” or a “no” can change a life forever. He told me, “I am so glad to know you still love me, but I am breaking with the thought that all we can ever have with each other is a dead end.” It is hard to believe that it was only last week that I had found my love once more, and now I lost him all over again. Shattered. I am shattered, empty, without a soul. The hardest part of love is forgetting.

I told him before we went on our separate ways: Make each moment worthwhile, for time is fleeting… like the wind. Our grasp is never too tight to hold onto the innocence of our youth, or the carefree moments we share in laughter and in love. Live each day knowing that we have lived it to the fullest of our capabilities, with no regrets, only wonderful memories and lasting impressions.

I have to say this; when I read the poems for the first time, Paulo was like a fisherman in blue. After all, he managed to hook me that night; he reeled me in. I must admit though, I was an easy catch.

- from “Wind”, a novel by Raymund Tamayo

Raymund's Random Insights

If you keep the heart alive a little longer, love will come.

Love is patient. It can relax in the present. It doesn’t always grumble about the current state of affairs. It’s willing to wait slow change and it’s willing to try again.

I am not sure what waits beyond the tree at the corner; but I’ll gladly walk down the street to see you if need be.

Poem of the Week

WE’RE PASSING THROUGH

by Emon

We’re passing the signs

the seasons

and the signposts

at such speed

that pausing to reflect

on where and which

direction to go

and what does it mean

grows harder and harder

year by year.

But what I do know

is that your God and mine

daily watches over

expecting us to listen

and to care about each other.

Across the fields and mountains

beyond the highways and byways,

as Jose Mari Chan sings it,

and to each sea and ocean,

I also sing to you,

reach out to you,

hoping that each new day

in the year just starting

and all those days

in the years ahead

will be full of love and reason,

like the years before.

We’re passing through this

fleeting street called Life and

no matter how bumpy

each road gets,

I want no one else to walk

it through than

with you.

(December 2008)

AND FINALLY

Watching the film Before Midnight with Denielle. Our favorite line in the movie is from the character Natalia: “Like sunlight, sunset, we appear, we disappear. We are so important to some, but we are just passing through.”

I remembered my poem above written in 2008. Coincidence? I don’t think so.

Thanks for stopping by - see you next week.