the street lamp
He opened the door to his apartment and immediately headed for the toilet, activating the answering machine on his way.
“You have one message,” the mechanical voice intoned.
He came out of the toilet with a towel draped around his neck, rubbing his hair with it.
“Hey! I hope you didn’t get caught in the rain on your way back, although they say that it will be raining the whole night. It was raining very heavily as I left your place, so I called a cab…”
His eyes fell onto the coffee table and the neat stack of newspapers on it.
“I arranged your stuff. Your apartment is really in a total mess. How you manage to live in it is a wonder to me…”
He walked to the kitchen, all the time trying to dry his wet hair.
“Anyway, there’s stew on the stove in the kitchen.”
He opened the lid.
“It’s beef stew, your favourite. I know you are probably very hungry, but I think you should take a proper warm bath first, instead of trying to dry yourself when you are still in your wet clothes.”
He stopped.
“Don’t you know how to take care of yourself?”
“Anyway, even though you never listen to me, call me or something ok?”
He heard her exhale softly. “I know you won’t though. Goodnight!”
The monotone signaled the end of the message.
**
I am the street lamp at the corner of the street. My basic function is, of course, to provide light for the people hurrying home late at night, just like every other street lamp.
My other function concerns two people: a girl and a boy.
The girl lives just down the street, in the room with that big glass window that looks out onto the street, where she spends much of her time sitting on the ledge, reading and writing.
The boy doesn’t live in the area, but he knows the girl very well; it is as though they have been together all their lives. They have known each other even before the girl moved into this area, where I have been standing ever since I could remember.
You could say she came into my life.
I digressed.
Anyway, I have been with them for the past five years. I silently watched as they came to her apartment, laughing merrily, hand in hand, like any other loving couple. Or take a stroll along the street after dinner.
I was also there when they fought, when she stomped off crying, when he stood there, helpless and frustrated. Sometimes, she would come to me, seeking solace in my light. Sometimes, he would come to me too, although his eyes would always be on that big glass window, which would then be covered by the drawn red curtains. And when he left, with his mp3 on, I could always see his eyes moisten, as though he was listening to a sad song.
They stopped talking a year ago, and he stopped coming.
Other than that, nothing much has changed. She still sits by the window, reading and writing; I still stand there, at that corner of the street, like a silent sentinel.
I am always there.
**
“How is it?”
She made a face, “I don’t really like it.”
“Why not?”
“It’s not your usual style… especially with this street lamp that is like a person.”
“I can’t write anymore.”
“No inspiration?”
“Yeah…”
“Why don’t you put me into your stories then? When on Earth are you finally going to do that?”
“I don’t see how that could help…”
That was met by a flying cushion.
Her eyes glared at me, but a smile was tugging on her lips.
Her words- did she not know; or was she simply pretending?
**
“Smells good,” he said.
“I certainly hope so,” I replied, flipping over the steak.
“Your apartment looks different,” he remarked.
“Well, nothing stays constant forever, right?”
“That table is new, isn’t it? And you didn’t have that painting before…”
“Nothing stays the same forever…when something is spoilt, you have to throw it out and get a new one…”
“Even so, I am still more used to your old table…”
“Habit is a big word, isn’t it?”
“I guess.”
I came to the table with the two plates of steak and laid them down.
“Looks really good.”
“Hope it’s to your liking.”
“Here goes…” he chewed carefully. “You haven’t lost your touch at all.”
“How are things between you and that junior from university?” I casually asked.
“Well, there’s nothing,” he replied matter-of-factly.
“But she’s nice isn’t it? Based on what you told me back then, way too nice. Why don’t you give her a chance? Surely she deserves more?”
“You know, sometimes you are listening to your mp3 player on shuffle, and then suddenly this
song comes on and you just stop. Your world just stops.”
“Uh huh.”
“That is what an ex-lover is like. That song that makes your whole world come to a standstill.”
“She was here last week. For dinner as well.”
“Oh.”
“Aren’t you going to ask how she is?”
“How is she?”
“Doing well.”
“That’s good to hear.”
“Is that all you can say?”
“What do you want me to say?”
“I don’t know. Don’t you two talk?”
He did not reply to that. “Anyway, I am leaving at the end of the week.”
“Leaving?”
“Yeah. To London for at least 2 years. That’s why I am here. To say goodbye.”
“Does she know?”
He shook his head.
“Are you going to tell her?”
“There’s no need to?”
“Are you ok with that?”
He did not reply me.
**
Her alarm rang. She pulled her blanket over her, trying to block off the noise. But the alarm went on and on. She finally sat up in bed, took a deep breath to calm herself down before reaching over to turn it off.
It was 7.
She murmured something unintelligible to herself as she dragged her feet to the bathroom. She brushed her teeth, eyes on the mobile phone that stood there silently beside the sink in its charger.
After a quick breakfast of milk with cereal, she was on the subway to work, as per normal.
“You have one message,” the mechanical voice intoned.
He came out of the toilet with a towel draped around his neck, rubbing his hair with it.
“Hey! I hope you didn’t get caught in the rain on your way back, although they say that it will be raining the whole night. It was raining very heavily as I left your place, so I called a cab…”
His eyes fell onto the coffee table and the neat stack of newspapers on it.
“I arranged your stuff. Your apartment is really in a total mess. How you manage to live in it is a wonder to me…”
He walked to the kitchen, all the time trying to dry his wet hair.
“Anyway, there’s stew on the stove in the kitchen.”
He opened the lid.
“It’s beef stew, your favourite. I know you are probably very hungry, but I think you should take a proper warm bath first, instead of trying to dry yourself when you are still in your wet clothes.”
He stopped.
“Don’t you know how to take care of yourself?”
“Anyway, even though you never listen to me, call me or something ok?”
He heard her exhale softly. “I know you won’t though. Goodnight!”
The monotone signaled the end of the message.
**
I am the street lamp at the corner of the street. My basic function is, of course, to provide light for the people hurrying home late at night, just like every other street lamp.
My other function concerns two people: a girl and a boy.
The girl lives just down the street, in the room with that big glass window that looks out onto the street, where she spends much of her time sitting on the ledge, reading and writing.
The boy doesn’t live in the area, but he knows the girl very well; it is as though they have been together all their lives. They have known each other even before the girl moved into this area, where I have been standing ever since I could remember.
You could say she came into my life.
I digressed.
Anyway, I have been with them for the past five years. I silently watched as they came to her apartment, laughing merrily, hand in hand, like any other loving couple. Or take a stroll along the street after dinner.
I was also there when they fought, when she stomped off crying, when he stood there, helpless and frustrated. Sometimes, she would come to me, seeking solace in my light. Sometimes, he would come to me too, although his eyes would always be on that big glass window, which would then be covered by the drawn red curtains. And when he left, with his mp3 on, I could always see his eyes moisten, as though he was listening to a sad song.
They stopped talking a year ago, and he stopped coming.
Other than that, nothing much has changed. She still sits by the window, reading and writing; I still stand there, at that corner of the street, like a silent sentinel.
I am always there.
**
“How is it?”
She made a face, “I don’t really like it.”
“Why not?”
“It’s not your usual style… especially with this street lamp that is like a person.”
“I can’t write anymore.”
“No inspiration?”
“Yeah…”
“Why don’t you put me into your stories then? When on Earth are you finally going to do that?”
“I don’t see how that could help…”
That was met by a flying cushion.
Her eyes glared at me, but a smile was tugging on her lips.
Her words- did she not know; or was she simply pretending?
**
“Smells good,” he said.
“I certainly hope so,” I replied, flipping over the steak.
“Your apartment looks different,” he remarked.
“Well, nothing stays constant forever, right?”
“That table is new, isn’t it? And you didn’t have that painting before…”
“Nothing stays the same forever…when something is spoilt, you have to throw it out and get a new one…”
“Even so, I am still more used to your old table…”
“Habit is a big word, isn’t it?”
“I guess.”
I came to the table with the two plates of steak and laid them down.
“Looks really good.”
“Hope it’s to your liking.”
“Here goes…” he chewed carefully. “You haven’t lost your touch at all.”
“How are things between you and that junior from university?” I casually asked.
“Well, there’s nothing,” he replied matter-of-factly.
“But she’s nice isn’t it? Based on what you told me back then, way too nice. Why don’t you give her a chance? Surely she deserves more?”
“You know, sometimes you are listening to your mp3 player on shuffle, and then suddenly this
song comes on and you just stop. Your world just stops.”
“Uh huh.”
“That is what an ex-lover is like. That song that makes your whole world come to a standstill.”
“She was here last week. For dinner as well.”
“Oh.”
“Aren’t you going to ask how she is?”
“How is she?”
“Doing well.”
“That’s good to hear.”
“Is that all you can say?”
“What do you want me to say?”
“I don’t know. Don’t you two talk?”
He did not reply to that. “Anyway, I am leaving at the end of the week.”
“Leaving?”
“Yeah. To London for at least 2 years. That’s why I am here. To say goodbye.”
“Does she know?”
He shook his head.
“Are you going to tell her?”
“There’s no need to?”
“Are you ok with that?”
He did not reply me.
**
Her alarm rang. She pulled her blanket over her, trying to block off the noise. But the alarm went on and on. She finally sat up in bed, took a deep breath to calm herself down before reaching over to turn it off.
It was 7.
She murmured something unintelligible to herself as she dragged her feet to the bathroom. She brushed her teeth, eyes on the mobile phone that stood there silently beside the sink in its charger.
After a quick breakfast of milk with cereal, she was on the subway to work, as per normal.
But the sound of the waves crashing onto the rocks only serves to remind me.
This beach that seems to stretch on forever. Forever seemed so natural back then didn’t it? As though we would always be together. Now it seems so far away. Unreachable. This eternal distance is a throbbing pain, hurting with every step.
Two towers on opposite banks, always apart. And I wonder what you, the you on the other side of the world, are doing, thinking, feeling right now.
...Walking as far as we possibly could into the sea, standing side by side, facing the waves and the wind…
…laughing at how silly we were…
…Swimming against the waves, despite the odds… 
…trying again and again…
Have you ever run the hardest you possibly could, yet fall short?
Holding hands at 70, we couldn’t see ourselves like that in the fog anymore. 
That was what we chose in the end, didn’t we?
Footprints in different directions. Like parallel lines. 
