22 January 2014


"Saudade: a Portuguese and Galician word that has no direct translation in English. It describes a deep emotional state of nostalgic or deeply melancholic longing for an absent something or someone that one loves. Moreover, it often carries a repressed knowledge that the object of longing will never return." [x]

I was alone in the city. My favorite city where I've spent countless quiet afternoons alone.
I sat by myself at a table for two in one of my favorite restaurants.
The miso soup was so good. The house tea, too. It was a cold day.
I kept looking outside the window beside me and I could see the wind breezing rather strongly through the trees.
I imagined how they would sound.
It was always a pleasant music to my ears, leaves rustling in the wind.

I brought my camera that day; it's been a while and I wanted to take some pictures.
I was hoping that by it, I would understand.
I wanted to understand the lovers walking hand in hand.
The mothers watching over while their daughters threw feeds into the pond of golden fish.
I wanted to understand the devotees in the chapel. Their steadfast faith on the little figures they were holding up in praise, arduously chanting.
And I wanted to understand myself.
This fleeting quiet between peace and the looming clouds of rain ahead.
This bittersweet melancholy that I found is constantly harbored in this ocean that is within me.
On why it never sails.
On why, despite the dark clouds parting, I sometimes find myself taking shelter seemingly missing the shade.

I never minded being alone.
But I detest how
Too often we mistake solitude for loneliness.

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