she wakes up during the flight feeling very disoriented and incredibly uncomfortable. her lower back aches something fierce, everything on her body feels off and nothing is right. what was it that woke her up, anyway?

then she hears the baby. the baby's cries are shrill, clearly audible even over the nose of the plane.  she closes her eyes, trying to block it out and imagine herself floating in the weightlessness of the clouds beneath her. but the baby's shrieks pierce through whatever cloud of peace she vainly places on top of her mind. half an hour later, she finds herself thinking "someone shut that kid up, for christ's sake" and is firmly resolved to never have kids of her own.  finally, the flight comes to merciful end and she leaves that claustrophobic cabin.

the airport is deserted - as well it should be. who gets into oakland airport at midnight, anyway? she sighs defeatedly as she swings her heavy bag over her shoulder and stumbles towards the exit. 

the air is biting cold - not as bad as north carolina. in winston-salem, the cold invaded her lungs and made her gasp for air the first time she spoke. it was like a thousand knives pricking her lungs all at once.  but in a strange way, it was refreshing. it made her feel alive. but in oakland, it was just cold.

as she waits for the shuttle, she looks down at her bag and realizes that one of its compartments has come open again. except this time, her makeup bag and makeup remover are missing. thank you very frickin' much murphy's stinkin' law, she thinks. serves her right, though. she shouldn't have gone to sephora to get her first set of makeup things - it all came out to too exboritant of a price, anyway. why should she splurge on herself?

two hours later, she finds herself stepping into her apartment. back to reality, back to being her. the apartment is rearranged and looks neater. she feels dirty and out of place in comparison. the living room smells like food, as usual. her roommate has just cooked a late dinner. her stomach growls as it remembers that she hasn't had a decent meal for two days, and she reaches for the granola and milk. she settles down at the kitchen table and thinks,

life is a mystery that was never meant to be solved.  happiness can never be attained, and that feeling of truly connecting with another person is just a desire being wanted so badly that it's manifested in a false way.  nobody ever truly understands another - they just become really good at pretending.  heh. everyone's a politician. but why is it that nobody understands me - i give them a glimpse of myself, and they shun it and call me stupid. well maybe i am stupid. but maybe i'm truly stupid because i tried sharing my thoughts with you. like you would understand. 

what do you do when you feel rage?

she flops onto the threadbare futon, turns on the tv and turns off her mind.

she snuggles a bit closer to him, seeking his body warmth that could warm her whole heart, regardless of the biting cold just outside the blanket.  she loves nestling her chin right into that niche next to his clavicle... as if it was made for her.  she smiles at the thought, amused at the idea that he was made exclusively for her.  he has his arms wrapped around her body, holding her close, so close that nothing could come between them...

this kind of comfort is the kind she only dreamed of before.  there is nothing sensual, nothing sexual, in this embrace.  it is total comfort and relaxation. his arms are saying that he is here to hold on to her, and regardless of what she did or how she felt or what she said, he would be here.  she isn't sure if he loves her, and she is pretty sure that she doesn't love him, at least not yet. but, she knows that she loves his presence, and she loves the way that he makes her feel - special.

he whispers her name and mumbles something. she can feel his shoulder muscles contract as he eases his arm out from under her.  within a few moments, he has gotten up and left the room. a sigh of sad resignation escapes her lips as she snuggles closer to the place where his body was just moments before. it's still warm. she puts her nose to the warmth and inhales the sweet mixture of his cologne and sweat. he smells so real... but it's just a smell. he's gone.

she pulls the blankets up around her shoulders, alone, curled in the fetal position, alone, and closes her eyes, alone.

she very contentedly pats her fully belly. nothing like a comforting bowl of noodles and soup to bring her back to her comfort zone.

as she sits, staring at the blinking cursor on her computer screen, she realizes that, for the first time in a long time, she is truly content.  not excited about something, not frustrated or depressed about something, but merely content.  and this feeling of calm is definitely something she can get used to.

it's not like much has changed. her future is still as uncertain as ever, and in fact, someone had told her, straight to her face, that she was had gotten fat.  normally, such a careless comment would be cause for her insecurities to go a-wailin' all over again, and while they did at first, she ended up thinking "well at least i'm working out now" and decided to dismiss it.

a smile suddenly spreads across her countenance.  there's this one song that she's really into, and her favorite part of this favorite song just played its tune into her ears... music must be the bridge between the practical and the unspeakable, the inarticulateable... and she's most definitely sure that 'inarticulateable' is not even a word. but who cares.. she certainly doesn't.

she remembers her weekend's trip to that state, that far-off city... the smell of earth had hit her straight between the eyes, and when she left the airport, the humidity was like a blanket that suffocated her mouth and nose simultaneously.  she could feel the humidity sinking into her skin pores, and when they couldn't hold any more moisture, then the sweat came... and would never leave. but it wasn't hot, just.. humid. what a bizarre feeling.

the drawl was surreal ... oh my God, she had just walked into the pages of mark twain's huck finn.  this city was absolutely enthralling, totally amazing... but could she live here?

the days passed by quickly, but she often found herslef checking her watch to see if 10 minutes had passed since the last time she checked it (because it had felt like an hour). nope, it hadn't. only 5.

at times like these, reminiscing about good memories and expecting more to come, if only there was someone who would sit and share these thoughts with her... if only...

but nothing's perfect. and that's good, because if it was, then what's the point in being human and constantly striving for more..

"close your eyes and imagine your soul. imagine what color it must be, through and through. now look closely. do you see that black vacancy? it's like a black hole - you try to put some paint in there to color it in, but it just gets sucked in, and remains that black spot. yeah, that's the part that God put in there, to  make sure you keep searching and are never completely satisfied. because if you're satisfied, then you'll stop searching, then you'll stop challenging, and then you'll stop living."

yup. still vacant.

"hello, world."

it's been a while, she thinks.  she doesn't know why she bothers to continue documenting her life like this... it's useless, really. after all, who cares. and it's not like she wants to go back and reread her entries later on.. it's not like she'll laugh or cry about it, or shake her head at her immaturity of then, juxtaposed to her maturity of now. no, she'll never be mature.  she'll be the same person she was when she was five, the same person she is now.  she can close her eyes and remember how it felt like, being five. or six. or even four? maybe. she remembers how it felt, walking out of the bedroom in the middle of the night, stomach upset and wanting some comfort.

she sees her mommy, sitting in the comforting glow of the television. she still hasn't changed out of her nursing clothes.  is she crying?

her mother suddenly shakes out of her reverie when she realizes that her youngest child is standing in the hallway, observing her while persistently sucking on her thumb. she beckons her daughter close, and wraps her in a blanket, rocking her to a rhythmn that only they can hear.

"mommy, my stomach hurts."

after a few clucks and coos her mother gently rises and goes to make some chicken noodle soup.  in the meantime, the young daughter feels her eyelids getting heavier and heavier, basking in the television glow... but she soon wakes from her semi-slumber. her mother is trying to spoonfeed some soup to her.

she can't eat much, and even though she knows how to feed herself, she lets her mother feed her. another block is added to the foundation that tightly holds the bond of mother and daughter... a bond that will never, ever, be broken.

her sense of time is skewed, but all she knows is that eventually, the spoon stops poking itself at her lips, and she is allowed to sleep.  her mother has wrapped her in the blanket again, and both are rocking, both are enjoying the television glow. both are saying nothing, but both are feeling comfort.

when she recounted this memory to her father a couple of weeks ago, he scoffed, saying that all her mother ever did was make canned foods. while these words cut her heart (he didn't see why i was telling him this, he didn't realize that i wanted us to remember her lovingly), it didn't leave the slightest blemish on her memory, which she will keep forever.

and nobody could take that away from her.