“What happened with Shayla? Thought she was coming to stay with us for the time before you prepared to look for a place together.” Mom enquired while Alice was distracted by Doraemon in the living room; what I refer to as the blue room. The carpet is a pale blue, the L-shaped sofa is dark blue leather, and the far wall is dark blue, prompting young me to dub it the blue room.
“Shayla and I recently came to the mutual understanding that what we wanted in ten years didn’t match. That is about the end of it. I would prefer not talking about it right now.” I responded unable, to look her in the eyes. It wasn’t a lie, but I didn’t want to go into the subject of me dropping out yet.
“Whenever you want to talk about it, your dad and I are here for you. Can even say she was always a horrible person and I never liked her.” She loved Shayla; she knows Shayla loves me; she would always ask when the wedding was. She relentlessly pestered regarding Shay not visiting more. Despite that, she was cracking jokes with a smile.
“Thank you as always,” I responded with a smile getting up from the table. I hiked upstairs to my room, hopping into bed with my laptop. My body felt sluggish, my thoughts of hesitation never simmering instead bubbling at the brim close to overflowing.
“Welcome back!” Flashed from my notifications, Kita.
“Glad to be back.” I responded.
“Everyone the loli is back!”
“Says the girl who still needs to sit on a booster sit. Don’t worry we’ll let you sit at the adult table when you can ride the big girl ride.”
“The married couple is arguing again!” A spectator interjected, Illya.
“She always rejects my advances, eventually this hatred will foster love.” I laughed. The conversation went on in a pointless direction. Kita and I argued incessantly while more lurkers ate popcorn at the show.
“Papa Ash! You trying to get me a mama?” Aqua questioned.
“Kita never returns my feelings,”
“Because you are never serious!” Kita retorted.
“I’m serious when it for you.”
“What about all the screenshots from this server alone?” She included me saying the same line to Sky, Illya, Ade, and Elo.
“They are meaningless to me, you are the only one I love!” I can’t help but laugh.
“Yes, Kita don’t fall for his charms! He is just playing with you for inspiration in his book.” Illya supported her claim with an old screenshot of me, “I flirt with girls not because I’m interested but because I need inspiration for female leads in a book.”
“Judge I admit this quote is factual and true. I will bring to the stand, myself, asking the court to notice the fact that I have only chased Kita and not others over the last year.”
This entire server is a group of people who don’t care about the world. We have our arguments, laughs, and even silent days, but we are all friends.
The chat mellowed out before I saw a private message from Kita, “I sent the lease agreement back to the landlord, they say the place is ready once the current tenets move out next week.”
“Almost there then, can feel the tension wrap around me as the time draws near.”
“Hey, you got this. We have talked this over and planned every step, we will get through this.”
I hesitantly revised my reply perpetually, overwhelmed by my nerves.
‘I know, but is never easy…’ ‘I’m not sure…’ ‘Yes, we got this.’ ‘I can’t help but be scared.’ ‘I’m ready to be happy.’
“Everything is ready for us,” She continued as I penned an answer.
“Thank you. I’m ready as well.”
“I love you, Aster.”
“은, 씨를 사랑합니다”
The two of us were both chasing a dream. A goal we thought to be impossible. We believed ourselves to be too late, but at some point, we found the motivation to change from the other person.
I majored in economics but dreamed of writing; she majored in computer science and dreamed of photography.
“Aster! I know you are home! I saw the mustang out front!” Raam shouted up the stairs, a voice similar to our father’s.
I laughed to myself and quickly went down to greet him. Exchanging a quick hug, we walked to the kitchen, where Raam’s food awaited at the table.
“You been watching the new show, Loki?” Raam asked as he shoveled in his pasta.
“Don’t bring that up to me. The show is horrible, how do they get away with such horrendous writing? It makes me sick.” I ranted, I love the character Loki, do not misunderstand. The show, however, leaves much to be desired.
“I actually fairly enjoyed it.” Ramm admitted with a shrug.
“The show is called Loki, but if I replaced Loki with any other character the show would play out the same. 6 hours, and 4 of them are the characters sitting talking about the situation and solutions. That is not even talking about the dynamic world they floundered…” I rambled endlessly. Raam listened with a smirk nodding along as I spoke.
“How your book going?” He interjected which, stopped my rant.
“Horribly, I keep finding myself writing a chapter and losing inspiration as a different idea thrusts itself to the front of my brain.”
“Is there any connection to the book you’re writing and the new thoughts?”
“Most times, no, it comes out of no where. I’ll be walking down the street, and see a couple holding hands and talking. Sometimes I’ll imagine them the leads of romance novel, other times see their walk the moment their lives change.”
“How does that not relate to your story?”
“Because I’ve lost track of what my story even is.”
“Then move on.” He advised, walking to the fridge, “You want one?” He held out a beer.
“I’ll pass, I only like to drink before writing, slows down my thoughts just enough to find the right words.” I shook my head, staring up at the ceiling lights above the island.
“As I was saying though, move on if you can’t find the theme of your story anymore.”
“Raam, what do you see when looking at those lights?”
“I just see a set of yellow lights.”
“Describe them the best you can.”
“Uhhh, hmmm, hanging from a strand of wires is a curved glass bulb in the center of mason jars held together by a silver band without bottoms.” Raam answered hesitantly.
“You described them exactly as they are without flair or nuisance. Similarly, to how you analyze something for it’s worth.” I explained before answering how I would describe them. “From the ceiling dangles three separate pairs of red and black wires entangled together in the translucent sheath that encases them. At their end giving birth the teardrop glass housing. A housing born from their incessant arguing on who is dominant. Their light is pale yellow, barely illuminating the island beneath them. Even as the glass housing turns brown from age, the two wires are stubbornly disagreeing. However, when the third force enters the fray, the two work better in fear of retribution.” I stood up from the table and pushed the slider up on the lights brightening up the room.
“So much needless fluff, what is the point of adding so much characterization to lights.” Raam laughed, not that I blame him; my thought process is excessive. I did not even talk about the bug-infested mason glass or discolored silver bands.
“There wasn’t any, was to prove a point. While you see everything as it is in the world, my mind keeps talking endlessly. Giving birth to a myriad of possibilities that are usually pointless. I constantly have to filter out these prompts for more concise writings.”
“But what does this have to do with you losing track of your novel’s theme.”
“I don’t know, but somehow my brain connected the two thoughts. I can only assume my brain juxtaposed my relentless inspirations with my losing track of ideas. I’m without concrete beliefs so to say I guess.”
“So why not stop writing until you find something truly worth writing about?”
“Because even if I don’t finish this story, or the next one, I’ve learned this is not the novel for me. I just have to keep trying again and again until I find the one that speaks to me until the finish line.”
“You have a weird philosophy man.”
“Where is the fun in being normal?” I laughed, looking over to the clock to see it close to 10 pm. “I’m going to sleep, I’ll see you in the morning.” He nodded as he entered the blue room engaged in idle chat with mom and dad.
We all have our sleeping rituals; for me, it is telling myself a story. My mind locked on a train of thoughts. Each night is the same story recently; the same lines memorized word for word once my eyes close.
Of when Eun and I live together, of the happiness I feel with her head on my shoulder. The warmth of her breath on my ear, and my fingers rapidly tapping away on the keyboard, for the first time writing the closing to a story. My happy place is where I go before sleep, that is my ritual.
