altia kana

[altiakana]

[Unsent Letter] To K & M: The Storylines

Hi, fellas,

This one is addressed to the both of you.

Throughout my life, there have only been three possible storylines when it comes to romance. The romantic partner may change, the sequence of events may vary, and the duration of the story may differ, but the storyline will never stray from those three possibilities.

Our story is no exception. The question is, though, which storyline were we in?

--

Storyline 1

This one always starts with me falling deeply in love with a man I dare not to have, because he's too dreamy, too real, too good for me. He embodies the perfect hue of a sunset, the scenic golden hour. And you don't expect a sunset to love you back, do you? I just know that, no matter how fast or far I reach, there's no way I can bottle his ray of light. He's not meant to be owned. He's there, present and beautiful, and that should be enough.

So, I let my feelings rest on the shoreline. I teach them to befriend the tidal waves, moonlight after moonlight, in silence, until they become experts in reading sundials. They know the perfect moment to gaze at the horizon when the sky is clear and the weather is friendly, in order to appreciate the beauty of something that is always fading away.

For others, this story might seem very boring. But for me, it's the most self-aware, peaceful, and sincere storyline.

**

In an alternate scenario, I fall for a man always on the move, much like the wind. He breezes past, onto the shoreline, onto me, bringing with him the scent of a distant land, the aroma of lush grass and blossoming flowers. Some days, he carries the weight of rainfalls, messages from a long-lost world, warnings of impending thunderstorms. And I accept all of it with open arms.

He tousles my hair, compliments my smile, craves my presence, professes his love for me. Yet, I can never pin him down, nor do I have the heart to, for I know he has places to be. He deserves the ongoing journey that shapes him into the man I adore.

I know that I must set him free, because he is not going to stay. But in certain seasons, I can hear his hum among the trees. If I'm lucky, I'll spot him in the distance. On rare auspicious days, he'll visit, play with my hair, admire my smile, and say he loves me, before I once again bid farewell on the dock of the bay.

**

In this storyline, there's no heartbreak. I never have to hit the ground because I am always falling.

Storyline 2

The second storyline is typically shorter but more brutal than the first. I am a volcano, deeply rooted in the Earth's core, obstinate and unyielding in my internal turmoil. Enter a tornado of a man, swirling around so swiftly and forcefully that he's oblivious to the impact he has on everything he touches. I can sense the freezing destruction from miles away, yet there's something undeniably beautiful about him.

This is the part where everyone tells me to run, but I can't. How could I? I'm a volcano, remember? I am unmoving. I possess the ability to destroy, just like him. We're alike in the sense that the closer people get to us, the more dangerous we become to them. The only difference is that he's frigid, and I'm always ablaze.

There seems to be no way for us to coexist, but against all odds, he finds his way to me. We instantly bond, like long-lost souls reunited. We understand each other. He claims I'm warm and stable, and he longs to last with me. I think he's such a fighter, and I yearn for someone that strong to save me from stillness.

We fall desperately in love and longing for each other. But it's too deep, too quick, too intense, and before we know it, it becomes too much. I watch in awe as he lifts the heat, rocks, dust, and ashes from the ground in his effort to hold onto me. And I unleash scorching curses into the air, so he can see what I've been hiding for so long.

He is too much of a thunderstorm not to ruin things, and I am too explosive to do anything gently. One day, we will reach a point where there's just too much hurt and agony to carry on. That will be the day when he vanishes, and I will be left to mend everything we've shattered.

For a long time afterward, I'd wish for his return, but he never would.

Storyline 3

This one is my favorite. I am a place he calls home. His compass always points in my direction, and I always wait for him on the front porch. I tell him, the door is always open. We make each other happy. We do all the cheesy things in the rom-com movies. We are madly in love with each other, it's practically a horror movie.

However, I am one of the coldest places in the world, and it's not easy to stay here. He braves the cold for me, enduring rainstorms, snowfalls, and piercing chills, but I know he deserves a better life. I keep reminding him that doors work both ways; he can exit as swiftly as he enters, and I won't bear a grudge.

Of course, he's aware that there's a warmer place out there. He knows he can find a home where he could bask in the sun and breathe easily. He denies it anyway, pretending he's never heard of such places. Claims he's more comfortable in bleak, bitter weather. But I bear in mind that no one can endure here forever, and that eventually, he is going to leave, no matter how intensely he romances me.

And leave he does, on a day devoid of rain, snowfall, avalanches, or blizzards. Just a normal day, a fine morning where I wake up to find his side of the bed empty. I lay on it, trying to absorb the warmth he left behind, but it's already gone cold. I sit on the front porch just to confirm the fact that this time he won't be coming back. I'm hurt, I shed tears, I miss him so much, but at the end of the day, I lock the door, retreat to bed, and wish him well.

I know my life is better when he's around, but I comprehend that this is how it should be. That he is better off somewhere else as he deserves all the warmth in the world.

After all, it's merely a normal day where only normal things happen.

--

Were you the sunset? The wind? The tornado, or the guy in the cold? Which storyline was it that we played?

I will come back with my version of answers. Until then, I will be with my lager. And you will take care of yourselves.

[altiakana]

Dear K & M,

I will continue to write about the two of you as a coping mechanism. I might even delve deep into some resurfacing issues, stretching years back -- decades, even. I will let myself loose because I don't think any of you will ever find this blog.

Someday I will retire this name. And when I do, know that the two of you shapes who she is. And I will forever be grateful for that.

[sulfatto-deactivated20241018]

[k-i-l-l-e-r-b-e-e-6-9]

[altiakana]

me at least 3x in a week

[shitedits]

[altiakana]

[Unsent Letter] To R: Take Care.

'Cos we burnt out That's what you do When you have everything, it can't be true —-Kasabian, “Goodbye Kiss”

The broom and the mop are staring at me disappointed as if they know I am about to delay my house-cleaning plan for this crappy, whiny writing.

Sigh.

I am not in the right mind to write yet, but this is the only catharsis that I can think of at 2 AM. What just ended not fifteen minutes ago reminded me of the joy and agony of being your friend, of why we are the way we are today, of why it hurts as it should.

I haven't felt like this for a long time, so forgive me for being so fragile. The last time you called was over half a year ago when you informed me that one of the guys might be in trouble. We spent fifteen minutes forming an emergency rescue plan. To my relief, we never actually had to put it in motion, but that implies no more calls or any other chance of encountering you.

I wouldn't say I was disappointed. We had agreed to maintain the necessary distance and to keep things as casual as possible. With the pandemic going on, there have been no gatherings or weddings to attend to, thus eliminating the chance of us seeing each other for an entire year. I was busy, you were as well, and we successfully kept our minds off each other.

At least until tonight.

I was about to start my date with wangi hutan cemara when your name appeared on my screen. Naturally, I readied myself for yet another mission you might need me for because that's just the way it is with us: we don't call unless there's something potentially crazy going on with our pals that needs damage control ASAP.

But you didn't come bearing bad news. Your voice was calm and cheerful and there was music in the background. I asked suspiciously if there was anything to be addressed. You picked up my cautious tone and said maybe we need to do this more often so it would feel less like a duty call and more like a joyous occasion.

Been there, done that, I said satirically, and you laughed. Hearing it made me smile, and just like that, the ice broke. We began talking about our—my and your—pet turtles. I told you about this silly video I discovered on YouTube which you searched and watched right away. We laughed at it together through the phone. You told me about the funny things your dad did this past year and I proposed that—lo and behold—it could very well be a preview of your future.

For a moment there everything was light and bright. There were you, me, and Devendra Banhart. The stars, the moon, the tide. Waves and waves of laughter... eventually dying down.

Then you began asking how I was doing.

We've promised never to talk about our relationships, so I answered with some complaints about the stress and irony of my job. I threw the question back at you and we continued this dance of telling a story without truly telling the story. Expertly leaving clues here and there for each other to pick up and seam together.

At one point you asked me if I thought you were okay (which is weird now that I think about it), and I said something felt a little off.

You neither denied nor admitted it. And I let it slide. I was dying to know what could possibly have happened that gave you the need to confirm your well-being with me, but I couldn't let myself fall into the same pit all over again. I can't put myself in between that line again.

You must have sensed my wall building up because then you changed the subject. You started talking about your lifelong dream of living alone in a cabin by a lake. I alerted that that plan needs to be adjusted to current conditions, to which you responded with “yaddah, yaddah.”

You asked about my plan and I—for the umpteenth time—shared with you my fear and fondness of writing. You pointed out that I could be a damn good writer should I stop being chickenshit. You might be right but I hate it when you're right so I sincerely said fuck you.

We argued. Perfect enemies. Two stones crashing against each other, waiting for the final crack. We would've gone on all night had you not uttered that you missed this.

And before we knew it, we were back to the same conversation we had that awful night in that dreaded parking lot six years ago.

We're some old broken records, aren't we? Perhaps we never really grew up. No. We must have grown somehow, but not in the right way... if there is a right way.

Or, perhaps, there is a time portal that opens up every time we talk, sending us back to when everything was undecided. To when you were yours and I was mine and we had the freedom to own parts of each other the way we did.

When I shared that thought with you, you chuckled and said, “so you mean we're a thing out of sci-fi movies... instead of rom-com ones?”

I answered with a teensy laugh. I knew where that conversation would've led us. I knew what road we were heading to.

But that road had been long closed. So I pulled the brake.

This is the way I'm always leaving. —-Devendra Banhart, “This Is The Way”

I told you I gotta go.

I heard you exhaling. “We should do this again sometime.”

I swallowed a yes. Take care.

“Tell that to yourself first,” you replied.

Then there were the bye-byes, followed by complete silence.

I try to find consolation in thinking that this is one-sided. That to you, this was just another friendly phone call, not some long-awaited gasp of air. It pierces more to think that both of us are holding torches in separate darkness. Call me selfish but I want this burden to be mine and mine alone so that I wouldn't have to wonder if you're gonna be okay after everything.

Be that as it may, I think we did one hell of a good job. No promises are broken, friendship is kept safe, and lives are still going on the way they should. This is why we chose this path: we need to have each other without being scared senseless of the thought that it may not work out. We refused to make an irreversible commitment that may destroy years of friendship. We chose to have each other, at the cost of not having each other.

I am not going to defend the logic behind it because admittedly there are none.

It doesn't have to make sense to make sense. —-Ted Mosby

As you said, we'll continue this some other time. Maybe I'd be the one to make the call. And after that you'll be back to whatever it is you're doing and I'll be in front of a screen, writing a thousand words about us—or rather, the absence of us—as a coping mechanism. Words I won't be able to publish anywhere except anonymously because people—mine, yours, ours—are going to freak if they find out.

Maybe they'll find out eventually. Maybe we'll cave and tell them, but it's a headache for another day. For now, it's time I get back to my date... with the broom and the mop.

Until next time.

Take care.

[altiakana]

why me? of all people you could've toyed, lied to, and ruined, why chose me? what did I do? why are you wasting me away?