Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā The soft wind brushes upon my face, just enough to dry the string of salty tears flowing down my cheek. I donāt know at what point the tears began to fall, or even the point at which they formed, but their essence now stings in the most divine way. I slowly pry my eyes open as I get reacquainted with the genesis of my overwhelming state. A blanket of mist, swelled with gray clouds has produced a viscous atmosphere. Any remnants of the sun were now washed away, only to be replaced with an omnibus of moisture and dew. Iām reminded of this very moisture as I recall, for the first time, that Iām actually sitting on a wooden park bench, the dark lumber absorbing the copious wetness, simultaneously illuminating a deep feeling of envy. There is a wetness within myself, within the ducts of my eyes that is begging for release, the foundation of the dam erodes as my exterior becomes drenched in the rainy endemic mist of the Pacific Northwest. I feel, for the first time. I feel. To even type this now presents new cracks in my poorly repaired infrastructure. Sitting on a splintering wooden bench in Kerry Park, I actually feelā¦present. I feel here. I feel alive. Iāve never felt more alive than I do in this moment, the energy ebbing within my frame and sparking the peaceful thud of my heart sharply contrasts my very inert, catatonic exterior. My lethargic mind now has an impetus. My arid existence now has the moisture that it has actively craved. In this moment, I donāt even mind the acrimonious journey across the landscape of my life that I endured to be in this one location; Iāll wear the scars proudly even if new ones emerge when I return to my real life. I am here, now, getting peppered with raindrops and enveloped in moisture and my body is fraught with emotion. The dryness slowly fades as the rain exfoliates every fiber of my being, the heavy drops penetrating my integumentary system, but I welcome the sensation as new life spreads within me as each drop coasts down my skin.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Internally, Iām an empty well without a single drop of water; a pit without the natural embers of a fire, and without the requisite equipment to even create the most fleeting spark. But here, this moisture is trickling into the orifices of my everything, flooding into the empty well residing deep within, innocently but undoubtedly fueling the first flames of life.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā I make no effort to dry my eyes; not caring who sees me gradually overcome with emotion as I sit in the rain. Iām vaguely reminded of other people, some also appreciating the view from the hilltop of Kerry Park. Some conversing. Some hugging, engaging in acts that are trivial reminders of lifeā¦of presence. I reluctantly tear my brown orbs from the blanketed view to glance at an intertwined couple. Interconnected, that is what they are. They are two people, present in each others lives, two lovebirds perched atop the tranquil terrace of a city park. The presence of one reassures the presence of the other. One of them laughs, I donāt notice from whom it bellows, but it stills me even more. Their satisfactionā¦their happinessā¦for me, itās not contagious. For I am the lone ranger, the introverted bird barely perched atop the terrace, simply happy to just be a presence in the setting of life, as opposed to an active participantā¦or so I thought.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā My mind lags, again, and I make the wise decision to restore my pupils to the gorgeous view of the Emerald City. They even dilate when I can discern the knowing stance of the white frame, thin in the body and robust at the head, the telltale icon of the Northwestern United States. The Space Needle certainly has the right appellation. It dominates the Seattle skyline, though its commandeering of taller buildings is very passive, just like the residents who populate the wet streets. Its piercing posture isolates it from the rest of the skyline but commands the respect of every photographer who ventures within viewing distance. The hum of the city is only disrupted by the faint boom of a ferry horn slicing through the peaceful waves of Puget Sound, or Elliot Bay, connecting the scattered islands of Washington State to the big little city. But those horns and the buzzing of Seattle life are like white noise for me: I hear nothing but everything at the same time. I see nothing but everything at the same time. The only thing that moves are the raindrops upon the environment, and the lull of park goers waning through the entrances.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā This city, this beautifully luscious city tucked under a blanket of clouds and showered with pellets of water from the world above has tilled me. The organic music of this city, and the life that stems from the opulent nature has tainted me in the most glorious way, planting a seed and watering me with sprinkles of life, ensuring that its notes are heard throughout my auditorium of life.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā My eyes blur, and I know itās not rain drops, but more tears. The dam breaks. The portcullis crumbles. I am unprotected, and I want to be infected, infused with whatever this city is willing to give me. I move to stand, to get closer to my city, to feel the cracked concrete under my soaked soles, but I am paralyzed. Iām sitting on a wooden bench in Kerry Park, consumed by rain, encapsulated in gloomy skies, beaten and broken down by the 24 years Iāve spent drifting into nothingness, and a city is picking up the pieces. A city thousands of miles away from everything Iāve ever known is asking to become one with me, and I can only oblige. I donāt have to provide consent. In a way, I was always here, renting my physical frame to that dark and callous setting of Un-brotherly Love, much darker than the charcoal gray clouds of this Seattle sky.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā My infecund existence, despite my actual accomplishments pales in comparison to who I am in that moment. Iāll never accomplish more by doing nothing other than sitting on a wooden bench in Kerry Park. I scale the sight before me and think about what Iāve done to deserve this entire experience. My cold bunk in the hostel, hidden underneath the gateway of the International District reignites me with the heat of life every time I snake my way under the sheets, my mind entertaining the possibility of life as a Seattleite. The tangled traffic trudging through the city streets is only disencumbering as I saunter through the morning rain in a facile quest for the best coffee in the United States, smile never wavering from my swollen rain-soaked lips. The sinuous conversations that naturally erupt from the throat of nearly every citizen, the content of which cements Seattleās rank as the smartest city in the US. The night before my trek to Kerry Park brimmed with classical music from the Seattle Symphony, an ingenious marriage of Haydn and Mozart coupled with an accompaniment from a University of Washington professor. I departed Benaroya Hall feeling incredibly sated, though the feast of offerings also pales in comparison to the view of this city on this, my final day.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā My mind is as glossy as my eyes, and this time, I make an effort to remove the watery tint. I chastise my lack of a photographic memory. I want to remember this moment. Thisā¦right here. I want to remember each bolt of emotion that strikes my psyche and pulls me, like a magnet towards the city below. My hands are pruning from the wetness, itās all around me, and I know that itās there on a superficial level but I donāt feel it. Itās as if my skin has been scorched, completely fileted and replaced with one that Iāve yet to recognize. The clouds thicken and the city continues to disappear into the nested layers of gray. Minutes feel like hours, and my eyes can no longer discern this cityās features. But I can sense their presence, and thatās enough for me. The Space Needle, erect in all its glory still preponderates the panorama. The tallest buildings in Washington state still eclipse the faint, albeit scaling outline of Mount Rainier. The white and green ferries are still taxiing and coasting through the dark waters straddling the isthmus that is this city that has given me newfound life.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā I slowly shut my eyes to appreciate this moment, the moment in which I was reborn and given a pass to embark on a new existence. No one will ever believe that the first signs of a life of happiness sprouted from droplets from a dark, gloomy, rainy atmosphere, but I donāt care. Drifting in a sea of incessant toxicity, I floated to an inlet that happened to be Puget Sound, and Seattle wrapped around me and pulled me from the water. I may still falter and find myself in that same incessant sea of aridity, but now I know the name of my lifeguard.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā I pry my soaked body from the home that was my park bench and attach myself to a nearby railing like the starfish that reside in the surrounding waters. I look out at nothing but I see so much more. Before this, I would breathe, but now Iām inhaling, and the air that is drawn into my lungs adds more fuel to this tanker of life that is now is erected within me. Inhale. The first spark. Inhale. The sparks catch and begin a shy flame, a few embers fall astray. Inhale. The air in my chest swells, as does the fire. Inhale. The well is no longer empty. The pit is now a shining angry mound of heat. The embers are no longer modest but rather robust, illuminating my interior and scorching everything in their path. I feel fluorescent. I am lit from within. In this cold dark setting, the only light radiating is erupting from me. I am lit from within. Inhale. The dam breaks, for an entirely different reason. These are not tears of sadness, only tears of joy, tears of knowing, tears of confidence. Tears of profound tranquility. For now, I know I am alive. I am lit from within. The portcullis is in ruins, but I am standing as strong as the buildings of this skyline. I am lit from within. I am fluorescent.
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