A Study of Feeling

That pang of distress you are experiencing today?

It's called longing.

And it has never been known for its kind timing. Rather, longing has always popped in at the wrong moment; kicking you straight in the gut while you were crossing the street, or punching you in the chest (right at that place where it is hollowed by numerous unrecovered broken hearts you have experienced in your twenty one years of life) when you are making tea. Nothing concrete has ever triggered the recollections that you have to endure for a few suffering moments, these surreal moments cut you down into two parts, 'here', and 'there' as a fixed point in time and space, another being, another creature, another you. Your 'here' is able to decipher certain messages from another humans, while simultaneously maintaining the persona of being completely present at the time and space currently provided by the universe, even though your 'here' keeps on looking through a fogged bus window during nighttime at the place your brain calls as 'there'.

Distantly, you can see what your 'there' is currently doing. These recollections have never been perfect down to minuscule detail, yet somehow your 'there' is always happy. Always content. Seems like your 'there' has never experienced any suffering, or confusion, or angst, or tearful moments. Because maybe that is what it is, a foggy remembrance of something that had happened in few Sun trips ago. Maybe your brain rewires some parts, making it appears as if the whole experience was nothing but a giant cloud consisted of giggly, hazy days.

But that is not what it was.

And it is not why your chest feels empty and heavy at the same time. It is because back then the time and place uncommonly collided with one another for a few weeks, you were in tune with life, the Earth, the whole human race, your dreams, your soul, and most importantly yourself. You were not a passing feature on Earth, you were not so-and-so's high school sweetheart, you were not another customer, you were not a fellow commuter. You were alive, living, and thriving.

It was simply a point where your expectation and reality met.

A justly glorified version of home.

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