On the long walk to meet Mr koreana

October 13, 2015

It’s conceivable two people are drawn together to fulfill a compelling need besides simply to be with each other. Or to be part of love and be loved in return.

The only reason why I feel compelled to use the word, it’s conceivable is only because some people don’t have such a thing as a choice and even less in the way of a design as to how things are going to pan out – other than to be drawn inexorably together. I wouldn’t go as far as to describe it as unity or solidarity, or even how two magnets can really only be naturally drawn to each other. If anything it probably has something to do with the endless crisscrossing lines that so intersect serendipity, epiphany and chance to all alter and change fate, destiny and fortunes.

Take the next bus. Only because you missed an earlier one on account of being distracted by a pretty girl in a short skirt. Sit next to the window seat at the rear only because you feel that’s where you least have to rub shoulders with others. After all it’s going to be an awlfully a long journey home. Lose your balance on the edge of a pavement that sticks out more than it should when you’re stepping off the bus that makes you lose your balance even more only to find yourself stooping before a leaflet that says 50% off on coffee and cakes between eight and ten that someone had probably just dropped on the floor. Glance at your new watch, that you’re still yet to know loses five minutes daily because the factory that made it wrongly labelled the pallet as quality passed when it should have been thrown out. Its eight forty five. By the time you stand before the perfidious face counter staff who tells you, it’s five past ten and the offer is over like she is reading off a laminated card. The girl next to you overhears it and she offers to buy one for you at half price since her transaction isn’t technically over yet…she’s still vacillating whether to go for a tiramisu or papaya flavored cake. You share the same table with her only because it’s near closing time and half the area is cordoned off except on free table with two seats….and here contained within this chronological account termed everydayness – your whole life changes. Then again it could remain exactly the same.

Had anything changed from the moment you missed the bus that you were supposed to board to the time when you stood before the counter to place your order. Had anything. Even the most imfinitesemial been different in the causal chain…the outcome would have turned out completely differently.

As the girl whose different from all other girls decided to take the long walk across the park to the MRT that evening to meet Mr Koreana. She realized even her simple act of engaging her muscles that propels her forward by putting one foot in front of another had all the power to change her life or keep it the same – to her understanding of the known world. This accounts for why one regularly sees long lines forming outside a lottery shop during the monthly big sweep – everyone who stands on that line may well hold out the faint hope all the numbers they have scribbled will magically line up to transform their averagely miserable lives.

But what the girl whose different from all other girls knows so well that she can only truly be different from all other girls in only her own way is – millions of invisible lines are crisscrossing with every passing breathe…..it’s happening everywhere….all the time….even presently in the mundane act of walking while carrying a NTUC plastic bag. Probability may well feature, but if does, it’s merely a punctuation mark like those long lines of hopeful punters never seem to bother about…if it really it, it’s arguable, there would be anything resembling a long queue of people waiting to buy a lottery – for the girl who was different from all other girls, what really accounts for the long queue in the lottery shop was something that had nothing whatsoever to do with actuarial science, probability or even chance…this to her was the highest human testament that mystery was furiously working behind the stage of life all the time…everywhere…even right now when she walking to meet up with Mr Koreana.

To the girl who is different from all other girls. This understanding for a process (for lack of a better word) wasn’t a supernatural or mystical force that may account for why saints are always painted with hallows – in her understanding of that process – one life which had absolutely nothing to do with another resembles a line that intersects another life that takes the shape, form and randomness of her own line. That was precisely why to the girl who was different from all other girls – the whole of idea of meeting Mr Koreana and how either she, him or their combined entities and destinies had weaved a field of possibilities and dead ends before her could not possibly include love as a fait accompli…mutual attraction possibly…but never love…she was not yet convinced – as all they really had to call their very own in this process that the girl who is different from all other girls understands clearly – was this brief moment when two lines intersect like how trains sometimes run opposite so close to each other, where all one do is make out and hold on to a few blurred images only for it all to return to the vacuum of how it was before.

That was the only reason why the girl who was different from all other girls was so intrigued by Mr Koreana. Not the version of Mr Korean who much prefers to refer to himself as a man who trade coffee. Rather the Mr Koreana who when he jumped back into the carriage that fate full evening and fell below her feet reflected the unmistakable expression of a man who not only possessed the temerity, but perhaps even the arrogance to believe that he had the almighty power stop the mythical line from ever moving forever.

To just stop it….dead…at the point of intersection.

If anything it was this one notable feature of Mr Koreana that continued to intrigue the girl who was different from all other girls. It might have been the only reason why she continued to see Mr Koreana was driven by her perverse need to slake her thirst that the world consisted nothing more of random crisscrossing lines and no more.

Yet beneath all that layered jaded pessimism of the girl who is different from all other girls….even she harbored the faintest flicker of hope, if there ever lived a man who had power to stop time…it would certainly be her dear Mr Koreana.

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