quill of nam

all those nights of desperately yearning for better days— does it go somewhere? do the whispers of my pain and prayers, simply dissipate into the air, or do they find their way, to the universe, creating ripples, that will, in time, materialize, before my eyes?

perhaps these nocturnal musings, play as catalysts that light the torch, propelling us towards that dream— ah, that high ground… perhaps, just perhaps, the universe is listening, absorbing every sigh, every cry, urges us to be patient, to wait, wait, and wait again, see another day.

perhaps it is through the thinning line, between giving up and holding out, that our pain is transmitted, like shooting stars, to the cosmic forces that govern our existence. perhaps, as we pour our bloods out, in the dark night of the soul, the universe stitches the open roads, finally! finally— paving the way for that day, we’ve fervently hoped to see.

today, I still have the letter, you gave me, that one morning, it was misty, february 22nd of 2013, I was twelve; I still read that letter, every february 22nd of every year, in honor of you, to remember, you, and, the day you gave me my first breath. the paper may have weathered, and all the ink faded, but the words you wrote, in between those red blue lines, remain as vibrant as your love.

when I think of the 22nd, I think of that letter, then I think of you, and when I think of you, I think of prayers… which reminds of that day, you told me that I was once just a prayer, from your limp heart—a fervent prayer. I wish I could tell you how I stopped breathing, the second that crossed my hearing; to know that I was… wanted, prayed for, and wanted, …was my salvation. I carry those words with me, like a talisman, a reminder, a nudge, a beacon.

because it wasn’t just a letter; it was you, in an eleven-year-old paper, who gave breath, once again— to the twenty-three-year-old me… today.

You appeal to me like the sunsets in Brent Cotton’s paintings. The soft orange lights that thrust through the forest like the last glimmer of the day. Too soft to hurt the eye yet not too bright to extinguish the impending darkness.

Brent Cotton’s command of color captures the sunsets’ beauty impeccably, as if each brushstroke is breathing life into the subject, whether it was the soft hues of the setting sun or the delicate strokes of an ash tree. It was akin to stepping into a dream, where the world was bathed in a surreal, otherworldly glow.

He makes it look easy to create art the same way you make it look easy to be mundane—to be human. You look like the inevitable calmness that descends upon the world as the day comes to an end—like the sunset. Your presence brings forth a transcendent light, casting a gentle ember upon the world, reminding me that even amidst chaos, there is always a serene stillness to be found.

While Brent Cotton immortalizes sunsets with colors, I immortalize sunsets with words. And let this piece be a testament—my testament—that whenever the sun is setting, it is always you I see.

do you fear the ocean? I don’t recall ever fearing it. its vastness and beauty have been a fascination to me. whether I was swimming in its depths, or quietly sitting on the shore, it has a way of making me feel both small, and tied to something greater than myself. it is many things—it is blue,  and green, and red all at once, revered by sailors, a master to the winds, a conqueror, a home teeming with life, a dancefloor to the dolphins, a muse of arts, a symbol of liberation, of birth and death, a mirror to the skies, an infinite cycle of existence. we worship it—from its majestic waves, to the enigmas of the deep, but then—who does it worship?

To my fellow wanderers,

There’s beauty in not always knowing where you want to go in life—the utter surrender to the unknown. Always somewhere between blooming and withering, burning and drowning, climbing and staying still—a surfer to the ever-shifting waves of life.

It is through this surrender that we find a sense of liberation from the constraints of a predetermined path. A curse to some, a privilege to many. In that liminal space between certainty and ambiguity, we are given the opportunity to navigate through the uncharted waters of our existence—to stretch our passions in peak form—multidimensionally. There’s this trust, blind yet sure, that we know the odds will work out in our favor one way or another, given the unyielding grit.

You’ve seen it before. You’ll see it again.

past all mountains, run from the fields to the blue ocean, sail to the northernmost island of the east, wait until the oceans bleed into rivers, find the one that dances with the wind, tail upstream until all around you is palm trees, walk with the water to the source of light, until the land grows flat and green, our home is there.

if I find the place where the sun sets, I would cage the sun and make you its master. you’d stay at dawn, bathing in the golden rays of its light, I’d stay at dusk, waiting for the moon that may never come. and that is what we will all ever be— two fools drawn to two opposing points in time; one master of the sun, and one slave to the moon. do you see it? do you see it by now?

words pour out of me like my second blood, coating the walls of my pain as the nightfall springs. the primordial element surrounded us, you gave me your ears and engulfed me in circles, such gentle, gentle circles. my hands, rigid and shaking, rested against your warm and steady palms. and in your language, you whispered, “you will rise, you will rise,” you were a semblance of hope, “and you will bloom.” and I breathed

the world dangles hope in front of her, then takes it away every single time. she dreams of that place every day, something she would never understand.

the world has taken her to great heights, like that place she’d take herself to one day. she’ll find it with all her shadows, and it shall possess her with all its light.

To the man where I got my love for coffee from, Always remember how much I treasure you, Papa. There isn’t a day that I don’t think of the quiet conversations we had about our dreams over bitter cup of coffees you always love to make on early Sunday mornings, how wise you can be with your words, and how you never fail to lift me up whenever I’m on the verge of giving up. Life’s been tough lately, but having you as my father makes me feel a little less lost knowing that I will always have someone who’d bend the world just to keep me from falling off the edge. You taught me how imperative it is to never lose sight of the life I want for myself, and the better life we want for our family. And until the time comes that you don’t need me to cover your stubborn white hairs anymore, I’ll be here with all your blackening shampoos ready for you. Happy father’s day, Pa! Your safety, health, and happiness is a constant prayer in my every day. You are my anchor, always have been and always will be.

Love, Your stubborn eldest

and from here, we can run, and breathe like it’s our last, shout like the world’s not deafening enough, weep like the unforgiving raging rivers, stand firmer than ever before, and forgive, forgive, and forgive again. I can become again the girl, who once crossed the oceans, in her best dress, with you behind me, swaggering on the waves of life; and you can become again, the hands that warmed my shoulders, the voice that mended my hurts, and the eyes that saw all of my truths. you can become again, my reason for life, not living, but life.

by: NAM

you are the only one I can’t win, but it’s the first battle I didn’t mind losing;

The party is raging under these multi-colored lights blinding all the people in the room, but not me. It cannot blind me just yet. Not when I have my eyes fixed only on yours. Those eyes. Those ever intoxicating eyes that I’ve seen under different lights all my life.

It’s a wonder how it never changed, not its midnight black color, nor its hooded and brooding stare. It never changed; Not after all the moments it captured, and the moments it missed; Not after all the tears it gave out, and all the pain it bore and masked out; Not after all the happiness it earned, and all the love it witnessed and lost; Not after all the lives it lifted with one hearty gaze, while seeing only the best in people, Not after all the heavy moments it endured to watch, and all the storms it survived; It never changed.

It remained dark like the night, so dark that I almost hoped to see the moon if I stare long enough. It remained burning like the stars, so bright that if the sun has eyes, it would crumble just by the sight of you.