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In (Perhaps) Fiction, Impulsive Writing, Thoughtful Enlightenment

Gone with the Miles

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Gone with the Miles

Every once in a while, our lives get to intersect with a stranger’s, in ways that are a little more meaningful than just holding a door for them or walking in the opposite directions of a sidewalk. Maybe a sustained conversation out of boredom, an impromptu dialogue to break the awkwardness (and curiosity), a solicited exchange of personal preferences about certain thingsโ€”

nevertheless, a brief moment, passing scenes, fleeting opportunities; out of sheer chance, and maybe at times, a sprinkle of luck. Perhaps, it’s your first time stepping foot into that someplace new, and theirs too. Nothing was offered except a transient period of not having to feel so alone in a reality that is completely unknown and moving fast and loud – for there’s another passerby in this very space, at this exact time, who is open to offering a shared pause in that solitude.

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In (Perhaps) Fiction, Adventure of a Lifetime, Wanderlogue

That Heathrow Morning Scene; May the Fifth

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That Heathrow Morning Scene; May the Fifth

It followed a seven-and-a-half-hour flight across the terrain, where the last one-third of a night slowly shifted into a dazzling sunrise from above the clouds, followed by a sunny, lukewarm morning on a different continent.

The woman could particularly recall a pair of hazel eyes and coiffured, well-groomed hair of a similar shade from that morning. Fair skin in contrast to her tan. Sharp-edged nose underneath a black-coloured face covering. An approximately six-foot tall man in his white tees and beige sweatpants. A black carry-on duffle bag. A two-hour conversation and shared chuckles, that led to zero names, let alone trails of any sort.

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In (Perhaps) Fiction, Adventure of a Lifetime, Wanderlogue

A handwritten note from the Atlantic

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A handwritten note from the Atlantic

Summer, 2017

It was a summer of green plateau and turquoise ocean when I had my first, and possibly last, Acadian crush. He was a married man with a pair of the clearest blue-hazel eyes I’d ever seen in a person, and dark curly hair with slight golden tips hidden underneath a grey hat that made him look much younger than he actually was.

Luca Gauthier and I ventured into the Acadian, boreal, and taiga forests of Cape Breton Highland that morning of July 13th. He brought an apple in his blue backpack, and a tiny container of almond, ham sandwich, and celery sticks that his wife had prepared for him. “How are you?” He asked me. “Great, can’t be more thrilled,” I said. “It’s my first time in the region and I’ve been looking forward to this trip for months.”

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