Just My Imagination

This is the first post of this second blog-site — made for reinvention purposes. Yes, all that clean-slate-slash-having-a-second-chance-at-life mucking about.

Despite this drastic need for change, however, I’ve decided to import this one particular blog entry from my previous site. This is my favorite post out of all the other older ones; as it also reflects my feelings best in launching this new blog-site. Enjoy.

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JUST MY IMAGINATION… (April 4, 2010)

It is another sleepless Saturday evening, and the monotonous ticking of the clock didn’t need to remind me of this. Tonight’s choice of music was that of Nat King Cole’s greatest hits. The last song on the play-list began to play; and the familiar tune made the corners of my lips curl in delight. There in my room sat a young dreamer, yet an oldie at heart.

I closed my eyes as his hauntingly beautiful voice sent me off to a completely different dimension…

“The very thought of you,
And I forget to do…
The little ordinary things,
That everyone ought to do…

I’m living in a kind of daydream,
I’m happy as a king.
And foolish though it may seem,
To me that’s everything…”

My almost-always active imagination leads me to sitting at the corner of a downtown bar with a cocktail glass in hand, way back in the year 1947. I smile at my vintage taste. My eyes fix on a handsome, young couple making their way from the jukebox to the middle of the empty dance floor.

The man is suited in a crisp navy uniform; his flat cap left resting on the bar beside two consumed drinks. His stance is carried by the natural commanding presence of a naval officer. The woman beside him beams in her classic and timeless beauty—moving in her dress with confident yet trusting elegance; the swaying locks of her dark hair framing her face perfectly.

Holding her hand, he guides her to the center of the floor and pulls her towards him with the flick of his wrist. A comfortable silence falls between the both of them as they come face-to-face.

They are a pair. And one does not need to take a second look to know that they are completely, undoubtedly, and utterly… in-love.

He leads her steps with such gentle yet supporting strength as they began to dance around the tiled floor. I watch meticulously from the distance as he handles her with gentle might—as if afraid to break her.

“The mere idea of you,
The longing here for you…
You’ll never know how slow the moments go,
Till I’m near to you…

I see your face in every flower,
Your eyes and stars above.
It’s just the thought of you, the very thought of you…
My love…”

I light my first cigarette and look around the place. The waitress flips the sign from “Open” to “Closed” at the entrance. Door chimes sound at the exit of the few remaining customers; leaving me as the lone spectator to the happenings around me.

Fixing my attention back on the couple, I find them lost in each other’s eyes. I surprise myself with the inability to gag at the scene before me. I take another drag off my cigarette.

A lighthearted chuckle slips from the lady’s red lips as the man spins her around and dips her. It was so playful, so sweet, yet so innocent at the same time. Upon recovery, both her hands immediately find themselves around his shoulders, and they are back to looking into each other’s eyes as if nothing else seemed more important than being there with each other at that very moment. Placing his mouth closer to her cheek, he begins to sing the rest of the song softly into her ears…

“The mere idea of you,
The longing here for you…
You’ll never know how slow the moments go,
Till I’m near to you…

I see your face in every flower,
Your eyes and stars above.
It’s just the thought of you, the very thought of you…
My love…”

And with the fading sound of the string orchestra ending the song, the handsome couple began to slowly disappear before me. It was the perfect finality—an image of them lost in their love and euphoria as they both vanished into the darkness.

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I open my eyes and find myself back in my dark room. The music that has left me is now replaced with the soft buzzing of the air-conditioner. The bar’s tiled dance floor is now the hardwood flooring beneath my feet. I am partly coated by the yellow light streaming steadily from the lamp positioned above my bed.

There it was, staring back at me.

I tried to ignore it. But once again tonight, just like on every other night — it didn’t take ‘no’ for an answer.

It was the cold, harsh, reality that I could not fake happiness in choosing to be alone. The inescapable fear stared back at me when my imagination stopped playing along to the hidden wants of my heart. They had been carefully tucked away to protect me, and it was in playing the music and feeling the lyrics that I had inadvertently discovered my need to be held… to be wanted… to be needed… to be loved…

It was with the acceptance that I had no one to dance with that I forced myself to sleep.