And slowly as the parade on King's day faded with the slightest glimpse of the sunlight, I stood there mindful of thoughts in my verandah. The warmth of my freshly brewed coffee and its vapor gently patting on my face and making its way to nothingness only stirred questions in my mind. Questions that I could possibly answer from my very own experiences and opinionate, or just let them cross my mind unanswered.
"Heyylllloooo, young lady", an unexpected, yet familiar voice disrupted the silence around and of course my circle of thoughts, too. My neighbor, Martin, is a cheerful old man. 70 years old, to be precise. He moved next door about 3 months ago and we've been in good terms since then. His wife died soon after their first child was born. The son left him and moved to Kyoto with his Japanese girlfriend. Ever since, Martin has been living by himself, plowing his small field well enough to suffice his living. The wrinkled face and tired knees speak a lot about him.
I smiled and offered him my coffee. That was involuntary. Perhaps, that's the thing about feelings. The hearty one's need no gestural manipulation.
"Ah, thank you so much but I was wondering if you would like to play some music for me today? I heard you singing the other day"
Oh that was embarrassing. I never meant to disturb my neighbours.
He continued, "but I loved it, you know. I used to sing it to my wife every year on her birthday. She absolutely loved Jim Croce."
His eyes fixed to a point in space. He was smiling all the while remembering something.
"When was her birthday?"
"Today. The 20th of February", and his smile shrunk to some extent and eyes blinked quite fast for like 2 seconds.
It'd have been idiotic of me to ask him if he misses her, or if he dated somebody else after her. It was just not the right time. He was overwhelmed with his wife's memories
"Just 3 minutes and you're good to go for a coffee and, ofcourse, the song. Sounds good, Mr Bouw?"
He withdrew his senses back to the present and nodded with a smile in agreement.
I could read his face very well while he sipped his coffee. Right then he began, "Thank you for your offer. What's your name, though? Sorry, I didn't care to ask so far. You know how this old machine works", he pointed his fingers towards his head
"I am Tara"
"What a nice name", He exclaimed.
"What does it mean?"
"It's a Hindi name for Star"
"As good as you, dear child"
We continued the conversation for like an hour about his occupation and how he also joined a music band while working as a farmer, and that how one of his friends had cultivated a strange crop that required no water, no sun and yet made a great yield, and how his only pet-A squirrel-would sit on the lap of his wife and she'd gently pat it and he'd barely take his eyes off them. She'd not compel him to attend Sunday masses, but despite being an atheist he'd gladly follow her to not miss the moment of being with her.
"It is pretty much simple, you see. An ordinary life it was, yet colorful--with her, because of her", he paused and wiped his lips with the back of his left hand.
I admit I was curious to hear him more. Also because I could sense that his heart had an abundance of shushed memories that he wanted to share, talk forever about them
"Owwwkkay, sorry I kept you looping around this not-so-important conversation. Let's get going!"
I was still processing that 1 hour conversation and trying to curb my desire to hear more about his life so far, but I wasn't sure if it'd have had been a good approach to 'ask'
I took out my guitar from the case.
"Ah! A Lowden acoustic", he grinned
I was, initially, a bit surprised to see him familiar with the brand by just a glance of the instrument.
"Umm, Do you mind if I get my own?", he almost stood up in excitement and expected no reply from me.
It was an old six string that took a while to tune properly.
"You know the brand?" his expressions certainly knew my answer
"Well, it's a vintage 1935 Martin F-9 Archtop Acoustic"
Blah! Sounded like a weird computing algorithm
He continued,"it was a gift to me from her--on her birthday"
"On her birthday? On your birthday, right? "
"No. You heard it right. That's just one of the several interesting things that she was all about."
I hesitatingly asked him of her name, just in order to let him his heart out. I know how good it feels when there's somebody to listen and understand all that you have to say, and feel the same way with you- deeply.
"Happy"
"Excuse me? Yes, I am"
Why on earth would he ask me if I was happy? Happy to see the guitar, or hear about his wife and life?
He smiled and took a sip of the barely warm coffee. "Her name was Happy"
Strangely interesting, ofcourse.
"Nice name" and I expected him to go on talking about it more but he didn't
"D major, right?"
"Uh, yes" I placed the guitar on my lap ready to sing
It took a while to get the rhythm on that old fashioned guitar but I finally somehow managed. To be honest, I was struggling to play like a pro and not disappoint him with a bad background music
If I could save time in a bottle
The first thing that I'd like to do
Is to save... he joined me and I continued strumming the chords
What a wonderful voice he had. An absolute fit for the song. A quivering voice, but really deep. He had his eyes closed and head swaying gently with the tune, and smiling all the while. Was it my playing style? Or the song? Or the memories associated with the song? Whatsoever it was, it was just more than perfect. He was lost in the lyrics and sang each and every word like he's living them all
...Just to spend them with you
he waited for me to begin with the second paragraph, although he knew the lyrics very well.
I couldn't resist joining the flow softly. It was that intriguing. The moment, perhaps, or the song, or his presence. I don't know.
If I had a box just for wishes
And dreams that had never come true
The box would be empty, except for the memory of how
They were answered by you
But there never seems to be enough time
To do the things you want to do , once you find them
I've looked around enough to know
That you're the one I want to go through the time with
..And I didn't stop. No, the guitar didn't let me stop, or perhaps the song. I was happy I could contribute to a moment of his happiness that evening. To me it was just like any other day, but to him it was a lot more.
Mr Bouw took a deep breath and exhaled as if in that one breath he fed himself with heaven and earth all at once, all in abundance. He took off his glasses and wiped his eyes.
"Was it just once that you fell in love, Mr Bouw?" I proved my stupidity. Reflexes, you know.
"You ought to"
After a while he took out a small paper from his pocket. No, it was not small. It was folded in such a way. A sepia coloured and quite withered. Definitely, an old one.
He slowly begins to read it aloud in his soft, deep, and quivering voice
"Dated Forever
There are birds on the trees of our lawn, Martin. They tell me often how madly you're in love with me. Did they convey my messages to you, too?
It has been ages since you received any critics from me. I'd vent them out only if you promise me to work on them. Deal, Mr Dealbreaker?
Okay, so... I know you come home tired from work, but don't let it drain your health, please. Moreso, there are times when you keep your heart to yourself. I understood your silence very often, but not too often to mend our quarrels. Between laughing and silently weeping, we shared too much and a little too less.
Time is all we have, right? Now you know, right?
He distracts his gaze to the old ragged shoes of his, "time is all we had. Now I know. Right"
"Can I read it for you, Mr Bouw?" it was awkward but I really wanted to. There was something strong about this letter that drew my attention
A Cursive handwriting in blue ink that had nearly faded.
The 4th of September,1985 Dated Forever...
Value the little things in life. I know it would mean nothing if I say that to you. But with time you will learn that, too. Make friends, laugh out, take care of our child and tell him all that I wish I could. You made a good living for both of us, darling, but remember that money is something that's often dodged by time. Its foolish to value money over time. You are a man and you think like rest of the men about financial security, I know. And I respect that. But darling, money once lost can be earned, so unlike time
I could have nothing better in my life, if not you, Martin. I love you so much. You made this life worthwhile. I will always be with you. Always around.
Yours forever
Happy
I saw him lost in grief. I did not want to talk about it anymore.
He broke the silence, "That's another thing about her. Letters. A lot of what she really meant to convey. This one's the last that she wrote. I value these way over all the money that I made and saved. If only money could buy time. If only money could buy her life. I only realised the value of time when I saw her struggling to breathe, struggling to survive"
He wiped his eyes again and hid them again behind his glasses
"And to answer your question if I fell in love again, young lady" he composed himself and folded the letter back safely
"No, I did not. Happy is just one emotion. Everything else is a source of scattered chaotic desires"
"I didn't understand that, sorry"
"I did meet several women---good friends----but never really chose to find her in anyone ever again. Most of the women and men that I know of today, they'll teach you the fun of coquetting and ogling, and call it love. Love definitely has to be in abundance but after all, it's just one emotion, too. That underlines Happy. And that's all I have ever known. Love is never seasonal. It rather takes years to grow. And only when it grows does it go beyond everything, and manifests a spiritual, an eternal connection. Intimacy with one woman or man is better than having many superficial relationships. You see, life is meant to be lived off the edge but it certainly ain't a joke. It means something. The lesser you value a relationship, the more you tend to lose the essence of being"
He paused. I thought of interrupting but then he continued again.
"I've grown with her, in every respect. She has made me more of a man, more of an individual. She's still here with me. Just that I can't touch and kiss her like before. Damn! This goddamn time."
After he left I was perplexed again with too many thoughts playing riddles in my head. But they say that an old man is akin to wisdom. I, now, second that.
"Heyylllloooo, young lady", an unexpected, yet familiar voice disrupted the silence around and of course my circle of thoughts, too. My neighbor, Martin, is a cheerful old man. 70 years old, to be precise. He moved next door about 3 months ago and we've been in good terms since then. His wife died soon after their first child was born. The son left him and moved to Kyoto with his Japanese girlfriend. Ever since, Martin has been living by himself, plowing his small field well enough to suffice his living. The wrinkled face and tired knees speak a lot about him.
I smiled and offered him my coffee. That was involuntary. Perhaps, that's the thing about feelings. The hearty one's need no gestural manipulation.
"Ah, thank you so much but I was wondering if you would like to play some music for me today? I heard you singing the other day"
Oh that was embarrassing. I never meant to disturb my neighbours.
He continued, "but I loved it, you know. I used to sing it to my wife every year on her birthday. She absolutely loved Jim Croce."
His eyes fixed to a point in space. He was smiling all the while remembering something.
"When was her birthday?"
"Today. The 20th of February", and his smile shrunk to some extent and eyes blinked quite fast for like 2 seconds.
It'd have been idiotic of me to ask him if he misses her, or if he dated somebody else after her. It was just not the right time. He was overwhelmed with his wife's memories
"Just 3 minutes and you're good to go for a coffee and, ofcourse, the song. Sounds good, Mr Bouw?"
He withdrew his senses back to the present and nodded with a smile in agreement.
I could read his face very well while he sipped his coffee. Right then he began, "Thank you for your offer. What's your name, though? Sorry, I didn't care to ask so far. You know how this old machine works", he pointed his fingers towards his head
"I am Tara"
"What a nice name", He exclaimed.
"What does it mean?"
"It's a Hindi name for Star"
"As good as you, dear child"
We continued the conversation for like an hour about his occupation and how he also joined a music band while working as a farmer, and that how one of his friends had cultivated a strange crop that required no water, no sun and yet made a great yield, and how his only pet-A squirrel-would sit on the lap of his wife and she'd gently pat it and he'd barely take his eyes off them. She'd not compel him to attend Sunday masses, but despite being an atheist he'd gladly follow her to not miss the moment of being with her.
"It is pretty much simple, you see. An ordinary life it was, yet colorful--with her, because of her", he paused and wiped his lips with the back of his left hand.
I admit I was curious to hear him more. Also because I could sense that his heart had an abundance of shushed memories that he wanted to share, talk forever about them
"Owwwkkay, sorry I kept you looping around this not-so-important conversation. Let's get going!"
I was still processing that 1 hour conversation and trying to curb my desire to hear more about his life so far, but I wasn't sure if it'd have had been a good approach to 'ask'
I took out my guitar from the case.
"Ah! A Lowden acoustic", he grinned
I was, initially, a bit surprised to see him familiar with the brand by just a glance of the instrument.
"Umm, Do you mind if I get my own?", he almost stood up in excitement and expected no reply from me.
It was an old six string that took a while to tune properly.
"You know the brand?" his expressions certainly knew my answer
"Well, it's a vintage 1935 Martin F-9 Archtop Acoustic"
Blah! Sounded like a weird computing algorithm
He continued,"it was a gift to me from her--on her birthday"
"On her birthday? On your birthday, right? "
"No. You heard it right. That's just one of the several interesting things that she was all about."
I hesitatingly asked him of her name, just in order to let him his heart out. I know how good it feels when there's somebody to listen and understand all that you have to say, and feel the same way with you- deeply.
"Happy"
"Excuse me? Yes, I am"
Why on earth would he ask me if I was happy? Happy to see the guitar, or hear about his wife and life?
He smiled and took a sip of the barely warm coffee. "Her name was Happy"
Strangely interesting, ofcourse.
"Nice name" and I expected him to go on talking about it more but he didn't
"D major, right?"
"Uh, yes" I placed the guitar on my lap ready to sing
It took a while to get the rhythm on that old fashioned guitar but I finally somehow managed. To be honest, I was struggling to play like a pro and not disappoint him with a bad background music
If I could save time in a bottle
The first thing that I'd like to do
Is to save... he joined me and I continued strumming the chords
What a wonderful voice he had. An absolute fit for the song. A quivering voice, but really deep. He had his eyes closed and head swaying gently with the tune, and smiling all the while. Was it my playing style? Or the song? Or the memories associated with the song? Whatsoever it was, it was just more than perfect. He was lost in the lyrics and sang each and every word like he's living them all
...Just to spend them with you
he waited for me to begin with the second paragraph, although he knew the lyrics very well.
I couldn't resist joining the flow softly. It was that intriguing. The moment, perhaps, or the song, or his presence. I don't know.
If I had a box just for wishes
And dreams that had never come true
The box would be empty, except for the memory of how
They were answered by you
But there never seems to be enough time
To do the things you want to do , once you find them
I've looked around enough to know
That you're the one I want to go through the time with
..And I didn't stop. No, the guitar didn't let me stop, or perhaps the song. I was happy I could contribute to a moment of his happiness that evening. To me it was just like any other day, but to him it was a lot more.
Mr Bouw took a deep breath and exhaled as if in that one breath he fed himself with heaven and earth all at once, all in abundance. He took off his glasses and wiped his eyes.
"Was it just once that you fell in love, Mr Bouw?" I proved my stupidity. Reflexes, you know.
"You ought to"
After a while he took out a small paper from his pocket. No, it was not small. It was folded in such a way. A sepia coloured and quite withered. Definitely, an old one.
He slowly begins to read it aloud in his soft, deep, and quivering voice
"Dated Forever
There are birds on the trees of our lawn, Martin. They tell me often how madly you're in love with me. Did they convey my messages to you, too?
It has been ages since you received any critics from me. I'd vent them out only if you promise me to work on them. Deal, Mr Dealbreaker?
Okay, so... I know you come home tired from work, but don't let it drain your health, please. Moreso, there are times when you keep your heart to yourself. I understood your silence very often, but not too often to mend our quarrels. Between laughing and silently weeping, we shared too much and a little too less.
Time is all we have, right? Now you know, right?
He distracts his gaze to the old ragged shoes of his, "time is all we had. Now I know. Right"
"Can I read it for you, Mr Bouw?" it was awkward but I really wanted to. There was something strong about this letter that drew my attention
A Cursive handwriting in blue ink that had nearly faded.
Value the little things in life. I know it would mean nothing if I say that to you. But with time you will learn that, too. Make friends, laugh out, take care of our child and tell him all that I wish I could. You made a good living for both of us, darling, but remember that money is something that's often dodged by time. Its foolish to value money over time. You are a man and you think like rest of the men about financial security, I know. And I respect that. But darling, money once lost can be earned, so unlike time
I could have nothing better in my life, if not you, Martin. I love you so much. You made this life worthwhile. I will always be with you. Always around.
Yours forever
Happy
I saw him lost in grief. I did not want to talk about it anymore.
He broke the silence, "That's another thing about her. Letters. A lot of what she really meant to convey. This one's the last that she wrote. I value these way over all the money that I made and saved. If only money could buy time. If only money could buy her life. I only realised the value of time when I saw her struggling to breathe, struggling to survive"
He wiped his eyes again and hid them again behind his glasses
"And to answer your question if I fell in love again, young lady" he composed himself and folded the letter back safely
"No, I did not. Happy is just one emotion. Everything else is a source of scattered chaotic desires"
"I didn't understand that, sorry"
"I did meet several women---good friends----but never really chose to find her in anyone ever again. Most of the women and men that I know of today, they'll teach you the fun of coquetting and ogling, and call it love. Love definitely has to be in abundance but after all, it's just one emotion, too. That underlines Happy. And that's all I have ever known. Love is never seasonal. It rather takes years to grow. And only when it grows does it go beyond everything, and manifests a spiritual, an eternal connection. Intimacy with one woman or man is better than having many superficial relationships. You see, life is meant to be lived off the edge but it certainly ain't a joke. It means something. The lesser you value a relationship, the more you tend to lose the essence of being"
He paused. I thought of interrupting but then he continued again.
"I've grown with her, in every respect. She has made me more of a man, more of an individual. She's still here with me. Just that I can't touch and kiss her like before. Damn! This goddamn time."
After he left I was perplexed again with too many thoughts playing riddles in my head. But they say that an old man is akin to wisdom. I, now, second that.
