Sunrise Stories.

It’s Saturday, a once dreaded day of the week. I remember waking up as a child not knowing what to do, or how I was going to spend the day. It was always spent at home, and since that was never favourable, Saturday was the slowest; inspiring all the torpidity and sunken spirits sufficient enough to draw a frown on my face.

But everything changes, I believe. When one gets so close to affirming that certain things will stay the same forever, a force shapes itself to sabotage it, and bring about circumstances that blow those false beliefs away.

I wake up on a Saturday with a smile stretched so wide that it bickers the sunrise to hurry up and show itself. After minutes spent sipping a calming herbal tea and rereading poetry from the night before, I find myself racing down the stairs, the fresh morning breeze alleviating my steps, allowing me to glide across the streets, walking and observing the many changes occurring as the light dominates the atmosphere instead of the pale moonlight.

On my way, I daydream— not the fantasies of my younger years, but visualisations of the near future: challenges to overcome, opportunities to seek, lessons to learn and greatness to achieve. I find a place in this world through my thoughtful episodes; uncovering potentials, unleashing hidden mysteries of self that would perhaps appear frivolous and premature, but ready to be put into practise. I feel the sunlight spilling on my face and I can’t help but experience delight for being visible and alive, even though it’s formidable and rough at times.

I remember our conversations from the day before, the unearthliness we promised to keep safe and locked within our souls. I remember the patience we had instilled in our minds, the gratitude of finding each others’ ways collide so effortlessly, realising we are on the same road in whichever place we are in life.

I acknowledge the coincidences intricately planned by God, how we were meant to bump into each other. Like we were two feathers floating on the white-capped ocean wave crests, and every ripple foreordained made us roll into each other, till we eventually found ourselves floating in the same frequency, finding pleasure in the ups and downs of such a vast ocean, quite determined to discover what it doesn’t know itself.

And we do eventually cross each other’s path, and I see you standing, smiling fearlessly as we take notice of our coexisting presences. I’m being blown by the wind and time expressing itself so freely, that it carries me to precise coordinates in this confined space to find my steps leading me towards you. And though I’ve never seen you, it’s like we knew each other all this time.

We haven’t planned anything. We haven’t meddled in how things were supposed to turn out. Believing that some issues were meant to take their time, we trusted our hearts to guide us to what’s righteous. Such a connection requires lavish illusionary perspectives— it’s easy to get carried away, lose connection with our minds and rush to what’s inevitably meaningless.

We walk together, chuckling spontaneously every now and then, without even saying a thing. I pick a fresh February-born, dew-coated dandelion and hand it to you, expressing the magnitude of thankfulness within me. A time unknown later, we part our ways, with a graceful wave and eyes unable to blink, trying their best to capture the insanity unable to be tailored to the physical dimensions of sight.

I don’t know if I will ever see you again, neither wish to know. I respect your path and you respect mine, and that reciprocity does not make us want to question how and when we shall roll into each other one more time.

That night, though, I pray for another ripple. Just another one, so that we could experience a similar magic and tell each other the stories those eyes could never tell.

- a story based on the magic of intuition.