The gift of observation

This is what happens when 10 year old pieces of papers with long forgotten scribblings on them materialize out of thin air.




Observation is a gift. Or a curse.

Depends on how you view it, I guess. Actually, it depends upon the situation you’re observing under. For instance, it depends upon whether you’re observing out of sheer lack of anything else to do over a cup of extra sweet, luke-warm cappuccino, or if you’re observing while waiting for someone to show up, who would have arrived an hour ago if they had any sense of time at all.

In either scenario, I’ve come to realize that eventually boredom or frustration leads to an intense amount of concentration on behalf of the observer, wherein he / she ends up taking in their surroundings to such an extent that a carelessly ignored receipt floating on a puddle of freshly-settled rain water under a table in an outdoor coffee shop when picked up by the janitor or crushed under a chair by a casual, unintentional nudge of a passerby’s foot causes mayhem in the observer’s world.


Unfinished. Because the person I was waiting for arrived.


I smile

As I chatted with a friend of mine today, I realized I’d forgotten.

Forgotten what makes me smile.

The word seemed to alienate itself from my existence. I had to distance myself for a while to realize that whilst I’ve been remembering to plaster it on each day, everyday, I’ve increasingly forgotten what truly makes my lips turn into a grin…into a heartfelt smile.

My smile curves into a lopsided grin when I sit back and listen to someone speak the words I want to hear. It’s lopsided because those words aren’t meant for me. They’re spoken for someone else…to someone else. I remain a mere bystander, observing. And somewhere in my fantasies, I see myself secretly trade places with the lucky lass.

I smile when I suddenly hear that song that somehow found itself at the bottom of my playlist. I smile at the memories that it brings along with the melody. And the words. Oh, those words! It pulls at those long-forgotten strings lying deep within a long-lost life…and there it begins to play a tune of its own. This time, however, a little different…a little nostalgic.

Dance… I smile when I see someone dance. I smile for I know I cannot. I smile because you can. Or he can. Or she can. I smile because they can. I smile because I know that someday, one day…so shall I. Dance…

My lips form an involuntary curve when I stumble upon a look that is shared between two of cupid’s newest victims. I smile when I find myself as an unexpected, uninvited and nonexistent part of their moment…of that glance they thought no one else noticed. I smile because I sense their desire, their passion, and their sheer helplessness when they seek each other out in the midst of hundreds of others…and I smile because I understand why they can’t break away from that stare. I smile because I know that for them…only they exist.

And…I smile.

For the first time in months, I truly smile.