Từ độ xa Người
Mấy lần mưa biển
Ngọn đèn đung đưa
Vàng nơi thành phố
Mưa đằm thương nhớ
Ào ào xé nát riêng tư
Ngực trần biển mở
Rộng đến sững sờ...
(Mưa biển)
tôi thấy hai câu cuối đặc biệt gợi cảm. cũng dễ hiểu tại sao tôi lại cảm thấy như vậy.
ham muốn được đi về phía biển lại trỗi dậy. thèm như thế, và bồn chồn và lãng đãng như thế, từ hơn tháng nay, khi một tối dọn dẹp nhà cửa, tôi bắt gặp lại vài cái ảnh cũ chụp hồi còn ở hawaii. lại tiếp tục những bức ảnh ở đâu đó trên đất úc, nơi tôi chưa một lần đặt chân đến nhưng cũng đủ để khuấy động ham muốn cũ.
tôi đã lên kế hoạch - cụ thể đến từng chi tiết và quyết tâm bất chấp sự ơ hờ hay phản đối. rồi việc gia đình xen ngang. đành hẹn gặp vào một dịp khác. sẽ chỉ là delay, as in delayed gratification. bây giờ thì tạm thời sống nhờ nỗi nhớ vậy.
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as i wandered aimlessly along the beach alone last night, things and things and things quickly filled up my mind the way the rising tides wait for no time sweeping deeper and deeper into the shore and driving us further and further aback.
maybe like an owl, i have always been drawn particularly to the night life with its secret, nocturnal activities more than to any daylight exposure. the nightly hoho town is insomniac, always restless and bustling. the night in h-town is (virtually) ice so cold it has time frozen. the night in k-town is like a country song, contemplating, melancholy yet serene and at peace.
late night on the beach is always different, always something else. it was not the quiet joy and admiration imbued by the blazing yellow, orange, or crimson of new englands autumnal leaves. nor was it the instant breathlessness and impotence empowered by the infinite snow-covered plains of mt. ashland.
late night on the beach is always different, always something else in a way that its a little bit of everything above. it never sleeps; the dashing waves have forever come and gone, tirelessly and unruffled by life. however the day is burning, the salty breeze from the sea brings chill into the night, reminding the necessity some light evening blouse. it is a lullaby audible in an unknown language; the sea to me is like tomas to teresa; if teresa dozed off by the whispered impromtu fairy tales or gibberish that tomas repeated monotously to her, i would be sleepwalking everytime the blurry white waves reaches the damp and soft shoreline. and the physical wetness of the waves cuddling over my feet sends some strange spiritual reassurance to every inch of my body; it was as if having someone so real, and truthful, and immovable wrapping his big, rough, strong arms around my shoulders.
the late night beach, after all, is all about the rhythm of life. as i wandered aimlessly, i thought of gurov and the lady with the pet dog. were they aware then that the river between them would be flowing into the sea, something that is so much fiercer and larger than life itself?
my thought was then disrupted as i heard desperado blowing in the wind from somewhere afar. the usual sad, tired, and world-weary vocal produced by the ealges was now sensationally encompassed by a sense of craze and finality captured by the husky, coarse, and so out-of-tunes voices of some drunken party animals. i was a loner. was born one and have always been that way. the circumstances that i have been into have only invariably accentuated that lifestyle of mine. given a choice, i would rather dine out alone, go to a movie on my own, or take a walk in the wood by myself rather than be in someone elses company. but back then, as i muttered to myself:
it's hard to tell the night time from the day
you're losing all your highs and lows
ain't it funny how the feeling goes
i craved for hard liquor and the company of those drunkers.
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