.... and I Will Be Flying On a Broomstick

Strip away the crowded trains, the office chatter, the red and green of traffic lights at dusk and the day begins to lose its edges. Like an ice-cream that had been left too long under the sun, the day melts away into shapeless solitude, made of sunlight filtered through a curtain, a 6-tatami bedroom, an empty coffee cup, laughter and voices traveling through the ether, the sizzle of onions in a frying pan, a phone screen lighting up in the dark. A story needs a beginning, middle and end; I’m sorry but today, there is no story to tell.

The nights are colder these days. The air is crisp and the trees have more edges. I see yellow leaves everywhere – some crinkle under my feet and others cling to branches but every single one of them glow in the dark. Just a few more steps and I will reach the spot where the tree uprooted in the typhoon lies in silence. It has been in that state for two months now, unmoving like a dead insect turned on its back with legs in the air. A woman plays violin on one of the benches. Her music falls somewhere between lively and sad, making me wonder why she picked this particular one to play in a deserted corner of the park. The silver moon shines alongside the lights that adorn the castle. A few stars hang around awkwardly near groups of clouds like loners at a party. I read somewhere that some of the stars we see from earth are already dead. It makes me sad to think of them dying of loneliness. The park is mostly quiet but I can hear low murmurs of passers-by punctuated with

Photo by Syd Wachs on Unsplash *** “I am haunted by a recurring nightmare,” says the pumpkin. “Oh? What happens in your nightmare?” I ask. “Someone scoops out my insides and leaves me alone in the dark.” “That’s horrible.” “Yes, and what’s more horrible is this: In my dream, even though I am terrified, I can’t stop smiling.” *** “Why do bad things always happen to me? Everything sucks. I hate everything,” says the bitter melon. I hand over the salt and say, “Here. Let it soak in for some time. Then let’s wash it away and you’ll feel better. Trust me, we all need some time to get rid of some of the bitterness.” *** “I am too soft. And weak,” says the tofu with a sigh. “I want to be tough like the carrot or broccoli.” “You may be soft but you are not weak,” I reply. “You sustain life just as they do. Recognize your power and own it.” **** “I see things all the time. Things that other people don’t see.” whispers the potato. I want to lighten up the mood by asking, “