they were beautiful. they are beautiful.

nostalgia for all things old and beautiful.

本命年

i'm turning 24 at the end of the year, which means i'll have officially completed two cycles of the zodiac. it's the year of the rat, which means it's my 本命年. superstition dictates that your 本命年 will either be amazingly good, or amazingly terrible.

a few months ago i probably would have said it leaned like the motherfucking tower of 虎丘 towards terrible.

sitting on my couch at 6 in the fucking AM about to leave for taiwan, my conclusion insofar is that this year took its course the only way it could, and it has been insane. insanely great, yes. but mostly insane. and amazingly, a sort of drug-free insanity.

amazing and painful things have happened in the past couple months leading up to now, but i'm about to head home for grampa's funeral, so updates will have to wait. i passed up on this trip about a month ago and missed my sister cousin's wedding, but death's draw is stronger than a wedding's, and i can't imagine not saying good bye to him.

anyway, when i come back, prepare for a post complete with snarky comments in like manner.

♥

island stories.

//

We bring ’Jisan to the crematorium, after the ceremony. His body, wrapped in a white shroud, reminds me of a cocoon. At least he’s warm, I think for a second, then almost laugh out loud at the absurdity of the idea. Leilani hovers behind me, hugging herself, limpid brown eyes staring vacantly ahead. “Say goodbye, Lani,” I murmur. Then the kiln swallows ’Jisan and I see bright orange flames licking at his body, hungry for flesh. Soon there will be nothing left but charred bits of bone.

-

I float in and out of sleep listening. In my daze I think about Lani, ’Jisan, my mother, the butterflies, everything that is falling apart and disintegrating. In the end the island claims everything. If I stay, it would take me as well.

Every time I open my eyes it seems like the ceiling is a little lower. Soon it will press down against my face and suffocate me. I listen for his voice, move to touch him, to reassure myself that I’m still alive, in the guesthouse, but my limbs feel like lead, impossibly heavy. Then I hear him say, “Kanae?” and just like that mobility is restored to my arms. My hand reaches out for his, but I grasp nothing but air.

The ceiling swoops down and darkness swallows me.

//

不是不肯，只是舍不得。