undelivered letters

written by dina

lee juyeon, first written on: august 15th, 2020

morning

your neighborhood's air was pervaded with scrumptious scent. you knew your friends' parents made them pancakes, a toast filled with strawberry jam, and other various breakfast. you sat on your chair, rewinding scenes just from minutes ago when the sunbeam broke the thickness formed by layers of last night's clouds, you watched the shadow of your windowpane moving ever so slowly that you believed it could effortlessly lull you back to sleep. you felt comfort just by staring at the vast, perpetual sky from your childhood just the way you find comfort now staring at the same sky but different place, in the big city.

the streets are busy and keep you awake. morning coffee is a substantial material before you go on with your day. the ring of strangers' phones never stop. but the sky. the sky is identical; streaks of sunlight propagate as the clock ticks, you see the glass building in front of you reflecting back your apartment floor, you're too tiny to be visibly seen.

when you go downstairs and stroll through the early market, you'd smell the familiar scent as the one you used to inhale excessively back then in your hometown. though, here, the air reeks of pollution and heartbreaks, you still breathe in the aroma of pastries and freshly cooked breakfast. you stare down at your coffee with mild confusion, with realization that this is who you have become: a youthful soul, eyes full of wonder staring up at the sky during daybreak, hands full of a cup of bittersweet memories, heart full of love to give, and slightly longer legs to walk further. you have grown up.

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lee juyeon, ditulis pertama kali: 12 agustus 2020

senja memanggil rona warna dunia dalam jingganya singgahan awan menjelang petang, ketika kota membisikkan senandika sementara tokoh dalam kisah mereka sendiri berlalu lalang dalam sibuknya arus cerita. kamu mengamati dari balkon, tujuh lantai di atas trotoar. angin menyapu rambutmu sementara pandangmu menembus cakrawala yang biasanya hanya dapat disaksikan di pinggir samudera, menyesap kopi hangat dan kerinduan yang tidak kunjung reda. apa kamu baik-baik saja?

kepalamu akan memutar sekian banyak memori utuh yang tersimpan dengan baik, bukan sesuatu yang megah, apalagi bersejarah. yang kamu tahu bahwa itu adalah ceritamu, yang ditulis dalam lembaran kitabmu sendiri. kamu akan menulis bahwa kamu mengingat bagaimana rasanya hidup dengan pelan, hujan menghadang. bagaimana langit berganti warna dan mega berkejaran—efek dari rotasi—bukti bahwa bumi berjalan, begitu pula dirimu. hutan, jalanan sibuk, sungai, gunung, dan berada 35.000 kaki di atas tanah; kamu mengenang semuanya dengan hening, mata terbelalak, dan hati berdebar. hidup adalah petulangan demi petualangan.

kamu adalah tokoh utama dalam padat dan singkatnya momen yang diberikan semesta, tetapi kamu menggenggamnya dengan sepenuh rasa. persetan hari esok, sepuluh, atau dua puluh tahun lagi; kamu berbahagia saat ini juga.

dan aku berharap untuk dapat terus melihat kamu menyulam kenangan demi kenangan.

lee juyeon, first written on: july 26th, 2020

i. juyeon, do you know that we could slow dance under the drizzle on the rooftop, playing two best albums we've ever heard consecutively, the stars are concealed behind the clouds but at least we're free?

ii. juyeon, do you want to visit my favorite swingset by the dam, screaming from the top of our lungs? people are watching curiously but at least we're happy.

iii. juyeon, would you like to ride motorcycle around my city until the sun goes down and we run out of fuel? the journey would be long and exhausting and we would need a few days to recharge, but the scenario is already funny!

iv. juyeon, have you ever sneaked out to have a nighttime shenanigan, up to the hill, where everyone's gathering? if you haven't, let's see the city lights spread vastly across us like tiny little stars you used to gaze with your father and little brother back at your home. holy ground beneath us, a hundred feet above the town. the wind would hit our faces mercilessly, but what's better than reenactment of a memory?

v. juyeon, it's a summer month, but here, every day is relatively hot. when we decide to go to the shore, the blazing sun would afflict our body; short in breath, temporary burnt skin, flaming white sand beneath us. but what's better than sleeping on a hammock by the sea afterwards, waiting for the sun to drown, taking away our exhaustion?

vi. juyeon, we're known by our food. what do you prefer, sweet or sour? bitter or spicy? i'd take you to the farthest market, nearest cafe, fanciest street meals. it's a continuous trial and error, but where's the fun in not taking chances?

vii. juyeon, do you want to fall in love? it's risky and scary. but at least you try.

viii. juyeon? thank you.

references: august by taylor swift

ji changmin, first written on: july 5th, 2020

wild dandelions on the street

blowing dried seeds, watching them flutter. mellow and particular, this captured tender moment. no symbolization behind, just mind wandering off into dreamscape where all romantic and hopeful quotes are stored. my personal, incoherent thoughts are intangible, but you are inherently substantial.

the forest behind your house

moss and leaves. you and your brown little friend going back and forth relentlessly. aren't you afraid of creatures hiding behind those branches? see, you have them mesmerized. intent stare toward your loving touch. the exhale of fresh air for you and your puppy to breathe in. you find a home among these trees.

gardening (or yearning about the future?)

a blurred vision of having a farm and living in a rural area is suddenly coming at you. casual daydream is manifested on that day, hopefully will be actualized in the following years ahead. it sounds peaceful: birds chirping, wind drifting against growing plants, rain hitting the canopy, a soft streak of ray from sunrise entering your room. may you hit your pure aim with full accuracy.

midnight stroll at the park, under a lamppost

a soft talk and longing gaze, the root causes of this benign ambience. so, what's more serene, your presence or this everlasting nighttime? a peeking crescent moon inbetween breaking clouds is evident, yet you're obliviously challenging the beam. or is it the streetlight? quick, bring your eyes closer to the screen, i want to map the constellations in them while the light is sufficient.

ditulis pertama kali: 8 mei 2020

banyak sekali yang dapat ditawarkan kehidupan dalam jalannya waktu dengan konsep linear, memberikan kesan bahwa di setiap langkah berani yang kita ambil adalah sebuah proyeksi dari umur kita sendiri. kita berproses selagi kita menua.

selagi kita menua, kita menemukan banyak individu dengan berbagai lekuk dan tindakan. sebagian, mengiringi kita dalam setiap keputusan yang kita ambil sejak kita masih dini. sebagian, presensinya merupakan kejutan. sebagian, pergi dan tak kunjung kembali.

tapi kita punya pilihan untuk menentukan keluarga kita sendiri. seperti kita mempunyai pilihan kepada siapa kita akan jatuh hati, meski untuk sembuh dan terobati kita butuh sedikit bantuan dari si waktu itu sendiri.

ada banyak sekali cara bagaimana dua jiwa bertemu dan menciptakan simbiosis. ada banyak orang percaya bahwa setiap orang yang berpapasan dengan kita bukan merupakan kebetulan belaka; bahwa semua mempunyai arti lebih daripada apa yang sebenarnya terlihat, meski saat itu kita tidak tahu.

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yoon sanha

for a soul whose presence resembles wildfire, my appalling effort to perpetuate your flames aglow has been nothing but a frail menace. untold stories are exchanged as eyes are wandering, but never toward you. what an expedient fool this plebeian writer is! — her psyche is always on a leash but never when she's with you!

dreaming of an alabaster figure & cosmic bodies a river could only yearn for. minding not the sublime, a bit unruly, ever-so-lively mortal that stands just five feet apart. how could a pair of my eyes trail elsewhere when you're fiercely set ablaze!

it doesn't get old, however — the coming back. the eternal home found in between laughter and these goddamn silly jokes. we've been doing this for two consecutive years, yet no blaring words have ever been written down; i was lost. you are more than just a little corner wherein my deepest secrets reside — nor the casual and fleeting residual in the air i exhale.

your presence deserves a thorough memento, it has been long overdue.

yoon sanha, i am writing this down while the moon is in her full glory. i love you. as simple as the words let it to be, as disenthralling as the sound my lips let out. i love you. in every adorning glances i spare seeing pixelated you through my screen, in your every spectacle that went unnoticed, in every letter i sent to another person when it could have been you.

never once there has been a coercion when it comes to you. mouthing a simple “i like you so fucking much” is so easy yet rarely been done. not because the meaning got lost in the journey of mine, i promise! simply because harboring such tenderness toward you feels natural, ergo the lost confession. in the middle of where you end & i begin, that's where it went astray — along with the profound fidelity. they're now everlasting, always have been.

yoon sanha, happy birthday. a captain, a songbird, a great person with a great mind. no trivias, no nonsense: my straightworward kindred spirit. yoon sanha, happy birthday. you are one in a million — no, you are the one & no words could give it the deserving justice.

yoon jeonghan

i. ears.

the flow of stream sounds different when it's nearing dusk. nocturnal animals emerge from shadows, but what we know of shadows if what lies ahead cloaked by the absence of light?

cityscape — adjacent with your range of view — presents boisterous streets, hardly quiet down. it's 5 am and the honking below might as well have become your natural reminder to exist, yet again.

stories, on top of all. stories told inside a moving train by an elder lady you gave your seat to — it was about her grandchildren & a particular memory of them playing around the golden rice fields. stories of your co-workers in between sips of coffee. stories you've received, but never endured. voices morph into comprehension, comprehension vibrates its way out of your throat as an urge to go forward — “please, tell me more.”

ii. the miniature of life. the mass of a galaxy compressed into the size of your nail — please keep an eye to all of lives existing within. nothing and nobody is better at taking care of souls, be they roaming off the road or staying still on their stool, than your calloused palms.

iii. mary oliver's “dogfish” — “mostly, i want to be kind.”

there's kind in knowing that you're a kindred spirit i've longed to meet.

there's nice in the city of venice in which the canals reflect cerulean sky above, hoping you look right up and witness the same view.

there's heat in the way your heart beats, no turbulent body will hinder your benign veins rushing blood to your safe & steady chambers, it feels so warm inside.

lee juyeon

clock ticks with the similar frequency as your gradual longing to rest, but never to stop giving. clinging onto the benevolence of childhood memories, discovering newfound meanings to each of celestial body or christmas dish served on the kitchen table where everything began.

there is a house. the house in which warm meals and embraces are shared — language is spoken in small gestures, chicken, and broccoli. it's cold outside, but never when it's around your brothers. there is a wide screen on which you see your entire life played in reverse, but there's no sign of dismay, just a sudden epiphany.

prayers transcend all borders and ether. you pray for the moon, for its intangible luminescent light. you pray for the sun to remain but the seas to stop rising. you pray for all of the people and the people close to you; let it be happiness, let there be happiness, is mumbled discreetly.

is there a direct equivalent one-single-word for “come back (home)”? is it “return”? is it simply “go home”? “homewards”? though home is not always a house, it could also be a person; and coming back is not always toward somewhere, but could also toward somebody. there's one in my native language that indicates familiarity, reunion, rest, and love — especially love — that i would unarguably portray you with, a thousand times over: pulang, pulang, pulang.