Halcyon Nights

I remember sitting in some stairs in some building. It was really cold, and boring too. The floor was really cold and hard and white. All I remember seeing is white, and hearing yelling from my room. A guy and a girl were mad at some girl named Moni. I never understood why they were always mad at her, but they always wanted to see her. I think she was someone special to them, like a sister. But I don’t like her. She is very mean to people and always makes them sad. I wanted them to be happy so I got up I went to my door and I told them that I would try to find Moni. I didnt think they heard me. So I checked my shoolaces and I went down the stairs. 

Pat.

      Pat.

            Pat. 

I tried to make a song out of the noise from my shoes becuase it felt like I was in some adventure. 

Pat.

     Pat Pat.

              Pat.

                    Pat Pat.

I said goodbye to the man on the desk, but I think he was too busy watching something on a TV. I went outside and it was cold. I was still in my sunday clothes and I had no jacket but i still wanted to find Moni. It was very dark at night and it was kinda scary. Cars would honk and people would walk to somewhere and some lights would come and go. The ground was still smelly wet because it rained the other day. So I went on my adventure down a street or two. I pretended I was a dragon because i could blow out smoke.

When I was getting tired I went into a store that had lots of cool stuff. TVs in the window showed fireworks from New Years from last week. There were blue ones, yellow ones, green ones, red ones. People looked so happy that day so it made me happy. I went to the man at the desk and asked him if he saw Moni. He only laughed. I went around the store through rows of boxes and fruits, thinking it was like a maze. I found a box filled with strange things and thought of it as a treasure chest. There were shirts, shorts, books, necklaces, rings, a pair of black shoes, some marbles, a toy gun, and dolls. I reached for the bottom which was really hard and found a music box. When I turned it it popped out a guy and a girl with a kid like me, they were spinning in front of a mirror. They were happy. It was bright and shiny like a jewel or a diamond. The tune stopped, and I played it again. The tune stopped again, and then I played it again. The tune stopped again, and I played it again.

And then I began to cry. 

I’m sick and I’m tired of always being the good guy.

The sunset
Is beautiful
But fleeting

Allow me to unravel the odyssey of a fellow, ardent polymath. 

Just recently I had a discussion with an old friend, Leonardo; he was my age, but his face shows otherwise, as though streams of water and wind seemed to roughen out distinctions in his face, especially the ridges under his eyes. My good friend would tell his swaying history and vast voyages to the brim of his world with “Ultima” (little did he know he was blessed with such a lion-hearted sailboat). In his early years, the ebb and flow of the wakes and tides would drift him to the shores of Mexico; some cases were for the leisure, others were for family obligations. Nonetheless, he gave neither concern nor caution to the lullaby of the Pacific until he was thrown out of the nest and into the hands of the cruel mistress: Bermuda.

            With the whip of her hand and the gust of her breath, she tested the will and might of seamen. Leonardo managed to withstand the tempests and torments while many others resorted to “abandon ship” and fall into a sleep fathoms deep. When the nights were halcyon and serene, Leonardo would rest and gaze at the countless stars high above that lifted his wings to divine heights. The ambition of awakening his fellow comrades from their eternal slumber was enough motivation to keep his head above the torrents while his sextant would be the interpreter between his dream and his course. He preferred to look up rather than look ahead, but nevertheless could see afar as opposed to his fellow mates who were entranced by the occasional euphonic sirens of the blue. It’s true: it was easier to dive than to soar, for despite his valiant efforts, he was all alone… and that was good. Whether on a vacant oriental merchant ship or on a makeshift raft on the Mississippi, there was a sense of tranquility and peace. There was no welcoming port to harbor his weary soul until he spotted the dwindling light of his mother’s eye on the shores of Spain, where his feet, after years of unsteadiness, embraced the solid ground. His devout loyalty to his ambition molded him somewhat “universal”.

            Now he hunts the treasure troves of silent shipwrecks, not to plunder, but … just to see, “for in every life” he declares “there is always something to be learned”. There was an undertone of eloquence in his words, despite that he is ordinarily a quiet man. He may not have been as powerful as kings or as intellectual as professors, but if there was gem he held in heart it was Command. He was my first treasure trove, and when he steadily trudged through the waters, heeding the cry of the dead sailors, I could see my own reflection in his wake. He mastered the winds, fought the tides, plotted his course, and charted his world.

            He was the captain of his own vessel, and the sea was his domain.

            I suppose that’s why they call it the Sea of Cortez.