Though my shoelaces dangle untied, I continue to walk, even though they bother me with each step. In the street I walk, I hear and see no one, as if except those consumed by laughter. I fixate on their happiness as if I never had my own joyful memories. I draw back my gaze after a few seconds and keep walking, not knowing where my path leads.
I quicken my pace without knowing why I’m in a hurry. I’m trying to escape something, without knowing why. Threads are tangled and knotted inside my mind. I’m running away from untangling them.
I forget why I left home and I’m still walking. Though I sense I don’t know where I’m going, when my gaze meets the familiar crooked stones on the path, I understand that I haven’t been walking aimlessly.
My steps slow down as if I’m entering a minefield, and along with them, the tangled thoughts in my mind also slow down. I realize I’m out of breath and try to regulate my breathing. I approach the bench.
My gaze takes flight towards the lake ahead of me. I sense my heart pounding in my ears and my breaths, which I thought were regulated just moments ago, synchronize with my heartbeat. Knowing I won’t be able to stand much longer, I bend my knees and sit at the far end of the bench.
The bitter face of the past and the worries of the future; both are tugging me towards them from opposite ends of a rope. I’m caught in between, stumbling. I can’t rid myself of the pains of the past or the fears of what’s to come.
In that moment, a touch on my left arm startles me. I look at the elderly man sitting next to me, my eyes wide. “I called out a few times, but you seemed so lost in thought that I thought you didn’t hear me, I’m sorry if I scared you, that wasn’t my intention.”
After a few seconds of staring in bewilderment, I shake my head slightly to regain my composure. “It’s alright. Did you want to ask something?”
He looks into my eyes for a while, without answering, and then starts speaking: “What is it that you’re so preoccupied with that you disregard the blues?”
I’m taken aback by this sudden question. I think about how I can answer a question from someone I’ve never seen before in my life, but I can’t seem to open my lips.
He seems to realize my hesitation from my stillness, and he continues: “I’m sorry, it’s strange to ask so suddenly, isn’t it? I’ll leave, have a good day.”
Just as he’s about to stand up, I manage to respond, “It’s alright. Were you going to ask something?”
He looks at me a few seconds longer before speaking again, “Can you believe in trust?”
His answering a question with another question initially confuses me, but I try to figure out what I mean. Seeing my silent confirmation, he smiles slightly and decides not to leave.
“Do you then not believe that through these small drops, God displays a power that can both plunge someone into the depths and lift them back up again? In that case, aren’t we sometimes forgetting that these blues are but simple causes? At some point, we should learn to say, ‘Divine Decree.’”
In response to the elderly man’s words, I remained silent for a while. “Yes,” I say to myself. In truth, I already know everything he’s saying, but my issue lies in accepting it. I take a deep breath into my lungs and lift my bowed head.
I’m on a bench. At one end, I sit lost in thought, while at the other end, a wise elderly man sits, aware of the answers. Both of us quietly gaze at the blue droplets.
