Querencia | SKZ Felix | Junkyard Universe#3.21 ✓

Querencia | SKZ Felix

"Where the river, where the river,

Where the river meets the sea,

Carried by a kiss at the mouth of the Eden."

Sometimes her singing voice played inside my mind. The songs she sang varied depending on the situation, especially the visual cues around her at specific moments. On a day like today, all I could think of was her walking in desolate windy moorlands, her feet bare, her eyes upward to the sky, searching for signs within mother nature, signs that are unknown to me. But what triggered this imagination was far from the wilderness of the moors. Instead it was an object right before my eyes placed in the confines of a poorly lit room, where sunlight coming through the large wooden windows was the primary source of light.

Originally it was an ordinary translucent sphere. With westward afternoon sunlight faintly refracting on its surface, the interior gleamed and glistened back and forth, a vision gradually forming like a vapid vortex, the way soapy bubbles in one's hand slowly gets washed away in swirls and twists under low-running tap water. Or the way smoky incense got diffused inside a dimly lit locked room. The glassy surface was supposed to shine and glint with occasional sparks of the seven basic hues of dispersed sunlight. Instead it chose the median of the spectrum; lush, vibrant, verdurous, and yet again splitting and viridescering the basic shade into emerald, jade, shamrock, and juniper. Staring at these colors of leaves and meadows transcending and stretching was like witnessing a flower blooming. No, not a flower. Maybe a painting. Yes. It was like seeing a painting being born, the hazy sides of the objects getting more pronounced by the strokes of a rigger brush, receiving its final calligraphic touches. I barely knew anything about paint brushes or painting but since my roommate Hyunjin was an artist—born to be an artist in my eyes but nurtured as one as per his words—watching him paint almost every day taught me one or two things. The frolics of green before my eyes felt like it was being drawn by my dear friend.

Except the final scene the screen halted at could in no way be a part of his imagination. In fact, what I was seeing in front of me couldn't be my imagination either. It felt too real, like a memory too close to my heart. She was as real as I was, possibly more real and alive than I'd ever be. She was vibrant and vigorous like every bright shade of green. And I would recognize that small of a back anywhere, anyday. Her long dark wavy locks resting on that small of a back, tied in a loose ponytail with a black ribbon, with strands of hair slipping out and cascading down on the sides framing her face and forehead, her loose fitting full sleeve maxi dress of a shade darker than bottlebrush, drenched in downpour, its hem perpetually soiled with mud, hiding her mud stained bare feet, was I insane that I could vividly remember so much?

Why wouldn't I? Recognizing those minuscule details came to me instinctively, like second nature. Her pale and dainty hands with calloused yet delicate ink smudged fingers, again lightly stained by all sorts of bits and bobs, blades of grass or pine needles for example, but this time it was washed clean by the pond water as she was plucking a handful of centella leaves for her mother. There were two little spots on the dorsal of her left hand, one red and one black. Whenever I think of them, I always get reminded of eyes belonging to an elephant with heterochromia. This imagination was kind of random but she was the one who instilled this weird imagery in my head years ago, by pinching the skin between the two spots, showing that the pinched skin might as well be the trunk of the animal.

Maybe I was becoming insane after all, the fact that I knew these details about her like the back of my hand. Maybe I was even more insane wanting to brush off those stray pieces of leaves and grasses off her hands and feet and possibly put comfy pairs of mittens and slippers on them. But no, she was wild, she was unreachable, she chose not to put on shoes when walking down the waterlogged lanes and muddy shallows at all times and above all, she would despise it if I ever remotely attempted such an atrocity. I did venture into something of that sort a long time ago and had learnt my lesson. Nowadays I dared not even steal a glance at her looking so obvious, especially when she's alert, afraid that she'd sense it and become uncomfortable. No, I dared not cause her discomfort. Losing our friendship was the last thing I'd ever want.