Move

"They tell us to move so they can build the dam. We do not want to move out!" As he says this, his tone is tinged with anger but full of spirit. His eyes glare defiance, echoing the thoughts of his people and all the angels of justice. I am sitting with them, me -- again -- being a stranger in a land that is tucked in one's imagination of paradise. A paradise that is threatened by systematic lies and sowers of insecurity. What is the rationale of moving out from one's own home into an alien land just because someone else, the Powerful One, needs to build something nearby? This man is angry, he is frustrated and vulnerability is his -- and their -- only companion. And yet, his voice is soft and cold at the same time. The rest nod in agreement, murmuring assuring words of solidarity. Then, there is a long silence. Their thoughts are amplified by this silence. I can only vaguely understand.

Little

A little boy comes up to me and utters words that I do not understand. It's not that he can't speak well for a four-year old. I just can't understand the language. He then grins, his mouth decorated with the absence of teeth. How is it possible that one can lose so many teeth at a young age? He squints his eyes with glee as he sees the puzzlement expressed in my face. He understands that expression yet there is little that I know about what goes on in his mind.

Maybe

She has a long vertical scar on the right side of her face. She touches my index finger, gently pressing it until I pull it from her touch. It hurts. "Maybe it's infected", she casually remarks. Maybe. And that's it. Nothing else. Maybe.

She

I meet her at the bar. She's here for a visit. For a while, she says. I look at her, trying to read her. She is beautiful and her mind a gem. When she talks, her voice exudes confidence. There are glitters in her eyes as her smile melts whatever is in the way. But, most of all, inside her resides that mysterious ferocity. Ferocity for life or for want of life. Or ferocity for want of living life. I can easily fall but past lessons teach me well: I have a bad karma when it comes this situation. A scratch of wound through my heart would unnecessarily dramatize the situation. I am only flirting with my past regrets now. Oh, well...