The impulse to reach you comes every once in a while, when a soft breeze catches my breath, and I close my eyes. A fresh cool Hawaiian breeze—Keanu. In each letter I’ve drafted since 2017 I inevitably ask you out on a coffee date. Each invite goes unfinished, and unposted; but, I keep Kona beans replenished—at $49 for 12oz, dare I say fancy? Full-bodied delish, every sip takes me through time tunnels of fiery lava crashing golden into a molten night sea: a magnificent explosion that precedes creation of new earth. Aloha! harken ancient spirits above miraculous clouds, and I obligingly pour a fresh brew of words onto my barren canvas.

Cool breeze over the mountain
Toes on water
A cross-over through time
Contemplating your reflection,
the other side of me.

Yes, I am a writer. Really, you may ask. Really, I will say. I turn to you each time I begin to recount generational quests for romantic love, sought, dashed, sweetly conquered, failed—yes, romantic love. Through what other lens is there; to view my path towards happiness, guided only by experience, fairy tales, and—well, of course—the movies, of which you are the One. Your images are everywhere, unavoidably streaming into my day-to-day.

Into my teens in the Philippines, I devoured sequels of Darna, the Filipino Wonder Woman; and the latest English releases, like My Fair Lady and everything Peter Sellers. Most of the time I sat mesmerized alone, under cinema darkness two to three times a week; a byproduct of paternal movie buffs: my father risked daily belting by skipping chores after school to catch the latest installment of black-and-white serials; and my doting grandfather Lolo every night after dinner disappeared into the local San Juan Theater for the last showing.

“Mom is a loner,” my two children matter-of-factly declare to family and friends. For their single mother, claiming a writer’s solitary life was probably an inevitable course. But in truth, I did not imagine a future beyond raising daughter and son into adulthood. For 30 years, my creations consumed my time and energy. I figured, well, only death awaited me on the other side of that horizon. My companion since this unexpected extended life has been my words; my memories translated into writing; about life motivated by the children, written for the children. Finding myself still alive and kicking and “a loner” proves mystifying these days, if not for the writing.

Life outside beckons and, so then, shall I pause again, flip the laptop close and brave the outside world today?