Chance Encounters (MCO->LAX)

a flight to remember

random waifu bc its been so long

Hello bok choys, it’s been a while.

Without getting too detailed, I have been occupied by reality. If we are all lost in the vast ocean of consciousness (we are), I think it’s quite normal to get overtaken by the waves from time to time. But I won't complain or rant or examine the various eternal struggles of the human condition, not today. I only wish to share something I’ve been meaning to share! + I miss communicating in this medium.

Now, as my mom would say: Balli balli!!! (Korean for “get the fuck on with it”)

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This is the first entry of a new series: Chance Encounters. We all have them.. strange synchronous encounters in this unpredictable mess of a world. They impact us deeply in the moment, and we think we will never forget them….

but I sure do... forget them! almost all of them!!!!! (maybe it’s that CTE lil bro).

You will find this familiar if you have read any of my writing... (San Diego. Dragon’s Gate) Much of my “practice” consists of half-lucid journalistic recounting of some small miracle. It’s like jotting down all the details of a wonderful dream because you’ve only precious seconds before the tipping point when all is lost to the depths of the subconscious. This dynamic feels crucial for art, dreaming, and observation. I don’t edit my recollections TOO much, similar to my artwork.

I hope you find something in these entries, and I secretly wish they inspire your eyes to see the offerings of meaning that every day brings.

lowk dont even agree with this but whatver

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Chance Encounters (MCO → LAX)

She was a middle-aged Asian woman of unremarkable stature whom I hardly spoke to and will never know her name. Yet…

We are connected forever, and I’ll never forget her.

She was dressed professionally (white blouse, navy-blue coat, reading glasses) and looked stressed. Who doesn’t these days? The prospect of a red-eye flight across the country isn’t exactly endearing, either. She sat the aisle, I sat the window.

As I passed to my seat, we lamented to each other that we would both have to work on this flight. That was our only verbal exchange for the duration of the flight.

I noticed she tried to sleep for the first 30 minutes, and I listened to music in my noise-canceling headphones. However, the drinks and snacks came around quite promptly, and we both got a caffeinated beverage. Her, coffee. Me, tea.

Warmed by my mild tonic, I lazily selected a movie. I felt drawn to the cover of a Turkish/Georgian movie called “Crossing”. The brief description sounded intriguing, and the title screen echoed its depth in cracked blue texture. I didn’t get any wired airline earbuds, but I didn’t mind.

I was quickly engrossed. I noticed my fellow traveler had gotten out her headphones and started watching a film too. I didn’t immediately take note of what it was. I did notice she packed her own snacks in tupple-wear JUST LIKE MY MOM does hahaha.

There was no middle seat between us.

As my silent film rolled on, it washed over me like morphine, its beautiful, raw depiction of humanity, the poetic stray cats of Istanbul in the prostitute district, the small kindnesses, the disappointments, the unexpected connection.

As the story crescendoed and concluded, I found myself crying my face off. First for the characters, then for myself, then for my brother. I wept for the time lost, and also for the love abandoned.

The love we carry never truly fades, only gets folded, cut, and dispersed like tiny snowflakes, or ash.

I sobbed and sniffled and felt mildly embarrassed. I must have looked odd, I thought, crying at a moving screen with no sound. (I think I was mildly convulsing in an attempt to keep some composure…)

As my movie concluded and I gathered my puddly self, I noticed in my periphery that the solo woman was reaching for tissues. Tears flowed from her face, cascading even larger droplets than I think were left in my reserves.

The screen? Inside out 2 - Pixar.

I’ve never felt so human.

I began writing this, and something softened in me. Somewhere opened back up just for a moment that I had shut down, beat down, and destroyed. I think I had hurt so much and internalized so much pain, I carried my scars around like trophies, my cart laden heavy in the bitter cold.

Then I began to cry again. This time for happiness, in realizing just how much love I had turned away, how much love I had denied others… and how much STILL remained. How many beautiful humans had failed to give up on me no matter how hard I tried to make them? How miraculous that I was still on this planet, with this small, lonely seeming Asian lady in the tight navy business blazer… simultaneously shedding our emotional walls on opposite sides of a 3-seat basic economy flight from Orlando to LA.

I could feel the future opening up again. I could feel my wounds quiet. I saw the dam I built split.

I didn’t stop crying for a long time. She didn’t either. I could sense how determined I was to be broken, how adamantly I had judged the world and found it guilty, guilty of treason against itself, of abuse, of tyranny, of death and taxes and most of all - cruel indifference.

I looked into nature and felt the dull, stern, indifferent pulse. I mimicked it. Humans do this. It felt like the “smartest” thing to do for some reason. Survival by mimicry. What funny things we are.

As we floated above the vista of land littered with lights, I felt my spirit breathe again. They say heaven is in the sky, and I think they might be right.

We are only here until we’re gone

Everyone deserves so much love - and nobody gets nearly enough

but the little we get can sustain us

if we remember to

let down our pride, let down our guard

if we remember to

protect the kindling from the rain

if we remember to

look around us

we’ll find the whole world is on fire

and the warmth feels nice on the feet

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