a prompt a day keeps insanity away — day 2

'A prompt a day keeps insanity away' is a series of (excerpts from) short stories, written by me, inspired by one incredibly thoughtful act of a stranger during this uncertain time. I may not interpret the prompt the way it was meant to be, so get ready for a huge mess and enjoy reading.

prompt two: you can't find happiness. you create it.

I was never ready to meet you.

It was a sunny day when you came into my life. You were a little too late to catch the first bus leaving downtown, a little too early for the next bus going back to your humble little place on the third floor of that Chinese restaurant. I was sitting on the other side of that rusty bench, already fed up with the world because I, too, was supposed to get on that first bus to take my Comparative Politics final—and now I had to wait another year to retake it. Great.

'You major in politics?' was my introduction to your warm, outgoing personality. 'Um, it's okay if you don't wanna talk. I just... I can't really stand silence, you know? And we have, like, uh, ten minutes to kill, so—'

It was a sunny day when you left too. I couldn't remember exactly what you were saying because I was too distracted by the way you gulped so hard every now and then, your voice shaky, trying to arrange your words in the least painful way possible, fighting back those tears from falling. After all, you had always been six feet of tenderness. You were my six feet of tenderness.

I should've been angry. We were supposed to have dinner at Mindy's place, and I wasn't planning to knock at her door with smudged mascara. But I couldn't. If anything, it was my fault and I had no right to be angry. You had all the right to desert me.

I was still not ready to meet you. Not when you looked barely a day older from the last time we met. Not when you still smelled like cedarwood and lemon.

'Seems like you're doing great now.'

I had my name plastered all over the room, yes. I had copies of my book piled on the table, front cover ready to be tainted with my signature, yes. I heard people love Joseph, the main character of the book that was literally a carbon copy of my memories of you, yes. To say that I was doing great, though, was an overgeneralization.

You hated big words too, like, 'overgeneralization'.

'I guess?' I didn't know that I was craving for all the small details of you until I caught myself staring at that tiny little scar on your lower lip. You told people it was from a fight because it sounded cooler that way, but I knew it was from a stupid incident that involved you, a metal ruler, and a boring day in sixth grade. That was how much I knew you. That was how much of you that was seeping into my system.

'Are you happy though?'

Ah, yes. The day we broke up, you told me something about finding happiness. You told me that you shouldn't be the only reason for me to be happy. That was easy to say, knowing that apparently, I was not the only reason for you to be happy. I went to the quietest of all places, lost myself in the loudest of all crowds, and yet I still couldn't find this happiness you were talking about.

'Yeah.'  I lied to you once and it cost me us. I lied to you again and it cost me my own misery.

'Cool.' You brushed your hair back, your hand staying on your head for a little longer than it should, your brows furrowed as if you were having an inner battle to say or not to say whatever you had in mind. 'You know, I don't think Joseph understand what happiness really is.'

'Oh, so now you're playing critic?'

'Nah, this is from a fan's perspective.' You smiled, this time it reached your eyes. 'He's kinda lost. He wants to find happiness, but he looks too far and misses too much.'

'Yeah, that's kind of the point.'

I wished I didn't notice the ring gently wrapping your finger. Of course, you would choose a simple one. You never really liked anything too flashy. You were so self-conscious that one time you wore a printed floral shirt with an accent of tiny birch branches on the back. I wouldn't be surprised if your wedding band looked barely like a wedding band and more like a friendship ring or something.

'Tell Joseph to create his own happiness,' you paused, eyes locking with mine, gaze unreadable, somehow nostalgic, 'unless he wants to write a tragic love story.'

I took a copy from my left, signed the front cover a little bit more carefully than I did the rest. I wasn't just handing you the book. I was handing you my whole life. Maybe it's the best that you were present, so I could give it to you firsthand instead of waiting for you to pick up my love letter from the dusty shelf of an unknown bookstore.

'I will.'


—end