Moved On.

Singular lights from a soddened moon accompanied with the silent zephyr of the nights, I found myself at my usual spot, having a warm ginger pang wreathing around my nose which was the broth of ‘tang yuen’, a glutinous wrap over smoothly pestled black sesame fillings. My hands were on the bowl, stirring gently, round and round in circles, akin to my thoughts, going nowhere, but into the past.

The clear ginger broth was stained with smudges of blackness of the black sesame, catching my attention inadvertently. Taking a sip from the concoct of the overwhelming spiciness and mild sweetness, surging a familiar warmness throughout my body, reaching the back of my mind where bread crumbs to the past was distinct, conspicuous.

As I lifted my eyes, my thoughts started to drive me into different parts of my memories, the cheerful times of my distant past, our family round a table, making ‘tang yuen’, seeing a younger version of myself moulding various shapes of ‘tang yuen’ from cars, jets, to tanks. As we had finished our part, we practically threw all of our work into the pot of hot ginger broth, letting the ‘tang yuen’ to simmer in it. During the waiting period, I took the remaining dough and flour left on the table, and stuck them all over my sister’s face, she screamed, we chased one another’s tails until we were scolded by our mother. It all felt like yesterday, the affable air tainted with an archaic, arcane past.

The images continued were albums flitted across the eyes of my mind as fast as flash, it was me growing up, ostracising my family which was broken apart by all of us, although I put my blame on poor up-bringing, but I had to admit, I was a part of a broken one. I had one thought, only one, was to live by myself.

I did it now, but had a bittersweet aftertaste. It was my fifth year of not contacting my family, I just disappeared into thin air in a heartbeat, I was glad that I could make myself out to embrace freedom, alone. After all, alone will be our companion of life, it is inevitable, I chose to love alone-ness, and not to repeat a detestable, unwarranted, abominable sets of actions that made me whom I was, is. I left a 50 dollar bill at the bottom of the unfinished bowl of crushed mess, blackened, turned into an unpleasant sight.

It was the smallest bill I could find in my wallet, moving out is a good choice. I thought to myself, never missing a moment of the past, but relishing fully my life, now.


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Please… Just… STOP!
Above, Solo (Rewritten)
My First Car Accident
Losing Touch with Originality
I’m Sorry.
Drowning in Numbers
Limiting Creativity?

Published by zeckrombryan

Hope. Joy. Feelings cloaked as words.

12 thoughts on “Moved On.

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