Long Nights

[1] amihan

北東風
1. amihan
— northeast wind.

---

9:08 p.m. NIGHT #1.

---

NOAH

A low cough emerged from my throat. It was horrible and itchy, with a tinge of nausea that riddled from my stomach.

The night's familiar icy cold slightly stung my cheeks as the train passed through the city. Countless lights flickered in the distance as the silhouettes of buildings were now fading into nothing but shadows of the evening. It was mesmerizing. The view.

Nevertheless, the interior of the train opposed the dark night with its warm glow of light reflecting upon us: the people of Tokyo, Japan who were going to who knows where in the outskirts of the city.

People with different paths going to various directions like the zigzagged cracks outside the sidewalk of my aunt's home — lines that crossed and tumbled onto one another in chaos.

I was seated next to the window with nothing but a backpack on my lap that contained minor items and important essentials. The ride to my aunt's home in Kuramae Street was a long and enduring one — yet I didn't mind it one bit. If anything, it distracted me from the vast blankness that I've been feeling for quite some time.

"Mō soko ni iru no?" Asked a little child who sat a few inches from where I was. He was kicking his feet below his seat, the sound seemingly magnified to my ears. It reminded me of the heavy beating of the drums I used to practice on back when I still had the fervor and naivety of a teenager. Her mother, who was beside him, reassured her that they were near as they huddled closer together. She on the other hand was breathing heavily through her nose — akin to a flute that hadn't been played in a while.

In my head, the image of them together unearthed the reflection of my own mother, who didn't hold my hand inside the cold steel of trains, but had laughed with me in numerous car trips. The sound of her head falling back into laughter was merely a distant, stolen melody to me now — like a tune on the radio that I have grew to love throughout the ride, but had soon forgotten by the time I arrived at my destination.

On the far section of the train, a man in a heavy set of clothing glanced briefly at the mother and son duo before returning his focus on the newspaper he was reading. He was stoic, and dressed up in those fancy suit and ties that briefly gave away his status in life. He didn't seem like the type of person who would ride public transportation, with his gold wrist watch gleaming on one arm. But I have long since given up on my preconceptions and first impressions of others, for most of the time they have proved to be entirely wrong. I should know firsthand, people have created images of who I had become after the accident that I no longer recognized myself in the mirror.

Or maybe I had lost myself in the different shard glasses that fell on the asphalt that night, pieces that I would no longer restore.

I closed my eyes momentarily before opening them once more. Everyone was keeping to themselves; wordless, but all their other small actions magnified, loud, ringing in my ears — like the silent lights of the busy city. Figures danced across our heads in an overarching display.

As I was about to look back at the window's view, my eyes caught attention of a girl who sat opposite to me. The distance between us was enough to fit a drum set.

My eyes tore right through her.

She was nothing more than ordinary, with her faded white dress, faint gaze and the remnants of fatigue etched across her features. Her whole demeanor reminded me of a porcelain doll, one that sat lonely in one of the windows of the toy shop I used to pass by as a kid in my home country.

Needless to say, she wasn't alone.

I rip away my gaze from the girl and faced the window pane. Across the glass, the reflection of a seventeen-year-old boy came to life. His worn-out eyes were dark, dull, and tired; matching his supposed lips that drew like a thin, fine line — similar to the guitar strings I used to pluck in the past. It was perfectly paired with his slim and weary frame hidden beneath a large, hand-me-down sweater. He was made of sharp lines and dull colors — with only a lone gold necklace dangling around his neck as the mere piece that brightened him. But even that looked a tad bit faded under his demeanor.

With a steady breath, I shut my eyes and started counting with each flitting second.

We were all strangers on the train that night. No more than forgettable faces amongst a sea of people. Sooner or later, I won't be recognizing any of the ways that they had presented themselves — such as the shaking of leg by that one hipster a few seats from where I sat, or the humming tune that an old lady sung as we proceeded through a tunnel.

We were all passing by like steady people with dreams — chasers and makers, believers and go-getters that swam easily across. All blown by the Amihan wind.

It was just another one of those long nights.

And before I get lost in the mesmerizing train music: the businessman's whistling, the tapping of a woman's fingers on the gripping rod, the steady woosh of the train tracks, or the familiarity of the old lady's tune; I had fallen deep into a slumber.

I had hoped to never wake, but the conductor had become impatient.