anemoia | ryeji

anemoia.

This is originally posted on twitter, but I also wanted to share this here to some of my readers who don't have twitter. I wanted to post this while Atypical is still on-going so that you would have something to read while waiting for my update. I have tons of school works to do and I can't seem to find the perfect opportunity to write the next chapter.

And also, this is specially made for someone special. I dedicated this one shot to her and I wish her the very best.

Kye, if you're reading this, happy birthday!

Anemoia (noun): Nostalgia for a time you've never known. Imagine stepping through the frame into a sepia-tinted haze, where you could sit on the side of the road and watch the locals passing by. Who lived and died before any of us arrived here, who sleep in some of the same houses we do, who look up at the same moon, who breathe the same air, feel the same blood in their veins—and live in a completely different world.

This is frustrating.

Very frustrating.

A slow song is being played on an old record player. The sound filled my room, it has a kind of vintage sound to it. A kind of scratchy quality. The polaroids being hung on the wall gives me goosebumps -- adrenaline rush even -- the feeling of existential dread, nostalgia and depression. 

An oddly familiar feeling that makes me feel... uncomfortable.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not depressed. Hell I'm not even problematic to begin with. It's very hard to describe the emotion. It's a very terrible feeling, just listening to a song from early 80s and looking at the polaroids I took from the countries I went is enough to make me feel like this -- fall into the deepest pits of depression, but at the same time, it's what makes me both love and hate it --

-- the song, the polaroids, the feeling.

A feeling of a really strong nostalgia that I can't seem to put a finger on. It's frustrating... because when I look at the polaroids for a second I immediately feel like I'm remembering something from a different life.

Am I dying?

I'm not sure if it's just the way the picture is taken or the way the song was written combined. But regardless, it's a reality-shattering experience whenever I look at them and hear one of the songs.

There's never a day that I don't listen to approximately six sad songs.

"Gaahh I hate this. I hate this I hate this I hate this!" I screamed on my pillow in exasperation. Feeling a tear running down my cheek.

The feeling lingers -- the sadness that lingers, the sickness that can't be seen as cuts or wounds. It can't be measured by a thermometer or felt by a hand to the forehead. My sickness lingers in my head -- in my heart or maybe even my soul. I don't really know where but it lingers like a heavy overcast in the sky.

A knock at the door goes off and I let it. Too tired to stand, too tired to speak. 

There it goes again. But this time, the knocks are heavy and fast. It rings as background noise in comparison to my feelings. I just want to lay in bed, and perhaps get over with this feeling. But the problem is... I can't. I can't stop this terrible feeling--

"Ryu? Baby?"

I stopped weeping, wiping the tears that surfaced around my cheeks. Taking deep breaths. The uncomfortable feeling is diminishing and is slowly replaced by solace, warmth and familiarity.

The old record player stopped playing and the familiar feeling is now settling inside the room. A tall figure slowly making her way towards my bed. And I just sit there and watch her come to me with her arms wide open, slowly making its way around my body. Engulfing me in her a warm hug. 

She gave me a kiss, one on the side of my head and one on my cheek.

I closed my eyes as I savor the giddy feeling and the numerous butterflies roaming inside my stomach. Her effect on me never fails to amaze me. I mean, how does she even do this?

"Thank you." I told her. For existing.

She hummed, not bothering to reply to my gratitude. But I know she's telling me that she's here by how she tighten the hug.

I like this.

Suddenly, I don't feel dreary. Everything felt right. Everything is at ease.

I am at ease.