My Scratch Pad

:: complete and incomplete thoughts, daydreams and illusions ::

Where It All Began

And we were back.

It's only been 3 years, but it felt like a lifetime. Then again, what happened in the past 3 years are more than what happens to some people in a lifetime. What happened? Well, we fell in love.

We couldn't have known it then. Back then, it was nothing but a casual conversation. A way to pass the time, so to speak. We didn't know each other, and we both had our own groups to go back to. Back then, I had thought him nothing more than someone I spoke to once, and would never see again. The thought that he was a person who would change my life, not once even occured to me.

Back then, I wasn't even into comics. Not really. My exposure was limited to second hand copies of Culture Crash, forced on me by one of my friends. But my friends were artists, and they needed all the help they can get. So I went with them to the comic convention, not knowing anything, not expecting anything. I went, solely for the purpose of supporting my friends in their endeavor. And I hadn't even planned on giving that much support. I wasn't planning on helping them sell their comic books. I pretty much went, because it was a Saturday, and I had nothing better to do.

I followed my friend around like a puppy. I didn't know a lot of people, and the ones I knew, because I met them once or twice, I doubted that they remembered who I was. So when my friend went to a certain booth, I just went with her there. And when she said she was hungry, I said I was hungry, too. That's how I ended up at the second floor, on a bench, sitting across from him. My friend knew him from school, so she went over to talk to him. So I went over and talked to him, too.

We all talked, the three of us (actually four, my friend's boyfriend was with us at the time). But when my friend wanted to go, this time, I didn't go with her. I decided to be left behind. I said it was because I was tired of walking around the convention area, and that it was too hot there. But really, the reason was that I wanted to be left with him. I wanted to talk to him, about more than the usual stuff. I wanted to get to know him, and I wanted him to get to know me. So when my friend stood up and said she was going back to the convention, I didn't stand up with her. I waved her "See you later!"

He was a sculptor. And he made dolls for a living.

That was the first thing I found out. Later on, he would tell me that he was a Taurus, born on the 19th of May, a year before I was. I already knew that he and my friend went to the same university, but I didn't know that he graduated that March, with Fine Arts as his course, Major in Advertising.

"What was your course?" he asked me.

"International Studies," I replied. And he looked confused. "It's like Political Science."

"Oh," he said, nodding. "So... how do you know Pauline?" he asked, referring to the friend I was with.

"High school," I said.

"Oh," he nodded again. "You're not an artist?"

I chuckled at the absurdity. "No," I said. "I don't even read comics."

"Oh," he said again. "Then why are you here?" he asked.

I shrugged. "My friends are here."

"And... you always go where your friends are at?"

"Not always," I said. "Just... when I don't have anything better to do."

He laughed at that, and said, "So if you had something better to do, you wouldn't be here at all, would you?"

I laughed too, and then shook my head. "Probably not."

"Well," he started. "I'm glad you were bored today."

This time I forced a laugh. I didn't really know what to say. I figured he had just given me a compliment, but I wasn't sure if I was obligated to give him one, too. "I guess..." I paused. "I guess I'm glad, too."

He smiled. And so did I.

After that, we were talking like old friends. We were teasing each other, telling jokes, telling stories about ourselves, our friends, sharing what we like and what we didn't like... It was comfortable, around him. And I think he liked talking to me, too. Because even when he had to leave, he didn't. He only said that was leaving for a while to join the contest, but that he would be back right away, and that I should just stay where I was. It was a strange request, especially from someone I just met, but it was a good kind of strange. It showed how easily we got comfortable with each other. In fact, that entire afternoon was like a demonstration of how sometimes in life, things just fall into place.

---

We didn't get to say goodbye. Or maybe we did, but it wasn't the goodbye that I imagined. For one contest, he had taken his things with him, and before he got back to the bench that we were at, I was gone. My friends had asked me to return to their booth, because it was time to go home.

I only saw him again because we realized I had mistakenly taken one of his comic books with me, and he looked for me for it.

"Sorry, I couldn't find you earlier," I told him as I gave him back the comic book.

"It's fine," he said and gave me a smile.

"Well, see you around!" I said and gave a little wave.

"Oh, you're going already?" he asked.

"Yeah," I nodded. "You know us, we've got a long way to go," I said, reminding him that my friends and I weren't exactly from around that area (we in fact, lived several cities away).

"OK, well, see you around," he said, and offered his hand.

I shook it quickly and then turned to walk away, not looking back. I thought then that that was the last time I would ever see him. But of course I was wrong, because thanks to modern technology, we ended up seeing each other again, just a week later. And then two months later, we saw a movie togther. And now after three years, we're back where it all began.

At the Komikon. On the second floor. In the bench that I'd always thought of since then as our bench.

"It's nice to see you again," was the first thing he said.

"You too," I replied. "It's nice to see you. Here."

He nodded, but didn't say anything.

Here's what's missing from my earlier story: We hadn't seen each other in almost a year (10 months, 24 days to be exact, not that I was counting). Because last year, we realized that because of our differences, being together would never work out. Despite everything seeming like it was meant to be, despite our obvious compatability, despite our undeniable attraction, the differences we had, were things that not even love could fix. I know. I've tried.

And so we broke up. We broke up and said we'd never see each other again. And I guess we almost didn't. But when the Komikon came, we both couldn't resist.

By this time, I am already a comic enthusiast. I knew artists names, I could differentiate their styles from one another, I knew their titles and I knew their stories. When I fell in love with an artist, I fell in love with art as well, and now it's in my system. And I like that very much. And it's kind of the same with him when he fell in love with me. He didn't just fall in love with me, he said. He fell in love with my stories, with my poems, with my words. And now, words are as important to him as the air he breathes.

How fitting that the two of us met at a convention for comics--that which combines visual art and writing perfectly. And how fitting that it's where we would see each other, after we tried staying away.

"How have you been?" he asked.

"Just fine," I said. "A little sad," I said honestly. "You?"

"I'm a little bit sad, too," he said.

"Have you read the new one by Andrew Arrieza?" I asked, referring to one of the more famous artists in the country.

"Yeah, I just had it autographed!" he said enthusiastically.

I nodded. "Me, too," I said, showing him my copy.

He looked at it and smiled. "Good stuff, huh?"

"Yeah," I agreed, remembering what it was about.

"He's such a genius, Andrew Arrieza," he said. "He can really make the art speak for itself, but then when he puts words into it, the message becomes something you know you just won't get with pictures."

"He's able to show how the strength of one aspect evens out the weakness of another, and give the work of art perfect balance," I said.

He nodded in agreement. "I'm so jealous," he said. "I wish I could do the same for my art."

"Me too. I mean, for my writing."

We looked at each other then, and then smiled. Although, the smile wasn't as happy as we probably hoped.

"It doesn't work with us," he said.

"No it doesn't," I agreed.

"We're not comic books," he said.

"Nor works of art."

"Hey!" he protested.

"Okay, I am. But you're definitely not."

He laughed at that, and I did, too.

When we stopped laughing, I asked, "What do we do now?"

He shrugged. And sighed. And looked at me. "We do what all great artists have done before us."

"Or writers," I pointed out.

"Or writers," he jokingly rolled his eyes. And then he looked at me again. This time, he held my gaze as he spoke. "We keep trying."

I looked at him questioningly. "We start over?" I asked.

He nodded. And then he looked around. I looked around, too--at our bench, at our second floor, at our comic convention.

"Isn't that why we're back here?"

END
18.11.08

posted by: distantorigin at 03:31 | link | comments (2) |

Comments:

#1  18 November 2008 - 12:16

 

Very good read, thanks.

howard

#2  19 November 2008 - 02:34

 

Haha, thanks! :) I didn't know anyone else read this blog. :P
That's not the final version yet, though, I made several grammatical errors I plan to correct. But thanks so much for reading. :D

distantorigin

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