Ralph with Coffee

I’ve learned to hold on

through the cold, dark, and lonely storm,

seemingly infinitely repetitive cycles of manual work,

and moving from one microcosm to another.

In the middle of a quiet summer night,

a melodious song is played unexpectedly.

And a rush of feelings, memories, and recognition comes to me.

Like an apparition, I see The rebel of my adolescence,

the scheme we have devised together,

and the late summer breeze.

More importantly,

I remember the story told to me casually and matter-of-fact like,

but one I instinctually understood as rooted from sorrow, loss, and longing.

Unaware what’s actually feeding our communion,

we schemed our rebellion against our current state and fate.

A whirlwind of that chemistry past by days, months, and years.

Before I could fully express it into life,

I quickly learned what it meant to survive socially, economically, and intellectually.

I accepted keywords, passwords, and commands,

and kept on doing the “right answer actions.”

After a while, I noticed a sense of vacuum uncomfortably sitting in the back of my mind.

It’s clinical; sanitized and organized, there’s no trace of memory of what had been there

except for sparkly optimism, joy, and positivity.

I wonder if this is protecting myself from something harmful

or if I am forgetting something that actually matters.

What mattered to me, No, what matters to me now is that mess.

That childish rebellion, so naive, amateur, and incoherent matters to me.

We had dared to be alive, for ourselves — for who we actually were.

To speak our mind, to do what we believe in, and to believe in our ideal.

I will make sure my work moving forward will reflect what we had gone through.

9.6.2026