We’re always looking for connection among things, for explanation and for logic within life. While there’s connection, for sure, real life is almost unexplainably above logic. Like why do we fall in love? Why do our hearts break? Why did I lost my phone. It doesn’t make any sense to me, but I get by, knowing that there must surely be a reason for all of this. Just that it doesn’t matter why, this is life in all its beautiful meaning.

So I finally figured I lost the sense for small talks. I need someone to talk about how beautiful a sunset is. I need someone to talk about the Orion in the winter sky. I want to talk about the small chance that we were born in the same era. I want to talk about Wes Anderson and Moonrise Kingdom, about Quarantino, Shusaku Endo. I want to talk about the simple joy of calm seeing thousands of birds returning home on sunset. I want to talk about how magical love is. But yet there is this silence. I only know how to talk to myself.

Dear,

These lines are being written on a sunny afternoon in Saigon, when I realized I don’t miss you terribly anymore. I could just let it go and forget it like the dream I had last night, but I decided not to. Somehow I think it’s unfair not to let you know how much you meant to me. Continue reading