Waldeinsamkeit

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"Green is the prime colour of the world, and that from which its loveliness arises."

- Pedro Calderon de la Barca 

She shut the book and set it on her stomach. The last sentence lingered in her mind; a remainder of an assignment for drama class she had once done on the Spanish author. An assignment which brought out her love for literature and the people that built upon it. To follow in their footsteps and emerge as one of strong influence in the literary world was a dream many aspiring writers held on to. Lying on a tree branch a couple of feet above the ground provided her a first hand experience of the feeling of sunshine on her bronzed skin. Her eyes slowly closed from the comfort of the warmth. 

"Komorebi." 

Familiarity rang in the voice that echoed through the vast forest she was in. She shut her eyes tighter and let out a soft sigh as the crackling noise of the dried leaves got louder and louder towards her. 

"It means sunshine filtering thr-"

"Through the leaves of trees. I know." 

She sat up. Balancing herself on the branch was no problem considering how often she had climbed trees. Ever since she was young, people would always stop to spot her either making her way up a tree taller than the one before, or simply taking a nap on one of the branches under the shade of the leaves above. The little adventurer, they'd call her. Not quite so little now though. Her long, tousled dirty blonde hair was never brushed and often covered in twigs and fallen leaves; her skin was bronzed from always being outside and her face freckled from her forehead to her chin; but her eyes remained the same. She had bright green eyes which in contrast to the tone of her skin and light hair made her seem exotically beautiful. At first glance, anybody would think of her as an islander. Far from the city-born girl she actually was. 

 Her nose scrunched up, revealing the cheeky smile that brightened the environment even more. "Guten morgen, Ola." He said as he climbed the tree. She scooted over to give him space to sit. "Guten morgen, Easton." There was a slight smile on her lips as she wished him, but her eyes avoided his. Easton gazed at her as if she was a scenery of the mountains. Her beauty fixated him the way an anchor held a ship.

Beside her laid a journal; covered in stickers and across the cover wrote a word in German. 

"Waldeinsamkeit?" Opening the journal, he curiously flipped through the pages. Each page was filled entirely with ideas, stories cut into numbered chapters, and mind maps with arrows shooting out in every direction. Occupied and filled with interest at the writing, he had almost forgotten about it's author that sat directly in front of him. She turned to the last page of the journal. There, written in cursive and surrounded by doodles of pine trees were-

"Waldeinsamkeit - A feeling of solitude, being alone in the woods and a connectedness to nature"

He looked at her and saw what almost seemed to be sadness in her face. She was looking out into the deeper parts of the forest; the morning sunshine making her glow even more as the day got hotter. Looking down at the pages of her journal, he flipped and read through more of her works until he spotted one that really caught his eye. It was titled 'Home is still home.' Written on the page was an entry that made his heart heavy. 

'What is the real definition of home? Is it the roof that shelters us from the outside world? Is home only a four walled building made of rooms with framed embroidery that quotes 'Home is where the heart is.' at the front door. I don't believe in that quote. May it be real for other people out there, the lucky ones, but to me it's different. Home was where my heart is. At least, before it got torn apart. Even so, I guess there are still pieces of it left behind there. To me, home is where you are loved. It is where you want to return, where you seek and find comfort in the presence of the people inside and of itself. It is where you grow, you improve, you stumble and fall, and too, it was where you stand back up. For me, I realized that my home was not in the pale beige walls of the house across the street, but out here. A quote by Helen Rowland goes such that 'A home is any four walls that enclose the right person'. And the walls that I call home are these great towering trees. Whenever I wandered in the forest, I was surrounded by trees and so in a way, I was always home. My idea of home may be different to those of others, but we are all different aren't we. The only thing I wish for is for my family to understand it. I love them with all my heart and soul, but I never felt as if they'd care enough. Often, I felt like an extra in a movie. Someone who completed the scene realistically but wasn't significant enough to be acknowledged. People, we do what makes us happy and being out here, is mine.' 

Ola reached over and took the journal into her lap. She grazed the raised letters that made up the word 'journal' on the cover and let out a slight laugh. "You know, sometimes I'd dream that this piece of my messed up mind will make its way to bookstores around the world. That maybe there are people who'd enjoy reading what I write." She put her arms behind and leaned back, staring up at the fluttering leaves above. The wind blew her hair and tousled it even more than it originally was. "Ah, but that—that, I think it's all just a figment of my imagination." 

Easton laughed at the sight of her state of dreaminess. An idea popped into his head and in an instant, he stood up, slightly wobbling as he leaned over to grab hold of Ola's hand. He urged her to follow him down and stumbling over each other they went, the sound of crisp dry leaves crunching under their weight as the ran out of the forest. A couple of blocks down the road later and they've reached a huge garden. It was closed off by a tall white fence but from the small gaps in between each fence, a beautiful array of plants, trees, flowers and shrubberies were able to be seen. 

He stood in front of one of the garden fence panels, where flowers hung from above. The sight of the multiple different colours were truly mesmerising. It resembled a child's painting; a paint brush being swooshed across the paper by small and delicate hands. In the end, what started off as a blank paper turns into a wide spread page of rainbows.

"It's a Hollyhock." He held the pale pink flower and stroked its petal with his thumb. "In floriography,  it symbolises ambition. And if you were a flower, this is the one you'd be. You're talented Ola. The things you write; those aren't just words. They're dreams—your dreams, condensed into a 100,000 word essay that I'd read over and over again because they are just that good." 

She held out her hand and reached out to take the flower from his grasp. Still keeping a doleful expression, she held it to her face; a whiff of summer drifted up her nose. It reminded her of having juices by the beach as a child—her feet covered in sand and the familiar warmth of sunshine on her skin. 

"You're different Easton, you know me. What about other people out there who don't?" A deep sigh escaped her mouth as she tilted her head back. "What if to them my book is just another waste of space on the store shelves?". She bit her lip in frustration and aimlessly stared at the ground. A tear rolled down her cheek and onto the hollyhock. 

"Look, let it just be me or thousands of people, but you'd never know if you won't try. You jump into risks and you get what the world gives back. You succeed and you fail. It's inevitable, but you know what isn't?" He took the flower, swept her hair aside and tucked it behind her ear. "Fear." 

'To him, fear was something you could push aside, lock up and throw far away from within yourself. Fear was nothing more than a state of mind, yet it is the strongest and oldest emotion of mankind. It traps and engulfs us humans like a phagocyte engulfs bacteria. Some people are crippled by fear. Often, the sources of those fears are simply irrational and are ordinary things that normal people don't think twice about. I'm brave—I think I am. Spending time alone in the forest continuously for many years eliminated fears of things people usually are afraid off when being outside; the usual insects and occasional woodland fox. Although, I don't think those are very significant fears. I think that real fear exists within us. That the only thing we actually have to fear are fears itself. Sounds odd, but if you think hard enough, it all makes sense. Yet again, fear is good too in a way. When you are afraid in an empty alleyway, you'd run to protect yourself from danger. Fear keeps us alert for things that could be a potential threat to us. Ironically, nothing gives more courage to a fearful person than another's fear. It's another case of people who feel better about themselves by the downs of others. Easton, he tells me fear can be avoided if we tried. And so, maybe he's right and we can avoid fears, but I don't think I know how to though.' 

"You can't stay in your corner of the forest waiting for others to come to you." He pushed loose hair away from her face. "You have to go to them sometimes." Sitting alone in the depths of the forest was nothing out of the ordinary for her. She did it everyday, she was used to it. To her, being outside of those woods was out of interest. It was the place that kept her safe, tucked her away from the anger and pain of her broken family. In a way, it was almost as if she had grown up in the hands of mother nature herself. 

They were back on the branch earlier after spending two hours wandering in the gardens. They both were tired and Easton was once again going through another one of her journals. Every page resembled a new adventure. An adventure to explore the insides of her mind; to know and learn things that she had only kept to herself. She was never good at expressing herself through speech. Often times, Easton would catch her upset but whenever she caught sight of him, her bright smile would return in an instance.

She burrowed her head into the comfort of his chest. Surprised, he slowly tried to pack away the journals back into her backpack. The sun was setting and the orange and purple light intensified the surroundings but yet, in a way softened it as well. Easton rested his head on hers; holding her tight in his arms. "I'm feeling kaigue." She looked up at him. A knowing smile curled her lips and she nodded. "Same here." 

- 1952 words -------------------------

So, it's now 11.11 pm and I started this story around midday. Feeling great that it's finally done and I'm quite proud of this one. I built the story on quotes and things I found randomly whilst browsing the internet such as floriography which is the language of flowers. 

In the first paragraph, I wrote about myself. Last year, I had done an assignment on Pedro Calderon de la Barca for drama class. Honestly, I chose a Spanish author just because my drama teacher is a fellow Spaniard himself lol. But hey ho, despite my tryna-be-a-teachers-pet-effort, there was a good thing that came out of the assignment and that is that I realized that I had an interest for things in the field of literature and drama. I too, as written, am dreaming of being someone influential through my stories and writing. Hopefully, one day those dreams would be achieved and I'd still be blogging. Wouldn't that just be cool. 

But oh, what would I know what the future holds in terms of dreams and ambitions. As Arthur Rimbaud has said-

"On n'est pas serieux, quand on avait dix-sept ans."

One is not serious at seventeen.

USED QUOTES:

• Fears are nothing more than a state of mind. - Napoleon Hill
• The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown. - H.P. Lovecraft
• You can't stay in your corner of the forest waiting for others to come to you. You have to go to them sometimes. - A.A. Mine
• Waldeinsamkeit (A feeling of solitude, being alone in the woods and a connectedness to nature) - German
• Another word is "kaigue." It is used to express how you feel when you don't want to do anything. It is different than lazy - not necessarily that you don't have the energy to do something. You would just prefer to do nothing!
• Nothing gives a fearful man more courage than another's fear. - Umberto Eco