(Not So) Far Away
Hey loves!
"Staycation" is the new motto of the holiday season. My family and I will not be going away at all this summer, but books, movies, and TV shows are great places to escape to for a little bit here and there. Some books and movies have literally made me forget the world around me for a short while.
Sometimes, the end of a movie/TV show or book may be the end, but it does not feel like the end for a character. Do you sometimes wonder how they are doing after this short glimpse you got into their lives? They are obviously often fictional, but as the spectator, we often cannot help but wonder what further ending the author imagined. Or what a character felt in a certain scene if their emotions were not apparent to us.
Because I am not always ready to leave the characters behind already, I sometimes write short (and probably cheesy and terrible) poems about the things I saw or read about. Somehow, this allows me to give the characters my final farewell. Today, I would like to share a few of these pieces with you. I am absolutely no poet and these poems are probably not great, but that is also not the point of them. The point is much more to creatively engage with the things that inspire you - whether it is by writing about them, drawing something, talking about it, or something else entirely. If something makes you want to create something, it is worth trying out the creative process. the results may not always be great, but it is important to give our imagination free reign sometimes.
I wish I could tell you which TV shows, books, and movies these different pieces belong to, but I can honestly not remember that with certainty and so I decided to leave them here just as poems. Some of them are probably inspired by multiple works - I have my guesses of what inspired what but these are just guesses. If you are interested in my guesses, I left some notes after every poem, but maybe you have read or seen something that matches these poems.
the north
The north is where women give tight hugs
that pull you into their broad bodies
And give you a sense of belonging
And a momentary escape from the cold
The north is where the snow is not an unexpected guest
But rather a family member
Who comes by the house every once in a while
And is greeted with this familiarity only family gives you
The north is where southerners freeze
And northerners wear shorts on cold Mondays
Because they are warmer than the Sundays
The north is inexplainable to those who did not grow up with northern air in their lungs
It is not meant to be understood
By those who do not share its blood
The north is rough on the outside
But filled with the brightest lights
Burning
Inside its people
The inspiration for this poem is really difficult for me to place. Game of Thrones definitely played a part with this one. But I also vaguely remember a French film about someone moving north and I think this one may also have influenced this poem. I know that 'some French movie' is not very specific, but it is honestly the most specific description I could come up with.
walk
I wish
I could
take a walk
in your mind
it would
explain
so much
I wish
I could
walk past
all these walls
that guard
your inner sanctuary
I wish
I could
hear your heartbeat
and understand
why
I no longer
make it beat faster
I wish
I could
go on a safari
into your dreams
to see your wildest fantasies
so I could do everything
to become them
I wish
I could touch you
where my hands cannot
in order
to make you feel me
make you feel
for me
I wish
I could go on a cruise
on the ocean of tears you cried
to understand
what hurt you so much
that you built your walls
so high
that even I
could not climb them
I wish
I could take a flight
that takes me past all
the castles you built out of air
in your daydreams
to show me all the places
you would have rather been
when you’ve been with me
I wish
I could go on a drive
on the street
where all the friends
you no longer speak to
live and love
to see them
to smell their houses
that once welcomed you
like a brother of theirs
I wish
I could take a seat
in that mind of yours
and listen to all the thoughts
that cross it like shootingstars
to understand
what you mean
when you say
that you don’t even
understand yourself
I wish
I could climb these high walls
that surround your heart
and I wish I could make it there
and once I’m there
I wish I’d see myself
and not her
I wish there was a way
to time-travel in your mind
so I could see
whether I was ever
in your heart
or whether it was always
her
I doubt that there is any specific inspiration for this poem. I listen to lots of heartbreak songs (do not ask why single me enjoys this genre of music) and I guess they may also have influenced this.
bus ride in Hong Kong
I get on the bus
In the rural area of the city
Where the jungle meets small villages
And where Chinese is the only language
And my white skin is foreign
Every curve we take
Feels like it could be our last
As our bodies move with the bus
And the jungle slowly gives way
To the hustles and bustles of the city
It begins to rain on the inside and outside
some droplets coming from the sky
Others from the cold air-conditioned air
And the conditioned air
Takes away my neighbour’s flower smell
The girl next to me
Whose lily-scented perfume made me want to ask her where she got it
Seems sad
And I imagine that she just broke up with her boyfriend
And keeps checking her phone to see whether he said sorry
The bus stops and a little boy gets on
He is hidden under an umbrella which seems bigger than him
And I wonder whether he tries to hide
I know I do sometimes
But I wish they made such big umbrellas for adults
The boy’s mother is right behind
And it seems he does not need to hide
Since their little clapping games are innocent enough
But I know that looks can be deceiving
And nonetheless wonder to what he goes home
The closer we get to the heart of the city
The more impatient drivers surround us
And soon enough
We stand in front of an office building
And wait for the cars around us to move
And so I look at window after window
And realise while some are filled with office workers
Others are filled with the grace and magic
Only dancers can give to a room
And so I watch this fascinating choreography of ballet without music
I wonder whether the girl in the white skirt is auditioning
Or whether she already has the part
And why the girl with the black hair seems so jealous
I imagine that they fight against one another
In a black-swan-kind-of-way
A long time ago
when I did not yet understand that dreams should be realistic
I wanted to be a ballet dancer
And I wonder what I would be like
In that window
Or what I would be like
If I had had an umbrella big enough to hide under
When those who were supposed to love me
Threw punches at my confidence
And taught me that love should never be assumed
The bus stops
And it is time for me to leave
And so I step out into the world
Into the rain
And leave my speculations behind
I actually know that the inspiration for using the format of a bus ride in Hong Kong definitely came from some old documentary which I watched back in my geography class. It talked about a small village in Hong Kong which the documentary contrasted with the multicultural and fast-paced city centre. The character who is describing their experience in this poem is a character about whom one of my friends wrote a short story. The story has never been published and I only got to read it as their friend, but it talked about a family who had issues of such gravity that the authorities got involved. It ended with the child of the story looking back at her parents' house from the back of a police car. I was not ready to let this character go yet and so I put her onto this bus ride.
Ok, I will not torture you more with my terrible poetry - it is absolutely fine with me if you laughed at them. I do not take these poems too serious myself, but I really enjoy creating them as it allows me to add details to the fictional works I sometimes lose myself in. Writing them is a little break from reality. Since we have all been stuck within the same four walls for way too long, taking such breaks can be important. And it is fine if your breaks from reality produce terrible poems like mine. Or maybe you turn out to be a great poet. Or a painter. Whatever it is that gives you a little break.
Make sure to give yourself these breaks and not to judge them by the quality of their results.
Lots of Love,
Elena
