The Man Of Across The Sea : A Fiction
Once upon a time there was a man who was not born here. He spoke different language, his mind was set on different league, his height is unusual, his tongue rolled out completely different accent. A foreign being, he was. I called him Man Of Across The Sea.
On the map, the sea was limitless. His city was an ancient space that hold The People History. The Museum stood in its centre, holding mankind’s history in its palm. Everything you wanted to know about other humans was in The Museum, but not about the city itself. Let alone about The Man Of Across The Sea.
But, mind you, this was not about History. This was a story about The Man of Across The Sea. I found him by accident, standing between books and piles of coconut. What an odd combination, I thought. He was not reading at the time, but writing. His handwriting was neat, his sentences were beautifully structured, much like his mind. It was also as thin as shades.
His humors were of across the sea. It took me minutes to understand and by the time I understood, it would left me giggling. He glanced and I glanced away. Then, I learned the term of stolen glance. Romantic, I assumed.
It didn’t take long until we spent time talking at ungodly hours. Most of the time i am trying to decipher if he was saying what i thought he was saying. Turns out he was saying it, but sound fall shorts in my ears. Soon, i learn the new term Avoidant Attachment. Such a scientific term, I thought.
“What happened to you?” He asked.
“Mmm, a lot in my language. Maybe less in yours,” i replied.
“Was it pain?”
“Some of it.”
“Does pain translate differently in your language?”
“Oh, it is only one letter more.” I smiled. “So it last longer than it is in your language.”
He laughed. “You can use my language so it won’t last long. It can be a safe place, just one letter away. You can hide. ”
Just one letter away, just one letter less of pain. I would take that chance.
Then, we laughed. Our first joke of our own was about pain and language.
Oh, by the way, this was written in His language. I apologized for any incoherent phrases. Should you find any sentences odd, please understand that My Mother Tongue found it suitable.
You see, i wanted him to understand. Therefore i write in his language and not mine. He’d be lost in My Mother Tongue, unlike me who can map my mind and forged my own identity in His Language.
To me, it sounded romantic. It would be synonymous to showing him a glimpse of Home in foreign land, to make him feel less lonely.
One time, during a very unexpected party that turned into a long conversation, he said “i got older and funnier by the moon not by time.” Incidicating maybe he was half-drunk, indicating it was also true. He got funnier, the later night went.
