Love has no reason
Tags: Love Letters, Sakri, Lovestory

Dear Unknown,

Just like any other busy day in a youth university, I woke up early to catch up with few morning classes while having a series of tight mandatory seminars in the evening. It was a regular routine for any engineering student, and it was like a day running around campus while the sun stares at you.

That day I prayed hard; I prayed hard for no programming quiz. The noon sun was attacking my entire face after a social subject seminar session. I walked down past the building and made a quick crazy decision of risking up the programming class with fifty possibilities of a quiz and take a trip to visit a friend.

“Please hit me up if there is a quiz,” I told one of my classmates before I left campus. I barely remember my thoughts and all the journey to this friend that I was visiting. That may be so because much of my time on the bus, my eyes were on the phone screen. It was scrolling on some exciting photography and answering random jokes on social groups.

I arrived a bit late, and it was the exact convenient time that many would be allowed to see their loved ones from that space. Sad enough, I was not allowed to see him for just strict medical reasons and policies. You could also think of giving them many reasons for them to let you in for the first pace. But for no reason, I chose to understand and considered seeing him some other time when he was healthier. And it did not matter because I spent the previous night writing a few notes on colored papers, just wishful and joyful words for him.

I stayed for a short while just to hear how he has been doing so far from the people who have been able to see him for the past few days. Not a pretty healing story, but from the person saying it, I felt his faith in his expectation to see him kick some balls and cheer for his favorite football team. I so believed it too. I then even imagined how he would talk to me about how horrible my calligraphy was in those colorful stick notes and dry jokes about his humor.

Later, I got into a bus humbly and headed back to a different city university world full of great things that one would tell a story about. I did not forget him, and I was curious to tell and believe that we might laugh with him a few days later when I get home. As much as I imagined it happening, there was a whole bucket of faith about it.

This was like driving in the future with absolute joy and pleasant moments. I had excellent fortune thoughts about it for two or three days after visiting him. They all just shut down when I heard the news that we all won’t see each other again. Many usually say it is like a dream, and it is. I sensed that it was a dream that I am awake, and I wanted to sleep to have different news.

It was tragic while further getting to know that he read half of my message from the notes I wrote. It was a turning point for me to realize that love was in front of my face. He was one of the few friends with everlasting memories, but he made me realize that most of the things we humans want are already in front of us. From the time I wrote the wishful notes, I felt happy remembering a few of his jokes and diffuse them with low-skill calligraph that my hands could do.

Despite not seeing him when I visited him, I noticed several children in that ward with burnt injuries and other elderly aged patients with liver illnesses. Children were surrounded by several young women and men sharing stories of joy to cheer up their kids, noticing how much love can be around us even in the days we can barely tell them how much they mean to us.

Love. It is this excellent word and worth experiencing it as a verb. I can now curiously say love is the craziest thing I have been to and something that I keep confusing when it comes right in front of my face. Love stories can be pretty interesting for anyone, but I bet when you heartily experience it practically, it can be one of the most beautiful things you have lived up for. Maybe you might have reasons to love, but I have been experiencing it with no reason to tell.

Yours,

Ink.

In memory of Edo.