RISK EVERYTHING FEAR NOTHING


Dear someone watching from the shadows,
The policy is honesty and nothing is censored. The world is not made of atoms. It is made of stories.
These are some of mine.
I was born in China, grew up in a small country town, spent my next decade in the most isolated city in the world. I am now 3000 miles away, embarking on my next chapter. The air smells verdant and pure, I am surrounded by nature in bloom, and beautiful people who hold such exquisite stories.
I want to go everywhere, meet everyone, and do everything. I will.
Love, someone at the other end.


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12th August 2010

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Someone deceased you wish you could talk to

Dear John,

There is no evidence anywhere that you even exist. No evidence of your death, no evidence of your life. Just a tombstone that reads

“May Jesus have Mercy on your soul”

Died in 1905, you were adopted by a family in New South Wales when you were a child, you have no family, yet here you lay, on the other side of the country, creating a mystery.

I long time ago, I was friends with a carefree and stimulating girl. She had some terrible things happen to her in her past, and unfortunately, the closer we became, the more I learnt how much this haunted her, and evidently, defined her as a person. Her escape was through drugs – hallucinogens, depressants, stimulants – you name it, she did it. She was older than me, at the age I was, she had a great influence on me. I guess I was always going to grow into this life; she was just a catalyst.

I was fifteen the first time she took me to see you. I don’t know if it was the influence of drugs, I guess I never will, but something about being with you always gave me comfort; I felt safe with you, like you were my guardian angel. She felt the same way.There were mornings after the night before, she would wake up in the graveyard, having made her way to you sometime in the midst of the night. You would talk to her, protect her, help her.

Although me and this friend no longer see each other, I still go and visit you now and then. I’m aware how mental this sounds – going to a graveyard alone at night and placing flowers next to someone who perished over 100 years ago, someone you don’t even know. You know that I don’t care though. Sometimes there are flowers there, and I know she’s never far away.

Something about you fascinates me. Who were you? What did you do that was so bad, terrible enough to pray for Jesus to have mercy on you? Where are your family? Why are you buried here, on the other side of Australia? If we had met in a different time, would we know each other? Would we be friends? Could I have helped you?

I guess there are some things in life we will never really know, or grasp an understanding of.
You are no exception.
Maybe some day I’ll meet you in heaven. Until that day, the visits will do me justice.
Yours truely,
        

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