1 day and the distance: The moon will be at its brightest tonight and the stars will glow in admiration.
2 days and the distance: My life is a mosaic. And the picture is forming beautifully right before my eyes as each day passes.
3 days and the distance: Everything in life is a gamble, even in the context of love. But in this game of chance, I’d rather lose again and again rather than quit and turn my back away.
4 days for my wish to come true: Different from a lifted life projected on a silver screen, neither directed nor rehearsed, the script, movements and setting of this story are inspired by our hearts. And I am keen for the lifetime award.
5 days for my wish to come true: When you took my hand for the first time, and when the spaces between our fingers fit perfectly, I know that I am always safe with you.
7 days for my wish to come true: I heaved a sigh. Even a million sighs won’t empty this longing.
9 days for my wish to come true: Finally, a single-digit number. I had my breakfast, cold, because I woke up late. But no matter how long it takes, my heart will never be akin to this food on my plate. (But that of me beside you when I took this number of us.)
10 days and I’ll be happy: I’ve been lost for 6 months now. And counting these days of distance is what mainly preoccupies my busy yet pointless life. Something must be done.
11 days and I’ll be happy: My eyes are drooping from another sleepless night. But like a guard, I will keep myself from sleeping so I won’t miss that chance of reunion which image sickly cycles my mind like a persistent fly.
12 days and I’ll be happy: Who would have thought that it would reach this far? (8th on the 9th) And yet, I’m looking forward to that journey that would definitely last a lifetime.
13 days and I’ll be happy: The wedding I attended today made me realize, again, the wonderful blessings love bestows. I am glad that I am blessed.
14 days and I’ll be happy: I woke up early in the morning desperately wanting to go back to bed and continue sleeping for the next 2 weeks. If only I could make the world stop, fast forward to that day and pause it for a lifetime.
15 days and I’ll be happy: To be a princess is just a childhood fantasy, until I’ve met you.
16 days and I’ll be happy: Apart but never separated–for the concept of distance is only for the weak and the promise of reunion is for the hopeful.
17 days and I’ll be happy: Everything that is dull will soon be filled up by the sublime.
18 days ’til moonshine: Words embody the source; and the utterance of that promise is what embodies me.
19 days ’til moonshine: When I saw the glitter of the most honest eyes, I started believing in fairytales.
20 days ’til moonshine: The spirit of Christmas fills the city atmosphere–the songs, the lights and the gifts, all remind me of the best gift that is yet to come.
21 days ’til moonshine: I kissed the envelope that seals the hope of shortening the days of distance I have to endure wishing that it will soon take me to you.
22 days ’til moonshine: I have enough memories to live by…more than enough.
23 days ’til moonshine: Halted. Forced to take a detour. This strangeness ironically nurtures a familiarity that continues to grow stronger.
24 days ’til moonshine: I was driving along the expressway at the speed of 40…50…60…100 because I want to get home soon. The days won’t speed up but soon…I’ll get there.
25 days ’til moonshine: Words will not run out over excitement that does not wither for love that knows no limitations.
26 days ’til moonshine: I encountered another road block today…preventing me to see the moonshine. I defer for now but I will not surrender. Visibility is not the measurement of existence.
27 days to go: I realized that I’ve been staring at the wall, longer than necessary, where the paper written with number 27 was posted. I’ll grab a coffee now and tomorrow I will grab that number out of my sight.
28 days to go: Aboard the train, avoiding the eyes of strangers, checking my clock every after station and clutching my bag as if it could comfort me from all the hustles of the rush hour. I shut my eyes from the confusing vision thinking that in 4 weeks, I will be clutching his hand.
29 days to go: worked as usual, counted the hours, attended a birthday party, ate and drank and talked and laughed then I rushed home, sat in front of my lifeless companion, stared at the blinding monitor and waited, and waited and waited…
30 days to go: cut pieces of paper, wrote the numbers 1-30, pinned them in front of my office desk, excited to leaf through them, tear each piece as they accompany my silent pilgrimage.
Note: I don’t take credit for any of the photos used here except for 9, 10 and 21. Thanks!