The Past

You Had Me at What's Your Name

When Spring comes, I like keep the curtain off on my bedroom window so I would wake up to the warm sunlight as the position of my bed and window are perfectly aligned for the sun to fall right on my pillow, my cheek.
As the sun sets later than winter time, the day feels longer. Marta and I would always try to find sometime on the weekend to go out for a drink. Yesterday, we decided to go to the pub in town that we had not been for a while.
After we bought ourselves a drink, we stood by the DJ booth and dance a little. She then tapped me on my shoulder and said, she might have recognised the guys that stood next to the bar from somewhere. I told her no, I have never seen those bunch.
While explaining, my eyes caught a glimpse of one of the guys in the group. He was the tallest one with muddy-blonde hair. His skin was beach-tanned as if he spends most of his times by the sea, just as the black surf-themed t-shit suit him well.
But I began to wonder, he looked like he must have had something more than just a beer. And suddenly, our eyes met as if he heard me. I immediately looked elsewhere, hiding behind my drink.

Perhaps, it was because the room was small, I was running out of corner to see as after a while, I always found myself turning to his direction. And for the second time, our eyes met.
This happened four times, even though I tried to look away I always found his eyes on me. In time, he smiled and approached me slowly, and offered his hand. Not aggressively, but rather as a gentle and pleasant gesture.
I was unsure. I did not even know why I was unsure, I just thought I had too much thoughts that bothered me for the evening, thus I opted a safer option as I raised my glass to his with the sound of click, and said a silent cheers. He raised his shoulder, asking why.
He then leaned closer to the side of my ear, "What's your name?"
His voice was muddled with the loud music and I was slightly distracted how gorgeous he look close up.
I told him my name, and offered a formal handshake just for the hell of it. He said his name is Jack, before he asked me how to spell my name. I spelt it out twice, but I think he couldn't hear my voice in the loud song. But he did pick up my accent that definitely did not belong from this side of town.
When he asked where I am from, I did not tell him immediately. I'd like to test every stranger that I met, their geography knowledge and sometimes just to buy longer time to talk. He then suggested to go to the side of the room, next to the staircase that lead to the toilet upstairs, somewhere less loud so we could talked better. I said, alright.
Dodging the ball, he replied that I should guess where he's from. I said Bournemouth, but he shook his head. London? He chuckled, almost as if it sounded like an insult and reinstated that he's not from the country.
Interesting, I thought. Fellow foreigner. I took a wild guess and said Australia. And I was surprisingly right. I told him that I did not believe him and he was lying but then he took out his wallet and showed me his ID, that says on top with red heading, something South of Australia. He told me he's from a city between Adelaide and Melbourne.
I found it fascinating, both his thick Australian accent that I could now hear it clearly when he said those two cities and the strange feeling of, closeness, meeting someone from a country closer to where I'm from -- it made me feel closer to home.
He said he was on a sailing course. And he had been all around the world for the last five months and had not been home since then. He's staying in Bournemouth for the next two weeks, which he seemed very enthusiastic about how big the tidal here.

He began to question the colour of my eyes, I was wearing my blue contacts that night. I said it's fake, and went through the whole I usually wear glasses but. My real eyes are brown. He then said, I like brown eyes.
You see, I am terrible with compliments, thus I counter-argued it by saying well it's because you don't have brown eyes. Almost out of reflex, I leaned closer to see what's the colour of his eyes, and just as any coincidence he stood underneath the perfect lighting that cast enough brightness for me to get the best look into shades of his eyes. It was turquoise-green with a touch of brown. He had nice eyes.
And nose piercing, as well.
Damn it.
That was when it hit me again how scary and crazy instant attraction could be. We could have exchanged contact details but I did not know whether I've got too much on my plate at the moment or the fact that he's only here for another two weeks let me down because I know, if I'm going to let this happen, I'm going to want him to stay.
So, I said let's go back to the crowd. And I made myself disappear.

That night, I closed the curtain before I went to bed. 
A piece by : Fiya Muiz

The Day I Met Keaton

Do you know how fast the Tube travels? A close distant between Waterloo and Southwark station on Piccadilly line takes less than two minutes. I remember, I counted till eighty seven to distract myself from collapsing into tiny particles as if I was a skyscraper just got hit by a plane. In this case, the plane was Keaton.

I have admired Keaton Henson for quite some time, almost borderline obsessed. I couldn't remember how the first time I stumbled upon Keaton's Work but all I know one day somewhere in the infinite universe of World Wide Web, I found the music I would love to fall in love with. His songs had this remarkably raw and depressingly honest emotions locked in its lyrics and sound. Ultimately, I grow fond of the artist, too.

You would easily find him around me. I hang a black and white A4-sized poster of him above my mirror so I would not forget to write. I had one taped at the back of my folder case just in case I got stuck on writing. You would also find a picture of him on both home and lock screen of my iPhone when it brightens.

It was my favourite picture of him. Not just because there were not many picture of him smiling shyly behind the palm of his hand and cigarette hanging in between his fingers, but it was more to the mystery in the way his eyes looking away from the camera. It gave the sense of wonder of his eyes when he looks up.

Seconds before the Tube stopped at Waterloo, I caught a glimpse of rather empty station. I liked the idea knowing not many people would get on, so I would have the train all for myself. When the cream-coloured door opened, I was surprised when a man suddenly entered from the side of the platform.

He was cautiously minding the gap before his tall body stepped in and just as he looked up, his eyes met mine.

His eyes met mine.

His, mine.

That man was Keaton Henson and the world stopped for a second.

He had one of the saddest yet enticing pair of eyes I have ever seen.

He chose to stand on the right side of the door, two steps away from where I stood. Leaning on the yellow handlebar, with his tweeds grey coat made him look more mysterious than he ever was. He had his headphone on and his slightly hunched body suggested he was hiding from everybody else but himself.

Starstruck, I began to wonder what music he was listening to because if he ask mine, I would say his. Does he know that his song makes my head spin? He isn’t as tall as I thought he would be in person but boy, cross my heart, his beard is gorgeous. Should I say something? Hey, are you Keaton Henson? I just want to say your music is amazing. Does that sound too girly?

Just as I was busy constructing and editing the perfect script in my head, and secretly stealing glances at his reflection on the window in front of us, the train had approached my stop. Do it now, Fiya. Now. But I stood still, only my body slightly shook because of a minor jolt from the train tracks. Before I knew it, the door in front of me opened, and left me with the easiest option: to get off the Tube.

So I did and he was still on the train.

I had trouble breathing for the next ten minutes and processing the could have and should have been. But I also thought of my favourite picture of him, the one that he looked away and how I wonder if he looked up. Now, I did not have to wonder anymore.

I got off that Tube knowing the odds are telling me something.

I have to stay.
A piece by : Fiya Muiz