How Hearts Travel: The Proximity of Distance

During the years 2002-2004 that I was writing for Eastern Mirror's page for teenagers called 'TeenStation', young readers (some of them are wonderful friends today – Nagaland is a small world), often conferred on me the role of Agony Aunt.

My small wanderings back then focused primarily on motivational subjects, and contemporary humane applications for issues associated with young adulthood, fashion and trends. Must I forget mentioning relationships and adolescent romance?  

The young Agony Uncle 

Anyhow, those minutiae aside, perhaps the direction of my literary objectives back then was the primary reason why readers found for me a place of trust inside them. It was a place where we shared the same table, and explored our experiences like little children all over again.

(The role was a flattering character to wear, I say, but pitiful to be on my person. I regret their misplaced confidence: For I am my own enemy. My weaknesses seduce me as effortlessly as my own prejudices never fail to destroy my endeavor to grow as a person.)  

Readers occasionally mailed me stories about their joys, fears, or heartbreaks. And there were even the odd Yahoo Messenger offline messages from this girl about that ‘hottie’ in her class she was losing her heart to.

Such were the stories we conversed about – small, young, and unspoken stories, but fiercely genuine stories nonetheless.

The Distance to that Extra Mile

And, out of it all, I realized, was this one recurring theme all of them shared in common: the fear of losing someone. No, not necessarily the fear of losing someone to someone else, but the fear of losing them, to, yes, distance.

Distance can be a hard taskmaster – the sense of enormity in reconciling time, matter and space within the context of convenience, ability and proximity. 

There are real human needs that demand real human applications: You miss someone at a special event, say, a birthday and you want him to be near giving you a hug and sharing the joy of the moment. You are in dire straits, and the person who is your figure of comfort and fortitude is far from you, you ache for him from the depths of your heart. You miss the love of your life, and you long for him every minute of his absence. Those are the times of, for want of better words, unfortunate grace.

I love, love, and adore clouds. Here is one showing the horizon south west of Dimapur from my place. I took the image with my war-wearied phone. When I miss some of the special people in my life, I go up to the rooftop and let my memories free. © 2014 Al Ngullie

Why

There is no answer to it. But we all miss someone in our lives in one way or the other. All of us are brittle animals looking for somebody’s arms to fall into. All of us instinctively demand regular reassurances that tell us that we still matter in this magnificent, wonderful, and infinite universe. We, all of us, carry a heart that has a piece missing – piece of it kept behind in a home only it knows.

When mom, or elder siblings, or nephews and nieces, or my dearest companion Tati, or the wonderful horde of rascals I call my friends from Taliangla to Yanger, are away for a while, there is always in place this tiny, tiny feeling somewhere inside me – a tiny, indescribable and nameless pang that seeks a reassurance that my world is still complete. That feeling is perhaps a humane mechanism God built into us. It is a guarantee of faith and love.

The way I see it, that tiny ‘something-something’ feeling is a guarantee as well as a validation of your choices to keep something close to your heart. You miss them because you love them. You miss them because you have faith for their return – or have faith to overcome even if they never return.

That way, you shall fear no more whether or not you would lose them to distance. Because when your beloved returns, you will remember the lessons you learnt when your beloved wasn't there. 

Or, just the same, you will still remember the lessons of faith to overcome even if they don’t return and are no longer there. Life without lessons is happiness without wisdom.

Walk

That is why you must embrace that agony. I encourage all of you to take delight in that beautiful hurting, that sweet agony, that gracious turmoil. Let that bittersweet feeling of your missing someone wash over you.

Do not fight it, for you will lose the very impulsion that reinforces the very threads holding both love and companionship into a perfect seam. The fiercer the fire, the purer the silver would be.

Feel it, soak in it. Let that feeling soak you with deeper love and soak your pores with fiercer hunger. Let it soak you. Let it rebuke the prejudices of humanness you exhibited when during conflict with your beloved, careless words and hurtful choices flew. When your beloved returns, you will remember the lessons you learnt when your beloved wasn't there. 

Or, just the same, you will still remember the lessons of faith to overcome even if they don’t return and are no longer there. Life without lessons is happiness without wisdom.

Miss someone, but enjoy that beautiful agony. That beautiful agony has a reason why it does what it does. When you miss someone it is a guarantee of both love and faith.

In other words, my wonderful friends, missing someone is your heart's way of saying that there is no distance your love cannot outrun. It is your heart's way of saying that there is no distance your love cannot reach.

And love is all we need to overcome everything life throws at us. Even distance. 

© 2014 How Hearts Travel: The Proximity of Distance Al Ngullie© 2012 Al Ngullie