Fermata

1. Fermata: a pause of unspecified length on a note or rest.

I looked up at the twin towers, gleaming spectacularly against the night sky, the most symbolic sight of my home country. My legs dangled over a small artificial creek as I perched on the railings of a bridge, a futile attempt to distance myself from the throngs of people that filled the vicinity.

8:00pm.

From speakers all around us, a god-awful rendition of Beethoven's Fifth Symphony rang in the night while the pond shot up jets of water, illuminated by neon lights. The sight fascinated me as a little kid, it was magical once; but now, magic lingered in another form. 

A cringe-worthy transition paved the way to a mind-numbingly bad rendition of Mozart's 40th Symphony. The typical, everyday me would've protested at the besmirching of such overrated classics, but classics nonetheless. They failed to capture the majesty of Fate in the electronic cover, and left out the brilliant bass line that supports the iconic melody of E♭-D-D E♭-D-D E♭-D-D-B♭. 

But not tonight, my internal geek will not be allowed ruin the magic of the moment. 

He sat there, right next to me, keeping a watchful eye on me to stop my fall in the unlikely scenario that I lose my balance and fall to my humiliation. His presence was familiar yet distant; intoxicating in its distinct blend of childhood, adolescence, and impending adulthood. 

He was my best friend of 5 years, coming into my life 2 years before my departure to America. In the following years of adaptation, he was there irregularly but consistently. We drifted apart then, keeping in touch while embarking on separate paths, until a phone call and a promise brought us back together. 

The smell of cigarette smoke drifted to us. Wrinkling my nose at such a pungent intrusion, I suggested leaving. We walked around the park, rambling on about everything and nothing until the heat drove us back into gloriously air-conditioned interior. 

A few more words and lapses of comfortable silence, then it was goodbye. Departing with a promise that mirrored the past, bidding farewell was easier that I anticipated.

The day was normal, our time together unremarkable, yet between us hung an unspoken hope. It was unexpected when it hits, but the reverberation of the blow threw us both into a magnificent frenzy. 

There were no promises except for those of friendship; no plans for the future, no sweet nothings. Much was left unsaid, yet assumptions lost their meanings as they blend with unspoken truths. The sweetness that permeates through that glorious month clouded around me, refusing to disperse. Muses warred with fate and I, prideful and strong, succumbed to the feminine weaknesses that I loathed. 

The passage of time is ambrosia as I crawled out of the confines of extreme homesickness and solitude and resumed my construction of a luminous future. Hopes and dreams filled the void and expanded indefinitely, taking flight as things with feathers, limitless and boundless as the untapped potential and the inexhaustible imagination of ambition.

Within the immeasurable extension, that particular sliver of hope remains, encased by the bonds of friendship, impenetrable and invincible.