I had originally planned on writing up this post a few days earlier than this, but I feared it being too similar to the post I wrote on my wattpad page also on noises of security and feelings of warmth. But after a while’s thought, I decided that the two weren’t as similar as I thought.
My brother and I inch our way into our unfamiliar grey Lancer very tightly parked in between two other cars. It is just the two of us tonight, meaning we have comfortable rooming inside, where usual philosophical thought is allowed to take place. I inhale and slightly smile at the eccentricity of the thinking phenomenon. Steinbeck had once described one of his characters as so incredibly simple that only a profound man would know him as profound, and then another character as so profusely complex, that only a profound man would see him as simple — and yet it remains, that once you are sitting comfortably with a stomach not hungry, and a throat not thirsty, and a body not hurting, it becomes time to waste your thoughts on higher needs — like love and warmth and kindness. It seems not a squander! These feelings sound necessary even, but on balance with the foundations, anything besides the animalistic instincts of satiation appear out of place.
Our father, whom we hadn’t seen in the past few months, makes his way into the vehicle and turns the keys of ignition. Not too many minutes after, our mother sits comfortably next to him, and the car begins a journey through the night. As we rumble over the unfamiliar streets my body fills itself with sensations of warmth it had only known years ago, when it was young and resilient. Much had changed since. My siblings and I live miles away from our father now, so we only seem him ever so rarely. My mother is older in the heart and my siblings and I sometimes feel frailer in the bones. Most days we are reminded of our spirits and we are submerged in our faith, but other days the melancholy of tedium and boredom make us forget those warm feelings. We forget that security.
My brother leans in towards me slightly and whispers, “Do you remember this?”
At first, I do not understand. How can one remember an event of the present? But then I sigh and nod my head at him.
“It’s always been this. Dad driving, mom next to him, and us in the back falling asleep into the night. I feel the safety. I feel safe,” he says, “I have missed this feeling.”
My insides want to yelp at him in exuberance that they understand this feeling! I feel the warmth too, tonight!
“It’s been a long time since this, hasn’t it?” I ask my brother.
He smiles and nods, then leans his head on his window in tranquil repose.
Of course, soon after, the feeling faded and the world of the outside poured itself back inside the windows of our enclosed space. It was beautiful while it lasted. It was another one of those boosts to keep one going through the remainder of the oceans — the butterfly from Pandora’s box, I suppose.
A part of me is glad that these moments only last so long. Perhaps if they were forever in this life, I would grow tired of them the way I grow tired of everything else. And so perhaps it is not injustice that fills my life with more bad than good — perhaps the only form good is good is when it is rare. If bad was rare, then the competition that we crave so perversely would end and lose its value.
God blesses us with intermittent happiness and so I thank Him. I hope I never stop thanking Him. I hope I don’t forget the existence of these blessings again.
endnote: this feature photo is my own photography