A Shepherd's Journal by Modular Blues

Scribbles...

Near the end of that autumn, I received a long, long letter from a girl. Two flowers sketched in color pencils bloomed on the envelope. She addressed me as "Shepherd-sama." In the letter body, she mentioned my new anthology – how she pondered over the various symbolisms and mused about the feelings invoked in her. She quoted some of my verses with different colored pens to indicate her moods and thoughts. Her neatly beautiful penmanship and sensitive insights were just like what I once had of you.

The girl also asked me why I chose "Shepherd" as my penname and tried to deduce the reasons. How could I tell her – that it was you who coined the name.

That day, you were sitting in the front row, chattering with other students about your proprietary nickname for me. It seemed like such an outrageous yet fitting idea. I was an inexperienced teacher, not knowing how to deal with your teasing and joshing. I watched as the discussion got out-of-hand with ridiculous suggestions abound.

And then you said it: "Shepherd. Because Sensei's silver hair is just like the Belgian shepherd that me and my brother had..."

Some people chuckled and the class murmured in agreement. So from then on you all called me Shepherd.

When we were dating, you still called me by that name. And only you truly had the right to do so. The nickname has grown into my fondest memory of you.

I could vaguely remember, but never could recall exactly when I fell in love with you. That one night seemed to have sealed the fate for me. I once sought for the answer in a poignant moment of despair.

Even now in my contemporary poetry class, there are many girls with similar vivacity, arresting features, and artistic talent. Yet none of them strummed my heartstrings as you did.

I would always ask my students to close their eyes and contemplate, listen to their subconscious and feel their inner self. Then they would free-write. During those minutes with their eyes closed, I would examine each of their faces and imagine the inspirations soaring within.

Without realizing, I would find myself looking for a student who would open her eyes and smile at me, soundlessly conveying poetry. Like how you used to mouth random phrases to me and ask me to guess what you were trying to say.

Whether I guessed it right or wrong, you would tell me, "Next time I'll say it out loud."

I knew that you wanted to keep our relationship private as much as I did, so I never worried that you would actually say them out loud.

After we broke up, I found out that you were the one who's prepared for the worst. It was I who kept hesitating and second-guessing myself... that I never got to tell you what I really felt.

I trap myself in my own world... haunted by dreams of you, surrounded by shadows of memories that would never see the light. I have been in the dark too long that I can no longer bask in the glory of sunshine.

This is why I am tired and afraid to love.

I had a dream last night. I was in class, and there was a dolphin floating in midair in front of the board. It had a sleek silvery-white body and a translucent blue tail, and it was swimming in a circle above my head. I pointed at it with my chalk and asked all of you,

"What do you think this is?" (Like I knew.)

I watched as the dolphin flapped and swam in your direction. It dived and disappeared as soon as it touched you. Then I woke up. The dream hovered in my semi-wakefulness, and I remembered it as simply beautiful.

Whenever I thought I had completely forgotten all traces of you, I would always be painfully reminded.

She saw me in the hallway and called after me. I mistook her for you because she called me... Shepherd.

I stared at her in astonishment. "How did you know who I am?"

Her eyes sparkled as she replied with mischief, "It wasn't that hard to guess."

She was the girl who wrote me the letter, and she wanted to audit my class. I showed her the room and told her to sit wherever she'd like.

I asked my students to close their eyes and brainstorm as usual. As I was watching their faces, she opened her eyes and smiled at me...

For the briefest moment I thought I'd gone back in time... as if it was you who were sitting there smiling at me. Her dimples bloomed like the two flowers on the envelope. I told myself...

Don't. Even. Think. About. It.

It's already the dawn of tomorrow, yet I still felt like yesterday. Lately I seemed to be groping desperately at nothing. It was like when I first discovered my love for you, and I suppressed the feeling as it grew ever stronger. I was afraid that even one glance would give me away completely. Thus, I stubbornly and foolishly kept my distance from you as you demonstrated your feelings in your characteristically direct way.

You described me as ever "self-centered and stubbornly hesitant." Your love made me feel the pain of not fulfilling a promise.

I fought my tears of yearning night after night. I refused to remind myself of your love because I no longer want to love anyone else like that.

But that moment in the classroom, everything came back to me like ocean waves crashing on the shores of my memories. I lost myself reminiscing about my past love, trying to recapture that youthful ardor. (Yes, now I finally understand how wonderful that is.)

I started pretending that she was you whenever she sat in my class. And getting lost in the past.

Ten years ago, I just completed my Ph.D. and began teaching at the university, where I became your creative writing professor.

You were a freshman, busy adjusting to college life. I was just starting out on my own, trying to find my place in the world and get used to your new nickname.

Then came the summer after your sophomore year. Our department was having a retreat and a bunch of us were camping out. It was late at night but I couldn't sleep, so I got up and decided to take a walk in the woods. You started following me, and when I arrived by the lake you called after me.

I jumped with a start. You were gazing at me with your cerulean eyes. Finally, you found the courage to speak first. You asked me I would ever fall in love with a girl like you. Without another word, I walked over and simply kissed you...

When we started dating afterwards, we would stumble upon this moment once in a while. And then we'd laugh it off, mildly wondrous of our naïve brashness all those years ago.

Maybe it was a form of uncertainty and denial.

All of our wordless exchanges during class, our time together after school, and the countless correspondence were my treasured secrets with you. We stayed like this until you graduated.

I thought that I'd be able to let myself out in the open now that you've

graduated. But I could never convince myself...

"You're selfish, Shepherd. You're afraid to say that you love me... isn't it?"

You saw right through me. I was speechless. And I lost you because of my silence and irresolution.

Reminiscing is full of pain and regrets. Ten years after we broke up, I dedicated my anthology to you.

This afternoon I headed over to the bookstore to visit my newly published book. Its Prussian blue covers rested serenely against the shelf, hopefully granting a sweet respite for the many wandering souls out there. For the first time in so many years, I felt at peace with myself.

What I was unable to promise you ten years ago has finally materialized on paper – in all honesty.

I was lounging in the second-floor café and watching the passerby through glass windows. There came a sudden rain, and colorful umbrellas opened under my eyes like blossoms...

After class, the girl who wrote me the letter appeared at my office entrance. I asked her, "What can I do for you?"

She was trying to tell me something and was gathering her courage... just like you, that night by the lake...

I waited quietly for her response.

A warm and scintillating anticipation diffused through the air.

And she said it.

"If time could flow backwards, would you fall in love with a girl like me?"

I almost grinned and tried to control my impulse to embrace her on the spot.

I don't have the courage to love anymore.