Eric Tian

I was on the plane bored and unable to fall asleep, when I noticed the man next to me playing Wordle. It was not the daily one, but some spin-off with infinite rounds. You play until you get the word wrong. His streak was 94.

He was pretty good and usually got the right word within four attempts. There was something odd about his strategy though: he began every round with “Zesty” and “Brain”. Always the same two words. I felt immediately that there was some fantastic story underlying these peculiar choices. After a while, I could not help myself.

“Excuse me,” I interrupted. “I couldn’t help but notice that you use the same words every round.”

He turned to me, surprised.

“Yes,” he replied in a French accent. “I like the words.”

“Is there a story behind them?”

“Nope. I just like how they sound.”

We sat in silence for the rest of the flight.

Humans have a tendency to attribute stories or meanings to random events. This has led us to some fascinating results – religion, for example – but can be disappointing when the truth is revealed.

I so wished he had an interesting story.

I have been sick this past week: sore throat, fever, cough, restless nights. But somehow, it is not so bad.

Right before this illness, I was able to see my family again for the first time in two years – and meet my new niece! We spent two weeks in paradise, basking in Earth’s glory, forging new memories and reminiscing on old ones. Through it all, I was able to teach my niece new words, take her first steps with her, carry her when she was asleep, and sing her to bed. They were some of the longest and most fulfilling days of my life.

So while my body has paid the price for the travels, my spirit is content.

There have been times in the past where I faced the opposite situation: a physically sound body, but sick spirit. I would take my current state over that anytime.

I was eating pho the other day when two men sat in a table near me. They were, I guess, in their mid-twenties, and it became apparent that they had met on an app and this was their first time meeting in person. I did not mean to eavesdrop, but it was very warm outside and I was feeling sleepy, so I caught bits of their conversation while lazing around.

There was something about their conversation that seemed off to me, and I could not figure out why at first. Then I realised that they were not having a conversation at all. What would happen is one person would talk about himself for a few minutes, and then the other would suddenly interject and talk about himself for another few minutes. They alternated in this tug-and-war for over half an hour, in which neither of them asked a single question.

At one point, one man explained that he had come back early from his year-long vacation as his father had just passed away. The other person did not offer a single condolence, but instead resumed telling stories of his sister who worked odd jobs.

The thing was, both men’s lives were fascinating. One had travelled to four different continents in their gap year from dental school, and the other had recently launched their own business. I wanted to ask some questions, but both seemed only interested in themselves. It was like watching two people read their own Facebook updates to each other.

Sometime during this, an elderly couple arrived and sat a few tables away. The man had a walking stick and was helped to the chair by his wife. The waitress came and took their order with a smile: they seemed to be regulars. After this, the couple held each other’s hands in silence. The lady was peering around at the restaurant and the man was simply staring at his wife. When their food arrived, he offered her his portion of bean sprouts and she shook her head. Only when they picked up their chopsticks did they finally let go of each other.

No words were exchanged, but their connection seemed far deeper than the endless chatter across from me.

I remember an interview that Hozier did with The Irish Times:

“If I was to speak candidly about it, I found the experience of falling in love or being in love was death – a death of everything. You kind of watch yourself die in a wonderful way and you experience for the briefest moment – if you do believe somebody and you see for a moment yourself though their eyes – everything you believed about yourself is gone.”

This week I felt this truth. Meeting my niece has been the ultimate death of the ego, where time and space converge into her two brown wide eyes and goofy smile. She will likely forget these moments when she grows up, but for me, in these seconds of contact, my whole world collapses.

As Jane Hirshfield put it in The Weighing:

“So few grains of happiness
measured against all the dark
and still the scales balance.”