After a Year

For Future Daughter, Letter


Dear Maera,

This is where this journal was born. This is the office room in Rig Yani, a drilling rig that keeps moving. Unlike a house or hospital of which the coordinates are definite, this place is conceptually different. Unlike those particular city streets we once walked on or the ruins of church we once prayed upon, I’d never be able to take you to this place. It’ll keep moving, and we’ll be kept left behind. For sure, I miss it sometimes. I miss writing before dawn while preparing for the morning marked by rush hour of reporting and chocolate croissant. Before dawn, this journal was born, and I started to write for you.

After a year, things happened and have been happening and are happening. Like Yani, I moved and I always will. Maybe some people would remember me the way I remember them. “She’s the girl that keeps moving.” Maybe some people would wonder whether I still write, to the sea and the sunrise. Maybe, some people miss me as well.

Yours, after a year

PS: This is trivial and maybe I’ve told you about this, but let me tell it once again; Maera is the name of another drilling rig. One day if you ask me, “Where is Maera you used to know now?” Perhaps I wouldn’t know. Like Yani, she keeps moving. Making holes on Earth, making lives for many people. Many people.