To stay, in a way, is to go; to go to a place no one goes to anymore, to go when everyone else has moved on. Staying is dwelling on things past. It is seeing things for what they are when the hype has died down.
My parents often scold me for sleeping at four in the morning; staying up late when all have gone to bed is unhealthy and unnatural, they say. It is true, and yes, they have a point, but the unnatural always has a way of showing the natural. When I stay, I see the beauty of a night sky untainted by city lights. I hear the wind calling, not bringing with it the voices of men or cars. I see people for who they really are, as they tend to lay their heart bare and open the doors to their soul in the dead of the night. It is in these moments where we see through the façade we call life – ever-moving, always changing, a moment never long enough to reflect upon.
It is in the staying that we get to know people. Merely stepping out of your classroom into the corridors is already an interaction with many others. In that fleeting moment, lives have already intersected – weaving through a crowd is like weaving through different stories, chains of events that form the fabric of life. You have become part of the life of that guy whose shoulder you accidentally brushed, that girl you helped with her dropped pencil case, and that stranger you locked eyes with, even for just one second. No matter how brief the encounter, you have seen them, and probably dismissed them with a label like the guy with the toothy smile. But it takes a good long look at someone to know them deeper; you have to stop walking in the corridor, stay, and gaze – that is when you notice the patterns in the fabric.
When we stay, people start to have more dimension than what is seen at first glance. With time, we get a clearer picture of the walls that they have put up and the foundations of who they are. When you watch where he’s going, the guy with the toothy smile becomes the boy who was rushing to the Sunken Garden, excited to play his favorite game. When you listen to his aspirations, the boy becomes the student-musician-athlete who dreams of becoming better at everything he loves. When you talk at four in the morning, the dreamer becomes your confidante about your own dreams. He grows on you, and the feelings, common sentiments, and shared moments weave deep within to keep you rooted – to make you stay.
It is in the staying that we get to know what is real. If the unnatural has a way of showing the natural, well, so does time. When you’re there long enough, it makes him realize that you’re not going anywhere. You want in on his journey. You’re here to stay, because it’s when the road gets bumpier that it becomes more exciting and worthwhile. Since no road is perfectly smooth, then we might as well choose our bumps. In choosing the bumpy road – with the flaws he tries to hide and the mistakes he can’t cover up and all – he will know that our stay is for real.
