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love-and-monsters · 5 years ago

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Alien Encounter Pt. 10: Confession

The book contained no further answers for what the symbol meant. At least, not that I could read. There were few images, except for other symbols and a few pictures of other members of Valain’s species. It made the text almost impossible to decipher. Still, I flipped through it, trying to see if there were any words I could start to decipher. Considering that I didn’t even know what sounds any of the letters were supposed to represent, I was having a hard time getting anywhere with it.

It wasn’t until bright, golden light started to filter through the windows that I realized how late it was, or, really, how early. I’d been reading by the pale, greenish light of one of the small, bioluminescent plants Valain kept around the house. I’d been reading constantly throughout the night and I hadn’t gotten anywhere with it.

I moved to put the book back on the table where I’d found it, but my legs had locked from sitting in the same position for so long. As soon as I made to straighten them, I fell to one side, almost hitting my head on a table leg.

“Anya?” Valain jolted awake, looking around in panic. As soon as he saw me lying on the floor, he scrambled over. “Are you all right?”

I pushed myself up awkwardly. One of my arms was definitely bruised and my wrist ached; it had never healed properly since I’d broken it in the crash. “I’m fine. Just fell over.”

Valain reached for the book. “What were you doing with this?” he asked. His tone was sharp.

“I was, uh. I was trying to read it?” I offered. Valain put the booked back on the table and flipped through a few pages, apparently examining them for damage. After a few minutes, he seemed satisfied and he placed the book into a cabinet.

“Be careful,” he said. “That book’s old. Really old. It’s been in my family for a long time.”

“Sorry,” I said. Valain shrugged, sitting back on the floor next to me.

“It’s more my fault for leaving it out, I suppose,” he said. “Were you, uh. Reading through it?” He looked faintly nervous. That did not give me a great feeling about what that symbol meant.

“I was trying to, but I couldn’t piece anything together. Learning a completely alien language isn’t easy,” I said.

“Your translator doesn’t work on writing?” Valain asked, tapping a finger against his head, roughly where my translator was implanted. I shook my head.

“Nah. It was optimized for interspecies communication, not for written translation. I think it’s tied to the auditory processing center in my brain, so it does nothing for anything that’s been written down.”

Valain considered for a moment, then grabbed a tablet from the table and typed something out on it. “So if I were to say “Good morning,” he said as he typed, “and write it down at the same time, you would be able to understand what I was saying, but you couldn’t read this?” He showed me the screen. It was just several odd symbols.

“No. I can’t. I just said that.”

Valain turned the screen back toward him and frowned at it for a moment. “Well,” he said, after a moment, “I suppose that makes it easier to teach you how to read.”

I blinked at him. “You want to teach me how to read?” It didn’t seem so strange, really, but it had never been something that had come up throughout the months I’d spent with him. I’d just assumed he hadn’t really known how to teach me and had simply left it at that.

“It might cut down on your boredom if you have to be by yourself a lot,” Valain said. “And it’s a good skill to learn regardless.”

“Do you want to start now?” I asked. Valain nodded, smiling at the obvious eagerness in my tone.

“I should get the book back down,” he said. “It’s not exactly a simple book to read, but I don’t have much else I can give you to start off with. They don’t allow us Interconnect out here and I think learning with a book is a much better feeling than trying to read on a pad.” He retrieved the book and brought it down, setting it in front of me. I took it and carefully skimmed a few pages, locating the one with the symbol on it. I fully opened the book and held it out to him.

“Let’s start here.” One of Valain’s ears twitched. His expression wrinkled slightly as he looked down at the page. I couldn’t tell if he recognized the symbol or not. Then he gave a shaky-sounding laugh and reached out to grab the book.

“Maybe we could try a different page?” he offered. His grin was too large and slightly too anxious to be real. He had definitely noticed the symbol. “Shouldn’t we start at the beginning? That’s more reasonable, isn’t it?”

I frowned. “Why not this page? It doesn’t really matter, does it?”

Valain frowned. “If it doesn’t matter, why do you want it to be this page in particular?” His voice was still a little anxious, but I could tell he was trying to bluff his way through it. It was strange how well I could discern his mannerisms and tones after only a few months with him. Usually it took me a while to figure out alien mannerisms, but he seemed like an open book.

“Well,” I said slowly. There was no need to hide this from him, was there? I would have to tell him eventually anyway. “I was thinking that the symbol there looks like the one that you put on my vaya yesterday. And I was just wondering what it meant.”

Valain looked at the page for a long moment and I thought that he wasn’t going to answer. Then he took a deep breath and smiled. “I should have been more careful with the book,” he said. “All right. If you want to know it, then you’ll have to read it for yourself. I’ll teach you how to read the summary.”

As it turned out, learning how to read was a slow, and ultimately frustrating process. The alphabet was entirely different from any other language I’d learned, and that wasn’t even getting started on the word structure and grammar.

“Okay, so try to sound this one out,” Valain said, tapping the fourth word in the sentence I’d been struggling with.

“R-” I started, then stumbled to a stop. “Ah, rl-”

“No,” Valain cut me off gently. “Sal only makes an ‘l’ sound when it’s paired with vet. Right now, it’s paired with nos. So, what sound does that make?” He looked at me hopefully. No matter how much I screwed up and how long it took me to figure out even the simplest words, he was always patient and understanding. Whenever I managed to get something right, he looked beyond proud.

“Uh.” I squinted at the page. “Um. Does it make an ‘o’ sound?”

Valain beamed at me. “Yes, that’s it!”

I let out a breath and continued with the word. “Romantic?”

“Mmhmm.” Valain shifted the lamp we were huddled under a little closer to us and leaned into my shoulder. I could smell him, I realized. It was a pleasant smell, not unlike the smell that sometimes came after a rainstorm. “Try the next one.”

“Romantic… l… life?”

“Love,” Valain corrected. “You were close.”

“Close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades.”

Valain stared at me. “What?”

“Nothing. It’s just an old saying.” I sighed as I peered at the book again. “You’re sure you can’t just read it out to me?”

“No work, no reward,” Valain said. “That’s an old saying here.”

I groaned, but Valain wasn’t moved. It was almost a sort of dance at this point. I would suggest that he read out loud to me, he would refuse, and we would go back and forth until I got tired of sounding out words and we went to bed. Despite the difficulty of the whole affair, I still liked it. It was a cozy, quiet time, where our attention was focused on each other and the book.

Admittedly, having Valain so close to me didn’t exactly make it easier to concentrate, but I didn’t really mind.

“The domain of romantic love is… or is that belongs to?” I asked, glancing at Valain.

“It could be either. In the context, it doesn’t matter,” he said.

“Okay, so then the domain of romantic love belongs to…” I stopped. “What does that say?”

“Sobaria,” Valain said. “She’s the aspect of love and connections between people.” He tapped the symbol on the page. “That’s her symbol.”

My stomach did a flip. I couldn’t tell if it was due to excitement or nerves. “Oh,” I said in a slightly strangled voice. Valain gave me a small smile and cleared his throat.

“Keep reading,” he said, tapping a claw against the page. “You can do it.”

I licked my lips and looked back at the page. “Er. The… realm? Of Sobaria ex… extends to… all forms of love… but romance is her primary sphere.” It was getting easier to read the more I tried. Valain seemed tense. I could feel how nervous he was just from how quick his breathing was. “Her… symbol… remains a… popular way to… declare… romantic interest.”

Valain shrank back slightly, ears pinned to his head. His skin had taken on a distinct, dark blue tint. He was blushing. I stared at him. “That symbol is used to ask people out?”

“Typically, yes.” His voice wasn’t a lot stronger than a mumble. “Often the tradition is to give someone food with the symbol written on it. If the person eats it, then they’ve accepted. If they don’t, it’s a rejection.”

I frowned. “Were you trying to trick me into saying yes to you? Because I didn’t know what it meant?”

Valain shrank close to the ground, almost pressing himself against it. “No, no! It doesn’t count if you don’t know what it means, obviously not!” He stared down at the ground, unable to look into my face. “It was a stupid idea to give it to you, really. It didn’t do anything, it didn’t really mean anything because you didn’t know what it meant. B-but I just felt like… it was something I wanted to give you. Even if it didn’t mean anything to you, it meant something to me… and I thought doing it traditionally would maybe help me get my courage up to ask you properly.”

I felt like my entire body was shaking with every beat of my heart. My mouth was dry as a bone. It took several convulsive swallowed to get it wet enough to speak. “You want to ask me out? Romantically?”

Valain peeked up at me, then looked back down at the floor. His tail swished back and forth. “Yes. I’ve wanted to for a little while. It’s all right if you don’t want to. I understand that it might be weird for you, because I’m not the same species and because of the situation we have here. I just wanted you to know, I guess.”

“It’s not weird to me to date an alien. It’s always been a possibility to me. Are you sure you’re okay with this?” I asked.

“I’ve spent the last few years feeling like I couldn’t connect with anyone around me. Then you came and suddenly it’s so easy to connect with you. I don’t care what species you are. I know that I love you.” He stiffened as the words spilled out of his mouth. I felt my own face become a mask of shock. He came out of it first. “It’s true,” he said. “I do love you.” He swallowed. “I suppose I just thought it would be better if you knew. I didn’t want to keep it a secret anymore.”

It was hard to find something to say. “I… don’t know if I exactly love you as well,” I said. Valain’s ears drooped and I heard his swishing tail hit the ground with a thud. Still, he kept a smile on his face, though it had become significantly strained. “No, no, I don’t mean that I don’t love you at all!” Valain frowned, strained smile dropping away to be replaced by a look of confusion. “It’s, um. Complicated, I guess. I think I have a crush on you, but I want more time before things get more intense. I’m not saying no, I’m just saying… can we take it slow?”

Valain smiled. This time, it was a gentle, completely relaxed smile. An understanding smile. “I didn’t anything to come of what happened during the picnic. I wasn’t trying to trick you into a relationship, really. I don’t want to pressure you into doing anything you don’t want to. I like you a lot. I want you to be happy. If going slow makes you happy, then I want to do so. We can go as slow or as fast as you like. I just want to make you happy.”

His voice was warm enough to make me smile, almost involuntarily. “Thank you,” I said. “That makes me feel better.”

“I’m glad.” He pressed close to me, letting our shoulder press together. I felt him glance at me, hesitating briefly to ensure that I was still comfortable. When I relaxed against him, he did the same against me. “Would you like to keep reading, or do you not care anymore now that you know what Sobaria’s symbol means?”

“I’d like to keep reading,” I said. “I think I’d just like to spend a little more time with you.”

Valain’s tail curled around my waist. His fins tickled across my stomach and his cheek was very close to mine. “I think I’d like that as well,” he murmured. I felt my breathing catch as his breath touched my cheek. After taking a moment to get myself back under control, I looked back at the book and began to struggle my way through the next paragraph.

It didn’t feel quite as frustrating this time, somehow.

Miles away, just above the upper atmosphere, a silvery spacecraft hovered. “Target located,” the onboard computer and navigation system droned. “Spacecraft of Anya Everson has been locked onto. Descent into atmosphere will begin just after nightfall on the surface.”

#exophilia #monster boyfriend #alien boyfriend #alienxhuman #monsterxhuman

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emorg · 7 years ago

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The Trip that Changed Me

Nine years ago today I embarked on a journey that would completely change my life. I was a scared, excited, nervous 20 year old heading across the Atlantic toward Italy, a place I’d only dreamed of, with people I didn’t really know. Oh, and it was for three months. Three months living in a land I knew little to nothing about, where the language was foreign and the people who did speak my language were acquaintances at best. I was completely unprepared for what that semester would bring, yet I am forever thankful for the time I spent learning a little Italian and a lot about myself.

Here are a few takeaways from my semester abroad, and the reasons I think that three month stint changed me more than any other time in my life.

I fell in love with my Bible.

I was a semi-educated Bible student before I left, but traveling to Corinth and Ephesus and Rome made me fall in love with the Scriptures in a way I had never before experienced. My eyes were opened, for the first time, to the real people and real struggles and real places that the Word tells us about, and for the first time, it became real. Since that semester, I have spent countless hours studying New Testament geography, taken another trip to Europe to visit places I didn’t get to the first time, and have taught, written, and done podcasts about all the places I discovered on my journeys. I got serious about my spiritual life because of that trip. I made Christ personal on that trip. I am so thankful that God gave me the opportunity to study and grow in such a beautiful place.

I saw the forgiveness of Christ.

I made some pretty epic failures in the midst of discovering myself and my passions and what the course of my life would be, but in so doing, I was able to experience the beauty of the forgiveness that can only come from someone who is behaving and responding like Christ. While I would go back and change my actions and attitudes in a moment, I am so thankful for all of the experiences that showed me just how loving and wonderful and kind and forgiving my sweet, sweet husband is. I am beyond blessed to be Robert’s wife, and when I think back to my three months in Italy, I am reminded of just how much he loves me and how beautiful forgiveness truly is.

I realized my prejudices & empathize with minorities.

When you don’t ever travel and immerse yourself in different cultures, you might not ever realize that you hold prejudices. I didn’t! If you had told me I was kind of an American elitist, specifically a white American elitist, I would have laughed at you. But traveling around, seeing other people, getting to know them and interact with them, really made me reexamine past interactions and attitudes. It is also humbling to be the minority. To be in a place where you don’t speak the language – to be in a place where you’re the outsider – it’s scary sometimes, and you rely so heavily upon the kindness of local strangers. I wondered if I was that kind when I was on my home turf. I wondered if I ever excluded people when I should have included. My eyes were opened to the differences and similarities that all people – regardless of culture or race – have and I learned to see those differences as beautiful instead of ostracizing.

I developed wanderlust and a passion for writing.

I am not a homebody by any stretch, and my semester abroad just cemented that fact. I don’t like being home for long! I want to be out and about, experiencing new places and taking in as much of God’s breathtaking scenery as possible. And while I’m there – I want to be writing! While I’d had a blog for a while before I went to Italy, my writing really ‘took off’ while I was there. I took a creative writing class with an amazing professor, and it opened something up within me that I didn’t know was there. The rest is history. I pray that I will always use my passion for writing to convey God’s truths and bring Him glory, because He is the reason I was able to experience the things I have and have the memory to remember them all.

To close, here’s a little something I wrote about my time in Italy, since it’s “Italy Day” for the thirty or so of us who traveled abroad that semester.

I miss being inspired. I miss sitting on a damp, wooden bench outside of the fortress walls of a hidden Italian town. I miss overlooking the Italian countryside, the view as vast as the images rumbling around in my head. I miss the cool breeze, stirring up ideas for stories and poems. I miss my muse.

It’s unfortunate that my muse is approximately 5,500 miles away. My muse lies across a deep, unforgiving ocean, far removed from my reach. It’s unattainable. Unreachable. It’s so far that my mind can’t get there alone. The last time I was there—the only time I was there—was 16 months ago. 16 months. Those months, one by one, clot up the words in my head. Like gauze, they lick up any imagination and inspiration. And the more months that pile up, the less I remember; the less tangible my muse is.

For now, I can still see it. I can still see the rich green, rolling hills in the distance. I can see the small, colorful villa perched on the steep, grueling hill. I can feel my legs burning from carrying a 25lb backpack and two liter-sized bottles of Cola Lite all the way from Monterchi. I can taste the richness of the stracciatella gelato, and feel the sense of urgency to lick the edges while it melted in the soft orange, Italian sunlight. I can still count to ten in Italian. I can hear the men in the Florence markets saying “Ciao bella” and the cute, slumping old men of Citerna saying “Buon giorno.” I can feel the slick, marble floors of Hotel Sobaria. I can taste the pesto pasta. It’s there. I can feel it. I can see it. I can taste it. I can attain my muse. Sometimes.

But sometimes I can’t. Sometimes I struggle to find the Italian word for a phrase I used so often. I forget what we did the second night in Rome. I can’t taste a gyro. I fail to remember the feeling I got when I stepped inside the Catacombs. I don’t appreciate the taste of a real Diet Coke. I don’t like walking. I don’t remember the feeling I would get after running down the hill with Jenny Towns. I’ve forgotten the sense of family I felt with all of the people on my trip. I’ve even forgotten the friendships.

I wish I could revisit my muse. I would soak in every single detail of my Italian life. I wouldn’t waste my moments with picture-taking and bad decisions. I would cherish every moment, pen in hand. I would take more time to sit on the benches. I wouldn’t eat gelato and I wouldn’t play Tetris. I would take my journal or my computer and I would write. I would write about the smells in the air. I would describe the little man and his dog. I would describe the woman who made me a Nutella Panini. I would describe the random assortments of ciocolata. I would describe every taste, every feeling. I would paint Hotel Sobaria with words; dressing it with warmth and colors and love. I would walk down each and every street in our small little town and I would memorize every step. I would write beneath the clock tower. I would step inside the doors of the cathedral and write. I would scribble down note after note about the landscape and the exotic plants.

Oh that I could do it over.

Nevertheless, my muse is depleting. Slowly but surely, it’s slipping away. With every passing day, my memory blurs. My mind forgets one moment at a time, and suddenly I forget entire words, phrases, paintings, sculptures, museums, days, weeks, trips. I want to stop it, and if will were enough, the moments would be etched in my mind forever. But I cannot stop it. My muse is depleting. Day by day, it’s slipping away.

But while it’s here, with me, I will remember. I will remember like I’ve never remembered before. Each day I will recall certain instances, obscure moments, and bring them to the forefront of my thoughts. I will think of the dirty, blue seats on the trains to Firenze and the tone of the lady’s voice proudly announcing “Santa Maria Novella.” I will think of the Istanbul Kepab shop and the two precious ladies who worked there. I will make myself taste the meat and the picante sauce. I will bring to my mind’s eye the rest of Arezzo, and the road that took us there. I will follow each and every curve and bend in the road. I will see the prostitutes on the side of the road; I will hear the off-key singing coming from the overcrowded van. I will remember getting lost on the way to the new, indoor football field. I will remember the trip to Harding’s villa and crushing them in football. I will call it football, because soccer seems so Americanized. I will pull out my purple Fiorentina jersey and wear it with pride—remembering the chants of the angry, emphatic fans at the stadium. I will remember the interesting people I met on trains—the man who used my iPod so that we could talk to one another using my auditory translator. I will think about the freezing rocks I slept on in Cinque Terre. I will recall the world’s best pizza in Genoa—the place where Christopher Columbus was born. I will remember surviving an entire week on Nutella. I will think back on the moments when I connected with the people I now call my best friends. I will remember meeting some of those people for the first time, sitting downstairs in the classroom at Hotel Sobaria. I will remember Dr. Jewell’s History of Italy class and the numerous packs of M&Ms I consumed. I will remember Whitey and his stories. I will remember Panoranomico at San Gimignano. I will remember the outfits of the guards at the Vatican. I will remember the circular pattern of Siena. I will remember the view from the Bell Tower in Florence and the vibrant burnt-orange color of the rooftops.

I pray that I will always remember.

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#The Trip that Changed Me

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