Somewhere, Somewhen

Somewhere, Somewhen

(or the musings of a lovelorn fan on “other” timelines and possibilities)

Imagine a hypothetical set of cosmos that contains our universe and other numerous universes occurring across space-time. Imagine: the multiverse encompassing tiny universes; the idea of timelines possibly existing simultaneously; that the entirety of space, time, matter and energy are all happening at once, except, in different time frames.

So let’s assume that the multiverse is true. And that I—in this universe I’m living in and in this now—carry a little bit of my other selves from the alternate universes.

In an alternate universe, I may be an opera singer which is why I love musicals so much. In another, I am an eternal wanderer, making my way from one country to another, leaving behind only a trail of footprints and stories. Perhaps, it is right to claim that in one other universe, I am a seer and, as such, I do not dream like a normal person would. Instead, I see visions. I see flashes of myself in different timelines.

I would see, for instance, a replica of myself sitting on a couch in a well-lit flat. The emptiness gapes at the lone figure in the room and even then as a seer, I would feel so small for my other self. Then there is a knock on the door and myself jumps in almost comical unison with the hint of the sound. There he is—standing five feet and 11 and ¾ inches tall, guitar straps biting at his shoulder—as speechless as my other self. But in that moment of clarity, my other self and that man need no words to convey the warmth they feel in the pit of their stomachs. And the well-lit flat ceases gaping, and the emptiness is no more.

I would see myself again and that tall man. This time, he has no guitar to carry with him and I am wearing a faded apron with “Kiss the Chef” splayed across it. Maybe this is the universe where we are the happy, young couple that lifestyle magazines feature almost annually. Maybe this is the universe where he has no concert tours to go to, and I am the type to settle down. At night, we would both curl under a thin blanket, but our body heats should be enough to keep the cold out.

In this universe, I am definitely not the marrying type.  But in another, I would see him with tears trickling down his face. I would struggle to find myself in that universe, only to realize later on that I have been gifted to be, for that instant, one with my other self. In that dream as a seer, I would be sharing my other self’s perspective. I would feel her heartbeat, a pounding flip-flop sensation from an organ that seems so self-aware. I can sense that my wobbly legs are about to give in but I fight on the urge and put one sure step after another, making my way to the man at the end of the aisle. In that universe, I never second guess. In that universe, I may have doubts, but I know with unwavering certainty that we only want each other and maybe in that universe, wanting each other is enough.

Of course there is also that universe where we would meet at a friend-of-a-friend’s party, before the music videos, world tours and platinum records. But he is already famous by then, only locally. I am an exchange scholar in that universe: a student at Munich University who, as he would put it, knows more about his country’s literature than any self-respecting German. I would brush off his compliment, and when everybody else is getting wasted in that party, he would listen to me talk about Goethe, Rilke, Schiller, Thomas Mann and Hermann Hesse. Ours is a rollercoaster love story. We fall helplessly in love after two weeks of going out and he declares his love for me during one of his concerts. Paparazzo and both happy and outraged fans will bother me for some time, but my biggest problem will be my expiring student visa. But there should be no worries—in that universe, conflicts only happen to keep the viewers watching. In the end, we will have conveniently worked things out, just like the plot of a badly written fan fiction. In that universe, we made rom-com’s and fan fictions plausible.

Somewhere, somewhen, I know that we are together. In the here and now, however, we haven’t even met each other—yet. I dream like a normal person, in ambiguous and fuzzy images. But since I carry a part of that seer from the other universe, I have good, albeit rare, days where I get to see his face together with an image of myself. I might own one of those “Kiss the Chef” aprons, too, but in the here and now, I will only be cooking meals for myself because in this universe, my pride makes me so fiercely independent.

In this universe, I will love him from afar: watching out for concert dates, buying all his band merchandise, and listening to all the tracks he has played and finding nuances each time. I know that we will never be and—thank heavens—I do not have to worry about commitments or emotional baggage. Although, truth be told, security issues are a huge leap from my primary concern of at least seeing him in person. But I’m getting there. After all, in this universe, a scholarship to Germany or him having a rock concert here are not very unlikely scenarios. If both don’t work out, I’d take comfort in the fact that somewhere else and somewhen else, I love him and he loves me too.

(Photo of Tom Kaulitz from:


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