Because I want to remember...
Meeting you. I felt so much trepidation. There is this element of mystery that surrounds online relationships. When I first talked to you on the phone your deep melodic voice intrigued me, if nothing else I fell in love as we spoke. I imagined that you were tall and thin. Who know's where I got that idea from, some deep subconscious idea about what Indians looked like? I imagined that you were strong. The straight forward, no nonsense way that you approached life made me feel it was so. Especially when it came time to look at my problems in the face, to see them as they really were. You helped me to stop equivocating when it came to doing the right thing. You always have had that effect on me.
Meeting you was a shock. The flesh and blood embodiment of Indian vitality. I found I couldn't speak. I felt all the words stuck somewhere in the back of my throat and we drove in silence as I clung to the Kola toy that you had given me.
What had made me feel so bold that I could leave my home and travel around the world to find you?
But I was there and we ended up parking in the driveway of a house on stilts. Amazing to me was unlocking the chain that went from one side to the next of it.
The house! I will never forget how strange and foreign it seemed. The carpet, recently cleaned, so thin and so seemingly ancient. The furnishings, so sparse. I re-evaluated my conception of wealth, and poverty. What was really needed to live well. I remember coming into your room, the curtain waving in the breeze. Your little stash of books and water in a jug. It was hard to imagine sleeping on that bed, but then you removed the mattress and placed it on the floor. I placed my suitcase next to it and laid down.
Remember that first night? Sleeping intertwined, sleeping deeply, crying out when you left my side. I remember.
The peaceful morning, strawberries and yogurt. Sitting on the porch, sipping tea and watching the people pass on the street. Walking and biking by... hardly anyone in a car. So different from home where passing people in loud impersonal cars is the norm.
Unfinished memories, I will write more some day...
SG
Meeting you. I felt so much trepidation. There is this element of mystery that surrounds online relationships. When I first talked to you on the phone your deep melodic voice intrigued me, if nothing else I fell in love as we spoke. I imagined that you were tall and thin. Who know's where I got that idea from, some deep subconscious idea about what Indians looked like? I imagined that you were strong. The straight forward, no nonsense way that you approached life made me feel it was so. Especially when it came time to look at my problems in the face, to see them as they really were. You helped me to stop equivocating when it came to doing the right thing. You always have had that effect on me.
Meeting you was a shock. The flesh and blood embodiment of Indian vitality. I found I couldn't speak. I felt all the words stuck somewhere in the back of my throat and we drove in silence as I clung to the Kola toy that you had given me.
What had made me feel so bold that I could leave my home and travel around the world to find you?
But I was there and we ended up parking in the driveway of a house on stilts. Amazing to me was unlocking the chain that went from one side to the next of it.
The house! I will never forget how strange and foreign it seemed. The carpet, recently cleaned, so thin and so seemingly ancient. The furnishings, so sparse. I re-evaluated my conception of wealth, and poverty. What was really needed to live well. I remember coming into your room, the curtain waving in the breeze. Your little stash of books and water in a jug. It was hard to imagine sleeping on that bed, but then you removed the mattress and placed it on the floor. I placed my suitcase next to it and laid down.
Remember that first night? Sleeping intertwined, sleeping deeply, crying out when you left my side. I remember.
The peaceful morning, strawberries and yogurt. Sitting on the porch, sipping tea and watching the people pass on the street. Walking and biking by... hardly anyone in a car. So different from home where passing people in loud impersonal cars is the norm.
Unfinished memories, I will write more some day...
SG
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