Last words for a stranger

To the man-who-works-with-hands

I dreamed of the old you nights ago. In it, you found me and you told me that it wouldn’t hurt for long, that it would be okay. I placed my cheek against your chest and listened. I could hear your heart beat strong like it does in life. It anchored me, brought me peace and after a long, long time, I felt safe again.

But then I came back to this world where I couldn’t breathe, where your cruelty has become my most familiar friend, where you’d rather cast me away because it’s easier. And yet, I’ve remained near you because I know which is worse between your absence and presence.

Today is a sad day for me. It is the last time I will write to you and for you. I have said all I’ve had left to say. I ripped the words from the deepest parts of me and had them flung back at me repeatedly. I’ve been buried in the weight of my own love, my own loss, my own sorrow.

We do not choose love. It chooses us. But we do get to choose the moment we throw in our white flag. And so, you have mine, finally. While I’ve given up on the dream that you’ll come home again one day, I have not given up feeling the way I’ve felt from the moment I first saw you. You are wrong. There are things that last.

With deepest regret and unwavering love,

the girl who waited until there was no hope left.

The Nameless Thing

Stef and I
Stefan and I at the UG School of Medicine’s Award Ceremony for the Class of 2015. He was awarded for being the Best Student in Paediatrics, the Best Student in General Surgery and for graduating with a Distinction.

Life was not made to be rushed through. I try to savour the minutes and hours and days because I know that when they become months and years I won’t be able to remember them all. We don’t remember days or anything in its entirety. We remember moments that touch us in some way.

Yesterday I was in a rush. I burnt a dress I’ve been wanting to wear for a long time and ended up wearing something that I hated with a passion. Usually, I don’t fuss much about clothes. But last night was special. Last night I watched my partner get coated. So now I’m stuck with introducing him as Dr. Stefan Hutson.

I am extremely proud of this man because of where he’s come from and what he’s endured to finally make the dream real in the end. I see he’s been posting that the best dreams happen while you’re awake. He’s right. Dreams don’t magically happen. We’ve got to be awake, conscious and constantly working until the dream becomes real. Dreaming is hard work.

When I first met him, we had an exchange (I won’t call it an argument because for me arguments are spectacular and beautiful things) about me meeting his mother and the nature of our relationship. Here’s part of what he said to me: “What? You need a contract to make it official?” (See why I like him?)

You see, I think this is something we’ve all been guilty of at some point. We try too hard to define everything all the time or rather to give it a name. I’ve found that the most genuine things, the things that will see us through our entire lives are not so easy to name and definitely don’t need a contract.

Sometimes I think that love is not love anymore because of how it’s portrayed in popular culture. So when we begin to feel those unexplainable things, the things that reach deep inside us where we never let anyone see, then sometimes it’s good to just feel, to just let it be and not worry about the what or why or after.

Last night was about him, not me. My dress didn’t matter. And because my dress didn’t matter in any way, I’m the luckiest woman alive. Because when I looked at him, the only thing I looked for was the happiness in his eyes. And I know that when he looks at me, he doesn’t see the dress, he sees me.

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New home, same life

Window View Diamond
View from my front window at sunrise.

 

My family and I finally moved into our house in the Diamond New Housing Scheme. I can’t say that I like it nor can I say I hate it. The traveling is hard and the morning traffic is harder but the place has a certain quietness to it that I like.

It’s been a long time since my mother, younger brother and I have shared a home together. At my age, I think I’ve spent too much time chasing life and chasing causes and not enough time seeing the people I love. A big part of loving people is witnessing their lives and caring about what you witness. I’ve been working on it.

And of course, I’ve got some interesting neighbours and naturally I’ve got that one neighbour that’s the epitome of jackassifiyishness. Almost every weekend they vibrate my windows with their huge music box while their battalion of children back-ball and juk the floor, the wall and each other. Sigh. I’m trying hard to mind my own business.

Just before the rain started this morning, I helped my mom wash. We used blue-soap, hard-brush and scrubbing-board. These days I look forward to washing with mom. I’ve seen her age these last few years and it forced me to accept that my time with her is not endless. Time is not endless for us.

I wait up for my brother at nights now and we do dumb things or watch pointless TV. I’m watching him become a man and I know that I won’t always be around to witness his life first hand. There’s no telling where life will take us. My mother’s eldest sister has lived in another country for most of their lives and they haven’t seen each other in years. One day, distance may stretch between my brother and I and we’ll fill that space with memories and Skype and annual visits.

This is also the first time in more than 15 years that I haven’t lived with Nani. She is there in her house and I am here in mine. Sometimes, it feels as if our worlds are not the same and never were and never could be but every now and then we meet and we laugh. Laughing makes everything better.

Life will never be perfect and happiness is not constant. But who wants that? Seriously, perfect and constant are predictable and boring.

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Stop run ya man’s phone, email and facebook!

Trust is not a one way thing.

It’s ironic that people ask me for relationship advice. You’d think I’m some very experienced woman with enough ruined relationships to serve as a sort of guru. I’m not.

Every time a woman in particular asks me for advice the conversation ends one way. She’s depressed and angry by the end of it and usually writes me off as a “cruel bitch”. I don’t mind. We’re not all wired to take the truth. So ladies, if you’re going to keep reading this, keep in mind that the truth hurts and pisses off even the most controlled among us.

Last week, one girl asked me if I thought her man was cheating on her. This is how the conversation went:

Distressed Woman – I think he’s cheating on me.

Me – Why?

DW – I saw some messages on his phone to this girl.

Me – I see. And how exactly did you see his phone?

DW – I went through it while he was in the shower. I know. I know. That’s wrong. But he makes me feel like I have to.

Me – Well, leave him.

DW – But I’m not sure if he’s cheating. He was telling her that he’d like to hear what she sounds like when she moans. Do you think he’s cheating on me?

Me – You need to ask him that. If you can’t trust him. Leave him.

Sigh. Shit like this irks me. Yes, it’s wrong to go through a man’s phone, his emails, his facebook messages, his wallet, his personal belongings. It’s a violation of his privacy, a violation of his trust in you and it’s an insult to yourself, particularly your intelligence.

Clearly, DW is insecure and has trust issues. But I wonder, just how many of us understand this concept of trust. How can you expect a man to be trustworthy if he can’t trust you with his privacy? I believe that trust is a two way thing. You get what you give. If your investments are shitty then expect twice as shitty returns.

Furthermore, such actions make you look desperate and demented. No man can make you feel like you have to reduce yourself to such a disgusting pile of patheticness. You must choose to become that thing. If you can’t trust him, you can’t love him; if you can’t love him then how the hell can you hope to build a lasting relationship with him?

So for all you ladies in that position, stop embarrassing yourself and womankind. Do yourself and the man a favour and just leave. There’s no hope for a lasting union there.

And while you’re at it, learn to love yourself enough to get some help. Become a woman of character, a strong woman who can be trusted and who deserves to be trusted. Who you are will attract the type of man you want.

So remember, trust is a two way thing. Happy hunting!

Sharing a quick moment with you while I’m on the go.
Sara.

Day Time Madness in Dreams

Twin globes of soft, golden light. Two suns in a sky kissing gentle Atlantic waves. The epitome of heavenly. The essence of peace. Or maybe, just day time madness in dreams.

But then my greedy eyes reached for the sky again and beheld a moon and sun, separated by space, connected by space, sharing space. Apart and together all at once.

And you were there too, like you always, always are, but this time it was you taking me somewhere in my own dream. Wherever somewhere is I don’t really care. As long as somewhere contains the sum of us. And in your somewhere where I now am, I was promised to you for every lifetime wherever life can be, has been and will be.

How can it be day time madness in dreams then? Nothing is ever madness where I’m with you. Because for me, you’re the epitome of everything real, sane and eternal.

Sharing a quick moment with you while I’m on the go.
Sara.

Roots – This hard, unrelenting thing

Somewhere in our backyard, I’m sure the roots of the old neem tree still plunge into the earth refusing to let go. The past is exactly like that, entwined with our being, adding to the equation which makes us who we are.

Deepavali has always been a routine thing in my home. Every now and then a stranger joins us but they never manage to take root among us. Our roots are like the old neem’s, hard and unrelenting. There’s no space for the weak.

As I lined our walkway with diyas, I thought of the Prince of Ayodhya. Unfortunately, I was not lighting lamps to welcome a Prince home. I was sending my prince to some place where time and change may steal him.

And as if she sensed it in our deep, hard network of roots, nani told the story about the night her prince took her from home and family and those roots. Her wedding took place on a dark, dark Christmas night in Craig village. Darkness interspersed with fire light, the beating of the tassa and nagara, this is what she remembers most or maybe how I choose to romanticize her memories.

But she made me think even more about the genesis of roots. She and nana were ripped from their own families, torn limbs from main roots, and together they forged this hard, unrelenting thing which has claws and teeth desperately clutching at my navel. So in the end, this hard, unrelenting thing is nothing but a mating of torn limbs.

Our lit walkway.

Our lit walkway.

Sharing a quick moment with you while I’m on the go.
Sara.

Do we fall or grow in love?

Been thinking of a summer romance in the tropics. Been thinking of creating a galaxy for us, a galaxy built with the bricks of English syntax and fortified with the intricacy of meaning, built for me to be forever with you. I wanna be with you more than I’m with me.

But mostly, I’ve been thinking of love and theories of how it happens. Do we fall or grow in love? How does it happen? I’ve been thinking and thinking and thinking. How do I imprison the how of love in these bricks of mine? How do I capture perfection with imperfection?

All along I was breathing and then one day you saturated the air around me. You became the oxygen entwined with my blood, rushing through every inch of me, keeping this me alive to be with the me you’ve always known. Now all I breathe is you. That’s how it happened for me.

So you see, it wasn’t a falling or a growing.

Sharing a quick moment with you while I’m on the go.
Sara.