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.

Signature 2

“She has witnessed…”

Is it really pinker than usual?

Is it really pinker than usual?

Old, weathered, beaten, the golden apple tree stands in my backyard. Her leaves dance in the morning breeze like singing kites in the Easter sky. Grey clouds hustle across the clear blue but still the sun fights to make my world a place of vivid greens, yellows and splashes of pink.

The bougainvillea is a beacon of pink brightness. But are her petals really pinker today or is it that my senses are sharper?

Although my eyes keep reaching for the pink, not once does my mind wander from the crooked, curving old golden apple tree. This old tree has witnessed long ago memories that drown me in nostalgia. She has witnessed great East Indian storms, the bonding of souls and the breaking of bodies. So when I look at her I see my past swimming in her skin and limbs and leaves and fruit.

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

We remember moments, Not days

So many days, hundreds of them were murdered by my weak human memory. And yet, somehow, so many moments remain, preserved, immortalized deep, deep in me.

It’s a festival of playbacks in my head; a festival where all these moments attack at once. As I live here now I’m not really alive. I’m never alive unless I live in those moments which keep living deep, deep in me.

I used to be sad that I couldn’t remember days. But I barely survive these moments I remember so how, how the hell would I have survived entire days?

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

A Primary School friend

Do you ever think about your friends from primary school? Lately, I have been thinking about mine a lot. I wonder where they all are and if they have managed to achieve the great things they once dreamed of way back then.

I remember one particular friend very vividly. He had a horrible stutter then but I was told that he grew out of it. I took him under my wing back then and we ate Coke and cheese roll every day for lunch. After we split up for secondary school I lost track of him for a few years. When he showed up on my radar again, the stutter was still there but not as bad.

He then set me up for what would become an event in my life I am still to recover from and once again he disappeared. Years later his mother died and that was the last I heard of him. It’s sad how we lose track of people.