Past never bothered me anyway

Whenever I am free, I can’t stop thinking about you. I get troubled with nostalgia. However, I love being nostalgic these days. I love to plunge into the memories, and I love you for providing me with those opportunities. Every once in a while, you keep sending me emails, though short ones, and that reminds me that you can't let yourself forget me. And I am not sure if I should love you for that. You can't let yourself go for what you did to me, and that is the very reason you keep apologizing once in a while, and again I am in dilemma if I should love you for your apology. Time has progressed despite your's and mine approval of its pace, and you have moved on in some ways.  With all due respect, I love you for the way you are stuck in our past.

The way you smiled when I first saw you, that smile filled with embarrassment and surprise (more of embarrassment than surprise)...the whole town seemed scared with that embarrassment on your face. I very much “love” that face. I loved it when you could not smile with easiness. The way you frowned for the moment and rejected to accept my presence. I love that pretentious moment you were trying to give the meaning to your own presence in front of me. And then you shocked me with friend of yours, who apparently happened to be your boyfriend (of Course, Doug!). The whole time, when we were having coffee, you could not look straight into my eyes and that was not the kind of your face I intended to see at any point in my life. I expected that face to be full of energy, without any regrets for what she did her entire life, with the energy radiating out every moment she speaks with that self-confidence. However, among three of us, I was the only one to see what was happening to you, and I guess I love you for providing me that opportunity.

The way we met next day, and our short trip to Kathmandu Durbar Square afterwards, the way you sat next to me, rather little further, although I would have wanted you to sit right next to me, the way we stood there like strangers (but not strange enough)...and we talked watching other couples chatting around the Square…Oh Dear.. I loved you at the moment. Somebody would have imagined those scenes out of movies, Quentin Tarantino might have…aah…probably not…his movies are more of glorification of violence rather than romantic scenes. And I am wondering now, should I have loved you for providing me that moment? I would have loved to hold your hands and walk through every gallies of Asan, among random people but only yours and mine presence would have created the beautiful meaning of our existence, would have made the world stop, and I would have considered myself as an actor of a romantic movie. But rather we walked, without holding hands...just as complete strangers with moments of silence. We passed by one of the “great” Maoist leader giving speech, only if the speech would have been meaningful or probably we didn't intend to analyze it in our moments of togetherness. I wish I could have simply walked over the podium and expressed the feelings I had gathered at the moment. However, I lack that personality and quality of making wonderful speeches, and I couldn’t love you more for making me want to walk to the podium and pretend as if I was one of the greatest public speaker ever. Later we went to Durbar café. I loved the moment watching you straight in your eyes, right in front of me. It kind of pissed me off when you kept refusing to get anything to eat, and then I thought, “Maybe she is not hungry at all.”

It started pouring heavily when we decided to leave the café. It could not have been more romantic. I loved the way it rained, the way we held the umbrella and the excuse I got to hold your hand, and be as close to you as I have ever been. One would assume that I was flirting with you but you and I both were aware of that “big wall” between us that stood strong. As I mentioned earlier, it could not have been more romantic only if… I will leave up to you to complete the sentence since there were endless possibilities to make it romantic. Anyway, I just loved that moment of heavy downpour. I watched people struggling to get back to home, rushing through the crowds, and us...we were just holding umbrella without any rush to get anywhere, not that I could see any enjoyment on your face either for that “wonderful opportunity” to walk in rain together. We tried hard to resist the vulnerability of every drop of rain hitting us hard. For the moment I was so soaked in a thought that life would have been so beautiful if I can be careful enough to deal with all vulnerabilities to that extent.

What else? You are once again an inspiration for me to pick my pen and paper and to write something, and I can’t stress enough how much I love you for that. I loved you for all your inspirations to read and write. I love it right now how you keep inspiring me to read and write all the time. Those moments spent with you are definitely hard to forget. Those were moments which I will… cherish? I am not sure if I should cherish those moments. But definitely, thank you for providing me those moments.

Nonetheless, my last meeting with you was special...the day I came to meet you at your residence. The way I wandered around the town before you came back from the rituals, went to a book store, bought “The alchemist”... While the city stood still and people walked through the pace of their endless daily life, I walked around the city aimlessly without any rush to get anywhere. I breathed through the air full of your smell; no sorry…it was full of Carbon dioxide. It didn’t kill me instantly, so I guess there was some oxygen too. Nevertheless I wandered around city till the shadows of you and your mom coming from horizon alerted me, and instantly I tried to put together my calmness though I was not sure how successful I was at that. The moments are beautiful. Sometimes words are not enough, and all I can say is I was glad to see you, may be gladder to see those bags full of gifts for me. Later we went to Keshar library, stayed there for at most 5 minutes. It’s not like I am not a library person. It just felt very quiet and sadistic. I guess that’s how it was supposed to feel. A “date” in a library does not sound right even when I am writing it right now. Oh… poor me…You never considered it a date. Should I be sad right now? Well…Again fortunately, it was raining that day too. Again...umbrella…resisting the vulnerability of drops...oh lord…I loved the way you looked...I love the way you dressed…Life can't be more dramatic than that...coffee together...yet again you didn't like the coffee. It was too strong for you, and then we took a walk...way down from the coffee shop to Durbar Marg (THE KING’S WAY).  Of course, with moments of silence… I just didn't know what to do. I had wanted to hug you earlier but could not collect that courage. I guess I was too shy. I just kept walking and finally thought I had to break the silence. I just turned around and said, “I am leaving this Saturday. I guess you might wanna give me a hug" or something like that. Now I think about it and am probably sure it didn’t sound right. It sounded more of like a begging. However, you didn't resist but neither did you approach. I hugged you. I kissed you. There was simply a smile on your face. There was no sign of refusal, neither was there a sign of approval. You just smiled and stood there emotionless. I don’t know what to think of that smile. Was it a fake one? Or were you just glad that I hugged you and kissed you? You probably were or not. Should I worry about it at this moment? I really loved you at that moment and I still love you for that moment. That was all I could do. I don’t know if I could have done more. I could not watch that smile on your face. I just walked away. I didn’t dare to look back. I never asked you what you did after that. Nonetheless I loved you at the moment. I spent next two days in solitude, eagerly waiting to fly back where I can keep myself busy, so busy that I can sing "past never bothered me anyway".

The Sky is Cold

Once again after long time I am staring at the sky. I have established amity with the sky. I stare at the sky, and so does the sky at me without any hesitation. I can stare as long as I want without being worried that it would develop affection towards me, which would have been the case if would have been staring at some young girl. The sky is the bastion of my stares, where I won't be called "uncivilized", just because I am staring at something for long time, where I won't be retreated because of my "mean" glances at something beautiful. So, no wonder, I have to enjoy the "freedom" to stare which would rarely be available even if I was walking among the diverse bodies in Washington DC.

It is not a "hot" sky, the sky illuminated by the giant fire ball with light rays traveling at the speed of approximately 3*10^8 m/s. Nor were the images of hot girls wearing bikini being telecasted on the sky. If it was very bright day with sunny sky, I would have said of the sky as beaming under it's diaphanous blue veil, and as shy as  new Indian bride (of course, traditional one) who wants to be veiled from the mass of ceremony attendees, but it was not the case either. Looking far into the horizon, I would have loved to see the sun battling eagerly to hide itself among the mountains, anxiously (although with slow pace), crawling downward like a baby, bored of babbling whole day and without anybody actually getting the phrases in disarray coming out of his mouth, and finally crawling on the floor with extremity in vulnerability of falling asleep anytime soon. The sun would have been pulling down itself, and I would have been eagerly running towards the hills, among the woods, may be bicycling with all of my effort, among the woods just to catch the last glimpse of the "crawling" Sun. I would have inhaled the comfortable zephyr, would have dreamt of giving company to those birds flying into the horizon, and would have had "foolish" enthusiasm of flying deep into the giant fire ball. I would have definitely loved to "explore" the new world in the fire ball, would have lead those innocent birds to death and of course would have scorched myself to death me as well. Those feelings would have fomented an overthrow of my materialistic life, and would have proved myself "deserted". This is when the significance of word "but" comes into play. Yes, indeed, that was not the case either.

The sky is cold. One might imagine of The Himalayan Range being reflected all over the sky when I say the sky is cold. Or may be of the winter waves roaming around to hit hard those beautiful faces, and stylized hairs letting them fly, of course with restrictions though because they still have to stick in those round heads. The possibility of one imagining North faces, Crocodiles, Chaqueta, Moncler, or other Jackets cannot be ignored either. However it will only prove either temperature has gone down or there is piled snow around. I would definitely think of those shivering naked trees without any outfits on them as well. But the sky is cold. Neither because of the low temperature nor because of the piled snow. The sky is lacking something of great importance. The light of freshness, the light of temptation which would have instigated waves of energy burning all of my calories (although I lack enough calories in my thin body), Instead it has pushed me into a deep state of torpor.

Photo Credit: http://lntro-o.deviantart.com/

Excuse me

"Excuse me..." abit louder this time.The adrenaline in my blood goes higher. May be higher than it was before..may be to the top of the Mt. Everest and may be even higher. But I don't think I have any other option rather than to calm down. 
"You have to calm down." I remind myself."You have to decorate that sweet little smile on your face and show your white teeth glistening because of that Colgate in the morning. Let the adrenaline settle down. Please..shhhh.." Finally I am here again at low land, flying straight down from the peak of Mt. Everest. You might wonder how I can be at the top of Mt. Everest, even without oxygen cylinder on my back and all those fancy suits on my body. I would like you to know that I am not strong enough to carry those big cylinders, all the way to the peak. I will be happy enough if I can only make it through to the base camp. But still, I was up there at the peak, looking down at the world totally different. The only difference being I was at the peak of anger and irritation, the Mt Everest that rose suddenly due to the collision of anger, irritation and frustration as well, you might say. 
It's been two years since I left my home country to get totally "stuck" in this foreign land. The land of dreams..of course...This is the land of dreams...dreamer's land...dreamer's country. I totally agree with it...and may be that's the most probable reason that makes me dream about my parents, brother and friends....I would dream that I would be with all of them once again, like how we used to be together...I would be playing with my little sisters...yep..I would dream to be happy once again..Every morning..then I wouldl wake up to confront myself," Boy..it was really a sweet dream." and I would laugh myself..repeating," true, this is land of dreams" 
You know what.. Sometimes you have to wear a mask on your face..Technically speaking, I don't have any mask on but still I got a mask on my face. The mask I'll never be able to put off. The mask I never intended to put on but still it's on and may be I can pretend that my face is without pimples and blackheads under that mask. But that is not the case again.The mask is totally transparent and all those pimples, blackheads and as a whole, my face is visible, to me, to you and to everyone as well. Now you might be eager to know what kind of mask is that. Might not be strange enough but it is the mask of "foreigner". 
A white dude passes by me. His face has a "different" expression when he looks at me. Those wrinkles on his face has carving of a word "Damn foreigner" and I don't know why I am the only one to be able to read those carvings. I am not a calligrapher, not at all but may be I learned some of the calligraphy after going through Dan Brown's novel " Digital Fortress" or may be because I lived in Kathmandu, a city full of wood carvings and stone carvings. I would go to my class and everybody would have strange look at me. I won't speak a word because I got the title " foreigner" stamped on my face that would prevent me from speaking, not technically though. The mask is tight enough to prevent me from opening my mouth. May be it's a good thing that I am aware of that title, at least a title I earned in such a small period of stay in the United States. Isn't it a good thing to be recognized ? Of course it is a good thing. At least, I take it that way. I feel myself very proud to be recognized that way among people. May be you should also feel proud for that. 
I would like to share all of these "good experiences" with people around here and finally try to speak up...then guess what people would reply.........come on.... you know answer...."excuse me.." I told you.you knew the answer....

Date: January 7, 2010