May 3, 2010
Take 5: Kizmet
We finally got the coffee together.
We've talked a lot in the past, and I didn't quite see what role the coffee would play -why it was given one at all.
For some strange reason though, it made all the difference... she said words I'll always carry with me in my blue backpack. The one that's adorned with the MBKs my sister designed; the same one that has latched on to a conspicuous green ribbon I hope it will one day be able to let go it's grip on... one day soon...
I think for once I listened more than I spoke -never an easy task. I was relieved to hear the words I've only ever dared think flow from someone else. Someone who I have the utmost respect for... the same someone who told me some day very soon I'd have to choose a method of writing, and reassured me that I have what it takes to do so in a creative fashion. Close enough to graduation to not really care anymore, I disclosed to her how I had rarely read the texts I was assigned to throughout my studies... I shared with her how I would only read a few pages and then conjure up the rest in my head; and then I braced myself for criticism -which astonishingly never came. She said it's to be expected, she said I have my own world, one which parallels the real one, one in which I imagine things as they should be, not as they are...
She read me, she made sense of me in a way that I have never been able to make sense of anyone, and she left me with thoughts of me on my bicycle, dancing up and down a bridge, swimming around my head. She said I had to find a way to move back and forth between the creative end and the rational end; that the best of them can only settle somewhere in the middle and compromise between the two. She spoke of its difficulties, she spoke of the many times she'd ran out of breath and wanted to simply settle down at one extreme, but the most important part, she left unsaid. She needn't have uttered a word for me to understand what it was that made it all worth it... she herself embodied all that can be achieved by taking this tortuous route.
As I thanked her for the coffee, I felt her not passing on a torch, but allowing me to light mine in her presence. I 'm desperately tired; yet so ready.
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- I miss writing. Schoolwork doesn't count.
- I miss writing about anything and everything, even senseless blabber that I need to empty from my mind. Even confuzzling abstract stories like Take 4 which revolve around a central character I probably wholly despise and consider worth nothing, especially not the time spent writing/reading about them.
- I miss my aimless wandering which allowed me to walk in the real world and think in my imaginary one - hopefully that will be remedied in a few weeks.
- I miss the pre-Facebook days, for its mere existence has led me to distrust those who beg for attention via cryptic messages (and more painfully, via blatant ones as well) and therefore I have inadvertently stopped using them. I nearly cried not being able to post the status I wanted to on Fb today, the only place you might read it, after... I need an output.
- I miss being younger and thinking the world revolved around me and my friends. It doesn't, evidently. So please, stop coinciding things. I'm too exhausted for mind games. Talk.
- I miss him, but that's over and I know it. I just have to remind myself to care enough to care enough about someone again.
- I miss having all the details to look back on. I wrote every little thing when I first started out at college, and have hilarious tales which light up my face with a mere review. I have written nothing about my experience as a graduate student. Thankfully, I'm being given a second chance to make-up for it.
- I miss being home. There's no way to get around that.
- I miss you.
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