Today I read the blog of an OLLLLLLLLLLLLD classmate of mine. Ever since I began to live on my own, and started REAL college (not JC), I realised how little a part memories play. This classmate used to be such a close friend it isnt even funny. Her name is Katrina or Katie and we used to go on the same bus, we used to attend the same classes, and we were close, close, close. its funny, remembering that. after reading her blog, i rummaged around in my ‘memory box’ and unearthed my KT stuff. A birthday card to a little sister, a pink wallet with a big K on it. My KT stuff. I took a deep breath and dug deeper and found more memories. things i touched tendery. i tell myself those days are gone now. that was an old life, filled with old people and this life is so different.
but there are parts of it i want back so much, it makes me cry.
there are times i want diya so badly. just to sit with her at home or in Starbucks and listen to her. every morning i wake up and i see the painting she painted for me and it makes me smile, and it makes me want her even more. there are times im sad and depressed and i wish i could run the 5 minutes distance between my house and ishas and have her hold me and unearth cookies and chocolate cake or even mix up her weird alcohol concoctions. and i miss her whenever i see mini skirts, a hot guy and Absolut vodka. There are times when i want to laugh, like really laugh, and i wish i could call up Jibran and he’d be downstairs in a flash. Sometimes i hold the picture of him carrying me on his back (as well as my dirty sneakers and my battered beach bag) and i smile till my jaws hurt. and then i remember, he will never call me lil sis again and the smile fades. There are times when i think of ‘big brother’ and ‘uzi’ and i want to cry and laugh and god. i look at a starry night sky and there it is. memories of my perfect uzi – what happened to that? To baskin robbins, to claires, to distractions in a french classroom, to poetry, to the closeness, oh the closeness. yet, despite an awkward ‘hey, whats up?’, hes still my perfect uzi.
I walk slowly up college stairs and i hear people strumming a guitar and singing Dire Straits. I see a boy lost in poetry, another boy reciting movie greats. Girls lost in newspapers, and the chosen people talking of Polaris this and thats. A girl bangs down her bag and books and screams "SEASIDE!" and people go running to Seaside. I feel at home. But is home? Is it really? Can a few months replace the comforts years can bring? days and days of memories. or should i reconcile to the fact, that hey. this is life now. its a reason to wake up in the morning, a reason to move, move, move.
But i still love those people mentioned above very very much. especially diya and isha cos they love as much as they ever did, as much as i love them. their love is paper. handmade paper that you treasure cos its so beautiful and so expensive.
to paintings. and absolut vodka. and starbucks. and love. and starry skies. and dirty sneakers.