On the way to a party, I met this really strange woman on the bus. The entire bus was almost empty, it was about 10 PM and there were two or three men at the back and a woman came sat next to me in the front row, I was a little surprised since there were so many empty seats and when I looked at her with that surprise highlighted on my face she started talking saying " I don't like sitting at ze back," before I could say something in return, she started mumbling how late ze bus is everytime and how it izis annoying to wait for ze bus for 25 minutes and how all her cousins have cars but she likes riding in ze bus and on and on ze went. I was amused, I quite liked listening to her. She had a "ze" accent, African roots (slight), short blode coloured hair which had turned to bronze and there she went with her ze zes....Few minutes later she told me she is French and her roots are from Venenzuela. Ze was one hell of a woman I have met who talked for so long in a span of some 5 minutes.
I hope to see ze woman again!
Excerpts from my love letters
I feel terribly lonely. I stretch my hands to touch you but it only brushes against my memory, frizzles and you fade into smiles while the gajini tune in the background dissolves. You appear again, I try to hug you but only end up crossing my arms hugging emptiness, I see you slip out of my embrace into my mind with your face infront of me. Crazy.
It has definitely been long since I wrote you a long epistle, there are so many things to tell and none to utter, so many to share and no words to express, what is the point telling you what has happened to me since I have come here, what is the point narrating my experiences when they are just mine and no story could re create it, it remains as nothing but my memories, good or bad I bury it silently, I feel wicked too for I know they are solely mine safely locked and chained and left aside in my private library.
What does it mean to be a companion? We are both different individuals, with different organs and functions, thoughts perceptions and experiences, how much do we share, what do share and how truthful are we to be? As a human as much as I have tried to be truthful sometimes I wonder whether I really have been, even to myself, there are times and incidences which make you lie to yourself, hide things from yourself where a part of you knows the truth and the other denies it, is it the battle between your superego, id and ego?
It has definitely been long since I wrote you a long epistle, there are so many things to tell and none to utter, so many to share and no words to express, what is the point telling you what has happened to me since I have come here, what is the point narrating my experiences when they are just mine and no story could re create it, it remains as nothing but my memories, good or bad I bury it silently, I feel wicked too for I know they are solely mine safely locked and chained and left aside in my private library.
What does it mean to be a companion? We are both different individuals, with different organs and functions, thoughts perceptions and experiences, how much do we share, what do share and how truthful are we to be? As a human as much as I have tried to be truthful sometimes I wonder whether I really have been, even to myself, there are times and incidences which make you lie to yourself, hide things from yourself where a part of you knows the truth and the other denies it, is it the battle between your superego, id and ego?
