Where I have been….

Oh my loves (all 4 of you)…where have I been, you wonder?

It was a month of emotions, so overwhelming that writing may not have contained them. So fluid that they dripped off the pages, dripped out of me, in tears of happiness and sadness, salty as I remained lonely though physically surrounded.

There were weddings, vacations, deaths and illnesses. There were personal triumphs, academic pursuits, and a reinvigorated commitment to a community that continues to frustrate and challenges me.

How many hands of hennah I filled, so intently, touching old wrinkled hands and young fingers covered in chocolate bits. Holding hands, caressing the lines, creating designs, and feeling your warmth was so comforting. How we ran up and down with flower arrangements here and your wedding trousseau there. How I watched you spin around in your outfit on the mendhi, and smiled through tears as I danced at your mehndhi. I was so happy.

I held your hand as you signed the nikaah documents, shaking. On the prayers that came out of my heart for you, my love, my sister, my dear friend. I found myself blowing on you as you as my grandmother would, blowing on you softly with pure breath after my heart was so filled with blessings it would have burst had I not blown it out.

I pinned your veil carefully, playfully poking you and introduced you to the world as you walked out on your reception day. My voice quivered as I read your sehra, my world shook as I hugged you goodbye and held your mother. That night I packed for my own trip to a far away country. And as I packed I cried like I never have before. Ever.

I cried in your empty room, uncontrollably and fully. I cried with such selfish pleasure.

And I walked on to a plane, from the arms of family to the teasing banter of sweet friends with their jovial laugh and energy. A sweet friend whose eyes show the concern of a sister. And so we were uninhibited in this place that knew us not. Our sun burned under the sun and we indulged. It felt sinful this luxury - the hours of massage, sand under my feet as I perused magazines, and laughed endlessly.

I am closer to a decision about the other things. But writing them makes them real. And tonight, is not the night for that reality.

~ by azmaaish on February 12, 2008.