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| It has been close to a year since I chose to be absent. Rather, since absence chose me. But as I prepare for what promises to be the biggest test of my endurance, it seems like the challenge must be documented. This year has been so many things. It has come with the unfortunate saga of love, a tiresome indulgence of travel, an exhausting relocation, a mindnumbing slump, many half truths, and plenty of G&Ts.
I moved to Sudan 2.5 months ago, to myself desperately out of my slump. Juba Sudan only made that slump worse. Now I am pushing myself to climb a mountain, in the hope that perhaps physical punishment will make the rest of it seem that much simpler. The mountain is the world's largest freestanding one, Kilimanjaro, looming over east Africa. 7 days of gruelling torture, at least for me, probably among the least fit million people in the world. I am taking the Machame "whiskey" route, starting on the 29th and making a summit attempt (if I even get that far) on the 4th. Wow! As I read my grandiose plan, the words that echo through my head are "Mad or what?!"
It seems though like the perfect idea - to let the focus of physical pain override every thing else. To stand on (or near will also do) the mountain and pray that
Not taking laptop on grand adventure. New macbook must remain healthy. The plan is to photo-document the trip and write on a small notepad about the day.
Status update
Days for holidays: 2.
Plan for holiday: 7 days climb to Kilimanjaro, followed by trip to Masai Mara and then chill on beach at Mombasa.
Current location: Juba, South Sudan
Diet: Vegetable Biryani from Salaam hotel, or Spicy fried rice from Wonderful Chinese Restaurant. Everyday.
Number of recent untruths: 2 to mom, and 1/2 to non-boyfriend.
Weight: unchanged in 6 months.
Latest discovery: One leg is shorter than the other, explaining a LOT of things.
Biggest regret: Comet
In sum: Popat honar! | | |
| It has taken a deep hold of me. No matter what I do, no matter how I distract myself, I still go back for more. It prods me at all hours. Waking me when I am sound asleep, nudging me when I am filling out my timesheet, upsetting my well-wrought schedule, for a just little bit more. Unreachable, yet tempting. Reachable sometimes but barely. Lingering in thoughts of maybe-vacations, and a definitely-not living arrangements. It twists my rubber arm even if I pose a strict restriction, causing me to cheat. It rolls me over on my back and around again till I aquiesce. Sometimes it teases me with the promise of a breakdown, sometimes it forces me into hysterical submission. Sometimes it gently calls out, and by the time I reach out, it is ready and waiting to maul me. It won't cut me slack, it refuses to budge on its demands. It hurts me, yet I don't protest, in the silent shameful way that sadomasochists revel in that which shows the worst of them. Desire possesses me, and woe that it won't relent. Woe that it lies and cheats and batters and bruises. Yet I run after it, smiling guiltily as I walk up the stairs. Trembling in my defenceless ardor. In my shameless surrender. I follow it all the way. Again and again. Exquisite in its ruthlessness, it chases me if I run, and leads me astray if I follow. | | |
| September 2, 2007 "Everyone loved you", he whispers, as we get into bed. Tired after a debaucherous evening with friends. "What's not to love", I whisper back, giddy with my success among his friends. A little too cocky perhaps, but I drift into sleep quickly, aware that this was our best night in a long time. Scruffy's new BFF is a sickening man whore, who if not for his affinity to "hose" without discretion might even be likeable (you are like my sister he says in one breath, and if he weren't doing you- I would he says in the next as he grabs my ass). Scruff in all his endearing naivete thinks he is a loyal friend and a terrific colleague. I think he is scum, and tell them both so, which for some unfathomable reason gets them both to burst into peals of boy laughter. I feel like the outsider with them, I struggle not to begrudge Scruffy his new found friendship, but in the pit of my stomach it aches. The nagging feeling that new BFF is all wrong, and is stealing my Scruff away from me. Insecurity? Not. I think I would be less fraught with despair and annoyance if BFF was a hot 20 year old with shiny legs and washboard abs. A few weeks later, I find myself as India's lost generation. Between immigration and emigration, we are that sad lot who made the money, learned to roll our Rs, and came back home to find that TGIFriday's stood now where kathi rolls made boy-girl friendships simple. Our time apart hasn't helped me find peace. 48 hours in the air and without port, I land back at the country where I am least lost. My skin is scaly and lips chapped. My hair is dry, brown where it was red a couple of weeks ago. My eyes are glassy, from disappointment. I do a recheck in the mirror, to see if I am ready to meet and greet. As ready as I will be. I imagine. It piques me when my hand quivers to reach out to him on his return. It piques me to see his hair cut so short. I see the picture hidden in the piles of innocent family shots I tore up from albums, and when Najiba walks in on my lazy morning, I throw it into the bedside drawer. I stole that picture from poor Mustafa, the Staff-maister. Them at the range. The picture with his impish smile, the naughty charm, the impossible kindness, the careless cruelty, the aimless wanderlust, the shifting feet, the pride of his wide chest, the secret fear of reading glasses. All there, all in one picture, my treasure trough. My nightmare. | | |
| Port after port after port after port. Shrivelled, tired of waiting, and longing, and begging, and being shocked. Never surprised. Not kissed any more, not held, not rocked. Only shocked. Yet and yet. To Paris, I was singing. Now I am not. I gave him his ticket this morning. Now he can Fuck Off and be the Bad Boy he is. It isn't a happy ending at all. I will stay, till I make Financial Milestone Number 2. See, it is all about money. And I think money will make me happy. Yes, most definitely it will. | | |
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