This means walking through the dirty crowded streets of my dear city again. Something in me recoiled and stopped me mid-step.
I stepped out hesitantly.
"What? it stopped raining? just like that?" I asked a disinterested class mate.
She nodded, "yes, all we had to do was walk down the flight of stairs from our class, apparently."
The streets were wet nevertheless.
And I found myself shirking from the usual stares of strangers. I felt like a performing circus clown, and then I suddenly remembered that it is okay to stare at people/be stared at around here.
It is amazing how acutely you become aware of the differences of your growing up environment and to one you've just lived in for two weeks.
Everything begins to sound louder than usual as opposed to the hushed, soft-spoken tones you were used to there.
But don't you see? I don't want to hear that piece of gossip you're sharing with your lover over phone.
My head wanders to that secret seductive moment at the elevator, on my way down from the summit of the Eiffel tower: two lovers enmeshed in each other, it was very hard to discern one from the other, it was naughty, it was natural, it was...painful.
And then all of that snaps back to the last piece of story finished with a relish, by the unsuspecting girl seated right behind me. She sighed contentedly, like you'd sigh sated after a good healthy bout of sex.
This place that I call Home has strange rules.The people cling on to buses, trains and sometimes even get trampled over by busy feet. They don't complain. They have become accustomed to the discomfort.
Here the traffic rules are lax, the cars almost always stop even when you're jaywalking.
People are cramped up in small places. Yet, they laugh so much more.
Even the sky is not allowed enough breathing space around here.
|In Paris, we had the luxury of being able to see skies that turned into shades like this.|
Children are not trusted. Even with dogs.
|Spotted, just outside the Eiffel Tower.|
I don't know why I sat through my entire bus trip comparing Group A with Group B; but I did.
When my stop came, I heard the thunder grumble like a dog aroused. And a sharp wind blew, I was just about to express my irritation at the imminent rain, when a warm welcoming aroma hit me out of nowhere: potato fritters. It's a custom to have potato fritters when it gets rainy in these parts.
So there I was being a judgy bitch to my Home. And all it had to say in return was, "welcome baby,it's about to get very pleasant, you will reach home in no time, the wind will guide you;here are some potato fritters. I'm sorry I can't give you anything else at the moment."
That will do for now.
That will do.