Often for me, the days bleed from one to the next lending them all a common hue - one of sameness and boredom. Freedom from the clockwork of routine comes sometimes in unexpected even if somewhat unpleasant ways. Like it came yesterday when I watched the movement of the minute hand of the clock, waiting for the mailman to come.
The last time I waited with such manic intensity, bordering on desperation was when I was fourteen and infatuated beyond belief. I could spend a whole summer afternoon sitting by the window of my room hoping to catch a glimpse of him walking toward my home. Somehow watching him walk up the road was far more thrilling and gratifying than answering the knock on the door. I imagined in longing and dreaming of him all day, there was a magic energy generated that sparked a connection between us - a connection that would make him come to see me. I believed if I longed to see him intensely enough, he would just show up. Often he did though a lot of times he did not but that was no deterrent to daydreaming at all.
Yesterday, it was the far more mundane business of waiting for the mailman with an Express Mail package. The hours were pouring instead of trickling down the hourglass in my mind. A lot depended on being able to get that package on time - the waiting was anything but pleasurable. Though it was just as unbearable as those from a long time ago. Then I saw the USPS truck at the end of the road. The mailman made several stops before reaching me. He had stanched the flow of time simply by appearing.
The only person I knew who could do that was the object of my affection in my adolescence. The waiting was bitter-sweet then and made me aware of the minute details of my surroundings - the exact weave of the hand-loom curtains in my room, the sheen on the feathers of a crow perched on the guava tree,the exact moment when the sun retreated behind the clouds or when a my neighbor came out to water her plants. The rhythm of the ordinary day can be fascinating if watched closely and intensely. I had forgotten how that felt for a very long time.
The last time I waited with such manic intensity, bordering on desperation was when I was fourteen and infatuated beyond belief. I could spend a whole summer afternoon sitting by the window of my room hoping to catch a glimpse of him walking toward my home. Somehow watching him walk up the road was far more thrilling and gratifying than answering the knock on the door. I imagined in longing and dreaming of him all day, there was a magic energy generated that sparked a connection between us - a connection that would make him come to see me. I believed if I longed to see him intensely enough, he would just show up. Often he did though a lot of times he did not but that was no deterrent to daydreaming at all.
Yesterday, it was the far more mundane business of waiting for the mailman with an Express Mail package. The hours were pouring instead of trickling down the hourglass in my mind. A lot depended on being able to get that package on time - the waiting was anything but pleasurable. Though it was just as unbearable as those from a long time ago. Then I saw the USPS truck at the end of the road. The mailman made several stops before reaching me. He had stanched the flow of time simply by appearing.
The only person I knew who could do that was the object of my affection in my adolescence. The waiting was bitter-sweet then and made me aware of the minute details of my surroundings - the exact weave of the hand-loom curtains in my room, the sheen on the feathers of a crow perched on the guava tree,the exact moment when the sun retreated behind the clouds or when a my neighbor came out to water her plants. The rhythm of the ordinary day can be fascinating if watched closely and intensely. I had forgotten how that felt for a very long time.
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She recently wrote me an email to forger her and move on!