There’s this place I go to just before I make a big re-location: the place of Lasts. This is the last time I’ll hug my dad, the last time I’ll drink cheap beer, the last time I’ll watch my favorite American TV program without the hassle of is-it-available-to-stream-internationally-online-and-what’s-my-connection-like. My subconscious starts to get desperate; desperate to hold on to the things I love about a place while fleeing the things that bore me. This emotional tick generally causes me to gain about five pounds and consume much more than I normally would, all in the name of, I don’t know when the next time will be.
Today is D-Day Minus six. Departure Day, that is, and I’ve spent this past weekend gorging on Ben & Jerry’s ice cream and eating chocolate dessert at every restaurant I visit with every family member that wants to see me once more before I leave. It might be the PMS talking (I hate international airline travel during that time, but that’s certainly a different post with a different readership alltogether) but the Maine coastal sunsets seem more beautiful these past few days. My mother’s embrace seems warmer, and the snuggles from my kitty cat, just a bit less flea-ridden.
Soon my reminiscences of Boston’s skyline and the perpetually-tardy T will be replaced with longing for warm naan and the heat of Mumbai that I can, at this point, still only fantasize about. When I was in Paris I made my 100 Things to Love post series, and it remains popular with my readers. Validation, I think, that we’re all searching for those things to love about a city, whether it’s our own or one we’re still dreaming about.
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