I stood, staring blindly at the fireworks that for a brief few minutes, lighted up my being.
I hate this. I hate the fact on what used to be my happiest day, I was completely uninspired. I think I'm starting to hate a lot of things, only hate is too forceful, too strong for my timid tastes.
I want to suppress life smacking me in the face, which is frankly what I feel it is doing to me now. Only repeatedly.
My childhood eids seem a lifetime away, though I know they were only a few years ago. The shouts of aunts, uncles, grandparents ringing loud in my ears. My heart racing for a day that was all over too quickly.
I curse the circumstances that have led to my isolation from all I love, yet at the same time I feel unequivocally blessed to be standing here, the cold making each intake of breath kill me a little, yet also awakening me to life.
There's so much I can talk about! Too much to talk about perhaps. If i started, I have a sneaking suspicion I would never stop. The reams of my life knotting in a jumble of words. Where can I start with my laughter and delight at Rwandans,Koreans, Jamaicans, Russians, Brazilians...their nationalities and cultures each so distinct so separate. Where can I begin with my interactions with the species of 'London Iraqis'. Where can I commence with my stories of misunderstandings, and understandings.
The immensity of how alone I was hit me, but the excitement and rush of future escapades washed my loneliness too quickly (I like to occasionally mull over my solitary state). This time feels so liberating and yet so imprisoning.