I could not help feel lonely today while I returned back from a battlefield. From the back seat of the micro, I would only see heads bobbing up and down as we traveled by the dusty Tinkune. This triangle always reminds me of a land lost and forgotten in the middle, civilization at its starkest form: expressions covered with a mist of sickness. I looked through the window, hoarding boards passing by, reminding me to look fairer, drink healthier, smoke, get a new mobile network that gives me the cheapest talk time rates for nights.
And, that is when I miss having conversations with friends I thought were friends; but of course, I am a girl for them. I cannot help but think about a friend who carelessly slipped in how his backside hurt from a hiking trip that I was not informed about because he thought I would feel awkward (among the guys) or perhaps, it would have been awkward for them (which obviously sounds more plausible to me). I guess I would also be awkward, and I guess I am not much of a social person to hang around with; I am better for those tea-shop conversations on philosophies, contradictions and half-written poems. I am trying hard not to sound resentful because I am not. I value those conversations.
And, while all these thoughts passed by, Deep Shrestha was humming in my earphones. The first song I ever heard of Shrestha's is "Ma ta door dekhi aayen timro yaad bokera". I loved the bit where he sings "Sambodhan garada gardai gai gayau chodera"; it hits a cord; a string that is stretched to its extremities in my heart, ready to snap out on me any time soon. I have heard that he is a snob but what do I care, or maybe I do but they said Arun Thapa was a drunkard who died with no blood in his body. I have grown up listening to my brother's collection of Arun Thapa's songs. I am falling in love with old Nepali songs again. I wish I could talk about these songs with someone who felt the same way about those lines: "Sambodhan garada gardai gai gayau chodera".
I wanted to fall asleep at that moment, with the melodies flowing in one, unbroken stream attached to my thoughts. I wanted to fall asleep to the assurance that however hurt your heart it, it heals. It will never give up. I wanted to fall asleep to the thought of a loved one.
And, that is when I miss having conversations with friends I thought were friends; but of course, I am a girl for them. I cannot help but think about a friend who carelessly slipped in how his backside hurt from a hiking trip that I was not informed about because he thought I would feel awkward (among the guys) or perhaps, it would have been awkward for them (which obviously sounds more plausible to me). I guess I would also be awkward, and I guess I am not much of a social person to hang around with; I am better for those tea-shop conversations on philosophies, contradictions and half-written poems. I am trying hard not to sound resentful because I am not. I value those conversations.
And, while all these thoughts passed by, Deep Shrestha was humming in my earphones. The first song I ever heard of Shrestha's is "Ma ta door dekhi aayen timro yaad bokera". I loved the bit where he sings "Sambodhan garada gardai gai gayau chodera"; it hits a cord; a string that is stretched to its extremities in my heart, ready to snap out on me any time soon. I have heard that he is a snob but what do I care, or maybe I do but they said Arun Thapa was a drunkard who died with no blood in his body. I have grown up listening to my brother's collection of Arun Thapa's songs. I am falling in love with old Nepali songs again. I wish I could talk about these songs with someone who felt the same way about those lines: "Sambodhan garada gardai gai gayau chodera".
I wanted to fall asleep at that moment, with the melodies flowing in one, unbroken stream attached to my thoughts. I wanted to fall asleep to the assurance that however hurt your heart it, it heals. It will never give up. I wanted to fall asleep to the thought of a loved one.
