upon departure
The oddest thing about departure is the knowing that there is no knowing if you will return; and if you shall not return. I still recollect as clear as a bell the day I packed and left Montevideo, all done in a hurry, before Leo and Sylvia arrived to pick me up and drive me to the airport with H. Jorge in the background. Jaime Roos playing. The kick of loss, stab of tears, but through a smile, through gratitude for all that I had been given; knowing that I knew not whether there was more, knowing only what had been, grieving its loss, refusing to foreclose on its future.
posted by maldoror at 12:54
3 Comments:
i don't. i do remember giving you a copy of Brazil on vhs and you slapping me a kiss. i remember thinking how meaningless everything was and how stupid it was that I felt like someone's little sister.
i also remember thinking that i'd probably never know how you felt, because i had never lived anywhere else and people who stay always in the same place have no idea of what moving feels like. and thinking that i was going to hate the safety and certainty that staying still would provide me with.
if you are Y&T, that is.
and
if you're talking about the first time you left, and not about the last time you were here, last tuesday or sth like that.
there, i'll just shut up.
Yes, I was talking about the first time I left. Which was actually the second time I left, (the first being the time Jorge Arjona drove me to Carrasco at 12 kph). Of course I am Y&T. Even if I'm not and never was? No such thing as safety or certainty though is there? Even if you live in Switzerland. Or Blogosphere. x
"Y&T" rings no bell, but I feel I should know who you are.
Answer me this: ¿you still have my copy of "On the road"?
If you never had it, I don't have a clue who you are.
If you do, I'd like to have it back. ;- )
No, really, I would.
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