flurries, you, and dreams

Posted: December 6, 2010 in All and Sundry

flurries.

this morning when i woke up, i looked out the window, and i saw flurries, then i was reminded of you again. yes, again and again, since two nights ago you decided to end things with me. the sight of flurries reminded me of snow and you. my friends tell me you don’t OWN snow and that it will always snow in winter here in new york and i will have to get used to that. i am fully aware of that, i tell them. i guess i am dreading the possibility that it will always snow in new york, and every time it snows, i will always be reminded of you. snow and you are two words so totally unrelated for some but for me they are very interlinked.

i remember vividly those moments when you complain about the summer heat, how you couldn’t breathe. when fall came, you said you felt alive again. the cold makes you feel alive. chirpy even. and you sincerely look forward to snow in winter because you love snow. the vast whiteness covering an entire mountain. it was beautiful for you. just the beauty of nature–peaceful; for a moment there i thought you meant sublime. you asked me when was the first time i saw snow. i told you it was last year, yes for the first time. you giggled. “how did you feel when you first saw snow?”you asked. and i proceeded to tell you that i was reminded of that last paragraph from james joyce’s “the dead”:

‎”His soul swooned slowly as he heard the snow falling faintly through the universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all the living and the dead.”

you’ve never read  “the dead” you say. so you insisted that i go on tell you concrete emotions. i said well that was my first reaction. i reacted with a memory of that line from “the dead,” and then i felt a mixture of sadness and hope.

it just occurred to me how vastly different we are. you were born in snow. i was born where there’s no snow and it is sunny all year.

the other monday, we were walking out in the streets after lunch, and i asked you: “tell me a story?” then you proceeded to sharing to me how you and your sister over the thanksgiving break decided to rent a villa somewhere in spain where your family can have a reunion. at that moment my heart sort of sunk because i didn’t know how to contribute to the conversation of renting villas and having trips to europe. the whole idea was so far removed from my reality. back where i come from people don’t even dream of renting villas because they know it is a reality they can’t have. it is even difficult to accept the reality that i am here in new york because we could never even imagine of making such dreasm come true. i guess,  that is how it is to live in developing countries. dreams are limited. dreams aren’t even free.

so maybe it is time to abandon my thoughts of you today. maybe it is time to stop thinking of you and snow as some dreadful memory of a pain i’m dealing with now. maybe it is time to think of you and snow as two beautiful things–unexplainably real.

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