Chevda. A great big bowl of it. Each element integral to the absolute whole: a perfect mix of crunch, sweet and salt, spice and herb. Today I am eating it, trying to savour it as never before, trying to find that intensity borne by the living who know they are about to die.
It's good. Great, in fact. But I've lost my taste for it. As if each spoonful has been seasoned with your mother's tears.
Straciatella. Luscious sweet cool creaminess dripping from my cone. Like the dense relief of a Tanga rain washing away the oily heavy humidity. Maybe one day it will bring remembrance and temporary respite to the leaden heart of a father who has had to shoulder what no man can be man enough to bear.
I heard the 9 minute phone call. Nine minutes of silence. What else to say? I know we understood what was happening to you, but acceptance is also necessary, we were told.
Understanding I understand, but man, acceptance requires the divine. We're all just human.
Enough pain now. Go. Find your divine.
21 November, 2004
It's good. Great, in fact. But I've lost my taste for it. As if each spoonful has been seasoned with your mother's tears.
Straciatella. Luscious sweet cool creaminess dripping from my cone. Like the dense relief of a Tanga rain washing away the oily heavy humidity. Maybe one day it will bring remembrance and temporary respite to the leaden heart of a father who has had to shoulder what no man can be man enough to bear.
I heard the 9 minute phone call. Nine minutes of silence. What else to say? I know we understood what was happening to you, but acceptance is also necessary, we were told.
Understanding I understand, but man, acceptance requires the divine. We're all just human.
Enough pain now. Go. Find your divine.
21 November, 2004
