Not At Home

I imagine my mother a little pensive. Her son, the younger one cannot make it home this year. For the New Year’s and for his birthday and for her…

She will wonder why she agreed to let me go two years ago. She will think all the food she had to cook if her son made it home. Her younger son, the quieter one…

But then again, when a mother caught in midst of keeping her child happy against her personal wishes, the young brat always wins.

I think they all miss me. I am too scared to think other wise. My brother, not sure what he really misses about me, will surely give me a thought. And his better half and my confidant will surely wished we spent more time before I left the country.

Dad. You, I fear, miss me as much as mom. I am just about grown up. The age, where we could have taken our talks beyond the dusty censored boundaries and shared more then just mom’s brilliant cooking.

My friend, she has lost all hope. Me not making it home this year can only hurt me the next time I see her and she fails to recognize me. That would pinch a bit!

My friends … Will they recall last year and the decade before that? Our intertwined trials and tribulations always made excellent wine stories. Sadly, whom would they talk to the coming nights? I am afraid my not being there could result in some tears frozen in the December winds or some delights not shared to the full extent. Amongst several, another birthday would be missed.

Worse even, a wedding shall be missed. Of two angels who I liked to believe, I helped uniting. To them I wish the best of luck and best of beginnings.

I know they talk of everlasting memories but most of them fade away. It is not any body’s fault except that the fabric of time along with nastiness of distance brings along gathered dust to cover up the remembered moments and blurred vision.

After last year, a re-scheduled meeting with a Scorpio will again have to be postponed. So much has changed between us, but like in the case of several missed engineering classes, I still like to believe I can answer the important questions.

After the second year of separation, the winter is now looking distinctly different. It is not much gloomier but more mundane. A season when all emotional curves flatten out and are no longer a function of time.

It’s going to be extremely excruciating when reality dawns upon me. When I can no longer clearly justify a four-wheeled dream over a parent’s touchable reality.

Home