SWEET RAMBLINGS

FROM ISSUE # 170 (February 2010) | IN THIS ISSUE
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1 new message. "Come on Skype. I have 30 minutues."

"Out with friends, heading home." 

I rush home, and dammit! No lights. I beat 006142 into my cellphone…
A long beep then, "Your balance is getting low, please recharge your account soon".

The didi at the local cold store looks up and smiles at me; it's my fourth time here this week, recharging my phone. By the time I call him, his break is almost over. Darn! We agree to talk 'later'.

When 'later' eventually arrives, it's a Saturday here, just paid the ADSL bill and no one else home to intrude. The week has been frustrating. Seriously, if I were god, I would make Nepal and Australia fall under the same time zone. And finally, a familiar face at the other end, a smile, then a grin. With that, all worries vanish.

There was small talk, scooters are dangerous to ride, he says. His way of telling me to be careful. I looked at him, the afro was gone, he insisted he hadn't put on weight, but  struggled to explain the bulkiness. I laughed.

I thought of us. An album cover, a warm yellow, a man reaching out to a silhouetted tree. 'In Between Dreams' read the title. A bunch of African daisies placed atop. The faraway hum of a slow singing voice, something about making banana pancakes together. Hah. They don't even taste that good, Jack Johnson just likes to be cute. I smile inwardly at the little voice in my head. And once again, letting go is as much a relief as being in love. Well, almost.

17 days. The countdown begins. We're not sure how this long distance thing works, or even if it really does. Skype. MSN. Crazy time zones. Sleepless nights. Who do I call? I haven't caught up with my best friend in ages, to call now would be plain selfish.

I hate the cursed silences these days. The fun is long over. Either we talk about his departure or we don't talk at all. And in between, a hushed 'I love you', is more poison than remedy.

"Hey, no… I can't meet you today. I have to go shopping with mom, sorry baby, I love you". End call. A long silence, and then we both laugh. That was his girlfriend. No, he isn't cheating on her, in fact he loves her very much, just that he spends most of his waking hours with me.

I know that most his clothes are blue, and that he likes ginger is his tea, that he keeps his mouth wide open when he sleeps, that he hates his sister's boyfriend, and that he laughs at his mom's English pronunciation. I also know that if I am not around to cut slices of chicken sizzler, then he wont order it at all, because he's too lazy to cut it himself.

I know him, and he knows me more than I know myself. And love, yeah I love him. So what if we're committed somewhere else? These days, as long as one is happy, anything goes.

I need to get a grip, I know. But every bone in my body tells me it's okay.  Because, in my twenty one years of life no one has made me so joyously happy.

There's something notoriously fun about this kind of relationship. You know what thrills me the most? The look on people's face that says 'But how do you make this work?' It's easy, I like to think back. He makes me feel young, which makes me want to look my best, wear my best, smell my best, just be my best. As for him, he likes how I pamper him, or 'mother' him, to be more candid. I save him the trouble of being 'the man'; after everything, he still gets to be the seventeen year old he is.

This way, we're both contributing to the relationship, precisely what is needed for it to work. Some giving. So the next time you raise your eyebrow at us, just remember we're happy.

"You didn't call me last night"
"Football, Italy vs Spain"
"More important than me?"
"Why does everything have to be about us?"
"I stayed up HOURS, and that's what you have to say?"
" I cant do this anymore, this is stupid!"
"FINE!"
"FINE THEN!"

Sabhyata Timsina