Memory is a capricious thing. I've lost count of the times I've said that, and I just can't stop myself from pronouncing it once more. It's only been 5 months since I came back, but Nicaragua feels so far away from me, it's a goddamn lie that when you miss someone or something, they'll feel closer. Well, they don't, they only appear distant and of another time, something that exist only in the yellowed pictures that you have between your feeble fingers trembling with age and nostalgia, saddened by the thought that you might not see them again nor can you step on the familiar soil.
Time makes it appear unreal even though you have every physical items to prove its existence in time. It just slipped away from your fingers without notice. Well, you were aware of it all the time, but it escaped anyway. You thought photos, music, movies, all sorts of papers and stuff were going to do the trick and save those days. They don't. They don't deliver, but only serve as means to access your memory - which is capricious - and you knew that, nevertheless you still don't give up.
You think about the first time you saw her - beautiful dark face, large round earrings and lovely eyes; the empty street of Granada at sleep - the thought of this triggers you to open the map and retrace the streets you'd walked with her, the bars and her room; you think about Waslala, the chaotic scene, and the little girl sitting next to you peeking at you through her mother's arms, giggling when you caught her sneaking a look at you, and her saying goodbye with her smiling eyes; you think about your mate yelling "I hate China!" to the homeless kids wandering the streets of Managua on the back of a pickup truck... You think about a million things that's long gone.
And goddamnit, these thoughts forced you to crawl out of your bed, turn on the light and sit in front of your computer to write these down at 3 o'clock in the morning. You'd always thought that nostalgia hits only when you're unhappy, what you never expected was that it strikes as well when you're in good spirits. Mood doesn't seem to play a crucial role in revoking the past. Fuck, it's overwhelming, I need to lie down and see if it'll go away so I don't keep wandering in the days gone by thinking about them and wondering about their fate.
Time makes it appear unreal even though you have every physical items to prove its existence in time. It just slipped away from your fingers without notice. Well, you were aware of it all the time, but it escaped anyway. You thought photos, music, movies, all sorts of papers and stuff were going to do the trick and save those days. They don't. They don't deliver, but only serve as means to access your memory - which is capricious - and you knew that, nevertheless you still don't give up.
You think about the first time you saw her - beautiful dark face, large round earrings and lovely eyes; the empty street of Granada at sleep - the thought of this triggers you to open the map and retrace the streets you'd walked with her, the bars and her room; you think about Waslala, the chaotic scene, and the little girl sitting next to you peeking at you through her mother's arms, giggling when you caught her sneaking a look at you, and her saying goodbye with her smiling eyes; you think about your mate yelling "I hate China!" to the homeless kids wandering the streets of Managua on the back of a pickup truck... You think about a million things that's long gone.
And goddamnit, these thoughts forced you to crawl out of your bed, turn on the light and sit in front of your computer to write these down at 3 o'clock in the morning. You'd always thought that nostalgia hits only when you're unhappy, what you never expected was that it strikes as well when you're in good spirits. Mood doesn't seem to play a crucial role in revoking the past. Fuck, it's overwhelming, I need to lie down and see if it'll go away so I don't keep wandering in the days gone by thinking about them and wondering about their fate.
