A sliver from my mind
In my mind I can see almost every one of the photos I lost. All those memories that were invested in that goddamned cursed 1gig memory card. I should never have bought it. I tried to intervene- "Oh, I'll buy more memory this time"; Fate didn't approve; my camera was stolen.
Right now I can see a specific image, one magical moment in time; the kind of memory that is a standard to which other moments, memories, and travels are held to. Kelli and I had arrived in Cholula that morning at 7am. After a day filled with joyful reunions, market wanderings, reminiscing, and a general sense of contentment, by 6pm or so we found ourselves behind Carlos' old apartment complex. The sun was beginning to drift toward the horizon; the sky was a pleasant orangey-red hue that made everything seem much more picturesque and time-transcending.
Carlos and Rodrigo were passing a joint around, and we sat with our backs pressed up against the white wall of the apartment complex and just watched. We watched the sky, the open field, the sun, each other. Spanish wafted around in the air. At that moment I felt indescribably content. At home. Peaceful beyond comprehension. Rooted. I remember my mind was still spasming from seeing Carlos after so long. I spent a lot of time watching him, smiling, unable to STOP smiling. Letting his words melt into me, letting my surroundings melt into me, until I was positive the memory would never disappear.
The thing about Carlos is he's theatrical, sexy, tantalizing, and amusing; all in very subtle, non-specific ways. He's just such a character. But i should mention at the moment I was still reeling from his sexiness; sexiness, i might add, that was not exaggerated by the passage of time and the glorification of memory. And then Carlos let out one of those exhales- you know, the kind so sexy it's sinful NOT to capture it on film- against the backdrop of the sky. The picture would have spoken, had it not been stealthily ripped from my life (along with the camera). In the background was Kelli gazing into the evening. Rodrigo was nearby, leaning down to fidget with tiny speakers that were our lame attempt to set up a party in a field behind some apartments. After that picture was taken, more moments unfolded that were unable to be captured by film. Carlos offered my his sunglasses. "Look at the world through these, it will change your life." I put them on and looked around. He was right. Everything doubled in interest and complexity through those fucking sunglasses. We spent a lot of time gazing at the world around us, rediscovering everything. The pot also helped.
The best part about this memory is that its totally unremarkable. It could have been any day during my time in Mexico- I've certainly experienced better nights, better parties, better trips. Something about the emotion I felt that day- I've never felt anything like it in my life before. Like having a fantasy actually redeem itself in real life. It was a sort of strange justification to my memories and travels- yes, things really are this good all the time when I travel, I didn't just luck out. These moments will continue to happen. Wherever I go.
Right now I can see a specific image, one magical moment in time; the kind of memory that is a standard to which other moments, memories, and travels are held to. Kelli and I had arrived in Cholula that morning at 7am. After a day filled with joyful reunions, market wanderings, reminiscing, and a general sense of contentment, by 6pm or so we found ourselves behind Carlos' old apartment complex. The sun was beginning to drift toward the horizon; the sky was a pleasant orangey-red hue that made everything seem much more picturesque and time-transcending.
Carlos and Rodrigo were passing a joint around, and we sat with our backs pressed up against the white wall of the apartment complex and just watched. We watched the sky, the open field, the sun, each other. Spanish wafted around in the air. At that moment I felt indescribably content. At home. Peaceful beyond comprehension. Rooted. I remember my mind was still spasming from seeing Carlos after so long. I spent a lot of time watching him, smiling, unable to STOP smiling. Letting his words melt into me, letting my surroundings melt into me, until I was positive the memory would never disappear.
The thing about Carlos is he's theatrical, sexy, tantalizing, and amusing; all in very subtle, non-specific ways. He's just such a character. But i should mention at the moment I was still reeling from his sexiness; sexiness, i might add, that was not exaggerated by the passage of time and the glorification of memory. And then Carlos let out one of those exhales- you know, the kind so sexy it's sinful NOT to capture it on film- against the backdrop of the sky. The picture would have spoken, had it not been stealthily ripped from my life (along with the camera). In the background was Kelli gazing into the evening. Rodrigo was nearby, leaning down to fidget with tiny speakers that were our lame attempt to set up a party in a field behind some apartments. After that picture was taken, more moments unfolded that were unable to be captured by film. Carlos offered my his sunglasses. "Look at the world through these, it will change your life." I put them on and looked around. He was right. Everything doubled in interest and complexity through those fucking sunglasses. We spent a lot of time gazing at the world around us, rediscovering everything. The pot also helped.
The best part about this memory is that its totally unremarkable. It could have been any day during my time in Mexico- I've certainly experienced better nights, better parties, better trips. Something about the emotion I felt that day- I've never felt anything like it in my life before. Like having a fantasy actually redeem itself in real life. It was a sort of strange justification to my memories and travels- yes, things really are this good all the time when I travel, I didn't just luck out. These moments will continue to happen. Wherever I go.