last dance
Nathaniel came home last night - an event so rare the rest of us were susceptible to just sort of standing in his presence, taking it in - to say farewell to me. I leave today. It's not something I'm especially excited about.
But Nathaniel came home, and I gave him his Christmas present, a front and back set of bike lights. They're wee little ones, more so the biker can be seen rather than see, and the one for the front is a white light, while the back glows red. Like the best sorts of lights, these have a flicker setting, so they flash on and off instead of shining steadily (the better to see you by, my dear). Well, "flicker" is an awful lot like "strobe", and my brother works in a nightclub, so it wasn't long before we turned out the lights in my room and had a mini-rave. (To this song, if you were curious. It's a good one.)
Mum walked by, and stopped in my doorway. The music was quite loud, and her children were hopping around and waving their arms in time, while white and red lights pulsed against the ceiling. She lifted one brow, and then the other. "What are you doing?" she asked.
"Partying," Nathaniel replied. "Woooooooooooo!"
...
I stayed home long enough this time to remember all of the reasons why I like being here, but not long enough (or maybe, too long) to feel excited about leaving again.
By Saturday morning local time -- Friday night, EST -- I'll be back in Kurdistan, living in the same city, the same house, with largely the same team. There are some comforts in continuity, and I am grateful that, at least this time around, much of what I see day to day will be somewhat familiar.
I want to thank all of you out there for your continued readership, too. Knowing that I am writing for an audience, and not just sounding out against an empty sky, can be a powerful thing, especially on those days when I feel particularly homesick. So, thanks everyone.
But Nathaniel came home, and I gave him his Christmas present, a front and back set of bike lights. They're wee little ones, more so the biker can be seen rather than see, and the one for the front is a white light, while the back glows red. Like the best sorts of lights, these have a flicker setting, so they flash on and off instead of shining steadily (the better to see you by, my dear). Well, "flicker" is an awful lot like "strobe", and my brother works in a nightclub, so it wasn't long before we turned out the lights in my room and had a mini-rave. (To this song, if you were curious. It's a good one.)
Mum walked by, and stopped in my doorway. The music was quite loud, and her children were hopping around and waving their arms in time, while white and red lights pulsed against the ceiling. She lifted one brow, and then the other. "What are you doing?" she asked.
"Partying," Nathaniel replied. "Woooooooooooo!"
...
I stayed home long enough this time to remember all of the reasons why I like being here, but not long enough (or maybe, too long) to feel excited about leaving again.
By Saturday morning local time -- Friday night, EST -- I'll be back in Kurdistan, living in the same city, the same house, with largely the same team. There are some comforts in continuity, and I am grateful that, at least this time around, much of what I see day to day will be somewhat familiar.
I want to thank all of you out there for your continued readership, too. Knowing that I am writing for an audience, and not just sounding out against an empty sky, can be a powerful thing, especially on those days when I feel particularly homesick. So, thanks everyone.