Here are some of my first memories put together.
One of my first memories is being a four year old in Pakistan when I came with my parents to visit our relatives. There were some qawwalis on a bus singing “damma damm mustt qalandar” but what I was actually singing was “damma damm bus conductor”, thinking the song was about the buses! My language was a bit mixed up, though we spoke Punjabi at home, I grew up in England speaking English with my friends.
Another one of my first memories is a memory of being sick. Me and my brother wanted to make some nice bubbles out of mouth when we speak, so we would surprise our friends. So we ate some soap in the bathroom. I remember the worried look on the face of my mother, and as she mixed something pink in a glass of water, so I could drink it and throw up.
I also remember my tricycle. I was happy riding it around empty parking lot in circles. It was autumn so I enjoyed going over fallen leaves, leaving the tracks. I went around over and over, until everything was covered in circle traces, so it looked like a plate with spaghetti.
Aziz
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There are people like me, who just want to walk away and never look back. To forget everything. To become nothing but an individual in the here and the now. A person without a past. A person with nothing to bring them down, except for the absence of that past and the questions left by it. “Who am I?” “Where did I come from?” “Why am I here?”
And then there are people like her that are just that- a past. A memory. Something someone like me would spend years trying to forget.
I remember the first time I met her. The first time I was lost in those damn blue eyes. It was on the city bus one fall afternoon. I was on my way out of town, looking forward to starting my new life.
“Is this seat taken?” She asked politely in her sweet, young voice. Four words that would forever change me. I didn’t argue as I caught her scent. Every now and then I think I catch it on the breeze, and it still makes me light headed.
We rode that damn bus around the city for the rest of the day, until it ended at the station. We’d get to my stop and I’d ask “Are you getting off?”
“No,” she’d smile and reply.
“Neither am I.”
We’d hit it off immediately. We held hands as I walked her home. We were falling in love. Continue reading ‘Buses and One Night Stands’
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