Wednesday, August 13, 2008

Vodka and Stripes


I find myself beginning to catch a rhythm here. After 6 weeks the word 'Dissonance' is starting to loose some of it's punch. As I look in the mirror at my frailties as an immigrant, I find my strengths as a person being reflected back at me through the friends I've met here who are also living abroad. The weaknesses feel fleeting, less consuming and a sturdiness holds itself better to my disposition.

This weekend may have been a turning point. Kind of like when you start a puzzle and you finally have just enough pieces laid down to recognize what you're building. These few random answers that made their way to me were not to be found in books, or the ink of my leaky pen. It was not in the wise words of a friend or in the triumph of a goal achieved. Instead it was found amidst one too many vodka drinks, a striped mask, empathetic laughter, and in the unjudging eyes of one close friend.


Friday, against my urge to keep working and studying, we accepted a friend's invitation to go out, and for one night we just let go. I drank in life, both distilled with age and colored with sentient voices. At the top of an iron spiral stair case, in a home I've never been, I was given vodka drinks mixed with traveled lemon twists of ambient life. And later on, under the red and blue lights of a sugar coated bar, I found my voice and my words dancing still into the raspy early morning hours.

I walked home slightly skewed, but there was a boldness in my boots that's been asleep in my shadow for some time now. I don't know if it's awake, but I at least know it's waking up.

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