my romantic tryst with cancer

I'm not sure where "home" really is any more.  I miss Toronto, and my life there, but on this trip back, like all the other trips I've taken over the past decade, I've slipped right back into where I left off when I left Mumbai all those years ago.  My friends are still my friends, my family as familial- everyone is just a little bit older, and some of them have procreated another generation to survive ours. I wonder sometimes whether I have a few more moves left in me...

This week's been different, promising... through calls, messages and memories, I've been reminded of how many people- family and friends I love all over the world. We've reminisced, giggled, talked, typed... These are relationship that have weathered time, and I hope they always will. We are but the lives we touch over the short span of history that we walk this world. I've always been amazed by the bonds and friendships my parents have built all over the world over their lives. I realise that my own are no less genuine and meaningful. "It's getting better, growing stronger". My friend Jane says there's a song for everything. I couldn't agree more as I hummed the lyrics I just added above, but I'll up that. There's a poem for everything too, often duly bastardised by yours truly... The words that come to mind, again, after I first read them in 1995 in Delft, as I steep in this lovely, present warmth... "and in passing leave beh

It's one of those days when I've stumbled willingly into the sea that is my life. I swear I didn't see that memory as I tripped on it. I swim in the encompassing warmth, needing neither air nor light. I'm glad I learned how to sink wilfully at an early age. I am struck by the infinitely long, glowing tendril that waves in the ocean of my existence. Salty, murky waters, and yet its sinews shine resolutely. Each filament of its ethereal body is more precious than a full hand of flesh chanced on a butcher's block. That strand was born of an innocence devoid of armour or pretence. I call that love. We talked, we felt, we believed in possibility. The fragile shoot was conceived in a moment of honesty and chance, where everything seemed possible and nothing was enough. That it has survived silence and separation is proof that it had more meaning than I knew it to be capable of. I call that love. I wonder how deep it runs... This chasm of secret ocean is mine.