In my little wooden room in the Amazon, I will sometimes spend hours under the cracks of light that sift through the wooden boards, and watch as my three lives begin to make sense. The Hindi, the Spanish, the English. Maybe you can take a minute, to lay there with me.
In the Amaden, District 20 (Tena)
11:49 pm, and the crickets are chirping.
Once again the dreams at night take me back to America as though in remembrance, though last night it was of leaving, of escaping to here, in my dream. But here I am. Real, alive.
Kirin and Sienna, in the house like a modern apartment, with an airstrip right outside the house. Not bad. The people there are desolate and chill like they’ve got a house and space to play- they saunter across the turf of their little “Airport”. I’ve never seen a plane.
Kirin calls someone and the minutes are drained from her phone. I don’t know what I did wrong. My legs are so itchy they burn, I scratch despite the fact that I can no longer feel. I go on.
I like knowing myself. It’s hard, when lost.
You made me, You have made me, You make something of me; Making me from all the things that consist of my day. And starry cricket rain-tap nights. That is my faith.
A mixture of the Hindi, Spanish, and English. Thanks for my multifaceted self. And the ability to make sense of all the intertwined dimensions.
With Ideas. They are every where and they leave traces in the daily way we live our lives. They do breed opinions, but they themselves are only models, framework twistable and bendable for the formation of beliefs. Even so they fade away with time, make perfectly to fit the moment, not made to fit the shape of every instance, cast in iron, glued to ice. I like it. They sound like me.
These moments are not what I will recount of my story in Ecuador. But they are the driving force that cause me to rise to the everyday adventure I have here.
