half past nomad

Everybody suffers from a lack of writing, a writers block that bothers them to no end, a cork, a cramp, a crookedness, a crunch in their simple munch.

Fortunately, I’m not suffering from a writers block. Rather, it is an overwhelming of topics, the many many juicy stories that I could bite into, each one yielding an aftertaste that you would adore and come back to.

I could tell you about that boy I see at the mosque everyday, the most beautiful Bangladeshi child I’ve ever seen in my life. I could tell you about the date orchard that neighbors me; the dates are specially grown only for the rulers of this country. I could tell you about me learning to drive a stick shift in my mom’s french Peugeot. I could tell you about my amazing neighbor who drags my mom to events where she is the only non-arab. I could tell you about visiting my old highschool and facing locations I didn’t think I would ever see again. I could tell you about eating arab/lebonaese food and finally feeling at home in Asia again. I could tell you about a beach so beautiful and architecture so graceful that it blends into a desert khaki.
And I could also tell you about how all brown folks here are considered not just 2nd citizens but quite possibly 3rd class citizens, with different laws for me and different laws for you.
Afterall, all animals are equal but some are more equal then others.

My point is, I could tell you many stories, I’m a good storyteller. I’m just quiet because of you, for you.

Because I read what you guys write and I pause and I silently appreciate it. Because I try to understand your point of view and see how it clicks into my life. Because everytime I sit down to write, I think of you, and you, and you and I wonder how on earth am I supposed to write anything meaningful when all I can think of is your writing.

And I’ve kept it all inside, a thousand entries that mentally type themselves up in my head each day, hoping to be published, a dedicated author that hits up his publisher every single day in blind blind undying hope. Every day in Pakistan, every day on the road, every day here.
Anyways.

It’ll speak when it needs to speak.

This entry was posted on Saturday, June 5th, 2004 at 4:01 am and is filed under General Lee.