clinging to the wreckage

Beautiful Boston turns blue as our dreams of winter come true. The temperature is perfect for long walks through the city and last Sunday I went out to the institute of contemporary arts for a brief exploration of the new exhibits before heading for lunch and beers at Chart House on the harbour. The waiter was so excited in trying to show me photos of Obama’s daughter on her recent visit to the restaurant that he knocked my beer over. Amazingly, when he replaced it, he only replaced it with a little bit more than was left in the glass. Very unamerican. My date was from China but a long-term resident in the USA and we discuss each other’s fascinating and vastly differing cultures. The Asian culture is dramatically more gentle and patient than our British and American ways. Things seem almost too slow and yet when I am with westerners I often find them too fast, too aggressive. A few nights later we misbehave in the meeting room in my apartment building and sh

There are many memories of wonderful moments from this trip but the ones that stand out the most are those that I spent with you. I came searching for you on the third floor of the building where you used to sit and could not find you. When I messaged and told you that I was looking for you, you asked where I was and within moments appeared beside me… fresh and lively and looking so happy and beautiful as always. Happy in your uniquely gentle and subtle way. We walked to the kitchen and you poured a glass of water, I purchased a bottle (later, you sent me a photo of plastic waste to make me feel guilty, so typical of you). You sat before me and the energy was electric as it always seems to be. Your French accent, the way you pout your lips as you speak, your blue skirt and white and blue striped top, your elegance and grace, your intelligence and concern for humanity and the environment, all crush me as I stand before you, hopeless, consumed by your presence.

A wall of cloud fades away to another one as we bump through a puncture wound in the sky towards a lower altitude. The Boston skyline stretches out below and awaits our entry, its arms open in welcoming embrace.             I think of the one I love, a progressive, liberal, feminist. I think of the way that she does not walk around screaming ‘fuck life’ but rather saying ‘what can I learn today and how can I use this to improve the world, build community, and benefit mankind?’ She has a wonderful worldview. She tells me that this is the way of all female scientists, but I do not think so.             Yet, here I sit, chatting to various people around the world… a two-hour conversation with a friend in Madrid has just ended. I sip some wine and wonder why everyone is so afraid of doing nothing. The online world depicts us climbing mountains and snowboarding down them before we kayak along a river after which we run home in our shiny new shoes so that we can get ready for brunch an

In our imperfections lies our beauty. It is our imperfections that make us unique and alluring… this is the case with every human being I find attractive and it is the case with the forms of music and literature that I love. Animals too. There is a cat who often waits around in my garden around the time that I get home from work. This cat only has three legs and yet walks with perfect balance and grace. He is cross-eyed and his eyes appear to have cataracts of some kind, yet they are beautiful and understanding. When I step out of my car he runs to me and allows me to run my hand down his back once, just once, then he makes a noise and walks away. He is an amazing example of endurance and survival. He has had a tough life and yet he just peacefully lingers upon the grass next to the flowers and awaits a little bit of love or attention or joy… he is just like us… but better than some.

These streets are cold, wet and grey. There is no sunshine, there is no you. The shuttle hurtles along, carrying us like commodities to a death site. There is no sleep, there is no rest, there is no you. Everyone is serious and stern and competition is the order of the day but there simply is no need… and there is no you. Our sex rings out in the night and we kiss to sleep but upon waking you inform me that you are still searching for Mr. Right for he is not me. When we are together you kiss my fingers, my arms, my neck, my eyes, you play with my hair, you hold my hand and tickle my arms but tonight you say that it doesn’t feel right. There is music, there is literature, there is work and there are friends but there is no you.

We’d woken up and sat around drinking coffee and doing nothing for hours. The weather was dreadful but I suggested we go for a walk. I gave her one of my woolly hats and she looked wonderfully beautiful with it on. We walked hand in hand, partly to steady each other, as the pavements were covered in ice. It was raining and I kept slipping, she didn’t slip at all (better balance?). Never the less, we continued to walk. It was insanity and it was wonderfully romantic. We reached Davis Square Station and she went home to see her cat whilst I went home to shower and spend some time alone. Later that night we met for dinner in an American diner and after a few beers and a cocktail, we bought some wine and went back to her apartment. She said that she wanted me to meet her cat… and I wanted to meet her cat… but, more so, I wanted to spend time with her. The apartment was relatively small but very pleasant with beautiful views of the surrounding streets and the Cambridge

And that morning I finally found the courage to say hello and, in the absence of the ability to speak on a crowded shuttle, hand her a card that explained my intrigue and asked her to message me if she had any interest in going for a drink. A couple of torturously nervous hours later I received a message saying that she’d love to go for a drink. We met and have been inseparable ever since. It has only been a few days but they have been a few remarkable days and each time I see her walking around her house or mine I can’t help but smile in disbelief that this is the lady I admired for so many cold mornings at that unwelcoming station as we waited for the bus. Today she flies to Canada to be with her family for Christmas and I am in Boston with my punk rock records and books and there is a tremendous sense of peace and contentment. Once more I feel grateful for the life I have been fortunate enough to live and for the opportunities I have had, particularly in the last four to five years.