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i'm sitting sipping sahlab outdoors at a palestinian restaurant in upper west manhattan, just a little ways from the northwestern-most corner of central park. the fall sunlight lands softly upon my skin, covering it in a sheet of gold and breathing warmth into the otherwise cooler caresses of the wind that steals fluttering saffron-colored leaves from the trees. the sweetened milk is beautifully, lusciously thick and frothy, finished with a dusting of warm fragrant cinnamon and a spirally little cinnamon quill. i've finally found my daily drink, having semi-awkwardly darted around drinking coffee and tea for years when people want to catch up at a cafe for a chat. i'm careful not to waste any food, knowing how badly israel has starved children and families in gaza, how fraught the search for flour and ingredients is.
a three-week trip has become three months in nyc, as the magic of the city pulled me deeper and deeper. my life before and after nyc seems to have become unimaginable, unrecallable, unreconcilable—misted over by a fog i desperately don't want to ever lift.
but my return back to melbourne looms. two weeks away becomes a week away. a week becomes five days. i try to make myself remember to select a seat on the aircraft back home, getting the last window seat left. i try to make myself remember to respond to the messages from people back home.
a ritual that i started to help myself get through the toughest days of life has netted many flitting comments in nyc. draping myself in the brightest colours possible. vibrant electric lime, like a tennis ball, with a matching bow at the end of my braid. brilliant vermillion dresses and bright red skirts with crisp white shirts, flourishing crimson bows. magenta dresses and knee-high white boots. sunflower yellow, lavender lilac and lake-blue dresses with bows in the same hue. flowery pink lacy ballgowns & a headband of dried flowers in my hair.
i'm not gonna lie i was distracted by every possibility. everything that could blossom between me and another person. a compliment, whispered, shyly delivered with a courageous smile. a touch on my shoulder. ages. eyes that held mine, asking. everything that could happen between us flashes through me, swims up to my consciousness through dreams.
i remember lying in bed and trying to sort out all the men who had kindly given me compliments, ones who had expressed interest. and trying to figure out who i wanted to be with. except the man i fell in love with turned out not to be any of them...
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