jentacular
“The challenge of wonder is to tolerate uncertainty. If you do not relax into uncertainty, wonder may start to seem like insecurity.”
Cats Tears and Purple Hibiscus.
Yesterday I woke to the sound of birds. Small-boned and blunt-beaked. They sit on the roof next door and hop along the wooden railing. There is no fear in them at such heights.
I stayed in bed with cold feet and curled up like a semicolon alongside him. I like to place my ear near his mouth to hear him breathe.
Breath is the portal into a person's dreams. The heavier the exhale, the deeper he goes into another world. I want to be with him in all the worlds he explores. I know this is not possible.
I presented him with fourteen new words. The quicker he learns English, the better we can convey how we feel to each other. This is what I thought five months ago. He was mostly mute and reassured me with his hands. Today he laughs more and says that the ants are lounging when he discovers them on his chest. He lets them crawl in his sweater as he reads on the couch. I pick them up and flush them down the toilet.
I have far less patience for idle time when I'm not lavishing myself.
He prepared oats for breakfast while I wrote a few bad poems I'm not going to put anywhere. While he layered apples and dates into the porridge, I sipped my espresso slowly and read about paraverbal communication, the pronouncement of tone, pitch, and pace when speaking.
I speak too fast for him, sometimes, and he says yes too quickly in response. Our conversations can become a cascade of YES and laughter before he stops and says, babe- what do you mean?
Nothing resplendent rebounds from a No, and so I speak slower and enunciate so he can connect the line from each word through the sentence. Like stringing beads on a necklace, you will know what the effect of the piece is once it's done. The gems stand magnificently on their own, or not, though when strung together, a new form is born.
He and I are so utterly opposed sometimes I think it's a miracle when we finally connect. I can tell in his eyes when we are really sitting with each other.
His eyes are coffee brown, and his lashes are long and curl back to touch his face. Even when somber, his eyes are always smiling into me.
He has his mother's eyes. I say this, never having met his mom. I once saw her on a video call when I was in Brazil and she was with him in their home. We said YES a lot and laughed.
He gives me Arabic words that I need to write down to retain. I feel rude and a bit entitled, though learning a new language is not my focus at the moment.
There are different names for nouns in Arabic, whereas, in English, the words are the same. For example, the word 'raw' to describe meat differs from 'raw' used to describe vegetables. The uncle and aunts on the mother's side have different names from those on the father's family.
To clear up confusion, supposedly.
Expats keep telling me English is easy, one of the easiest languages to learn, which is why it's so widely spread.
It's colonialism at its finest, though I don't discuss politics with people I've just met.
Unless I've had a bit of wine, then the Steph I stuff in the closet comes out and argues with people. Candidly, never with malice. I like her.
After breakfast, I went for a walk and recorded a few voice memos to send to friends. I sat in a garden where six cats blinked tears as they opened their eyes for the first time.
What a thing to experience: the sun.
I sat with two on my lap and stroked their small backs. I rubbed the spot between their eyes and under their chins. Small granular pellets that looked too hard for their small mouths. A woman was with them and had set out foot on the pavement. The woman carried a bundle of hibiscus flowers in her apron and kept one hand at her dress as she laid out the meal for the kittens. She nodded at me when I arrived and didn't look in my direction again.
When I rose to leave, she came over to me too quickly. I was startled and moved backward and she grabbed my wrist.
Alhamdulillah, she whispered, taking a strand of purple flowers from her nest. She pressed the flowers in my palm. Alhamdulillah.
As I walked home, it started to rain and I ran in my converse under a striped awning where men sat in circles around ceramic ashtrays. The rain came down hard and fast. The flowers shook from the thunder and my feet and legs became soaked. One man gestured for me to sit, and I shook my head.
I stood and watched as women held their flimsy scarves up to their faces and tucked up their dresses to run home. The cats from the corner, a fat black tabby and two skinny grey felines arrived and wound themselves tight to my legs.
The patter of rainfall on the windows and the clatter of dishes at the tables soothed me. Rain has a cozy sensation, despite being so cold and wet. It was a comfort to stand there with people I didn't know and the stray cats calling for attention. I couldn't understand the discourse and the cats were probably filthy. I didn't care.
As the storm ripened, I heard thunder rolling in the distance. Can thunder lounge? Lounging, perhaps, he would say. It sounded slow at that moment from where I was standing. Not acute or threatening. Though I took my leave after the third announcement.
I energetically kissed the cats before I shifted into the rain. They left me once I entered the wet. Alone, I ran home, taking great leaps over puddles, clasping my purse at my chest.
I arrived breathless with my hair stuck to my face, the hibiscus crushed in my damp palm. When I released the stalk, the purple petals fell in a ring at my feet.
Simone, I am filling my days with all sorts of languid nonsense. I spent the afternoon reading Eva Luna while he studied. We made a tajine with zucchini, carrots, and potatoes and spent an hour soaking it up with the heavy bread I liked from the French bakery. We walked to the beach and watched the sunset beside the fisherman and a spotted cat who leaped from rock to rock with the rhythm of the waves. It was avoiding the wet though it seemed to prefer the stone closest to the waterline.
Once the sun had disappeared into the water, we walked home as the light faded in the sky. We arrived in the dark and made love in the shadows. I lit one candle and its flame flickered back and forth to the rhythm of my hips.
He put the pasta on the stove while I showered. I sauteed red pepper, kale, onion, and tofu while he rinsed. I had used all the hot water, so his bath was much shorter than mine. We ate in silence and then went to bed.
I am not used to such simplicity, Simone.
Photo source.
