Again I am here, on the hilltop overlooking the monastery. My companion has left me, to explore on his own.
The occasional cawing, the shrill yell of the monks far below in the distance, the prayer flags fluttering, slowly at first and then fast….all add to the serenity of this seemingly lonely place. Atop this hill there is no respite from the wind. There is only a continuous flow of energy.
The cool breeze flows across my hair, softly caressing it. I can feel my earrings dangling in the cool shade of the boulder, beside where I am sitting. A strong gust nearly pulls away my scarf, but I hold it tighter. I have nothing else to hold on to.
I lose myself in this quiet surrounding, save for the fluttering. I don’t want to go back home.
Home! It’s an understatement. Home is supposed to be a place of love and care. But who would love me? I feel I am the most misunderstood one in the family. Family? If only I could call this family a family.
So every Sunday, when he calls me, I go. I lie to my Aunt that I am going to discuss project-work with my classmates. My uncle doesn’t even care. He isn’t home most of the time. I think my nephew knows but I know things about him that he doesn’t want me to tell his father, so I am good there.
So Sundays, I am free. I don’t think of my home, my school, and my pretentious mates. I think I am a different person. I don’t share details of my home with him but I think he knows. But he doesn’t mention it.
And I do love this surprising day-trips he arranges. A hike, a drive, a picnic. How I wish to be treated like this forever. But I know the truth. He says he isn’t married, but I have seen his wife and two kids in town. I pretend to not know. I don’t know!
That’s why when it rains on Sundays, I hate God. I hate the world. I hate you all.
A face peers at me through my dreamy state.
“Are you dozing off?” I am brought back from my reverie.
“Nope”. I pat the ground beside me. He sits down, and I lean against his cheek. He wraps his arms around me.
I love Sundays....
|[Overlooking Gaytsa valley, 2015]|