The Here and Now

Zahid and I go back. Way back. In fact, he was one of the first people I spoke to upon my arrival in Tucson. We traded stories and perspectives of this new place as seen through our Asian eyes.
Now three years later, we sit on my couch and look at our lives here in retrospect. We laugh at the good times we had, and remember the not-so-good. A close friend whom we shared those late-night walks to Blockbuster with lost a brother. A few more grew exceedingly depressed and returned to their respective cities and countries from which they came. We find ourselves alone once more.
Talking to Zahid makes me miss home. The transient life of a college student means that close friends don't often last longer than the four, five years one spends in college. People move on, and we are left holding on to the sifting sands of change.
It comes at an ironic time as I was contemplating starting a life here in Tucson. The hectic pace back in Singapore often seems so overwhelming, and comes at so great a cost. Families suffer because people are expected to work late everyday. Life flies by as we submit ourselves to the heartbeat of the city. We find ourselves at the end of our lives grasping on to sands of a different colour, but it slips through our fingers nonetheless.
As I swing from end to end on the geographical pendulum, I see the need to create a home, rather than looking for one already made. Though it affects our lives to a great degree, the "where" is not as important as the "how". I know that I want to live a life that loves, and I often harbour dreams of opening my house (it's a big house in my mind's eye) to the homeless, the poor and the single mothers.
I fear inertia most of all, for even though I conserve energy by standing still, life charges on tirelessly to its earthly end.

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