I’ve missed watching you sleep
So peaceful,
So quite.
I’ve missed watching you sleep,
Even though it is actually on a screen,
Miles and miles away from me.
On a slow Monday, after work,
You’d take a nap and recalibrate.
It’s night time where I am,
It’s not fair but when your days is just starting,
My day is about to end.
I’ve missed watching you sleep,
On a couch far, far away.

Been an expat all my adult life,
It wouldn't be shocking to say that
I never knew where my home is.

There is the home of my family, my childhood memories,
There is the home I built around a job,
In a country far away from where I opened my eyes to this world.
Yet something was missing in both,
Not knowing what, 
Till we met for the first time, at Dulles.

That was the first time we saw each other in flesh.
You hugged me so hard, 
And held my hand,
Never to let go.
And I realized you were my home,
For the name you have, Ev, meaning "home" where I come from.

What do I remember?
I remember the way you look, 
When you are in deep sleep.
The way your lower lip falls down,
And your breath is even.
I remember when you are so focused on your game,
You won't even notice I'm watching you,
Closely.
I remember the sun beam falling onto the cat.
And how you adore her playing with
That grocery bag on the floor.

What do I remember?
I remember giving up on love,
For good,
After so many heartaches.
Then… out of the blue, I remember my heart
Beating again.
Maybe, this time. Maybe?
I remember seeing you for the first time,
At Dulles, on a warm May day.
Hugging me for life, bringing me to life.

What do I remember?
I remember you.
Me.
Smiling at each other.
And the thousands of miles is now just a number.

You loose someone,
A father, a child, a wife,
You grieve.
You lose  something dear to you,
A cat, friendship of a good pal, passion of a lover,
You grieve.
Then you lose something material,
"An earthly possesion",
A pen, a pendant, a job,
And you go on with your life,
Or you try to.
Not acknowledging what that loss means.
How it defined you, say, where you worked,
How you spent 8 hours of your waking hours.
A job is no longer the means to pay bills  for you,
It is now who you are.
Someone asks,
"So, what you do?"
Your immediate answer would be your job,
Your occupation.
That thing which you define yourself with.
So why we don't take it as what it is,
A relationship, a defining matter,
And take time to properly grief when it ends?
Bukowski once said,
Find what you love,
And let it **** you.
I dare say,
Find what how you define yourself,
And let it die, wither away,
Once it is time.

You know the first few questions one asks, when they meet someone new:
What do you do? Where are you from? Where do you live?
Then they eye your clothes, how do you dress up.
They give a verdict based on what they hear, what they see.
That's who you are.

I don't have an answer for these anymore.
I gave up on my previous identities.
Left my job 2 weeks ago.
A job that gave me a certain identity for 8 years; a brand name, a comfort zone.
Left my clothes behind, donated or gave some to friends.
Clothes that defined me; my hippie skirts, my tweed professor jacket.
And finally, leaving the country I lived for 8 years.
In just 2 days.

Who am I now?
I am ME.
More than ever.

Have a tendency to overthink,
to worry about things not in my control.
Things can go right and left,
lives can be turned upside down,
in one instance.
One reckless move at the highway,
one silly mistake to take the dodgy shortcut at midnight,
one naive moment to trust another human being.
Then thinking about the "what if" scenarios a million times,
over and over.

Have a tendency for details,
the nitty gritty, the tiny things no one cares about.
Things that won't matter in a year's time,
all will be the same,
in the long term.
Then the over-thinker meets the detail oriented,
and asks,
But what if?

Nomadic life is what I know.
As early as age 9, I lived the life of a nomad.
Changed schools 4 times,
then dorm life at the college,
and flew over to the other side of the Atlantic for the grad school,
which kicked off my official expat life, lasted till this day.

"Home" has been a concept I questioned a lot.
A lot.
Home is where the heart is, they say.
True maybe, but what about the logistics side of things?
Which address to give to the tax office,
if you don't know where you might be in the next 3 months?
Or who will be your emergency contact,
when continents separate you from all the familiar faces?

Nomadic life is what I know.
Pack light, travel far.
The only thing I need in my carry over,
is the faces and places that changed me,
and gave me the gift of a nomadic life.

I saw you at the airport,

For the first time in flesh and blood.

You were looking towards the luggage belt, eyes searching for me.

Approached you from behind, playfully, and called your name.

You turned back, eyes wide open, had that lovely surprised look I adore,

And hugged me, hugged me for life…

We held hands, then and there,

And never let go.

————————

You gave me a set of spare keys to your place, space in your closet, space in your heart.

I looked into your eyes, and you gasped, blinked bashfully.

I watched you while you were distracted by daily things;

Washing the dishes, making a cocktail, reading the menu…

And when you looked up and your eyes met mine,

You’d gasp with eyes wide open, as if I caught you off guard,

“Oh, hello there!” you’d say then, joyfully…

————————

You bit your lip, my heart skips a beat.

Trembled, I felt you in every inch of my body, in my blood.

Our bodies became interlocked, every time we touched and hushed.

————————

The warm mouth breaths,

The drip of your sweat, the cold sore on my lip…

The precious moments we squeezed into a course of 10 days!

2 months and 10 days, it appears