Like
every day, this evening too as I sat prior to giving form to few inchoate thoughts
that crowd the cranium, I spent a few moments ruminating. The few vacant
moments before the inception of the mental activity of mothering words and
sentences on a black sheet of virtual paper, prove particularly efficacious for
me. It gives me a chance to concentrate and connect with that little voice in
the head that often chirrups away and then often is balefully silent. about
something. Especially after an enervating day when the exhausted body-mind
craves for a communiqué with a pillow over a few dreamless hours, I find it extremely
difficult to establish contact with the meta-voice. On such days, I often find
myself haunted by thoughts of a creative block, or wonder if I am inflicted by
some malicious ailment that would prevent me from writing any further. But all intimidations
vanish when that little voice in the head start talking once again to self.
Today it has been more than busy thinking aloud and reiterating to self the
fond memories of my stay in the USA.
For
nearly six years after I got married I lived in the USA. It was in that country
that I grew up, learned how to take care of self and family, learned how to
cook, clean and keep a house. Moreover, it was in the vacant hours at home in
the country that I realized the joy of reading and composing write-ups. I
believe in many ways the country has matured me and made me the woman I am
today. Over the fun and the frolic of experimenting with chores and
housekeeping, over the trips we took to different states, over the experiences
gathered and the people met, I fell in love with the country. It is often said
that you cannot love another country the way you love your own, that your patriotism
is limited to the land that bore you in its womb; nevertheless, on the five 4th
of Julys’ I spent in USA, I found myself singing the patriotic paean to the
country the same way like my neighbor. We know that the idea of nation is a
fictional contract, that in reality boundaries that separate countries are
illegible pencil marks on paper removed with an eraser, and I felt that the
bouts of patriotic love for the country I experienced satisfied my doubt that
you are capable of loving two countries, two motherlands.
I
remember those long days when I would sit at the library at Vanderbilt University
and read my fiction books and dream about getting back to school myself.
Certain circumstances prevented me from attending school in USA; but my love
for academics, my stern promise to self that come what may I will get back to
school and finish my degree was begotten in that country. I often tell to
myself that I did need the hiatus of a few years in my academic career to
realize how fabulously cool studying for a subject you love is. Now that I am
doing exactly that, despite all the difficulties I experience in life, I feel
fantastic.
I
know the idea of American dream is perhaps more relevant in bygone novels
penned by creative writers than in real life. Nevertheless, to me, USA, my fond
pied-à-terre will always be the land that taught me to dream, to persevere in
the pursuit of that dream and prove all negative voices wrong by catching the
blinking dreamy star in your gowpen.
I
see the picture of the Statue of Liberty, the tall, ventripotent lady standing
with one upraised arm holding the torch of enlightenment pointed in the
direction of the firmament and feel what a beautiful it was seeing her only a
month before we left the country. As I stood on the deck of the boat that took me
near to lady liberty, I felt my eyes cloud with unseen dreams, unheard
ambitions that I now spend my time chasing. It was a beautiful experience
seeing her and the rest of the beautiful places in USA; and when I won’t say my
stay in the US was totally devoid of negative experiences, I surely prefer to disregard those dregs and concentrate on the delicious mouthfuls I enjoyed
during my stay in that country.
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