Drifting
It’s a sunny Saturday morning, which means that at 10am the heat belts off the tarmac, and the breeze coming in through the open car window is less cool and refreshing, than like using an industrial hairdryer during a heat-wave.
The sky seems to be getting wider and deeper with every day. Mornings start fresh and clean, the sky wiped free of blemish. Gradually, small wispy clouds start to form, and by early evening, thunderheads crowd over the city.
It’s still early though, and the sky is clear and filled with sun. Despite the heat it is a beautiful morning. I’m driving in my borrowed car, through this city that I love, the stereo cranked up with Cyndi Lauper warbling Time after Time, and I’m feeling desperately nostalgic for something I can’t put my finger on. Is it possible to feel nostalgic for the moment you are in?
Something high up catches my eye, and I see two planes, white flecks in the sky, close together. It is a glider, still attached to its host. I stop at the lights, and watch as the plane releases the glider and slowly, slowly they draw apart. The glider turns its long wings and heads away, and soon I can see nothing but blue. I wonder what it must be like to be up there in that vastness, looking down, past the ring of mountains and seeing the land laid out beneath you, in total silence.
For a second, I feel as if I’m out of the world, up there with them. Then the lights turn green again, and I’m shaken back down to earth by the sound of car horns. I have prickly tears in the back of my throat, but I don’t know why.
I drive on into the crowded, sweaty, blaring city, and try in vain to find a parking space in the shade.
November 13th, 2006 at 10:35 am
I get that feeling so much. So often I feel like I’m watching some either extremely happy or extremely sad film. Like I’m close to tears so much of the time.
And suddenly something can provoke a strong emotional reaction. I’m not sure what causes it really. Sheer wonderment sometimes. Incredible, happiness, I mean hapiness that I never though I would be capable of that I am here, doing this (and not doing that dull stuff that was killing me before).
Also the humbling thing. Being humbled by these people here in Vietnam but also by the situation I am. And just how lucky I am - both in the context of having so much, but also to have so much and to be here.
Some of that Preparing for Change stuff is true too - leave your family and friends behind and you emotional support is gone too - which is why you have the severe reactions to things.
In short though, I think it’s just a consequence of a better life. You’re no longer cacooned in the UK. You experience things more strongly. You’re emotions follow.
The downs are well worth the highs. It’s all good.
November 13th, 2006 at 11:29 am
Nostalgia for moments you’re in? Oh yes. They’re almost the saddest, because you know you can’t hang on - it’s there -pouf! - it’s gone. And you know it’s always going to be like that.
November 13th, 2006 at 1:35 pm
Omih - I think you’re right. It’s a mixture of all those things. The strange thing was, I felt neither happy nor sad, just in a strange limbo land in between the two. It was a gorgeous feeling; it just felt as if everything was as it was supposed to be.
Granny p - yep. Too fleeting. But I can still remember how I felt seeing the two aeroplanes - like time stood still.
November 13th, 2006 at 3:46 pm
Time After Time does it for me, I think its is one of those extraordinary songs which will live forever. Have you heard Cassandra Wilson’s version? Miles David also did it brilliantly (as an instrumental) on one of his recent albums and Cassandra did a tribute to Miles called ‘Travelling Miles’ - brilliant! Recently I was trying to tell someone about this and couldn’t say ‘Time After Time’ aloud else I’d be in tears. You tell me…
Download it from http://www.hrybowicz.com/downloads/time-after-time.mp3
November 13th, 2006 at 7:19 pm
To me, it’s not like watching a film - it’s like being in one. I get it very, very often. And you’ve described it perfectly.
As for Time After Time, it’s between Christmas 1984 and New Year 1985, I’m back sitting in a white Nissan Micra, all alone in the middle of a vast and empty car park on the outskirts of the Essex town I lived in then, the driver’s door open, smoking a cigarette, listening to the year’s Top 40 on Radio One, wondering why it didn’t work out, wondering what she is doing, whether she’s listening to this too, whether she too is crying silently to herself…
November 14th, 2006 at 4:05 am
Strange about that song. Not remotely the kind of music I normally listen to but I love it. I’ve downloaded it here and it regularly plays on my Ipod.
Beautiful stuff.
Oh and here’s a download hint. It’s a song that has been haunting me for the last six months and because I keep playing it, it will always remind me of Vietnam.
It’s called “New Slang” and it’s by “The Shins”. Awesome and though the words are unintelligible and largely non sensical, you’ll never get the tune out of your head.
November 14th, 2006 at 8:35 am
How funny that that song does that to everyone!
And OMIH - that Shins song is one of my all time favourites. It never fails to cheer me up. It will always remind me of Namibia, strangely!
November 14th, 2006 at 8:48 am
Waterhot - I know what you mean about being in a film. It’s as if the music on the stereo is the soundtrack. It’s eerie isn’t it? And I can imagine Time after Time is not the ideal song to listen to after a break up - it tugs at already fragile heart strings.