Hahahaha.

I begin with a laugh, to make me feel strong and in charge.

Because this part of me has always been filed away.

When you read a book that’s so interesting but always made you cry,

Or a movie that didn’t make sense but just touched your core,

You file it away, all cleaned up and seemingly forgotten, but there nonetheless.

I once was asked what I will do when I see him, and I confidently answered-

I’ll take him out for lunch.

30 years after, and I’m not so confident.

I tried to recall memories that never existed.

A trip to the village. A walk to the stream. Standing by the drawer

And being raised high. Reality, memories, or wishful thinking?

Sitting across you in the banking hall,

Not saying a word, now that was most definitely reality.

I once asked myself what I will do if he comes on visiting day-

I’ll run in slow motion and hug him.

30 years later, and I’m not so sure.

I try to separate myself from this present reality.

I remove myself and stand apart, watching the past unfold.

The many searches for a name, an address, a street, a number.

Something, anything.

The trip. That trip to explain me, who I was and where I came from.

For I myself did not know, and it seemed I was not, because he was not.

So how could I have convinced another, when myself I could not convince?

30 years or so, and I still do not know.

Then today, I got a ripple, a little drop of something.

What it is I cannot say, for though near, it still moves ever far away.

And my heart skipped, stopped for a bit, and then raced wildly.

Was it for fear or fury, hope or dismay?

The joy I imagined was nowhere traced

And in its place was emptiness, a void, quietness, a desire to weep

To mourn and ask for a final cleansing, a settlement.

30 years, or more or a wee bit less but still counting…

And I hear he is alive, and just an airfare away!