Aug 20
Kuwait hasn’t been a place where “best” memories of my life were by any means, but it was where family and church had its seeds planted. I had a difficult time here, from the war through to my education, but I identify it, as it fashioned a lot for who I am. Its one of those bitter sweet places for me. From forsaken geographical sands to the relentless heat from the white sky, it isn’t much to look at or write poems about. So in essence what impacts one are the events and social conflicts that cast the most impressions. Family is great to come to, for someone living on their own most of the time the one visit with them can spoil you with home cooked meals and chats. However there are oft several challenges when one comes back to their family. There is the element where it’s not black and white but a million shades of grey. Topics that are better left unsaid than worked through or argued through despite the abundant love shared.
Yesterday evening after the run earlier my foot was giving me a few problems; it seemed to me like I either tore a ligament of strained it. So, this morning I decided to ignore that and went for a run with triathlon trained Lowell. About 250 meters into what I thought was the chariots of fire with the music of motivation in the background...my foot yelled at me. I looked at the sorry extremities of my right side frustrated that it could almost dictate this will to run. I stopped. Walk?..Eww Walking to me is almost a shameful exercise that looks like a discounted way to burn calories and looks hilarious on someone going fast; well I tried and settled on stopping and just stretching etc. The darn foot made its point. I went home and slept.
Lowell and my visit to Kuwait in all likeliness is going to be the last, as my parents are leaving within the next year. Visiting places with significance to a personal history was on my itinerary in Kuwait. This evening my mom and dad took me to the apartment building where we resided (88-96) that had an immense history. My objective was to be able to convince the present renters for a visit into the apartment, to reflect and look out the windows whose gun shatter was once feared.
Why here?.. It was here; where certain events that few know about, happened at the back alleyway of the building on a dark evening. It was here; where we saw a ship being torpedoed in 1988(Iraq-Iran) standing by the window overlooking the Persian Gulf. It was here; where we ducked with pillows around our ears when the bombs fell in 1990.
We parked the jeep on the ground from across the building and made our way to it. The surrounding smells and sights were nostalgic. Though the environs have developed, it still seemed like it was stuck in the past. My dad went over and talked to the Arab watchman and he remembered my dad. He was here all these years. I was filling Lowell in about so much as we were walking around, I think I was talking ahead of what I was thinking. We then made our way to the apartment on the 3rd floor and I was with hope we could swing a trip into it, and that the people in it would believe that we just wanted to visit. A middle-aged woman opened the door with her little daughter holding on to her dress. We explained and I walked in and there was a rush of thoughts and emotions that hit me as we walked in. I noticed much of the details cracking and faded. I remembered in visualization, sitting on the couch as the soldiers walked into the apartment in a group checking as they piled their guns on beside me. I walked over to the window and explained to Lowell how things were etc. We thanked them after looking around a few minutes and went downstairs.
Downstairs I walked with Lowell around to the back of the building where we took some pictures. It was a little hard for me there.
Overall it was very good for me to come here. I am thankful on how I have been blessed. Its peculiar, but what is just a building can have significance. It’s like when someone visits a place of times past and they imagine that history in their head, whether it is a medieval dungeon or… in this case a place once called home.
No comments:
Post a Comment