Ships passing in the night

It’s the end of October and the winter months have come
I take my father’s hand as we walk towards the city public library
Its stature transforms me into the little child I already am, as I get lost in the myriad books to see and smell and read.
“I will read all the stories of the world someday”
I finish eating noodles from the street vendor we usually frequent, and I am tired.
The night is getting cold and my brain is too young to understand why certain days of the week are more fun than the others, or what school is; I want to sleep.
As my father drives the Fiat home, I am already asleep on my mother’s lap.
 
I wake up as my mother is packing my blue-yellow lunch box.
Its 7:30 am as the local radio channel announces and I am tying my school tie, not caring whether the knot is fat or slim.
Something about misty mornings, “The moment” played on speakers until assembly starts and an almost empty school seems hauntingly beautiful to me.
My friend tells me how he saw a witch in the woods behind the church and how she lures children in.
In the lunch recess we go and play there.
The school bell has rung and we are singing a hymn for the end of the school day.
On Saturdays, I am already missing my alma mater and her other children.
 
I wake up tired every morning and realize I am already rushing in traffic for a class I do not care to attend.
There’s hustle for every minor activity and I am welding a SAE 1030 rod for a suspension we designed.
At the end of the day, the clock says 2 A.M. and I still cannot sleep.
I wake up and four years have gone by.
 
It’s the end of October and the winter months have come.
The night is getting cold but I am too busy to notice.
There’s a book lying on my table that was bookmarked on page 42, two weeks ago.
I pick it up and keep it aside as I try to find my meeting notes while in a company call.
My food is cold and I take few bites every now and then.
My brain is too exhausted to understand why all days in the week feel stressful.
There is no bell to signal the end of the day and prayers have been lost to time.
On some days, I am still missing my Alma mater and her other children.
I am tired and I want to sleep.

 

Ships passing in the night,

seem so close, masses in sight.

We grew up sailors of our own plights

and ended up keepers of the lighthouse light.