Dita Parker

Friday, March 20, 2009

Here comes the Sun

It dawned on me, just in perfect timing with the Equinox, that the Universe has a unique sense of balance, and a quaint sense of humor.

I had been detained again after my Great Escape, and it's always a downer, so help me, it is, the cold light and the cool air of the North after all the warmth and the colors of the South. I was tempted to wallow in some serious subcontinental homesick blues, my head and heart about to burst from all the beauty and the experiences I had breathed in.

I had to exhale, to get it all down, or as much of it as was sensible, usable and memorable, including the far from Kodak moments. Especially those. But what about the things that defy language and explanation? Those are often the things that would best describe what you miss and love most about a place. Those also happen to be the parts that get lost in translation, the things that would die with you if you were the last known representative of culture X, since you could not satisfactorily capture the meaning and true essence of something.

Still, I was about to get to it; try and do the seemingly impossible and breathe life into things without names, as writers tend to in their pathology. It makes for horrible convoluted senseless ramblings. It makes for fresh ways of looking at things, observations many have felt to be true somehow but haven't been able to voice or put down in writing. I can only hope that as time and talent progresses, I will do more of the latter than the former.

Ready to explode as I was, I came back wishing I had more time to write. Boys and girls, it is true what they say about being careful what you wish for: the Lord Marshal of employment made it so. But, drum roll...I had gotten my first literary callback, if you can call it that. I just did. Homesickness healed in record time, my stinky stinging pride was soothed. One more moment defying description; I am beyond elated. Like Jenny and her folk singing career in Forrest Gump, I'm the proverbial penniless poet, even if I can't write verse to save my life. (Threaten my kids and I'll get iambic on you.)

Truly, believe me when I say that no matter what the outcome on this one is, the encouragement and boost I got will more than make up for the disappointment I may be heading towards. Until then, BICHOK it is.

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