If you CAN fly! where and why?

Dear Rawan,

Ah, Memories pleasant things they are, or at least this is how they are precieved, like old love stories, remebering them draws a content smile on ur face and a feeling of the " good old days" before u return to the usually harsh realistic present, for me however there aren't any, i don't know why, i squeeze my memory trying reach out for the happy old times but in vain, im thinking the reason is i was never attached to childhood periods and their innocence perhaps more than asserting that i was an unhappy child.

Dont worry, my reply has to do with memories, just not mine, the strange thing is that they gave me that feeling u had when remembering your old school and the attached play yard. I cant claim that they are true or perfect, they were incidents that took place in the life of a close and dear friend and were passed on to me by him , the purpose of telling them was passing time while we were waiting for.......

Anyway i don't know what was so special about those memories, at first they seem and sound like every other story u hear, life , love, pain, and memories too but every time they crossed my head , they gave me the feeling i had when reading altayib salihs book " Season of immigration to the north" that the book and those memories were put down on paper to tell my history , my story, and somehow the story of my parents and their parents before them, his story and strangely the story of everyone in Sudan. Whenever his memories crossed my memory i found my self forcibly but with pleasure and fear sitting in a dark huge theater, i couldn't see other people in the audience it was too dark, but i could hear them crunch their popcorn and it was annoying, it distracted me from concentrating on him and her up on the stage acting out his memories that he already told me more than a while ago, their talks (although he never told me their contents), their eye contact ( he was very brief when describing them) their walks and so on.

Finally my biggest wonder is, beside the feeling i finally experience of memories, why some or certain memories more than others? maybe it has to do the person who told them, or perhaps with the details of the memory itself, which i cannot disclose since they were passed on to me in confidence. I guess in the end im thankful for the experience. I flew, just in someone else's space.



Raga

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