“All photographs are memento mori. To take a photograph is to participate in another person’s (or thing’s) mortality, vulnerability, mutability. Precisely by slicing out this moment and freezing it, all photographs testify to time’s relentless melt.”
― Susan Sontag (On Photography)
Static, stoic sunlight was streaming through the vast emptiness around and wreaking havoc in the endless Sahara. Wearing burning blisters like a raincoat, the traveler was running clueless in search of a drop of water in the barren land. But the cup was full of sand.
That eighteen hour long journey chocked me like death! Billions of nightmarish thoughts have been creeping across my heart for the last eighteen hours! Pursuing higher education in an alien country where I have NOBODY was an ignorant, douche-like decision. (Didn’t listen to Mom as I was adult enough to make all the horrible decisions I want).
Free and fierce as a nomad on the Sahara. Careless like a yogi who has chosen exile in the Himalayas. Like a banned bandit wondering in the Andes. Vigorous as the swirling sun in a Van Gogh painting. – That’s how I feel when I cross the line and enter the sanctuary where the universe is regained and aligned, free from frail & feeble beings, where every particle preaches LOVE.
[justify]It was august 29th and we had a trip offered by Boro Mama to Whistler together with Baba and my two cousins, Zahur and Sameen. Unfortunately my mom couldn’t manage to join us because she had to go to work; but she made some sandwitches for our lunch.