Below is the text of an email I sent to a
dear friend recently, anonymised and posted here because it belongs in the same
space as whatever the other posts represent - a structure of longing.
Dear [Friend 1]
I have been meaning to write this email for
months. I’ve told you about it more than once; I’ve told myself many times
more. I could not bring myself to do it till now. Sometimes because things got
in the way, and others because it felt like a difficult thing to get started
with. But today I started reading “The Book of Chameleons”. There is an email
in the book which talks mostly about how much the author hates emails. He
complains that starting something with “Hi” deprives us of the chance for
elaborate greetings and goodbyes; the entire length of his email is shorter
than salutations between two dear friends in real life. You know what it
reminded me of? Our goodbyes outside your flat in Leiden. Can you imagine the
state of your inbox if they had to be put down as emails? There is so much I
miss of what I can – without qualification – call the happiest days of my life
so far. The walkable city, the cozy cinemas, the absence of cow dung (and cows)
on the street. But most of all, I miss having so many loved ones living within
reach for the best part of a year.
You know that scene in The Office when Andy
wishes there was a way to tell you were in the good old days while you were
still living them? I knew I was in the good old days. I knew I would look back
on it exactly as I do now. The last time I sent an email – the one addressed to
all the mooties – I gave it the character of a goodbye because I knew the good
old days were ending. [Friend 2] spends a lot of her time yearning for that
brief moment of belongingness Leiden gave her. I get that so much. I despised
my undergraduate course, I despise my life now. But during the LLM, I had just
a glimpse of how good life can be, how you can be surrounded by love and
affection in a way that does not feel suffocating. I went into the Netherlands
never having cooked a meal in my life; less than a year later, I hosted friends
on Eid (twice!). Just last week, postcards from [Friend 3] and [Friend 2] arrived
from [Place 1] and [Place 2] to my village in Kerala. I don’t think a postcard
will ever have taken those routes before. Having friends is one of life’s
greatest blessings; having friends all over the world is truly indescribable.
I sometimes think about the fact that
little trinkets I’ve given you are sitting in [Place 3] – a city I’ve never
been to. Tomorrow I will wear to work a shirt that [Friend 4] and her mother
picked out for me in [Place 4]. If someone remarks on the shirt, I can say “Oh
thank you it’s from [Place 4]”. I cannot describe what it means to me, sitting
here in the capital of misery. There is this beautiful Italian movie called
‘Cinema Paradiso’. It is set in a small Italian town. In trying to inspire a
little kid to make the most of himself by leaving that little town, one of the
main characters says “Don’t fall prey to nostalgia, leave here and never look
back.” I don’t think I can follow his advice. I keep looking back: to Leiden,
to being a student, to feeling happy and like I belonged. I know these are
emotions I will feel again; they have to be. But when I do find a place and
people, I know what they will have to measure up against, and I have a feeling
they will come up short.
I don’t know what an email version of an
awkward and abrupt ending is, but I am ending this by saying we will see each
other again before we know it.
With love
Mishal
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