While falling is to human, in love must be to humanity; and in silence–a rare occurrence. So pardon me when I confess that last weekend I fell for two men at first sight. Just like that. As you would imagine, it was overwhelming. But nothing I couldn’t handle, particularly because I fall a lot. I once fell on the stairs leading up to my office lobby, and a stranger walking in picked me up. Then he recognized me from Twitter. Now tell me that wasn’t a classic case of literally falling at first sight. Only this time, the one who fell hardly used their sight appropriately. Another time, after a rainy night I fell on the muddy terrain that used to be Mutindwa market’s ragged path. But those are embarrassing moments. So it’s with pleasure that I am sharing my love stories: sandwiches, pajamas, music, and most recently Downton Abbey have occupied my heart, to large extents.
But Yaaay! Finally, here is a non-slippery situation: two adorable men. One was quite small, the other; more of my size–big. The combi was father and son, the latter seemingly three years of age. His eyes were beautiful, his smile even the more. His tongue was cute, sticking out probably in oblivion but fused in careless mountains and valleys, that were his incessant giggles and chuckles. He was staring at me, and so was his dad. I was staring back at the little one, with my side eye through my shades, while pretending to be reading my magazine. But an entire feature later, I hadn’t comprehended anything. Maybe it was because reading Intelligent Life by The Economist is no mean feat. Not only for the intellectually challenged but for the masses in general. Or maybe it was the men around me who clouded my senses. And if it was them, why so? I didn’t have time to check out the bigger man. He was too close and it would have come off as rude. But overall, I appreciated the connection we had. It was so strong I didn’t have to check him out after all.
One and a half man, sitting next to a stranger, side to side in a noisy matatu driven like we were on the road to hell. But we were just heading to town. It felt though like the two were headed to a more joyous destination–a bright future, a great friendship and a lasting bond. It’s how the two were playing silly dad-son games, and sharing glances like (you-say-hi-to-her-first), and all that while, I was in adoration of them, just wondering what their names were. Because I had my shades on, I didn’t think they would have really known anything about me, but I was wrong. Right when we got to town, Mr. Fly Dad told little man, “Why don’t you say hi to her?” I lowered my guard–shades to be precise and the little one only stared at my eyes like I was a mysterious roller coaster running fast and wild. Maybe I am. So I asked the dad, “What’s his name?” Abdul, he said. Maybe I should have told them mine, but who really cared after the lovely brief and silent moment we had shared?
That experience made me think a lot on the issue of communication. How many times do we care to do it in silence? If it isn’t through social media, it’s via other media still, mostly outlets for outbursts as compared to verbal communication or even better, what the heart was made for other than pumping blood– just feeling. It’s common sense that silence is no communication. But it’s rather nonsensical to ignore that it’s also a form of communication, just that in it; a lot of signs are often misread and therefore misunderstood. However, I just discovered that little forms of communication come close to MUS (Mutually Understood Silence).
I know that Abdul’s dad wished me well, and that he knows I did the same for him. As for Abdul, he was probably checking out my boobs jonesing for milk and there I was getting all emotional about him. On the real though, I appreciated those two gentlemen. Wherever they are, God bless them. I felt the energy around them and it fed me some good vibes. Moral of this post– I am learning to appreciate the power of silence. Now somebody get me a hot miming man without a child already damnit