Letting go

The soft wind teased her tresses to play with his face as they walked close to one another by the shore, their very own turquoise backyard. 'It still works!' he thought as he let her soft hair tickle his anger and bring a smile back to his minds eye. He glibly brought his little finger to hook in with hers and it was her turn. Facing him, she smiled with her eyes and that's all they needed to quench this burning fury into roars of laughter. Letting go had become that simple.

No, letting go was not simple. It needed practice. The wheels of identity often needed oiling from the rust of habit, ownership and personal propriety that they had learn to nurture all their single lives. Is there room for more? implored the heart but the monkey mind with all its memories of life's hurt, its lows and tugs did not want to give. Clouded in this smoke of illusion, to increase pleasure and avoid pain the mind lost any logic between what caused pain and what pleasure. Their loving heart could discern if only it could find a way to unshackle itself from the tyranny of a restless mind and an overpowering ego.

He took her hand into his with new and inspired courage and placed it at his heart. Willing the heart to choose once again. To give space for one more. Becoming one was not simple and yet it was not a task that could be worked upon. Love, yes, love was supreme and it could fill the ocean they stood there watching. But did this love also have courage, peace, kindness, compassion, individuality, strength all encompassed within it? What they knew was that their love was slowly learning to be this encompassing.

The messages from the world around didn't matter when they were standing here alone and together. But the messages of the world was within them nonetheless.'What would it be like to shed the armor of safety, my love? what am I afraid of?' She asked him without having to speak. As they stood there watching the sun dip into the ocean blue leaving a crimson sky and a soothing moon behind, he kissed her on her forehead sealing a promise of everlasting discoveries in this lap of love their shared.

An Open Letter to the City of New York

Aarathi Selvan
A three year Manhattan Resident
NY, NY 10027

March 11th, 2009

The "Greatest City in the world"
The City of New York
NY, NY

Dear New York City,

I have never once doubted that a city has a character of its own. You my dear, certainly have one and as i sit today wondering about my future, my musings are interrupted by my thoughts about you. You certainly know how to captivate your audience and turn us into wonder struck addicts. Your tall skyscrapers, your lady liberty, your Chrysler towers, your times square and of course the Empire State all of it makes heads turn and hearts skip a beat. When I sit in one of your theaters and watch yet another protagonist walk down the same avenue I did last night, I smile a wide mouthed smile and wonder what it is about you that enthralls so many to come see you at least once before they decide they love you or cant stand you another second. But that's not why I write. I am not an expert on locations, cross streets and such. My love for you is, for the most part, a result of the learning and experience you've inspired. So, what is your character? What do you inspire? Why you?

Truth be said, Ive seen too many people here, walking on the streets holding their tears unable to find ways around their lives. I've found myself in conversations with mothers on the bus, telling me stories about discrimination and their hard bought immigrant lives in the city. I've seen people walk by scraping shoulders against an other's not realizing they weren't ghosts in this vacuum that is your lap. I've been a part of masses of people succumbing into the quagmire that is beyond their bodies and into a world of mind chatter, to do lists, and profound materialism. With cursory catch-ups and floating hellos you can seem like a cold cold city to live in, especially in winters. The word on the street is that every other person who calls you home is an immigrant from another town, city, state, country or continent. You are a microcosm of the world, but a time-encapsulated one actually, for I hear how longings of the immigrant hearts calls out to worlds that have already passed.

You overwhelm the new, overwork those who have been here long. Your subways overcrowd with people and rodents alike! you hold life's irony atop your head and walk the tight rope of angst for us all. But all this is what makes you real, does is not?

I am wrung wide awake from my slumber each night, by the blaring ambulance speeding across your streets, making the knots in my stomach and the lock in my jaw the focus for the rest of my night. The early morning noises in your street add to the anxiety that is already my life. Quite consistently through this noise, you remind me to watch my body and these knots. Do I thank you or blame you? Did you cause this or are you helping me ease this tension? Both and neither, i'll bet. But that's what makes you real. You strip off our cocoons and make us look within, or at least attempt to. You suck us into this vortex of energy, impatience, restlessness, speed-walking and breathlessness. You pound our heads again and again to look within the depths of our hearts and within the paradise of central park, to find some balance. You bring spring and summers to slow us down and lay out chairs on patios and decks of restaurants that abound your ground. The plethora that is you, wont cease to exist and yet, you demand that we be sane in order to persist? Have you completely lost it? or have I?

New York, New York! will I miss you when I leave? A phase of life now completes and as I move I will surely reminisce. The noise, the paradise, the restless inadequacy and the filthy prosperity. Living alone,carving out a selfhood while at the same time making sure I don't fall off this trapeze, swinging between worlds-inward and outward. Yes, I will miss this, like I miss most things that pass. But there is a time for everything and now is my time to move on. As you've successfully taught, I desire to slow down and be the eye of the tornado than stay caught in your whirlpool and mine.

You are quiet? Yes, I get the message. You will carelessly move on without professing your love for me. You will take two more for one little me who leaves to learn more. That's what cities do, do they not? But now as another city beckons me to bring my fingerprint to its identity, I know you'll do the same for those who yearn to experience the tornado that is you. And of course as I leave I take a part of you that has become me forever and ever.

Thank you for your fabulousness.

Yours truly,
Aarathi Selvan