It's 28th October, 2024. I have to remember that date.
As I am whooshing past banani, passing blue and green colours turned to neon, I let out a release of anguish and torment and frustration that has been sitting with me from the beginning of this year.
I am on my way home from favourite bookshop right now as I type out these fancy letters. A woman dressed in yellow and black, mirroring a honey bee is sitting on a bike with her hands to the handle thingy of the bike, the rider might be an uber driver.
Thud.
An old man with a grey beard and a check pink shirt hits the bag he is holding against the car. As I look out to investigate the sound, I find his whole family trying to get to the other side, on broad daylight, by just casually walking alongside a car in the highway.
People. Alas.
I miss my friend's 4 Persian cats. I want one, actually, no I want all. I miss my friend, I just wanted to visit a place that would feel somewhat like home far away from home.
So I went to a bookshop.
My favourite bookshop feels like a little fairy tale village in a heinous city such as this. It houses beautiful books and vibes. It has a cat. Oh man, I forgot to take a picture of Kajal. Yes, the cat's name is Kajal. I miss my friends 4 cats, did I tell you that?
I met up with the lovely, middle-aged, twice my age woman who runs the bookshop. Her name is Almina. She is beautiful. She has a bookshop full of eager readers, a cat and a corporate deal with North End. That's the life I want. A cat, a bookshop and few customers who knows what it is to have a relationship with books. And of course coffee.
Today, I bought 3 books - beartown by Frederik Backman, The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath and To the Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf.
I am holding books of three cultures - Swedish, American and British - in my hands and I feel like I've already lived a full life, I've already seen half the world, what more do I have to see? I bet the bookshop mocks me and sneers on, knowing perfectly well that I'll be back into its lovely, homey arms, scouring it's shelves to look for more delicacy in my already pan-asian books.
I had a long talk, around an hour and a half talk with Almina. She tells me she grew up in multiple places. She looks like the woman who has seen the world in all its glory. She says that she believes in Buddha, well I don't, but I like the fact that she feels comfortable enough to share her thoughts in this hypocritical culture that we call home.
I had a long talk about what books does to people and how there are good people in this world, all you have to do is turn the tables, be well read and a cheery, positive person.
It's October 28th, and Almina has inspired me. Dhaka doesn't seem like a suffocating place, once you find the people who owns the bookstores. She told me I can text her, I can reach out. How wonderful Is that? She told me she'd read my poems and help me filter out my problems. In turn, I told her what's been bothering me, I told her that I am suffocated with human notions and hypocrisy, and I feel lighter, better and a lot more in awe of people who actually know how to have a conversation. How to glow inspite of all.
I am always amazed by Victoria Wolf's style of writing.