Friday, 21 November 2008

Where the heart is.

"It don't matter to me
'Cos all I wanted to be
Is a million miles from here
Somewhere more familiar

Oh my god I can't believe it
I've never been this far away from home"

Catchy, non-whiny song. Positively boppy to be honest, always liked it, even now when its taken on an entirely new meaning. Post exam blues settled in after the initial euphoria of being free. People are heading back to where they belong for the summer. Normally home-sickness is a foreign concept, but nearly one and a half years since experiencing that uniquely Sri Lankan cocktail of humidity, sweat, dust, petrol fumes and don't even want to know what else forming a protective shield over my skin, I admit it. There is a painful longing stubbornly refusing to go away.

All depends on what 'home' is, really. For me it is where my friends are. That unbeatable feeling of being able to let it all go - no need to smile if you don't feel like it, no need to be entertaining, or look good or say the right things. To have company without needing to say anything. Hugs. Belonging where I am just because I am me. People for whom love is unconditional, forgiving and log fire warm.   

Tonight, at this specific moment in time, I am emotionally further away from Home than I have ever been in my admittedly short life. I'll get over it, at some point in the next hour quit wallowing and get a life, but right now my mind is overwhelmed by the wish that the next month or so will go by quickly so that I can Just. Go. Home. Please.

Friday, 7 November 2008

Strange fruit - Abel Meeropol

Southern trees bear strange fruit,
Blood on the leaves and blood at the root,
Black bodies swinging in the southern breeze,
Strange fruit hanging from the poplar trees.

Pastoral scene of the gallant south,
The bulging eyes and the twisted mouth,
Scent of magnolias, sweet and fresh,
Then the sudden smell of burning flesh.

Here is fruit for the crows to pluck,
For the rain to gather, for the wind to suck,
For the sun to rot, for the trees to drop,
Here is a strange and bitter crop.

------ Nina Simone sings a particularly hard hitting version