APRIL 22 — It is always a pleasure. To write.
A week past the Tamil New Year, and I have only Mittens to talk to at this hour (It is half past one in the morning).
I had what they refer to as an evening of personal reminiscing. These things just happen, they do not announce themselves. And it was unsurprisingly bittersweet.
Around 9pm, my late mom would call me to see if I had a meal. She wouldn’t if I told her before leaving that I was dining outside. But if I did not, she’d call.
No one has called me for two years to ask me if I have had a meal. I have a lot of people calling me to see if I want to share a meal or that I am late for an appointment where meals are involved.
But no one has called me to just make sure I do eat, or will do so after. Two years.
She would just get up, no matter how sick to put something together if I just said I am coming home to eat. 7pm, 12am, no difference.
Just my thoughts on a long Thursday night.