First it was mint, then watercress… then came the coriander. The mint
lost its glamour when I moved it to a new pot. It became shorter with smaller
leaves. In the corridor, I contemplated ‘watercress’, it had flat leaves
that seemed to spread well on the ground. The coriander was slim and yellowish,
but it happened that most of the time, I stopped to water it, it was looking
towards the sun.
Compared to the watercress, the coriander was not breaking spaces;
it seemed to be rather on its own, yearning for the sun. Worried about the
coriander, I found myself watering it more, touching its leaves.
Of the few things I have planted in England- mint, lilies, cactus-
I said to myself- it is the coriander that I have enjoyed the most.
I was not sure if such a ‘revelation’ had anything to do with me going
up that hill. I was looking a lot to the weeds, small bushes and inspecting the
grass. Was I looking for ‘a revelation’, something like a lost coin, a plant
‘that is the most beautiful of all’, an extraordinary precious stone? I still
don’t know what exactly I was doing there. I was listening to that song.
It was about two lovers who separated and became friends. It was
dark and bitter- let us say 70% cocoa. It was in my playlist; and when I
listened to it on the way to Bom Jesus, I could not let it go. Each time, I would
listen to a part of another song, get the mobile out of my pocket and select
the song again. But after a while, I submitted, I selected; ‘play current song
only’.
As I reached the top, where the church was, one thing I was curious
to know if I was the only person who was here alone; all around, there were friends
and a few couples. I got relief in seeing a man-his back to me- taking
photographs of the church. He would soon be joined by another man. I said I
would celebrate coming here alone. I left my backpack on a bench; and took a
photo of it, the caption in my mind read ‘at the highest point of Braga’. I
discovered a garden next to the church. In front of me a woman holding a broom,
and at a distance, there was a fountain that was not working. I was still
listening to the same song.
On my way back, it was the Beatles song (things changed, you know!)-
this song where a man is surrounded by a crowd, I woud
imagine a clown, blindfold, in a circle.
Had I said before that ‘I am weak in front of the tambourine’? As I
walked, ‘two-foot small’ would rhyme as ‘fruit’ (please, do not ask how); I
remembered plastic fruit that we used to have; women in belly
dancing suits were tapping their feet-with bangles- on the floor; making the sound
of the tambourine. I am sure, if I just carried on something would show up
eventually. ‘Excuse me, excuse me, I would like to go to Giza Square? Yeah the
Pyramids, making a triangle with my hands’. I crossed the road.
When I came back from the hostel, the
secretary knocked on my door and handed me the flowers and an envelope. I felt
like a man handed in a baby for the first time. I told her ‘I don’t think I
need a vase’. But she brought one. With a bashful smile, I stood beside the
window; my eyes fell upon the fence of the nursery opposite the hostel. ‘I
would like to talk to my mother now’. I remembered I cannot use my British
number. I dreamt if I can draw a path that would take me directly to the ramp
in our house- just to have a cup of tea with her, tell her that I got flowers for my birthday, and come back to work on my
presentation.
This was the first international
conference I would present at. It is (and stay away please) C.A.D.A.D. I had to do
well in it- build a path to the pyramids in our house in Portugal. I contemplated the flowers.
To skip forward, the conference would eventually
end, and I would leave the flowers behind (and was there a way that I could
carry them back or make them live longer?).
