I look down from window of my plane and see the flat crystaline sea stretch out below. The sea takes a different quality the further you get from it. Standing by the water you can each ripple rise and and fall. Each bubble in the swell of foam. You can cusp the water and let it run through your fingers - you can affect it. But the higher you get, all these things just blend together. All of it becomes 'the sea', an opaque indivisible, unmoving object.
I'm on my way to Providence, Rhode Island. More specifically, I'm stopping by a place where I spent probably some of the worst years of my life. I was a mess in college, I really was. I run my hands through my hair. I shaved all of it off in my sophomore year during one of the darker moments. It was long now, long enough to attract ballet dancers I guess.
It's in those moments that you know who your real friends are. That summer just before freshman and sophomore year, I walked around our drug-den of a summer sublet in just my undwear. Umar watched from his room (his doorway didn't have a door just like his bedframe didn't have a bed) with calm dispassion. I stomped around like an overgrown child, sweating in the summer heat. It was then I started smoking cigarettes. Umar took to eating raw sugar instead. He calls it 'The Summer of Hate' - we laugh on it now.
After college I went to London then to Tromsoe so in some ways I'm sort of going back in time. Three years ago I left the US. It was always going to be a gamble and I guess I saw it through and got alot more than what I wagered. Umar never left and I feel like a feel like a falcon who had been sent out to circle the distance and report back. It's beautiful out there, I would say to him - you have to come.