Sentimentality Hour: Thoughts on leaving Edinburgh

These days, everyone I meet is a ticking bomb.
And to everyone I meet, I’m a ticking bomb.

There is an expiration date to be revealed with every new interaction that wishes to renew itself, and once the cat is out of the bag and running underneath the bed to hide from the constraints of reality, they always say:

“I thought we had more time together.”


We mutually agree on this regrettable truth. We both begin to bitch about the system of foreign affairs and visas and “why can’t we just live in a place with no passports and discrimination.” We toy around with the idea of a green-card marriage like so many tv shows are doing as of late, before dismissing it unconsciously when we promise each other “to visit”. For a single second I feel like a risky investment before I remember that friendship should be more intrinsic than that.


There are few people I could stay for.

To stay would be synonymous with falling in love, a “once-in-a-lifetime-opportunity”, or having a reason to justify why I should aimlessly float here rather than somewhere else. Sure, there are my friends…so many friends and lovers whose lives I want to watch flourish. Whose moods I want to help lift when they are drooping into the dark depths of circumstance when routines are crushed by spontaneity and anxiety. But love is not enough to convince the customs officer why I should be able to exceed the limits of my Tiers-4 that took months worth of queuing in awkward waiting rooms in nameless buildings and forgotten downtown districts. I think of those who ponder “wanderlust”, and all I can reply is that “Sometimes, the desire to travel has less to do with curiosity for the world and more to do with aimlessness, fear of commitment, and missing out. A fundamental lack of a sense of belonging and fervent need to fit somewhere.”


I’ve found a place. It’s here. I’ve found a person to sing harmonies with who makes me feel like the world is only a beautiful place, as long as the guitar strings keep ringing in the tunnel with great acoustics. I’ve come across groups of likeminded individuals who want to make shared ideas into reality. I’ve started to understand that definitions of soulmates and the nuances of attraction. How to look passively at another person who shares no blood but has the same passion that runs in very different kinds of veins, and letting that be the main fuel of unconditional affection. I’ve come alive in the span of these past 4 years time. I’m ready to let my roots dig themselves deeper into this Scottish soil that seems to grow nothing but Brussel Sprouts and potatoes, to play around with snow drops and burnt patches left by barbecue kits. I could buy a dog, or a plant, or a membership to the theatre, because these are milestones that signify: “I shall be here for a while.”


But now, the decision at this point is “to fight” or “embrace”. Do I tackle each day like it’s the last one of its kind I’ll be able to experience for a while, or live in denial until the last week I get to feel “not bothered” about walking 15 minutes and go out of my way to see a friend? Do I break unsaid promises forged by familial obligation? They have given me everything but an identity and a voice…They gave me the prompt and the resources but I have crafted my own story. It started here, and this very important chapter is coming to its climax, and that scares the hell out of me.



Pull the tops like cow udders
Frothy essences that fuel our lives
That can develop monsters inside
those with fragile minds.

This drunkenness reminds
How simple thinking can be;
Am I set free when I am at ease
only after three shots of vodka

Another gin and tonic
And my brain can freeze
So I can start talking to the moon
And the trees-

And I will find paradise on the wet streets
And I will forget about making ends meet.

I’ll make the moon my lover
Who cannot be beat,
And I’ll drink myself
Another few treats.

Better than flesh or meat.
From my hair to my feet
Rosy cheeks and the heat-
Doctor, give me the treatment.

I’ll drink myself to dreams
as a statement:
This is my happiness replacement.


Each window is like an open eye
That peers shyly onto the moon
Whose covered by a sheen of gloom
As she watches over the sky

And all the chimneys are also here
Which indicate a once warm hearth
That only have aesthetic worth
Who’ve yet, with time, to disappear

Pedestrians are just tiny ants
That slave to continue on their day
Their size and look does not display
The dreams and hopes that talking grants

And I, alone, stood on this roof
Observes the pass of natural night
Tries to configure what’s wrong or right
Without being too much aloof

I turn off the lights
And close my eyes
And try to convene with others

I lose the fights
And see sunrise
And think of all my lovers

Wishing that
Inside my dreams
Luna has also gazed at me

And that she watches over me
To put insecurity at ease.

This is the plight of an insomniac romantic-
Sleep deprived, emotionally frantic,

But I still feel rather fantastic
Despite all these existential antics.