-------My unforgettable experience of true love-------
This is a fond tale of rather an odd couple. Me and her.
Act 1, Scene 1.
So it all starts with me desperately waiting for a cab with a very drunk friend, hoping that I get back to my room without having to undergo the torture of registering a late entry. And in that frame of time, I discovered what “The Pursuit of Happiness” actually meant.
While my very drunk friend went on yapping about some non-sense that neither I, nor her long lost conscience could quite understand; a teeny tiny girl with long pretty pigtails, came to us with an eager face and an extended arm. She was no more than 8 and had quite this innocence that words fall short to describe. So my very dear friend, in her state, did the most drunk yet beautiful thing ever. She pulled this very calm yet bubbly girl (in her own way), aside and told her very firmly, “You are too smart to be begging around.” And then she went on to tell the girl that how amazing she was and of how much she deserved and every other clichéd dialogue that women empowerment had sprung about. And this entire time, she kept smiling and listening intently to this very confusing adult yap on and on. I saw a beautiful spark of friendship arise between the two and felt grateful enough to have witnessed something so mundane and yet so pure. And her smile, believe me, was the most beautiful smile I had ever seen.
Act 2, Scene 1.
The next time we met her, was not just a second meeting. It was reunion on its own.
She felt like family.
This time, neither was my friend drunk nor was I waiting for the cab to steal us away from this sweet acquaintance that I had made by chance. My friend went up to chat with her, to ask her how she was doing and so on. The girl was a little ball of sunshine with so so much to share. She asked us how we were and what we were up to and what we liked to do. She talked about her home and school and everything that she had longed to share with her new friends, since that last meeting. She also brought along her pupper friend to impress us. But this time, it wasn’t the same as before.
This time I witnessed the spark of kinship arise.
There was no boundary between us. We were the same and equal. At that time, in that moment, nothing mattered. We were play dates with no care for the world but to just make best of that moment with each other. It didn’t matter that she was 8 and we were 18. It didn’t matter that she made a living off the streets. It didn’t matter that we didn’t quite know each other’s stories and circumstances. Nothing could unwind this pure relationship that had come to existence.
And then came the moment I dreaded of most. We had to leave.
In my own disappointment of leaving her, and the excitement of having met her, I did the most ridiculous thing ever. I put forward my hand, in the hope of a fist pump, without giving a second thought to the fact that a “fist pump” would obviously be an alien concept to her.
And then, it happened. Surpassing every other reaction possible, she came forward and landed a peck on my fist. She kissed my fist and left me speechless right there. I felt the highest honor that I could be bestowed upon, the utmost respect I could ever get and the most loved I ever could be. All from a girl whose name I didn’t know.
This is a fond tale of rather an odd couple. Me and her.
Act 1, Scene 1.
So it all starts with me desperately waiting for a cab with a very drunk friend, hoping that I get back to my room without having to undergo the torture of registering a late entry. And in that frame of time, I discovered what “The Pursuit of Happiness” actually meant.
While my very drunk friend went on yapping about some non-sense that neither I, nor her long lost conscience could quite understand; a teeny tiny girl with long pretty pigtails, came to us with an eager face and an extended arm. She was no more than 8 and had quite this innocence that words fall short to describe. So my very dear friend, in her state, did the most drunk yet beautiful thing ever. She pulled this very calm yet bubbly girl (in her own way), aside and told her very firmly, “You are too smart to be begging around.” And then she went on to tell the girl that how amazing she was and of how much she deserved and every other clichéd dialogue that women empowerment had sprung about. And this entire time, she kept smiling and listening intently to this very confusing adult yap on and on. I saw a beautiful spark of friendship arise between the two and felt grateful enough to have witnessed something so mundane and yet so pure. And her smile, believe me, was the most beautiful smile I had ever seen.
Act 2, Scene 1.
The next time we met her, was not just a second meeting. It was reunion on its own.
She felt like family.
This time, neither was my friend drunk nor was I waiting for the cab to steal us away from this sweet acquaintance that I had made by chance. My friend went up to chat with her, to ask her how she was doing and so on. The girl was a little ball of sunshine with so so much to share. She asked us how we were and what we were up to and what we liked to do. She talked about her home and school and everything that she had longed to share with her new friends, since that last meeting. She also brought along her pupper friend to impress us. But this time, it wasn’t the same as before.
This time I witnessed the spark of kinship arise.
There was no boundary between us. We were the same and equal. At that time, in that moment, nothing mattered. We were play dates with no care for the world but to just make best of that moment with each other. It didn’t matter that she was 8 and we were 18. It didn’t matter that she made a living off the streets. It didn’t matter that we didn’t quite know each other’s stories and circumstances. Nothing could unwind this pure relationship that had come to existence.
And then came the moment I dreaded of most. We had to leave.
In my own disappointment of leaving her, and the excitement of having met her, I did the most ridiculous thing ever. I put forward my hand, in the hope of a fist pump, without giving a second thought to the fact that a “fist pump” would obviously be an alien concept to her.
And then, it happened. Surpassing every other reaction possible, she came forward and landed a peck on my fist. She kissed my fist and left me speechless right there. I felt the highest honor that I could be bestowed upon, the utmost respect I could ever get and the most loved I ever could be. All from a girl whose name I didn’t know.
