on nostalgia

Yesterday, a long over-due phone call with a friend led me to spend the the night flitting down memory lane; it doesn't take much to lead me down the path of nostalgia.

We once traveled together, she and I, but these days she's been adventuring on her own, and I wanted to hear all about her trip to Zanzibar last month. Much has changes since my own visit--a family vacation seven years ago (of which the twenty-six hour bus ride from Uganda to Tanzania was just the beginning), yet Zanzibar remains at the top of my list of favorite places. 

I remember the calls the prayer over loud speakers at sunrise and sundown; the balanced blend of Arabic, Tanzanian and Indian cultures; the taste of salt in the air just after a rain. I remember consuming grilled fish at the pier and drinking sugar cane juice in the heat of high noon; the coolness of the market in morning; the dense heat of the jungle in the afternoon.

Reflecting on events in the past has a way of giving me peace. As if, remembering the person I once was reveals in my soul a hidden fear that maybe I am not doing this whole "growing up" business very well. But my soul is quickly comforted, for I do not care to be who I was then. Even if she was able travel to Zanzibar and my current self does not. I am content to exist on memories.

Stone Town, Zanzibar | April 2007