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It is almost thirty-eight degrees Celsius in Houston and the August sun is ready to bake everything that comes in its way. I am familiar with that. In fact, where I come from, I have seen the mercury rise even higher. As I drive at a steady speed, listening to the monotones of the car’s engine and a view inundated with concrete and some green, I wonder about the question again.
“But don’t you miss Lahore?”
Of course, I do. It has been almost ten years since we parted ways, Lahore, but you will remain my unrequited love; that first, most passionate, most emotionally volatile relationship. I miss you, at times I long for you, but we were never meant to be. From my earliest memories of you, your mornings were bustling with all the fiery elements of life yet your nights embraced and erased that fire from daytime.
Your summers were scorching, your winters bipolar and your streets lined with colors beyond the scope of any chromatic palette. You were so beautiful, Lahore, but somewhere in there, you were also jagged, coarse and completely disheveled. You refused to listen, you scoffed at suggestions to change, to slow down…
By our very natures, Lahore, we were not meant to be. I could not keep up with you. You are a giant, historic relic of a city. How could someone as small, as weak and as rigid as myself contain you? I concede, there are other beings, much larger than myself who appreciate you for who you are and can sustain that relationship with you. I am not that person.
My new place in Houston keeps me content as ours is a marriage of convenience. Houston understands my need for order and space. We share happy hours but we remain a little estranged at times and that is fine. The weather treats me just like yours did but Houston knows how to address it to keep me comfortable. Houston relates prose from seats of higher learning to me while you were all about mystic poetry.
Houston has rules and a manageable pace. Like you, Houston has a head of its own but our very estrangement helps me disconnect when I want to. Houston is good to me.
Every time I visit you, Lahore, I am engulfed with nervousness and nostalgia. Lahoris try to dress you up with the ways of the new world but you remain so possessive about your spirit. They may deck you up but your skeleton proudly peeks through. How can one not fall for you again? And again. On repeat. Yet, within weeks of those visits, I miss the contentment my concrete-ridden Houston provides.
Thus, in a uniquely fortunate way and guilt-free, I am able to love you both.
