Tuesday, April 26, 2016

I ended my previous post with a thanks to the Lord, an unashamed, unabashed plea for the good times to stay, in exchange for my appreciation and gratitude. So far, I must say that my prayers have been answered. 

My Mother joined me here in the Far East a few days ago, and though her journey was tumultuous, she has taken to the Far East like a duck to water. I forget that she has travelled as much as I have in her younger days, and though this is her first time to my Eastern city, she is more interested in the people I know than the places I have been. So we have dallied with friends, wandered the mountainside, delighted at the spectacle of dancing water that has astonished so many visitors to my Easter home. I am glad that she is enjoying herself and I hope she gets just as much enjoyment out of her own travels to come. 

Before Mother arrived I did have one day worth writing home about. It was a Wednesday and due to a wonderful tradition, everyone was in fiesta mode as we were celebrating the King of Festivals. I spent the morning in a state of undress with an artist of note - nothing like the portrait of Venus the Duke of Albany had commissioned for me all those years ago - but rather something much deeper and darker, and I have to admit it took me a fair while to get comfortable with my body being scrutinised in such a way. 

That afternoon I jaunted over the waters to a larger city to spend time with the Scottish Earl who surprised me with a visit. I couldn't not see him while he was in town, and there are rumours that he may be here for a little longer than expected. But of course it should have been scandalous to jump from one situation to another, yet it looks like I am used to these various trysts. 


The final chapter of the day was a complete surprise, even for me. I had left my painting class after my delicious dinner with the Scottish Earl and was wandering the streets of this most glorious city, when I heard the ever-so-familiar notes of a ballad from a musician I hadn't thought of in months. I couldn't help but be drawn to the sound. 

I didn't expect to see the same deep, dark eyes staring back at me from an equally shocked face from my travels in Indochina many months before. The musician continued to play, ever the professional, but the second he had a moment to spare, there we were laughing and talking about our fond memories from before Christmas. He was never someone I wrote of as an individual, always too wrapped up in the man who made me see myself, but now, now that I know what I am... I still can say nothing more. Not until I see him again.

And of this beautiful Iberian princess that I have become acquainted with...? For now, I have no words.





D. S.