Memories

Yesterday I received a letter from someone in my past. It wasn't a letter that contained any news, or any requests, or promises. Just memories. Of times we spent together - those moments, like snapshots, that fix memory and around which we construct the feeling, which comprises more of the memory than the event itself. The letter was a quilt of such moments, such memories strung together with a thread of remembrance, of sharing that they are still held dear.

Receiving such a letter, one hardly knows how to respond. At once, endeared to the writer, and also confused with the juxtaposition of a seemingly distant past with the vastly different reality of the present. With a longing to see that friend again, to begin the creation of such moments anew, but also the wondering if that past and this reality shouldn't stay separate, if I am too changed by the journey here to find that place again, if the previous divergence of paths isn't evidence enough that memories and moments are the most that could be shared.

But I find myself at an odd place, feeling alone even in the swirls of life and people in Mae Sot, feeling drained by work whose impact feels removed, feeling less real and more like an illusion drifting through a dream. And so I wonder about opportunities, and fear the lack of them, in a way that surprises my fierce need to not need.

And so I will repsond, but in what manner I'm not yet sure, savoring instead the simplicity of a letter than expresses simply and directly the appreciation of time shared. In a complex reality, simplicity is a rare and treasured gift, one for which I am thankful.