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#igsuchiwrites

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"Statue!" Tanisha exclaims and we two 8-year-olds pretend to freeze in an awkward pose till one of us breaks into a laughter and the other follows suit.

We continue the merriment all day, only to stop, when the sun turns crimson and a cool breeze blows in our direction, marking the end to another day.

In that moment, we promise, to remain friends forever.
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'Forever.' The word echoes as the sun goes down.
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My reverie is broken at 14 when I take my first piano lessons at twilight and a new student joins me.

Shy, his face turns red as we exchange glances but when we hit the keynotes in sync, our lips break into a smile and we fill the air with music, all evening, till the moon comes up, resonates with our magic and a shooting star falls from the night sky.
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'A magical evening,' I flip a page in my diary.

At 19, I step on to a foreign land for the first time and unfamiliarity beckons in a land which is alien to my native language.

I feel lost until I look at a woman educating her child, a lover's eyes welling when her partner embarks on a journey, an employee getting screwed for turning in late for work and I smile at the familiarity as I recollect having seen the same in my homeland.
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‘Home away from home,’ I fold a page in my diary.

When I return at 21, a pianist greets me with a smile.
I'm immediately drawn to him and he reciprocates. We reunite to fill the air with music and magic of our love...
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I reach the last page of the diary.

I pause.

I violently flip the pages backward.

Melancholy seeps within me.

Stop.

Stop, I say as the word forever echoes when the sun goes down.

Stop, I say as I try to catch the falling star.

Stop, I say as I smile at the woman, the lover and the workman.

Stop, I say as I hold his hand just before his image blurs and disappears into nothingness.

Stop, I tell the hourglass as the sands of time continue to slip away.

Stop, I say as the past begins to create an illusion of things I wistfully long for.

As I scribble my grief, I pen a note.

Saudade, I title it as I borrow a word from the Portugals.

What does it mean, you ask me.

A longing for something that will never return, I reply.

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