In the early hours of the morning, I fiddled with my BlackBerry. Feeling edgy, restless. Seems my thoughts rushed between dark voids of memories, with little will-power to guide me through these sleepless moments. <\/p>\n
I will share my story, a brief random one, mind you.<\/p>\n
Once a upon a time…<\/p>\n
I bolted up from my chair repeatedly. Nights hazed, and days were physically-taxing and long. For a moment I thought I was back at the old house in Malaysia, subjected to some amusing conversation with my siblings, but my thoughts cleared and my vision tumbled back into reality. Bosnia. I was working, transporting aid, boxes and crates, to a refugee camp.<\/p>\n
Aside from the constant brusque awakening and the sweet rare tranquillity of my breaks, my instincts fed somewhat impatient vibes. Yes, things had changed, my self-esteem was shifting radically; wasn’t so keen to be in the killing fields and not do anything. Impatience. Hot blood flowing in my veins. <\/p>\n
As days passed, in the increasing warm weather, I mired myself in silence, packing the supplies of medicine and tents. Like a robot, a useless damaged robot. In the deafening silence of my mind. I had avoided all casual talks with my colleagues, pleasantries pushed aside, and thus people generally ignored me. Which was fine with me.<\/p>\n
The unusual signs, the gloominess of spirit, was so intense that I was relieved, finally, to see and be distracted by an attractive woman driving into the camp. <\/p>\n
Actually she was about my age, dressed in a simple light hazel blouse, jeans and dark safety boots. She had black hair, tan skin, but even from where I stood, I could tell that her eyes were dark, her lips ~ gorgeous and red. We smiled, we spoke, candidly about the challenges we had faced in dire times, sharing stories, about humanitarian relief work, and I remember her saying that I appeared disturbingly untroubled, almost serene, with the exception of my mischievous smile. <\/p>\n
We parted hours later, the meal was bland and cold, but her scent in my nostrils, the taste of her lips on mine. I don’t remember how long she had stayed in Bosnia or which agency she was attached to, but I remember her slender neck, sweat rolling down, our conversations, the playful twist of her lips when she suppressed a laughter. I remember the hugs. <\/p>\n
A remarkable woman, and an immensely satisfying night.<\/p>\n