Do you remember?

I realized I last wrote a post for you three years ago, for your birthday. When I had just started off in Aberdeen, and you were back in Norfolk, our first time really living apart. I don’t know about you but I took it hard, I struggled with the distance and ‘losing’ my best friend. I had to make my own decisions, be my own company, go it alone. I found that hard, and I still often do. But this isn’t about me, it’s about you, and what I hope you’ll remember.Do you remember, us running up the escalators in the London Underground, one freezing November? We were late to catch our train home after a weekend in the capital. We had been iceskating under Christmas Lights, and watching dawn break over an icy Hyde Park. I remember trying to run with that large leather bag, and seeing the ads on the walls flashing past, people moving the opposite way, slipping in my winter boots.

Do you remember, travelling on that airport bus in Mumbai? It would be one a.m and we’d be laughing hysterically about something and hoping to survive the wild ride between terminals. Speaking of India, do you remember watching the sunset from the balcony as storks flew between the office-blocks? Or watching the sun rise over the temple at the top of those thousand steps in Mysore? And our train ride- being rocked to sleep by the moving carriage and me with a scarf over my head.

Do you remember getting bitten by red ants in the Thai jungle as we tried to forge a new path on that little island, and then wading back through the sea, you with your camera above your head? Or looking for shady characters in that questionable mall in Bangkok? How about getting thrown about in the back of that open pickup?

Do you remember standing under a tree on Ruggs Lane, with Prune waiting for the rain to stop, because you hate taking an umbrella? And that summer a couple of years ago when it barely rained at all, and we would sit outside the whole day with Prune and Suzi lying in the shade, and you’d tell me what songs were worth listening to and we’d look up which cities had the highest temperatures right now, and whine about why there were never any good shows on TV.

Do you remember, that boat-rental guy in Corfu telling us not to sail too close to Albania, and you taking the helm since you were much better at steering that thing than me. And those early mornings there, the moon still suspended over the Aegean, and eating over-ripe peaches and strawberries for breakfast.

Do you remember, looking for a new part for your camera on the streets of Rome, and always finding ourselves seeming to be walking uphill, in 36 degree heat? And laughing at tour buses on the Via Appia Antica, whilst we were sitting on the grass having a picnic, having probably walked ten kilometers already.

Do you remember, standing in that CVS in Miami, in our cheap flip-flops and with our even cheaper umbrella, waiting for the ‘tornado’ to pass? And having bagels for breakfasts and wondering why we had to tip so much when they made us wait for ages for our food.

Do you remember that bat that got into our tent in Zimbabwe? And how it stayed in a corner for the duration of our trip; we had some kind of truce with him that he could stay if he ate the mosquitoes.

Do you remember that little wild Shetland foal running around the field, and pulling over to watch him and his herd on that drizzly February day. I was thinking how full of life he was, so full of innocent joy. A bit like Suzi, how she is always so genuinely happy to see you.

There are so many more. And it is funny how you get vague reminders of these things in the funniest ways, and you can choose to follow them, to open up your mind and memory to more, if you want. I am getting better at choosing what I want to think about, what to fill my mind with. But sometimes you first have to remember there are things worth remembering. There will be more. More sunsets and sunrises, and stars over dark skies. There will be long drives and plane rides, busy cities and colorful towns, people and animals you will know well and not so well. I hope I’ll be a part of some of it, but I know you’ll go places and see things alone, and with others too.

I hope one day, when you are somewhere else, far away, you will remember these things and others. And that you’ll see, today and everyday, your life is already pretty rich.

Happy birthday, Maya xxxx