175 Far From Home.

It was always easier to remember the times that were great and satisfactory in our lives, the guffaws, giggles, and glee that blends in with the jolly mood and gung-ho that comes with gathering around a few bottles of whiskey and gin. We were 175 kms somewhere far from Mombasa. Still quite a distance. It was fun to recall the stories and fables that rose from the spirit of the moment. A camp fire at the centre as we encircled it. There were those who came with their partners and hurdled up together as they listened to the fire crackle. And then there were peeps like us. Those who came by themselves. It was like as if we never read the memento. And if we did, it didn’t really matter. If I’d be honest the only reason I rode that far was simply that I needed a new thrill. An adventure that included lots of back roads and dirt. Bikes were parked closer to the tents. I didn’t intend on spending the night, but well fate had other plans.

Under the cloudy night sky there was a certain beauty beyond all that grandeur and boisterous talk. The visions and dreams that kept everyone human before the lid came off. I was the most reserved one. As I listened to the lores and tales that Morris, Biggy, and Palestia were telling; my mind strayed abit. I swirled the glass of whiskey and took a sip.

I went down memory lane to the previous day’s event. To the final moment when I knew that the friendship and relationship I had with a certain someone was going no where. Both ships were ill fated to sink. Everything was doomed to die in ruins of their own foretold untruths. How even the sky under those shamra-shamra moments changed to the color of deceit. From a slight grey to a dark one. How the joviality around the bottle in its own case was stained by broken dreams and visions.

The wind was a bit strong. We fed more logs to the fire. We baked bread (roasted meat much to our chagrin) and removed another bottle. Slapped the ass of the bottle with our palms and other resorted to the use of elbows. We cracked it, gave the ancestors their due, and proceeded to have the last supper. Each of us coming to the realization that there was never investments in those moments. A sad reality that we lived for the moment. Sharing a drink with someone you probably had no chemistry with or didn’t like.

It’s like poison a slow one that taints your innocence. But if you stay long enough for a certain truth will be revealed. We get to it at least once in a while when deep in our thoughts. It’s a gift not to be discerned by the mouth. And from there then one is free to chart their own course. Whichever path one would have chosen.

The only thing I know I remembered when dawn came was that it’s good to share a drink with people you truly like. It’s a certain type of responsible drinking. Just like the way we look out for each other while riding on the road.

To be one with the wind, asphalt, and the open dirt roads (Kaze, asufaruto, mi hosō no dōro to ittai ni naru koto).

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