1985

26th of september. today was ... I don't really know what word I should use. horribly nice? I liked today, but not one of the good days either. there are some days which are not mundane enough to forget. then again, they are not significant enough to remember either. I'll probably forget this day. that's why I'm making this attempt to jot down the events, just to prevent that.

first, there's this distinct smell in women's hair. when people walk by me, sometimes, even without looking at them, I can predict that they are women solely based on the fragrance signature they leave behind. I am not sure if it is about their scalp or because of their choice of shampoo/conditioner, or perhaps because they usually shower more than men. however, I feel that the scent profile is kinda the same for almost all women. I don't think it's purely because of the hair products because some men around me also spend a lot on haircare and their hair doesn't smell like that(it's not bad, just not the same).

second, I just stopped by Alepa again and it was 37 euros. I didn't even buy chicken/beef or anything special. how do I spend so much money? no clue. please, someone teach me cash controlling.

third, it was raining. I came back home using Voi because I wanted to come home as soon as possible. I had an umbrella, but holding it while being on the scooter was very destabilizing. riding a scooter under the rain is so much fun. did it for the second consecutive day. it gives you a fever, but it makes for so much fun. for a similar reason, I will probably like motorbikes as well. need to learn how to ride them.

when I was a child, it was only me and my parents. my father had a bike which was provided by BRAC as part of his job. twice/thrice a year, we would go to my grandparents' home, crossing three to six districts, and our main vehicle was that bike. the arrangement was simple. first, my father, then me in the middle, then my mother, and then our bag. I kinda forgot how we could all fit on that not-so-gigantic bike. maybe we all were fit(ter).

sometimes, I would sit in front of my father. once I grew older and, consequently, taller, I couldn't sit in front because my father's view would get blocked by my head. I felt sad about that because I always wanted to sit in the front.

anyways, a big part of this going-home journey was the journey itself. so many buses, trucks, stops, dust, paths. I used to request my father to speed up and compete with a big bus and overtake it. my father would sometimes fulfill that wish, and it would make me so happy. we used to stop twice/thrice on the journey at random places to eat and pee. this was fun because when you are traveling by bus, you can only stop at a designated place. a motorbike gives you the freedom to stop anywhere for any amount of time.

the disadvantage is that there's no way to stop the dust you get from the road, but another advantage is that you can change your path any time you want, and there was no Google Maps back then. usually, it would be a nice interaction with the locals, or sometimes I would choose a path through smaller towns and villages beforehand using a map book. every trip was new.

but why did I get reminded of all these things today? because there were times when it would rain. there's no way to protect yourself from rain if you are on a motorbike. my mother and I were not used to wearing raincoats, so usually we would stop and wait at a random place/shop and wait for the rain to stop. meeting new people, hearing about their stories, and those passive interactions—they felt nice.

at times, it would get dark, and we would get lost, and we weren't sure whether the path we were taking would lead us to the main road or not. sometimes there wasn't a good place to stop, and there was always the fear of robbery at that time. it was so adventurous. on top of this, the rain would add one extra hassle, and my parents would get more cautious because I had pneumonia (I think that's the spelling) as a child, and rainwater was bad for me.

I remember particularly one night when there was nowhere to stop, and my parents had to continue under the rain. they were like, "okay, Tafheem can manage, maybe," and I was so happy because I felt equal to them and I wasn't being considered as a hindrance.

there was a funny incident as well. it was a shiny, nice day, and out of nowhere it started raining, with no place to stop and take shelter. we were getting drenched. then a bus was near us, and they were watching the whole thing. the conductor and some passengers in the bus shouted that they were going to that destination and that my mother and I could get into the bus because we were clearly in trouble.

my mother was feeling hesitant, but then, for practicality's sake, we got into the bus and my father was driving around the bus in the rain. inside the bus, it was cute because my mother was watching out for my father from the window, and then again she was feeling shy because everyone in the bus was observing us. I felt a bit bad for my father, but he was used to the rain. he is so cool in some ways.

I sometimes feel sad for my younger sister because she was born so late that she couldn't experience any of this. by the time she became conscious, we were far away from this comparatively struggling yet fulfilling days that made me and my parents a team of three. my sister is kinda an extension of that, but only in the good parts.

me running the scooter in Helsinki under the rain is nowhere near the experience of us going home. if anything, it probably signifies the opposite. but still, in some ways, it does feel relatable. a bit nostalgic and a bit of Bo Burnham's 1985.

I was thinking about so many other things, even the journey of Odysseus and how it invokes something in me—a feeling of hollowness—which somehow is related to something I read about "enduring injustice" years ago, and now I need to read that whole book again to articulate my thoughts again. but now my fever will rise high because I can't slow down the scooter, and I wanna take the longer route because I like this under the rain so very much. at the same time, all these things somehow feel so pretentious, even though the road is empty and nobody is inside my head as well. who am I even pretending for? does anything make any sense even at this point?

uff, it's so overwhelming. I need to be precise. I need to be precise. I need to be precise.

or let's simply quit writing.