In My Head: The Stuff of Travel

I want to go and travel. I'm on a budget. I can't go willy nilly despite having a passport that says I can leave when I want. It's sort of like that comic saying: What do you mean I am overdrawn? I still have checks.

I want to go visit Bob in Panama; he was my first employer in Oregon and now he lives close-by. I want to tell him that when I was employed by him, I often took a straw into the walk-in refrigerator and opened beers and drank. I hope he will laugh at this point in time. I want to re-visit the UK because when I went before I was as sick as a dog and I feel gipped.

I want to go to Africa. Anywhere in Africa because I am of African American descent and I feel a need to see where my ancestors might have come from. I want to go too, because I love Black people. I like they way they look and I think I will feel comfortable in the presence of those that never left my Motherland.

I want to visit Tbilisi, Georgia because I have a Pen Pal there. I want to see Petra, in Jordan, because I heard that one needs to take a donkey to get in the narrow passageways to the intact ruins. I love the idea of being hoisted upon a donkey.

I want to go to Morocco, I'm sorry to say this, to metaphorically flip off my ex-husband. I am thinking Marakesh and a fist fight on the square. Maybe I will wear something skimpy too. You know, just to be evil. And maybe I will find the address of his family and yell out his name as I am carted away.

I want to go to Haiti because I saw Henry Louis Gates' PBS program about the legacy of Africans in Latin America. I saw someone on the program- that specific Haitian episode,- that said enough that made me think the place was fascinating.

I want to return to Germany because everyone seems to be GIGANTIC there. I like feeling petite. I liked being surrounded by men that stand over me like Pantheon pillars. I need another fix. I miss my friends too.

I want, I want.

I want to go to Taiwan because when I lived in Vermont and taught the Taiwanese community English, I fell in love with the laughter we shared. I fell in love with the food that was cooked for me and the things I learned about cooking and food preservation. I would love to go to Taiwan with my old friends. I would love to see what they missed and loved about their home-towns.

I wish. I wish.

I want to go to Singapore because I recently began a correspondence with a man that lives there. He seems interesting. He seems worthy of a face-to-face jaw wag. Through his photos, Singapore seems so too.

I want to take the Siberian Rail. I want to travel across a continent that takes me through multiple countries and lands me in Asia. I want to begin in English and end with another language. I want the experience of a train that loads me on and carries me along while I witness others boarding that speak various languages. I want to experience the rocking motion, with each new passengers' ascent onto the train. I want to look out my cabin window and see great pines shooting to the sky. I want to imagine myself in a great Russian novel. I want to meet new friends. I want to hear of their stories. I want to offer candies in friendship. I want babies thrust in my arms while others use the bathroom having trusted me to do so. I want to contemplate Tolstoy and Lenin.

Yes. Yes. Yes.

I want to go to Cuba because The United States says, I can't. I want to see automobiles that are still intact from the 40's and 50's. I want to see the hybrid of the African diaspora in the face of Cubans. I want to be on an island. I want breezes flowing and sea gulls undulating with knowledge of food. I want to fall in love wherever I am.

I want to return to New York City. I miss my old friends. I lament the fact that I am not the one to host them any longer. They are my oldest fiends and I miss them. They are the legacy and witnesses of my life. They 'knew me when'. They know my shit stinks. They are beloved, by me. With no exception. Sometimes I miss the street activity. Those interactions, those anonymous interactions. There is nothing, or no one, that has the chutzpah of a New Yorker.

I miss, yes, I really miss... This is my hometown... I miss it most.

I so crave. I crave. I crave. The ocean. Water. Give me water. Tell me where I must go to view the water. The ocean. The sea. The gulf. A grand river.

Bring me to that place which you love; that draws me in. That place where I must go... Share with me. Share with me...

Something Bigger Than Thomas: A Native Son

There was a moment in time when I witnessed my father vulnerable. He had rented a car and parked it outside my apartment in Brooklyn. He was not feeling well and had asked to stay with me and my then boyfriend, Eric. He slept for days on end and I really don't have any recollection of talking to him while he was with us. This is important to this narrative because I have always lamented the fact that I seem to have spent relatively little time with my father. I have snapshot memories of being with him - here and there, here and there. I am a teenager and he drives me into San Francisco, hands me money while he waits in the car, and I go in and buy some shoes. There are the times we drove the few blocks necessary to get to Baskin Robbins for ice cream over on University Avenue a few blocks up from his home in Palo Alto. There were lots of family reunions but I don't have any memories of being alone with my father, having a conversation or discussing anything. He did however ca...

Diane Tose 1942-2020

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Consider This

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fromthemouthofmoi

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