As I search absent mindedly downstairs for what I moslemarily* should know could be my last meal, a bowl of Quaker Oats with a drizzling of honey and a handful of blueberries, I clearly also haven’t planned for it to be. This is evident by the slow burning energy packed breakfast that it is. It’s atop the lonely dining table, aside the soon to be yesterday’s and then tomorrow’s daily paper. The spoon is set at 4 o’ clock. 

The chime of the clock on the mantlepiece is, as usual, dizzily out of sync with reality; but it does tell the right time. When time was constipated in the synapse of Sialkot on our trips to Pakistan, as we were under duress and trapped there under the anvil of otherwise forbidden boredom for extended periods of time, we would lay on the bed, afraid to move lest the heat would notice and slap us back down again, and we would make up Disney songs.

Yes, Disney songs. They are of a specific style, usually sung in the attempted voice of Aladdin, by us, mostly me, whilst Big Brother lay splitting his stitches. They would always go along the lines of ‘SomeDAY, I will find.. The place where I belooong.’ One really would had to have been there to appreciate the depths of desparation we had reached and the amount of joy and and the sheer scope of therapeutic possibility there was in inventing Disney songs.

But it raised the question of belonging that is usually raised like one would raise a flag if he were to land on the moon, without kicking up any dust of course, because that would imply fraudulence. There are 3.25 potential ‘homelands’ on the list; so where does ‘one’ belong? I see the attired people of each homeland, with variously eloquent tongues and I feel an immediate affinity to each in turn. Yet, whilst their smiles and words may kindly embrace, they do not see me as unforeign. My momentarily wise co-pilot once said, ‘Don’t say you don’t belong anywhere, say you belong everywhere.’ And I must say, indeed.

I’d say it is time to follow the example of how to have Holy Wholesome Fun, just like the MG’s**. Let the thick ball of time try to pass through the head of a needle while we slowly burn off these quaking oats in searing fits of laughter. Aaakhh thu!

* ‘moslemarily’, adv. as a Moslem, as an accepted religious principle.