I’ve been feeling weird lately. Nostalgic and melancholic. I
couldn’t really know why and in fact, didnt really bother about it. But
i suddenly realised why and it revived some strong souvenirs: I just
realised that it’s my first winter in mauritius after 4 years…

Winter
is and has always been very particular to me. I feel that winter makes
my spirit more sensitive, my senses more acute, more receptive to
atmospheres. Winter and its coldness accentuate and reinforce the
feelings and emotions of the moment. They help to hit the mood so hard
into my brain, that 4 years later, I can still feel them just like i
did at the time. I feel them very vividly and strongly, but yet find
them so hard to describe (In fact I believe they are impossible to
describe exactly by words, i.e. it’s impossible for me to make you feel
exactly what i feel, by describing the feelings to you by the use of
words. Look into the theory of ‘Qualia’ for some very very interesting
ideas about that!). But anyway, i will still text my thought. The point
is not in making you feel the exact feeling, but simply in making me
remember…

4 years ago, that brings me straight back to my last
high school year. 4 years back brings me souvenirs like late afternoon
tuitions in curepipe (an excessively cold town); waiting under the
veranda of a wooden shop in the shadow of a yellow street lamp; late,
long and cold journeys by bus with a sharp rain and a dull and heavy
weather. It’s around 6 and 6.45 pm. Day is over, but it’s not really
quite night. Yet. That time of the day, especially in winter, is so
particular. It’s magical. Rich, freezing and intense. Light is
enormously lazy and heavy; sounds are muffled; things and people are
grey; shapes merge and blend; light itself is grey on the outside,
white on the inside. And for the apotheosis, thin, sharp drops of rain
pierce into my eyes to mix everything up into a thick dull greyish
paste with some yellow highlights. The atmosphere is gloomy, mournful,
melancholic, silent, hectic, tense, deaf. Perfect for your sould to
detach. Actually, my spirit is away, my soul loose, I can hear ‘battle’
now (by Blur, from their album ‘13’) and see myself getting on a bus,
walking down to the beloved back seats, with rows of wet black ghosts
on both sides, staring at me. Mud is everywhere. Everywhere is mud.
Blood is in the air. Ais has the taste of blood. I remember sitting at
the foot of a wall, shivering and smoking. I remember fears. I remember
being hurt. I remember tears. I remember a guitar and a strong wind.
But I cant remember the tunes. Only an elusive melody. I remember
concert rehearsals at school, after class hours. Happy jammings,
escapisms into a closed hall, "l’ouverture et l’epanouissement au monde
a travers la fermeture et le repli de soi sur la musique." i remember
very clearly.

Welcome, winter 2005. Welcome back and welcome to all the things you bring with you.