beach

The sun is not really visible, just her first glances on the muddy white house-scene, seen from the eleventh floor of an appartement in Karachi's Cliffton. I stretch, put on my shalwar kamize and the dupata, try to open the door as quiet as possible, but my host's mother still looks out of her bedroom: „your dawn-walk to the beach?“ I nod
„Take care not to go to the absolutely abandoned places“

I jump down eleven staircases, wander along the waste that's going to be burned at the side of the street as soon as it will get enough. I remember my last visit two months ago. A whole world ago. It was the same person, me, who landed in Karachi airport, who went out, saw the McDonalds, took a cap, noticed the amazingly coloured busses, the beggars at the traffic signs, the advertisements on the houses, the immense traffic, the cows walking by, the waste. But wo months ago I couldn't get my mouth shut, I didn't know how to behave in front of staring men, when to put my dupata over my head and how to haggle the taxi driver down to a normal price, cause I didn't know what a normal price was.

I walk through the streets, cross two alleys, walk over some greenery and reach the beach. The sun is just appearing as a big red glowing ball between Karachi's scyscrapers, the camels and horses are still sleeping. They are going to carry the inner-pakistani tourists around on their backs on the beach later. Some men sit and make chai over an open fire. There's no chance not to go to an abandoned place. There's no one at the beach at this time of the day. Just one jockey who's riding up and down the beach with his horse. To train it?

I walk through grass and shoes. Shoes? Like dead animals they're lying around everywhere. Why would so many people forget their shoes on the beach? Some quite appeal in thei style to me. Should I try one on? I walk through them, to the shells, to the soft pondering water that's falling in cascades over each other, waterlayer over waterlayer on the silvery beach. Last time I was here, I couldn't resist. I had to take off my shoes and step in the sea, feeling that warm water stroking my feet. This time I stand still and watch.



What is it like to meet yourself again. The place is the same, The shoes I'm walking in are the same. Just my feet feel different when taking the next step (is this why so many people left their shoes here? Is it a place where my feelings are the common ones?). Two months ago I knew nothing. Today I know nothing and a bit more. Is it knowing that make the difference? Or is it remembering and feeling? Feeling that I have stepped over some of my fears and remembering the people that have crossed my way. People who became friends. Or people who betrayed me. And I'm thankful for both.