Z.

There are things you regret. Sometimes you might have a glimps of what is happening in that particular moment. Sometimes this glimps is strong enough to change something. Sometimes you see it passing by. And regret it even stronger when you think about it later.

The last time I saw Z., we were walking through streets of Islamabad at night. I felt like hugging this huge man with the strong eyes and the outspoken honesty that still kicks my ass. We never dared to be physically close to each other, although our words draw us nearer than I could say. And I don't mean this in a touchy love affaire manner, but in true friendship.

We had met in the first weeks of Pakistan and ever since met to go for a tea and talking while we strolled along nightly highways and closed down parks. He was one of the only ones and certainly the only male Pakistani that I connected with the way we did.

As I slipped into another society, I slipped into another me aswell. When you're travelling through or when you're 'just a tourist' you can stay in your bubble of meeting other strangers, of understanding some things and opposing others. You have a special status as a traveller with special rights and always the possibility to drop out.

When I decided to live in this other society, I didn't only decide that I wanted to be the foreign particle, but I wanted to dive into something to understand it, to get a hold on it, to experience what it means to be part of this society. Of course, I will always stand out with my blonde hair and the fair skin, with my liberal education and just the mere fact where I come from and that I'm now here, but I wanted to see how close to understanding I can get.

He questioned me as he questioned the society around him, but he knew more from my european me than anyone else. As I switched my clothing style from jeans and t-shirt into shalwar and kamize, I changed my outspoken, extrovert european me against a me that was first of all listening and maybe later trying to explain some of her background-thoughts. I got used to lowering my eyes when walking through the streets and not looking into men's eyes. I naturally covered my chest and stopped speaking about open relationships. I think he was one of the only persons that could see most of it as I let him do so.

After we said gooodbye with a handshake we spoke on the mobile phone that we would have liked to hug each other like he had seen it with some other european friends with whom we had had tea together. In Pakistan men and women don't hug like at least my friends in Europe and I do, to say hello or goodbye. Even shaking the hand can be too much conact, depending on the region, tradition or open western mentality of the people. I told him, I would hug him when we see each other the next time. But I know now that this will not be in my time in Pakistan. Family issues keep him in the north and losing his job brought him to not being able to coming back to Islamabad while I cannot travel up norh to him due to university obligations and the snow- and landslides in that area.

I imagined to hug him. Several times. Maybe that's not the most important thing of having met him. Maybe it'll be another time, if other times exist. And maybe there'll always be something that you'll regret not having done. I would have loved to give him this being close. Exactly because of the reason that he would have understood it, that it would be friendship. Not more, but certainly not less.