People saying stuff.

The hunger. The ever present gnawing hunger. We called it Mutu. Mutu was one of many spirits who lived in us. Obviously I didn’t have these words to express myself back then.

Way    back   then.

The saltwaterfall had grown larger with every moon, that was one of the only constants, that’s why we worshipped her I guess.

I had. We had words for that. Oh how I miss my people! And how impossible it would be to let go of this fresh new time I’m in now. Here.

Mutu appeared only to eat away at the last food we had in us, to steal it from within our own stomachs. Sometimes there’d be weeks without proper food. Mutu would grow like a god among us in those days. The Other Mother was the only one capable of quelling Mutu once it really started to rage among us. How can I relate all that? No words even begin to fit, I’d need to write myself a dictionary first, an encyclopaedia.

Why should I be an ambassador for the Other Mother? Or our culture, which is it?.. I must admit, I know I’m blocking myself, I don’t want them to know, I don’t want them to think I’m… But why should I be ashamed? We were normal to ourselves. It’s just the fact I’m here, now. That’s what makes me feel so ashamed, but it’s stupid for me to feel a burden of shame for my whole culture. I’m not our ambassador, nobody here expects that of me. They just want to know and I’m just here to tell them. I’d want to listen to me.

I’m just here. I’m the only one who’s been there, and now somehow I’m here, in this paradise. Even if they had never once asked, I’m sure I would want to tell them. I just feel the impulse to tell them, I feel like I owe it to these people to tell them how it was

What would happen though if I just said “No. I’m not going to tell you anything.” And not even offer a reason. It wasn’t my choice. They brought me here even if they don’t know quite how they did it. I doubt very much they’d torture me. Would my people torture me if things were the other way around?

Probably.

Okay, I’m going to tell them. Not only because they’re asking but because I want to tell them and I am not ashamed. It’s been nearly a year now and I had no idea life could be so endlessly comfortable. I don’t deny I’d have a different come to a very decision if it not for.

language. my Oh

I remember so much now…

Those evenings when Mutu had been long satisfied, the children reflected on the lake. The trees told stories forestlings listened, even the stone people and the fire people. Fearlessly we summoned night to wrap us in. There. Then was the most sublime euphoria.

No present words could ever hope to encapsulate it, it could only be understood as opposite of the manic experience of Mutu. So oppositely sublime. How else to express that feeling? I can only think to contrast it again, with Gorad.

Gorad is what I am most ashamed about. Gorad was like an emotion, but also like bad luck.

I know I’ll never finish such a dictionary but I think I’d start it with Gorad. Maybe the reason I felt so much shame about Gorad is that it is a kind of form of shame. No, the reason I felt shame about Gorad was the terrible things that would happen in the name of Gorad. I’ll write about those later, once I’ve let go of these last remnants of shame. I’ll write about Gorad one day, shamelessly. It’ll help me get over it. Oh I miss you everyone. Will I ever see you again? 

What else could I tell them about? Lopid of course! Sex. That translates easily enough. But does it? Well from what I’ve experienced so far it’s pretty much the same. We were less inhibited in some ways, not in others. The theatre of it now had no comparison then, now it’s so electrically playful. I’ll start to write about that. Gorad, Mutu and Lopid. No Mutu, Lopid then Gorad. No…  aww! Whatever I tell them about, they will be pleased. But are they going to be embarrassed if I tell them about Lopid? It is much more taboo now. Maybe I will save that for later. Ah! That’s how I’ll start, I’ll sing them Dzanj. Everyone loves to hear the cloudsong.

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