She hasn’t returned.
I’ve lost count of the passing days. I only know that my time is structured around checking the apartment and getting out once in a while to search for scraps. I’m not proud to admit that, in the early days, I gorged on the provisions that were left open in a haste. I didn’t care much for the sticky, sweet mounds but it was better that I have it than the flies that were gathering.
My afternoons are dictated by the ritual of pacing her room, trying to fit the pieces together. My mind races between finding clues of her whereabouts with naive hopes of her return or, as of late, some closure to her sudden departure. Memories of lavender, gin and white tuna flood my nostrils. None of it makes sense and I end up burying my head into a cotton blouse to savour her fading scent.
I’ve been relatively moody these days and seek solace by retreating to a small park behind her home. My tolerance for careless walkers – spitting into their cell phones as if the world in front of them ceases to exist – has dried. The park at first felt unnatural to me. It was mostly populated by birds and mostly abandoned by humans.
The pigeons, fattened by the generosity of elderly park strollers, mock me with their wings.
‘Through Ian’s Eyes’ is a mini project based on my friend’s 1000+ iPhone photos taken between 2013-14. In the series I will pick one photo a day for a week to interpret in drawing and story.
Ian and I met 8 years ago in Beijing and maintained a supportive, close friendship through email, skype and random meetings in Montreal, Vancouver, Vermont and New York. He is one of the most fascinating people I know and I hope to give you a glimpse of his personality through the characterization of him… as a cat.