An ethereal, silky blending of golden yellow and mossy green between our faces; leaning in and out. We sit at Zira Station on Pushkin Street, a short two-minute walk from my home. We talk without hesitation, without judgment; a kind of ease and bouncing from topic to topic like unfocused children. I compliment your black, silk dress and you say that I need ayahuasca, which I don’t deny. I hand you a bag of toffee as a gift and you laugh. We realize we have similar-shaped indigo blue tattoos on our arms. We trace each others’ as we smoke outside the cafe.

 

Under the tea selections of the menu is КЛИТОРИЯ (CLITORIA). I figure my translation is off, but you grab the menu and gasp in amusement. “No, that’s what it says in Tajiki too!” You call the waiter over and ask what this tea is. The waiter brings over a bag of tea leaves. It was a bitter and slightly sweet surprise. We have more serious conversations about Pauline Oliveros’ Deep Listening, sensitives, empathy, New York, and a mutual love and connection to Central and South Asia. We talk about dreams, future plans, aversions, spirituality, and our ideas working with the community. This is only within an hour of sitting down for our first meeting. I know I’m lucky enough to meet such an intense, deeply loving person. 

 

We part ways. 

 

The short meeting feels like қисмат / قسمة / kısmet. I ask to join you at an aesthetics conference at the Naryn campus of the University of Central Asia, where I had first decided to join back in June, but didn’t want to go alone. You tell me you’re relieved because you also don’t want to go alone. Less than a week after meeting, we are on the road carrying the parts of a wooden frame you had made from Gorno-Badakhshan across three borders. All I see is silver wrapping that is crinkled too much to see ourselves in. Guards keep asking you to prove these aren’t weapons. 

 

We fill our pockets with қурут / قروت  / quroot and scrape up fallen chestnuts. By the end, we unfurl our fists and tongues knowing we’re finally alone.

 

9/14/2024 6:14 PM Кӯчаи Пушкин, Хуҷанд / Pushkin St, Khujand 

Long tunnels near and through Khujand, where we spend a night waiting for our e-visas to arrive. It was past normal business hours on a Friday, so we were scared of not getting approval before the weekend. It’s here that we see our e-visa notifications and celebrate at a nearby kabob spot. We see a crossing walk sign in this spot where two bodies are flashing. One is red and still. One is moving and green. 

 

9/16/2024 10:41 AM Дар наздикии дарьёи Норин, Киргизистон / near the Naryn River 

A heart-shaped rock nestles in the palm of my hand. I send the photo to my friends that I miss and take the rock with me back to Izmir. Every night I look at the rock next to the bedframe and think of this moment. Even the rocks sing about love for you.

 

9/16/2024 10:42 AM Дар наздикии дарьёи Норин, Киргизистон / near the Naryn River 

This is the first photo I take of you. Your long, bright red chapan is framed from the shoulders down. It is flowing into both of our shadows contrasting with the dry ground.

 

9/16/2024 4:55 PM Донишгоҳи Осиёи Марказӣ – Норин / University of Central Asia – Naryn 

As we are given a tour of the campus, we pass by a monitor showing upcoming events. You are painting by the mountains as Nazira and Zeny face towards you. We both stop at this photo and screech in excitement. In the photo, you’re turning towards me with a big smile and pointing at the monitor. In Anisa’s class, the students are making an exquisite corpse of fragmented texts about what it means to be Central Asian. One line stands out: “Men colonize women and some women colonize other women.”

 

9/17/2024 6:59 PM Донишгоҳи Осиёи Марказӣ – Норин / University of Central Asia – Naryn 

You share with a full class on how Deep Listening has changed your art and perspective. The students’ eyes are full of light and you lead one group outside for a workshop. It’s raining, but you aren’t afraid. One student is holding your даф / دف / daf and playing against a puddle. She’s curious if the water will give the sound back. She sits and waits, while you walk with a larger group.

 

9/19/2024 1:11 PM Дар наздикии дарьёи Норин, Киргизистон / near the Naryn River 

A strong silhouette, walking down the mountain to the bottom of the valley where the river is. You’ve been in these mountains before.

 

9/21/2024 2:03 AM Донишгоҳи Осиёи Марказӣ – Норин / University of Central Asia – Naryn 

The harvest moon breaks through the clouds, making the mountains glow for a moment. The moment demands us to stop in unison. 

 

9/22/2024 2:43 PM Боғи Ок, Бишкек / Oak Park, Bishkek

A concrete block of a figure sits on a large fish; its head is turned right and its hands are holding up a slab of an ammonite. Half of its body looks to be in the process of mummification and blurring into a shapeless form. You pass by me as I stop to capture the statue.

 

9/22/2024 2:45 PM Боғи Ок, Бишкек / Oak Park, Bishkek

Another concrete block. A man rests his face against a horse. Both of their eyes are closed; they are linked, feeling together. This time, you stop with me and we stare together.

 

9/24/2024 3:19 PM Дар назди дарьёи Варзоб, Душанбе / near the Varzob River Dushanbe 

Back on the road, the driver slows down for a crowd of freshly-shaven sheep. 

 

9/25/2024 1:14 PM кучаи Мирзо Турсунзода, Душанбе / Mirzo Tursunzoda Street, Dushanbe

You call and say we’re getting lunch at an Afghan restaurant. During the taxi ride, the plastic cover on the driver’s seat rips from a gust of wind. It forms a heart for a brief moment before tearing further.
 

10/15/2024 8:37 AM Душанбе / Dushanbe 

Your mother’s cats are tired. One is playful and one is old. The older white cat opens your bottom right clothing drawer and falls asleep, while the spotted kitten tries to wake him to make room, or to play.

 

10/25/2024 8:31 PM Душанбе / Dushanbe 

As we leave, the moon shines on the pomegranates hanging in your father’s garden.

 

10/26/2024 12:22 AM Душанбе / Dushanbe 

The power goes out in the nearby apartment buildings, yours included. We scream at first, but you find the candles. You’re wearing a flowy, black-and-white zigzag kaftan. The window is open and you strike the lighter. The cigarette is lit before the candle and we realize we don’t mind the darkness. I teach you the Farsi word for angel. 

[In my dreams, you sit with me here and show me how to mix the colors that only you could see.]  

 

10/26/2024 11:21 AM Душанбе / Dushanbe 

A large jar of honey gifted by your father sits on the kitchen counter.

 

I don’t remember which day, but you ask Haroon and I to play a live version of Имшаб аз Далер Назаров / Imshab by Daler Nazarov. Your face is full of love and light as you slowly sway to his voice. 

 

Имшаб, ман туро ёд кардам Сабинаи азиз

امشب، یادت می آید سابینا عزیز

Tonight, I remember you dear Sabina