Love at First Sight



A: Do you believe in love at the first sight?
B: Well, yes but no. I believe in ‘something’ at the first sight. It could be the good look or the smile or your favorite band’s logo on the t-shirt or your favorite book being read. Or it could be an illusion. Whichever happened, you need to work on it later. If it developed the way you hoped, then you’d mention to everybody, ‘It was a love at the first sight.’ If it didn’t work well or it turned out that the person is someone’s else husband or wife or a jerk or schizophrenic or too broke to afford a date, then you’d tell people not to believe in bullshit such love at the first sight. But I guess love is not discrete, not, you know, in one second you aren’t in love and the next one you are. It’s a funny thing anyway.

Postcard to Roseau

Letter, Postcard


Dear Roseau,

My daughter was born last week. I named her Rosalie because I don’t want to forget Dominica, and you, and the happiest year of my life. I actually wanted to name her after you but I’m not sure if I’d ever be able to handle it: to reproduce the vivid memory of you waving goodbye or us kissing in front of the Baobab tree, when you told me I was another David, that came, destroyed and be forever remembered.

I’m still sorry, Roseau. I really am.






(Inspired by the Baobab tree called Goliath that fell during Hurricane David, 1979)