I am heartbroken.
My neat and tidy plan was to settle down on the leather chair and write about my Cyprus trip for this humble online memoir. I made a cup of coffee and arranged my entangled laptop area - AC adaptor, mouse, yes, mouse, and fancy ear plugs - and then went upstairs to my treasured journal collection.
You have to understand how valuable this collection is to me. If our house was on fire, these would be the things I would take with me. I've played reruns of this scenario a hundred times in my head. These journals are what I want to pass on to my children, grandchildren, nieces or nephews, whichever ones are my favorite.
I flip through the piles of moleskines that I have, a collection of five years, and I don't find my Cyprus journal.
I've lost a journal before in a Careem car, the one I wrote in my trip to Oman. I made a big fuss about that one but this one...it's different.
I feel like an important sequence from the filmstrip that is my life was cut out and taken from me. That trip was special because I traveled with someone who is dear to me and because the experience punched holes through my being, creating windows into my soul I didn't know were missing. That trip was when I found out the true meaning of being a pilgrim and this is what this blog was named after.
So I'm going to try to write about it from what I remember. I hope I can draw the most juice out of my already dulled memory. You can have your money back (but not your time) if I ever find that journal and the details are incorrect or greatly underplayed.
Back in October 2015...
PS. Those of you who know me, if you ever see a small moleskine that says "Larnaca, Nicosia, Famagusta" on the cover and that has my information on the inside...please contact me, right away. Thank you.