The things we do.

Last night,
we met a friend
at the most exquisite
Chinese restaurant in all
of Delhi, India even, I’m told.

We went there after dinner, but
we had more. Three kinds of dimsum,
shu mai: chicken, pork and prawn. Juicy
servings of ground, seasoned meats, wrapped
in fine sheets, served with peas in their open-topped
centres. Six kinds of dessert: light, fresh mango pudding,
green tea tiramisu, chocolate crème brulée with caramelized
ginger, three scoops of ice cream, all tender, mild, and oriental. Pies
with the flakiest, lightest crust, and wonderfully roundedly sweet filling.
The perfect mango pudding, and fresh, tropical fruit; kiwi, papaya, pineapples
and dragonfruit! Imagine my delight.

There was wine! The kind of well-blended, New World wine that my dad and I both love.
The type that is sweeter and explodes more resoundingly in your mouth when you know you’re home.
Home is the comfort of being with old friends, of course. Where conversation flows as smoothly as wine
and good food, as confidently as your knowledge that the world is right. And while I sat there and chatted the night away
with people I love, my friend across the world crouched in a corner of her room, and killed herself.

I hope you're happier wherever you are, Anne.