of moles and memory

every time i stretch my arms over the key board, a mole on the inner-elbow of my right arm glances at me and passes, as my arms turn down and i begin to type. nevertheless, the mole is there, bending down over my lap as i continue typing.

then there's this other mole on my nose- exactly where women have their nose-piercing in all the communities in Nepal, except for the Newars- which has always encouraged people to ask me if i am Rai. i always smile at the approach that i should nearly pass-off for a Rai. from the time i was in school, i thought of being mistaken as so much fun. still do. to belong like that is to unbelong.

another mole on my face, on my jawbone on the right, making my face almost fragile, but not quite. one can only tell it is there if the face has been in view for hours and at a proximity. but the one on my neck is almost always visible- showing off the lines on my neck, speaking of age that's begging to sit on me with a promise of making me quiet, if not more graceful.

the one where my waist ends- only i and mamu and one more person seem to know of.

the one on my right leg is the faintest. but always there.

ajee used to say, girls who have moles on their legs travel right across the world. often, when nights are about shutting my eyes and counting sheep to put myself to sleep, i wonder if the traveling she mentioned was in the physical sense or just my mind crossing seas to seek out people from the past, who i thought i forgot and never did.