Dearest Tbilisi,

Dearest Tbilisi, I write with love to you. I’ve known you for a little less than three years and you’ve been very protective of your secrets but I’ve come to love you in ways I never knew possible. Well, to begin with I was unaware of your existence so when your name popped up in a casual conversation I wasn’t interested in meeting you… but I did in the end and it took me about a year to pronounce your name right, but the following day after I met you, you made it loud and clear that “Tbilisi loves [you].” In search of your seducing wifi name, I walked around with my phone held out to call my parents and tell them that this city loves me, but I’m not ready to be loved yet. You won, though.. and I fell in love with a city I met by strange coincidence. When the clouds covered my view of you, a congested city on barren winter-stricken land, I was thankful for I did not want to see you. It was definitely not love at first sight. But you welcomed a girl with warm open arms, and I hate hugs so I turned around.
Dearest Tbilisi, you built a home in a foreign city and housed me there. You introduced me to people as if you knew exactly who I needed in my life. You gave me a family that I had never known before. I love you most of all for the people you’ve brought into my life.
You fill days with surprises, every sunrise a new beginning and every sunset a new beginning too. I’ve seen beautiful beginnings in Tbilisi, some that begin with me, and most that begin with the rest of the world. You colour your skies like a coulouring book in the hands of an abstract artist. You colour your streets the same way too- with people and shop fronts, buildings and hospitals that make it hard to decide where in the world you came from.
With love that’s shaped like rounded alphabets, words that sound like tongue-twisters, street lights shaped like overturned umbrellas, your sole mission has been to entertain me. And entertained, I am.
So… Dearest Tbilisi, I love you.. from the cheese kinkali to the limon lemonade. From station square to Samasi Aragveli in a crowded metro too. All the way across the Arabian Sea, the Persian Gulf and all the countries in between. I love you, for reminding me day in and day out that Tbilsi, is “the city that loves you”.


A cover of sacrifice- Elton John. I won’t tell you by who.

I watched you sing one day. They all did, but I watched you like I’ve never watched anything else in my life before. And I couldn’t hear you.
Your syllables spread around me and I dodged them as if you were shooting out all your bullets. And when you stopped, time stopped with you. I watched you, I watched them ponder- how their opinions differed, and then someone looked at me and you walked past. I could not tell fir myself what I had heard, for I was too busy listening to all the words you didn’t say.


I’m sorry for being the cliffhanger in your story line- essential, yet disappointing.
For being the sugar cube at the bottom of your bitter tea, noticed too late.
I’m sorry for the excuse I am to your apology; the story of your scar- interesting, but not worthwhile.
For the life and love I’ve seen you dust off your shoulder that I’ve watched but wasn’t fast enough to catch.
For all the times when we still thought promises last forever, that broken hearts could heal and we believed storytellers were the best anyone could ever be.
I’m sorry for each star that you wished upon. I told you that there was no height you couldn’t reach, but stars are balls of fire that burn you down.  I’m sorry I never told you I was one too.