Sunday, July 15, 2012

Weekend Blues in E major

Ever feel that the pouring rain outside is secretly compensating for the tears that refuse to flow from your eyes?

Crying seems to be beneath me these days - as though I musn't waste tears on what bothers me. I can waste anger, yes, but not tears. Because tears make you vulnerable and bare. And I've run out of my quota of both of those quite early in the month.

Again, the friend circle changes. And the new circle is very welcoming... too welcoming, for my taste. I suspect. I doubt. Can people really like me that fast? While I ponder on that, I'm being 'smothered' by the new friends, because they know that company is what I need. So whether I like it or not, I will have to swallow the Friend syrup in one big gulp like a good girl, even if I retch for five minutes afterward.

I like the show, New Girl on Star World, with Zoe Deschanel. Some people said the main protagonist is 'so me'. And it's quite interesting actually. I do identify with some of the quirks. Also it makes it so much easier to explain how I see things to other people (Why don't you check that episode out, so you know what I'm realllly thinking?).

This part of my life, as my younger cousin rightly put it, is 'DULL'. My clothes are dull, the weather is dull, my art is dull, the photos I capture are, in my opinion, dull. I suppose your state of mind does portray itself into your daily life. And for a long time, I have been dull. And I can't wait for the new butterfly wings to break out of the shell. I just can't wait.


Thursday, July 12, 2012

Um. Excuse me, Sir, but where am I?

Ever had that feeling of sudden realisation that the place you've lived in all your life isn't what you thought it was? Sure I live in an underdeveloped country - but even then I would have sparingly considered moving to any part of the country than within my own, current city. 

But after I stepped out of this city for merely 6 days, to a purer, cleaner and cooler clime, where the only sound one hears in the morning are the chirps of birds, banter of cicadas and mating calls of frogs in tandem with the pitter-patter of rain; I came back completely displaced. 

The moment I entered the airport I knew where I was, and already I began to miss where I'd been. Forget leaving the airport, I had a rude awakening in the 'car-pickup' spot, where impatient drivers screeched their horns, while passing travellers paid no heed, as though they are were deafened eons ago by this cacophony. Every time a horn honked, I jumped inside and my ears hurt. 

I also, for the first time, choked upon entering the city -- the cleaner part of the city, mind you. Not until now, did I know how humid it really was. And coupled with the pollution, it was a nasty cocktail for my throat to swallow. I missed the mist; I had been in the clouds with my mouth wide open, trying to gulp the tufts of clean cool air. 

I suppose this is what we call the 'holiday hangover'. But ooooh, how I want to go back to where I was.