time, relatively..

How long? or how many times..before something qualifies as a habit?

Aww-inducing!

Hearing someone snore, over the phone, 5023 miles away is one of the most comforting things in the world.

Inexplicable..

...in a moment of weakness.

There are those that are loved. I think I take them for granted now. The second rung come and go, I think. There was one there and I think you're in passing here.

Do you think of me at all?

The realization

Of course, it's all okay. Transitions and new beginnings are fables anyway. It is just the moments of wanting to flee - the crowd, the inexplicable notions running into each other and collapsing and the self - that make me want to pull the covers upto my chin and sleep in.

I cannot bear to think that the next nine months will not resolve everything. That the insecurities will not be dealt and put away on the shelf. I took it for granted that you just stop questioning yourself after a Master's degree. I cannot bear the thought of dealing with myself till am 85 - sitting on my rocking chair, knitting jumpers of self-doubts and undermined confidence.

You follow yourself everywhere. So where does the new beginning start?

I cant say no and I cannot speak up. Sentences interspersed with blah blah because the apparent coherent me upped it and left for Spain. Or maybe, she was never there.

London was where I came to do what I wanted to. When the hell did the ghosts of the obligatory past colonise the spaces for me?

The new me never shows up. Everyone around sheds their old skin effortlessly and metamorphises into the butterfly. I haven't even built my cocoon yet.

For today..

For all the conversations. beers. walks. riverside. colour. songs. sighs. hugs. moments. strangers. associations. buoyancy. denim. frozen noses. light. ash. autumn leaves. faces. nostalgia.
For today. That had noone and nothing other than me.
For the exuberance. together.
For the time that I will never be able to explain. without. or post facto recall.

It's been a while..

Sleeping at 5am never did anyone much good. But the autumn leaves and cider and smoke blowing out from the mouth, reeking of memories, did wonders. There has always been something about the night.

I'm the fray now. In the centre, if you like. Running.

Walking the walk I have learnt to love. Windows that sometimes go by in a flash. Those that I briefly glance at, smiling at the familiar me.

I like the old buildings. Don't quite like the alleyways I overlook.

I've learnt to be frazzled. But never let it seep in. It's ephemeral, you know.

I've learnt to make my peace with myself. At least on the good days. Make my peace with my awkwardness, latent aggression. and even with being on the periphery. I've made my peace with waking up to a grey sky. With 'alone'. I've made my peace with falling hair.

I sometimes yearn for listeners. Sometimes, I wish I remembered the stories I have tucked away.

I'm sure about my security blanket. After a long wait, I've found the circle around me.

I'm testing my ability to perform under pressure. But this year it's supposed to be a 100%...

London

I'm big on the comfort factor. Comfort in terms of letting go. In terms of not having to watch my step. In terms of my favorite shawl on my chair. I measure everything on the comfort scale - passion, chemistry and the rain.

Comfort vis-a-vis the self has been the most elusive.

From the absolute to the relative, comfort has moved from Che to a silver maruti to a photograph of a scrabble board on a cream wall in Central london.. it has been mushroom soup on a first day and it has been huddled in the middle of overwhelming affection. Faux leather blue sofas in a once-smelly kitchen and a second hand duvet cover. Hot dogs and books under a bridge. A now-torn map. the din of the tube. There were the impersonal headphones and of course, a boat on the Thames.