Sometimes It's Okay to be Lazy

It's the week before finals, and I had everything planned out so well. I made this schedule to finish first drafts of all my papers before the weekend because I had a party to go to on Saturday. Then when finals week actually began, I'd just have to revise my papers and hand them in. It was perfect.

And then I fucked up and didn't follow my schedule at all. I slept the days away and got distracted by everything under the sun and didn't do a thing. 

It's going to be 9:00 p.m. on the second day of my perfect schedule, only I haven't done shit. And so, when my mum asked how the work on my papers was going, I finally told her I'd been a lazy ass and done nothing at all. 

And she said it was okay.

"It's alright, little one. We are, all of us, works in progress. Not finished perfect products. You might become a schedule making and keeping person again, one day. But for now this is who you are, so go with it. What point in being upset? And it'll settle, a pattern will emerge and you will find it an acceptable one. So for now let it be."

And as I read that, somewhere in the recesses of my cloudy, fog-blanketed mind, something lit up: I was not the same person I used to be, and I'd been trying too long to be that person.

It really was okay. I may be—heck, I most certainly am—incredibly organised and detail-oriented, obsessive-compulsive to a certain, tiny (but very real) degree, but I am also not fifteen anymore. At fifteen I was not as particular about things being clean and organised as I am now, but I did work ahead of time and stick to the routine I'd set up. 

I turned twenty-one a few days ago. No one expects me to be the same person. No one, I guess, except me. 

I want

I need a bed.
"Yep, you do. We'll get it one of these weekends."
I'm probably going to need a dresser too, really.
"Yeah, you'll definitely need one. We'll get it when we buy the bed."

You know what I need? That lamp attached to a nightstand that we saw.
"I'll see when I can pick it up, but I'm not making any promises."
Oooh! I need a mirror. A full-length mirror. We don't have a single one in the apartment.
"I...guess so."

I need a boyfriend. I /need/ someone of my own.
"You know I can't help you with that, right?"
I know. But I'm just saying, I /need/ a boyfriend.

Ohmylord I need a cat!
"I'm allergic, sorry. And I don't even like cats all that much anyway."
Okay fine.
Oooh, oooh, I need a golden retriever, please!
*sigh* "That would've been great, only we're not allowed pets in the apartment."

You know what I need? Flowers. Or a plant. I need to grow some kind of floral plant in my room.
"You do you, only I'm warning you now, I'm not going to remember to water it when you're out of town."

I want you to be happy.

Did you hear what I said? I just want you to be happy.

The next morning,
He quit his job,
Packed his bags,
Drove away to the beach.

Thin Ice

Some days I can hear the ice crack
As I live,
And it feels like every step is a risk
Because any one could
Break the floor beneath my feet.

I tread with care most days,
Softly and gently,
Quietly, so I don't break and fall
And lose myself and
Plunge into I know not what.

But some days I throw all cares to the wind,
Stomp and jump and run and fall
Because maybe what I need
Maybe what I really need
Is for everything to break and be destroyed and
Lie in ruins about me;
Maybe I am a phoenix and need to
Burn and consume myself entirely
Before I can be reborn and rise from the ashes.

Or maybe I'm just a foolish child
Skating on thin ice.

Being Fine

"I'll be fine," she whispered to
Herself, as she squeezed her eyes shut.
Opened them and took a deep breath and
Pressed the button to go back,
Not wanting to look at it any longer than she could help it.
Such a little thing, just a small,
Green circle,but it was enough—
More than enough—
And what once set her heart a-flutter,
Now plunged it into the depths of despair.
"I'll be fine," she whispered again
And again and again,
"I will be fine," as hot, scalding tears
Streamed down her cheeks.

Today I Listened to Country Music

it's 7 in the evening on a sunday night

the week stretches on ahead looking like the sahara

and i have done no work

instead i'm sitting in bed still in last night's tshirt

a sweater and my blankets

and listening to country music

where did that come from

i don't like country music but

there's something to be said about slow songs drawled out 

and alone in bed it feels like a wave washing 

over me and drowning out the feelings

that have been overpowering my existence all week

it is cold outside and i should 

shower and begin work before it gets too late

and i slip into unconsciousness 

It's been three weeks since we started talking,
Sixteen days since we met,
And six days since you called it off—
Why am I still looking for a text from you?
Why can't I stop hoping?
I have hope
Tattooed across my body and mind—
And this hope will be the death of me.

Chains Like the Sea

I'd read this poem a while ago, around the time Interstellar came out and I discovered Dylan Thomas. "Do Not Go Gentle" captivated me, and so I devoured Dylan Thomas' poetry like it was chocolate cake. "Fern Hill" was one of the lesser known but oh-so-beautiful poems that I, nerd that I am, read aloud in my room at night, pretending I was the poet, reading it out to an adoring audience. 

Then I forgot it. Until a few weeks ago. And now it will forever be etched into my memory, the last lines, if nothing else:
"Time held me green and dying 

Though I sang in my chains like the sea."

Fern Hill

Dylan Thomas

Now as I was young and easy under the apple boughs 

About the lilting house and happy as the grass was green, 

The night above the dingle starry, 

Time let me hail and climb 

Golden in the heydays of his eyes, 

And honoured among wagons I was prince of the apple towns 

And once below a time I lordly had the trees and leaves 

Trail with daisies and barley 

Down the rivers of the windfall light. 

And as I was green and carefree, famous among the barns 

About the happy yard and singing as the farm was home, 

In the sun that is young once only, 

Time let me play and be 

Golden in the mercy of his means, 

And green and golden I was huntsman and herdsman, the calves 

Sang to my horn, the foxes on the hills barked clear and cold, 

And the sabbath rang slowly 

In the pebbles of the holy streams. 

All the sun long it was running, it was lovely, the hay 

Fields high as the house, the tunes from the chimneys, it was air 

And playing, lovely and watery 

And fire green as grass. 

And nightly under the simple stars 

As I rode to sleep the owls were bearing the farm away, 

All the moon long I heard, blessed among stables, the nightjars 

Flying with the ricks, and the horses 

Flashing into the dark. 

And then to awake, and the farm, like a wanderer white 

With the dew, come back, the cock on his shoulder: it was all 

Shining, it was Adam and maiden, 

The sky gathered again 

And the sun grew round that very day. 

So it must have been after the birth of the simple light 

In the first, spinning place, the spellbound horses walking warm 

Out of the whinnying green stable 

On to the fields of praise. 

And honoured among foxes and pheasants by the gay house 

Under the new made clouds and happy as the heart was long, 

In the sun born over and over, I ran my heedless ways, 

My wishes raced through the house high hay 

And nothing I cared, at my sky blue trades, that time allows 

In all his tuneful turning so few and such morning songs 

Before the children green and golden 

Follow him out of grace, 

Nothing I cared, in the lamb white days, that time would take me 

Up to the swallow thronged loft by the shadow of my hand, 

In the moon that is always rising, 

Nor that riding to sleep I should hear him fly with the high fields 

And wake to the farm forever fled from the childless land. 

Oh as I was young and easy in the mercy of his means, 

Time held me green and dying 

Though I sang in my chains like the sea.

Mornings Again

Of late I have taken to
Waking up with the sun. It is,
To me, a superhuman feat.
Strange that I feel this way,
Since all my years of school required me to get up at
Fairly early hours,
And exams meant even earlier hours.
When did it change and why?

It doesn’t matter, I suppose. I have
Begun waking with the sun again,
Even before, some days. I have
Begun training—no, retraining—my body to run on
A few hours of sleep,
Only until the weekend when I
Open my eyes with the sun
But shut them again almost
At once and wake only when sleep leaves my
Body comforted and content.

But it is the early mornings that
I cherish.
It is the early mornings that fill me with
Peace.
It is in the early mornings that my heart learns
To love again.

Pms-induced thoughts on the journey back from school

Today I sat on a bench at the subway station
And stared at the tracks and the trains passing by
And thought—for a full minute or more—about throwing myself in front of the next train that came along.
I wasn't going to do it, of course.
I could never do it.
But the thought entered my mind and stayed a while.

Today I stood in the train,
Surrounded by all these people engrossed in their own lives,
And wondered what they'd think if I were to lie down on the floor;
Lie down flat on the floor and stare at the roof of the train and not say a word.
Would they care? Would I?

Today I sat down in a vacant seat on the train
And plugged my headphones in
But didn't put any music on
Just sat there with silence in my ears and conversation flowing all around
And slowly slowly my head dropped and
I
Fell
Asleep.

Infinity by One Direction

There are no words to explain the feelings this song causes in my heart.

Poeming (the cliches are true)

I appear to be going through a poem-ing phase (yes, I use "poem" as a verb). I don't know how good any of it is, but I do know that I am enjoying it. Mostly because I've never poemed before, so this is both new and exciting. Also educational, as I try to apply my knowledge of poetry from years of literature classes. All in all, interesting.

But, getting serious for a second or two, the reason this creative spring of poetry has bubbled up is because... well, the cliches are true. Love and heartbreak are catalysts for producing art. And I'm currently caught with a foot in each of 'em. Though the heartbreak appears to be shining through stronger than the love. 

What happened to us?

I tell myself to be
Strong, to reach down into
The depths of my soul and pull up,
Pull up what dignity and strength and
Courage I might find there—
There must be some left.

But for the past few days,
Hours, minutes, seconds,
I have been remembering all that
We were, and we were—
Perfect.

What happened to us, J?
Where did I go wrong, say or do
Whatever it is that I said or did
That changed you?
Was none of it real? Surely
Six weeks—forty-two days—forty-two times twenty-four hours—
And as many minutes and seconds—
Surely they couldn’t all have been forced.
They must have been real.
They felt real—especially midway to
The end.

So what happened to us?
Please, tell me. I cannot go on
Hurting much longer.
Then again, I’ve endured worse.

Did my leaving change your mind?
But we both knew I had to leave,
So that can’t be it. Enough.
Just tell me the truth:
What did I do? And, far more importantly,
Can we go back
To that perfection?

Heartbreak Ice Cream

Eating ice cream in the middle of the afternoon,
Watching a TV show when I should be working:
Is this the life of the brokenhearted?

Why do we eat ice cream, though? Why is it the choice food of comfort?
Is it because ice cream is both cold—numbingly so—and soothing?
It takes away all feeling while giving you the comfort of familiar and exotic flavours;
Fills you up with nothing, essentially—
Or at least nothing healthy—
But fills you nonetheless.
It leaves you content for the interim, before the heartbreak strikes again
And leaves you craving that ice cold comfort,
That numbing fulfillment—
Is this why we mindlessly eat pints of ice cream when we are sad?

For me, it is because ice cream is my one true love.

Fortify

I thought I was tough—
And I was—until he
Walked into my life and robbed me of my
Armour. He did it
Slowly,
Gently;
Took it all away,
Piece by unpierceable piece—
Till there was nothing left, and I was
Defenseless.

And now I sit here, writing sad poetry
Because I have to rebuild my walls,
Reforge my armour, and all the while
There is a part of me that likes this.
Likes this life of openness and feelings and—

And so I remind myself, remind myself of how much I
Hate vulnerability, how much I
Hate being seen as soft,

I remind myself of how much it
Hurts.
And I tell myself that I will
Never let myself fall to this level again,
I will never let myself be robbed again,
I will reforge my armour and weld it to myself
And this will never happen
Never
Ever
Again.

Before/After

What does it mean that my heart beats a little quicker every time I hear my phone go off?
Or does it skip a beat?
It used to Before, too, only I didn’t notice it as much then. And then After—
After it just stopped every time I saw your name on the screen.
There were only two weeks of After, and four of Before, and I can remember snippets of Before,
But every letter of After.
And the remembrances are sweet, sweet joy that I failed to see then but do now—
Now that I'm no longer there and can look back with fond eyes.
You sent shivers up my spine and goosebumps down my neck and gave me chills all over.
I was a bundle of nerves—
Of course, that was After. Before, you just put a smile on my face that was
More real than anything I’d felt before and couldn’t be wiped off.
I asked you once—it was After, a moment of raw emotion—what it was that you had done to me.
You smiled and called me by name,
Called me by name and asked me what, indeed, you had done.
I blushed—as I did around you, unceasingly almost, After—and said nothing.

I read this and it has no form or rhyme—can it even be called verse? But it is powerful feeling,
Spontaneous and overflowing,
And is that not what the one of the Greats said good poetry to be?
And it is recollected now, in tranquillity, long past the breathless rush of emotion
That flooded and held complete and absolute sway over the After.
You changed me and there is no going back, and now with every breath, with every heartbeat,
I wait.

Sometimes People Surprise You.

Hello one, hello all!
You know how sometimes- very, very rarely- you meet someone with whom you just click? Like, three sentences into the conversation and you know that you're going to get along. And as the evening progresses, you realise this person is unlike any other that you've ever met and you wonder what will happen when it's time to leave.
Well. That's what happened today. Let me backtrack a little bit.

So wayyyy back at the beginning of June, I'd applied at this publishing company for an internship. They called me the next day and asked if I could come in for an editorial test, which I did, and then said they'd call with the results. No news for three weeks. I began wishing I'd never applied there because the delay in something so small was annoying me. Then they called and said I'd got it and I'd be starting work on 1 July. But at this point I'd just found out about a part time job at this really amazing bakery and had been hoping the internship wouldn't work out so I could just go work at the bakery. Long story short, I wasn't excited about the internship anymore.

First day. Didn't do much, just had orientation and met my supervisor, J, along with everyone else on the editorial team. The second day was much the same, though towards the end, J started giving me stuff to proofread. The first week finished. Week#2. The pace picks up. No more orientation, just lots of reading and editing. I got my own cubicle, which had a pin-up board, so I brought stuff from home to personalise my cubicle, because who doesn't love doing that :P I was starting to settle in and get used to the schedule, and actually liking it. I also had a teeny tiny crush on J. One of those crushes where when you're around the person you get all feels-y, but the rest of time, when you're away, it's all cool. No biggie.

I made friends with one of the younger editors, who introduced me to one of her friends and so the three of us started eating lunch together. I had work to do, work that involved reading and editing, both of which were tasks I liked. I had my own little cubicle, and the office was quiet and peaceful. I listened to music while I worked, and the calm meant that I started wanting to stay later because I didn't want to go home to the noise and attention of people. This really was the perfect job for me- reading, writing, and very little interaction with people.

Then my parents, who'd been out of town, returned. And two of my cousins came to stay. And I had to leave my lovely, quiet cubicle, and go home to a whole lot more people than I am used to. And it wasn't easy. I began staying till 5:45/6:00 instead of leaving at 5:30 when I was supposed to. I also was just really really happy at work. Crushing on J remained the way it had been, low-key and harmless. My lunch friends were not my age but I still had friends to eat with and talk to and that was nice. I was happy.

And then today, well now it's yesterday, everything changed. My friend was going to visit her family in another city over the weekend, so she left early. Around 4:30, I started getting restless. I'd been working on this book for the past week, and today I'd reached saturation point. Everything was blurring into one and no matter how many times I read a page, it made no sense to me. I tried to work for a little bit more, thinking if I just made it through the next hour, I could leave. At 4:45 I got up from my cubicle. I couldn't do it. I needed a break, even if it was just for a few minutes. Talk to someone, walk around, just get away from my computer. I was going to go to my friend's cubicle but then I remembered she'd already left, and my other friend had been so busy that she hadn't even eaten with us. So that left J. I was so tired of my book that  I figured, hey, I'd go ask him if he was busy. If he was, I'd come back and just power through till 5:30; if not, I'd talk to him for a few minutes.

He said he was bored. I sat down to talk. And we didn't move till 8:15.
Three. And. A. Half. H O U R S.
That's how long we talked for. And we left only because my mum started getting frantic and told me to please come home because it was getting late.

We talked about everything possible. I have never ever in all my life met someone with whom I just instantly clicked and could carry on a pleasant conversation, and for so long. I'm socially awkward, I find it difficult to talk to people I know, let alone people I don't know. This was the first conversation that J and I had that wasn't about work and lasted more than five minutes. And I told him stuff that I'm usually very, very reluctant to share with other people. And we discussed likes, dislikes, plans, family, everything. He told me stories about his family, growing up, work, relationships...just life.  It's not even like we agreed on everything; we disagreed about stuff too, but in such a way that we both learnt from the other's perspective and no one was offended. We found similarities and differences, funny stories and not so funny ones. And I found in J something that I've never been able to find in all of my friends- empathy about my lack of faith. And suddenly all the feelings that till now had only been met with sympathy and love were met by someone who knew precisely what I was talking about and who'd made it through. And while sympathy and love is wonderful, empathy is a different level of wonderful. And I just never wanted to leave.

I don't want a romantic relationship, at least not yet. But I want, no I need something with J because I'm pretty sure I may never find someone with whom I'll feel S O comfortable so quickly, ever again. I want to remember this day forever and ever, but at the same time I don't want my feelings getting in the way of this. I want this to take its course and hope that it all just works out for the best. Because what we had today was, in my view at least, nothing like I'd ever had before. And I don't want to lose it.

The Hoodie

It was the night before I had to move out of the dorm, and I still hadn’t finished packing. Thankfully my roommate had already left, so I could leave my things all over the room as I sorted through what I needed to take home, what I could leave at my brother’s, and what I needed to get rid of.

I was almost done. All that was left was my folders and books, and a pile of clothes that I was donating because I couldn’t remember the last time I’d worn them. I decided to tackle the clothes first. Folding them and putting them into a plastic bag to leave in the donation box in the morning. No big deal. I had music playing in the background, and I was distracted as I folded, not really looking at the clothes.

Until I picked up a zip-up hoodie, and then it was as though time stopped. I had to sit down to catch my breath for a moment as I stared at this old, soft hoodie, the color of chocolate. It was clean, but a little too worn out to wear anywhere but at home. But looking at it, all I could think of was my father. Because he used to wear this, and I could see him now, opening the door to us on a Saturday night as my mother dropped us off. I could see my little brother and me sitting at the kitchen table, telling my father all that had happened since Wednesday when we’d gone to our mother’s, as he made a large omelet with cheese and tomatoes and spinach and meat. He’d push up the sleeves of his hoodie as he stood over the hot stove, laughing at our stories and telling us some of his own.

He’d wake us up on Sunday mornings in a hurry, going straight back to his study as soon as he saw we were awake. I’d take him a plate of toast and butter and jam a little later, when my brother and I were eating our own breakfast. He’d smile gratefully, looking up from his sermon notes for an instant, as he pushed back the sleeves of the hoodie and made place on the table to set the plate down.

The brown hoodie was my mother’s, he had once told me. Somehow it had been forgotten when she’d left, probably because it was so old and she rarely wore it. I don’t remember how I came to start wearing it. But here it was among my clothes now, and as I folded it and put it in the donation bag, my heart broke a little.

The next morning I overslept and woke up only when my older brother called to say he was leaving and would be at my dorm in an hour. I ate and dressed in a rush, packing away the last of my things. I grabbed the bags of clothes and went down to the donation box. It was overflowing with clothes, but people had left bags on the floor by it, so I set mine there too. And as I put them down, I caught sight of the hoodie once more.

And once again I could see him, and this was some years later, coming out of his room, eyes still sleepy as he ruffled my brother’s hair at the table and kissed my forehead. In a few minutes we’d be walking down to the bus stop, just him and me, where I’d comment on the poor sleepy shop assistants sweeping the sidewalk and arranging the stands while the shop owners looked on.

I cried on the way back to my room, cried for the loss of the simple innocence of childhood, for the easy, uncomplicated relationship I’d once had with my father, for the cold, unbridgeable gap that now existed between us, and how by giving away the hoodie it felt like this gap was only growing wider.

I'm back!

Hello readers! (I'm basically talking to myself here...)

I've been away for a while, mostly because I was taking a break from social media, and then finals came up, and then I just got busy with getting ready to leave the dorm and come home for summer break. Once I got here, I thought I'd have time to write, but first I was visiting relatives, then there was no WiFi, and now I've just been lazy.
But I'm here now. And I hope to post something at least once a week, maybe more. I have a whole lot of ideas that I want to write about, I just need to stop being a lazy bum and actually get to work on them. Which I will do. Shortly. Just as soon as I've finished lunch and watched the season finale for Game of Thrones.
Happy summer!!

I feel like such a little bitch

After much crying and wallowing in self pity, my sensible side started to take over and I realised that I should be grateful I at least got a single day's ticket.
I'm such a little brat,really. Most people I know onl dream about going to NYCC, and here I am complaining that I won't get to go all three days. Sure, it's upsetting when I had been building it up in my head for so long and my plans fell apart (as they always seem to do). But I'm still going.
I need to listen to Sensible me more instead of letting Regular me take over.
If only that were easy.  

NYCC 3 day passes sold out.

I haven't done favourites in a while, and i just don't feel like doing them. life's been pretty topsy turvy, and right now, it just feels like the universe has it in for me and nothing can ever go right. i have far too much on my mind and listing good things just feels hypocritical.
I'm just going to go cry for a little bit now. 

Work Destroys Love pt 2

So my mum and I had a long phone conversation today. It started out fine; Prof. S had emailed our first essays back, and I'd forwarded it to my mum. He had a lot of stuff to say, but also gave me an A/A-, and said that it was a good paper; so we discussed his comments and how I’d done well. Only, and I should have expected this, it didn’t end there. Mum then started on about how see, I can write essays and American Gods is just another essay and I should work on it and just finish the first draft and send it out.

And then everything went to shit. Because every day so far I have been opening up a blank document and taking out my books and then just staring at everything because literally no words come to mind and I just draw a complete blank. But my mum was like, look, just try a paragraph; it doesn’t have to be in order. You have an outline, pick a point, and work on that. And then she told me to open a document and she’d talk me through it. Only it didn’t work. I just blanked out again. And we spent almost half an hour with me sitting in complete silence and then mum asking if I’d written anything and I’d shrug and then remember she couldn’t see me, and so mumble that no I hadn’t written anything, I didn’t know what to write. And it just kept worse and worse until finally I told her that I was fine as long as I didn’t think about this essay and could we please drop it. And so a couple of minutes later she said bye and hung up.

And wrote me this email:

Reading his comments initially I was really scared but after reading his final paragraph, then reading them again you realise how he has done this, really seriously, and so that you can write a strong essay next time.
I don't know how to help you do this but trust me when i say American Gods is also do-able. If you can see that the outline you have is workable then you will be able to do it, without too much trouble. But as long as you are scared of it, made unhappy by it, then you won't make a move, na?
Which is why i said write a couple of lines, anything, just write. So long as it is about American Gods. break the hold it has on your mind that it is terribly wrong and just write. Even if it is nothing connected to your outline. The writing will help.
And please don't think I am 'getting on your case': might look like it but I am trying to not let you be defeated so that you can at least have some 'American-gods-free' time this spring break. And you are entitled to that so yeah, if I sound like I am on your case this is why.
You loved the book: write a book review, random ideas and then slowly it'll come back.

Only I haven’t the heart to tell her that I don’t love the book anymore. I don’t even hate it. I'm just terrified of it. I fear it. I fear a goddamn book. Because it has reduced to me this pitiful mass of self-doubt and anxiety that I never was before.

January and February Favourites

I should have done this a LONG time ago, but it’s Spring Break, and if you've read my previous post, you know that I have an essay to write and I'm trying to procrastinate that as much as possible. So, I’m finally doing this instead. In no particular order, here goes:

1. Being Home
I never thought I’d be this happy about being home, but I was. I got to spend time with my mum and my cousin and my little brother, I got to snuggle with my cat, I got to read books that I’d been missing and craving. I got to eat whatever I wanted and not have to worry about how much it cost. I got to stay up as late as I wanted, and sleep in till lunchtime. I got my own room and free laundry and nice weather. I got to whine and argue and laugh and tell stories and hear stories and meet people I hadn't seen or talked to in months. I might have hated it while I had it, but now that I only get it once a year, home is precious.

2. My Girls.
Being reunited with them was fantastic. We did exactly the same nonsense that we used to do before I left. In fact, our first meeting was like a reconstruction of one of our college days. We met at the same place for lunch; ate a lot of the same food; wandered through the same store; went to the same friend’s house; did the same thing that we always did- sprawl on the bed with the main lights off and only sunlight and twinkling Christmas lights on and talked and ate. And then realised we were all out past our curfew and so rushed back. I think we met once every week, and for once we all remembered to take pictures, so now we have records of our time together, and well, I think it’s safe to say that the time I spent with my friends was my favourite time that whole month

3. Sam.
I got to see Sam after TWO. Freakin’. Years. Strangely enough, my last weekend was the absolute best time I had on the entire visit, and I owe it all to Sam. It was SO incredible to be in the same room with her, and to surprise everyone else, and to see how she practically melded into my family like she’d been a part of it all along.

4. Becky's gifts.

Need I say more?

5. Fourteen years and counting.
I met one of my oldest friends ever. We've known each other for fourteen years, and even though we've gone from sticking to each other for seven hours each day for five days a week, to meeting once a year and then talking for four hours straight without a pause, nothing’s really changed. We are SO different, and yet at the same time there are some things about us that are extremely similar, and we understand each other so perfectly that we surprise ourselves.

6. Traces Sam left behind
Some time at the beginning of Feb, I opened up the Sticky Notes gadget thing that I usually leave on my laptop. And in the sticky note labelled “favourites” (that I use to keep track of my monthly favourites), I found this: “Sam (aww! Heart. <3. I shall miss being able to creepily write things on your laptop.)”
I plugged in my Hard Disk a few weeks back to transfer something, and what do I see in the list of folders, but one named “For Sam”.

7. Mug Meals.

For all you people who don't want to spend too much money on food and don't have access to anything except a microwave. allow me to introduce you to microwave mug recipes.
I can eat regular-ish food again. And I can make it myself!

8. I discovered this amazing shop (that, to be fair, I’d heard about and seen almost every day, just never actually gone inside). It has EVERYTHING, and at really good prices. When I say everything, I mean everything. From clothes (not fancy stuff, but basic things- pants, tops, sweaters, t-shirts, underwear) to makeup to travel stuff to house furnishings to kitchen utensils to food to stationery. Literally everything. I wandered inside there for like an hour or something, and was like if I could just find some place to stay, I could get so many useful things from this shop!

9. Professor S.
So I have this young professor for one of my English classes (the same one that assigned American Gods), and goddammit, he’s amazing. For real. He is possibly the most unproblematic white man I have ever met. He’s almost perfect. He’s really, really smart. And a great teacher. Funny. Reads. And into fandom stuff. Recognises problematic issues. Nerdy. So. Goddamn. Cute.
Just why. WHY UNIVERSE WHY.

10. Movies.
Bangalore Days. Subtitles are available. I never thought I’d
a. watch a Malayalam movie;
b. love it.
Both happened. It’s crazy.
Queen. Watch this. If you don’t understand Hindi, find a version with subtitles. It’s worth it.

January was definitely the better month, but I managed to get through Feb, and now I'm halfway through March! A constant reminder that I can do this. Yay :)

Work Destroys Love

It’s a proven fact. If you incorporate something that you love into your work, you will start to hate it. Take, for example, the movie Avengers. It is one of my friend’s favouritest movies ever. A few weeks ago, for a film production class, she had to watch the movie, break it up into three definitive acts, and summarise each Act. By the time she finished her assignment, she almost hated the movie, and she could never watch it the same way again.

In one of my classes this semester, we were assigned Neil Gaiman’s American Gods as a text. I remember almost bursting from happiness that first day when I saw it on the syllabus. I love Neil Gaiman’s work, and American Gods is particularly brilliant. Studying it in class was wonderful, especially because I got to read it all over again and laugh and cry and curse and enjoy every bit of it. Then came essay assignments. And I couldn’t think of a single idea. And even with my mum’s help, I was still lost. To the point where one night I broke down and cried and felt like a complete loser. And finally signed up to go see a counsellor because my anxiety and depression was just building up and I wasn’t sure how much longer I could go on this way.

And now, now I cannot look at American Gods without thinking of that night or of the class where we had to present our essay ideas and thesis to the rest of the students and how I was so confused that I didn’t really even know what I was trying to say. I cannot think of the novel because it reminds me that I still have that essay to write and I am so completely clueless on that front and it just brings back that day standing in front of the class and just blathering on because I had no idea what to say


My point here is that if you love something and want to continue loving it and enjoying it, don’t let it become a part of your study or work. Because you might find that now you hate it or dread it, and now it is ruined for you.

A lovely spring day

It's a beautiful (and I mean beeyouteefull) day outside. Key word here being "outside".

I'm stuck inside my room, thanks to midterms. And normally I wouldn't mind so much. Only my room is a mess. My roommate's side is always a mess, she's a slob. But today my side is messy too. I didn't have time to make my bed because I overslept. And I normally leave my coat and scarf on the corner once I get back. And I keep my folder and textbooks I may need on the side beside my desk so it's within easy reach. And since I have a paper tomorrow, I need to work. So my bed is unmade, I have all of that^ dumped wherever I found place, and it is almost physically causing me pain.

LOOK HOW MESSY MY BED IS *bursts into tears*

There's gorgeous sunlight streaming in through the window, but I can only see more clearly how dusty the floor is and for the life of me I cannot understand where the dust is from, considering it's been too cold to open the windows.

And then there's noise. I don't know when I became this way or if I was always this way but didn't realise it: I need quiet. The boys in the room beside mine are laughing and talking loudly and it is frustrating. My roommate loves having the TV on even if she's not really watching it. And if she is watching, it's usually utter bullshit like Fashion Police that makes me want to tear my hair out. I can hear people on the street. I'm seven floors up and I can hear people talking and whistling on the street. How?

And doors. I can hear doors banging shut all down the corridor whenever someone enters or leaves and why. can't. people. be. gentle.? My roommate does this all the time and it either startles me so dreadfully that I jump, or it gets on my nerves and irritates me. All I ask of this entire goddamn floor is that you shut the door GENTLY behind you. It IS possible. I do it every single time. So why can't you? Basic goddamn courtesy.

Obviously the beautiful spring day is only limited to the world outside.

Music. More specifically, Westlife

I know I’m (really) late with my favourites post, and I apologise, because this isn’t it either. But I needed to get this out.

I almost cried today at the subway station, while waiting for the train to come in. So I was listening to music, and this song started playing. The funny thing is that now I can’t even remember which song it was. But at the moment I was overcome by a flood of memories.

Music has that power. It can bring back memories you didn’t even know you had or hadn’t thought about in years. Smells do that too, y’know? My last post was about smells; otherwise I’d have gone on about them here, too. Instead Imma talk about what music does to me.

So I'm standing on a slightly crowded platform, waiting with everyone else for the trains to come in. it’s been a long day, we’re all tired, and to top it all off, it’s cold- below zero degrees Celsius. So anyway, I'm standing in a corner, hands shoved deep into my coat pockets, music playing in my ears, and in my head I'm trying to plan the weekend, trying to determine how much time each of my essays will take, when I need to leave for my meeting with a professor tomorrow, etc. and then this song starts playing.

All I remember about the song now is that it was by Westlife. There are only a limited number of songs it could have been, because I was listening to a specific playlist, and there’s only a few songs by them on it. I still don’t remember which one it was though. But by the time the chorus started playing, I was no longer on the subway platform, freezing and tired; I was 11 or 12, sprawled on my stomach on my mattress in my old room, reading a book called The Grey King that was part of a series about the Welsh Arthurian legends, and in the background, my red tape recorder/deck/player thing was playing my favourite band at the time- Westlife.

And then I was 14, again sprawled on my mattress (or had we bought my bed by this time?), and reading The Graveyard Book by the dim glow of my nightlight.

And then I could have been any age from 11 to 14, lying awake late at night, physically in my bed (or mattress), but mentally worlds away in Middle Earth, fighting alongside the Fellowship and killing orcs and



All with Westlife’s music playing in the background.

Smells.

I wish there was a way of capturing smells. And keeping them forever and ever and ever. Because some smells can be so powerful; they dig up old, long forgotten memories.

old books. wet earth. clean, freshly laundered sheets. that particular cologne or perfume or aftershave, which you can never name. hair washed with that shampoo or conditioner that makes you just stop and breathe deeply.

There are so many others, which you’d never think held any meaning, until you caught a whiff of that smell. And then are lost for the rest of the day trying to remember a day or time which you had buried long ago.

-This was my first post on another blog of mine. I just randomly decided to check what my first post had been, and I found this, and felt it needed re-posting. 

Plane Thoughts

I'm writing this on the plane. Mostly just so I’ll have a post that I can say I actually did write on the plane *insert the cool sunglasses wearing emoji*. Plus, that scene at the end of the Princess Diaries movie… y’know, where she’s writing in her diary as princess of Genovia. Anyway. That’s all beside the point really. There isn’t an actual point I'm trying to make here though, now that I think of it. Okay, wait, let me think this through. *thinks for a bit* *also adjusts self on this stupid airplane seat trying not to bang the laptop into the seat in front that’s inconveniently reclining right in my face* Okay I'm back. Let’s do this.

I cannot believe a month is already over and I'm on my way back. How did that happen? It’s already the 19th of January; time is going by WAY too fast for my liking. I’ll be back in the dorm by this weekend. Next week classes start and then it’s ‘goodbye sleep and rest, it was nice knowing you’. Slow down, Time! Why are you in such a hurry??

My entire favourites post for this month is going to be gushing about all the wonderful things that happened while I was home, so I'm not going to say anything about that now. But it was a really good visit. I enjoyed it far more than I thought I would-not that I thought I was going to be miserable. I was just a little nervous because it’d been a year and I’d changed and people at home would have too and I just wasn’t sure what it would be like. But, aside from a few downs, it was an incredibly relaxing time and I am far from ready to be going back again so soon.