On Everyday

On optimism

2010-11-06T22:56:00.002+06:00

Inception, the movie, really takes you for a spin.

Having watched nearly two hours of the movie, I had to make a quick exit to evade the evil nightly creatures and return to the safety of my home. Of course, since I hadn’t reached the level to cast portals, I had to turn on ninja mode with fast depleting mana and escape the first string of monsters. They were quite scary, I tell you, dressed in a silhouette of black with an arrogant swagger that would chill your bones.

But I survived and successfully reached second base, established contact with transport and was on my way to the longer leg of the race, when I realized the real danger was on me then. Two mysterious vehicles accosted my run-of-the-mill ride on either side, taking turns to give me the fright and play with my mind – for really, both vehicles looked the same in the dark maudlin lights of the streets, they were only a shade apart with tinted glasses. My ride swerved and kicked its speed, took turns into alleys unknown (for a moment there I wondered, Had my ride been compromised?) and still the vehicles reared their ugly heads, teasing and taunting.

It was only my super heroic skills that saved me today. Positive thoughts enabled immunity and thus, I found myself home, calmly typing out this repertoire. So when you’re out making your way home from the struggles of the day, being chased by the bad guns in your head or in real life, take the time out and tell yourself to smile.

Because immunity really makes a difference to your game.

Lazy Fairs

2010-11-05T21:26:00.000+06:00

I am always suspicious of websites that have odd and informal names, such as “studyabroad.com” or “name123.org”. Sometimes, as it so happened today, the odd named website belongs to a legitimate organization, one that aims to ease the flow of bright young students from third world countries to the beautiful west. Let’s call the organizers Quack, for simplicity, held an education fair at an overly glamorous hotel sporting posters saying, “ALL students make it to high paying jobs,” and “ALL students guaranteed work permits and citizenship.” These guarantees also make me suspicious.

While the plush carpets and the quietness of the ballroom did not fail to enchant me, I was immensely bothered by the limited programs being offered and most importantly, the use of old brochures that had neither the right in available programs, nor in country of focus (let me just say, best to highlight student successes of Bangladesh if you are holding the fair here– especially since the organization has been here for the last ten years). Add to that, none of the featured programs offered any form of financial aid. Not that they mentioned it in the brochures, it was there in the website which I checked later.

Quite a waste of afternoon, really. But it did get better when I had some uber delicious ice-cream (oreo flavoured, what do you think?) at the overly glamorous hotel with an unbelievably nice Him.

On pursuing dreams

2010-11-04T17:08:00.001+06:00

Physics has always been a thorn on my foot. When I was completing my O’ level studies, physics was the only subject I was sure to do badly in; the result of school mismanagement of course and my inability to follow the assigned textbooks. Being entirely certain that less than an A would mean I would be confined in my house all my life – as higher education would be unaffordable – I made a pact with God that lasted exactly a year. I promised myself that I would pray five times a day and make it a point to study physics without excuses. In return, God will account for all the concepts and equations I could not understand and give me a good grade.

It worked. I scored exactly one mark above the grade boundary, after giving two disastrous exams. Even then, I had a feeling that I would be alright. I never panicked. I just calmly worked my way around the difficulties, answering questions, looking up the internet and in general, keeping my promise. Whether the results are purely God’s grace is subject to debate, but thinking back, I see I had believed in myself and worked for my goal. I had given up time to laze or watch television – all the simpler moments of joy of that time – to earn something I deemed more important. And I had been rewarded.

On pursuing my dreams of going abroad, I realize, I have not given up anything. I have not worked harder (well, perhaps I did for a while), I have not the conviction or the belief. These need to change. So, as of November 04, exactly four months after my 23^rd birthday, I have decided I must change all things that hold us back. My first step is to stay off coke and other cold drinks till ‘we’ are on a flight to our destination. It has multiple effects – I will be healthier, I will constantly realize I have to get out of here and I will save money. My second will be attending the education fair tomorrow.

These are my foundations, others will be planned real-time like the RTS I just finished.

23

2010-08-04T15:07:00.002+06:00

I'm 23 today. Some differences in my life:

I wake up at 7.30 because I have to.

I play Baking Life, a silly facebook game, just to bore myself. It's so meaningless and simply so useless and require such little attention that it is a pleasant change.

I stay out till later these days. I go home at 9.30 or 10 and my parent's are alright.

My parent's wish me birthday through sms - I still live with them.

I save money for CNG fares by going with my uncle (he takes really crazy routes - not the good crazy, the jam-packed crazy - and reaches about 1 hour after everyone else.)

I feel the need to have a job and a purpose and a career. Not the theory book kind either, the real slow kind.

I think time is passing me by as I push my design ideas to the weekends. Or my stories. Just because I am exhausted after work and the jams.

In short, life has some small perks in terms of changes (the staying out late part) but most of it is just boring getting old-ness.

The Decade in Pictures - Pixcetera Blog

2010-07-26T10:10:00.000+06:00

The Decade in Pictures - Pixcetera Blog

2009-10-28T00:00:00.000+07:00

Maybe if I cry, everything will get better.

So you think you can tell.

2009-10-27T23:01:00.001+07:00

What is this life? A moments glory, a moments pain. Things flit by sometimes too fast to notice. It passes and you never realized you had been through it. And then, there are those times when you try and grab time, just to pause it for a moment, a second longer and its gone. And of course, times you wish you could avoid altogether.

Oh look. My writing sucks.

2009-10-18T23:29:00.000+07:00

I dont believe you.

2009-10-15T00:20:00.000+07:00

youre pretty bad. Uncaring. fix my violin.

Twice under the sun

2009-10-14T23:56:00.000+07:00

goodbye my friend, it's hard to die
when all the birds are singing in the sky
and all the flowers are everywhere
pretty girls are everywhere
"Think of me and i'll be there."

goodbye, papa, please pray for me
i was the black sheep of the family
"I don't know all these words
I have bought three turds
With my BB-gun I would kill birds"

we had joy, we had fun, we had seasons in the sun
but the hills that we climbed
were just seasons out of time

All our lives, we had fun, we had seasons in the sun
But the stars that we reached were just starfish on the beach.

goodbye, michelle, my little one
"I was the apple of the shining sun.
And I have loved you every week
All my tears are salty
I think that now I will start to leave"

We had joy, we had fun, we had seasons in the sun
But the hills that we climbed
Were just seasons out of time

We had joy, we had fun, we had seasons in the sun
But the stars that we reached were just starfish on the beach.

We had joy, we had fun, we had seasons in the sun
But the hills that we climbed
Were just seasons out of time

We had joy, we had fun, we had seasons in the sun
But the stars that we reached where just starfish on the beach.

Oh life. I am tired of you. What is there to live for? I keep wondering. On fancy days, I see a future filled with some sort of happiness or the other. Sometimes I see myself in a house with a pool and staring out at the peaceful calm of the suburbs. Sometimes its waking up in the morning and then lazilly making my way to the dining table to cornflakes and whatever it is that shahan has made. And then there are those dreams, I am working at n office and after that ends, I take out my car (something sleek) from the garage and glide off (I drive well) to pick up Shahan from his fancy campus like workplace. Sometimes I wonder if they will ever come true. I cant of course be sure, but some days I go to bed thinking about these pleasant dreams where life is moving forward at a pace I like in a manner I enjoy and I can't imagine why there should be sadness.

Of course, none of these dreams have encountered my slumber in the past so many days. I don't know whats wrong, apart from the usual beliefs of, it is stress, it is worry, it is whatever. These days, its just been nightmares. You know the other day I found myself in my bed staring at the ceiling till it was at least 4. I was thinking of course, the ceilings dont speak. I was thinking where should I be when there is an earthquake. I found myself in my room squeezing everyone under the table or the bed and then realizing, if the building crashed, we would die regardless of where we are. and then I was thinking, what the hell at this point I can imagine where I am, so i thought of myself at brac, where the buildings appear to be more stable and Shahan would be around and I imagined us running downstairs and the cars streaming by as the buildings fell upon us. And then I thought, screw dhaka, maybe I could be at my village home where somewhere in the vicinity there is an open space, an open field and we were all there, everyone from home and shahan and just as I was settling myself into the situation, I realized there was no way that would happen and I was back in my room staring at the ceiling contemplating the many different ways lives would end. Why god? Why do this to us?

I know you probabl y heard that I feel god up there is inherently unfair. I suppose based on my knowledge, it sounds like a valid logic at least at some points. But I feel scared to put it on paper, because I can almost see a lightning strike out my life, or my luck both of which are deplorable situations to be in. I dont want to die. I really dont. I feel like I would face god and then rrealize what have I done in life except to cause trouble? What was my aim in life and I would balk under the realization of having done nothing and I would forever be stuck in one of my nightmares.
Oh, there was this other nightmare. we were on a trip to sylhet or someplace and we were packed inside the car. It was a car, some strange driver, I remember dad was talking to his friend on the front seat and I was fiddling with my bag out of fright. There was a bridge ahead. I had no idea I was in a dream. And just as I was about to tell the driver to goddamn slowdown, the car while taking a turn on the really high curvy bridge skidded off and I saw myself stuck inside the car, staring as the bridge passed from vision and waiting for the splash of water, knowing full well I didnt know how to swim. And then we were sunk and somehow I knew dad had managed out and I knew everything was gone because of course I didnt know how to swim and who would dad save? Me or my younger siblings? How do you choose things like that? I figured as much, it wouldnt be me and then I woke up. And I thought oh my cell phone is all wet. I was up at this point, up form that nightmare, but not from sleep and I was fretting about my cell phone that was wet and we were in this garage, with our car turned over. Dont ask me why I would think that.

I am feeling a little better I suppose. It felt good to take this off my head. Maybe tonight I wouldnt have the same nightmares, though i cant foresee anything pleasant coming from that direction.

Oh yea, I am feeling lonely. I remember earlier I used to console myself saying I have my notepad and my mp3 player, what more do I need from life and I would try to write my worries away and listen to some sad song or the other (mostly pink floyd, they are good in times of sadness). And now I cant do that, because You know my brain wont listen. I feel sad and I think where the hell is shahan and why cant he get off his highself and fix things for me although I know its not always fair. I suppose I have been feeling like this for way too long for him to explain the same points again and again, and I was feeling better last time he did (this afternoon). Of course things arent hte same now. I do feel hopeless and solitary and useless and undervalued (and sometimes even, why should I be valued - bad thought train). I dont know what to think right now. I would feel better when my really ridiculous thesis is done
.
It seems though that the more I try to finish or want to finish it, the more I get upset. I need to finish it but so many emotional turmoils spring up everytime I try working on it x(

Cant you solve my life's problems? Can't you give me 2 visas, 2 great jobs, 1 big house, 1 nice car, 2 tickets, a closeby flight date and whisk us off to Europe or US whichever suits your fancy?

So many hurdles in life. I wish they were countable. I wish it wasnt everything in life and more that you cant imagine many hurdles. Sseriously, why dont you something about it? Please do.

2009-07-22T23:18:00.003+07:00

I'll make a happy post here, I feel hopeful.

Somewhere, over the rainbow, way up high.
There's a land that I heard of Once in a lullaby.
Somewhere, over the rainbow, skies are blue.
And the dreams that you dare to dream
Really do come true.
Someday I'll wish upon a star and wake up where the clouds are far Behind me.
Where troubles melt like lemon drops, Away above the chimney tops.
That's where you'll find me.
Somewhere, over the rainbow, bluebirds fly. Birds fly over the rainbow,
Why then - oh, why can't I?
If happy little bluebirds fly beyond the rainbow,
Why, oh, why can't I?

I think this could be my song. You know the kind you listen to and you think, that describes me exactly, its something like that. I love the cute little metaphors, the hopes and dreams. And the fact that the ending could be somewhat tragic, it isn't - it just feels hopeful, like this sigh of relief that there will be more days to dream. Who knows?

I must admit, I have been overly paranoid on life. There is this feeling that if I let go at any moment, everything will fall apart and then I will never be able to pick them up again. I was trying to describe to myself how my life feels right now and this is what it feels like. There is this huge space, huge green field with nothing on it and yet I am holding my hands like I would hold a box, and I am desperately trying to hold it properly so that nothing falls out. But the truth of the matter is, there is nothing there. What am I so desperately scared of?

Perhaps, it is this uncertainty. I remember the last time I was stuck at this position, I had a lot of sad days where I cried to myself and I thought things would never change. Then when I finally let go and decided the world is not

a dismal place, life did become brighter. I wanted to be a happy person and I became a happy person. I always felt good right afterwards. I mean, I wasnt delirious and waiting to be shipped off to the asylum; I was just more relaxed and more open to things. I should get that feeling back. Sometimes when I decide to be less paranoid, or rather when I suddenly lose my false sense of insecurity, I always think, "Ah, this is what being me feels like!" And in retrospect, am I ever not me?

The best thing about this post today is it feels like my old way of writing when I never fell short of words. There were words when there was no meaning, just to keep the symphony going. And I know exactly nothing of how to get it back. So here and now, I will rest on my belief that once a writer, always a writer ;p

2009-07-07T00:54:00.003+07:00

Is gorgeous!

Do

2009-07-02T10:53:00.001+07:00

1. Paint the pot

2. Write a story

3. Listen to more music

2009-04-16T01:29:00.001+06:00

Dont be stupid. If youre not reckless by nature, dont try to be.

2009-04-15T23:21:00.002+06:00

Once again, I am here.

Sometimes I feel alone because there are words with no one to share. Like in the dead of the night when I felt really scared and I thought, how great it would be to hold someone tight and to forget all fears. Yes, I know that is selfish, to give up the fear to someone else to defend, all I wanted was that bit of respite. And it was only nightmarish figures to fight, some fat woman who wanted to kill me, or some monster that burned the whole world down, or some unforseen evil. I can't tell so long after waking, but the fears never go. On the whole, I am too much of a coward to want to face my fears.

Too much of facing the world at this moment anyway. How am I to go on with it? There is the school problem and the thesis I cannot write? Has there ever been a point in life where i have procastinated so much? I do not know how to deal with this, I have never dealt with things. I have just followed things blindly and avoided all measures of needing to face people and talk to them. I have just let things be, for fear of needing to explain and make decisions and face things. I just cant do it. And now there is a whole host to face. How DO i get this thesis done within next semester? What will I do with my two term papers none of which hold my interest? Nothing in life holds my interest that need doing. Nothing at all. I can't decide why this has happened, the number of times I have tried to fool myself have just laid my brain to waste. I don't know what interests me in life anymore. I don't enjoy studying, reading a book for a length of time is great but unproductive. How will I ever have my own life in this dismal state of affairs?

And why do I feel so wretchedly alone? What am I doing wrong? What has happened to me?

2009-04-01T23:28:00.001+06:00

I dont want to live anymore.

Lifes Downturn

2009-03-24T12:15:00.001+06:00

So messed up. I think I've messed things up really bad. Is this a learning experience? Its not a course that is trouble, its my whole university life. I feel lousy. I should have been done by now. But have I done anything worthwhile? Nope. Ive paraded my end and now there is none to see till the next few months. Where is control?

Self-fulfilling Prophecy

2009-02-11T19:11:00.002+06:00

So. My life seems to go round in...we'll to be honest, my life doesn't seem to move. That is where the problem stems from. It seems to be stuck here, in this position, in this no-life, unmoving and unrelenting. It frightens me. I've had recurring nightmares of not being able to get out, have had recurrent feelings of hopelessness, I feel completely frustrated. I don't know what to do. And I keep thinking that if I feel like this, that if I feel too lousy to work, I'll surely not get out of here - like a self-fulfilling prophecy. It is pretty darned sad.

And if I really want to escape..why can't I or Shahan not get off our lazy bums and get to work? What is there to hold us back? What is there not compelling enough to get us to work? I feel lousy.

2008-12-20T23:12:00.002+06:00

I was playing Top when dad barged in and decided to cut it. Not very nice of him. I would understand, of course, his concern if that were to exist - but this strange idea of cutting anything that one is doing for long, I completely do not understand. Under this idea of not 'overdoing' things, the first logical example to come to is 'life' itself. Cut that short then.

Of course, I wasn't even in the mood to play anymore. I was going to sign off in a bit and go to bed. I was waiting on Shahan being done with his work. Now unfortunately dad has to occupy my room much to my dislike. I am not interested in his banter - everyone has their own life. I know how much things affect my life. I have lived it of my own accord so far, with hardly any help. First time now that he helped transfer money for my GRE and didn't think for once to pay for it. A nice dad that is. Well, neither did my mom. Both parents are much too interested in money. And not good investors either.

ah Well. To each his own. I am now scheming my way to get out of here. Please dreams, come true.

Recounts.

2008-09-30T18:38:00.002+06:00

You know how life is. It likes to sneak up on you. Last night when I went to bed, i was feeling on top of the world. I felt rather smug with myself and I was quite tired, though I can't nail why I was tired. So after a small chat on the phone, I let myself be a log and dozed off. Sometime past midnight, I heard mom screaming. It is her unique way of waking us up, more like anyone who sleeps past her first call. And since I always do that, I always wake up to a screaming mom from the dinner table. I know its not the best way to wake up, but well, sehri is sehri and god only knows what might happen if I sleep past that hour. Regardless.

Im called now. Death to my thought train.

2008-05-16T22:28:00.000+06:00

My slightly eccentric blog

Summer begins on Sunday. In all sense of the word, the sweltering heat has already presented its pretty sweaty self. However, what Summer has come to mean to me (thanks to this education system) is a semester and that begins this Sunday. The only strange thing about this beginning is that while I know the date, i Really have no clue about the timing because someone in those cubby holes they call the Registrar's office forgot entirely to put up the new timings after they changed it. How do I know there is a new timing? Because my forgetful professor mentioned it as a by-word. Thank mercy for forgetful professors.

A new beginning, of course, also signifies an end - the end of mid semester break. Typically, I am delighted to end my break. For me, most holidays are spent recleaning my already clean bookshelves, an occasional movie, a couple of useless meetings for those ECAs and really nothing much. Nothing in the range of new or different. This break on the other hand has been a new fort, a new perspective, a new inspiration and most importantly. introduced new horizons to me.

This break I took part in what my school teachers always wanted me to do - debating. There was an All Asians debating tournament (hint: focus on word ALL ASIANS). We had roughly three practice sessions, two with those losers and one in the ARC studio. We also had a majorly unproductive day. I enjoyed one LONG day of watching Shahan jam for his show, which was cool albeit a little stretched near the end. That took some nerve, I tell you, to be playing on for so long without a ray of light. It also allowed me to stay till the end of the really amazing show at Kozmo (which is a really lousy place now that I have been to it, though the food isn't bad especially when it is free). The journey to the show was a feat of adventure and I enjoyed that as well. The feature of this break was being at Shahan's show without needing to call home or get back or get worried about how to get back or get back alone and then answer to mom, since we were going back to the lovely hotel together. YaaY!

The new learning and new horizon were not directly associated to the show. It came differently. There were two sections in it. Well primarily two sections and no, it has NOTHING to do with slippery slope arguments (which I cannot put out of my mind) or cost-benefit analysis (that I will officially learn from Monday, hilarious?). It had to do with learning to debate in the true sense of the word. All this while, I knew how to debate, knew what to do, knew I had to avoid my long pauses, but to think that all this knowing was no where near the whole thing was an experience. Being runover by the bulldozers that came in the form of NLS 2 in Round 0 was the true learning experience. That is when I knew what it meant to be an opposition, what it meant to have 'structure', what it meant to find the loopholes and what, presenting a case truly was. Did I have my long pauses anymore since then? No, because after watching that one beautiful performance I realized the importance of 7 minutes. And it also told me that this was one sport that I really wanted to work in. The person whose lesson was of extreme value next in line, explained what a 'clash' really was. That Russian impostor did mention the importance of the word, but seriously, what is a word without its meaning? Nothing. And that is what we came to find out in the next defeat. Another defeat illustrated the importance of the 'team'. So many defeats and yet, excepting one, I suppose I feel bad for none. If anyone before last week had said what matters most is the experience and learning, I might have thought them stupid - not so anymore. Sure the winning rate and success record are better left unknown, but I feel confident and hopeful for the next tournament (in July). It's been the first workshop on debating (which cost quite a bit and came with added advantages). Its been the first time working together has been this much fun and i Loved it! I felt great at trying something new. I felt great at miserably failing at something, because it meant there was a new goal to reach, a new standard to achieve. Ah the blessed future.

And among all that ramble, I quite forget to put in the better things in life, that come at no intellectual cost. The living together is a sphere I will leave to personal records of the mind and brain. But the people I have met, need some notice. Having not been outside Bangladesh had deprived me of actually believing in a world outside my own. The fact is, there is SO much out there. So much more thn Brac and work and CNGs. So many people who have not been through the same things everyone around me has and are so beautiful and wonderful and nice and humble and different that it's overwhelming. I loved it. I loved the friendliness and the smiles and the thought of being bonded by some random connection and dappling along the surfaces of all these new relations. It was wonderful. And breakfast is something that I will miss all my life. I love breakies and this was the best, most phenomenal breakies ever. The light was great, the ball room was so perfectly furnished, the waking up and going for something, to have the purpose was great. To meet up and garble on the events was great. And I love corn flakes.

My future is going to be just that, I realized. We will go about one place and another, enjoy the huge buffets and clean up nothing, meet the whole world of amazing people and have fun and LEARN new things at every moment of our lives. And Nothing will stop us AT ALL.

I feel exuberant. :) :)

2008-03-02T21:29:00.000+06:00

i feel ... 'horrid'.

2008-03-01T22:01:00.002+06:00

A little bit of writing. A little bit of studying. Lots of fun and a brilliant movie. And a wonderful piece of moon dance.

Just my day! .

2008-03-01T00:20:00.003+06:00

footprints on sand. on sidewalk. i was crammed inside the ambulence (where the ambulence was used purely for transportation) when i took this photo. everytime i clicked, the bus would move and the picture would come blurry. eventually this happened. its 'a walk of life'. hehe. i feel happy.

i like this photo. i wish for many things tonight. at least some will come true.

2008-02-28T18:52:00.003+06:00

its those roses i bought. once again. i edited this picture today. i think it looks intriguing. one of my few edited pictures that looks good. this one here, i think it has a story to tell. the one rose of hope amongst the dreary deadened rotting roses. to me, its a fantasy. as though a rose from ancient periods came to see the world today - a world of no greens and only pollution. to someone out there, larger than life, maybe this is how the world seems.

Those Flowers

2008-02-28T18:45:00.002+06:00

red is the color. those flowers i bought.

roses

2008-02-28T00:37:00.000+06:00

i bought some flowers today from the road. little buds of red roses. we were on the car, the roses peeked in and then they were in my hand. it stung a bit, but it was okay. right now they are on a slim vase atop a table, looking pretty. slightly bent around the neck. some petals are loose, some buds are opened. i like flowers. i wish these roses smelt. i felt heavenly when the last ones made this particular spot rosy. it reminded me of good things. it was the ultimase rose-tinted specs to see the world through.

2008-02-03T20:26:00.001+06:00

Desher Bari

2008-02-01T17:26:00.000+06:00

I went to my 'desher bari' today after a month. The last time I went there, the weather was mildly warm and we had arrived unannounced - me and my dad. The people there found us unworthy of notice, or so I presumed, since there was no swarming. We had gone to take pictures of our house, more like my grandfather's house built in 1941, named after my grandmother, "Rabeya Mansion".

Today's visit was to catch up on the demolition of the building. Its gone. More specifically, on the process of disappearing completely from the face of the earth. Why, you may wonder. The interiors of the house had expired. It was damp, dank, cold and a haven for bats, spiders and maybe some unearthly creatures. The exteriors of the house were dirty, plaster scraping off, but exquisite, antique and like some artefacts, it breathed history. It felt and smelt like a stone building. But it had to go. My father and his siblings needed a place to live in the village home for the few occassions when they would visit and to restrengthen their ties to their 'roots'.

I don't think I am exactly sad about the process. I feel a mild sense of loss. I remember the first time I had gone there. Back then, I was extremely excited. Not only did the trip signal exploration possibilities, but, I was eager to redeem my great sin - never having seen my desher bari. Most of my friends in school found it odd and I did not want to be an outcast. My dad spoke of all his adventures there, and related some rather interesting stories from the time of the war and I just had to see it.

The house was the centre point of that trip. I remember clearly. I was wearing a black tshirt and my favourite pair of sneakers with stars on them. All through the car journey, Aiya and mom explained as to how the bridge made visiting so much simpler. The river made it a burdensome task and hence, I had never been there before. We cruised through the 'bajar' made of small tin stalls on either side of the road, raised by four legs from the lake below, the bajar was busy, crowded and lined with auto-rickshaws (those black and yellow ones of bygone eras). We parked at the front of the 'bangla ghar'.

Abbu explained that the bangla ghar was the sitting room of this time. Back then, guests and strangers were entertained at the bangla ghar. Though my grandfather had built it, it served as the common sitting room for all his brothers. It was after the bangla ghar that the wonder started. On a rectangular area behind the bangla ghar, stood our mansion.

It took my breath away. I wasn't as tall then, and I hadn't seen a house so ancient and so marvellously big in a village. There were tin roofed houses on either side, two to be precise and the head of the narrow end of the rectangle stood the Rabeya mansion. It commanded attention. Back then, it was white, the doors were sound (and still are) and the carvings on the door were precise and beautiful. Stairs led to the main entrance, as that of any house. Red and black stairs. For some reason, these two colors were the usual choices for the floor.

Even then, the interiors were partly dilapitated. The person in charge of keeping the house complained about the dampness of the ceiling and we weren't allowed to visit the roof. Apparently the roof was too slippery with the rain and the moss that grew all over. And the house was dark, devoid of any light but that of the sun. The ceiling was high, the walls were thick, and the windows small. It hardly allowed light in. But it was a pleasure, to be there, to think of all that might have happened while it was there. Think about it, the house stood since before Bangladesh. The house had hidden rooms, or what appeared to be hidden to me. It had strange things, strange to me still, to make pithas and to do something or other with rice. Abbu kept one of those as a souvenir. The other one got stolen at some point in the past.

Today, the house was alight. The roof had been broken down and the house had enough light. More than enough. I climbed up the stairs, those stairs that once led to the roof that I had visited on one occassion only, and I took a picture of the house from there. It was interesting. I saw the bricks, thick slabs of bricks that fell with a thud and was solid through and through. Someone at the village mentioned as to how strong the bricks were and somehow it felt like a rerun of history. Like every other thing, even the bricks were smaller these days, smaller, cheaper, weaker. Strange, I suppose.

We had lunch at my dad's cousins place. That brother of my grandfather lived on in the village, even when my grandfather had shifted. It struck me how a simple decision of that time made so much of a difference. Back then, there wasn't much difference between my desher bari and Rajarbag, where i live now. It had pukurs, it had trees, it had a tin roofed house and it had tube wells. But, my dada had shifted to rajarbag and his brother lived there. Now I came back home to post a blog, while dada's brother's grand daughter was married, pregnant and did not know what a blog was.

I sometimes wonder if I can live in the village. I suppose I can. These days, they have almost everything. The sanitary system is good, the water is fresh, the air is clean and the spirits are healthy. I met a cat there as well. It circled around us all the while as we ate breakfast and lunch and sat quietly as I took a picture. It fled when I took a step closer, but it was cute. I like that picture. I like the fields too, expecially now that the rice has just been planted and it is water soaked. I loved the trees, old and strong and with roots that show many pictures.

It was lovely being there today. Who knows how long that would remain a village, a point of history, a place untouched by the atrocities of the city, healthy and natural. The demolition of the house and the consequent building of the new tin-roofed house might well be the turning point for the whole of the village. I hope not, but I should not attempt to stop time. Everyone needs their taste of the modern life.

2008-01-29T23:19:00.000+06:00

Sometimes I feel like a moth. That is to say, I flit about, searching for light, searching for some place to settle and there is none. None. So I bat my wings, someone dirty off white shade wings, occassionally thats pretty, and I sit here, then sit there, and fly out over at the top of the toppest corner and maybe, Im happy for a while. Until I realize that light is fading and I need a new source. And on comes the whole shifting scene again.

Truth be told, had I been a moth, maybe somethings would have felt better. I would learn to fly, for one thing. I would do many things to learn that. Many things. I wouldnt give up anything that I have now, though, I am greedy as that. I learned a lot about myself, lately. I dont quite know if knowledge about self is good or bad, but its happenng and I'm dealing with it. Somehow.

I wouldnt be called a moth if you ever came to my house. Ive lived here for years and years. But this semester, Sundays and Tuesdays are moth days for me. I have no plan of action, no work, and no interest for work [because Im a lazy fellow by nature] and I sit here and there, and try being friendly for as long as I can. It is long enough and I do enjoy some conversations. But lately, I realize I feel the burden of it. Not that I dont want to converse, but sometimes I feel as though I am imposing myself. And I dislike that feeling...

I think I might have brought an end to my moth days. Yes. Successful

2007-11-02T18:02:00.000+06:00

How does life change after two disastrous midterms? By not much, as usual. Scarce little change can really effect life. Scarce little can really alter the pace of things, or the endless list of have-dos to change. Water supply, electricity, gas - these can. I faced it, three fine days without power and water. Very fine days they were too. Felt like Filth and it doesn't help to have the good days of the month together with the fine days.

I've been reading The Path of Daggers. It's quite good, in fact, Jordan regains his charm here. There are some parts, especially those of Rand that are not intriguing. Down right boring at times and mostly the same story. However, disregarding Rand's parts, the rest are quite fine. Quite to my liking. Quite lovely. Not as heavy as the fourth book either. That weighed a tonne.

I am planning for a haircut apart from studies. Yeah, I love haircuts. I want one that is different and brings a change to the way I look. I don't quite know if I will get the change - hair salons here have little to offer - but I will not give up hope. One time or another, there will be that special haircut. Meanwhile, must keep trying, must go spending monies for that special cut.

The Moral of Today: Must Study, or else, Suffer.

2007-10-22T01:32:00.001+06:00

There are many things that a blog lets you do, besides talking to your own self. A mirror can substitute this particular feature for the blog, and to many it is the mirror that speaks. For me, however, writing a blog has a specialty of its own. It allows me to write my thoughts, a process that is known to be self healing, and it allows me to articulate my thoughts in much broader details. It also allows me to understand some of the ideas that come to my head. I know most of that doesn't show, for truly speaking, the real work is not on the paper, it's in my head. If someone could read my head, which I'm afraid people cannot (not because they are in some code language, but simply because I keep my focus on paper NOT in head), then they will see the great miracles writing in a blog can accomplish.

The first time I took to writing blogs, I thought immensely before my first lousy post. I thought and thought and contemplated and wondered and reasoned. The idea that my journal could be read by strangers did not suit me and that is why my first ever blog is now history *unrecorded history* but once I got to it, I was surprised to have the mundane words flow. The thing is I like to pretend there are all these characters listening to me when I write. There are those that find things funny, those that are pragmatic, those that care and those that dont. Mostly I meet the funny little beings in my head, and that is to whom I write. It's them I answer when I answer. Writing a blog allowed a greater degree of truth to those beings. Sure you might not be funny, or pragmatic, or caring, maybe you are the Dark Lord himself, but you are the 'other' and that makes things easier.

I thought today, before beginning this particular endeavor, that I would use my blog to do some planning. Yes, yes, I know how much I hate planning (no, no, I will not delve deeper into the myths of that hatred). Thing is, the upcoming month is bound to be busy. Leaving aside, the midterm week (which on its own speaks of terror), there is that entire matter of term papers. Bless you God, that at least econometrics has a team partner, some of the mundane responsibilities can be well shared and given my co, most of the mundane work will be delegated. The term paper for environment needs thought. And the thought ends here. That is where the main problem lies. Then there is macro econ, which I have a fair idea about, plus plenty of help *wink * wink* and money and banking can be forgotten.

I'm thinking Deforestation. I'm thinking of available pictures and data. I'm thinking environment isn't my piece of cake. Advice anyone? Anyone to change my mind? Anyone with good thoughtful ideas on environment. Will appreciate greatly.

2007-10-17T21:56:00.000+06:00

It astonishes me.

What you may wonder? I can say it in one small phrase and I can describe it till it made no sense and I will do both. Part of it is inspired by the book I read, 'For whom the bell tolls,' and the other is just mere observation. But I hope to make no distinction, at least none that makes sense, for the contents of the book should mesh kindly with the contents of the world, till the fiction within became the reality outside. I believe so.

The phrase: The Multiplicity of Worlds

The Idea: Oh, cut it with the forms.

It just shocks me. I was always one to believe in the world within worlds, but to become so acutely aware of such a thing is always a shock, a surprise. Could there really be a reality other than mine? Of course there is, but knowing the answer makes it no easier to accept it. It astonishes me to think the sky I look up to, blue and pure and sometimes coloured with white tufts is not the same blueness that shines upon another. May not be the same white tufts upon another. Most likely, the world atop mine and about mine is so vastly different, it does not even register as a world to another.

Crazy, I think.

It has me disturbed though. Truth be told, I just find the intensity of the book nerve wracking. I find the ideas scary and I find the bravery appalling. Most of all the bravery. How do people live through wars knowing for certain that they might die? How do they take upon them tasks to defend, when in all likelihood they may never enjoy what they care for, what they build? Is it really possible to be so selfless, to find a picture bigger than oneself and to embrace it as though individuality made no sense? Can someone really forget oneself in the plight for a greater cause at the expense of all things tangible and all things beloved?

I can't see how.

But they do and they would do again. Perhaps not with as much flourish, mostly with disdain, but they would live through it and take what it holds and they would give up themselves to be the bigger world. I wish I could do that, because I cannot. I cannot escape my reality for once, to see a moment as another and to give my life for someone unknown is apalling, illogical, irrational and unthinkable. I really would not be able to embrace the totality for my reality and yes, i speak of myself given these circumstances. True, those may change and force and mould, but right now, it is just scary.

And while I type this, there are those others who face the tragedy. How does one cope with loneliness? How does one go through life in jungles and in broken houses, without food and sanitation and without that glimmering hope just surviving? Who does one speak to when the great need arises and all who one knew are gone, gone forever from the face of the earth, never to be there again?

Sigh...

I will speak no further and let the thoughts feast on my head.

2007-10-14T10:19:00.000+06:00

It's Eid today and you may wonder what is special about this day. Years ago, I could have described it better. It was "freedom" back then. After the long arduous month of roja, where the afternoon strolls and games were practically banned, and the general restriction to how far we could venture; Eid provided the perfect opportunity to go exploring. Add to that money to get the coke and ice-cream, plenty of food to go around and pretty new dresses - it was like a whole new world. I love Eid back then and waited for it, celebrated its coming from Shab e Barat and the last Roja was all fireworks and fun feasts.

Now of course, Eid has adopted a completely new tune. For one thing, there is not that charm to it anymore. It's there every year. But that is not the reason, because birthdays are there too. It's just that the old friends who made Eid fun are gone to different parts of the city, there is no exploring left and these days exploring will result in major gawking sessions by others. Now its all visiting relatives - note, not fun - and sitting at home all dressed up. What is fun these days is not the Eid at all.

It's the pre Eid shopping for me. For one reason or another, there is always lots to look for during the pre Eid days, especially if roja has not started. The shoppers reach exorbitant amount as Eid draws near, but in the early days it's festive, fresh and the salesmanship is at its peak. I love it then, especially with new stocks of stuff and usually money to get them with. Who am I kidding? It's not that fun, hehe.

Still today's better than any Eid in many years. ;) ;) Started the day with ketchup after all.

End to my rambles.

2007-10-11T00:17:00.001+06:00

It isn't usual for blogspot to load instantly. Trust me, it isn't. For those handicapped with internet, life is really difficult. Imagine waiting for one page or another everyday of your life! Or worse yet, imagine hanging onto every word of your beloved and finding that, as time wore on, you were not even connected. It just happened now. Yes, right at this moment. Not nice, very not nice.

Hey, the shortcut keys work perfectly here :D

2007-10-07T22:56:00.000+06:00

Why I feel redundant.

I know that should be the title, but I don't generally like titles. They bug me. I try evading them, unless they are formal pieces of work, in which case I enjoy being very formal. There are those who enjoy formality more than I do, but trust me that I like being very formal on formal speeches. Is that somewhat of a tongue twister? More like a case of serious vocab deficiency. Vitamins prescribed. Preferably Vit C.

I want a life of excitement. New projects, new times, new planets to explore. New trees to sit by. I was thinking a couple of days back that even my imagine has taken a standstill to those images I am s o in love with. I don't deny loving them even now, I wish I could be there. But the fact is, I need some change. Some refreshment. Something out of the cycle to make me feel truly alive.

That has been missing.

Actually, I'm in one of those constant phases of life that I bragged on about at some earlier post. I do love constants (ignore rants on heat constants during SAT II exams). I do love changes too. Changes that are just a bit nervy and mostly enjoyable. All changes are a bit nervy, that's why they are changes. I want things to be different. To wake up in the morning and know that my day will go a certain way, but then things to pleasantly turn to random events.

I don't mean skipping classes and going to the beach, though I would like skipping classes. That change (very temporary) has long term negative effects (blame my 302 class) and I wouldn't want that. I hate being irresponsible, almost as much as I loathe responsibility. I am pretty responsible about myself I believe. So anyway, that is not a change I would want. Maybe something like a new activity, like plans for a future holiday, an exploration tour, an event, a shopping trip or something, out of the blue. A nice surprise.

Why do they not happen?

That is why I feel redundant. Too small a speck for the world and hardly a difference at all. Too little life flowing through.

2007-04-09T23:54:00.001+06:00

Defunct!

2007-03-31T09:28:00.001+06:00

My encounters with them were not always accidents or surprise events. Not after the first time when that creature in white without a name stared at me with awe. His awe only furthered my awe and we looked at each other for long, too long maybe, but each moment was awkward. There was the creature and its aura of magic floating about, being pulled towards the closet. It is not that it faltered while with me, but that I could feel the tension in his aura and its want to be somewhere that was pure in air, that was as magical. And there was me, bedraggled, scared, awed and frozen, of this earth as much as one could belong, with hatred and despise and hopelessness curling through my nightmares, shaping my dreams. It was a fantasy, that moment, that day and everyday onwards that I spent with them, my enchanted friends and there was a reason for it all to have gone, the way it did, with its light shadow following me around like it does.

It had to go, you know, it had do. Childhood ends, dream ends, lives end, where is the place for fantasy if not in one streak, if not in one everlasting nightmare? The end, I know comes with the beginning. The end maybe starts even before the beginning. Even before I let myself and all that around me swept into a world to which we could not belong. It was that which ended. It was that wrench back to reality, back to the stubble and the debris, back to the frigid waters kissing my feet as I ran along the shorelines, back to that haunting darkness of the mountain, the hurt and the blood of falling, of hurting that was the end of the fantasy, of my fantasy. They came then and they would come still, still to take me away. They would arrive through the opened closet doors, wings stretched out, white, gold, blue, red and black, a place where black was not evil, with hair silken with magic, forms ethereal and creations wild. They would sweep me away to those planets, as I sat by the cliff, waves crashing against the midnight blue sky and talk to me and make me feel as though I was not a tiny speck of this world. Tiny and invisible, tiny and insignificant, tiny and often unwanted, tiny and often rebellious. I was not them.

Uncle threw me off the stage once. I was on a tightrope, I was walking, my eyes clenched as tears smeared my make up, pounds of it, and I was shaking with the tears that could not escape, my distaste replicated in my costume, in my makeup. I was walking still, until suddenly a whiff of cold air ran up my spine. It tingled where the whiff went, it cooled the air around me and I opened my eyes, gawking at the placid surroundings in disbelief, wondering what had just happened, and stared back at the crowd, the many scores of familiar faces and could not fathom how anyone could have not felt the air that I felt, could not have seen the stars that twinkled around me. It was that second of standing, that second of not shaking and not despising, that second of intrigue and not tears, that led to my crash into the makeshift net below that had mercifully been tied a little loose. I fell, still not believing, reaching up to the air that had sparkled, that still lingered there somewhere, not with me anymore. My eyes were saucers, my eyes were disbelieving, and I was seeing things, for I could feel that air coming towards me, rushing with a faint whisper, as I bounced back to the net, and crashed onto the floor, one leg twisted and done for a week.

And as my vision rested on the air that looked at me, uncle ran to me. His big beefy hands clenched my limps ones, and with all his might he hauled me out, and threw me away far into the green grass. I lay there like a lamp, next to a bonfire that may well have fried me listening to the chaos that ensued within as uncle tried to appease the crowd who wasn't happy with my fall, witb my lack of talent. I lay there, wondering where that air went, as my hands clutched my knees, bruised, and my leg, broken.

2007-03-30T15:15:00.001+06:00

code-- /> border=1 cellspacing=0 cellpadding=3 bgcolor=white /> href="http://www.colorquiz.com" border=0 alt=ColorQuiz.com src="http://www.colorquiz.com/images/colorquizlogosmall2.gif" width=120 height=32 /> took the free ColorQuiz.com personality test! her ambitions and forgoes her desire for p..." /> href="http://www.colorquiz.com/cgi-bin/results.cgi?do=print_blog here to read the rest of the results. /> ColorQuiz.com code-- />

2007-03-26T20:50:00.001+06:00

The days play out their wisdom, in and out of cycles. Sometimes a flash of lightning sounds and things are actually different. Like the sky is, during thunder, filled with heavy gray clouds gliding about the sky, threatening rain and grumbling with all their might. Usually though, it is that undefined relentless blue that stretches on to infinity, never promising an end and never quite ending. Not like life. Not like Life, at all. Life begins with a definite end and with a cycle, from the very first day. Only flashes of lightning sound. Occasionally. Did I just wind my way through to the same end? Probably, my head seems to be in this dire state of wishful non existence. I don't quite know why. I can't fathom enough energy to bring about a change.

Or to stop complaining about my complete lack of intelligence or anything else that is required to get things done.

Only stare out the window and wish for things to happen. The sky being so wonderfully dark, so engulfing and beautiful, it just doesn't bode well to sit around with things not magical. Does Magical exist? I wonder. Last few days I wonder how it would be to have magical. To have springs and water falls across plush green fields. To have forests to wander into, to meet enchanted creatures appearing and disappearing of their own accord, to be able to see if not be those in brilliant mammoth white wings. I suppose they won't happen. I don't suppose to much enchantment exists in this world and especially not in a city, like mine, and not in a time, that is ours. Maybe ages back, when there were horse riders and no science, no make belief proofs of the natural, just the power of gods and its worship, the power of people and their exploit and the ceaseless feud for right and wrong, for that one person who would make the difference. I just so wish I could be there. Somewhere, where things were real and not so wrought out and gray.

Gray is the image of the city, the millions of building blocks about that crawl throughout without any direction, eating up all that is earth and spouting out more in the name of development. I hate. Gray is the cloud, heavy and burdensome, floating about with will, trudging along sky, dimming light where the sun still hovered, putting to sleep those still awake, showering lands that were dry. How can a word have such different connotations to me? One of deep seeded dislike and the other of paramount like. I wish I knew. I wish I knew things and didn't know them, together at the same time.

I wish and I wish, so many things and I wonder which will happen.

Oh well, I guess all that will come will sooner or later find their path.

Example Note 2

2007-03-20T18:40:00.001+06:00

I'm just checking how well my net is working before I head to the assignmnet.

2007-03-10T22:17:00.000+06:00

a million jewels i would give, and never will i get back all that is lost
a million miles would i travel, and still never tread upon the paths gone
the sand has shifted, the lands have changed
and the wheel has turned, round and round, till nothing remained.

Not me talking but someone else. You know the likes. Will be back soon.

2007-03-09T21:08:00.003+06:00

And I dont suppose it matters, this twist in dreams. It comes and goes, like vivid reality, comes and then is a puff of air. Everything for the ruins of time and the dream says it, time said it and the wakefulness announces it, all of it together and all of it interwined into these great masks of shadows, shadows and light playing together, vanishing together. A long twist, it all was, just one long twist into an incoherent path, hardly remembered but felt for all its worth.

But it was real, you know. To me, it was. And so what if all that was seemed to disintegrate to these tall structures, it happened and I felt it and I was there staring at the wall. The stone wall, huge, maybe some thirty feet tall. I was facing it,staring at the moss growing in the crevices and wondering just how old they were. The stone, I mean. Old and grey and wrought with history. You know how it is when you can feel time standing there, just showing its strength with this sort of chuckle on its non existant face? The stone wall was like that. It was alive, and I know it.

Take it or leave it, it was all real.

2007-02-24T21:32:00.000+06:00

Terror strikes. Once. Twice. And Thrice.

Like the rush of blood to the head, a giant thud within that enclosed expanse and the consequent loss of vision, only to return with blobs of blue floating around reality. Or like a free fall that ends not with the rush of excitement, that begins not with the hope of all that view among the wind, but as thuogh everything and everyone lost its being and what stretched everywhere was an endless nonexistance of a fall that never fell. Maybe like standing in a room that did not allow you to sit, simply for its structure and there was not a window about except one that only the tips of your finger of an outstrechted hand could reach.

I wish what followed was: An End.

To Everything known and existing, that led to the New Beginning, of things Unordered and Destructured.

Like the sputtering of brains and all things sensical out, out on to the world for what surely certified death, like the blood that would weep through the crack and sweep onto the floor, with the pain that was never felt and would never be felt only to be a guilt ridden memory on others that mattered not one bit. Or, like a fall that ended in water, the giant crashing of self into the gigantic expanse of blue that was earth, that was earth's identity, and that crash which certainly led to the crushing of each known structure, never to be rebuilt, never wishing to be rebuilt, only the glee locked in the face, forever to remain floating away into the blues. Maybe even the willful explosion of the room, simply with the want for it, the unbelieving shooting of rock, wood, brick, of power and strength that threatened to defy humans, simply an explosion and the descent to a world that was green and open and above all wide in its view.

Yes, all that is and all that will be, threaten to be the same.

Not the world envisioned by the sun on its trips to earth, not the detached world of the trees which still make a forest, nor the roots that interwine and exist but does not overthrow, like the weeds that grow and obstruct but still allow. Or the world off the sky from which came the words, the sky that was one roof too far away, that glittered with jewels never seen and never understood and yet only sought for.

The unknown that inspires.

The known that disintegrates.

For yet another unknown to come into knowing.

2007-02-23T20:01:00.000+06:00

"Each for his own," the wise man said. "I know better than to expect change. Each for his own."

2007-02-17T22:23:00.000+06:00

I think I am somewhat obsessed with stars and universes and stars as real characters. Something of that sort. Like this world that is not human and not bound by all these ridiculous complexes that plague the world. Somewhat a world with a higher understand, something about that. I ramble. Me the wise! :D

- I dont remember where I was going with this. I dont think Ill ever get back to this. I dont like characters much, I cant work with them, they turn bleak and runny.

She swayed with the breeze, she was the lonely star up on the creek. She glowed with light even past midnight, when the townhall darkened and lanterns lit the quiet browns of the houses. She was the solitary figure that walked through the woods, when the storms ran fierce and lightning crashed upon trees, upon flowerbeds and made carcasses of life upon the earth's floor. She was the fresh air that made the leaves green and she was the fragrance across gardens as they grew wild and untamed. But most of all, she was the lonely star.

And that is exactly how the townhall described her. "The Lonely Star that must not be spoken to, that must not be considered friend, that must not be called upon for help," and many other "must not's" that really made no rational sense. It was with this notion of forbearance and seclusion that the Lonely Star lived and it was in this atmosphere of myth and magic that the little kid, born to the youngest couple of the town was to grow.

- I like this one, for some reason. Ill get back to this hopefully.

The universe thrived on the edge. It blinked back shining light, a mirageof colors filled with lives and brimming, flourishing to new edges with the thoughtless wander of those happy and contended. Some twinkled brighter than others, those crimson and gold and blue perfected to the last drop. Others were a mix, a slight maze of colors as each star tried identifying the true being that they were, yet innocent from the interstellar travels that would make them what they are. There were purples in there, as such, tons of purple, since the colors of choice for most starlettes were red and blue. None of them knew why and few really cared. Theirs was a galaxy submerged in tones of red and blue, with those occasional golden glints and at times with a yellow overtone. Very rarely was there a green, emerald more like, shining and natural, like a real stone set in the vast infinity of space. That is perhaps how the universe looked through a telescope, to mankind anyway.

And yet, at the very heart of the universe, the very center of it lived the Starlette.

2007-02-12T19:11:00.000+06:00

My really pointless attempt at writing. Sigh!

Enchanted creatures. Locked in my closet, they stayed; in a teak wooden land filled with fresh green leaves. It rained there, like it never did here, not anymore. It rained with water drops sparkling with light, clouds darkened by the maudlin worlds and it rained to wash away all that was untowards. The leaves glimmered with rain. The placed smelled of greenery, fresh greenery, fresh rain and the mirthful laughter of winds. You had to stand there only to realise how bleak my world was. How utterly chaotic my world is. You simply had to take a step into my closet and you'd meet them. Those enchanted creatures, with wings of white and black and crimson and blue.

But would anyone believe in them? Across circuses of bright colors, larger tents and talking animals, was there anyone to believe in these enchanted creatures? Uncle did magic, magic with a wand, the swish of a wand into the hat and out came a rabbit. Was that magic? Yes, I thought so. Running about the fields full people, each of whom stared with awe at the black top hat with a red ribbon, I thought it was magic. I thought my uncle was a magician. When the cards flew about the circus floor, when the girl, whom I never liked was cut in pieces and I gleamed with joy, returned to herself, I thought all was magic. There was magic, in the way the horses spoke, the way the sun covered the moon, the way I went to sleep and woke up to find daylight. Crazy, maybe I was, to wish for the night to stay.

I was sent to bed in the caravan, about as soon as the night creatures called. And once, I'd sneaked out of the caravan when the moon was high upon the sky. It wasn't hard, the door was never locked, people were up at all hours. It wasn't hard, because I needed no sleep. I hardly ever woke till daylight screamed through the grimy windows. But this one night, I thought I'd run to the night and fly away with it to wherever it went into hiding. I'd follow it, I'd find its secret and I'd engulf the world in everlasting darkness. I tried too. I dodged everyone to reach that rock at the far end of the circus and I waited till I thought the world was quieter. And then I ran to the moon. I ran and ran. And I climbed. Even as the moon feinted, I climbed. I tried. But I never managed.

I never liked daylight, you see. Daylight was for others, who enjoyed what I despised. The sun brought with it large bold colors. Red, stark red, and yellow and orange and green and purple. The sun came with the rainbow, only with a horrible twist. The rainbow was evil, the rainbow was brightness, ones that hurt your eye. The day was screaming, and crying and refusing to make a spectacle of myself. The light meant makeup, pounds and pounds of makeup, of wearing costumes I did not fit into, of being away from the mountains I loved to hide in - where it was dark and quiet and lonesome. I hated the day, I still do. I hate it as I right this and I'll hate it when the sun shines above my grave, as I lie cold and rotten, eaten by maggots.

And into this life of wishing for the night, of performing with distaste, of listening to arguments and petty fights, of grime and no food, came the closet.. A teak wood closet with two doors that opened up to you. It was not very large, to put it truthfully. But I found a world in there. Early in the days, I would have to stand on tiptoes to reach to the handles and unlatch it with great determination to peer inside. And thats when I met the other world. The ones with the enchanted creatures. I never went there, though. Never tried.

A closet in a caravan is about as unlikely as a talking horse. Not to mention, a mare that sounds like a man. But people believe in fantasies, mostly, and they'd crowd our circus to see the talking horse. Maybe the purchase of a closet was driven by the same logic. Maybe not. But in came into our cramped quarters, a closet, to store the costumes and the makeup that made our beds and our tables. They didn't make their house in the closet though. My bed, a rundown sofa with tattered clothes and foam that had long since withered into nothingness got pushed away to the corners and for the space that was once my window to the world, there came this closet.

2007-02-11T21:46:00.000+06:00

Hmmm.

A list of errors with my life follow:

I haven't been listening to good music. I have no clue why, sigh. The songs just don't feel the same for some obscenely ridiculous reasons and I keep switching tracks; which, if you knew you'd go like, "WHAT!!! There is something really wrong with you."
I haven't read a book in ages. I mean the last book I read is something that I'd rather forget. So yeah, you get? I thought I read a lot, this and that and nothings, but now I really read nothing.
I have been "overthinking" way too much. I should kill myself. Its just that my imagination keeps running and running and running and to very unchartered territories that I'm not even fond of. It's not those lovely scenic places, or ponds, or even nightmares -

This one particularly memorable night, while I was happily asleep, intruded this monster. I don't really know why this monster chose me as prey, but it did and I can't remember the monster exactly, just knew that it was there. The whole world was dark, darker than the night is, bereft of stars and moons and any light whatsoever, and there was fire everywhere. Sitting around this corner, next to this grilled gate, the ones with thin crisscross wires about was me. And I was scared and waiting, for what I don't exactly know, but I was hoping not to be discovered and there was fire everywhere. It became really hot, what with the fire roaring and roasting earth as it where. And then came the great shadow upon those giant flames and howls and wonderless mirthless atmosphere of doom. And it seemed the monster, that it was, was searching for me. It got intense and more intense, until.

Yes, I woke up.

-Its just awry real life thoughts. It verges way too close to that cycle, the one that I'm not fond of and would rather not delve into.
I think life is rather boring. Why is there nothing to look forward to?

Blah is the word. Blah is what everything has become.

Question is: Why?

2007-02-10T14:42:00.000+06:00

Finally!.