Yesterday, I stopped in the middle of the street to laugh. There was this dude singing very loudly, don't stop me from singing, this is not your town. So he looks my way and starts to sing- young girl, why be proud of your two breasts, a dog has eight and it doesn't boast-
I like such characters, maybe because inside me, I sometime am that kind of carefree character, who despite being different, resisting the society's norms, still finds her way, as everyone would were they to live, and not just imitate. Many times I don't quite understand the paths I take though distinct, but relying heavly on instinct like the animals I love, who love me unconditionally, and so far so good.
Last few weeks I've had to look at decisions, weigh them, try to pick out which is the most exciting, fresh,risky. Well, not exactly, but along those lines.
I was staying with my second family for the weekend, a simple, lovely set up. The father of the house loves loud music and everyone goes along with it, the son, just turned 16, in my mind he's stil 13 and a half. He likes to dance and he taught me a few moves. He's in high school so he knows what's in, and we played J Bloogs song- Let's do it again- over and over, late at night, and it didn't bother the sister, who was studying math, or the newest visitor- they always have someone new, everyday- who was reading some magazine half asleep. So we danced, then listened to a classic fm, and sniggered like two school girls.
But in the back of my mind, I have this decision hanging loose like the soot laden strings of old cobwebs in my aunt's kitchen. They become part of the room, that when it rains and they dissolve, you somehow miss them, though you always knew, at the back of your mind, they are not permanent. Perhaps it's the resistance to change. It has been six months and even though I knew they would be over, I resist, despite the warm thought of getting out once again on my own, living a quiet life, reading numerous books and making soup out of this and that every other day, listening to Colbie Caillat, David Tao and Matchbox 20 at the highest volume.
I guess it's the feeling that, these six months will never be repeated. I have to get set up, and as much as I have enjoyed the evening laughs with mama, the late night heart to heart talks with tata, photography sessions with my cousin, he's got quite good at it too, and guessing cucu's mood everyday, it was a season in my lifetime.
I have to leave eventually, and every day of my life I'll remember this stage of my life, like the sign language class I took at the university some years ago, the trip to an Island some few years ago, the saree clad Mumbai ladies with such quick feet the saree seemed to flow. Memories.
I like such characters, maybe because inside me, I sometime am that kind of carefree character, who despite being different, resisting the society's norms, still finds her way, as everyone would were they to live, and not just imitate. Many times I don't quite understand the paths I take though distinct, but relying heavly on instinct like the animals I love, who love me unconditionally, and so far so good.
Last few weeks I've had to look at decisions, weigh them, try to pick out which is the most exciting, fresh,risky. Well, not exactly, but along those lines.
I was staying with my second family for the weekend, a simple, lovely set up. The father of the house loves loud music and everyone goes along with it, the son, just turned 16, in my mind he's stil 13 and a half. He likes to dance and he taught me a few moves. He's in high school so he knows what's in, and we played J Bloogs song- Let's do it again- over and over, late at night, and it didn't bother the sister, who was studying math, or the newest visitor- they always have someone new, everyday- who was reading some magazine half asleep. So we danced, then listened to a classic fm, and sniggered like two school girls.
But in the back of my mind, I have this decision hanging loose like the soot laden strings of old cobwebs in my aunt's kitchen. They become part of the room, that when it rains and they dissolve, you somehow miss them, though you always knew, at the back of your mind, they are not permanent. Perhaps it's the resistance to change. It has been six months and even though I knew they would be over, I resist, despite the warm thought of getting out once again on my own, living a quiet life, reading numerous books and making soup out of this and that every other day, listening to Colbie Caillat, David Tao and Matchbox 20 at the highest volume.
I guess it's the feeling that, these six months will never be repeated. I have to get set up, and as much as I have enjoyed the evening laughs with mama, the late night heart to heart talks with tata, photography sessions with my cousin, he's got quite good at it too, and guessing cucu's mood everyday, it was a season in my lifetime.
I have to leave eventually, and every day of my life I'll remember this stage of my life, like the sign language class I took at the university some years ago, the trip to an Island some few years ago, the saree clad Mumbai ladies with such quick feet the saree seemed to flow. Memories.
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