arriving

4:23 pm: That feeling of wonder when you know that you have been in two different places in the same day. In the morning you were in one city: an entirely different experience which made a different person out of you. And then you crossed over to another city, setting on its horizon. Changing cities like a chameleon. It takes time to arrive to another place, even if you've been there before. 

question

When it comes to trusting people, is it incorruptibility to not learn from betrayals, or is simply foolishness?

old dreams

I recently read a letter which had a vision of my future. The writer imagined that four years later, in 2013, I'd be teaching a group of 18 year olds about languages across the world. I'd also be alone in a different city somewhere, spending my free time walking around, soaking my senses in myriad sights, sounds, smells.

When I read that letter, it struck me how old some of my closest dreams are. It doesn't make my desire to become a teacher more valid than someone who has decided to teach today. It doesn't rule out new dreams, younger dreams. I'm simply humbled by their power. Things change every day; there are no footprints in a desert. Once in a while, a wind blows again and again, steady among the shifting sand dunes.

This wind is now making me change my direction once again. If you know anyone who has done or is doing a B. Ed in India, do let me know. I want to become a teacher.

Rim Jhim Gire Saavan - Manzil

Banjara - Maatibaani ft. Mooralala Marwada

Pehla Nasha - Jo Jeeta Wohi Sikandar (Cover by Alaa Wardi)

via Sharan

#kurta #beard #earnestness #typical #hopelesslove

screaming

A precious advantage to having your own place is the freedom to scream. One afternoon when the lights were burning the back of my eyes once again, I went to office, stood under the shower and screamed. I screamed with my mouth wide open, then shutting again, in fear. After all, the windows of the bathroom were made of glass with wide mouths of their own. I pressed my spongey lips on the bathroom wall and screamed into it. I beat my forehead and crushed my heart inside my throat. I wanted to reach inside myself and grasp that; heavily webbed sticky dense untouchable yet so heavy, so heavy. Had I no friends in this city I would have screamed freely in my own house and cleaned up later quietly.

Susan Gowling, Those Precious Hours