Gift Wrapper

I think this story would deserve the title Airport Love - Part 2 but somewhere in the middle of its conceptualization the current title became more fitting.

Try listening to My Body Is A Cage by Peter Gabriel when you're reading this. A macabre mood does you good sometimes.

If you listened to me, then you're reading this at the airport as you wait for your flight.

Looking around at plastic smiles, plastic baggage, plastic cups and breathing recycled.
So I decided to have a conversation that Im certain I wouldn't have the guts to do face to face.

Something that is better left unsaid. But since when have I followed my own advice?

We've been together, what, 7 years?

Maybe there have been surprises here and there, small bouts of suspense. But overall, our relationship has been nothing but predictable.
Like walking into a Nolan film expecting to be awed.
Or expecting a Mani Ratnam movie to have a happy ending.
Life doesn't always have happy endings. Something I learnt from you.

But I remember vividly, the first night we spent together. Camping somewhere near Perth.
I remember waking up next to you. I remember wanting to wake up next to you, even if there was no dawn and no sunset.

I remember watching you wake.

I remember cooking for you. Serving wine to an already intoxicating person.
I still want to drive through northern French countryside with you.
But cruelly enough, I want to drive back alone.

The feelings I had, I will forever have for you. But I think my want for expressing them has been satisfied. It reminds me of something my mother used to do. Something that I never clearly understood until now.

She took more care in unwrapping the gift paper than she took joy in enjoying the gift.

I think our relationship has reached a point where anything more is certainly a gift.

A Wrapped Gift.
But I'm so much in awe of how perfectly our previous conversations have ended that I'm too scared to tear open the gift wrapper.

That somehow, crazily enough, I will enjoy our memories more than the process of making more.

So when you return from your trip; nothing will have vanished.
Except for me.

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I enjoyed writing this story. Dont hate, appreciate.

Now reading - The Return of Bruce Wayne - Grant Morrisson

Now Listening - We Swarm - The Glitch Mob

Now Feeling - Uh, Tired

Goodbye My Lover

*knocks, repeatedly*
Hi, I've missed writing. I miss my old life where I got the inspiration to write, more often. But I understand now that there is no old or new life. How my life was, it will remain. And how my life is, it will remain. Upto me to search for inspiration.

I sincerely hope to not break any hearts by the title of this post. Its just the song I was listening to when I felt like writing this.

I am a man of few words and over the years I've asked myself if this has to change. But I think Im happy where I am. Whether Im happy how I got here, or whether Im sure about what's next, is another discussion entirely. One that Id willingly have, face-to-face.

I aim for this to be a short post. I dont feel too creative. All I feel now is an unrest. All other times in my life, I was somehow satisfied if the clock ticked and if the stomach burped.

But now, I see things differently.

I want to do something. Not just pass off as that random guy at the bus-stand. Or that dude you saw in the corridor the other day.

Id say ambition is an exaggerated way of calling it. And boredom, too common a way to describe it.

I've bin trying to think of a word to describe this unsatisfied hunger. Maybe Im just hungry haha.

But seriously, Id like it if there were things to do. Things to look forward to that involved more "true" involvement. There's a monotony in my monotony now. My bus rides arent as interesting as they were. And Im certainly not writing enough to keep me satisfied. So what do I do to make happy into happier? Do I start taking the train? Or am I missing the point entirely?


And sometimes nostalgia is just like that person who you never wanted to call, so they end up calling you every day. I wish I would walk to Shatti beach every now and then. Or maybe just drop by home and grab some proper home cooked grub. But..

What kind of people would we be if we got all we asked for?

And maybe I've made peace with the answer to that question. Can you?

Good Luck,

V

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Now Reading - Shantaram - Gregory David Roberts

Now Listening - Revisiting Motherjane and Coldplay. And a wee bit of Incubus.

Now Feeling - Uh, homesick?