One would think as one would grow older you figure more things out and people become less of a mystery.
Not in my case. As I grow older, people and their ways puzzle me to no end. People will sign letters even though they don’t mean what is written in them. They’ll refuse to stand up to unfairness. They’ll have your best intentions at heart adn never be able to do anything about them. I don’t understand any of that. I just don’t.
Possessiveness is always nice when you are beginning a relationship. And then you’re celebrating the third anniversary of the first time you kissed on a park bench and you realise the one reason you may not be entirely happy is because of that thing which gave you a thrill the first time – that one possessive statement.
It’s painful to admit but I really want to experiment constantly with my life. I know I’ll be miserable, I know it’ll hurt and confuse and make me hide a part of me. But the temptation is SO great.
Experiments with my body.
Experiments with my mind. With people, with sex, with writing, with jobs, with exploration. I can’t seem to stop.
But then some bit of me also says it’s a choice I am making some where. Deep down. A choice to constantly choose excitement over stability and sensibility.
I hate it when people use words without knowing anything about them. Without respecting them.
Case in point: Arbid.
They can’t even get the spelling right.
Bangalore is rainy. And yesterday everything looked wash clean. Headlights sparkled, the city was slick. Like a pretty girl out of the rain. Sexy.
And a little edgy as well because sometimes you couldn’t see where you were going.
I’ve always reacted to rain romantically. Perhaps because I lived most my life where life was not disrupted by rain. But now that I’ve been in Bombay, and now Bangalore rain is pretty annoying. Especially when I can’t find a hot pink translucent raincoat.