I’m not exactly out of words, but remember when I said that
sometimes my days are just uneventful and there’s not much to talk about?
This is one of those days. I basically wrote yesterday’s
blog, took a nap, and have been watching Downton Abbey Season 6 for the past few
hours.
This is definitely Procrastination Central for me, since it’s
definitely not like I don’t have things to do. I have to throw out things I don’t
need, start packing things to make life easier for future me, search for
apartments in the new place to live. Instead, I want to know more about what
happened to Marigold, will Edith ever kick her editor in the nuts, and if Edith
ends up being not straight. (She can’t find the right man, because she needs a
woman!)
This article is going to be slightly one friend-centric,
because I love her (and I spent almost the whole day with her yesterday). So, I’m
going to tell you a story for the backstory to make sense:
Back in early-ass 2016 (like literally the first few weeks),
your girl was trying to bake things which weren’t just muffins with different
berries each time. One of her friends asked her if she wanted to bake with her
and her friend. (she – me, her – friend, her friend – friend’s friend; because
I’ve started this third person rollercoaster and I can’t get out.)
Your girl was nervous because this was clearly their
tradition that she was taking part in. Also, the fact that they’d been baking
for more than a year and she had just started was clearly intimidating. She
sucked it up and said yes. One sunny Saturday afternoon, she got into the
friend’s friend’s car, and the rest is history. (I’ll stop now.)
We started baking almost every weekend (well, not anymore),
and made quite a few good desserts. If you’ve seen pretty macarons,
cheesecakes, and pies on my Instagram (here), they’re the reason why.
Going forward to the actual day I’m supposed to be writing
about…
I’m just socially exhausted, but you’ll see why when you
read ahead.
Day 3: Please stop the small talk
Today’s agenda included going to work, going to an event
about 50 miles away, then staying over at a friend’s place. You can already see
why this month is perfect to talk about my day.
I usually wake up at 6 to get ready for work. I sometimes
have these dreams which almost seem on the brink of reality with how detailed
and imaginative they are. (Damn you, mind, for being so creative!) I sometimes
feel like I can experience sensory details inside these dreams because of how
immersive they are.
The notes I’ve written for today morning’s dream right as I
woke up include this: (because you tend to forget details through the day)
Dream involving two kids get home
Try to get them out of the dream so that they can write a bit on my blog
It’s almost funny as to how nonchalant 6 a.m. me was about
dragging people out of a dream. Or am I ruining some sort of alternate universe
timeline by revealing these details? (Dun dun dun!)
NaNoWriMo is something that I always want to commit to. Back
in the olden days (like 4 years back), I actually wrote about 30,000 words of
fanfiction in November 2013. I used to wake up at 4 am to talk to my friend in
Greece, and we used to write together till it was time for me to get ready for
school.
However, times have changed, I read more than I write, and I
don’t have the free time that undergrad promised me I would have for the rest
of my life. So, no, you’re not getting trashy Glee fanfiction which can be used
as fodder for burning fires this winter. (Yes, I’m stretching this metaphor.
Yes, I know it’s shitty. It’s also my blog.)
Instead, this is the first of 30 wlogs (like vlogs, but w - because
I’m writing, not recording a video) of the next 30 days. In these days, I plan
on documenting my thoughts and experiences each day, and trying to get something
unique each time. This month (spoiler alert) is going to be more eventful, so I
think it’s a sign that this was meant to be.
If you are in this with me, you can follow my blog (look to
your right), and kick my butt if I’m not posting every day this month. I
promise to be slightly entertaining, and give you my opinions on shows and
music if I have nothing interesting for that day.
I have a chest of memories, with multiple compartments
Most are on the surface, visible to everyone,
A certain few haven't been revealed in years
As you gain levels in our friendship, I give you access to more of these
memories
I presume you do the same for me, because what is friendship if not sharing
deep dark secrets and not being judged
But then something happens and you slink away
Leaving my chest open, all my memories strewn about
Leaving me to pick up the pieces and move on
Leaving me to clean up the mess you made
I hope you find another friend to confide your secrets to
But...
I hope you don't break their heart the way you broke mine
I hope they realize they aren't at fault when you move on, yet again
Blank stares at blank pages,
No easy way to say this…
The next lines do not exactly apply to the situation, since
I am writing this of my own volition and no one is forcing me to write
something (That’s what they are making me say).
In a very short period of time, I will be leaving. For a new
adventure, they say. For independence, they cheer. For studies, they cry. All
of these apply to me and yet I am not ready for it.
I leave for my Masters’. It is such a great thing, a thing I
have been looking forward to for most of my academic life. However, with such
things, there is always something you do not want to face. For me, it is
definitely leaving my parents. I have been with them for all of my twenty-two
years. Leaving them makes me feel like a chick leaving the nest, ready to fly
on her own. She stumbles and falls, learning to fly, and then soars
beautifully. In that very long metaphor, I am the chick who the bird parents
will have to kick out of the nest so she can learn to fly by herself (Love you
guys!)
Apart from them, there are so many places here filled with
memories for me. My favorite coffee place, the grocery store down the road, the
photo studio man who always smiles, the thirteen minute walk to the bus stop that takes you to college etc. The list can go on and on.
And the people. Oh, the people! All my friends, whether we
played together as babies, or just started talking to each other a while back.
I would be missing all of them. Before you mention the clichéd (yes, it counts
as clichéd if you heard it about twenty times in the last month) Skype and
Whatsapp and how it is not like the old times when you had to trunk call
people, it’s not the same.
I would not be able to use college as an excuse to meet
people. Open the lift to find a friend who I haven’t met in a long time.
Running into your old friends at pretentious coffee places would be next to impossible.
My point after all of this angst is that,
If I have met you in the last month, thank you for making
time to meet me before I leave.
If we have not met, I am so sorry I did not reply or if you
were too busy. We always have Facebook.
If you did not know I was leaving on Sunday morning, you’re
not a close enough friend (I kid, sorry whoever you are.)
I shall try to be more frequent on social media sites other
than Instagram (I need to get a grip). I shall try to keep in contact with
friends despite the time zone. It is a two way street, though. Just ping me if
you want to talk, I will reply, albeit later, but I shall.
Somehow, I feel like I should write more. Discuss the books
I am leaving behind, talk about the hangouts I would miss, describe everything.
If I would read this post two years later, I would have picture-perfect
memories of these places because of this post. However, I do not think that is
wise for my psyche right now. (No, I am not crying. Yet.)
Right now? This is the usual scene at my place. Everyone is
at their laptop or mobile phone in the living room. Some song plays in the
background. We give each other company, and give them space to do their thing
as well.
The difference? Three suitcases sit right next to the couch.
My throat is slightly choked as I write my blog post. A check list lies next to
me. A neck pillow, just waiting to be worn.
I hope when I do read this two years later, I am not so
different that I do not identify with who I am as I write this post. See you on
the flip side!
