For the blog. For me.

I’ve spent enough time thinking of a good opening line for this post. Especially since I have so many things sitting right on top of my mind peeping over the ledge and, unfortunately, not falling over. I could do with a little less thinking you see.

I have come to realise that sometimes no one will ever “get” me the way my blog does. Probably this is because I do associate emotional excesses with material things that belong to me. For instance, I loved my previous laptop, and when I exchanged it for new, it took me some time to give it up. Now that I have a new one, I am a tad bit attached to it too. Not so much because either I am weaning away from emotional attachment or I’m a mess. Nothing to do with the laptop, of course. It is thin, matte black, touchscreen, and stunningly pretty.

Moving on.

I was talking to an old friend over munchow soup, today, and he said “Somehow I have a feeling that you were far more sorted when I had known you earlier.” I just had to agree. Things are an absolute milk shake right now. It tastes pretty good, but what the hell went in there? I don’t even smell like myself anymore. Yesterday, I realised that I smell of preserved sandalwood which when inhaled wafts in memories of grandmother’s closets and old photographs. But then again, I have no idea what I used to smell like. There is a sharp contrast in the person I was 2 years ago, and the one I am now. Foster father once said, “Ask yourself how much you’ve changed.” and now that I do, I realised I can’t figure out who I was. But I surely wasn’t this. And that’s not necessarily a bad thing; because the person I was 2 years ago would have never touched an Excel sheet and applied logic to a set of data.

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I also spoke to my oldest friend yesterday updating her about the latest developments and the plan that has finally come to place for the next two months. Not only did I supply her with necessary facts should she need to know where I am, but I also discussed something that I have been trying to decide for a while now. That she affirmed what I had concluded was a little satisfying. That’s the thing about old friends. They know you, they’ve been through with you in your life, and they’re the goal where you touchdown.

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Waking up late and working late is just not working for me. However, I don’t see that changing at all according to the aforementioned chalked out plan. It gives me very little time for myself, a place for my head, and the cleaning up after the mess of the day. Though I don’t hurry into the day, I stumble out of it. Sometimes staying up way past earlier bedtimes, and sometimes, just packing up and shuffling into sleep. I do realise that I must go back to waking up early; just not sure how that will happen. Especially when I have to steal my minutes to blog in this staggered fashion, the day feels like a hurried travel plan.

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Reading Americanah is wringing my heart for two reasons – it makes me want to go and write my own book with much more detail than the current depth, and it scares me as to how much detail Adichie has put into her book. She has thought of everything. And I mean everything. It’s so unlike reading a book because it seems as though the story actually happened to her, and all she has done is written it down. Americanah is something else. Astounding. As promised, I have ordered my personal hard copy.

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I don’t know whom I am addressing in this blog post. You know the whole “write for an audience” tip. If it wasn’t for the overt love I feel for this space which belongs to me, I would not have even published this post. Anyhoo. This post is just for my blog. For being that place I come to when I need a witness to my life.

Sometimes, no one else gets me.

It’s just here. And the now.