monologue

morning, 6th: i will be there if you ask me to.

thanksgiving

had my very first thanksgiving dinner yesterday, & despite - i remember telling myself that i am still thankful for week seven bc it has truly been the best thing that has happened thus far in ync.
(you didn't ask me for my reply, but like you, I have also moved on: only in terms of mindset - not in terms of person, yet - at least i am still working on it.) 

resolve

i have resolved to stop moping about in my vacuous cavern - i will stop fuelling my own negativism & start living with the conviction that happiness is merely what you make out it. i am a daughter of the most-High - it is time i start living like one & stop this see-sawing of emotions contingent on things merely of the world.

learning

(still) learning how to leave behind 'what ifs', but i am getting better at it as each day passes. i will remember why & how it certainly is for the better.

(how could i tell you that my favourite memory of the himalayas was the time spent with you at the rooftop at sainji, where it had all begun.) 

just another interlude

thank you for those more than gucci memories 

i am where You want me to be

then You crash over me, 
& that's where You want me to be:
i'm going under - i'm in over my head. 

whether i sink, whether i swim, it makes no difference when i'm beautifully in - over my head. 

ninagawa's kafka

i read once somewhere that we only have favourite songs bc they remind us of certain favourite memories, memories which can be lived vicariously through hitting the replay button again & again until the line between song and memory converges and blurs, until the wholeness of that particular experience becomes osmosed into every fibre of our being.

i've been replaying sigur ros' untitled i (vaka) an innumerable number of times since ninagawa's kafka on the shore ended (i've lost count) in order to relieve the magic that was last night bc words will not do justice to how full i had felt during and even after the play. i was brimming - it felt as if that cavern of nothingness towards prior passions was slowly filling up again as i remembered why i had loved literature so ardently prior to coming here i.e. college. i remember telling myself that this fullness, this sense of feeling wholly connected with my soul, was the predominant reason why i had loved words and their potential to bestow form on the formless. there amongst the audience i rediscovered and lifted the lid off my memory box. it was an incredibly amazing experience - the characters were exactly as i had envisaged them in my head while devouring the book: nakata in his pink polo and sunhat, oshima in a crisp white blouse twirling his collection of yellow pencils, miss saeki in the cobalt silk dress / looking professional af in her working ensemble & nude heels, colonel sanders looking just like the mascot from kfc etc. - it was mind-blowing to have my imagination coincide with reality before my eyes: the resemblance was so uncanny i became unsure which elements were constructions of my imagination and which were explicitly stated (by murakami) in the text. there in the theatre i felt as i had never felt in a long, long while, the elusive feeling of being truly alive. it was a finding place - and perhaps afterall i had to step out of campus in order to plug in with myself again - it was a much needed catharsis.

when the play finally ended (to our dismay) and the applause was well-deservingly deafening, i think i understood alittle of what i had learnt in csi lecture in the afternoon - the sense of a collective effervescence, of oneness with the crowd. i felt so incredibly blessed (for lack of a better word) to be sharing this experience of having world-class japanese actors perform for us with people who were coming from a common, shared love for the plot, for having borne witness to the authentic experience of watching the novel in its original language, for having shared this experience with joy & sars who had read the book almost along with me (we read at around the same time so we could talk about it tgt) - people who had shared and still share my exact sentiments about literature. it was a perfect night - even on the way back, joy and i were so adamant on finding the soundtrack bc we knew it was somewhere deep in the recesses of our ipods - we had definitely heard it before & so we were going through every single song by the cinematic orchestra on her ipod, filtering every song through a shared earpiece without any luck & i tried mine and we chanced upon sigur ros at the same time & the moment it played we died alittle inside bc it just brought back a wave of fresh memories from the play. it was the perfect friday night - i was alittle bummed out about having to miss my first halloween in college but in retrospect i wouldn't have traded last night with any other nights - it was perfect in its own right bc i finally found myself, amongst words, amongst people whom i love and who love the same things i love.