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nothing much to see here, but friends only anyway. :) 

close to tears.

its amazing how the heart soars at the mere thought of flying again. its not all bad but a mix of multiple circumstances. i think i'm not good on my own, just yet. there's too much in this head.

understanding indifference.

the silence is so prevalent now i don't even remember when it began. suddenly this rigid silence permeated these spaces between us and there just isn't any way out. now that its here we can't get past it and somehow i know we never will. i don't believe there was a real reason of any sort, but it has happened and i am not one to try too hard, if at all. its a pity, really, but i guess its time this not knowing of things and what it means and what nots end.

reality cheque.

tonight as i wailed out of the car window to oasis and lisa loeb i realized i do want to build dreams with you. not because i long or need stability of any form, but because i think we could be amazing together. with you i am invincible, i could throw a molotov and get away with it.

i realized that no matter who i meet/ have met, you'll always be the one i might ever consider marrying some day.

and that thought doesn't sadden me. i am happy i met you. you changed my life and i am a much happier and better person for it. :)


just me and you in a house full of books and glowing lanterns. with a big window overlooking nothing, absolutely nothing at all.


there is so much i want to say to you that i know i probably never will. its better that way.

with you,

i realize i have more patience than i ever thought i had, more patience than i give myself credit for.

om bara;

means if only.


i miss you so much its not even funny anymore. and i don't even know what i miss exactly, but i know i do.

notes on europe.

one month traveling a continent. living out of a backpack. showering in cramped shower stalls, sleeping in dorms with men who snore. communal breakfast: 8.30- 10.30 a.m. maneuvering foreign subway/ metro systems. learning how to say "do you speak English", "hello" and "thank you" in half a dozen languages. not to forget "3, 2, 1" in Dutch.

learning how to understand accents, cultures. how to meet new people and make conversation. overcome shyness. overcome fear of being out at night in a big foreign city on my own. greeting strangers, smiling at them. then learning to stop doing that once i get home. living life at large, without fear of not being 'productive' or doing 'work'. long walks, sleeping, eating, reading. absolute indulgence.

only pleasures of life, none of its flawed worries and concerns; until you get a TV with an English channel: BBC. attacks on Gaza strip, death of a president: coup, chaos, corruption. horrors of reality swiped away by the lolling sway of a Venetian gondola.

speaking to locals. eating waffles and crepes drowned in nutella. hot chocolate and whipped cream. long train rides. lugging a backpack and a suitcase at 6 a.m. in Prague.

watching fireworks explode a meter from my feet- golden glitter drizzling through the night sky right above my head. watching scantily- dressed women writhing and gyrating to imaginary music from behind a glass window- a tiny room, functional: bed, toilet, curtains. neon backlights; glowing underwear. old, young, saggy, perky. some bored, texting or calling a friend. couples walking past, the girlfriend's face a long, sullen frown. not her idea of a romantic new year's eve, but its Amsterdam...

banging head against the top bunk and feeling close to tears, this i must say: I HATE BUNK BEDS! waking up to chilly London and a chillier Liverpool. snowy Paris, gorgeous Lisbon. fascinating Barcelona, the noise and chaos of Fes souk el- bali. functionalist Milan; sunny, sunny Rome. a fortunate burst of sunshine in otherwise wet Venice, frosty Vienna and oh so pretty Prague. spine- breaking cold of Berlin and lastly, waking up in Amsterdam, 01/ 01/ 09; remnants of the festivities from the night before adding amusing character to an already bewildering city.

the amazement of being in Anfield, then seeing Gerrard meters away taking a corner. standing with the throng of tourists to watch the change of guards at Buckingham Palace...

endless memories. memories that will soon be coloured by nostalgia, before deteriorating into still frames to clutch on desperately in a vain attempt to recreate the emotions and sentiments of the month- long journey.

New York was life- changing in the way it decided my future- giving it purpose and direction. but this trip was life- changing in the way it taught me about myself. it shed light on why i do what i do, want what i want.

while i hope that it has made me a better person, what is more important is i recognize myself now. in the most self- centred, narcissistic way, it was like taking a trip with (not by) myself. i might not like everything i saw or realized, but at least i know.


that was from my notebook, written in transit at doha. i still reread it from time to time, to remind myself how i felt sitting there, reflecting, recollecting. the scatter of chocolate wrappers, the remnants of my mango cake and the tall glass of vanilla latte. feet up, iPod on.

and then i read this poem by woodsworth in alain de botton's art of travel. i cannot recommend this book enough. even if you don't care two hoots about traveling, you should just read it in order to realize really, just how little we know and how narrow our interests are. de botton covers absolutely every aspect of life that matters. its mind- blowing. but back to the poem, which represents what traveling is to me... spots of time.

There are in our existence spots of time,
That with distinct pre-eminence retain
A renovating virtue, whence--depressed
By false opinion and contentious thought,
Or aught of heavier or more deadly weight,
In trivial occupations, and the round
Of ordinary intercourse--our minds
Are nourished and invisibly repaired;
A virtue, by which pleasure is enhanced,
That penetrates, enables us to mount,
When high, more high, and lifts us up when fallen.



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