moving on.

happiness is not one place. happiness is not the swallows of a deadcity. happiness is not insomnia. happiness is not the distance in affection.

happiness is travel. happiness is a new road. happiness was never safety. safety and settlement are way too overrated. happiness is knowing that you can change. happiness is knowing that you can even do without change. happiness is hypocrisy. happiness is saying one thing and doing another. happiness is a labyrinthine; you'll never get out alive.

running around in circles. happiness is godot. happiness is out of reach.

for me happiness is traveling. vagabond-ish.

happiness isn't this blog, anymore. happiness is finding another new road.

http://leftoverseptembersky.blogspot.com/

happiness might just be a leftover canopy of clouds. =)

As I suspected, I grow more and more inward than I am expected to. Home is living out of a suitcase, and life is only just reading and music. And I have a plan. Also, there is work. Tucked away is a sheaf of paper persons not even worthy of mention. And, some thrown away also. Fake and talkative. And yes, did I mention work? There is so much to do. So much to look forward to, and yet, so much to leave behind. So many to leave behind, in fact.

There was never an easier way to let go. Closure and work. The Formula, yes.

only if you could be me, now. there is nothing that i do not have. nothing. i have everything. everything that you, if you were not me, would be jealous of. everything that you, if you were not me, would have regrets about. everything that i hid from the world. everything. i have music in the folds of my skin, a plethora of words under my tongue and the rainbow in my eyes. noone, not even you, can take this away from me. yet, if you were never me, you would be a bead wrapped in envy and regret.

yes, only if you could be me, now. i have everything and nothing.

i promise i will look for your face in every photograph. i promise. you are not the boy i love. you cannot be the boy who wants to become another peter pan. you are not him, you never can be. however, i will always search for you in crowds when i am alone. i will sing songs of you to the skies and they will draw patterns of you in blue and white and orange. i will conjure up words and poems to think of you. i will run away from people and places and blame you. and at night i will empty the sepia of my eyes to my pillow. yet, i will search for you. and find you, perhaps?

in some photograph. an old class photograph. not visible at first. but then, perfectly discernible. i will chart the laughlines on your face with my eyes, and some archaic voice of you will laugh in my head. it will be almost maddening how parts of you will have survived still, and how they will continue to haunt me sometimes, despite being safely buried in the sepulchre of my heart.

you are fear. yet, i will search for your face. in photographs, in crowds, in farawaylands. in unwelcome dreams. in songs. in poetry. and somehow you will live right inside me. parts of you i couldn't let time gnaw away at. and someday i will stare at one of the photographs long and hard, and try and scan through them to see you grinning. and wonder if the smile you are wearing is the one i left you.

i promise i will look for you in unknown, tucked-away photographs and new ones, too. and wait for that grin, the one i left you, to disappear. and for a new one to appear. that is the day my world wouldn't come off in pieces.

Because I don't write regularly.

I have no clue when I began to keep my private life away from my life in public. I began thinking about this a couple of days back, when I read Mandy's recent post where she mentioned in a supranote that hers isn't a feelings blog. Somehow I feel even I have divided my life into a thoughts blog and a feelings blog. The feelings blog, however, is locked and available only to very very few people. Anyone who reads my private blog would know the kind of emotional spill I go through on a regular basis. People who aren't invited to it and read only this would readily conclude that I hardly think, and that this blog is dying.

Maybe it is. And there is nothing much I can do about it. I refuse to be angsty and wear my heart on my sleeve in public. Plus, I like being discreet, now. Also, I hardly get creative urges now-a-days. Hopefully it is just a phase.

Well, it is the Freshers' Week in college, and I cannot make myself any clearer - I don't feel like attending the crap - silly 'breaking the ice' competitions et al. Instead, I like curling up on my bed in the afternoons, and reading/watching House till I fall asleep, totally disoriented. I've missed being with myself for a longtime, and since I get the afternoons free (with afternoon classes canceled, and N staying in college because she is one of the biggies for the Freshers' events) I take full advantage of it. Yes, you could say I am unsocial. Well, I don't care.

Also, now-a-days I end of spending a lot of time with A. Studying, talking, eating, going to Oxford, reading, discussing things I cannot with anyone else. Being as politically incorrect as I can be. I think we make a great team. We have two papers to complete (one of them has been long overdue), and I am anticipating attending at least two other conferences this year. I like the adrenaline rush of talking about my work on stage, though I'm terribly afraid of it at the same time. A, on the other hand, prefers mooting to speaking in conferences. I wouldn't mind moots but I like researching better, and our college won't have a researcher test for moots. So, I doubt if I'll ever have any national/international level mooting experience because I wouldn't ever go as a speaker.

I also gave up writing a paper I really wanted to write. But I could not get myself to understand the legal propositions of the topic, and lost my sanity over it. I feel terrible giving it up, and I know it'll be difficult not regretting about it.

I shall not comment about my friends and acquaintances, here in this blog. I am really close to only a handful of people in college and they know who they are. About the rest, I am trying not to care. Among other things, facebook has become a recent addiction. Also, House. I absolutely LOVE House. And I am really really glad that A gave me the episodes. One of my closest schoolfriends has shifted to a college faraway and I won't be seeing her much of her for the next five years, I guess. Another lives just forty minutes from my college, yet we cannot meet for our erractic college hours. Another gets lonelier in our city.

And, everyday I tell myself to write to them. I want to. But I'm too lazy. Often believing that it wouldn't matter if I didn't write; we'd still stick together (which we will, I am sure). I have the most believable excuse, of course. The course in college. It is vast, though I don't take much of the academic attyachaar. But I am liking the course this semester, at least most of it. Constitutional Law I and Criminal Law are, in fact, very interesting. If only I studied regularly.