22.07.2002 | 11:10 p.m.
after a terrible game of scrabble

Memories of an old life, a happy life stare at me every night from the faintly yellowed walls of my room. Sometimes I sit on the floor,hugging my knees,staring back at them. I can distinctly remember when each of these pictures were taken, except the one of Mama and me when I was 5. These are scenes from a life spent with friends and family,laughing and cherishing each other. The only vestiges of the joy are smiles frozen in Kodak colours. I can't bear to see pictures from my Hussain's and Jai Hind days anymore. All those people I loved and lost; all those places I frequented and abandoned - their ghosts continue to haunt me on days like today when relentless rainfall impedes good moods.

Tonight the room looks different. After carefully removing a few pictures, I put up new ones that narrate an accurate story. My pseudo-showcases proudly present my life the way it is now. Pictures of my new friends and all the places in London we enjoy. They tell a tale of friendships quickly formed, validated by our many differences. Perhaps once again I will lose these people I love; perhaps my current haunts will someday haunt me. Once again, nothing and everything will change. And thus will continue the grand rhapsody called life.

I really wish P and A wouldn't have sex SO GODDAMN LOUDLY. That's all.

deja vu? | jamais vu?