But I look at pictures of coloured hair and torrential rain… neither of which have happened in a while. I listen to tunes of then and they seem too emotional too needy too “teenage” in their simplified wants… The complex I like to appreciate for now- seems a bit of a mirror of the grey my black and whites are turning into.

I realize it could be worse, which makes me realize it could be better. Did I forget to try for better somewhere? someday that passed idly by under a lazy haze… Is that the fault I’m dealing with now? Should I have followed the defined path to a longer richer life and not jumped straight to where I wanted to be all day everyday? hah… I already sound defensive. Maybe the stubbornness is going to be my downfall sometime. May as well be.

Or is it just the mind and idle time of day that brings me down… earlier there would be movement in the trees or a chat to have with someone new… earlier it seems, there would have been a QUALITY sunset to get high on… earlier, earlier than most days I’ve gotten up now, I might have climbed 3 hills to see the sunrise and hope for a whale to splash by on the horizon. How free-willy you say… I think it might have happened. There were possibilities and I saw them all to be the ones I could choose. Now I tie myself down. Now I look at the horizon and know whales don’t splash by this city…

Maybe its a wimp-ish day. Maybe tomorrow I will be all fired up to take on the world. May be as I type this I know it will invariably be the same as today… this city life slowly works its way in me almost makes me want it to settle in and not squirm in my head. Then maybe the childish tree measuring science-y dork of a girl will realize life’s new phase has begun… till then my brain may feel like a painters palette with that homogeneous brown that comes out of mixing all the colours, hoping to be redeemed by a proper washing out!

The clubbing to tunes in strange languages and genres of music you wouldnt be caught dead listening to back home. Home – that civilized, romantized, boring, solid, roots that let you go further and away. The adventures started once you forgot to remember that home. The illegal swim could easily be doing the popular hallucenogen of the locale / finding the travelling lover and friend who would cease to be perfect the second you left to your partner back home / taking the risk of checking out old towns knowing you may get mugged or worse… the list is endless and if you have a must-put-down-in-writing moment leave this blog a comment.

Sometimes its the photos you come back with that let you re-live each of those moments. I’ve found though – the pictures really send me back to the moments un-recorded, the ones that could never be captured totally. The magic that must only reside in you with that little fear that someday you may never remember it exactly as it was.

I’m listening to Bonobo – Days To Come and it triggered this of. Although while my last idyllic travel of excesses Bonobo was only introduced in passing and never listened to. Go Figure… We listened to the The Knife a lot and I was hooked to this music.

And the beach – ah! there are two in the movie and now I remember two as well – through all the traveling there will be the clarity of moonshine on Watamu. The soft clay like white sands that were silver are night, the skinny dipping in the ocean never fearing a Shark or getting caught, the secret nude photo shoot that set the mood for a threesome weeks (?) later, the flaking its white paint sun bed that we’d drag out to the water’s edge, the crystal water that never hid anything, the wading out till the point we could to sit in wave sway at midnight – a motley crew of three lovers and a new traveller, the walks along for kilometers and getting happily lost – arm in arm – with the thought of sleeping out and finding our way home for breakfast… and those little moments of a single joint, of sitting on the corridor drinking a crate of beer – friends that came from India, Uganda, Germany, Kenya, Britain, the States, Canada and South Africa. The mundane moments that made it perfect…

The other beach – the one in Madagascar that only we have been on, and may it be that way forever more. The local fisherman walking past us from the beach but never to be found while we were there. The beach that took an hour of concentrated walking over three hills, the beach where we’d make the torturous journey on hang-over mornings, where Puppy and Boophis would require us to carry extra water for them. Where in preparation the bread would be baked and cut the night before – even if in drunken haze, where we’d save that extra Noir chocolate bar and last Cracky packet for. Where the first football kicked was sent across the ocean on journeys of its own, where it might rain on us on the way back.

Where the veterans at the end of day yelled at happy campers should the mention of things like “Strawberry Cheesecake” or “Pina Coladas” occur. Yes Grouper – this goes out to us… Where a certain girl was just allowed to be a girl with her favourite girl. Oh the memories exceed words and besides you dear reader are prolly gettin bored of the details. It was the Perfect Beach.

And I’ve suddenly found myself remembering the splashing about in phosphorescent water and the thousands of fireflies cascading over hills at night… words paint an insulting picture of these places and its why travellers can’t stop and stay for a lifetime to pass them by.

*smiles* Msafiri she has called and it may well be true.

Alice In Wonderland by Tim Burton!!!

Jonny Depp Ann Hathaway Helena Bona Carter…

Twinkle, twinkle, little bat
How I wonder what you’re at!
Up above the world you fly
Like a tea-tray in the sky.

Also:

flexi-time for office should mean: u avoid traffic jams; come in when there is work to be done; work from home when possible; work late without grumbles when required.

what it ends up being is: your boss telling you to lick boots clean when there is time… meaning after hours. meaningless work that you will never enjoy.

whats worse – most of us put up with it. sick.

Anders Loves Maria

Bellen

Bear And Tiger

Questionable Content

The Secret Knots

XKCD

and who knows how many more…

pssst: anyone who thinks banning social network websites from the office server will deter people from using the internet in their spare time are truly short sighted.

A perfect weekend, dreams seem close and you realize that she’s lived too long. She knows the signs – of nostalgia seeping into tonight. How its always been a boys game. The dreams come along over the skid marks and violent scars, she gets left behind, left out. Older, she knows your just playing your boy-games. Its ok. But its not. Too tightly tied in happiness she realizes she isn’t there or worse – a burden on a fast escaping mind. Old enough to hold onto pride but to chose to leave it unraveled, uncoiled. The tight spring of righteousness has faded in recent years, the greys are more lived in than the black/white. She holds on pride still, decides like she would, like she should have? Learnt lessons are hard to forget and threats get you nowhere.

She wants to slip off her clothes, erase the last few hours of her night, see it through your eyes… She only slips off her pride.

You sleep on the edges of the bed this morning, mattress yawing in between where there should only be skin. Then you hurt and all of a sudden you realize, the perfect weekend is done, you had your fun… your awake when she’s asleep and she when you drift away. She… she’s keeping her brave face on, rage under wraps as and is sociable, like-able, bending to break. She’ll end with you. Older you both know – the tantrums can be taken, the hurt gulped through tears all because there will be perfect weekends and a life thrown into the deal you cut.

You sit silhouetted, a tiny sun glows in the car as it mimics the sun outside – the end glow of your cigarette. I trace the angles – jaw, nose, the ridges that hide your eyes in shadow all as the day dies so fast seemingly so slow. We speed along over dips and bumps, the ruts in the road sometimes jolt too hard – we wince. Metaphoric the mood. Sulks and arguments around us melt away as u lean over, fit me in safe between arm and chest, and kiss me.

Baggage brought up the stairs and into the hall. Nostalgia while moving; while the lil idiosyncratic unpacking. I put up a Metal Baobab on the wall. The 4 nails put up for one picture *smiles* that wasn’t put up yet. The ducky toothbrush holder went up in the bathroom and old love letters and photos found again… Spread out on the sofa I showed you – the first valentine card I still have, the only other one from the last time I’d moved in.

Begin a new life in shared spaces – I find familiar places, the cramped too little space that feels cosy right now. Will it stay this time round? Jack Johnson says so… You’ve left for work, for once I’m off. Your lil bro will come move the last clunky bits – trunk, bedding and shoes. So *grins* lets find a house and buy em curtains, set up a kitchen and buy groceries together. Lazy sundays and tired cuddles after work in front of the tele are ours. Sounds exciting? Naaaah. Feels like home.

when i went looking for original visiting card designs… naaaice.