bitter medicines

I don't usually get so specific about the things going on in my life, but frankly, I'm terribly upset.
So I wrote the CAT, yeah? Told my mum I wasn't really too keen on management, didn't want to do what everyone else was doing (which, incidentally, is what I insisted on bleating when I chose architecture over engineering, heh, and the law debacle? do not even ask etc) and then, at her insistence, I went ahead and registered to write it.
A month before the exam I got my hands on some four-year-old study material, and spent a little of my free time each week memorizing my tables and remembering my algebra.
I wrote the CAT in November, the day before my birthday. I had a very pleasant time writing it. Almost walked into the male loo at Christ College, lent strangers my pencil, made scornful mental remarks about some of the idiots in the hall... you know, the usual.

Two days ago I found out the CAT scores were out. My father told me they were. I'd forgotten they were supposed to be out this month. (well, i went in for the exam not knowing how long it was supposed to be. what can i say?)
So I went online to check out how badly I'd done, and found out I'd gotten a 98.72 percentile score.
Today I found out that I might have been rejected from IIMB because of my score in college, that 70% average I've been maintaining with such difficulty. Does anyone even know?
And I had applied nowhere except the IIMs. Not one of the numerous reputed colleges of management that would have, might have, been happy to extend me a call; and now it's too late again, always too late what is it with the bloody lateness, T??
I thought I didn't want to do management. And now I feel bad enough to cry. I guess it's because I suddenly realized I had a real chance.
could have had.

*sigh*

Until now I only thought I hated architecture.


Of course, knowing my life and the watchful eyes of the Irony Gods, I'll probably just end up an architect in spite of myself. That might actually be funny enough to watch out for.
Pardon.
I'm still not in a very happy mood.
eh meh bleh bleh etc
Why must I always be such a goddamned fool??

Well, I know how to spell. Most of the time.
separate, chauffeur, onomatopoeia. Small small comfort.

also in blue

And I'm sorry I was so blind, but I'm glad I was wrong.
Isn't that what the relief means?
But I have lost the wisdom I had before; lost my safety and my walls; forgotten lessons I learnt so early (say nothing tell no one hush yo' mouth it's not for them to know only you only you)
And from unexpected quarters I get my boosts
Nice words will always make me cry
And I told them all I was shy
But got only big eyes as reply
Do I hide it so well, or is it simply me I'm fooling?

as best I could
in my own fashion
in spite of myself

And once the trust goes, there is nothing, nothing, only accusations and doubt and give the dog a bad name and hang him.
underdog undertow
And I am so tempted. This is how the guilt wears you down, a little at a time, a little less each time, till there is only relief in the breaking.
And it's easy to stray; easy.
Throw caution to the winds and betray betray betray. Once the name is mud what use is trying, anyway?


all i ever wanted.
crossposted elsewhere.

re-tripping

And I return from family vacations on New Year's Eve. Vacations are good for the soul.

So are pictures.

Imagine a family of four; two parents, two girls; off on holiday in the family car. Imagine overloading and shopping and spilt food in the back seat. Imagine tender coconut and thali meals; teas by the roadside and restroom stops.
Imagine driving a car at 110 kmph, the highest you've ever driven it, while beside you your father dozes with his head on the window, and behind you the girls sleep with mouths agape. There is nothing as frightening as knowing that the lives of those closest to you lie in your hands.
Oh, but I never knew fear could be beautiful.


Imagine a Tibetan village. Imagine a monastery where monks drive motorbikes I wouldn't mind road tripping on. Imagine gardens immaculate and serene, imagine coloured flags flying in the breeze, imagine dancing skeletons. Imagine a temple full of the sounds of birds. Imagine five hundred prayer wheels.
Imagine somewhere where electricity vanishes without warning, where there is no reception on your cell phone, no telephone, no internet, no computer. Imagine the nearest convenience store at a distance of eight kilometers.
Imagine dinners around bonfires with a dog or two in artistic repose heaving huge sighs at your feet. Imagine night walks with your sister under a moon as bright as neon streetlamps, only prettier, prettier. Imagine playing charades by the light of hurricane lamps and telling ghost stories by the fire. Imagine morning walks through the woods with the lord of the manor and his dogs; imagine finding little surprises city eyes will never see. Imagine sunsets in a sky so unpolluted the entire horizon is a uniform colour. Imagine green. And some more. And a little again. Imagine evening walks through coffee plantations, with two long girls and a boy in rubber slippers.


Imagine a sky so full of stars your eyes ache for the looking. Imagine lying back on a stone in the middle of the garden, with a blanket around you and three sweaters on and shivering for all of that, and wishing for someone to identify constellations with.
(how badly did I want someone else awake with me at four in the morning? do not ask. i cannot bear to remember. but when asked, the sister said, not now, i'm umph hrmgunf; and the mother said, lovely too cold cover your head I'm going back to sleep; and so i went out in the morning alone.)
Imagine climbing barefoot up stone steps to gaze at a view that you could only capture a fraction of because you were too tired to charge the batteries the previous night.
Imagine the tall one on her voyages of discovery. Imagine the fat one and her constant whine.
Imagine snapping and biting and screaming and fighting and all the other little things families do.
Imagine laughing and laughing and laughing.


Families are a good invention.

Happy New Year, everyone.
The one just past deserves to be dated from.