Thursday, August 30, 2007

shit really happens!!!

my phone kinda got messed up... so i lost ALL your contact numbers.. please... text me and paki sabi kung sino kayo.. thanks!

Wednesday, August 29, 2007

blue blue blue

KYRIELLE/John Payne (1842-1916)

A lark in the mesh of the tangled vine,
A bee that drowns in the flower-cup's wine,
A fly in sunshine,--such is the man.
All things must end, as all began.

A little pain, a little pleasure,
A little heaping up of treasure;
Then no more gazing upon the sun.
All things must end that have begun.

Where is the time for hope or doubt?
A puff of the wind, and life is out;
A turn of the wheel, and rest is won.
All things must end that have begun.

Golden morning and purple night,
Life that fails with the failing light;
Death is the only deathless one.
All things must end that have begun.

Ending waits on the brief beginning;
Is the prize worth the stress of winning?
E'en in the dawning day is done.
All things must end that have begun.

Weary waiting and weary striving,
Glad outsetting and sad arriving;
What is it worth when the goal is won?
All things must end that have begun.

Speedily fades the morning glitter;
Love grows irksome and wine grows bitter.
Two are parted from what was one.
All things must end that have begun.

Toil and pain and the evening rest;
Joy is weary and sleep is best;
Fair and softly the day is done.
All things must end that have begun.

---

this poem is a lil sad.. but its life. every beginning has an end. ang ganda pa ng title... Kyrielle.

i found this posted in one of my older blogs... *lol* wow pare deep pala ako dati. so unlike me now...

...huh...

i cant sleep. its 5am... am still up... in 4 hours id be up for 24 hrs. my doctor would kill me if she knew i wasnt sleeping properly. i really dont know whats wrong. hay punyeta...

Tuesday, August 28, 2007

Oipst

mga friendships na nag babasa ng aking blog posts... weeeesh ko lang nag iiwan kayo ng comment. i appreciate feedback..

wag lang lurk ng lurk!

:lol:

Friday, August 24, 2007

Mea Culpa

As much as possible I try not to be depressed, but there are days wherein it seems like you never win.

Its like no matter what you say or what you do, people would always see mistakes.

Pag di mo tulungan, masama ka.
Be too nice, masama pa rin.

*sigh*

To people who can read this specially my FRIENDS and so-called friends:

You guys know I always go the extra mile whenever you call on me for help. Please, wag naman po kayong umaabuso. I dont notice that kind of thing. But I keep on hearing things from the people around me... I help and never expect anything in return. Only for you to pay it forward.

I guess, its the way I'm built.

Im sick and im tired and I dont like the way you guys treat me. And here I thought you guys were my friends...

I guess its my fault too... being built this way.

Mea Culpa...

Mea Culpa...

Mea Culpa...

Wednesday, August 22, 2007

Misery Loves Company

Most of my friends have perfect timing. Take note... I said MOST.

Japeth does not. He has comic timing or lets say comedy of errors timing.

*snicker*

Don’t get me wrong, I LOVE Japeth for that. He'd always cheer me up whenever I'd be in the doldrums of despair and vice versa. This is one of those times. People say its synchronicity… I say its timing.

One time, when my boyfriend of 3 years and I broke up, Japeth popped up at my doorstep and said “I sense a disturbance in the force.” He stayed in my apartment for a month (or two). Bitching at me. Nagging me. Harangue-ing me so I'd get up in the morning and go to work and not just lay in my bed wishing for the earth to open up and swallow me whole. I never told anyone that my ex and I broke up. Japeth was just there.

The other time, I was channeling Bridget Jones… he picked me up from work and hung out with me. He would always say that he'd understand if any moment I'd feel like bursting into a Chaka Khan song and then drown myself in vodka and ciggies and I should be assured that he will not let me be eaten by an Alsatian.

Today upon arriving home (I went out and had coffee with my friend Andy), I saw a familiar figure perched on my washing machine... smoking. (I was feeling a little down in the mouth because… hahahaha… see prior blog post.)

Japeth.

I shouted at him...

"Hoy punyeta! Put that out! My clothes will smell like yosi!"

I did my laundry last night and my clothes might get imbued with the odd stench that only cigarette smoke has. Japeth threw his cigarette butt into the drain. When I saw his face, his eyes were swollen and his clothes looked as if they were slept in for days.

As soon as we entered my apartment, Japeth started blubbering. So I hugged him tight and cried with him. When the waterworks were over, I asked him what was wrong.

"Maia left me for Berks. She's in Singapore right now. I don’t know what to do... She called me up yesterday to tell me that she was breaking up with me. She said I didn't’t make her happy anymore. I thought everything was ok. We rarely fought. I thought we were doing ok. “These words were delivered in a garbled sobbing rush that I almost had a hard time deciphering what he was saying.

I was speechless.

I didn't’t have the words to comfort him because I KNEW that this would happen.

Berks and I met up when I was in Singapore. When we met up at Clarke Quay I was surprised that he was there with Maia. They were very sweet to each other but I didn't’t think much of it since (from what I knew THEN) Maia and Japeth were a couple.

While hugging Japeth, I could see that he looked very lost. So I walked him over to my room and sat him on my bed. I laid him down on the bed and took his shoes off so that he’d be comfortable. I turned on the a/c and tucked him in. Japeth curled up like a baby under the covers and proceeded to cry again. Not those loud sobs, but those silent heart rending tears that just keep on falling no matter how hard you try to stop them from falling. He kept repeating the words “I thought we were ok…” like a mantra…

Being the empath that I am, I started to feel tears falling down my face as well. I knew what he was feeling. I’ve been there. I took my shoes off and climbed into bed and just hugged him. Japeth hugged back. (He almost squashed the living daylights out of me. Japeth is 5’11 and 210 pounds) we just lay there and cried.

After the crying jag. I went to the kitchen and cooked dinner. I made Sushi and some California Maki. I brought it back to my room with 2 bottles of Red Horse. I woke him up and we had dinner. I basically had to force feed (and brow beat and nag) him the dinner that I cooked. He didn't’t want to eat! (Sayang ang effort ko no!) I also made him chug down the beer that I brought so that he’d calm down or something.

After eating dinner, he lay back down and just stared at the ceiling. I knew that he needed time to “mourn” so I just let him be. I watched television, played my XBOX, talked to him about MY dilemma (just to distract him from his own problem), drove to 7-11 Morayta and bought Vodka and five packs of ciggies, went home and proceeded to make myself and Japeth inebriated.

Then something stupid happened. We kissed. It wasn't’t just your average kissing… it was the I-want-to-keep-on-kissing-you-till-the-stars-explode-and-the-sky-turns-black kind of kiss. Then my mobile phone started to ring.

The shrill sound of my ringtone jolted us back from our minor lapse in sanity and we sheepishly jumped apart. I looked at my mobile phone wondering who in their right mind would call me up at midnight?

Of course…

It had to be Huck.

I. Shit. You. Not.

While his number was flashing on the caller ID, I had to shake my head and laugh at the absurdity of the situation. We had a quick conversation… The usual stuff we talk about when he calls. After the call I stared at my phone for a few minutes. Then I got back to Japeth.

Misery loves company really. I told Japeth that we shouldn't’t be doing what we were doing. I already wrecked one friendship yesterday; I didn't’t plan to wreck another one. Japeth apologized too and then we started laughing. I don’t know if it was alcohol induced but we just lay there in bed laughing till tears started to stream from our eyes and diaphragms started hurting.

As we lay in bed, Japeth started to pour his heart out. He told me everything that happened with him and Maia and what made him think that everything was ok between them. We rationalized. We justified. We tried to understand. At the end of it all, we basically had the realization that we never have control on how people feel about us, we maybe head over heels for them but they’d have no feelings for us whatsoever. Like Japeth said, its like: one night you’d be feeling all sexy and horny and sooo ready for a night of mind blowing sex but your partner would be in bed suffering from a head cold.

Sad but true. Shit happens.

So we systematically downed the vodka that I bought, finished all the bottles of alcohol that were in my fridge and passed out drunk.

Its 6am and I am incredibly hung over. I have a job interview at 9am and I am so praying to God that I get through my interview in one non-upchucking piece.

Misery loves company.

I am misery.

Tuesday, August 21, 2007

Eating Fire and Drinking Water

I am presently reading a book recommended by my bestfriend's wifey. Its Eating Fire and Drinking Water by Arlene Chai.

Im halfway through the book and it has taken my breath away.

to give you guys a taste of what the book is about here is the blurb posted on the back and a striking passage.

---

Blurb:

My name is Clara Perez, I am a reporter.

This is the story of my country whose people eat fire and drink water, and of an oppressive regime whose decline is foretold by the singing of a river.

it is about how one man's act of kindness changes the lives of many and of a woman who bleeds from the wounds of Christ and a man whose name is Pride; a leader corrupted by power, a colonel who is an artist of pain, and a charismatic young man who dies only to live again.

And it is about me.

For on that fateful morning of the fire when I went to Calle De Leon in search of one story. I found myself caught up in another. I discovered my history.

But to learn how two tales become one, you must follow me back to that burning street, to where it all began.

---

"Watch, Laslo. Observe human nature. See how Sophia, even while she is robbed of her wholeness or what humans call dignity, continues to fight for self-preservation. As if it is possible to live when one is no longer whole. it is a strange human characteristic.

I have seen it many times. In other circumstances, of course. I have seen men who have lost, say a finger, two fingers, still beg to live. A hand, two hands, am arm, maybe a leg, still begging to live.

It makes for an interesting case study, you know, when you slice through flesh, cutting deeper, removing bits here, parts there, the subject begs ... yes, begs to be allowed to live.

You can remove so much of what makes up the human body, of what defines a human being or human life - and i refer to the physical as well as the psychological - and still the subject stubbornly insists on continuing his or her existence. The subject believes it is possible to go on living inspite of a less than perfect state. The subject is totally lacking in the understanding that life must be lived whole for it is to be lived as art. When one is no longer perfect, no longer whole in all dimensions, one makes a mockery of life.

Which poses an interesting topic of debate: where should one draw the line between human life and a lesser form of life? and is the life of this less than perfect human specimen worth prolonging? An ethical and relevant question, dont you think? It is something I have pondered on many occasions

I have one other question: who is to make the decision of whether life should be granted or denied? The imperfect subject or another party whose vision is not marred?"

And so the colonel went on as his men continued with their business and the windowless room began to fill with the smell and sweat and of sex and of blood. And through it all the sound of Rachmaninoff's music and the sound of the colonel's musings reached Laslo who could only howl into a piece of soiled handkerchief stuffed in his mouth.

When at last the men finished with Sophia, the colonel rose from his seat. The men drew back and watched with interest as he approached the cot with the rumpled sheet where the woman now lay whimpering, curled up like a fetus. They watched with bated breath knowing the best the unexpected, was yet to come. This was the colonel after all. They watched him closely as he gazed at the woman. Watched him bend close to whisper in her ear.

"Sophia..."

Her eyes flew open on hearing his voice. She drew a quick breath.

In a soft, gentle voice, he said to her, "Tell me your heart's desire, Sophia, tell me, do you wish to live?"

Laslo, mouth gagged, tried to speak. The colonel glanced at him, saying, "Listen carefully Laslo, I am about to reveal the truth of my words."

He spoke to her once more. "Sophia, tell me your heart's desire."

In the silence of that room, Sophia's words came softly but clearly. "I dont... want ... to ... die."

The colonel slowly shut his eyes, savoring her words, and a smile formed on his lips. He opened his eyes and looked across at Laslo. "How interesting, Laslo, that Sophia should define living as not dying. You see, once reduced to this imperfect state the desire to live is nothing more than a fear of dying."

He bent over Sophia once more. His voice suddenly stern, he passed judgement on her. "You are no longer perfect Sophia."

Then shaking his head gently, his voice filled with regret, he said to her, "I am afraid I cannot let you live."

Gently, like a lover, he gathered Sophia's hair away from her face. As one man raised her head, and the others pinned her down, the colonel parted her long hair in equal parts, on either side of her head. With graceful movements, he combed out the tangled strands with his long fingers. Then, he carefully twined the two sections around her neck, making them cross and cross again, pulling tighter each time, until at last Sophia understood.

She tried to scream or perhaps beg once more or to gasp for breath to last her forever, it is not clear, for the colonel, at the exact moment the music soared, pulled the ends of her hair, pulled them so tight that Sophia's eyes widened and her body for a brief moment went rigid before slowly letting go, letting go of life, as the music died...

Sunday, August 19, 2007

An Exorcism...

She woke up to the beeping of her mobile phone. The sweet soothing sound of a saxophone introduction of the song Tiger in the Rain slowly cut the strands that connect her to her dream. She pulls frantically at the gossamer images that were quickly losing their definition, but in a matter of seconds, they were gone. She rolls over in bed trying to reclaim the blissful state of in-between sleep and waking up, to no avail.

Resigned, she sits up in bed and picks her phone from her bedside bureau and checks the messages she incurred overnight. The usual forwarded quotes. She deletes them from her phone and then picks up her new Sony Vaio and logs into cyberspace. She checks her emails and updates her blog, multiply and friendster account. After doing so, she opens her email once more, clicks the compose button and then stares at it for a long time. Her mind is blank.

The past few days have been taxing for her. She accompanied a friend because he was feeling a little sad due to a series of misfortunate events; even if she wasn't feeling well herself. Not that she was complaining, but it did take a lot out of her. From her point of view, when you call yourself a friend, when you help them out, its either all or nothing, no half baked attempts or efforts. Most people say that she has a Messiah complex, but to her, that was her definition of being a friend.

She had to smile, the song that was coming through the speakers was "Tag Ulan" by After Image, how apt.

Kapag umuulan bumubuhos ang langit
Sa `yong mga mata
Kapag mayroong unos ay aagos ang luha
Ngunit di ka mag iisa kaibigan

Her fingers were stationary over the keyboard. Pianist fingers. That's what her father would call them. She looks at them as if they were alien to her.

Its now or never. Suck it up and get it over and done with dummy.


Then they started to move, as if they had a mind of their own.

Hello;

I'm sending you this email because I want to get on to the business of making you my friend instead of hoping that we'd be more than that. so I hope you read this email to the end. I wouldn't mind if you don't reply to this. its just that I need to exorcise this from my system or else id forever be infatuated with you.

where was i?

oh. i remember.

I think I started to fall for you when we were doing the Il Postino "poetry reading." It was too bad that I had to run an errand and we had to end it. I keep on remembering the last thing that you typed before i logged off "i hate to end this but i wouldn't want your mom to get mad at you for not running that errand " we talked for 6 hours that day. even though you were cleaning your room, you really took the time to talk to me. it made me... smile.

Then we met and you were exactly my type. I love your eyes, those long lush lashes and when you smiled, you looked like a mischievous child. They really went well with your mind, that rapier sharp wit, the absurd humor that I understand and the love for obscure music. From then on I got solidly hooked.

I always went out of my way to help you and talk to you and i think you did too because we'd talk everyday. We'd call each other. I asked our other friends... they said you rarely did that for them. I felt special.

I asked you about this. you said you were naturally built that way - sweet. Implicitly, you said that I shouldn't make a big deal about it. I tried not to, but evidences kept popping up that you treat me differently from our other friends.

So I hoped and waited. One day you told me you missed me. Cheese overload I know, but I really felt as if you were reaching out. Akala ko me gusto ka rin sakin. But according to a friend, as long as there are no formal annoucements or outright declarations of "love" wag ka nang umasa.

I never listened to them. Dumb really.

There was this one episode where I wanted to confront you, for me to know... to quote my friend MotherHen... I'm calling your shit out. Do you feel something for me? like a friend, more than a friend... whatever. I badly wanted to know. How do you feel about me?

Now, after spending more time with you, I don't think I need to know anymore because from the way you carry yourself I know that you are still not over her. From the nonchalant way you talk about her and your bestfriend, I know they hurt you, but you just take it in "stride"

Wow, this is such a long email. I apologize for that, but if you are still reading this, Thank you for making time for this.

I like you a lot... I still do. I don't know why I am so fascinated with you. Maybe its because I couldn't figure you out. I don't know.

What I do know is that things might change after this, but I'm doing this for myself. Purging myself of this unrequited love so that I can move on.

So there...

Her fingers stopped moving. She didn't know how to end it so she kept it at that. Her index finger glided over the pad area to direct the arrow key to the send button. Pale and trembling, her finger hovered over the pad. All she needed was to tap her finger and that email would be sent off to the ether, speedily directing itself to the inbox of man she had no guts to tell her feelings to, even if they were together the past few days.

She took a deep breath, closed her eyes and told herself: hon, this is like bungee. The hardest part is letting go and jumping off your safe place. Once you've let go, all you have is that sense of freedom that feels perfect. Just do it. She then opened her eyes and with a steady hand clicked the send button.

As she looked at the clock; it was already one in the afternoon.

She closes her laptop and starts her day.

Saturday, August 18, 2007

Its a Small world after all...

Last night, Huck and I traipsed around the Metro, braving the torrential rain just because we were bored.

First stop was Greenhills to sell his N92. (Absatively funny phone really... don't even dream of buying that unit.. its soooo useless.. trust me... Huck and I fiddled with that phone to death and got bored by it. its so damn uncomfortable to use.. soooo unlike a Nokia phone...) After mucking about... we were finally able to dispatch of the wretched piece of shitty technology.

Second stop was his office mate Karen's house in Kamuning. (I'll be digressing for a bit coz i don't know how you call this.. its either the theory of six-degrees-of-separation comes into play here, or serendipity or... Huck and I ARE destined to cross each others paths... coz if he wasn't a PExer, there was a possibility that we couldve met before because we were officeamates for SPI Tech... but we were in different departments) Upon entering the house, he introduced me to Kuya Gerald (the elder brother of Huck's office mate Karen) after being introduced, there was this niggling thought at the back of my mind that i HAVE met Kuya Gerald before. i just couldn't place the when and where. He was familiar to me. Huck then introduced me to Karen and her mom Tita Joy (Karen's mum) then they herded Huck and me to partake of their handa. while eating dinner i was racking my brain furiously... I KNOW that Ive met Kuya Gerald somewhere.

EUREKA!

He is a professor in my alma mater!! we've been meeting each other in school sponsored activities but we weren't formally introduced. So i approached him and asked if he was who i think he was... and i was right. Kuya Gerald then was laughing out loud, because when we were introduced early on that evening, he said he was also trying to place where we have met since I ALSO looked very familiar to him.

Its really a small world after all. This isn't the first time that this happened to me. My bestfriend Dodie and I share something like that co-inky-dink.

moving forward..

the last stop that we had to make was to meet up with Jet (equally yummy person as Huck.. hahahaha... ) so that we could give him the chocolates that were his pasalubong...

after meeting up with Jet, i took a cab home at rested. twas a long day...

call me stupid, but I'm just amazed on how the world works. people you cross paths with change you. and no matter the time or place, when you ARE meant to cross paths with that person... you WILL.

Thursday, August 16, 2007

happy

these past two days have been beautiful.

i am happy...

thank you God for wonderful friends and for making me feel that i was sorely missed. ang sarap sarap ng feeling.

ang sarap din ng feeling ng welcome na welcome ka sa sarili mong bayan.

Sunday, August 12, 2007

home...

hey friends..

im home and im so glad to be back.

there is no place like home...

Friday, August 10, 2007

homecoming

im going back home to Pinas tomorrow..

there really IS no place like home.

see you when i get home friends...

Wednesday, August 08, 2007

saying goodbye to a friend

this has been long overdue...

i have finished reading the last installment of the seven-part series of the Harry Potter books. so faretheewell Harry Potter, it was nice knowing you.

to JK Rowlings: All is well.

once i finish re-reading the HP&tDH that is when i will be posting my review.

thanks y'all

road less taken

Time steals away commitments and loosens ties. Friendships are reduced to tales of the past and vague promises for the future, neither strong enough to recover what is lost. But that is what life does - it takes you down separate roads until you find yourself alone...

Tuesday, August 07, 2007

PRINCESS MASAKO : Prisoner of the Chrysanthemum Throne

Ben Hills' biography of Princess Masako has a second subtitle: the tragic true story of Japan's Crown Princess. It is a taste of the work to come, of both the hyperbole and the author's tendency to explain everything to the reader. But then the book is promoted not as a serious biography, but as a 'romance gone wrong'. Written by a Fairfax investigative reporter, it reads like an extended feature article, with the historical strands teased out, but lacking empathy with its main characters.

One facet of the 'tragedy' is the lack of an heir to the Japanese imperial line. Crown Prince Naruhito and his wife Masako had one daughter in 2001 after clandestine IVF treatment, but no son and heir had arrived by the time Masako reached her early forties. The debate that surfaced in Japan about the solutions to the problem, including the possibility of allowing women to inherit the imperial throne, is traced through Japanese and overseas media reports and Hills' numerous interviews.

The book went to press at the time of the birth of Prince Hisahito to Masako's sister-in-law in September. It is clear in the final chapter there has been a hasty revision to incorporate the news that a male heir has finally been born to the Japanese monarchy. Unfortunately, there was no revision to a comment in the penultimate chapter that: 'in 40 or 50 years' time...the imperial line will also come to an end.' This is just one of several glitches in a work that suffers from hasty writing and hasty editing.

It is inevitable that Hills would be unable to give us the inside story 'behind the Chrysanthemum curtain'. He only glimpsed Masako once, at a train station. He had no chance of interviewing her or any of the imperial family who lived within the walls of the palace. Of those relatives and friends he had access to, many were unwilling to speak up against the Kunaicho , the Imperial Household Agency, the Men in Black as he calls them, who arrive at Masako's family home as the story begins to take her into their custody on her wedding day.

It is a fascinating premise for a story, all the better for being true. A Harvard-educated woman, who was brought up in Japan, Russia and America and was evolving into a gifted diplomat, is courted by the future Japanese emperor, and finally gives in to his request to marry him. Hills does not claim to understand why Masako made that decision, in spite of the fact that she knew how debilitating the experience had been for other royal wives. He surmises that she felt she might be able to play a role in modernising the monarchy. Nor does he draw any conclusion about her character and motivation, simply quoting the conflicting views of her friends and associates that show her personality was at times westernised and assertive and at others demure and traditionally Japanese.

Hills has an informal approach to his text, a light touch that crosses at times into the flippant, rather at odds with the subject. The lovers are 'star-crossed', a royal retainer 'a pompous old fossil', Masako's ladies-in-waiting 'bitchy biddies'. He has a taste for colourful phrases, jokes and diversions. One superfluous chapter obviously lifts a paragraph from an article by Hills on the coronation of Bokassa in the Central African Empire, concluding with a list of defunct monarchies that looks remarkably like a sidebar.

The most engaging part of Princess Masako is the story of Masako's earlier life and education, mainly because there is more information on this part of her life than her time in Japan. There is a less interesting chapter devoted to Naruhito's education that includes his time at Oxford and as a home-stay student in Australia. The development of Masako's career is an important prelude to imagining the complete change of lifestyle since she has been in thrall to the Imperial Household Agency. Unfortunately, although Hills builds the suspense, the outcome is uncertain. We do know that Masako is suffering depression. We do not know if she is still hoping to produce a son. Hills admits in his preface that this is not the final word on the subject, but does allow himself gloomy predictions for her future on the final page.

Hills states his purpose clearly. As well as writing about 'a romance gone wrong', he is exploring contentious social issues in Japan: the role of women, IVF treatment, attitudes to mental health and the monarchy. It seems the Imperial Household Agency is instrumental in barring changes in Japanese society. The prevailing attitudes and debates are well covered, although there is no adequate exploration of how the Imperial Household Agency manages to maintain its power without challenge.

Thursday, August 02, 2007

Sacred Games - Vikram Chandra

The New Yorker wrote about it in a lengthy review. It was roundly lauded in publishing-industry magazines and online sites, and in the Sunday book supplements of the nation’s largest newspapers.

Vikram Chandra’s intricate Sacred Games was one of the more anticipated titles of 2007, the subject of an international bidding war among publishers.

Chandra is the award-winning Indian author of the novel Red Earth and Pouring Rain and the short-story collection Love & Longing in Bombay. He teaches creative writing at the University of California, Berkeley. Seven years of his life went into writing Sacred Games and it shows in the book’s scope.

On the surface, it’s the story of India’s most-wanted master criminal, Ganesh Gaitonde, and his relationship with corrupt Sikh police inspector Sartaj Singh, who has made a career of tracking him down.

But this is no simple Holmes-Moriarty adventure or merely an entertaining read. It works on numerous levels, the most vibrant of which paints a realistic landscape of India and the intrinsic machinery that allows it to move forward, when the laws of sociology suggest the country should have collapsed long ago. It addresses crime, politics, religion, the caste system, history, business, the psychology of power, the juxtaposition of good and evil, and the effects of merging cultures on a nation—to name a few of its topics.

The hub of the book’s action is the port city of Mumbai, formerly Bombay, a metropolis of an estimated 18 million people—from corporate moguls to slum dwellers. Mumbai is the teeming center of India’s entertainment (Bollywood) and business industries—including such disparate trades as banking and prostitution—and is one of the world’s most ethnically diverse cities. Opportunity and intrigue rule. So do graft, bribery and various strata of other corruption.

It is against this setting that Chandra’s stories-within-a-story spin, and what glorious diversions they are.

Constantine

the scent of keno air reminds me of you.

the color of my bedside table reminds me of your wise whisky brown eyes.

whenever the wind blows,

i whisper my words to it...

hoping you'd receive them.

hoping you'd know.

hoping you'd hear.

hope is not a bad thing...

Wednesday, August 01, 2007

solitude in a deluge

woke up at 9am.. went downstairs to buy breakfast... its my 12th day here and i still gaze around my surroundings with a little awe. the cafe that i am going to is a lil down a-ways.. takes you 5 minutes slow walk.

while walking on my way back, i close my eyes to feel the warm fingers of the sun graze my face...then a drop of water hit my face and another and another. the next thing i know i was in a deluge.

i didnt run... i just stood there. i let the rain washover me. its a good thing that my breakfast was in a box encased in saran wrap. i slowly walked back to the apartment. letting the rain wash over me.

 
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