Heat Wave

I can smell the heat. I feel everything around me unwillingly absorb it. My black Chennai T-shirt does the same, but more willingly so, I feel. It knows heat, though maybe a different kind of heat; heat laced with the salty smell of the sea and jasmine flowers and cut mango with spicy chilli powder. Heat laced with the smell of home.

The year the was.

Acceptance
Sara Bareilles
MUN Press corps and elmo socks
Freelancing
First concert
Unlikely friendships
Unlikelier confidants
Blood donations
Tumblring
Tweeting
Love songs
YouTube music rage
Getting over it
Overcoming hurdles
Days and nights on quote-book
Skype rants, so many of them
Happiness
Ice skating :)
More tumblring
More Sara Bareilles
Buru, Indonesia
Dancing with little indonesian kids
Floating in the ocean, sleeping under the stars
Good to you
Android
A parade
Earthlink
Being embarrassed
Marketing Angry Birds
Schoolgirl crush
Hyderabad
Bangalore
Chennai, always
Karma
Saying no and feeling horrible about it
Living on the beach
Never having enough money
Yin Yang group
Voda Voda
The closest i'll ever get to a summer fling
Bike rides
CEE rooftop
Failed driving lessons
Cluelessness
Reblogging phase
Harry Potter, all over again
Queen phase
Inspirations
Maalai Nerum
Bibliophile
Peanut butter and jelly
Scars
The camera
Beating Mechanics of Materials
Wine
Getting so enchanted
Candycane overdose, Christmas high
Closing Time
Game of Thrones
Coffee and Chocolate
Being kidnapped by the coolest guys I know
Hormones, finally
Photographs
Safe and Sound
Realizing that you don't always know the truth
Secrets
Dancing
Earrings
xkcd
Deepavali food
Too much pizza
The Fight
Hindi music
Structures love
Reading for the first time since university
Elections
Chocolate therapy
Salsa steps
Lizard obsession
Shopping
Double rooms, single rooms
Camera experimentation
Missing people
Eating on the ledge
Glee
Oats and thokku
Block 72
Remembering the milk
The CQ Encounter
Torn pants
Coincidences
Too many doctors
Root beer addiction
Other addictions
Fever Avenue
Strawberry..
Death Note
Not caring
Massage chairs
Writing
New glasses
Massages and good food
Wala Wala's amazing band and our great discovery
Cyclone
National Geographic
Pizza cravings
Walks between Hall 11 and Hall 15
Caramel Frappuccino
MILO!
Nanalew
Life decisions
Kryptos and its amazing food
Never ending phone calls
Marche
Girls day out
Google Docs
Dramaaaaaaa
Cousins that I will love forever
Temple run!
Late nights
Frozen Yogurt
The Vicious Circle
Vivo love
Hope.

Perfection

I think I'm perfection-phobic. It scares me for some reason. I'm worried about being bored to death by a perfect life, a predictable future, and a predictable present. On the other hand, I'm also scared of too much drama, too many worries, too many questions. Contradictory, yes; but very true.
If only there was a balance between perfection and imperfection. The right amount of complications, a beautiful mess perhaps. That would be... truly perfect. 

That Fine Line

She was treading on a fine line here, a thread-thin rope. It was so easy to fall back into the mess that was, and easier still to get back out. Sadly, the choice wasn't in her hands. Perhaps the answer was in the sureness of her feet; their ability to balance and take a sure stance away from the line. However, she knew how clumsy she was. She might be meaning to take a large leap away from the line, and out of this mess, only to fall back into it with great force, dwelling deeper than she had ever been. It was a dangerously fine line, laced with confusion and doubt and so much possibility. Most importantly, it was saturated with that little thing called hope.

Change is constant

A wise person once said "there is nothing like returning to a place that remains unchanged to find ways in which you yourself have altered." As true as these words are, what happens when you experience something slightly different? What if, well, you have changed; but what if the place has, too? You come back to a place, expecting everything and everyone to have stayed the same, only to realize that things aren't as you left them. Everyone has moved on, and when you think about it, so have you.

The only thing left to do is to enjoy the little that you have left, before it too fades away with time.

Sometimes, I feel like I would take anything that you had to offer me. It seems like you have so much to offer to the world, but so little to offer to me. And I've been here with you for so long, while the rest of the world has just passed by, without giving you a second glance. It's odd, isn't it? I've been waiting so long to see just a speck of your soul. I've been an open book, while you've hidden every bit of yourself, ever so carefully. I'm not sure what you're waiting for, but I know it's not me.

Knowledge is Power

Or, is ignorance pure bliss? All of us want to selectively choose the information that we want to hear, and tune out the information that we're better off not knowing. Sadly, we're not blessed with this sort of choice. Sometimes, we never get to know things that we should rightfully know, things that we are better of knowing, knowledge that will make all the difference to our lives and for the better. Sometimes, we are cursed with the knowledge of things that we would have been happier never, ever knowing in our lifetime.
Choices. We have so few of them. The world is just thrust towards us whether we like it or not. And what are we left with? The power of not knowing which pieces of information we will end up with, and which pieces of information will get lost in the winds of time.
Maybe that's our choice. The choice of mystery, of adventure, of spontaneity.