there are times when i begin to dread my imagination. i begin to wonder what on earth shapens the edge of memory? as i sit here in tiny little office, desperately trying to do my work, something comes up as a sudden flash and i am back where i used to be. back where i know how everything goes, i know the faces. you would think memories are a blessing. there is a flip side when you cant take them out of your mind. why do i still see those places so clarly? would i rather not then? catch 22. i see the people, the way the sunlight falls, the shadows, the hot pitched road, a thin sole. someone beside me. faces that pass by unconcerned. i can see myself standing there. i can see everyone. i can hear everone. but no one can hear me. im invisible and i do not want to be so. and this is not a dream. it is not even a nightmare.
i go with them. into places that i know only too well. i go with them, i talk to them. but know one can see me. they think im somewhere else. but im not!!!! im right there with them.....but....
what am i trying to get at? what am i trying to say? i live in an illusion? hardly. e je ghor shotyo. would i wake up where i was? how does one do that? you know my problem? i still look at the skies and imagine flying home. everything i see around me reminds me how far i am from home. homesickness. all neatly tied up into a word. yet so much is left out of it. i deal with the package and everything else that could not be packed. so much of it...............

the one thing that bothered me throughout my flight to the US was that i seemed to have no sense of wonderment. no such feeling of "wow, i'm finally going there". not even the mandatory excitement about seeing a new country. the time hasn't come for me to talk about hindsight, so i don't really know how to look at the way that i was feeling. even now this country doesn't seem to have anything new about it. or is there so much of newness that the whole effect is paling on me? or am i too much of a cynic? what is it? why do i not have the wide-eyed look about me? so truly what is new about here? a lot is. the people are. the way things are done. but not new anough? is that my problem? or it is because i have dad with me that i'm till not seeing it as a whole new place?
whatever be the answers, i remain puzzled. i agree i'm a tad too cynical too really appreciate everything here. the one thing that did interest me was when i heard americans talk about their institutions, their politics. that had an aura of strangeness about it. not something that i know or something i can enter as an insider. the thing is that i am conscious of not being an insider. in fact i perhaps subconsciously maintain my status of an outsider. but there are time when i do it so regularly that i do not have the feeling of looking in. i am habituated to the things around me without knowing them. i expect things to work or happen the way they do without really knowing or asking how or why. this creates a curious dichotomy that sadly is my life and outlook. i am inbetween looking at things as though that is how they always have been and should be, and constantly knowing that at some very fundamental level they are different. i have not dropped the us/them binary and i see no reason as to why i should. see, that is what i mean by consciously or subconsciously being an outsider. i think much as i dont like that fact, i actually don't mind being the "other".
this has been one of the very confusing posts. though, paradoxically, i actually did have something concrete to say...shite!

nothings.

time is a great bane. makes u do all sorts of stupid things. like writing on the blog for lack of better things to do. it never seems to stop raining here. not the warm comfortable rain of home. even the thunder seems a bit...odd...different i guess.
a lot of poetry could come out of this weather. but im not poetic. at least not now. well i guess thats at least a blessing, else i would have had to subject myself to the torturous non-rhythms of my over-strained poetry. or at least attempts.
so what does one write about? the weather? the people? the difficulty in getting cigarettes? or the mere lack of matchboxes? the topics are many, as i have so aptly demonstrated. methinks there's strain in my lekha which reeks of condescension. or stupidity. its amazing how closely related the two are. i think i personally like stupidity. it has a charming quaitness about it. so i have stupid write-ups. oh joy. now im devolving into self-pity. i believe the time has come when i should stop typing. but there's a hypnotic thing about the sound of a clicking keyboard in an otherwise empty and silent house. its at least way better than sighing.
could i say im sarcastic? ok so im desperately trying to be objective about myself and failing hopelessly. stupid and sarcastic. now doesnt that sound inviting!
the inbox is sadly empty. i have to admit that few people have the tenacity, or the severe lack, to sit for hours in front of this thing and hope to god that something will turn up. since i seem to have an abundance of both (or a lack of everything else), i will persist.