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Archive for December, 2008

Blog for a rainy day

The sky is overcast. I watch as tiny drops of rain (or tears) fall from the sky. Pitter Patter on the roofs, the gravel. Bursting in a million minuscule drops before converging together into little puddles. Puddles that became steadily bigger as more and more of their ‘buddies’ join them, falling from the sky in straight unchanging course. ‘So unlike snowflakes’ I thought. ‘Now snowflakes are nice. Each falling as if with a parachute, sometimes swirling due to a gust of wind.’ But it is not winter here. It is December and summer is starting to make its presence felt. Today is just an anomaly, a break in the sunny days that we have been having since.

I’m sitting here in my room, a cup of white tea beside my laptop. Jason Mraz is singing ‘I’m Yours’ to me and I’m bobbing along to his tune. An unfinished craft project litters one half of my study table, the other half taken up with magazines and books that I have ascribed to my ‘Holiday reads’. My voracious appetite for devouring books during exams period seemed to have died with it, I no longer find an excuse put down my textbook for fiction. Instead my half-hearted atempts to read makes me secretly ashamed of myself. What happened to the girl who could easily finish a book in a day? Even Roald Dahl couldn’t entice me. Admitedly, short war stories with chilling, sad tales of soldiers affected by their experiences in the trenchers are not your usual summer light reads.I have a million things that I want to do, instead here I am, tottering along while my stay here in Adelaide gets steadily shorter.

Today is a quiet day. I am surrounded by little comforts, quietly appreciating what I have, dreaming about what I want. I’m currently into classics. Sedate stories observing the lives of people of the 19th century, not fantasy. Where the characters do not harbour notions of going over mountains nor crossing treacherous oceans. Monsters are not mentioned, nor is magic performed. Hobits, though having perfectly respectable lives and practices have no place in the lanes of Hyde Park or the drawing room of A Lady. Supper is taken amongst family and invited guests with servants at hand to serve and polite conversation flows just above the clink of cutlery, not under the eaves of a gnarled old tree, observed by creatures of the night who take care to stay just out of the circle of campfire one has set up. One worries about the entailment instead of the fate of an entire race.

Both have happy endings though, or at least one hopes to have emerge from the pages wiser. Whether contemplation was done by the window seat or under the stars, there is always something to be learned from the people who walked the cobbled streets and the dusty, untraveled paths of the wilderness.

Hance end the rambling thought of mine in this rainy day

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