I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts

2015-02-25T10:51:00.001-08:00

Hello.

I've been a chronic chronicler (the lack of subtlety here does not reflect on my usual literary brilliance, I just have too much performance pressure right now) for the last half a dozen years and this is my third, or fourth if you want to be technical, web log, which should have ideally begun nineteen months ago, which is when I started working (in Bombay!) but strange are the ways of the universe and angsty young women who get too comfortable with where they are and don't get the criticality of constant movement or using full stops more often.

I am bonded labour by day, and not very different by night. Sometimes when I am running around in airports, dragging my suitcase with one arm and (very sophisticatedly) holding my jacket in the other while also trying to juggle the phone on which I am having a conversation in corporatese (proficiency level: amateur), I actually don't mind my job so much. Or maybe I just like the sound of heels against tile.

I have been home for the last ten days, mostly without work, which is why I have been going through an I-have-to-finish-reading-the-internet kind of a phase that is now slowly transitioning to an I-have-to-rebuild-the-internet-and-civilization-in-general phase, which is okay since it's more achievable. I'm currently also deliberating picking up My Name is Red, but I'm giving myself some time off to fully cogitate on and assimilate the last book I read (The Book Thief) that has been one of the most outstanding works of fiction I have come across.

I also just turned 23 and a half. :)

Heretics

I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts