maybe you just want to do your own thing and you've worked hard to get where you are...and you don't want anything to come in the way of your independence and career...so, your distancing yourself from him till you get things settled professionally and all

I don't want to get into details. But I had a very close friend and I erred her. She introduced me to Can't fight the moonlight, the song that later came close to defining me at a crucial point in my life. I learnt how to smoke a hookah from her and learnt to appreciate the true value of bonding over pizza and chick-flicks. I was narrow-minded when I met her. I was still living in the past when we became good friends. And I never really understood how much she meant to me. Time had bought us together and it took us apart. I let it happen. She let it happen because she thought that was what I wanted.

This spring, we bonded again. We were older. Wiser. We had forgotten (I think) what took us apart. And started talking again like we used to. Only, we never hung out. Because by then, we both had men in our lives. Men we were in love with. So the only time we spent together was in the bus - going to school and returning back from school. After graduation, she left the country forever and returned to her own. And now when I think back about my last semester at school, the brief 15 minute bus-rides with R come back to be, heavily, hungrily. After graduation, she left the country. I wasn't here to say goodbye. It felt, like a conversation had been halted and I didn't know where to pick it up from.

A few days back while traveling in the train, my mind ruminated over the past. And a shadow of guilt crept up my eyes and stayed there till my man asked me what was wrong. I told him how during freshman year I had busted out on R's bday. She had planned a trip to NY just for the two of us. A night at the Waldorf - we were going to eat at Serendipity and walk the drunken streets of New York, hand in hand.
And I was so stuck in my past that I called out the last minute to stay online with my friends back in India. I was so afraid to make that new memory that I thought I was cheating on the memories I had left behind.
I still remember the hurt, the anger and the disappointment in her voice.

Today I met her online. And I told her about my feelings. I apologized again. She had long forgotten about it. It relieved me. I am a woman of no regrets in life. I believe what has happened cannot be undone and hence is not worth mulling over. But I regret, not sorting out my mess and my life as a freshman. If I had, I would still have had those 3 precious years with R. Her friendship, I've won back. But the years I lost, are lost forever.

It is one of life's most learnt lesson and yet we never learn. We never know what we have till we've lost it. R wiped my tears when my boyfriend cheated on me. I stood by her when her the Aramark jerk broke her heart. She bought to my notice how disgusting piegons were-- especially how they walked, with their heads bobbing in four directions. I made her wear my lime green chiffon dress for garba and saw how pretty she looked in Indian garb. She told me that women who lose their virginity walk like ducks (and I remembered her words years later when I lost mine) Together, we watched porn in Statistics class, copied homework and cheated on exams. When I told her about my decision to quit business school and switch to journalism, she was the happiest for me. I took her with me to my uncle's place and made her a part of my family. She so gracefully welcomed them and made herself a part of us.
Even though I tout myself the writer, it was because of her I got an A in my Enlgish Comp 50 class. She wrote my final paper for me! Once I give leash to my memories, they keep coming, one after another. Each one, shining brighter than the one before. Each one, pushing, shoving to make it to the surface so I can write about it....

As I look back now, the year I spent with her, my first year at college was the best year of my college life.

And still, after all these years she said in 4 sentences what I haven't been able to admit to myself till now. She said that in context to my confusion about being in love but not wanting marriage and the works right now.

R had dedicated Judy Blum's "Summer Sisters," to me. Today I revive those memories and dedicate my freshman year to her. In an esoteric way, if not for her, I wouldn't have been who I am today.

I love you Rasha.

From Aranyi's blog- bold what you think is true for you. Pass it on.

i have a cell phone
i have friends that (WHO!!!!) use me.
i am an only child
i love dangly earrings.
i love cold weather.
i'm obsessed with the computer (only at work!).
i have shot a gun before.
i can't live without music.
i have no tolerance of ignorant people.
i have ridden on a motorcycle before.
i'll be in this town forever.
i've been to 5 other countries.
i get annoyed easily.
i eventually want kids.
i have neat handwriting.
i have more than a few horrible memories.
i am addicted to chocolate.
i am an atheist.
i love airplane rides. (just not the process of getting to the airport and all the waiting and checks)
i love taking pictures.
i hate people who are fake.
i can be mean when i want to.
my parents care about my grades.
one of my best friends is a girl.i have way too many wallets.
i'm obsessed with lip gloss ( no just chapstick).
i am easy to talk to.
i would never eat raw fish.
i cry easily.
i hate when people are late.
i procrastinate.
i love winter.
i have too many clothes for my closet/dresser.
i love to sleep.
i wish i were smarter.
i'm afraid of flying.
i hate drama.
i bite my nails.
i have been on an 8 hour drive.
i never fight with my parents.
i love the beach.
i have never had the chicken pox.
i have gone out in public in my pajamas.
i can't control my emotions.
i have a best friend.
i have moved more than once.
i truly love my friends.
i have braces.
i have never broken a bone.
i hate my computer.
i love girls that (WHO!!!) play the drums.
i state the obvious.
i'm a happy person.
i love to dance.
i love to sing.
i love cleaning my room.
i tend to get jealous very easily.
i love cute underwear.
i love night better than day.
i don't like to study for tests.
i have been on the phone for over 5 hours.
i am too forgiving.
i have horrible sense of direction.
i miss elementary school.
i'm a daddy's boy/daughter
i love the color pink.
i love to sew.
my eye color changes.
i should see a therapist.
i played on a girls sports team.
i become stressed easily.
i hate/detest liars.
i love the smell of rain.
i love my family.
i hate needles.
i am a perfectionist.
i always wanted to learn to play the drums.
i hate the feeling of failure.
i have friends in other countries.
i know how to cook.
i can be quite selfish.
at times, i still act like a little kid.
i have food allergies.
i love to read.
i wish i were more motivated for school.
i love getting stuff in the mail.
i have problems with letting go of old feelings.
i hate being alone.
i love summer.
i love the weekends.
i love black eyeliner.
i think I’m a looker.
i type with one hand.
i live in a one story house.
i wear make-up.
i have never rode on an underground subway.
i can't swim.
i have bad memories.
i go to church.
i sing in the shower.
i hate cheerleaders.
i usually get what i want.
i have been on stage before.
i love roller coasters.
no one knows the full story of my life.
i am close to my parents.
i don't have a curfew.

Do you ever feel that your life is a story and a wrinkled old man, sits on a yellowed cane chair admist flowing hills, moist with the dew....a bunch of children around his feet urging him to continue telling them the story of your life?

I am a selfish person and I have no qualms admitting it.

I do not give money to beggars. I do not donate money to social causes. I do not lose sleep over nations fighting, bombs and booby traps exploding and hinterlands sweating in a bloodbath. When the tsunami ate the coastlines and redrew the maps, I watched the news nonstop. Cried every night. But didn't send any clothes, didn't send any money. Prayed a little.
When Hurrican Katrina swallowed New Orleans, a city I had often dreamt of visiting, I saw the gruesome photographs. Like others, I got a little mad at the government and the president but then forgot about my anger because, it would be unfair to hold anyone responsible. Again, I didn't send money, clothes or food.

But everytime I recieve free stuff from my random jobs, I give it to my sister- no matter how bad I want to hold on to it. I always leave that last morsel, that last sip...that last bite on my dinner for my boy-friend. I give my good pillow to anyone who comes to my house for a sleepover, I also let them have my room, and the more comfortable mattress. Even though the other mattress hurts my back. I also let them have the jucier fruit, the fuller bowl of cereal and the warmer piece of bread for breakfast.
I buy the better, the more expensive shoes for my sister when I go shopping and I buy the cheaper kinds for myself. I put away my boy-friend's laundry and fold his clothes. Even though I don't do my own laundry often. I talk to my mother every single day, even on days I don't want to talk to anyone, even on days I have nothing to talk. Sometimes even twice a day because she likes it.
I put away the best candles-holders and the best candles for my mom. Even if I want them, I let her have them. I always listen to the random songs my best friend sends me. Even though I never like them. I share the free samples I recieve from work with my roomates here and I tell my friends that I believe in their dreams. I say hello to strangers and have always thanked the bus-driver since the last 4 years.

I am selfishly selfless and I have no qualms admitting it.

It was an ideal Sunday. Beatific with just the right temperature. My man, me, and my roommate and her boyfriend (also my friend) went out for a late lunch- the others bailed out. On their recommendation we chose this little Greek place, right off the crowded alleys of South Street. It was a tiny restaurant, tucked into folds of burgeoning FCUK and Condom Kingdom stores. Our waitress, was chewing a kalamata olive leaf as she welcomed us and situated us in a dark, tiny room, next to the kitchen. A large chandelier emitted a soft red glow and framed pictures of the Greek Isles glittered eeriley in the aura.
Over lunch we discussed many things. San Fransico vs New York, living in a city vs living in a suburb, cigars, money, careers and food. Being a vegeterian denies me of a cultural experience - local food. My friend nibbled hungrily at their lamb legs as I made an effort to like the olive-roll and plain, baked vegetables. Our lunch was over quickly but our conversations were just begining.
We talked about life, dreams and money. S said he wanted to make $5m by age 40 and then retire and pursue his dream - of making movies. G said she wanted to start her resutarant after she made her first M. R said he wanted to work or the government and go back to school to learn. And I wondered.... what did I want to do after...? after what?!

I realized, that unlike my friends and my boyfriend- I am already doing what I love. I am living my dream. I am not waiting to hit a certain age, make a certain amount of money or do certain things before I can follow my dreams. Yea, my situation is different. I don't have to worry about Green-Card and such but even if I had to, I probably would still be doing what I am doing right now: following my dream.

R said I was lucky. I bristled a little. I didn't want luck to take credit for my sensibility. And then R said, I was lucky that I had the guts to follow my dreams and not worry about stability and the regular things.

I glowed. But it is true.

I make peanuts right now. But I have faith, tons of it. I believe, if you follow your dream, if you are good at what you do- the money will come. Perhaps a little late, but it will.

I don't denounce my friends for not following their dreams right now. I think every dream has it's own time to be born. Perhaps, their time is not right now.

I am not afraid of the things regular people are afraid of. I am not worried that I will not have food to eat. I am not worried I won't have money to live. I am not worried about what the world will say. And I don't care much about what others think about the way I live my dreams and work towards achieving them. (after all, these are my dreams and I know the best about my strategy)

It takes a different sensibility to be recklessly single-minded- and I was lucky to be born with it. Logic defies me. I defy logic. Or maybe I am one of those weaklings, who cannot be happy doing anything else but that they love. That is, after all, a weakness.

But it never occured to me, that it is also my strength. In Lost, John Locke says to Dr.Jack, "You are a man of science. I am a man of faith."
Those words stayed with me. I have immense faith in myself. I once read in 'The Alchemist' that once you send a wish, a desire to the universe-- the entire universe works towards making it come true for you. You only have to want it bad enough.

Another highlight of my evening? I saw different facets to my friends. I heard their dreams and saw it in their eyes how bad they wanted to achieve their goals. I congratulated them secretly in my mind-- because their job is already half done :) They've wished it. Now, the universe has started working its way....

Ever noticed how Indian men when in a new country have pictures of themselves surrounded by white american/british/russian women in their MSN screenanmes? It's like their rite of passage, something that sets them apart from their Indian counter parts. Like they are declaring, I've marked my territory.

Out of pure voyeuristic pleasures, I see profiles of random people on friendster and hi5 and I've almost always noticed that "boys" love showing off that they are every woman's dream. Posing with a bevy of women, as though they were in 16th century India and had a harem to themselves... it's a completley different story that they've probably taken those pictures when they were piss drunk and the white women just thought they were so cute because they were acting like the vernacular, misbehaved, crude Indians that they are...

Ugh.

Blogger templates suck. I didn't want to begin my first post on this note, but after spending an hour wondering which of those would do most justice to my canvas. Didn't have much luck, as you see. I ended up choosing pure white. I need a better template and I know exactly what I want, but I will ruminate on it later.

I used to be against anonymity. I don't see the point in revealing your soul on a blog or an online diary and not disclosing your identity. I've used to journal, I was among the first people in my circle of friends to ever have an online diary on diaryland. But sometime between realizing the futility of it and the strange, familarity it encompasses- I stopped journaling altogether.

Between wanting people to read about my vacillating emotions and fiercely securing my privacy to my thoughts, I still remain undecided about opening the inner-workings of my mind and exposing my insecurities to the anonymous readers. More so about being anonymous myself.

I wondered why I changed.. I wondered why and how diary-ing became passe for me.
I think.. sometimes when we write.. it is easy to get carried away. esp. when we write about things that our close to our hearts and that matter to us. And from that writing, a vendetta emerges... things that aren't really there come to life and everything that's abstract and misty in our head, heart and mind-- is forever imprinted on your future.

Which is why I stopped writing in my diary, I think.. my mind was filled with...crazy thoughts that when considered- had no foundations or mass. yes. my fears, my insecurities...my happiness. I dont know.. I guess somewhere when writing for 5 years, I saw the simple truth in life and that is just one, nothing lasts. and what lasts, is not meant to be questioned or debated.

I'd be happy one day.. sad the next.. frustrated... and I'd write about it. but when I'd go read it-- it wouldn't make sense... I didn't really care. and then I thought, what was the point of creating something I didn't care about, something that wasn't beautiful and something that wouldn't make sense to me a few years down.
Sometimes I used to write to catalog my memories. Everything from the color of shirt my crush wore to the fun-evenings I spent with my friends. When I read those entries again, sometimes they sparked the faint remnants of that memory, sometimes they bought it to life and sometimes, just blanked out.

But through all the years of my journalling, I've realized one thing. What we remember most, are the people and days when we're the happiest. Those memories stay with us even if we don't chronicle them or print them event to event, word to word on paper. The glow, the aura of smiles and festivity and loud laughter emanates long after we have forgotten what made us happy in the first place.

It's the same reason why I learnt that maybe some of the best moments of our life aren't meant to be preserved forever on lucid photographic film.

Do I regret that I cannot bring myself to write with such fervor and passion? Yes and No. I regret that I have lost the ability to talk about my life and my emotions with total abandon. But I think there may be a deeper reason to this. Love and disappointment, are the two things humans feel strongly and respond to. Love in my life now is him. What I share with him, I like it to remain between me and him, which is strange becoz in my earlier exploits with love- I'd literally share every single detail online. So now when I'm hurt in love, I try not to journal about it because I care too much about him to let others judge or be privy to what goes on between me and him. Even the precious moments, mean so much to me that sharing them would make them lose their....umm, sharing them would tinge the percious-ness. you get it?

About my disappointments-- writing about them provided me temporary relief. He taught me to probe myself, and seek out the relief from within, without resorting to writing.
I don't know.... there are so many reasons why and why not. I thought I wouldn't return to active journalling for a while, but now I have. After a sprinkled two year haitus.

About reasons for coming back - I missed writing. And I missed people reading my writing. Who ever tells you that they write in secret is lying because everyone wants their words to be read. Just like a painter wants his work to be seen and admired.. a dance wants to be appreciated... a musician wants us to listen... I want to be read.

On that note, welcome! Welcome to CityLights/NeonNights.