Now you’re just somebody that I used to know

As always, putting thoughts into words is much easier said than done. Absence does make the heart grow fonder though, so here I am once again, desperately trying but failing to memorialize this time in my life.

Living the working, commuting, constantly amusing and all consuming London life for the past six months have changed me in ways that I’m still finding very hard to comprehend. The bitterly freezing winter mornings have thickened my skin and the glittery evening lights over the Thames at Canary Wharf have seemingly reinstalled a fleeting sense of wonder in the soul of this recovering cynic.

I spent this evening reliving some deliciously nostalgic memories on the swing set of a local park. The park was empty, the sun was setting and it was just me on the swing, swinging my hardest, pretending I was still five. The whole scene was oddly poetic and I have to point out that ‘poetic’ wouldn’t usually be a word that I would use in reference to my life.

I’ve just realized that there’s a large chunk of me that seems to be missing in lonely London. Things that were an integral part of my life three, four years ago are now just a distant memory. Writing for example. Sure, nothing I ever wrote was of any significance to anyone but myself, but it was something that made happy in a weirdly self-satisfying way.

I started my first blog when I was 17. I had just begun college back home in Madras and it was something that was all mine. It was my own personal space that no-one knew about. A space where I felt that I could be myself, the self that I couldn’t possibly be in broad daylight.  I feel like a little part of me died the day I decided to stop furiously typing away every little inconsequential word that I was thinking.

Its funny how time just finds a way of sliding from one moment to the next, one decade to another. It felt weird having to write the date 2012 in a notebook recently though I’m guessing it was mostly because I haven’t written the date in the margin of a book since about 2004. I’m not sure if it’s just the fact that I’m older that’s changed me or if its me that’s essentially changed. I’d like to believe that growing older and wiser was maybe the cause of this though unfortunately at 23, I somehow just feel older and none the wiser.

Living in London and navigating this phase of my life has been interesting to say the least. Not amazing, not dreadful but just plain interesting. This feeling of being finally being grown up and having to make make decisions that could affect the rest of my life is starting to get a little old (pun unintended). I have discovered though that living alone in London is an amazing way to test yourself.  This city will try to break the strongest spirit and in contrast will parallely make you wonder how there could be anywhere else in the world that is as magical as here.

Sorry for the heavily disjointed post. Turns out that climbing back onto the wagon isn’t as dignified and elegant or in this context eloquent as one would expect.

The addictive sadness of the song below has had me listening to it on a loop the entire day. Dont tell me I didn’t warn you.


One response

  1. I can relate to this so much, especially the leaving behind a chunk of me, and the being confused – half enchanted, half disenchanted – parts. Let me know if you still want to meet up sometime ;)

    March 22, 2012 at 00:54

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