…The Musings of a Strange Guy

Ho hum..

Initially I’d thought that if I restricted the Friends Page to LJ friends only, it’d be nicer and more personal. So it is. But it is a constant bother when it comes to click and go onto some of the communities that I visit on a daily basis, namely, , , , among others. So, I’ve added them to the Friends Page. This is wonderful since it allows my eyes more space (and thus, more rest) to wander through since the texts of LJ friends interspersed with pictures and photos from the above-mentioned communities. Good.

I am supposed to be writing an essay (to be submitted this Thursday). Am I doing the said work? No. I am sitting on my bed, needle and thread in hand, and spending the last half-hour mending my jacket, where disquieting dark holes have appeared due to the unravelling of the thread. There…no more annoying holes. This has been nagging me all day long…one of my eccentricities, I suppose, lies in my being very particular about some things being tidy/neat/in good shape. Another part of me, of course, revels in hedonistic laissez-faire: you should take a look at the state of my desk…

There are so many things – now that I am away from home – that I seem to be doing without: simple, silly things, really, like TV or a screwdriver (don’t ask). Back home, my room was this self-contained and nearly self-sufficient castle; this other dimension where I could remain for hours on end. Needless to say, my mom treated my room as an unsurmountable obstacle in her cleaning sprees, especially since the strangest of things would be stored there. It was only quite recently that I moved my books to the next room; previously, we’d all been occupying the same space like contented residents of the same 5-star hotels, sipping our icy-cold lemon juice (ok, that was just me…not the books).

It was only yesterday that I suddenly realised that I had no thread. I had a needle, all right, for sudden emergencies – you never know when a button (or worse!) might pop off – but no thread. so, on my way towards the supermarket, I dropped by the city market and bought some.

Anyway, enough about sartorial digressions.

I wonder, though, if I will miss this room I’m presently in. It’s not a bad room. I quite like it, especially since I’ve been staying in it for so long now. It is now my space, at least, for the moment. It will be interesting to see how this space starts becoming neutral again when I leave, in how long? In a few more months! I have kept the walls ridiculously blank, save for the board they provided to us and which is covered by layers upon layers of diagrams with weird hieroglyphics scrawled on them, post-it (thanks, fodchrisjordan) notes, maps, calendars, enigmatic lists (do I see ‘cabbage’, ‘noodles’ and ‘milk carton’ written on them?) and a picture of Vishnu, right in the centre of the board, looking very contented indeed, as he always is.

Layer upon layer, I have also inscribed myself in invisible ways upon this room, though now, I’d better start thinking of how and when and where to dispose of my stuff. Books, of course, are my prime concern. Where to put them? How to carry them? Worse still: how to take them back home with me? I suppose there’s always the freight service which I could use to send the books I am not urgently needing back home. I’m sure my poor auntie will not be able to sustain the shock of encountering yet another avalanche of books on her doorstep. :p

Of course, much of the process of negating traces of my self and my identity has to be performed by myself. I suspect it will be a very easy task indeed, making this haven of a room a non-space, ready to accept a new occupant later this year. What will he/she do in this room? Will he/she stay as long as I have? Will he/she peer through the bars and listen to the birds chirping in the hedge? I guess it is futile to wonder about such things; they concern me not, as this room has never been mine – just loaned for a while to me. And at that time, I will be doing something else with my life.

Like I was saying to datempest (whose sister, by the way, has conferred onto me a great honour: *thanks*), I spent part of my afternoon talking to a cat. Not to any cat, but a stray one, which happened to be passing by my window. My block (among some others) lies at the back of the residential complex, and my room faces the back, showing me a sort of hedge that separates my uni accommodation block from another residence and leading me to witness and hear strange things from time to time whenever (or not) my window is open.

So, this cat was walking as a lord in his lands, head held high, slowly padding through the undergrowth of the hedge, glancing disdainfully from time to time at insignificant birds chirping on top of the hedge. I called out to it, and it stopped, shocked perhaps that any mortal being like myself would have enough courage and foolhardiness to halt its walk. I am always privy to strange scenes (involving cats, squirrels and birds) within that microcosm that is this hedge, but my view is often obscured by those bars (that adorn my windows, since we’re on the ground floor and hence are to live as prisoners in a cell) that supposedly are the only line of defence I have (and ought to be happy to have) between my valuables (ha!!) and a person of loose morals and extremely mobile fingers.

So here was this cat: not a very refined or beautiful specimen at that; just a stray cat, passing by. I wanted to take a pic of that animal, but it shyly demurred, pleading that it was travelling incognito. Not willing to let it have the last word, I challenged it to a duel of gazes.

Cats, of course, or at least the cats I’m acquainted with, are notorious for their unblinking gaze. But I was to win this duel several times this afternoon. I must say I’ve had lots of practice, what with all my previous pets, stray cats (we have never been allowed to keep cats at home, only dogs…but my mom’s sister kept both, and I always envied her luck while bemoaning this injustice meted unto me…), and clashes with stubborn parents/sibling/aunts.

However, I had to get ready to go to my seminar at uni and could not afford to lose any more time gallivanting in idle chitchat with perfect strangers, be they cats or not. But Mr (or was it Miss?) Cat proved to be an impossible and rather rude-mannered guest. Once dismissed, it refused to budge, which reminds me of this cat back home that used to walk through our yard deliberately in order to make our (leashed) dogs raving and barking madly. Devious creatures, cats! So, I closed my window, while it looked on (for what?) and I proceeded to get my things before going out.

A surprise was waiting for me outside. As soon as I stepped out, I felt a warm wind flowing around me, making me feel that the jacket I had put on was quite redundant. Considering that we’d been having very cold weather during all last week, this (it wasn’t sunny, but it felt as such) weather lifted my spirits. I almost felt like I’d returned back home, and standing under the shade of a great tree, as a cool breeze wafted around me… I quickly took off the jacket and began to walk towards uni. On my way, I kept looking at the people I encountered. I must have seemed like a demented madman.
Truly, this sudden and unexpected change of weather was puzzling me. I was seriously wondering whether (since I’d been slighly coughing yesterday) I was ill or something. But no. For the first time in months, I actually felt good because of the weather. I know it won’t last. But while it’s here, i’m enjoying every single minute of it.

Ok. Back to work. Have seen The Hours yesterday and it is no coincidence that we are tackling Virginia Woolf’s Mrs Dalloway, tomorrow. Poor Mrs D! My MSN nick this afternoon read: “Mud-Wrestling with Mrs Dalloway”. We’ll see tomorrow how muddy and slippery it all gets.


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