age is just a number. and a number has nothing to do with it. but there may be a point in your life when it sinks in, that time is passing. for me, it is now. life, always a kaleidoscope, in the hands of a capricious child, is falling into - perhaps not final - but bolder strokes. i have come past my friendships of my childhood. food, alcohol, and almost nicotine. but most of all what i miss is prviate leisure - and about it, the sense of time sprawled out seductively and slumberously, a million possibilities sparkling in her eyes
How do I do a seven hour commute? I take the train - it runs along the coast. Whenever I look out of the window, the water and the sky seem to be playing with each other, and all the debris of humantity - rotting pier stilts, abandoned tires, a decaying iron drum, they all seem to be toys. The sun shines on the water at a jaunty angle. The world glistens. The skies are bluer than robins eggs. And there I stayed, temporarily lost it seemed.

I never fell in love with California. But I was struck by it at first sight. From the first moment I set foot here I knew there was something about the place. It almost felt like destiny. That first time, I was spellbound and speechless. From the beginning I felt a nameless comfort here.

But I have never felt like I was in love with it the way I fell in love with edinburgh. Words of praise and poetry don't trip off my tongue and dance in my brain constantly. I don't ache when I am away. There is no madness, no passion, no expectation of self-destruction and abnegation. Most of all, it is not cerebral. I dont think about it, argue with and about it constantly, drive myself mad thinking about how and why it is. It just is. And I am. It is a friendly comfortable feeling. Tame as a middle age affair.

But California is not tame. As time wears on, the false comfort of familiarity wears off. I realise this is a strange land. Underneath the sweet smooth smiles, its more hard hitting and edgy than anything I probably encountered before. And the weather changes every inch of my mad new city.

For my morning run, if I turn right to Chrissy Fields and the Golden Gate bridge, it is broody and fog shrouded. You cannot get to know him there - you can only gawk in wonder and run back. And marvel at the gold of the sun that breaks through. But on my right, is the Bay bridge. As casually sharp as the Grand Prix and dizzyingly urbane. And in between it is chirpy, suave and frilly - earthy and hippy.

Far from Eden, that did not want me and that I could not accept on fallen terms (whoever killed whomever may it be), I am finding something different from love and passion in the Bay. I am finding a clue to myself

six cups of green tea and 6 miles at 4AM for health. 3 cups of coffee to wake up. 6 glasses of water to stay hydrated. just one cup of childhood-flavoured orange pekoe, for me

It's a mad mad world from a dystopia novel. The news seems more surreal every time I look around
we almost always fixate more on emotionally salient information. That is the whole point of it. The salience may vary depending on how much we can discount - not just delays but also indirection
Everything is like sand. you cannot to hold on to anything. and even your grip weakens. you cannot hold on even to holding on. those who love their work, their work slips away. those who find solace in friendship, their friendship slips away. and love, that morphs every day. those to take pride in who they are, their self changes. even memories fade. nothing remains. to try to hold on is madness. we can only live in the moment, because to hold on to past love becomes like gripping a corpse when the spirit has fled.

But the same time that brings destruction also recreates. like the form of sand dunes that perpetually dance with the wind, the universe is forever recreated.

and yet something remains. forever changing, but never dying. some essence. and the fact that that it was: life, love, achievement. And empire destroyed in the present still lived in the past. a perfect love, that was foolishly lost still "was". and you and me we were, and will always be, even if our lives are gone and all traces wiped away.
Whats love got to do with it. All of these years we live; all of the things we do and the emotions we feel. It all feels so fragile and so pointless. Relationships that are so deep they become your core - eating your skeleton and growing its own inside you - can dissolve into ether in seconds. Leaving you an empty shell, walking talking laughing loving, and yet vacant. And nothingness and empty as the mist can sneak in as suddenly and become your whole life before you notice it - so you suddenly wake up and all your days are filled with things that suddenly feel so important, though they mean nothing. And it does not make any sense. It does not make any sense. A loss can be so crippling that even the restoration cannot rebuild you. Heartbreak can be so corrosive that even the beloved is rendered impotent - and then nothing can do any good again. Not time for sure - because every year that passes only lays another layer of fossil and rock on my petrified heart. Yet above the surface little wildflowers bloom everyday. That mean nothing. And yet everything to someone. I am torn and broken and bitter. Unable to go back and unable to move forward. hysterical. And I resent your calm