I’m a new person in an old city. I walk these cobbled streets and I can feel history around me, wrapping me up, just like the cool breeze on this autumn afternoon. I walk the halls that have been home to many people I look up to, and I touch the walls, hoping to absorb some of that energy, to make it a part of me. I’m used to wandering around old buildings, having worked and studied in spaces constructed over a century ago. Here, just like at Xavier’s, the magic is tangible.

In this new city, where I arrived exactly two weeks ago, and where I’ll be for the next year, I’ve found home. I’ve fallen in love with the quaint streets, the vibrant halls, the mad weather.

I’m not a stranger in this city where I know nobody. I am only new.


For the rains, for a bunch of emails, for a phone call, for people to arrive, waiting for a song, waiting for the right time, just waiting. 

Never one to be blessed with patience, this waiting game is driving me crazy. 


My little Pumpkin is 13 today and almost as tall as I am. I couldn’t lift her, even if I tried my best– but she lifts my spirits, with the twinkle of her eyes and thejokes on her lips.

Sure she amuses, amazes, and (very rarely) annoys but Pumpkin,  Pumpkin is precious. 

Buying books calms me down these days. As if just owning titles and having them line up on my shelves, on the windowsill, under the bed, in every bag, will be enough. My problem isn’t real estate though, it is something more worrying.

I read an essay today by Joan Didion that felt vaguely familiar. I had read that anthology only a couple of weeks ago and had completely forgotten. Am I not reading mindfully enough? Am I devouring pages and clearing memory as I move on? 

I feel like I am driving too fast to take in anything. Where the landmarks are a blur and the impressions last only a short while. 

I listened to a Rushdie interview today and he recited poems and literary anecdotes effortlessly, I couldn’t even remember a quote. 

What is the point for reading if you can’t remember? What is the point of travelling if you can’t recall? What is the point of memory if it only fails you? 

No Entry

If the quickest way is through a one-way street, occasionally you give into temptation and ignore a no-entry sign. A cop stops you and you plead ignorance. You get mad, not at being caught, but because you knew better. 

Listen to your better judgement. Always listen to your better judgement. #notetoself 


Friendships are strange and unexpected.

Some will be intense and then lie dormant. Some will be giving. Some will be quiet and others chattering nonstop. Some will show you the mirror and a few will be a warm, safe hug. Some will push your horizons while others will ground you. Some friendships will be abandoned, some resuscitated. Some will be time wasted, some will teach you lessons. 

A few special friendships, and this is rare, will bring you home. 

Let go 

Yesterday I tweeted, “Tell me when to let go?”, and two friends responded saying “Now.” It wasn’t like they knew the context– maybe both did, yet they said, let go now. When do you know it is the right time to let go? Of people, relationships, burdens of the past, and most crucially, hope. 

I am standing here, in the middle of nowhere with a bunch of plans and no agency. I’m waiting for an email that could potentially change my life, just like I am waiting for a phone call that may do the same. There are no new emails and the phone isn’t ringing either.

I have always lived without patience and even less subtlety, and like a friend said, wearing my heart on my sleeve. This not knowing is driving me crazy. This waiting, keeping my fingers crossed isn’t helping calm a restless mind. Watching friends move on with their lives, get married, settle done, bring up babies, makes me feel irresponsible somehow.

As I check my mail for the millionth time, telling myself the odds aren’t favourable, I can’t shake off a sense of hope. All I want to know is when to give up, when to let go, just so that I can move on.