HOWDY
I be in Houston, Texas right now. A port city where there isn't a beach for about 50 miles, which doesn't even happen to be within the city boundaries (toll roads - city walls are creepy and shut out the sun I don't care how majestic they are what were you thinking that's not gonna stop anyone from bombing your city speaking of which since cockroaches can survive nuclear explosions why haven't they come up with some way to combine that gene with Human DNA). It's a nice place for shopping and all, but it's not like I can carry cowboy boots in my suitcase and have space for much else. I miss my guitar and my Veena.
I'll be heading over to New Jersey tomorrow. We're staying with a family whom I haven't seen in say, ten years and then going to see the concrete jungle where dreams are made of. I've lived in a city for the past 11 years. People say travel should introduce you to different lifestyles and that's pretty much what it's done so far. However, I've always been more inclined towards visiting big cities, the giants of the world, where everything is a step ahead. I'm more curious than ever to see what Manhattan is like. It's a lot different than anything I've ever seen before. Nothing ever seems to slow down or spread out or slowly melt away when it comes to something like New York. Not Dubai, not Bangalore. Can't wait.
A lot has happened since my last blog post. Yes, it seems to have been posted today but it was basically an attempt at redemption a few months ago. I've finished 11th grade, passed with less than I expected, but still just enough to make the cut, been through the season finale of How I Met Your Mother, spent an entire months of holidays, and watched the Marvel spectacle known as Captain America: The Winter Soldier. Yes, I revel in treating fiction the same way I treat reality. In the end, it's all in your head. You remember something and you fantasise about something...I don't see a clear distinction between the memory and the fantasy in my head. Sure, experiencing something makes you more excited about it. But if it doesn't have much of an impact on you, it's all the same, innit?
I apologize for not going into detail, but as it is a passing thought, and not the main subject of the post, it's best not to dwell on it. It may spark unnecessary existential curiosity as well. A topic well dealt with in John Green's The Fault In Our Stars. I haven't exactly finished the book, but I'm almost through, and underneath all the romance-y pop-fiction feels-breaking writing there's a big question: are the lives that mean something the only ones that matter? And what exactly does "mean something" mean? In order to matter, do we have to spend our lives in service of others and keeping them happy? Do we have to achieve and inspire? Isn't there happiness in perfect normalcy? In surviving? We will matter to those with whom we've spent time. Receiving love shouldn't be something you put effort into.
Back to the lighter stuff, this is my last summer before college. My last gift of time. The dilemma remains: should I spend this time with my dear friends whom I'm unsure of seeing after next year, because I love them and want more memories? Or should I just concentrate on myself, on building up, on learning what I can't in school? Because that's all I'm gonna have. Me, and this is my last chance to spend time on myself.
But first, most of all, I need to learn to let go.
No, this is not a goodbye, it's just top on my priority list.
Sam out. (in a Canadian accent like Barney Stinson says it)
I be in Houston, Texas right now. A port city where there isn't a beach for about 50 miles, which doesn't even happen to be within the city boundaries (toll roads - city walls are creepy and shut out the sun I don't care how majestic they are what were you thinking that's not gonna stop anyone from bombing your city speaking of which since cockroaches can survive nuclear explosions why haven't they come up with some way to combine that gene with Human DNA). It's a nice place for shopping and all, but it's not like I can carry cowboy boots in my suitcase and have space for much else. I miss my guitar and my Veena.
I'll be heading over to New Jersey tomorrow. We're staying with a family whom I haven't seen in say, ten years and then going to see the concrete jungle where dreams are made of. I've lived in a city for the past 11 years. People say travel should introduce you to different lifestyles and that's pretty much what it's done so far. However, I've always been more inclined towards visiting big cities, the giants of the world, where everything is a step ahead. I'm more curious than ever to see what Manhattan is like. It's a lot different than anything I've ever seen before. Nothing ever seems to slow down or spread out or slowly melt away when it comes to something like New York. Not Dubai, not Bangalore. Can't wait.
A lot has happened since my last blog post. Yes, it seems to have been posted today but it was basically an attempt at redemption a few months ago. I've finished 11th grade, passed with less than I expected, but still just enough to make the cut, been through the season finale of How I Met Your Mother, spent an entire months of holidays, and watched the Marvel spectacle known as Captain America: The Winter Soldier. Yes, I revel in treating fiction the same way I treat reality. In the end, it's all in your head. You remember something and you fantasise about something...I don't see a clear distinction between the memory and the fantasy in my head. Sure, experiencing something makes you more excited about it. But if it doesn't have much of an impact on you, it's all the same, innit?
I apologize for not going into detail, but as it is a passing thought, and not the main subject of the post, it's best not to dwell on it. It may spark unnecessary existential curiosity as well. A topic well dealt with in John Green's The Fault In Our Stars. I haven't exactly finished the book, but I'm almost through, and underneath all the romance-y pop-fiction feels-breaking writing there's a big question: are the lives that mean something the only ones that matter? And what exactly does "mean something" mean? In order to matter, do we have to spend our lives in service of others and keeping them happy? Do we have to achieve and inspire? Isn't there happiness in perfect normalcy? In surviving? We will matter to those with whom we've spent time. Receiving love shouldn't be something you put effort into.
Back to the lighter stuff, this is my last summer before college. My last gift of time. The dilemma remains: should I spend this time with my dear friends whom I'm unsure of seeing after next year, because I love them and want more memories? Or should I just concentrate on myself, on building up, on learning what I can't in school? Because that's all I'm gonna have. Me, and this is my last chance to spend time on myself.
But first, most of all, I need to learn to let go.
No, this is not a goodbye, it's just top on my priority list.
Sam out. (in a Canadian accent like Barney Stinson says it)
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