(It starts first with nonsense)

I paid a visit to an Eskimo which I hadn’t seen for a very long time.

The last time I met him, I was dying in the bathroom after some bad food, and he was fishing on top of some ice, telling me that it was not my time. It was otherworldly; I thought I was in heaven or something, you know? Or some sort of limbo, made from the state of your mind, which differs from everyone. A special place. Unique to each individual.

Today I was dying again, and I didn’t know if it was breakfast or the amalgamation of everything chili which I’ve eaten, in bulk, over the weekend. I was probably in cardiac arrest when it all turned cold, and I was watching things in flurries of snow and ice, bounding around towards someplace I didn’t know.

I was on a sled, sitting behind him, hands around his waist. He turned to me, dark-tinted Oakley goggles reflecting my face. “Not so tight,” he said, and I loosened my grip.

We rode for sometime; all I could see was his parka and snow and glimpses of the sky, and there was no way to tell what was pulling the sled or if we’re going downhill.

The stop was sudden, but smooth. He walked off, dusting snow off his shoulder, while I struggled to stand.

I think it was the edge of the ice. The ocean was just there, flopping silently by our feet. I thought it was familiar.

“Back again, eh?” he said. “Couldn’t help what you eat, can’t you?”

“Nope. Born to live that way.”

“Pfft.” He bit the end of the cigar, spat, and lit it with a Copenhagen lighter.

“So, my time is now?”

“No. But the next time, can’t be sure. Just watch what you eat.”

“Will do.”

“Now fuck off,” he said, and settled down on the snow. And I was back, breathing. I went to run the taps and made for the medicine.

Twice in a lifetime, and I’m not 25 yet.

*****

It’s hot, which is probably why the parents are asleep, and they’ve actually skipped the 9.30 drama for it. If nothing’s new, that’s new.

I’m still waiting for the room to cool down before I attempt to hit the sack, and despite the heat, it was a good night to write, hence the utter nonsense you probably had to read through in the top part of this post (you poor, poor creature).

An old friend popped up online, and we chatted for a bit. We hadn’t IMed for a good half-a-year; I’d occasionally drop by her blog whenever I remembered, and she’s doing great apparently, and will be down to KL on March and asked if I wanted to go retrieve our diploma together (fuck, it’s been 3 years. I wonder if they still keep it).

She’s teaching now, and she seemed rather happy about it. And I read about meeting someone, and the story that came with it. All in all, she’s just as about set on the Path of Life. Makes me wonder about myself; the senseless floundering, floating where I could afford to float, dreaming and ambitioning but seeing it from a distance.

Also makes me reminisce about College. The sense of it, at least. Something like standing on the gateway arc to someplace new and wonderful. Only, well, tonight is something more like seeing that arc after a long, long time.

Makes me want to call a few people, and ask them out for drinks, just to talk about old times, and about the new.

I’m starting to think it’s the heat.

***************

My addictions (stemming from the uber awesomeness of finally getting a set of speakers that play my music wonderfully);







And they’re all from the movie Slumdog Millionaire, in case the vids didn’t tell you clearly enough. It’s Bollywood, yes (the music; the movie, still distinctly British), so it’s either hit or miss for you.

I’m rooting for A.R. Rahman to win the Oscar. I’m just as much addicted.