The Journal #19: Alive

I wrote this after a usual long day in my apartment. I do not remember how many cups of coffee I had taken by that point but it seems safe to assume that double-digits were involved. The coffee was a French Roast from the Nilgiris in Tamil Nadu.


I remember I told you once, I had a Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde situation. There were two sides to me: two equally important parts. I don’t remember when they split, and I don’t know why they did. Do you remember that I told you about them some two or three years ago?

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The Journal #18: The Eagle

This piece was written while a mug full of instant chocolate mint flavoured coffee by Beanies was getting cold.


Today, I spent the afternoon working, sipping coffee, and watching an eagle on a naked tree nearby. The eagle likes to sit on one of its twig-like branches. I watched it fly high into the sky and then dive way down, almost like a torpedo chasing a target. There was nothing else there, as I could gather after I left all my work undone and the coffee to get colder, and kept watching it.

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The Journal #17: Love

This was written late at night as a result of not a cup of coffee but some peppermint green tea.


If I were to describe how my tryst with love has been so far in life, I’d say it was like the game of pinball. Have you ever played that old arcade game? Perhaps, not in an actual arcade but I’m sure you’ve played it on a computer or a game console. In pinball, you have these two bent pins, and you move a ball to different parts of what looks like a carefully designed maze. It seems random, at first. Then, when you look closely, you see different areas. Each area has a theme and a different way that makes the ball bounce off, and as it jumps to different places, it hits some places where it makes points. Pinball is all about scoring the maximum points by bouncing off the right places; love, unfortunately, doesn’t quite work like that, though.

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The Journal #16: Action

As I wrote this over multiple days, I was mostly sipping a Dark Roast from Starbucks brewed with my French press. As the days got warmer, I switched to a cold brew Dark Roast coffee from SleepyOwl instead.


It was back in first grade if I remember correctly when I first prioritised action. It was a sloppy assignment. You see, they used to give us books to make sure our handwriting turned cursive down the line, and they gave us notes to write pages of those. Five, ten, it was up to the teacher. I remember getting up at around one at night and walking up to my parents who were up. I remember telling them that I had an assignment that I didn’t do and that I wanted to do it because it was important. So, I did the pages, howsoever many were required, and it was only then that I could go to sleep.

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The Journal #14: Untitled

The first instance of a thought sticks to your shoe like a piece of gum someone threw on the road. You don’t realise it’s there until you feel something pull you back while walking. The pull isn’t a strong one; it’s barely a nudge, but you feel it. Slowly, however, given that you continue to walk, all your mind starts to incline towards an investigation of your foot. Until, you cannot take it anymore, and you stop walking to check what’s underneath. That’s how the last couple of months have been with a train of thought for me.

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The Journal #13: Freedom

Have you ever seen the donkey and the carrot? It’s an age-old idea. Keep showing the donkey a dangling carrot, and he keeps moving. That’s what we do to ourselves when we keep mythologising our lives. Our imaginary identities, the ones after we complete the illusory quest, is the carrot. We are the donkeys. No one knows who’s sitting on us. Perhaps, those who came before us. Maybe, those around us. Maybe us, ourselves. It doesn’t matter because the donkey is tired. The donkey wants to rest. There’s so much weight on him, and yet, the carrot. Oh, the carrot. The donkey keeps moving.

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The Journal #7

There’s a train track roughly a kilometre from my new place. It’s close enough for it to be downright annoying. It was exactly that when I first got here. That was roughly three weeks ago. It has come to my realisation that the train doesn’t bother me anymore. I mean, it does get me riled up every time I hear that honking and rattling approaching from far away but when compared to how it was when I first got here, I think, I’ve stopped noticing the train approaching.

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