Being me…

I was born two months before on the rainy rather stormy evening of the 3^rd day of May 1987. When my mother first set my eyes on me she found me a philosopher, blissfully unaware of all around, rather oblivious of my being, somewhat of a thinker. I feel compelled to add ‘so I have been told.’

I deliberately use this special tense that allows distinguishing hear say from something not seen with eyes, say be relating dreams, fairy tales, or past events not witnessed I find it rather apt to use this tense. It is a useful distinction to make remember the earliest of life experiences, be it the cradle, the most adored teddy ted, the very first rhymes, as told by parents, stories which I seem to listen with some rapt attention. It’s a sensation as sweet as seeing thyself in dreams.

That is the tendency I still indulge in without getting bored. It is a kind of get away for me, a kind of relief I seek. Though the process has gained maturity and momentum over time, I still tend to lose control every time imagining the place I am seated the bed room, the sitting room, government office, the bus stop as somewhere else. When I have exhausted the energy to day dream I take refuge in the photographs that sits on every wall, table and desk. The tendency so very innate in me often yells back complaining of confusing routes.