11 October 2013.
It’s been a month since I got back. To home sweet home.
And exactly a month later, the glamour is lost, the routine set. And it has been an endless run.
From one set of friends to another; from one job prospect to another. Time is slipping fast and patience is wearing thin. As each day comes to a close, I settle down into bed…with my mind wandering across the continent. And just before I lose myself into a dreamy sleep, I can’t help but pull the Indian duvet a tad bit higher. Because though I sweat profusely in it, somewhere it reminds me of the year that was.
When each night the squeaky spring in my bed made me laugh and yet each lazy morning brought with it no pressures. A quick exercise routine later, it was out into the cozy dining room sofa, all set to gobble a heavy and a healthy breakfast. I think there’s something weirdly exhilarating about being entirely responsible for yourself. You make the efforts that otherwise lose themselves in the luxurious walls of home. Last month when I got back, the transition to ‘normal’ life seemed effortless. Everything just picked itself up from where I had left them a year ago. But now as the days slip past, I realise how much I miss the new routine I had worked out for myself. Where the lunch times weren’t regular, but three meals made their way into my stomach consistently.
Today though I am enjoying the social life that I missed in England, I am also missing the solitude that I enjoyed in England. Where the noise outside didn’t drown the voice inside. Where the endless hours in hand promised me enough time for myself…
Where the endless run of a daily day, just leaves me wanting no more…