Eternal Summer

Here, one is inclined to think that time only pretends to move; that the ever-changing faces of the many clocks that lie languishing on walls and upon too many wooden desks only serve to remind clockface-gazers of their continued existence. But day does turn into night, and sunrays eventually give way to moonbeams.

So, time must move, must it not? Or has time been confused with life - for how could time possibly be anything but animate when it does not impart a sense of urgency?

Here, life may race forwards but time stands still. As still as the black-and-white men in old and yellowed photographs that line the bottom of a dying man's drawer. Time is still.

Can you hear it?

Photo credits: Sache and Murray at harappa.com

A Little Heartwarmer

I love early mornings. I love throwing the door to my little patio open; letting out the staleness that my flat is wont to accumulate in the night, letting in the cool but oh-so-refreshing Spring morning. I love how I somehow manage to expand my mind in the mornings: how I learn of and warm to things I never thought I liked.

It was during one of these mornings not too long ago that I discovered the wonders of Chopin and the person whom I believe interprets his compositions best, Arthur Rubinstein.

This morning, while traversing the Telegraph blogs, my gaze fell upon a name. One which wasn't completely unfamiliar and yet did not seem to associate itself with anything that my mind was aware of: Susan Boyle.

Out of curiosity, I followed the link. And I was glad I did.

I could, and would, provide a short commentary, but I fear that doing so would spoil the experience for you. (I did make an honest attempt to embed the video here, to make life just slightly easier for you, but I believe this has been disallowed by the video's owner[s].)

April Showers

It had to rain eventually, and when it did, I was glad that the wondrous spell, which Spring has casted upon this truly wonderful city, was not undone. As I left my flat to make the short, pleasant journey to the gelateria on Bute Street, a smile found its way to my face. It was surprisingly warm and, reasonably protected as I was from the rain, didn't feel too different from the beautiful days we had had - only a little wetter.

Walking a little of the way home after some gelato and espresso, I noticed the flowers that have managed to free themselves from the confines of lifeless-looking branches. They were beautiful (in fact, I stopped to look at a bough full of pink flowers, hoping I could put a name to them).


I am not the biggest fan of rain and perhaps, the reason I tolerate it as much as I do is the sturdy umbrella I'd invested in some months ago. However, today was strange in that not only did I appreciate the light shower but, as I breathed in the mild but comforting scent of rain for the first time since I came to live in this city, I also felt (and continue to feel) that had it not been as wet, the day would not have been half as good.


If today were a cake, then the flowers would have been the cake itself. And the rain? The rain would have been the frosting. For it was the rain that ultimately lifted my mood, whispering promises of better days to come.

Time travel

How blissful to be
no more than six and 4 inches and 3 feet.

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What do we do when the good old days are long gone? We bring them back, starting with a box of children's cereals if you, like me, have had it banished from your pantry for some reason or other. We wake up plenty of mornings, grappling with our identities - unsure about the present, apprehensive about the future; what better than to throw all caution to the wind and travel with mind and soul to those times when happiness was absolute.

(Don't let snowstorms delay your flights).

On days like this...

... we smile - secretly, quietly - to ourselves;
we skip - its timing cleverly, but unconsciously, calculated - with each step
just as we did in days long, long gone;
we take a good look around
and we feel thankful
for the sights we are able to see;
the emotions we are able to feel - joy, pride, excitement, anticipation;
the sounds we are able to hear;
and the air - crisp, cold, perfect - we are still able to breathe.


Happy Birthday, dear FRiend.

And many congratulations to President Barack Hussein Obama.

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Invest in an umbrella for they keep your spirits high. And a breakfast bowl that you will still love when you're old and (hopefully not) less attractive.