Pink Herons, Blue parakeets

I couldn't sleep last night. Or for that matter the night before. This is strange considering how sleepy I was in the evening. I almost fell asleep and missed my favorite soap. But then, after I had conveniently called early and said goodnight to my parents and him, brushed my teeth, combed my hair, applied lotion to my hands and feet, night cream to my delicate face, turned off the light and hopped in bed--- I was wide awake. I thought I would fall asleep gradually and normally it takes me less than 8 min to do so, but this is different. I just had no sleep near at least a km of myself. I could've got up, read some book, watched some more tv but somehow I was still lying there, wide awake, stubbornly refusing to give up. Then I thought of music. So I got my mobile and 40 secs to the first song I was crying! I doubled up with unspoken grief and squirmed and whimpered. Tears streamed down in gushes. And I was surprised inside. Why was I crying? Why am I so sad without me knowing it! What's wrong and where? I could not stop. I cried like a baby. And then I started to feel cold, with a blanket over me in 18 degree Celsius, I was shivering. Then I understood. I know this. I have been through this before, for months. How could I forget it? How could I pretend everything is OK! But thank God, now I know. I know what I have to do now to survive, I am a pro. So I forced myself to get up, dragged my sorry crying figure, still mopping tears off my face, to the kitchen. I filled the hot water bottle, drank a cup of warm milk and came back to my bed. I crouched to my left side in the foetal position cradling the hot bottle to my heart and slowly softly started carressing and patting my head. The tears subsided slowly, the shivering stopped, the whimper went away and although I was still not sleepy, I was feeling better clarity. I have to accept the reality, I thought, I need to know I am not OK and that it is OK not to be alright all the time. I started to feel pity for myself, which is never good, it can cause immediate relapse of the previous fit, and it did. But this time, as I know I would, as I always do, I cried myself to sleep, dreaming of missed trains, lost lands, barren fields, shocking pink herons and blue parakeets.

I woke up sore and tired. And I stayed in bed till 9, watching the regular sparrows and bulbuls knocking at my window, they eat inscts perhaps but from my side of the glass it appears like a dance or sometimes like they are in the powder room, dressing up. It amazes me. So life is thriving all and about and I finally left my den, got dressed and came to office. Not much work today and so I thought of writing this. If anyone is reading this, don't think I am a coward. I can face myself. Just afraid that I might not be able to get back. I have no reason to. Not anymore.

At World's End

Only a week left to the supposed 'end-of-the-world'! I think this should have had the capacity to be scary in order to make me happy, but now it sounds like a weak pj. Personally, I just love the concept of destruction, when it comes as 'complete' destruction. What can be better than just vanishing one fine morning with everything you know! No backlogs, no afterthoughts, no trailing around left-behind loved ones(in case you believe in the ghost theory), no fear of karma(if the world is destroyed I can't possibly be sent back) and most of all no fear of losing your dear ones (who possibly can die in this one week, and even then who cares). Death is a sure certainty with just one small disclaimer. You never get to know the certainty in its entirety unless the very last moment has come to claim you. That makes death horrible, hated, unbearable. That also makes life interesting. But somehow, I don't think much of this surprise factor of death.I would rather know when,where,how. Hence, the theory of the world ending makes me happy in a peaceful sort of way. Weird it is, I know, but at the same time, it is so attractive!
So, with no promising end, I am left to search for the survival means, money, I mean. I have just received my first pay cheque and it made me sad. Plain simple sad. I thought I would be happy. My perpetual life of debt and gloom will come to an end. I will buy whatever I feel like and finally,finally pay my rent on time. But now with the actual thing on hand, the reality looms large over my psyche. 20,000 sounds good, looks good on paper, doesn't really translate that good in the market. I know, with my qualifications, this is the best job I could have bagged and I thank every living and non-living being in the universe for this, but 20,000! Maybe, I need more time to settle into a life I think good. Maybe after 5 years I will be able to afford a jacuzzi and a red, convertible sports car and then gift a world tour voucher to my parents. These are not merely my dreams. These are like the pins in my bed which doesn't let me be comfortable.
People say, aim high. Is what I am aiming for high? I don't feel so. I feel it is only so much one can have in exchange of the other dream, the low cost one that was more fulfilling psychologically, which was unceremoniously snatched away from just under my nose. I feel what I am aiming for is lower than what my heart would have originally be happy having.
Remember here, this is my second life, second chance at life, second dream of a perfect life. I died once.