This Place

I am heading into another phase of life. Post school one. And I guess, I don't have impending deadlines so I find me here. Looking at this blog that's still where it has always been. On the internet. Strange things, these interwebs.

I look back at the blog and realise that since I have been at school, I haven't said much here. And now I pause to re-contemplate the nature of this blog. When I started this blog, I had meant it as a way for me to have all my sordid and hopefully un-sordid reflections in one place. Or else, journals, computers, everything just is an easy way to have it all scattered. And now I wonder why is this barely visited creature still around? To what does this poor guy/girl/whatever deserve this treatment? That it just sits there forever. Maybe till the end of internet. Not knowing if it will ever be visited, added to, or just forgotten.

I guess thats no different than a diary or an e-diary. But, for some reason they don't announce their presence as boldly as a blog does. I guess the fact that I sometimes treat it as if I am just writing for my own and thats what the intent was, but knowing that once in a while strange or familiar eyes visit these pages, is what makes it odd.

And now I am done with school. So I am back to my pre-school mode. And by that I mean, I maybe back here to ramble more frequently again. And as of now I think I might be talking Kurosawa next. 

The Trouble with Third Act

Over the last few months, I have written several drafts for the short that I would be shooting for my thesis. In the last few drafts, I keep playing with different tones and different inciting incidents. And every draft, I feel like I am close to something extremely promising. But, that something that will make it perfect, is still missing.

It's the third act. In all the drafts, something for the sake of it happens in the third act. But, it does not feel satisfying. It feels forced and arbitrary. Of course it does. Because the third act, echoes life and the people you meet. I always remember when I first met them, not the last. There is no dramatic end to anything or anyone in my life. There is no storming of a door, and its over. At least not for me. One fine day you stop and try to remember, how did that end, when was the last time we exchanged words? Were they exchanged knowing that they would be last? I guess not. Especially now that we have phones and internet, no one thinks they are going away forever. As a result, the fine line of being together and apart is blurred. Not for me. But the goodbyes to people in life are.

I don't have anything to wear

I am supposed to be getting ready to go to work.
I have nothing to wear!
Nothing!
Have been thinking for the last half an hour.
This never happens to me.
I just put something on and leave.
My face is cracking up.
And yes, its all because of this little boy.
Or is he a little boy?
And am I just a toy?
Or is it?
Nah, its me.
Its me.
Its always me.