Trying to appear cultured, or intelligent, I'm really not sure which one, I pretended to myself that I liked the Manic Street Preachers' "A Design for Life". I used it as a title for a daily schedule, I heard it several hundred times and I genuinely fell in love with the music. But I never understood it, and its confusing to see that I love the song still. I'm not sure if its still pretense. And it does make me wonder."We were told, that this is the end"
A few months ago, I was sitting on one of the small stools in the kitchen, the ones that make you feel like a little child again, waiting for the water to boil. I was making tea for my dad and thought how cool a feeling that was, to be home again, doing home-things in a warm kitchen where everything was as familiar as it was leisurely. But later, in a different city, in a place just called home, a place that I have to remember by numbers - fourth right turn, third house on the left - a place I have to recognize by signboards and which I sometimes pass over in the dark because I miss the gate, a place where almost-strangers let you in when you ring the bell; I waited the same wait, standing and waiting for the water in a newer pateeli . It wasn't warm at all; it was just a cheerless, empty, disconsolate feeling. It made me feel low to even think of another place as home. Eating in alien plates, drinking in alien glasses. I never learnt to memorize the house number or the telephone n...
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