Tuesday, March 28, 2006

Dissatisfied

It's summer and it's sweltering hot in the city already. The sunlight hits our bedroom an exactly the right angle, acting as an alarm clock of sorts - one that works in a slow and insiduous fashion. Most mornings are spent underneath the merciful shower nozzle, dispensing lukewarm water. We sweat even before we manage to step out, smelling the sun and the dust on our clothes after only a few minutes of being outside. The city is unforgiving to the lowly commuter, and summer is the worst time of all.

And even though a vacation beckons invitingly, it's not to be believed. I can see it now: the hordes of scantily-clad urbanites, beach-hopping from one sandbar to the next, in search of the best party, the next drink, that vacation fling. Rules never applied to summer, only suggestions. And while I would want to get away, escape to somewhere more inviting, a foreign place to lose myself in, there are already too many roots here. Stability requires rootedness - this much I'll accept.

Still, there's a part of me that is already standing by the beach in the early morning, watching the liquid tendrils of light shimmer across the surface of an imaginary sea, the clarity of saltwater a mirror and I am reflected as a fish, continuously darting between the clumps of sea grass, always looking for another place to be in.

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