one of those people.

Summer is so beautiful - I never thought I'd ever get to say this, considering I am from the tropics, where the only '-ful' used to describe Summer is 'pain-'. This, of-course, is a personal opinion - its my blog you are reading!

I should perhaps apologize for not having ventured here in a while (so much for resolutions) but if you'd see how colorful my life is, you'd know. The unfinished thought lines that litter my draft basket are quite interesting reads in themselves. So, I bet a cardamom tea I will not finish this (if I lose, I will make tea for myself; and if I win, then, well, this post will be another draft I will not want to delete.)

So the thought string that I want to trap in words is actually something that happened yesterday. I had had a very unproductive day (most days that are more than twenty-four hours away from a deadline fall in that category) I decide to go and shop for food (I have a pretty exciting life - my facebook pictures can prove that!)

I always buy more food things than I can comfortably carry - but my other option is to go food shopping every week - which is not a great use of time. So I went shopping at this store in Lake City my friend had told me about, and it was close to 9 pm by the time I was done.

I am very quick to lose my way, and on occasions that I have tried to take time to figure out local maps in my head I have been known (by me, and some other people I want to amuse) to have wandered for a considerable bit *before* reaching where I had originally intended to. So, yesterday, I decided to not take the risk ( I had five heavy bags full of food) and turned around to ask the first person who got out of the store with me for the directions to the closest bus stop.

The first person was this man and his young daughter. I asked him if he could direct me to the nearest bus-stop where I could catch a 75 - and he smiled and made a little air-map for me to follow. I nodded along- I usually don't understand directions completely in the first instance of being told- and then flashed my generous toothy smile. The man offered to walk me to the stop as he was concerned about how late it was, and told me he had four daughters and he'd do the same for any of them.

My heart turned human when he said that - he said it so simply. He offered to help me with my shopping bags - which I politely declined as I am used to doing my own work, carrying my own weight ( metaphorically and literally), and he patiently agreed. So he, his ten-year old daughter, and I headed in the direction from where I could take the bus ( he could have taken his bus from much closer than what he was willing to walk with me). We talked along the way, about my work and how trying it can be, and how the school wants to make you deserve your PhD, and therefore the system is almost brutal. We reached the intersection from where we had to go in opposite directions (I had to just cross over to the other side for my bus stop) and he gave me his card - saying he'd be happy to help if I needed anything - I smiled and said I was a big girl and I can pretty much take care of everything that concerns me. Then he smiled back ( I love conversations that are full of smiles) and said that if I had some time I should google him, that he has written a book and that he was a retired NBA player.

The amber-'don't-walk'-hand turned into the white-'walk'- man and I thanked him and walked to my bus stop, very touched by the generosity of this man, and the patience of his daughter. My bus arrived in a couple of minutes and I got home soon after. I typed his name- Zaid Abdul-Aziz - in my browser and there is a lot of stuff about him on the web.

I meet the nicest, most generous people, who feed my tendency to be optimistic about everything every time it starts to drain out. And I have to stop to wonder in awe about how much love this world holds. ( I know this is slightly soppy - but I am soppy only some of the times.)

I think I will now go and make me some tea.

and so

It has again been a while since I wrote something, anything, that was not a part of a report, an assignment, a critique. It has been a while since I have indulged myself in word-play. My journal waits patiently too. There's so much I want to write, so much I should not let pass without some mention that will help me relive it again - the thrill of the memory, or its heartbreak, or both. So, I will try not to venture into the really very vague with this.

I have been so overwhelmed with work lately that every time I see myself running out of time (its more often than where 'often' averages) that I subject myself to some serious questioning, on my true intention to get a PhD.

"If this continues I will die, I will die a spinster in this room", with books and my computer and other meager possessions I have cared to bring with me, or acquired in the process of living on my own (the Calvin and Hobbes comic book, for example)

"PLEASE love me more, God... I am a very nice person you know"

My self-confidence, the precious little of it that I have, shaves another layer off itself every time I am not where I expect myself to be. People who know me well have observed that I am too hard on myself. I don't know if that opinion is not completely biased with their affection for me. So it never really figures in my life agenda - to take it easy.  (Also, I am incapable of taking it easy.) 

Mondays are when I have to talk at length about my progress, and this particular Monday meeting was especially brutal. I had been running away from my research work for the entire week (because I hate how lost I feel trying to find a direction). I don't know how to do research, yet. I feel especially cheated because I am not being given the time to learn. It was such a defeat- my incapacity to communicate my frustration, and their incomprehensibility.

American manners and polite-ness are so glossy that it takes a while to recover from their blinding effects and hear what is *really* being said. I am a long way from becoming deft at translations.   

It seemed like I needed to talk to someone who could be more objective than was in my power. I did, and worded (not very tactfully I am afraid) all that was troubling me. I was listened to, and on being asked whether I was being hysterical, told that I was not. The conversation ended in a warm, comforting hug. I felt blessed, and at ease, and could find my feet again. Being away from familiar places people and things can be so lonesome. This, was a heartwarming exception. 

Some moments in life can be such happy surprises!