mind = MS OS

Have not been physically able to get up before 11 the past few days, meaning 10-11 hours of sleep a night. Good thing? No. For me, too much sleep means there is something wrong, too much junk on my mind. And as much as I may talk about it and put a 'serious' or 'intellectual' or 'tragic' spin on it, it's still junk. Because it's totally unnecessary. The worst part is not being present when others talk to me. Eyes glaze over and turn inward, following that never-ending stream of thought that churns itself out at a dizzying pace. The mind is like Windows - you have to beat it into submission unless you're resigned to a life of crackle-pop irritation and incessant twitches.

But the reflection of the sun from the building opposite brings warmth into my room and a smile on my face. It really is a beautiful day. All the damn time.

too much too fast

Why does it seem that there are suddenly so many men, so many people, in my life now? When the hell did that happen? It's a good thing.

This week has been insane. INSANE!
Monday: Spent contorting myself into all sorts of uncomfortable poses for a hot (of course, gay) Polish photographer I had met once, fleetingly, before. Let's hope it doesn't show up on the internet pop-up porn...
Tuesday: Dinner date with K-boy
Wednesday: Half-asleep and groggy as hell despite 5 espressos, went with Sarah to Angel to explore new bars with Andre and others. After yet another espresso and a glass of white, I was back in swing.
Thursday: My professor insisted I meet her to discuss my paper. What the hell kind of professor asks you to meet her in the next hour? IN LONDON? Just proves my theory that people in acadaemia have no sense of reality. That evening I met up with an atypical desi for dinner at Busaba, but not before he insisted on plying me with vodka. It's so unbelievably great to have a friend of the opposite sex, to discuss relationships, attraction, and the oddly-matched couples sitting across from you. I think I actually started singing the Mr Ed theme in the middle of the restaurant... It's been so long!
Friday: Constant vacillation between panic and apathy as K-boy was planning on coming over late that evening. The high-strung state dissipated when I finally admitted 1) I'm difficult 2) I'm intimacy-phobic and 3) I don't know what I want. And you had convinced yourself I didn't have that many issues. Silly little peons. I swear, what more could a girl do to make a guy run away? And he didn't.
But.
I did NOT wake up with a smile on my face.

Texting

is a bitch. But it gives you that rush of anticipation. Much like foreplay.

Me: i apologise if this sounds strange but do you have a girlfriend?
(i had to shut my eyes to press send. seriously. i'm 23 and i have a crush. i make myself sick sometimes.)
Him: would you be interested?
(jaw drops. i smile until both Cameron and Thibault say he didn't directly answer the question, hence he has girlfriend written all over him)
Me: you didn't answer the question. but, yes.
Him: it was cheeky of me...but to be honest i was thinking the same thing
(crap. this is getting worse. he still hasn't answered me. unless...did i tell him that i was single?)
Me: just say yes or no! and no, i'm not currently attached...
Him: no, i'm very much single.
(sigh of relief)
Me: i'm glad to hear that. do you have any plans for tuesday?

lo colombiano en Brixton

It was the first super ugly day of the year. 5 C and raining. But Andre and I had made plans to go to Brixton and we are people of our word. It took at least 45 minutes by bus, the part I always love most. Sitting on top in a double-decker, at the front, with other friends and acting like toddlers utterly lacking in self-respect. The cold drove us into a tiny Colombian restaurant. It was packed but a petite Colombiana generously shared her table with us. And then Sarah and I were off, talking about food from our respective SA countries - Costa Rica and Chile. Empanadas chilenas are incomparable !!! And I stand by that assertion. I gorged myself on una arepa con chorizo y una porcion de tajadas, washed down by chocolate caliente. We couldn't stand the cold very long and were back in the flat an hour later, chatting for several hours about medicine, architecture, forms, personal baggage, and real estate in London. Sarah's gonna be my advisor if the latter becomes more than idle chatter...

London is

London is looking better and better as each day passes. Something that escapes your attention becomes glaringly obvious a month later. Meet us at New Cavendish Square at 1:30. I regularly pass this green nook behind Selfridge's and had never noticed it. Sat there, the voyeur that I am, laughing quietly at people's different ways of walking, this one quick and loping, that one bouncing hard, hair tossing about.

Sarah, Kate and I had a goodbye lunch at Sofra's in St. Christopher's Place. It was ridiculously sad parting ways, but life in London is like Aiesec - a giant terminal, a point of convergence with no end and no beginning. People constantly come and go in and out of your life and all you can do is live the moment.

Barcelona: Day 5

Despite the cava headaches, Ruby and I made a monstrous effort to crawl out of slumber in order to go to Montserrat. Completely braindead, we stared out the window at the Catalonian landscape, something akin to those French pastoral films of Marcel Pagnol. From Monistrol de Montserrat, a tiny train called the zipper 'La Cremallera' brought us to the Monastery. The ascent was so steep that we had a few problems trying to walk up, to the back of the train, on the way back. If we had worn wood-soled shoes, we would have slid and crashed into the front window. It was cool.



Once at the top, we saw the information booth. As we made our way there, we felt a fine misty spray on our cheeks. What is that? Water...or sewage? We turn and notice a truck vibrating loudly, a big popoid tube disappearing into a sewer. Sewage we said in unison, wiping our faces until we had peeled off a layer of skin. We entered the Basilica to see the Black Virgin Mary, the patron saint of Catalunya. The line seemed to go on without end and when we saw her, we barely had a moment before we were pushed forward by the visitors behind us. They were hesitant to push us onward, wondering why I wouldn't touch the wooden relic orb protruding from the glass. Ruby waited, looking at me, thinking I would touch it. No way! There was no way I was going to touch something that had been touched and kissed and licked by at least a thousand people before, that day alone. Ewww.



Afterwards, everyone rushed into the main hall (whatever you call it) to hear the boys' choir sing. I never noticed that they are purposely dressed like little angels. It's really really scary to hear hundreds of people chanting the lord's prayer in unison.

The flight back was totally uneventful, except for my usual panic at takeoff and landing when I think for several seconds that the plane will burst into flames and I will meet my end. It's 11:15pm and the only way back at this point is bus. Why do I always get the psycho bus drivers? Imagine a petite, black-haired French woman (like Madame Defarge in History of the World Part 1) in a yellow reflective jacket singing and clapping enthusiastically to her Bryan Adams unplugged album, flying around roundabouts in a giant coach, slamming on the breaks on slick roads.

Barcelona: Day 4

Breakfast - coffee and cigarettes. And Special K. The cereal, not the drug. You're so one-track minded. Took the metro to the Olympic village to see the beach. Not very nice, but to hear the ocean, smell the salt, feel the gritty breeze, was entrancing. Walked through the neighbourhood of Barceloneta. Reminded of the faded orange and pink apartment buildings in Florence, plaster cracking and peeling, laundry hanging on the railings among other sundries.

At Placa Espanya, one is faced with an enormous palace - a museum that seems a bit untouchable. Too far to climb so I walk down Gran Via in the sunny quietude of siesta and stepped into a small cafe for sepia andaluza and patatas bravas. Continued the wander and found myself on the path between Universitat and Catalunya where there was an abundance of prostitutes and Latin Americans.

Returning to the flat, I popped in a chill out Ibiza CD and lay about for an hour, letting memories of Madrid rush over me. Curl up and squeeze the quilt tighter around my body.

Ruby came back and we cracked open a bottle of cava - Spanish champagne - which resulted in us laughing our asses off until we almost wet our pants. Met an old friend from high school (what is the possibility of THAT happening?) and had Asian tapas and mojitos at Mosquito Bar in the Born district. Navigated the dark narrow streets of Barrio Gotica in search of a change of place. The cobblestones were wet and reflected the fuzzy yellow light of the ancient iron lamps hanging along the streets. It felt like Gotham, like an anime movie, not scary, but where the weirdest freakiest shit might go down at any second.

gotham
Originally uploaded by sashi.

Barcelona: Day 3

Woke up quite late as Ruby and I couldn't get to sleep, so we stayed up drinking Bailey's and sangria while chatting. Didn't do much. Went to Barrio Gotica on foot, andando por Passeig de Gracia. All I could think to do was go shopping. In and out in and out. And then, I haphazardly fell upon the plaza where Christina, Liisa and I spent our last sundrenched morning in Barcelona, 1.5 years ago. Couldn't help but wonder if people knew how lucky they were to live in such a beautiful place. Noticed people checking me out and grinned in satisfaction. Noticed I was doing the typical London thing - averting direct eye contact, walking fast, creating the mental shield. I laughed, in the middle of the street. Shoulders relaxed back, pace slowed, and I started the madrilena act again. Checking EVERYONE out. Making eyes. Looking at eyes. Smiling without fear.

Barcelona: Day 2

Last night, had drinks with Burak and Ruby at the Placa Real off of Las Ramblas. On the way to meet them, the first snippet of conversation that I overheard was 'el gobierno estadounidense ha gueonado me ciudad chilena'. I stifled a sniffle, hearing again the Chilean accent I had so long forgotten. I had to stifle a giggle, hearing the favoured Chilean verb - gueonar, a distortion of huevonar - and the favoured topic of Chilean student conversation - the US government.

Placa Real was a lively swirl of students and tourists. We drink cheap sangria, poured directly from the store-bought bottle into a glass pitcher, and we caught up on the latest Aiesec gossip. Several Swedish friends showed up and curiously enough, the convo switched to Swedish stereotypes, threesomes, and the meaning of 'hacerse el sueco'. Ruby was convinced it meant a threesome. Turns out it means to play dumb.

Ambling down Las Ramblas, I laugh wildly when Ruby says she follows a lacto-ovo-pecto diet. Pecto? What the hell is that? Fish! From pez, pesce. You made that up. Promoters are handing out random passes and we chance upon some free ones for La Paloma, a 1920's theatre-turned discoteca. It is gorgeous. I can't stop staring at a giant chandelier in the middle of the room, booths lining the upper decks of the main hall. It reminds me of the club in Basic Instinct... And I suddenly feel at home, again. People dancing, laughing, throwing heads back, chatting, flirting. Men lavishing their obvious look, gentle touches and no 'sorry' when people bump into you. We approach the bar and the girl behind smiles, dancing up to us, a grin on her face, asking 'que quereis?' Walking back up, a man grabs his friend, points at me and exclaims 'esta!' We stay until they switch on the lights, indicating us to leave, but not before they play Madonna's 'Like A Prayer', to which everyone begins to shout the lyrics.

Wake up several times to hear Burak speaking angrily in Turkish. In his sleep. Hallucinate, thinking someone is standing at the foot of my bed. When I finally wake up at 1pm, the Italians are preparing espresso. We sit in our pyjamas, chatting away in a mix of English, Spanish and Italian, debating the meaning of boludo and me teaching them new ways of saying 'follar'. After chatting, snacking, chatting, smoking, Ruby and I finally leave the comfort of the flat to see the Parque del Ciutat. We ambled away the afternoon slant of sun, observing fountains and people, theorising about optimism and fatalism.

parque ciutat
Originally uploaded by sashi.

barcelona sunset
Originally uploaded by sashi.

Pacha London

Pacha is the coolest club in London. At least, of the clubs I have visited. It's ALL about the music. And damn good music at that. Pete Gooding is my new favorite DJ. And sexy latin house is the rhythm to which I'm walking these days.

La vida me gusta

Life is too good to be true. Just finished two 17th-century plays by Corneille that actually turned out to be really good. Listening to K & D, am now staring at a wine catalogue with the wine bible behind so that Sarah and I can order a case, because, well, there ain't nothing better than a glass of wine when you get home. Especially red wine. Vino nobile de Montepulciano, Gigondas, Abadia Retuerta, Tarapaca...

Tomorrow night it's dinner with the flatmates and then a night of sexy house fun at Pacha. Saturday I leave for Barcelona. I can't stop singing 'Going to Bar-ce-lo-na, going to Bar-ce-lo-na' while doing this little wiggle. Fortunately I do it when no one is looking. I don't know which is worse. Shopping at Zara, checking out the latest Custo designs, eating chipirones fritos and jamon serrano and manchego and aceitunas, seeing the beloved Mediterranean, drowning in Spanish style and onda... Madre mia me muero de emocion!!!!

And then, and then...well, let's just stop there shall we?

radiohead reminds me of austin

in pitch dark i go walking in your landscape
broken branches trip me as i speak
just coz you feel it doesn't mean its there
just coz you feel it doesn't mean its there.
there's always a siren
singing you to shipwreck
(don't reach out, don't reach out
don't reach out, don't reach out)
stay away from these rocks
we'd be a walking disaster
(don't reach out, don't reach out
don't reach out, don't reach out)
just coz you feel it doesn't mean its there
(there's someone on your shoulder)
just coz you feel it doesn't mean its there
(there's someone on your shoulder)
there there!
why so green and lonely?
and lonely
and lonely
heaven sent you to me
to me
to me
we are accidents
waiting waiting to happen.
we are accidents
waiting waiting to happen.

sitting back listening to radiohead's 'there there', the red wine unfurling countless aching memories of austin - winter sunlight falling on hemphill next to the fire station, walking down speedway to campus, mexican martinis at trudy's after a long day of classes or a long absence, sitting on the porch of the old flat on barton springs, the flash of teeth from whole-hearted laughter, the christmas tree at night in zilker park, the tiny bridge behind the old aiesec house, the smoke and punk music at metro, the west mall during summer session, the ssb and all those late-night aiesec meetings, calabash and bahama mamas, bon jovi and boys with their guitars, the original kerbey lane at 3 in the morning, mojo's and the random dj sets on friday nights, dreadlocks, bowling alleys, head shops, planet k, dobie, raves, pluckers, drag rats, playing clue at spiderhouse, thanksgiving block parties. laughter is what i remember best. laughter and dusky sunlight.

To do

(Eventually but preferably today)

- Read Horace, 17th century French play written in verse.
- Read Mod Lit Theory. *Still* on postcolonial studies.
- Research library catalogue for South Asian lit paper bibliography.
- Email adviser to figure out what I'm supposed to be writing.
- Call course administrator to see if I'm even registered for South Asian lit. How I long for the days of centralised computer registration.
- Find a yoga studio or gym. This entails looking at the pics and reading the info blurbs for a few hours and then deciding that in the end I won't actually go on a regular basis so really there is no point to doing this except that it makes me feel less guilty for not doing any sort of physical activity.
- Take a really really long bath. After doing at least one thing on this list.
- Think of all the shops I want to visit in Barcelona.
- Think of all the things I want to eat in Barcelona.
- Stop looking out the window. Now. Right now.

green mice and divas

The weekend flew by and I feel I've been squeezed dry of every last drop of energy. The days have bled into each other. Friday night was drinks at Hakkasan followed by snacks at Cafe la Zeez. At Hakkasan we 3 ladies were just fascinated by the play of light on the green granite walls as we sunk ourselves in the most delicious martinis. Mine - black forest - was so good I kept licking the pink froth off the glass. Saturday morning we shopped for appetizer ingredients at Church Street market and Waitrose. Mel was having a field day with the camera and Indian sweets though I admit to being tickled by the "food" that looked like green mice.



The diva party was small but we were successful in keeping everyone well-fed, well-entertained, and well-imbued with spirits. I like having all-girls parties. They're so much cleaner than mixed parties. And if you have a bunch of Asians, they all fret to help you clean up. It's in the conditioning - cooking and cleaning. I accept my fate. Afterwards it was on to Fabric, one of the bigger, better (and too trendy) clubs in London. It's ridiculously huge and the room I enjoyed the most was the one in which we couldn't move. I say it was the music but maybe it was hypoxia.

Today is Monday but kept thinking it was Sunday. Actually, now, ok, Tuesday. Mel left, taking with her an extra hour of sunlight, after which we took a long long long bus ride down to Kensington to watch "Hero". Visually spectacular. Despite some obviously cheesy hyperbole which would normally have made me recoil in a mixture of giggles and disgust, I was on the verge of tears countless times due to 1) hormones gone wild 2) cramps 3) anger over number 1 and the fact that this will happen every month for the next 20 years. Once a month, Advil is my bestest friend EVER.

It feels like vacation already. Or maybe i've just convinced myself that it is so as an excuse not to work.