A combined effect of the aftertaste of Sago Vadas enjoyed with Glee on me is initiating this post. Must keep this remedy handy during writer's block session in future. What nature is to poets, Sago Vadas are to me. If every unhealthy food item were to taste like that, I'd never switch places to attempt at skinny. The dark side keeps puling me back but not strong enough to let me consume chips, or for that matter buy them by dozen.

The weight of the world has come down upon the fifty of us in our final year of Grad School. As the pressure's increasing, no one can feel the setting in of festivity and the fall. The works and the fireworks that follow every TV production are increasing by the minute. For most of us, the familiarization of the studio is just as normal as breathing. The rhythm's been set, curiosity over and no one seems to be discovering anything new in the area anymore. Death by repetition, if you must. Pretty much living my life and measuring out time by the number of productions I've been involved in some petty way or the other. Still as convinced about the stupidity of my classmates, the mediocrity of the space and gender insensitivity by peers. Don't think anything is changing anytime soon. Men will be men. Still got my asshole between my ass. Somethings don't ever change.

Spent the day doing camera for a live fiction show where my movements resembled that of a hedgehog trapped in a house. Very swift yet clumsy by my standard. Didn't do jack for the other production cause I am certainly undervalued (& I enjoy that position here, thankyouverymuch). Instead, I choose to be that bitch who dresses not for college, but for a fashion show. Thankfully, that day's not too far when we get to pull a live fashion show. Atleast no one will question my monochrome tights and fall scarf. I had a beautiful ensemble for today that other than a fashion blogger from my class, no one really seemed to appreciate. I don't know if that's a validation of my choice or just silent admiration. Excuse the reference but my new idol is Santana Lopez and I seem to be imitating her life.

The second half of the day in college was spent hurling abuses and celebrating small joys of laying audio track completely in sync with the video during editing session for Video. Final Cut Pro is joyous, if you know how to work your way with it. Currently, I'm trying my best to maintain an upper hand with my machinery. It feels good to be able to dictate Mac and see your work beautify with cuts and plasters. Pardon the cheesy lines but it's a wee bit addictive to work on it, as my auto-pool partner explained to me in the morning. Only hitch being, I'm a grade A noob. Enthusiastic but still a noob. For now, let's go with love all score.

Oh, and just for your information, you're no different from that person who dislikes their hometown if you claim to be uninterested about the part of tradition you have been carrying out with your family for over twenty two years. The only difference is that you're dissing time and the other person's dissing space. However, secretly, it is my burning ambition to be as nonchalant as you. The anal retentiveness in aspects of sound, sight, smell and memory is even more annoying than it is with the cases of time and space. Memory may exist in time but time in itself is a healer. With people it's hard but that's what acts as the deterrent for us mortals from attaining Nirvana or head towards the way of it. Maya is a bitch. So are human beings.