Prickle Me Pretty

Tuesday, February 27, 2018


On leaving behind winter cuffs and blankets where they belong- in the year past. Not the blanket, maybe. Yeah, we kinda need that starting Fall. If you're me, you'd need that blanket before you feel the need to celebrate Christmas. I have no tolerance for the cold.

I've seen Spring in myriad forms; notably remember it with a heavy heart of leaving things behind, of embarking on a start that I have had no clue on dealing with it. Of having written exams and hoping that I'd clear mathematics, of prepping for farewell of department seniors to playing the bass (albeit badly) and owning the last of last performances on the stage at my alma mater - there's always a sense of change, mostly physically. The seasonal change is a painful reminder year after year about my deteriorating immunity and how, the older I seem to be getting, the worse I am doing despite having cut on my vices tremendously.

Yet, Spring seems to bring this sense of hope. Never ending days, unsettling heat pushing people to leave the city and making way for those of us who have no place to go.

You know, the ones who truly belong to this city, and maybe you, are the ones who stay behind during the Summer.

That way, Spring brings out those who'd stick around and those who are ready to leave. Almost like the chosen few who land up at an after party. They move in packs, cliques and they come and go together.

What would I know about after parties, I'm too old for those. Even if I am not, I ensure I pass out well within three hours of appearance. That way, I become a full blown liability to those who have brought me there in some manner. It's also good to know that there are people who look out for you when you're throwing up or passing out. This maybe a mechanism to escape the actual farewell of migratory birds of Spring/Summer or just a way to cope up with having too much fun. I wouldn't know.

That's the thing with Spring/Summer fling. One night you go to bed and it's still Spring, and the next morning you wake up to a rude awakening, a slap if you must, from brutal Summer. Kinda like the after party, where you wake up at a location completely new to you, despite having owned it the night before. There's nobody and you're by yourself struggling to figure what went wrong.

It's the ones who last the Summer that truly deserve to be here. Not the ones who claim the comfort of other spaces.

I had a ridiculous Winter, where I mostly saw people close to me live at the hospital and be sick. On other days, I smoked a lot, got sick a lot, drank a lot and passed out a lot. Did I have fun? I'm not sure.

If that was fun, I wouldn't want it anymore.

I want a brutal Summer. The kind that burns me to outdo myself, where I have little to nobody to surround me. It's time to bring back the hustle outside of the blanket.

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