Saturday, September 30, 2006


Yesterday, Pink texted me that, as she was packing her bags, she felt that even the weather seemed “melancholy”.
Melancholic. That’s what she probably meant. But who was I to judge grammar? Words are only tools men use to express themselves. So long as what was being said was understood, then there shouldn’t be too much of a fuss. If any given feeling, weather, mood, or whatnot is “melancholy,” then it probably is.
Just beyond Law (when you turn your head, you can still see glimpses of it). The Bar had just concluded; I’m finally feeling "melancholy".
Law school doesn’t afford you much time for emotion- save for the many times when you’ll be venting your frustrations on some innocent soul- that after the Bar, those pent up emotions threaten to engulf you. Where just a few weeks ago, you could just go and bury your head in codals and annotated books to escape from worries, nowadays we can’t seem to do anything else but face them.

I’m trying to get back to reading fiction. Much like the parts I’d already read and forgotten (currently, of Midnight’s Children), I can’t seem to recall the habit of reading text that is non-Law. (I’ve been reading Midnight_ for a year now, on and off).
Though I know I’ll eventually get the hang of it. Again. Eventually. Because as I scanned the pages of my book, everything felt familiar, if even vaguely familiar. Like going back to a farm where you played and grew up in. The details are hazy, and the memories come in bits and pieces, but they come. and they engulf you in their warm embrace. They’re all of tender, loving feelings. Fuzzy. But familiar. Welcome.
Law pulls you away from the world. Now that it’s ended, well, I just hope everything’s still as I left them.