Saying "no" is a choice too, I am told, and I agree. When did I become so conscious of what I said "no" and what I said "yes" to? When did it become so much easier to say "no" to something that seemed disconnected from the bigger picture.? When did self-indulgence become such a difficult way of life? When did I begin to judge people for consistently choosing self-indulgence?

Years ago, I read a line from Eunice De Souza's poem, "do not look for me in my poems", she said. I attempted to stop my search for poets and writers in their work. But when did I begin to grudge poets and writers for their inability to be found in their words? When did I begin to grudge them for not showing me the world through their words? And if I found them, when did I tire of the view of just their innards, which were (sometimes) not even their own?

When did I begin to classify words as genuine or histrionic? When did I begin to say "no" to histrionic?

A day of coincidences, if you believe in coincidences.

Met a professor to discuss my master's thesis proposal, a long conversation about refugees. On my way back from UMBC, in the shuttle I met a boy who suddenly asked me if his T-shirt was too long. Not one to lose an oppurtunity for surreal experiences, I asked him to stand up and show me what his T-shirt looked like so I'd be able to tell him. He stood up I looked at him and his T-shirt and pronounced the verdict - it was trifle too long. I also wanted to tell him (but didn't) that shorter t-shirts might bring out his personality better, I have known that to work with other boys. He smiled and thanked me. Then we started speaking. He asked me where I was from and I asked him about himself. He was from Sierra Leone. He'd asked me what India was like as a country, which is why I had the gall to ask him what Sierra Leone was like, knowing fully well that war-torn or war-surviving countries don't make for pretty stories. He said it was recovering from war in the 7 years that he'd been away. That the terrors of seeing a war up close and seeing a gun pointed at himself were not memories that he could shake away. I was struck by how far removed I am from a life where war is real.

After a long chat we parted ways and took our respective seats in the train. I thought I'd had enough conversation to last me a week. I sat next to an Asian woman and opened my book about Afghan refugees in a bid to continue my reading. Suddenly she asked me if I worked with refugees and I told her I was doing my thesis about refugees. She told me she'd worked with refugees for a long time. We continued speaking and I suddenly had the nerve to ask her what got her interested in refugees. She said she was a refugee from Vietnam. She came to the US at the age of 4 and though she was very young she had many memories of those times. There was something very moving about her. I could feel a lump in my throat.

We exchanged addresses later and I hope to continue to be in touch with her.

A lot has been happening. I am learning to be more 'me' and I have begun to see the limits of me too. More on that later. A series of ill-formed thoughts are darting about right now, I will wait for them to arrange themselves.

Favorite new phrase-
Grudge Match (n) - To harbor resentment and attempt to defeat the other at harboring resentment. When you win you can be the King or Queen of Land of Petty: Gitika can defeat you at grudge match, any day any time.
She continues to do so in a bid to feel particularly intense. The intensity is brittle though. Ummm - the grudge match sentence is over.