For the past six months, ever since my university-phase got over, I wake up in the morning and check the time on my mobile phone to see how guilty I am. The mornings pass in a haze of day-dreaming, with me moving on from the newspapers to the book I'm currently reading, and onwards to the dream I was weaving the earlier night, inevitably making it too exuberant for reality and - of course - control. At eleven I listen to the radio - vintage songs which affirm my belief that I was born in the wrong decade. Before the evening advents - sometimes unlike a patient etherised upon a table - I will have finished watching a couple of movies, always debating with myself the merits of one unwatched movie over another, and finally resorting to lottery to decide which one to watch first. Then I hit the bed with the book, mentally walking the walk down my favourite and most picturesque lane of our neighbourhood, before finally immersing myself in the pages.
Sometimes I listen to music at night, impulsively moving from one genre to another, and before I realise, it's eleven at night - time to warm my dinner, work on it, and switch on the telly, not because I especially like 'The Big Bang Theory', but because it is only during meal times that the quietness all around me makes me uncomfortable and I long for distracting voices.
A couple of days ago, while listening to some music I realised that barring the three phone-calls from my mother, reporting everytime that there's nicht neues im front, and telling my grandmother twice everyday that it's time for breakfast/lunch, I have no one else to talk to, have a real heart-warming adda with. I found myself standing in the mirror when I had this moment of epiphany, and I told my reflection, "If it had been anyone else in your place mon amour, he/she would have gone mad and would've fled the house in a state of hysterics." I looked back and said, "Chèri, I'm mad in my own way."
I am lucky to have a group of stout well-wishers who call me up regularly to say how I should get back to the university or start working. They say, "It's not good to remain cooped up in the house all alone." I try to give a patronising smile - not that they can see it, but because it's polite - for they can never appreciate the beauty of dolce far niente. So what if I'm alone? S had once told me, and I fervently believe, that we are all alone in our 'real' lives.
By this time next year, I'll probably be working towards another degree, I'll probably be half-way through my senior level of German, and with any luck, I will have progressed considerably in my singing lessons after a six-year break. But in any case, these "wine-coloured days" will never come back. I would like to look back then in happiness and nostalgia at one of the most beautiful phases of my life; when I read with reckless abandon all that I could lay my hands on; when I discovered little things (that Julie London was always slightly and unfairly underrated than her peers; that Yann Tiersen used the same track - Comtine D'un Autre Ete - in both Amelie and Good Bye Lenin); when I rediscovered and reveled in solitude; and especially when I realised that I'm a beautiful person inside. People have already begun to label me as 'Ms. Decadence', but what did I tell you about random people and dolce far niente? :)
With any luck, to be continued...