Life moves full circle

I haven't blogged here in a long while. Too many other mediums to use really. And the more I use Twitter, the less I feel I have to say. Sometimes 140 characters can be enough.

Its almost been a year since I moved to Hong Kong. We have settled in. My parents are coming to visit next week so lots of exciting things happening I guess.

In other big news, after much procrastination, PayPal delays and what not, I have finally managed to open my Etsy shop. This is a process that has taken some amount of time for me. Figuring out printing, picking the prints, realising some are never meant to be and then putting out what you think best represents your work.

I hope you take time to browse, share and buy :)

A year

It has been a very long year since March 11 2011. The day the earth shook in Japan has changed lives. It changed ours for sure. It was my first earthquake. You don't forget the day your house, the one you walked into as a newly married bride, shakes like a leaf trembling in the wind. It scars you just that wee bit.

You realize that possessions are just that, possessions. Life, yours and those of your loved ones, are far more valuable. When you are running out of your house with just your passport, home clothes, a coat to ward off the cold and your wallet, you realize, that is the sum total of your life in an alien country.

The aftershocks were far worse. That night I didn't sleep. Every few minutes the house shook. And trust me, those are long minutes in your mind, even if they are miniscule seconds of real time.

The house makes a peculiar creaking sound, one that has the potential to never go away from the recesses of your mind. I don't hear that noise anymore and everyday since our move to Hong Kong, I thank the Lord for it.

At least two people have told me, in their stupendous ignorance, that earthquakes are cool. Until you experience one, you will never understand the value of having a stable house around you, whose walls don't shake. So one minute you could be having a shower and the next minute, the shower and its environs are shaking. Your home is supposed to be your refuge from the world, not a cage.

You learn to adapt though, especially if you have no choice. Aftershocks, becoming a way a of life. Imagine that.

The radiation story was a whole other deal. I am still waiting for Fukushima to implode like Chernobyl. I pray that it never does.

I am writing about the quake after a very long time. A year has passed and sometimes, it still feels like yesterday.

The future

was blank. Like a slate waiting to be written on. Such a cliche really. But then cliches make the world go round. She stood waiting at the bus stop, garbed in her trademark red coat and black scarf. It was 8.40 in the morning and the bus was due to arrive in the next five minutes. The wind hurtled around her, chilling her even further.

The fight from last night stuck in her head like a song on a loop. He had yelled, was almost abusive. She had felt lately that they were drifting apart. He had no time for her anymore. She on the other hand, kept traveling on work. But what of Sasha? Sasha was her darling. How would she be able to give her up?

The bus arrived. She walked into the bus. It lurched forward before settling into a smooth rhythm, pleasing her agitated mind. She would decide and soon, she thought.

The past

should be left where it was, she raged at him. He chose not to reply, looking at the crack in the window pane instead. His cigarette lay unattended, in between his fingers.

He looked up at her. She was beautiful, if her kind of beauty appealed, he thought. Glorious red head, tamed into a chignon, hazel eyes and a strong dominating chin. The diamonds at her ears sparkled with life. He had given those to her for their 10th anniversary.

His decision to open that envelope would cost him their marriage.

All it takes is a crack

he thought standing at the window. The morning cold hit his face viciously, the wind blowing, as he sucked the cigarette into his mouth. His wife lay under the warm blankets, huddled as if in a cave. Occasionally she would make her morning sounds - a murmur, a sigh, in his mind, something intimate, meant only for him.

The wind she slapped at his face again. He heard the rustle and then the start of a child's wail from the other room. His morning had begun.