I’ve been making notes for a story for some time. Even wrote a few chapters, if you can consider what little that has been written below a chapter. I thought I’ll start sharing them.
I remember standing at the edge of the sliding doors, making them go crazy with my apprehension.
Open, close, open, close.
I stood there with my head and shoulder lowered, as if carrying the burdens of the world. The sky was a gloomy palette, the rain lashing down on a subdued city; I wondered if this welcome was a portent of things to come.
I was standing at the entrance, like a man at the edge of an abyss, paralysed by fear. I would have stood there for an eternity if Alfred hadn’t been there to meet me. I remember hearing him call out my name, snapping me out of my own thoughts. His warm familiar smile was something I had missed.
That was an hour ago.
I had insisted on driving back despite Alfred’s protests. I wonder if it was out of fear of my driving abilities or out of a sense of obligation to his duties, but whatever the reason, my will prevailed.
I drove along the ECP. Nothing has changed. The trees and vegetation along the sides have continued to be left unattended, the buildings run-down and deserted. I heard from Alfred that the park along the coast was now called “Immorality Mile” – a place for whore-banging, where anyone with money and a deviant pleasure to enjoy can do so for the right price.
“What a waste”, Alfred had commented, “this road was once a beautiful boulevard, a healthy unclogged artery straight to the heart of what was once a dynamic and vibrant city.”
Once. The world Alfred talks about no longer exist. A world before I was born. A world before June 6th. I have often wish that I could have some contact with that world beyond Alfred’s nostalgic reminiscences, beyond books and websites with their words and pictures.
Mother was not at the house to greet me when we reached. Alfred told me that she had wanted to be there when I reached home. Yeah right. As usual, her work came first.
I am here blogging in the living room while Alfred gets my room ready. Alfred was surprised when I told him I wanted to move my study out to the living room. I believe he was more afraid of my mom’s protests when she returned from work; my mom had spent a considerable amount of money on interior designers and furniture, and i know her magazine-perfect sensibilities would cause her to be livid at me for mixing things around.
But I have my reasons. And for now, my computer cannot be in my study or my bedroom or any private area. The living room was the best choice. Somehow, I could not bring myself to violate the sanctity of the kitchen and dining area.
Once Alfred has finished removing the door of my room, and brought in some fans, I will go and sleep. I am going to stop blogging now and go for my dinner.
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