There are days when I would kill for fifteen minutes of uninterrupted time. Literally.
I would probably settle for five without getting my hands bloody. But in a family with one deaf mom who can't hear her phone ring and one super-busy-semi-celebrity-scientist-dad who refuses to buy a cellphone and gets atleast one call every half an hour, it is very hard being the jobless one cum telephone operator.

Attempts to lie on the sofa and watch the olympics were thwarted by my brother threatening to spit on me if I took up too much space.

All I want to do is hear one spanish conversation beyond the starting Hola!

a muddled rainy goodbye inside my head

It hit me on a rainy afternoon.
It hit me like a swift punch in the guts.
Like a cold clammy hand seizing you from behind.

I stuck my head out of the auto and let the rain soak me. Distracting me for a moment as the delightfully cold droplets slipped into my eyes, behind the contact lenses and the world went blurry for a second.
I blinked furiously as I attempted to focus on the familiar roads.

I had grown up here. Cycling like a madman, stealing guavas from irate neighbours. Walking down the road calmly, so covered in mud that the crowds in the street parted to let me pass, after an afternoon of football in the rain. The disregard that only familiarity can bring.

It hit me when he asked me which one of my guitars I would take with me. I stared at him for a moment.

Then comprehension dawned. Like the first ray of light breaking through the heavy shroud of cumulo-nimbus on a monsoon morning.

It was time, to pack up what little I call my own, apart from these streets and this city. It was time to leave.

 

That's it. I have been trying to write a seriously touching, tear-inducing, total literary piece of a post.
And all I can think of is my brother throwing a capo at me after I try to sing a song, realise it's not in my natural key and thus alternate between screechily high and ghoulishly low. I am a one-woman orchestra of dischord.
I then hit my brother's friend, ask him to hit my brother and run away before anyone hits me.
I then finish dinner feeling hungrier than when I started thanks to Masterchef Australia.
So this is all you get to read. *lopsided insane grin*

Toniiiiight, weeee are young

Everyone who knows me knows that before going to watch an A-rated movie I must be reminded to carry ID.
Some people who know me well also know that my mom has hearing aids. But she never wears them.

In a flight from foreign shores to home.
Steward to me-"And what would you like to drink with that?"
Me-"The red wine please"
"But.."
"I'm 22."
"Ohh, you look so young. What's your secret?"
*charming/mysterious smile*  (or maybe the why you delaying my food you strange man)
"I guess it's your mother's genes"
Mom-"I'm her mother!"

The steward looks a little confused and walks away. 

Thanks mom. Let's both jump on the train of youthfulness.

The next day she's recounting the story to my Dad.
"The steward wasn't letting her have any wine and he asked her where her mother was so I told him that I was her mother and he understood that it was ok to serve her alcohol and stopped questioning her."

My sudden burst of laughter was discounted as normal madness.

Truth.

Boredom can do strange things to you.
Four of us hanging out. We've known each other forever. Or since school. Same thing.
There is absolutely nothing to do. No new dramatic gossip. None of us need advice on boys/girls/relationships (except the three of us who needed some but refused to take any). It's too hot to go out. Dark Knight doesn't release till friday.
After reading through the troll football page and textsfromdog we reach the point where we're just logging in and our of facebook in the hopes of either something new happening or someone's new interest coming online. He's not going to ask her for her number. He only really wants to but won't.

Finally we settle on a game of truth and dare. Ahhh, school nostalgia. Spin the pen.
Truth.
I refuse to ask anything. I don't want to find out anything which you don't want to tell me.

What's the dirtiest thing you've ever done?
She answers promptly. "I picked a coin up from inside the commode."
Me and the boys are literally ROFLing.
Not THAT KIND OF DIRTY!!
Ohh... sorry.
But THAT was BETTER!
Was it a public toilet? Why were you THAT broke? Was this before or after you peed?

ROFL.

The pen is spun again.

Truth.
What is the lamest place you have ever peed in?
Define lame.
I don't know... whatever... she defined dirty so you can define lame yourself. You know, desperate moment.
I peed in a bottle once. 

ROFL.

Eventually the game is abandoned for better things like momos.

Walking towards Borobudur

And then finally a full view!

Just got back from Indonesia. Will post soon.
It's good to be back and re-establish my buttprint on the sofa in the good spot in front of the tv.

The Sardinha Festival

At six in the evening my father calls me. "Where are you?"
"On the way home."
"Don't go home. There's a parade and some festival here. It starts at nine."
Ok...

So my tired brother and I step off the metro and sit and wait for our dad. We have already visited the Gulbenkian museum that day. Then taken a bus to see the ancient Roman aqueduct. Then tried to walk back to where we started from and realized that the bus had been faster than we'd understood and trudged a long way uphill. We make our way to this viewpoint near downtown and sit down on a bench. A man with a dog asks me for money. I pretend not to speak any european language. Yes, not even english.
To add to our misery, there is a freezing wind blowing.

Dad arrives a little later and we're on our way to Alfama, an old neighborhood in Lisbon. And the festival starts right from the metro station. The streets are festooned with streamers and lamps. There is music blaring out of every store. There is a grill outside every store where they are frying sardines. Beer and sangria flow freely. People in the thousands are flocking to the party, swaying to the music. The whole neighborhood IS one giant party!

We taste the sardines. Sardinha no pao. Or sardines on bread. It's yum and there's also a dog sniffing us and trying to get in on the goodies. Dad and I take flight. Then dad and bro buy a beer. One sip each and they are ready to donate the rest to me. Ah the kindness! I refuse point blank. "I shall need to pee." What is it with my family's belief that I will be there for them to finish their beers? Of course, I do finish it for them with a quick chug and then pay to pee at the train station. My brother says its against his principles to pay to pee! I later have to persuade him to run into a restaurant and use the WC. The guy has principles about not paying to pee and also about not peeing in a restaurant where he is not eating/paying. What? Isn't that contradictory?

At some point past midnight we stagger back home. 

Pictures shall be added later. :)