I am as they call it, 'homeless' at the moment. I mean, I do have a roof over my head every night but as I look up at the ceiling each night, I see different colours on alternate nights. See, I live with my aunt, who is sick right now but thankfully, on recovery mode. It's scary how the body can be attacked by something known as auto-immune, which is self explanatory. (Though her condition is not as simple as I put it) Because of all her treatment, she's not been at her home too often since I moved to Bangalore. It's a little strange. I'm a guest at her place, but I've to make it a home. It's hard, you know. It's a lot of stress to make a familiar space permanently yours. And I've not really been there too often to do that. I've been hopping from house to house with a backpack. I've been crashing on the beds of my friends and colleagues to get away from the reality when I can. But it seems futile at the end. It's depressing to have a room that you know is gathering cobwebs by no fault of anybody. It's just a strange situation and feeling. Maybe this is what growing up is supposed to be like.
No comments:
Post a Comment