JUDE, to me, has always been an end in itself. So when people started drifting away after Masters, I squeezed my eyes and held tight. Because letting go of this place was impossible. Not because of mushy nostalgia, but because I had really not thought anything beyond this place. Ever.
Most of my friends know what they want to do after the next six months. I swing between incredible options and lame excuses for not letting anything materialize. I spend hours on net looking up bizarre facts and watching youtube videos. I read aloud Ruskin Bond to myself. I wake up, take a shower and go back to sleep again. I write one horrible exam after the other, and my results suffer terribly. And yet I come back home and read yet another Swedish short story, procrastinate and make random STD calls to dispel the sudden chill. I take forty five minute bus journeys for some cups of tea and good conversation. I dream of dancing every other day, and never get around to making that call and asking my teacher to take me back again.
I try to learn a new language, and cannot get beyond the first few sentences. Instead of learning French verbs, I watch the news and try to memorise the Sri Lankan batting order. Just for fun.
I make up my mind to take a competitive exam. I get hold of some materials. I study for a month. And then I procrastinate and tell myself there's still time.
And thus I write an incredibly rambling blogpost, turn over and go to sleep.