Story of a lost journalist

April 30, 2013

Me and Mo Series – 2

Filed under: Conversation — Cris @ 02:53

Prelude: I am bitten by Mo – the mosquito I share a room with – whom I may have tried to slap.

Me: How could you do that, you blood sucker! We share a room and you bit me!

Mo: Well you were about to kill me!

Me: That’s because you bit me!

Mo: What kinda law do you follow, human! Death penalty for a bite??

Me: You took my blood!

Mo: You were about to take my life!

Me: Well…ok maybe you have a point

Mo: Of course I am always pointed

Me: Ok we make a deal. You don’t bite me, I don’t kill you.

Mo: Hmm okay but you have to bring me food

Me: I am not going to get you blood

Mo: Oh alright alright, I will go to work then, earn my own blood. You humans are no help

Me: And one more thing. Err, you shouldn’t marry.

Mo: What!

Me: Yea, I want you single.

Mo: Why!

Me: I don’t want to share my room with a bunch of junior MOs sucking my blood!

Mo: But you would have been their aunt!

Me: No thanks.

Mo: No romance then?

Me: Nothing

Mo: It’s no fun living with you.

April 22, 2013

Mystery Man

Filed under: My Musing Moments — Cris @ 15:52

It’s funny, what things could surprise you sometimes. Let me tell you about a person I know. I have somehow accepted this person as a really vague character. So the other day when he said something as ordinary as ‘I like antiques’, it shook me. Why, I do not know. I just didn’t expect him to behave human-like. I thought he just existed, doing a job and then going home. That’s how I had painted his picture in my mind. I looked at him surprised and said Wow you talk like a normal guy. ‘I am a normal guy, Cris’. And now I am curious. Not just curious. I feel experimental. Cause now he has again gone back to being vague. So I wish to unearth a human beneath all that nonchalance.

Does he have a favorite dish or does he just go sit down to eat when it’s lunch time? Does he change consciously or wear the first thing that he sees? Does he read his morning paper? Does he look outside the window and wonder about the red sunshine and the blue plants in the garden? Does he smile when he sees a baby on the other side of the street? Does he laugh on hearing a Jagathy joke? Does he feel upset hearing a neighbor cry? Does he stretch out his hands in the morning and think about a girl he likes? Does he think at all? Or just exist? Lost in a piece of music he found for himself a long time ago, when the human still surfaced…

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