I Want.

Sunshine days with bits of black storm. Lots of laughs. There have to be lots of laughs. And the only sort of tears that'll be acceptable are the ones that come from laughing too hard.
There have to be trees. Thousands of trees. So when you look out the window- windows which never have bars holding you in- you see miles and miles of rolling green. Not just green though. Crimson gold leaves that make a crunchy carpet on the pavements.

Not too many people either. Some that I love, some that I like and some that are just entertaining. Maybe some that I don't like, to break the monotony.

Not constant music either, because that would be annoying. Some music. Bach. Rachmaninov. Dylan. The Byrds. Cat Stevens. Some Coldplay. And I hate to admit it, but Billy Joel because a world without Uptown Girl and Piano Man would be wrong. I want silence too. The silver kind. Soft and whispery and cold metallic silence. But not all the time. People talking. But only the ones with nice or interesting voices. Rhea's pigeon voice would be welcome. My psychology teacher's duck voice would not.

Mountains. There have to be mountains. And not the small, muddy ones either. Tall and majestic and purple because any other sort of mountain isn't a mountain, it's a failure. And they have to be rocky and they have to have streams. Cold silver streams with clear white waterfalls. Lots of birds- colourful ones. But they will stay far away from all humans and not swoop down to peck our eyeballs out.

But more than anything else, there have to be seas. Seas that you swim in and seas that you look at. Seas that you taste and feel. Blue. Green. Grey. In the morning, I want the sun to shine fiercely over them and in the evening, I want to watch the sun set in pink and gold and crimson streaks and the moon take its place among the stars.

I meant, when I started writing, to write about what I wanted out of life. Goals and hurdles and glittering trophies at the end of twisting, uneven paths.

But maybe this is what I want.

You Won't Know.

A: Shit. Shit. Shit. Crap. Shit.

B: Chill.

A: This has happened before?

B: *laughs* Kinda.

A: *blink*

A: Shit.

B: Hahahaha. Chill.

In less than forty five minutes, I will know whether I will end up in college- a good college- or driving taxis around the city streets.

I met Aditya Nair yesterday and he asked me if I was nervous about the results coming out today. I grinned and said I wasn't. The look of amazement/awe on his face was gratifying.

I just hope that Karma doesn't screw me over for having a weird sense of humour.

Bali.

Its got a very blue sea. Impossibly blue. There's no green in it like you see in Thailand and no grey in it like you see in Goa. And it kisses the sky. The sand isn't golden or white or soft or clean. It simply lies there, under the sun, waiting to burn your feet. In a good way. And it's very easy to breathe there. You can breathe the sea from the streets.

At night, the streets are lit. Lots of different coloured lights. I didn't think streets could look happy but these do. Like they're protectors of some sort of wonderful secret that's there for everyone to see but only they know.

There are people everywhere walking on the streets at night. Drunk and laughing and all of them look different and all of them look the same. Pubs and clubs and little restaurants spill out onto these streets as if they can't restrain themselves. And waiters stand on the pavement and grin and try to make you enter. Inside, there's always music playing- the kind of music you never listen to but invariably know. The waiters dance to the music and juggle and laugh and they look so happy, you forget that they're probably paid to do this.

The roads are shaded by very green trees, with shafts of sunlight tumbling through. The sun is hot but it's a good kind of heat. The kind of heat that makes you feel happy and sleepy and comfortable. It's sunshine heat.

The people have a very strong faith. A boatman told me that the tsunami didn't hit Bali because they were protected by their god. They have festivals all the time. They dress up and walk or cycle down the streets, clean and bright in white, carrying flowers and incense and bright coloured fruit. And they're so happy and secure in their faith, they don't ask other people to believe what they believe.

All places have a freedom of their own, I guess. But there, at least for me, there exists a kind of freedom that dances in your face.