a word with january

Dear January,

The last few times we’ve been together, I’ve been bracing myself for upcoming changes – travel, work, studies. It’s always been logical, practical, rational and well thought out. As I am prone to be.

This time, I’m still in the middle of a big change, things expand and contract constantly around me and within me. Every single day. Which is not a bad thing. If you’d told me last year exactly what situation I would be in the next time we were together, I may have been a little worried. But this can be pretty fun.

I’m not asking you for much, January. I’d just like a little calm, from myself mostly. I can’t always be perfectly rational and unfeeling. The two voices in my head are still at loggerheads, almost everyday. Please make them stop. I know it’s been four months, and my formula hasn’t worked. What can I say? I’m not always right about myself. So let it go this time. And give me a little bit of peace so I can enjoy myself some more. I’m not going to be here for very long. My ass will return to the motherland and fall into a bucket of other people’s words and others’ needs and feelings and advice and love all over again. Which will be lovely, yes, but what about me? Anyhow, point being, please calm the voices in my head a little bit, and give me some respite so I can write and live and feel and drink and make merry in general. I’m tired of being rational. In this case, it doesn’t appear as though I have much of a choice anyway, whether I like it or not. So a little of your magic would be appreciated.

If you’d like me to be logical, I want two things from you – a job, and more writing.

Otherwise, I’m fine, Jan. I’ve managed your coldness before, I think I can do it again (no, I’m not challenging you. Jaipur is a lot warmer than Scotland.) I’m glad I am where I am. It’s lovely. Most people are lovely, the ones who are not, I can handle because I’ve handled far worse. This is child’s play.

The trees don’t have any leaves on them now, but your cousin October was beautiful. I’ve never seen an autumn before. I should have probably taken more pictures, but I was too preoccupied trying to memorise those images and freeze them forever, rather than uploading them onto Facebook.

Sometimes on a clear day, like this morning, I can see the water, far away and cold I’m sure, but it makes me grin like an idiot everytime. And the skies – they’re surreal. Why is Scottish blue so much nicer than Indian blue? Not that I’m complaining.

Cider. Thank you for all the cider. And mulled wine. It’s heaven. No, really. Oh wait, is that the sound of you laughing? I’ve never heard you laughing before, I wasn’t sure. It’s a nice sound, you should do that more often. See, you’re not as cold as people claim you are. I knew we had things in common.

All those pretty dogs on the streets, those endless shelves of books I can pick up and read when I want, the colours of the fruits and vegetables, the smelly blue-veined cheese... I love those too. Thanks for helping me cook. Though I’m not half bad, if I may say so myself.

Right. Thanks for the esoteric bunch of friends I’ve managed to make. They’re really lovely. Normal people are so boring. These ones are as off their rocker as Ma and I are. Sometimes it really does feel like a home away from home. I know, how shockered are you right now?

So yes, I’m quite alright, Jan. Just a wee bit of help in the aforementioned departments of logic vs emotions, me against the rest of the world, etc etc and so on, would be most appreciated.

Your sister February isn’t so bad either, I’m sure I’ll be in good hands in another few weeks too. But I’d rather start working on my sanity with you if you don’t mind. Time and tide sure as hell aren’t going to wait for me.

Hmm, I think that’s all I really wanted to say. Thanks in advance for all the feasts and merry-making, the reunions with the esoteric ones, the writing I will be doing and reading, hopefully the job I will be getting, the clarity and peace I will be finding more of.

See you soon. Yes, sooner than I know, so you say. But next January seems quite far away. I hope things change, and some things don’t, for the better. In other words, even if I’m pining next year, I sure hope you have a damn good reason for making me pine-y and whine-y all over again. I mean, honestly, wouldn’t you be sick of it by next year?

Wait, is that you laughing again? Oh right, I maybe pining for Scotland next January, not sunshine and sambar. Shit.