why, hello there. havent seen you for a while. [imagine an amalgamated expression of sheepishness, apprehension, regret, and nostalgia.] emoticons can be incredibly lacking sometimes. how long has it been since i've last blogged? well, today is the 3rd week anniversary of my life in boston and out of harvard. pretty incredible that i've lasted this long.

i suppose two plausible tactics to do in this desperate situation (i never learn, do i) is to (a) do a blitzblog (read below, a couple of entries back), which is a little spastic and wholly incoherent yet absently surrealist and seduces the free-association juices to flow; or (b) write a five-volume novel in which three of the characters are named catherine (thank you, emily bronte) and at the end, the protagonist suddenly and violently discovers that the entire episode had only been a dream. guess which one this chick is choosing...

i woke up this morning at 7:30am in preparation for a paddling trip down the ipswich river on a lovely saturday with friends, but our room's unabashedly transparent window was kind enough to disclose the fact that it was raining. (quite.) relentless drops followed each other, pell-mell, into the street four stories below. the silent hiss and the numb grayness of the exterior world was refreshing in a way; i observed quietly as the city was undergoing a baptism, or nonchalantly sipping $2.99 evian. i couldn't quite decide which was the case. disappointment came over me as i verified that the canoeing trip was canceled-- i had been looking forward to this the entire week. (after thursday's elemental buzz; i'll get to that.) ah well, not to say i wasn't forewarned: the forecast for the entire weekend was filled with delightful drawings of storm clouds and snazzy lightning bolts. since i was already awake, and going back to bed seemed like more trouble than it was worth, i dressed and set out into the cold, wet world.

first stop was the boston public library. one returned; two checked out. i remember it raining the first time i visited the library a couple weeks ago. my lime MoMA umbrella still had a penchant for somersaults. the persistence of wet-shoes association will continue as long as i pursue literature, i suppose. this time i around i got lolita by vladimir nabokov and a clockwork orange by anthony burgess. the more disturbing, the better. i'm trying to get some of these classics under my belt while i have the time. luscious, luscious summer. what would i do without you?

this was the first time i watched a film at the copley cinema. i chose to go to the 10:40am showing of monsoon wedding by myself. after hearing rave reviews of its genuine spirit and feel-good-ness by my parents and friends, i figured i could use a self-prescribed good morning. as i strolled past the freshly-scrubbed windows of copley's posh boutiques (oooh ooh! forgive me as i augment my louis vuitton handbag collection! :P ), i started to reminisce. they trickled back into memory, into my skin, into my soles that hit the marble floor with even pace. this was only my 2nd time in copley; the first was with carlos in the beginning of soph year. i remember walking together by the gorgeous blooms in the flower shop, and his treating me to a light dinner at tealuxe. we peeked into one of the ritzy, exorbitantly priced seafood restaurants and window-shopped to our silly amusement. i think of him almost everyday, imagining his antics back at home in guadalajara, but a lot of things in the environment just unconsciously trigger my memory and my affection. harvard, cambridge, and boston all hold special moments that frequently surprise me when they suddenly surface. i've tried not to get too lonely in his temporary absence, but it's hard when your best friend just disappears completely for months. there's a gaping hole in your heart that nothing can ever quite assuage.

there were only five people in the theater audience. as i groped in the darkness, the seat felt rigid below me; it was as if too many people had sat on it and condensed the padding into a thin solid sheet of upholstery. it wasn't as noticeable if you slouched a little. switch the cellphone to silent mode, there we go. all set.

if i could describe the movie in one word, it would be: color. the most beautiful scenes had bold, confident splashes of red, orange, and gold in the costumes, the fabrics, the fruit, the henna, their jewelry, their shadows, their lips. i almost wish i were indian to partake in such lavish wedding ceremonies-- the gorgeous saris, the intricate gold filigree, the complex henna designs, the delicious marigolds. ah, marigolds. i shall never look at them the same again. savor, chew, swallow the petals. my eyes blurred with tears at the unforgettable scene when dubey knelt on the silk blanket surrounded by candles, gripping a heart-shaped construction of marigolds, his eyes pleading for forgiveness, with love, with complete sacrifice, with promise. his naked vulnerability just sent me to pieces.

i don't know whether it was due to lack of sleep (five hours last night?), pre-menstrual hormones (i mean, more emotionally laden than usual), or just an utter feeling of passion caused by the cinematography, but a slow trickle of tears initiated halfway through the movie which continued into a waterfall by the end. when i observe people falling in love, i get this twisted sensation inside which is a combination of empathy, happiness, jealousy, and self-pity. i cry and cry, not knowing whether because love is such a miraculous and blessed thing for others to come upon, or because it is something i have yet to experience. everybody deserves a lover; someone that you can seek for stability for all those weak moments we have. just the physicality, to rest your hand on someone else's, to release yourself into an uninhibited embrace, to feel their flesh, their liveliness, their existence. it's so important... just to convince yourself that they are real. that reassurance is so vital. otherwise, your hands absently grasp for the intangible, an embodiment of sentiments and intelligent affection... floating as an invisible entity? is it possible to love an abstract object? i suppose i am lost in a tangled search for a living vessel to which i can direct my atmospheric thoughts and affections and joie de vivre. right now these complex energies are out of focus, and evaporating into a faint iridescent mist. i think the air is getting tired of me, and i am getting tired of the air.