I read a beautiful piece by this girl I had met only once. And I was hooked on to the post. And then to the previous post. And the one before that. And the one before. And after. And in between.
So I suggest, on a day when you are just sitting on your bed waiting for the sky to clear up, with a cup of tea next to you and you want to read or write something. Read this. It is like warm butter. And a kitten’s fur. And your grandmother’s soft hands.
Here’s the first post I read.
I’m in Europe
Europe of clear twilight skies.
Europe of pretty trams humming along the city roads.
Europe of clean street food.
Europe of amazingly homogeneous groups of mixed race people from countries I had never heard of before.
Or could not spot on the map till yesterday.
Europe of Romanians.
Of Polish, Greek, Ukrainians, Estonians and Albanians.
Europe of urban gardening.
Europe of punctuality.
Europe of frosted glass windows.
Europe of enormous food portions.
Europe of hourly weather forecasts.
Europe of foreign languages.
Europe of bloodied pasts.
Europe of humility.
Europe of responsibility.
Europe of historical guilt.
And Europe of unadulterated free mindedness.
Europe of progressiveness.
Europe of 10 PM sunsets.
Of long summer days.
And clock ticking on winter dread.
Europe of poetic town squares.
Of empty parking lots.
Or pillion bicyclists.
Of heated homes.
Of open windows.
Of yarn bombings and of organized graffiti.
Europe of street parties.
Or late late night street parties.
Of quiet strolls.
Of unhinged public display of affection.
Europe of my gay friends.
And their free-er lives.
Europe of choices.
Europe of personal freedom.
Europe of fearless women.
Unapologetically expressive women.
Europe of labour dignity.
Europe of equality.
Europe of distinctly coloured hair and skin.
Europe of centuries old folklore.
And kings and queens.
And of country farms.
And of cheese.
Europe of full body hug greetings.
Or two pecks on the cheeks greeting.
Or one peck.
(I’m never entirely sure.)
Europe of tap water.
Of solar power and of jägermeisters.
Of red light districts.
Of legal red light districts.
Europe of acceptance.
Sometimes I miss India. Sometimes I don’t.
Read more here: http://instinctivecuriosity.blogspot.de/