from a rainy, foggy, gloomy morning experience

This morning after I got up and decided not to drink coffee even though my eyes were stinging, I was standing on my balcony (without any warm covers). For 20 or more minutes. This was the second time after I moved into this apartment last October. The occasion was not warm. It was the usual minus 1 degree, raining tip-tapped-ly, with the sky looking gloomy as usual.......and the fog hanging just 1 km over my head... I guess.

Yet, somehow it looked different and didn't make me feel gloomy. (Yes, the weather does have an effect on you, howsoever spoiled it might sound. To beat me, consider coming and staying in Calgary)

After two or rather four months from now........I would probably not stand here like this. Probably I wouldn't come back here...to the hills, to sigh at the bony trees and watching the grass getting eatably green to greener, to look at the mass of cars following each other day and night, to count the percentage of red cars and blue ones among Calgarians from a 16th floor window.....ever in my life. The place that I despise of so often--so evident through my rantings in this blog--would cease to be part of me.

Yet, I wasn't feeling a sense of peace or any distant whiff of happiness.

I realized I wouldn't have this freedom...and variations thereof, from freedom to cook at 3 in the morning to freedom in judging the same scene from my kitchen window differently and feeling justified in doing so.

Sometimes I crave for being seen in certain identity brackets; and sometimes I would like to resist in being judged only through particular identity brackets. I know that cakes can't be had and eaten too, except by the lucky, deserving, bold and beautiful people.

I just wish I fitted in one of these labels. I was called the third (stated above) quite a large section of my life, past years,.. that is. And then I realized there's more to heroism than boldness. Time or age? I can't tell which made me realize this.....at the extent of sounding cliched once again, ......I would say a bit of both, the former one in greater measure perhaps.

To put it very flatly, the exchange rate of blessings and/or other forces in my life has always been too less or too intense freedom. The one or the other identities. Me not liking it hadn't been able to change the states of being I've gone through.

This of course has pleased some persons I call "friends", but it hasn't made me self-deprecating.
Here I am......able to philosophize on workings of "fate" albeit all my mights and attempts against its operations.........with enough doses of fuzzy peach candy slices.

Candytherapy works.

(I hope you were not looking for some other morale of the story)