This is for those times, those in-between days when you’re a little settled in your new house but not quite. You have the bed, the room, you’ve hung your fairy lights, you’ve looped your jewellery across all the right places so the house feels like a little more like home. But it’s like you still need a fridge, you know what I mean? There’s still the washing machine left to be hauled in; you’re still eating out of plates with Spongebob’s face on them and using plastic spoons. It’s not quite home. It’s not, no.
This is for those times, when going to work is still alien to you. When the concept of making your own money and not going to classes anymore hasn’t very much sunk in yet. When your desk isn’t still yours because you’re a trainee and you cannot put up your posters like everyone else because who knows which desk you’ll be shunted to after six months?
This is for those days, all of them, where you come back home (home?) at 2 in the morning and go to sleep at 5 and wake up in the disorientingly bright light of the afternoon and before you know, you’ve fallen out of touch with everyone, friends, family, all calling you when you sleep and soon, no longer calling you at all. You miss birthdays, you miss call-back promises, you forget to email your boyfriend back, you don’t even write anymore because as soon as you wake up, it’s time to go to work again.
This is for those times when not much makes sense. The news is all I know now during my days; wire copies, derailments, rapes and deaths and people saying things I don’t know what to think about anymore. I come to bed and this is what I inevitably end up dreaming about; my nightmares involve misspelt headlines and badly-fitted copy.
Everything is in-between and surreal. Settling down will be a while, before this place becomes home, before I get my bearings, before this city begins to feel like my city. I’m only a very dazed tourist right now, zipping past Metro stations and monuments and reality.