A perfect holiday would be away from the smog filled sky. Gazing at the stars. Eating ice cream. Butterscotch with chocolate. No wafer please. For now.
Travelling in a train in conversation with a stranger. Maybe a book or maybe a person. Or just me.
Watching the traffic from a high rise building. Void of thoughts. Or deeply contemplating about stuff. The yellow cheesy moon trapped between leafless trees.
An year or two ago, a perfect holiday was a semester without classes. That's my present. It feels nowhere close to a holiday. Times change and so does our sense of comfort. So does our sense of happiness and joy. And so does our sense of other materialistic pleasures.
Then what keeps us going? These dreams of perfect holidays? The lists of places that we wish to see? The food items that we want to taste? The things that we want to buy? Or just the pleasure of being with people we like, people we love and people we adore?
Travelling in a train in conversation with a stranger. Maybe a book or maybe a person. Or just me.
Watching the traffic from a high rise building. Void of thoughts. Or deeply contemplating about stuff. The yellow cheesy moon trapped between leafless trees.
An year or two ago, a perfect holiday was a semester without classes. That's my present. It feels nowhere close to a holiday. Times change and so does our sense of comfort. So does our sense of happiness and joy. And so does our sense of other materialistic pleasures.
Then what keeps us going? These dreams of perfect holidays? The lists of places that we wish to see? The food items that we want to taste? The things that we want to buy? Or just the pleasure of being with people we like, people we love and people we adore?