This year's already been significant for several reasons, despite the fact that we're only about four months in. My dad's turned 60, my sister's just turned 21. This blog is five and in a few months i will be, erm..., 25. India's won the World Cup. And I’m packing my things into boxes, in preparation for another move.
Meanwhile, the clock keeps ticking. It's only at times like this, when you momentarily stop to catch your breath, that you hear it. The passage of time is a grim inevitability and no amount of cheerful cuckoo clocks can alter the fact. I've often wondered why people say they're killing time, when in truth it's always the opposite. Time's the one killing you. You try everything you can to outrun it, but in the end it catches up. Sometimes it's a like a pick-pocket, stealing second after valuable second while you're busy looking the other way; at other times it jumps out at you from out of nowhere, turns your hair grey and leaves you for dead.
On the plus side, it's almost summer; the season that somehow makes things seem alright, the one season that somehow manages to suggest that dreams, however implausible they might seem, may just come true.
Everything (and everyone) looks better in the sun.