Complaining about life is one of the silly things I sometimes do. And I can't --- actually I shan't --- cease doing that, because the moment I start doing that, I'll grow up :).
But the title epxlains my life over past few months. Skipping the details, I am in a real shitty mess. Almost hitting the rock bottom is my field of speciality, but I guess hitting it hard is the thing I will experience pretty soon.
Anyway, I've been reading a lot after I washed my hands off some of my dirty works in office. The Alchemist, by Paulo Coelho is the last that I finished. I wouldn't praise it too high, but I liked the honed passion Coelho blended in this one. He reminded me of Satinath Bhaduri, of Jaagari and Dho[n]rai Charit Maanash ... it's not very easy to weave simplest of expressions to create a magic. I felt my eyes getting wet, felt my heart fumbling my memory for distant past I try not to let loose in my mind, felt myself sitting in a cold verandah with misty dawn around me ... it made me think about myself again.
Perhaps I should go treasure hunting like Santiago? Perhaps I should give a better look at the omens around me? Perhaps the wind will carry a kiss so familiar someday.
