Thinking out loudly.

Travel Writing.

It's been a while. Can't believe I can still hold on to a pen. Thinking. Check. Over-thinking. Check. This has been the year of many goodbye's. Also the year of many hello's. And the year that 'wassup' and all it's pathetic variations have noticeably started to dwindle. Thank God. Speaking of God, Chulbul Pandey beats Jesus Christ. Hands down. Speaking of hands. Wolverine should be careful when he scratches his..eye..he could hurt himself. Speaking of hurting yourself, Amy Winehouse is under-rated. Such genius. Speaking of genius, I'm glad Einstein cares about Bee's as much as I do.

Music is different now. Songs used to bring back memories of the men in my life- good, bad. Now they bring back memories of feelings. The men are lost. Frankly, that upsets me a little. Does it mean that there have been so many men that even my feelings can't match themselves to the appropriate men? Like Tupac reminds me of wanting to jump off a building. Aerosmith reminds me of the joy of a karaoke dedication. Bon Jovi of random comfort. REM of the joy of great conversation and bad coffee. Clapton of the first real love. Ray Charles of the warmth of an oversized sweatshirt. The Beatles of the sadness of not being smart enough to fold at the right time. Miles Davis of the sadness of not calling someone enough, for no good reason. Jaymay of the euphoria of finally accepting loneliness as an important part of me. See? Great music. Strong feelings. No men.

Women are smarter. Not easier but smarter. So aware of every thought, every emotion, every skipped heartbeat. But, no control. The reason for most problems in life. Substance abuse. No impulse control. Accidents due to rash driving. No control. Kleptomania. No control. Unplanned pregnancy. No control.

Men in locals look dejected. They look down at the ground, with their bags clutched tightly in their arms, some falling asleep, some just counting and recounting the number of toes on their feet. Women on the other hand look contemplative. They look out of windows, the wind blowing their hair into a mess, but they love it. They imagine themselves to be a part of a movie. Silly, hopeless, women. They even listen to music. Smiles on their faces. Sad smiles, rejected smiles, embarrassed smiles, lovelorn smiles. I bet they sing the words to every song they listen to. Lyrics are important to women you know. Just as important as that bag is to the men clutching it in their arms.

It's funny that both, lots of lights and darkness make me feel equally elated. 'Lights on or lights off? How would you like it?' they ask me. 'If you are going to turn the lights on, turn many lights on, many pretty lights' I tell them. They have this quality- they beautify anyone and anything. No lights has a quality too- deindividualization. Almost like you shut your eyes and pretend like the problem disappeared. I love that about kids- it's so easy for kids to get rid of the demons under their beds- just close your eyes and they go away. With adults, those demons stay forever. So, yes, deindividualization, the quality of darkness. Like a man who robs a bank, wears a mask on his face, it boosts his ego I presume. He can be anyone he likes behind that mask. Without the mask, or that darkness, he is probably just another guy who is conscious about his acne.

Reaching a destination. Man, the journey does matter.