Behind the glasses

Let's talk about my vision. If you've met me in person you've probably never seen me without my glasses and with good reason, my prescription is a jaw dropping -6.00(L) / -5.75(R). So without my glasses the well defined contours of objects melt away into a blend of colours and very vague silhouettes even if these objects are very close to me.  Close is a relative word isn't it? Okay how about I explain it like this, through my eyes large and bold writing dissolves into its own background. Now that brings into question how big the font is and the relative distance between me and this aforementioned clear piece of writing. Okay then this might be the best way for me to put it, it's much like the blurry vision a person who is about to lose their consciousness experiences. That sounds about right.

I got my first pair of glasses when I was 8 years old. At the time my prescription was a modest -0.75. And from then on it proceeded to shoot up at regular intervals. As you can imagine visits to the optometrist were also just as regular for me. Once a year or so. And I absolutely detested those visits much like how children(and adults too I guess) detest visits to the dentist. Well there is nothing physically painful about these visits but my hatred was primarily because it usually ended with the realization that my vision had worsened. For some reason I blamed myself for it. But I was constantly reassured by optometrists that this was largely(I sense the possibility of a pun here) due to the fact that my eyes were still growing. And yes let me dismiss the wildly popular myth that your eyes don't grow after birth. The axial length increases up until you reach the age 18, a fact which when coupled with my pre-existing nearsightedness resulted in me going through several pairs of glasses in a relatively short amount of time. And just two weeks ago I visited the optometrist for my annual eye exam and for the first time I was told that my prescription hadn't changed since my last visit. Well I guess it's about time since I'm 19 now.

 All though most people are baffled at how bad my vision is, I've always held the opinion that I have a very unique view of the world quite literally. Each and every pair of glasses I have gone through over the last 11 years was a talisman of a period. Each with a different story to tell from its point of view. And when pieced together in chronological order, you have the last 11 years of my life.

Familiar fragrances

Some memories are stowed away in photo albums.
Some play in songs heard one too many times.
And some others waft in air through familiar fragrances.

The smell of wet earth after a rain is an aroma infused
with a thousand tales from monsoons of the past.
The smell of fresh jasmine and incense, sounds the bells of the temple
A rush of nostalgia sets in with one whiff of these familiar fragrances.

Take a breath. Make a memory.
And just like that you've thrown a message in a bottle into the water.
Years fly by and you find yourself walking new shores
 only to stumble upon that bottle and you uncork it to momentarily relive an era that passed.
All through a familiar fragrance.

And as I open my mother's perfume cabinet I find myself walking out onto a private beach.
There lie a hundred bottles peeking from the sand.
The messages encased in these bottles are memories from different periods in my life.
I shake the last vestiges of perfume in the older bottles.
Memories come to life in these familiar fragrances.

Musings on a homecoming

Tonight at 20,000 feet above ground the world looks a tad different to say the least. As we fly above the tapestry of clouds I peak through gaping holes where the seams have run loose like a child peaking from behind a curtain and the sight is spectacular. The city I call home sprawls before me as a sea of lights, white and yellow. Some jagged lines of yellow curve through and join others like tributaries of a river. The white lights set to the background of this dark night makes me reminiscent of starry nights drowned in city lights. We cruise above places familiar to me, above roads I have often taken. And down below, my loved ones carry on with their day momentarily interrupted by the rumble of a Boeing 777 gradually descending onto the airstrip. It's funny how every time I return home I expect it to feel different, to feel new again like I have never been here before. But it doesn't feel different, I just seem to pick up from where I left off.