Well to be honest, not yet a year, and not in solitude as well. Atleast not the Wordsworthian solitude, obvious from the fact that the blog has been so dormant for so long.  However, the time away doing whatever I had been doing has been worthwhile.

Right now, sitting in Aeropuerto Eldorado, waiting for my delayed flight to my first vacation from work. Teh airport doesnt seem so alien any more. No longer am I looking around for suspicious people/ objects, no longer am I worried that I will miss my flight (I used to be paranoid about missing flights, but having taken so many, and missed quite a few, that feeling is no more), and surprisingly, it is the tourists here who stand out in my eyes. Has been a long time here, thats what I keep thinking.

I didnt take many photographs, as is my wont, I didnt record my experiences in any journal. All is locked in the crystal of memory: deceptive, kaliedoscopic, and involtuntarily fulsome. But then, as Gabo says, “Life is not how you live it, but how you remember it!”. And I keep remembering how dramatically this same man shaped a part of my life. Or maybe, I make it more dramatic in my recollections when in fact it was just an impulsive call. I will never know. Memories play their tricks!

So through the prism of my memory, I believe, the time in Colombia was all about learning about life. Life, not in a philosphical way, but in the way one lives it. There have been so many paradigm shifts, that one learnt the futilty of it all. The luminous simplicity of it . It explodes into you slowly, surreptitiously, till one fine day when you wake up, and discover that it is has been with you all along, and you never knew it.

I meander too much. I do. I know. I dont like it.ut I always do.

I want to write about Bogota, the same-same red buildings that line the streets, the empanadas for breakfast, the pick-up trucks covered in red dust, of Villavo, colourful people, of insanity of mortals, of fallacies and truth about money and love, of Casarane, and Corazon de Casanare, Yopal, of the lust for oil, black gold they say, I dont know. I want to write about the wonderful fascination of seeing something for the first time, of being completely new, the freshness, the joy of being ignorant. I want to write about strong men, hard with sweat, who find joy in the simplest of things. About people who share the conviction, so much resonated in movies of my land, that eventually all will turn out fine.

But all that later. I have a flight to catch.

P.S. Latest realisation: I really do not like iPods. Tragic that i realised it six months after buying the most expensive iPod in the store, and using it just a couple of times. Too much in love with the sights and sounds of life.