Walls

I had almost forgotten my old bedroom and scrolling through folders unopened for years.. I found pictures. The bedroom still exists and so does the bed.. but I moved to another friendly-plaster room in the house a while ago. (Friendly-plaster merits a description.. let's just say it often jumps down from the ceiling to hug the earth. ahem)
But since the bedroom was no longer mine.. all the hangings were peeled off and some didn't make it all the way across the house. They got rolled up and stuck in closets, flattened and buried under mattresses and of course relegated to the garage.. ie. not going to be used again space.

When I was 13, a good 12 years ago.. so stave off the harsh judgement :)..
I was deeply in, what I thought, love with boy bands and particularly all blonde singers :)
There used to be posters all around the room.. me, swooning over Nick.. and sister swooning over the dark haired bandmate whose name I never bothered to learn.
with cheesy poetry bubbling inside me, I'd pen down verses or musings right on the poster.. ah, to be 13.. ah, thankfully not-to-be-13 again!

With college at 18 (and onwards), the walls noticed another shift. The board put up anticipating studious "To Do" lists was punched with endless pictures from the days when photos were tangible things to hold, caress and admire the ageing paper. New experiences through Theatre were all recorded and tacked up along with pink hearts strung together.. holding precious expressions of love from friends who finally managed to spring a "Surprise" birthday on me!

Now at 25 I look around the room.. all photos limited to one frame of a collage.. presented as we bid adieu to college.  The space so different now. More of a private space. Quieter. Softer. Nothing screaming for attention. Well, except the occasional bouquet that finds its way into the room. Pictures- now aspirations to a different mental landscape. Very few invited to share. "Let's go out" I say, closing the door behind me.

I wonder about 30... what will I see? where will I be? what will I be surrounded with? what will I aspire towards?...

musing, with love

D

I was thinking about pain today.. and wondering ..
Why is Dettol still in the market? (Dettol being an antiseptic that burns when you apply it)
Why has the no-burn Savlon (a legitimate competitor) not kicked its bum out of business?

with no disrespect aimed at D.. I buy it often.. and I use it a Lot..
but as I dabbed it on today.. I wondered what makes me choose its burning sensation over having my skin tickled by S?

Part of it is conditioning.. for me at least.. if it doesn't hurt.. how do I know its working? how do I know it found the spot? (duh. eyes.) but somehow there is something vaguely satisfying about the knowledge that the balm (however painful) has been applied and all will be well.

But does everyone else also think like me? are we in a consensus? no pain no gain?

maybe its also the name. DETTOL. sounds strong and reassuring.
Savlon. sounds like something you would spray on for fun.
hmm..

maybe I'm overthinking this... but do we operate on patterns of pain?
must I get always get burned to appreciate things? or to even just get the job done?
am I like that horse who needs a prod in the behind to start walking? (aww. horsie. sorry)
do I need the drama to feel things are happening.

I've deliberately mentioned "I" everywhere.. but I wonder (O lovely readers), do you prefer Dettol too?

(I promise I don't work for the company) :)
Love