Communicating has become a drag. There's so much I could write or say but I don't feel like making the effort. The result ...no blogging, no making phonecalls, no writing...I'm not even answering my cell at times. The only relief in this blockage was the letter I wrote to Dr Nandan. And since I forsee that I shall be writing more letters, I went and got myself some beautiful, handmade notepaper with matching envelopes.
My college has a sprawling campus. It's possible to get lost...and I'm in favour of that. It's a lush, green place with old-world British architecture. Philosophy is the most interesting subject I have. The professor is a smart man, with touches of sexism and smears of sarcasm and bigger smears of ego. He knows his subject and is convinced that he fathered Socrates. The first day I attended, I indirectly told him to shut up. I also told my English professor that our democratic status is strongly debatable and that my ambition is to be a recluse and live in a library. After that first day, I've clammed up. Sociology is boring. We're doing the differences between sociology and other social sciences in great detail. Similarities and differences. In discussing the similarities between psychology and sociology, we were told that 'both are sciences'. I assume that means that both use scientific methods in their studies but there weren't any questions as to what 'scientific' means, why it is considered the most 'reasonable' etc. The professor (I love that word; so college-ish) is a flexible, understanding guy. Dr Nandan would like him. But the teacher-student relationship remains impersonal and restricted to the classroom...at least so far. I have my first test in French on Saturday and am very excited. Our English course is...ok. We have Auden and Burns and Keats etc for poetry and short stories by Katherine Mansfield and others. We have 'Animal Farm' in S.Y, I think. Our English teacher is a nice guy.

I have had bouts of terrible homesickness. I miss hearing Bangla, speaking it in college. In desperation, I've started listening to modern Bangla music. I called Shaunak a few days ago and whined for a good 20 minutes! I wish I could be easy and playful and hug someone. I miss Cal.

I land heavily on people I want to be close to. At least I used to. Now I am careful to restrain myself. What a relief it would be to be naive and not struggle to hold some part back. Terrified that the Other will get bogged down and start to pull away. Which is why I hold people at arm's length. My need to lean is as great as my paradoxical desire for isolation. Not independence, but isolation. Emotionally, carrying myself alone is tiring. I exalt in the tiredness; I convince myself it is a test of limits. If another touches me, I am liable to throw myself at them completely. I cannot give in to that. I am not convinced that any O ther can handle it. There must always be part of me that remains with me alone. The moods, the masochism, the incomplete disregard for public opinion... I can only give out what the Other will find attractive. I am bad at games...that is the root of the problem.