Dear Friends,

I am afraid I must close this blog quite soon. I am returning to uni tomorrow and I am closing myself back into a hidey-hole. All further thoughts will be diverted into private correspondence. It’s been a nice ride, thanks for reading.

Love,

CocoaCaliente

Yes, letters are wonderful. I knew it at the time of writing that post, but I was looking through rose-tinted glasses. I can’t get over the superficiality of my interest in letters, as a novelty to explore. The best part of the letter isn’t necessarily the content, but the experience of having a physical connection with people you cannot physically be with. It’s the unwrapping, the paper, the ink, and the preserving that makes letters undeniably special.

Yet I have recently come to the realization that they are not the only type of non-verbal communication that is special. That’s a fancy way of saying that I’ve rediscovered emails. Emails are the letters of our day – most often used for official notifications or business correspondents. It may occasionally inspire personal connections, but too often we’re tempted to hit send all and send mass updates to everyone on our address book to save the hassle, or that we let our emails lag, or we’re so fatigued from sending emails that our personal ones lack the spark that make it special.

But oh, emails can provide that passion and spark. They can send your heart racing, and I just re-read some emails from someone….and did I remember. How curious, those same words written about mundane life two years ago still hold my interest, make me want to read on, and inspire me back to Ramya still.

A good email is better than a good letter. A lack of substance in a letter can hide itself under fancy notions of style and ambiguities. A really great email relies entirely on the sentiment and writing of the author. And they have become more memorable to me…

I am going to keep up writing via post because I hope that substance takes time to mature, and I still like style enough. But here is to personal emails, for preserving the passion.

I am an idiot. I totally forgot that I put the url of this blog on my twitter feed and it’s been up for months. No wonder I kept getting random views to this blog. But that’s all taken off, so hopefully it’s just you and me, now, joining the party with a few other select lovelies and maybe worthwhile new comers.

I can’t wait to see Julia and Julia. The movie has evoked so much commotion that I want to see what its about. The New Yorker has a small piece about how Child saved a woman’s dinner party. It made me think about how things always go wrong at the critical moment. I am incapable of running a dinner party smoothly. Every time I plan something big, it always turns out wrong. As wonderful as food is, bringing people together, cooking for others always makes me terribly self-conscious and flustered. Especially since things seem to go wrong, for me, so often.

I am just discovering what Child meant to the Baby Boomer generation through the criticisms of the movie, and what has touched me most is the admittance of error. In an era of where we can manipulate every image, mistakes are edited out. One of the best Child episodes, supposedly, is where she drops a potato pancake on the ground and picks it up again – these things happen. A movie is fictional, but I am looking forward to all of the humanity that comes from the movie.

Tomorrow is the Woodward Dream Cruise…a relic of this town’s Motorcity. I spoke to an acquaintance from Swarthmore who is visiting Detroit and I told him that I was leaving. It didn’t hit me that there is so much more that I’ve been wanting to explore in Detroit that I havent had the chance to. I don’t really have that much time with packing everything and preparing for my final year. Every year I try to go to the electronic, jazz and blues festival, or promise to go to the museums or explore the Mexican town or Greek Town a little bit more. While outsiders, including myself, see Detroit as a failed city, loyal citizens recognize the richness that the city still has to offer. I regret that I have not had the courage to discover it myself. Maybe I will come back.

But right now, all I want to do is sleep.

I wrote my own response to Krieder’s post for you. Other readers wrote their own responses.

Also, the Times has a touching series on summer romances. I wonder if everyone keeps those memories, or if the other person in the stories forgot them entirely. I felt some pleasure in knowing that we can, indeed, be unforgettable. I hope will be, to the right people…

Some things never change. I’m at a Panera, and my dad calls to check up that I’m safe around other people. I’ve wandered in the dodgiest parts of the world’s biggest cities, and my parents worry about me being in a cafe in mid-afternoon.

But everything else is changing. We’re moving to Los Angeles, which is slightly unbelievable.

That’s it for now. My mind is still reeling…

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Rock climbing in Central Park, with a pair of flamenco shoes in hand.

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IMG_0311The front doors where I work. I felt weird snapping photos so I did it really quickly, and thus, badly. But I worked on the 17th floor.

IMG_0312The view from my window.

IMG_0325From this mess of ingredients…

IMG_0336To this delectable lasagna…

VEGAN-ratatouille-pizza-2Tina’s recipe and photo, I was merely her bitch.

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Mere jaan, mere zindhagi

ramya parth

I get all my photos from Tina, but there are about 300 that she didn’t put up for the world to see. I don’t want to put them on facebook for the world, because it’s all part of my, our experience in London, you see, and that’s very personal. But I wanted to share some of my favorites with you. In my next post, I’ll also put up some photos from New York…

The first week I was in London, we wandered around Oxford Street at night, and the photo below is in front of the lingerie window at Primark.

primark-lingerieMay might kill me for this, but we thought it’d be a good idea to skip down parliament hill after a scrumptious lunch picnic we had, one spring Sunday afternoon. We tried to link arms and skip in unison, but of it all went downhill from the first step…

hampstead heath ramya may 2

Wherever I go, I find the nearest used bookstore. This photo was taken in Stroud – the afternoon light streamed onto the dusty books – it was so serene and beautiful. I don’t think I found any book that I wanted though, but it felt so magical and precious to pick up one of those books…

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One more from Stroud.

IMG_7835My favorite. We missed the train back to Bath from Stroud, so Tina and I were a bit bored. Besides snorting white (candy) powder and popping sugar on our tongues, I made Tina jump!

IMG_7856Why, hello, love.

IMG_7860Anthrax? Cocaine? Refined sugar? All I know is that Bath and Stroud hardened Tina…

IMG_7867What I did read instead of my American studies reading. No wonder my marks were so low for that module.

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Sunset over the Thames.

IMG_9418Party pics – Kokos for Button Down Disco, in Morning Crescent? Somewhere on the northern line near Camden. After taking fashion advice in an attempt to look hipster and cool, I looked like a cow girl. But the venue was super cool donned in disco fashion.

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Going off tangent – but ff I had to describe myself in one photo, it’d be this – silly and laughing. Sorry it’s sideways.

SP_A0054One last photo. The only day of snow. Unfortunately, I missed it in preparing for my American studies class, but Anna was there to add to the beauty. 02042009-snowday-3