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Between Here and There

Its not very often that I stop enroute to somewhere during travel. Its not that I don’t like it, its just that I get too caught up in the process of travelling that I forget that sometimes the best sights lie about 5 minutes away from the highway.

This cycle was broken last week during my travel to Michigan. Somewhere tucked off the side of the I-90 exists St. Joseph’s Park also called as Silver Lake Beach. Time did not permit extracting the full flavor of this location, but what we saw definitely interested us in coming back. This is a beach town and the fact that we stopped here in the dying days of summer seems almost poetic. We ate some hummus and had a Margarita pizza (surprisingly good) and then headed back to the car and continued on our path back home.

Sometime in the future, I would love to return to this quaint town, return and sing an ode to the sunlight and the heat mirages doused by the fountains of the silver lake.

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A Little Comfort In Me

Its coming, It’s just around the corner, people carry on their lives pretending not to notice it, but you know its coming, and I know its coming. I’m taking about good O’l Fall. Fall has a myriad of emotions attached to it. It is my favorite season. The world looks prettier, people are nicer and there is just an air of comfort wafting inside your house. Speaking of comfort, here is mine. There is nothing that feels better on a fall night than a bowl of thick, creamy tomato soup and a grilled swiss cheese sandwich. Nothing.

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On the Road… Again

I live an interesting life, one that contains countless hours of monotone and some hours of somethings which are greatly different from my daily life. I was on the road last week. Travelling once again for work, seeking skills that the higher-ups think I need and I am trying not to construe this as a thinly veiled insult of some sort. There was the reassurance of having fellow travellers with me in the car which meant that whatever this skill was that I lacked, there were others who were right along with me.

After driving for about 5 hours we entered the famed ruins of detroit. Yes, ruins. I have seen similar ones before. Sprawling metropolitan cities which have been abandoned to their decay and vices and the results is a crumbling giant. Dont get me wrong, the city is still beautiful, the architecture, still magnetic, but as I was walking through the shadows of greektown looking at the empty streets, I realized that the best days of this city had passed it by. Whats left is a bunch of people not wanting to believe that. We still managed to survive this, ate at wonderful restaurants and saw possibly the largest french pastry assortment in the united states (a little ironic that we found this in Arab Town). At the end of the week, we left with mixed emotions. Sadness at having to leave a city that we called home albeit for a few days, and relief that we don’t normally call this city…home.

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Backyard Visitor

I am one of those fortunate few to live in a fairly large house.  Located in a quiet community, its something that had I not been renting, I would definitely not have been able to afford. The house has multiple floors, a garage, more room than I would ever need and even a backyard. Of course nothing in life ever comes without strings. Having a porch and a backyard and yard space means that someone has to do the unpleasant task of trimming the grass. Well, I dont know who that someone is but that is definitely not me.  On the flip side, having your yard look like an uninhabited jungle does have its benefits. A random visitor decides to take a stroll and check the estate out. Unfortunately, like every traveller, he did not stay for long.

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Photography, Reflections, Uncategorized

Dissimilar Similarity

Redundancy is a defining factor of our personality. We all thrive in the familiarity of the familiar. We build routines, we stick to them. We build routines, to stick to routines. We are creatures of routine, from the moment we were born, we learn by replicating all that we see.

 If you have read any of my previous posts, you would know that I try to present a metaphor for every picture that I take. Being a frequent traveller, my nights are spent somberly gazing at the roof of some nondescript motel in the Midwestern region of the US. I gaze at the roof, which doesn’t really catch my fancy.

My attention is then arrested by the lamps. Now, I know that you are probably thinking…not another set of lamp pictures… well, that’s exactly what you are going to get. These are different from the ones that I have posted before, similar in the angles that the picture was shot, but different in the mood and the light that it projects, which goes to show, that in the cloaking blandness of mass market motel consumerism, there shines a tiny “light” of uniqueness.

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Photography, Reflections, Uncategorized

Frozen Thoughts

We are forever travellers. Each moment of each day is spent journeying from one end of life to the other. This journey could be joyous, or could be arduous, it could be enlightening or it could be soul crushing.

 One thing is certain, that through all the highs and lows, there are scattered memories strewn along the never ending path of life. These are the sights and sounds that we see.

 A meal at a restaurant with loved ones, the sun setting over a puddle of water, a tree on a nameless path in the middle of the highway, or a vacant building in the middle of the night, each image stays with me, like pictures on the stereoscopes from a forgotten childhood. Pictures that represent a memory, an event, a though, which now lies frozen in the infinite scroll of the internet.

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All of the Lights

Light, the universal giver of life. Its existence burgeoned by various daedal devices, some natural and some artificial. Ever since man found his bearing, he recognized the power of light.

Light, the mere existence of which can be heroic.
Light, the presence of it removes all that is ominous in the world.
Light, the giver of warmth, both physical and spiritual.

I try to lull myself to sleep and I cautiously gaze at the lights above with a strange fascination. Maybe it was that insanely late hour, or my perennial melancholy, but the light seemed almost poetic to me, it appeared like a radiant flower in the jungle of darkness. I snapped a quick picture.
It got me thinking of all of the lights that I have seen recently. Each one distinct from the other, each one cloaking the beholder with a distinct emotion, each one telling a story…

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