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tafseer

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naale.
Mood:
decided
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Strange feeling of disembodied hovering above the thesis, literally.
Mood:
nervous nervous
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Once upon a time, there was a twenty-six year old who made a marriage with a fragile, fairest-of-them-all beauty, all of nineteen. The twenty-six year old was unmoustachioed, dark, thin, and not even tall. On the day of the marriage, he used up most of the Cuticura that was at home, much to the irritation and amusement of his little sister, also getting married at the same time, who said - What use, Eta? All the powder in the world will not get you there .. He felt horribly inadequate as he stood beside his wife for the marriage pictures, and the photographers did not know whether to add more light or put him out of the frame.

He's been trying to make it up to her ever since.

Mood:
melancholy, somewhat
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I logged in this evening because i was in danger of forgetting my password. I also logged in to say i plan to read "Alone in the Kitchen with an Eggplant". Soon.
Mood:
calm calm
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I suddenly realized why I keep saying I don’t like puli-inji, considering that Dad makes an amazing dish of it, and considering that I usually lick my plate clean each time. Puli-inji demands complete and total fidelity, at least of me, and of a kind that eliminates the possibilities of every other taste. Take me, and no other. How can my multi-ne-farious self respond? It is rebellion, sweet-and-sour, unlike pure and simple. I want all the other food too.

Not so the self-effacing Buddhist vegetarian fare I had at NCU; it requires attention, an acknowledgement of flavours that can come only with slow, deep involvement; flavours that dress themselves up in calm pastels, recede as they appear, edge out nobody.

I love both, but have lived with only the one. You see, I too liked fidelity, and liked to have it grow on, not have it wrenched from me.
But now that puli-inji is back in my life …

Mood:
attending to my moods
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