The Friends Reunion

I remember making a post on here long ago about how I felt watching Friends for the first time. Needless to say, it has definitely grown on me. I just watched the reunion episode, and felt so emotional while and after watching it.

I am the sort of person who is saddened by any sort of ending. I feel sad when a stranger on the bus whom I briefly talked to gets off, I feel sad when I realise that a Tumblr blog I used to love is inactive. Really dumb stuff. But I fall in love quite frequently with strange things, and thus, get my heart broken very often (that too by strangers !)

So it is natural when Courtney Cox implies that they will never do a reunion show publicly again is the time I decide to bawl my eyes out. Did I even think about that ? Did I even want that ? I am even such a big fan of friends ? Probably not ( but yes ?)

I am just grateful that this happened. My favourite part was seeing the Geller parents happy and alive, they looked so cute ! Overall, i think the reunion episode was pretty mature and fun. I don’t know what I meant to do with this blog piece. But I just hope that Matthew Perry is happy and okay.

My grandmother’s shoes

These are my grandmother’s shoes. They are 30 years old. She prefers them over the sports shoes we bring her or any of her other sandals. She says they don’t make shoes like that anymore, and she doesn’t mean the design: where would you find a shop that sells shoes which would last for more than 3 decades even with constant wear and tear. My expensive sports shoes give up quite early after being bought, but it isn’t their fault. Nowadays everything is made so that it can be replaced, and stability and permanence is hardly ever a priority. My grandmother knows this, and I can only hope I too can be satisfied with what I already own, for it is enough, and most often, it is more than enough. I hope I can fill my grandmothers shoes.

My favourite painting flew away in the wind

We had a storm here today, one with slow rumblings of thunder and all (brontide). The door to my balcony was open when it started and my favourite painting flew away into the storm. Just like that. It was an original painting, and I loved the colours scheme.

At first I was positively overwhelmed. I tried scanning the area but couldn’t see it anywhere. I was complaining to my mum when she said “ You just lost a painting. Many people probably lost a lot more than that today.” That put some sense into my head.

After some time, when just a light sprinkle of rain was falling from the pink sky (sereine) , I thought to myself that maybe some one would find a half ruined painting, and wonder what happened.

Small miracles

Falling In Love With Fictional Characters

I constantly fall in love with characters in books, shows and movies. It’s a beautiful dive into a sea of hopeless enamour and love. If unrequited love is the purest, selfish form of love then what is falling in love with fictional characters ? Isn’t it utterly foolish to fall in love with somebody that doesn’t exist ? Or is it perfect, your imagination always holding them in a good light. Many times it’s superficial, falling for how they look or you imagine them to look. But not always.

Recently I fell in love with a character in a TV show (parks and rec) despite having seen that actor in many other shows and movies. This time, it wasn’t about the face, it was about the personality, the way he helped others, and his subtle expressions. It is quite an exciting experience in the beginning, but alas, it pains me to know that that character doesn’t actually exist. Sometimes, the actors themselves are so different from the characters that they portray, and sometimes, they appear to be so eerily similar in real life that one wonders whether they have to act at all.

These are phases I know, but the hurt is real. It’s a bit frightening to wonder whether these characters I like can actually exist ? Can real people possess all the same qualities ? Nobody is perfect, but some of the books I have read prove otherwise.

My practical sense would say that I should land back to reality and try to love people for who they are ( and not who I think they should be).

There is another part of me, however, that will continue to look for a person who will love me like Ben Wyatt does Leslie Knope.


Reading through Kazuo Ishiguro’s NOCTURNES was a pleasure. Since it is a book of five stories, I have divided by review based on each story and perhaps, finally with a conclusion. This isn’t a review as much it is a personal reaction to the stories.

A personal note: I find it amazing that just in the morning I watched a movie called baby driver in which the significance of the name Deborah persists. This book is too dedicated to a woman of the same name. I think these small coincidences of the universe are quite fascinating and beautiful.


 A habit that I’ve noticed of Ishiguro’s is, that he usually mentions an event in the beginning of the story and comes back to it after a short derailment of the narrative, often introducing the narrator and letting the reader sympathise with him or her. Although largely, the narrative surrounds the life of “faded star” and a “cafe musician,” it also manages to subtly explore racism and the struggles of immigrants, struggles of a musician, the sort of disappointment one often experiences after a great achievement or a fantastic era of one’s life-where one dwells whether he or she will ever manage to get the same high again. Jan-a small musician is puzzled by the personal decisions regarding love that Tony Gardner a musician famous in his past has to make, especially when his decisions go against  the very advise in his songs.The readers also stumble upon the haunting  reason for the separation of Tony Gardner and his wife Lindy. Yet, however frivolous and shocking the reason for their separation seems to be, it isn’t unbelievable. Tony’s calm and gentle narration of Lindy’s past and possible future after the divorce gently manages to break the reader’s heart to pieces.


This story is a witty and humorous tale about a rich and successful couple turning a bit unsuccessful with their marriage and their friend Raymond. Raymond’s life seems to be haywire and unhappy from the couple’s point of view but little do they know that their constant undermining of Raymond’s life only brings clarity about their dissatisfied ones. Moreover, this tale also explores the humorous and sad personal sacrifices Raymond makes to try and fix his friends’ marriage.


Malvern Hills features a musician who writes his own songs and is unable to find a band that wants him. However sad this sounds, this character in the story seems to be satisfied and optimistic , and the behaviour of other characters in this story only make the readers’ faith in this character stronger.


The sardonic and witty tone of the main character in tis story contrasts greatly with the plain sadness hidden in the characters of the story. We see Lindy from Crooner, no more carrying the surname Gardner in this story.This story is also about an unsuccessful but highly talented saxophone player meeting Lindy under extremely interesting circumstances of undergoing a cometic surgery. Ishiguro not only explores the demolition of self-integrity and respect on the path to fame, but also explores the relationship between an untalented yet successful person and talented yet unsuccessful person-and their mutual jealousy of each other.


I wouldn’t like much to say about this story, except for the fact that it revolves around a beautiful concept about understanding the depths of music. And also that talent may not always result in ability (and vice-versa).


The common threads weaving through this narrative not only comprises of the threads of music, but also that each story is set in such a beautiful place, that it is almost a visual pleasure to read them and imagine them in one’s mind. Ishiguro addresses many topics and stirs many heart-strings. This read is deceivingly light, but reader beware, for it will weigh heavily on your mind for days.

© sereinbrontide , 2019. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this site’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to RueTheDay and with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

A glimpse of the blooming flowers

The flowers have bloomed

before the leaves sprouted.

My happiness has flowered too,

before the melancholy settles


like the dust on my desk.

© sereinbrontide , 2018. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this site’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to RueTheDay and with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Leaving home

Leaving home is always hard, and unlike other tasks it never gets easier. I remember when I first left home – I didn’t even feel that bad, but the times after that really tested my strength. It all depended on the environment of where I went. Whenever I felt a bit more lonely in the period I used to be away from home, I felt even worse leaving it.

Of course as the clock ticked I started enjoying the new place. By the time it was time to leave the “new place” and go back home, I was crying because I didn’t want to abandon my new home. I loved it there. I still do.

Now that my “new place” has changed, my heart and soul still haven’t settled here and I long for the comfort of my home. It was a hard task trying not to cry in front of my parents and their parents, (to prevent an outburst I had cried before leaving privately in the bathroom as to not hurt my parents) this time when I was leaving home.

This place is different from both my homes. Drastically.

I am trying to like it. I hope I do.

Thinking like Van Gogh

I experience a period of frightening clarity in those moments when nature is so beautiful. I am no longer sure of myself, and the paintings appear as in a dream.

-Vincent Van Gogh


I recently tried to paint Van Gogh’s Starry Night, and in the process realised something I had forgotten ( is it possible to realise forgotten or is it just remembering it – something like rediscovering it ? )

It is extremely important to take note of Van Gogh’s strokes and see the world as he saw it , can you imagine seeing wind and trees and the glow of the stars as such ? The world is truly what we see it as, it can be infinite and boundless or it can be the claustrophobic fears holding you in . It is your choice , it is my choice.

If I want I can see magic.

and if I try hard enough,

I can create some.