A facebook habit and times otherwise (and me degressing- a part that ought to be ignored or unposted or whatever?)

There are hundreds.. ohk.. wait, thousands of pictures literally where I smile with all my teeth, eyes and all. Most of the times when I sense a camera nearby, I play the part, like it was just an act, put my heart in and believe that I’m happy. I start the smile with my lips, show my pretty teeth and narrow my eyes. I’ve observed that people who crinkle their eyes a little when they smile happen to look very convincing.  The photos come beautiful. I am happy that they come so. And I forget them. It’s like they aren’t a part of me. Like the way tourists see things. They go to a place, do a thing, and tick it off their list. Very unlike the traveller that I had I always wanted to become. To live, breathe in, and make the place a part of me. That I guess is what’s wrong with my photos these days. They do not live. Like beautiful jewelry that steal eyes off the face. And then it all loses the point.

But then again, some pictures come, where you jump and you remember the way the wind felt in your hair, feet off the shoes, salt on your lips, skin warm from the setting sun- red over the water, the launch, stretch, jump and a friend who makes you feel right. Bright, in a way that I don't even realize that I'm glowing and laughing and storing the image beyond it’s frame without meaning to. Those pictures make me happy, a little sentimental as I see them. I own them up so much that they’re too meaningful to be exposed without their unique circumstances. They make me so happy that I feel sad, a sweet kind of sadness, full of longing. 

Sometimes it's gurgling sparkling humour or anger, involvement. Friends, love, silent, sweet, textured, funny ones and a million more.  

So you know, I've decided.. not that my decisions hold like Nagarjuna Cement or anything.. but yeah.. I kinda decided to post atleast one picture every week that means a lot to me and tell you the story. Why? Because when I write- I do not talk. And I've been talking too much these days.

( A result of joblessness.. Oops.. My final year finals begin in a week and look at the weird decisions I'm taking.. doesn't matter. What is important is that I write, and that I read. And more importantly learn. And share my process of learning and growing, with a future me and you. Now that I think of it, it's not like I learn much, or that I share the useful part of my learning.. I just like the drama of imagining you reading my page. Not that I write for you alone or that I morph any of my writings to please you. That's the best part of being read by you. I don't know what you expect from me, so I won't be trying to impress you in the way I'd like to. But I know, that if you've had the patience to read this page as far as this sentence, you must have considered my existence and that makes you worth being considered as a friend. )

P.S.: It is fun to dream with open eyes and touch a person, reach a place. Still such a pity that one can't dream a life away.. and then again, who can prove such silly stuff otherwise, that this whole life is not a dream? Just the way as you get closer to waking you gain more control on the dream.. maybe waking is dying and to dream is to live. Maybe it isn't so, it just is what it is. But how would you know?