Life quite genuinely sucks. It's not funny, though it sounds that way. Jesus, I could whack all my so-called friends. Nijer ta bujhe niye shala tumi jaley porle na morei gele, karur jay ashe na. fucking buggers.

I was going through Orkut profiles of people in college now. Khub pulok holo, so am writing. Well, y'know, there's a distinct difference between people that are good and those you learn to tolerate, ar chakri korte korte you see so many of the latter kind that you forget the difference. Aj ak jon ke dekhe mone holo she was the kind I'd have liked to be friends with.
Eishob, ar the boy has had a fierce crew-cut hair-cut, like he was going to war, or to be a sailor, at the least. Ki bhoyanok, ami to prothome takachhilam i na. And I have a camera, discovering the joys of a camera. Ami ashole akhon khub khushi khushi bodh korchhi. Y'know, like Oli was saying, how you can be happy despite there not really being anything to be happy about, if someone were to hold you to the cause-effect of it. Actually, she said the opposite, but you get the picture. Blissfully happy, akhon. And you realise that you are rather lucky to be given someone with whom to share your days with. And that God gives his gifts carefully.
Ami kal akta documentary dekhchhilam Nandigram er opor: shekhane a person's intestines were puching their way out of his stomach after he'd been shot. And his wife was so quiet and nonchalant: what could she do, really. What is there to do once it's gone and happened. And you realise how close death lives to your skin, and that things might happen to those you love, need. You are glad they are all good. And the petty feel-bads seem small, then, when you think there's love enough, or maybe caring, to hold you together with another.