Right now, I am torn between three options of relaxing myself-blogging, watching Norbit on HBO, lying on the bed in my dark room, the mixed sounds of raindrops hitting the pool and wet leaves rustling and rain hitting hard on the cemented courtyard and the window-pane, entering me. I chose blogging over the others though the last one allures me so badly that I might stop right in the middle of a post and head towards my room.

But I need to talk.

Words have an expurgating effect, like rain. An exorcising effect. Sometimes when you are frightened, oppressed by the tyranny of a ceratin thought that refuses to leave you in peace, try words. Words hurt, words heal...like time and rain...and friends and truth sometimes.

Truth has a strange nature. It hurts and yet truthfulness is a coveted virtue. And then again, truth is multi-faceted , many-layered and relative. I try sticking to the truth. I violate truth for my conveniences, to cover-up for my carelessness, my reluctance in co-operating with my parents on issues of food and medicine. And even that makes me feel guilty. But if it's for someone else's life, should I or should I not violate the truth, if need be? Even white lies are lies.

This is just a stupid and random post. So don't bother.