Saturday, November 25, 2017

I need my desk

Since, as long as I can remeber, I have had a desk. First, it was red plastic table with a matching red chair. Then as I grew out of that, it was an ironing board which doubled up as my table. Finally I got a wooden table with a wooden chair. For the past 10 years, that was my (0,0,0,x) position for x>=16 hours a day. I imagined, I learned and I slaved at that place. I used to complain about the little imperfections that made up my desk. The sharp edge sometimes scratched my hand; the lack of a drawer annoyed me. Furthermore, I sometimes detested the outmoded styling of it. It looks like something out a 60's movie.However, no matter how much I complain, that is my ground zero. That was my place.

Now that I am in a place far away from home, away from my desk, I realize the void it has left. I miss the stack of books I kept on the left and my little wooden pen stand which had drawings of tigers and other animals of Corbett National Park. I miss the etchings I made when I felt like my world was collapsing.

These days I do have a desk at work but I don't think I'll ever feel that connection with it. I miss my desk because despite it's imperfections it was perfect for me.


  1. It's the little things that is so simple

    1. Exactly, things we thought were inconsequential turn out to be so important