this place, that year...

A meddling six year old is standing to my right, leering over my shoulder curious as to what im doing. Finally, he says "yeh aap kya kar rahay hain?". I ignore him. I'm not feeling very amicable. He presses a key on the keyboard to illicit a reaction. "fuck off, kid" i whisper under my breath. He complies.
Im sitting in the wateen internet terminal booth at the allama iqbal international. My flight has been delayed and this booth makes me reminisce. I sat in this booth three years ago. Again, on my way to dubai. Again, composing something that i wished i hadnt.
I have no illusions and misconceptions anymore. I am not the boy that sat in this cubicle three years back. Then, i wrote something to a friend describing what I hoped was in store, describing what I hoped the future held. Yes, hindsight is twenty twenty but I couldn't have been further from my ambitions and expectations...
I'm perceptive. It's a gift. I picked up the nuances in your voice. I know it didn't happen the way I had hoped and this time i refuse to resign myself to 'the all things are for the better' generic rationale variety. Its time to take my destiny in my own hands.
My greatest fear in the world is being forgotten, is falling and not getting back up. A man's worth is measured by what he did with whatever little he had. Its time to get the ball rolling. I should be able to do that, given my penchant for footy.
Watch this space. Nothing, nothing... not black magic, not death threats from terrorists in rahim yar khan, not the discouraging words of nay sayers, not the hajooj majooj... nothing under the sun is going to keep me down.