I was flying a kite. I don't know why, but I was. It seems like such an un-me-ish thing to do. But at any rate yeah, that was what I was doing. Then I realised I had moved to this new neighbourhood. My new house was a small 2-roomish affair. I moved in with my grandmother only. The entire atmosphere seemed sort of sad and gloomy. Wait, no, more like melancholy. As if we dearly missed something, but did not know what. I think pretty soon, I took to the streets. Exploring and whatnot, but in my head i always carried the thought of my grandmother. A thought of worry. I discovered a lot of shops and hidden nooks and crannies. Its a subconscious thing. I guess I like the idea of hidden enterprises. There was a Chinese restaurant that sold some rare delicacy. Children playing somewhere. At one point, I was running a bit and I noticed then I could really widen my strides and sort of glide.

The next part had something to do with my birthday. I did something really bad or uncaring and I ended up alienating a lot of people. But what affected me the most was the fact that my parents seemed to hate me? or just plain not care about me. This hurt me quite deeply and I often found myself crying and panic-striken at the thought.