24

And I often wonder about time. It's like this: In a day, there are 24 hours. But how much of this is actually spent the way we want it? The last one year and a half witnessed the obstinance of yours truly doing what she'd fancied: travelling, and working leisurely, and studying. But retrospectively and seemingly, I have lived the year and a half of my life, well, wasted (not on my terms, of course). And time, lest the occasional nail-biting deadlines, was plentiful - a stark contrast to it being never enough just a few years back.

And as time goes by, I recount the days I'd just let it slip me by. Too many, alas, as I count the days left before I head 6,500km southeast again. Twenty-four...

And as strangely and ironically as the number seems to, perhaps remotely, signify any tinge of regret, I reckon I was also the happiest at 24.