From August 2006 to May 2007, it's been a long ride. I find it hard to believe that in just ten months my life has undergone a change as radical as it has, and I wasn't even aware that such a change was possible. From being a proud procrastinator, I've gone to being a reluctant anticipator. From maintaining a facade of cynicism, I've come to keeping one of faith and trust. From a heart of faith and trust, I've morphed into one with a heart nearly full with cynicism. I've gone from actively seeking company to avoiding it on more occasions than otherwise. I've changed from wanting to do something in the world of Finance to doing something in the world of Statistics and Genetics. I've gone from being alone in the middle of company to not noticing the lack of thereof. From sighing at my parents' calls, I've come to appreciating them and looking forward to their calls. I've gone from being guarded about the way I feel about things to being careless with letting people into my feelings.

And in the midst of all this, only one thing hasn't changed. I still don't understand myself.

The Toilet Clue

I opened the door. On the carpet lay a crumpled sleeping bag. Shoes lay strewn everywhere. Socks were sticking out of some of those shoes, and some of the socks had been kicked around to the other part of the living room. Dead insects stuck to the wall, some that I remembered killing myself, and others that I had no recollection of. But I got the vague feeling that the number had doubled since I had last seen the wall next to the door. The bookcase too falling apart. Papers lay everywhere, with postchits that once specifed what they were, now inverted and misplaced. Food lay on the carpet and a stream of ants made its way from the window to where the food lay.

I walked in. Fabric softener lay on carpet. Next to it was an M&M wrapper. Next to it was this month's receipt for rent. A cockroach scurried past, through the wrapper, to under the fridge. The sink was full of dishes and smelling. The stove, originally white, was red and yellow and contained rice and dal remains that looked a month old. An unmade ommelette sat in a glass next to a hot pan, in which lay an uneaten ommelette. The bread wrapper lay on the floor of the kitchen, ants around it, and on it lay the core of an apple.

I walked into the bedroom. Papers, papers everywhere and not a sign of order. My comforter was bundled up and my sheet was ripped off the mattress. Papers lay under the table too and on my bed. The door of my closet was open, the light was on, and all my clothes were on the floor. The hangers hung, all empty, and swaying gently in the draft of the ac vent.

Wrappers and food spotted the carpet and a big black blob reminded me of when a friend had spilt juice.

I stole a peek into the toilet to confirm my suspicion, and this is where I was shocked. The toilet was sparkling clean. There was no hair in the sink and the water faucet wasn't dripping. And whoever it was had even left the seat down. And so I knew that someone had been into my apartment, because while the rest of the apartment was as I had left it, that person had used the toilet and left it cleaner than they found it.

My roommates and I should really clean up more often.