Goodbye 2010

Around this time last year, I was crowing about how 2010 was going to be MY year. Crowing like my life depended on it. Crowing with confidence, as if affirming it with certainty, would MAKE it a certainty. I wasn't all that wrong. I'm not saying it was a year that went smoothly in every possible way. Some moments of 2010 brought me down to my knees, and I felt that I may never be able to rise again. It may sound melodramatic, but I am not exaggerating. There were moments when I felt completely hopeless and alone as I never have in my adult life, and I can safely say I have never cried so much in any year. But I guess this is also the year when I truly faced life and all that it can encompass - a whole gamut of experience and emotion. And I still say 2010 WAS MY YEAR. I hurt, but I healed. I fell, but I learned that I can get up time and time again. You can't knock me down. I learned who I can trust and who I can lean on, and that I am not in this alone. I learned that I can cry, and yell, and feel like my mind is no longer my own - and there will still be people in my corner fighting for me, and believing in me... not because they have to - but because they genuinely do. You know who you are... and if there ever has been a moment when you have thought that I don't appreciate you, or treasure you. Think again. I know who I can count on, and who I can trust, and who's got my back. And I am blessed that there are so many of you. If 2010 has taught me nothing else - it has taught me to value all the people I have. I've got your back too.

Another thing 2010 has taught me is that I am EMOTIONAL. For the longest time I have felt that I have no heart, and I have no feeling. Love strongly, and be hurt badly, and your heart will show you it exists. I have never felt more alive - in my saddest and happiest moments than I have in these past few months. I am richer for everything, and while parts of me are still struggling, I am not defeated. I've taken leaps I never thought I could have, and survived wounds I never imagined facing. And I am so much better for it...

And I will be greedy and tell you: 2011 is MY year too. Bring it on.

Bye Bye, Doormat.

I'd like to begin by saying I am no flawless saint. If I was a cruise ship, my name would be Titanic: I am THAT flawed and prone to disaster. But I sincerely believe I am a good person. I try. And sometimes fail. But I do try. And I don't expect anyone to make excuses for my faults, and adjust their actions and behaviour according to what suits me. That, I believe is grossly unfair. I respect people's opinions, and criticisms, and take things with an open mind. And once told something, I think over it as objectively as I can. And if I feel the need to change, I really try to.

That being said, a lot has happened in my life in the last few months, and while I take full responsibility for all my actions, other people have been cavalier, and disrespectful with my feelings. And while there was a time I would have sat back and taken a defeatist attitude, and thrown my hands in the air and said 'I can only control what I do', that is certainly not what I do now. I scream. I shout. I cry. I speak out. And THEN I throw my hands in the air and say, 'I can only control what I do. AND I don't have to take the shit other people throw at me.'

The doormat me has gone. Forever, I hope. And I refuse to listen to the people who tell me that I need to rearrange my path because of their screw-ups. Been there, done that, bought the T-shirt. I'm living my life for me now, and if you think that's selfish, you're welcome to do so. But think about it: I can only be of good to someone else if I'm taken care of... and ONLY I CAN TAKE CARE OF ME.

I'm working on the screaming and shouting and crying though. It's very unattractive.

P.S. I'm sorry for saying 'Shit', but somehow 'Faeces' didn't have the same impact.

Little feet

The beat beckons to the little boy, and of their own accord his little feet begin to stomp the earth. The rhythm is basic, and the urge to dance, instinctive. He does not know yet to be self-conscious. He does not care that his clothes are tattered, and has not yet begun to compare what he has with what others do. He is content and he is joyful. This moment is about the beat, and it takes over his body, resonates in his innocent soul.

In this moment, he is healthy. His skin gleams in the Ugandan sun, and his little belly is gently round in a way that spells content. His young mother looks on, and she is far from content. Not so long ago, she was just as carefree. But as she grew, so did the consciousness of her place in the world, and how limited the possibilities seemed. She is reconciled with her own life of working enough to just get by. It's been a little difficult since she had the little one, but nothing she can't manage. She works in the homes of people better off than her - their rooms filled with things she doesn't quite want - definitely doesn't need - but things that are, all the same, constant reminders of what she can never have even she wants to. Some of the things that they toss around with complete disregard are worth a month of her pay, at the very least.

She looks on at her jubilant, carefree son. Will he be as content as she? She does not think so. She has seen the hunger in the older children of others. Hunger and envy, and a deepening dissatisfaction. She knows merely trying to instil the basic values in her son will not be enough. How can she possibly explain to him how there will always be people who possess more? As she looks on at her son, as he revels in a simple, uncomplicated pleasure, she dreads the day that will come all too soon - the day when what he DOES NOT have will be more important to him than what he DOES... the day when the beat will not be enough, but the quality and possession of the instrument creating the beat will determine his joy.

And somehow this scenario is preferable to another, very likely, one. What if there comes a time when even his most basic needs will not be met? When the beat rings true, but there is no strength of spirit or body to dance to it?

Magic Mirror

I should look different. Like me... but different. Not quite aged. Not quite altered. Me... with less. Me... with more. Me... and yet... not.

I look in the mirror, and it lies. It hides. It deludes. It represents the same persona as a few months ago. A persona that may not ever emerge again.

Oh, mirror mirror on the wall... show me true, or not at all!

Could it be that the me that is, sparkles. She's thrown caution to the wind and is no longer chained by inhibition and fear and the expectation of failure. It's when I think this that I realise that the old me is still there. Submerged, but ever present. In awe, and fearful of this new, spectacular, scary, seemingly psychotic me.

I really should look different.

A Letter To Mr Not-Right-Now

Hey there hot stuff,

This is the down-low: You have rocked my world, and you have a great butt. But this is not working for me. Not because we don't get along - we do. You've got a mind I could wander in for miles, and a soul so fathomless I could go deep-sea diving. But the plain truth is that I am not ready for someone as strange as you. It's me... not you. Except... it IS you!

I think the first clue of your eccentricity was the restraining order for me... and then the fact that every time I get your newest number, it's unreachable within a day. I mean if I didn't know better I would think you were avoiding me!!! But I have felt the connection... when I look into your eyes I know the intensity is so great that you can't help but look away. Sure it looks like a nervous twitch - as though you are frantically, furtively glancing around for the nearest exit. It's quite endearing and just makes you all the more sexy in my eyes. I'm a bit worried though at the attachment that you have formed to that shiny new letter opener of yours... and the other night the edge of the blade caught the light and it looked almost like a real knife! Baby, if you are scared of anyone, you need to tell me.

I guess this fear is what has made you change the locks to your place so many times... and I guess the feeling has been so overpowering and mind-numbing you forgot to tell me each time! Luckily in order not to trouble you I have managed to get the keys copied quietly every time. I know how stressed you are at work too - I mean every time I call the work number you gave me your secretary answers as Pizza Hut Home Delivery! It's great to have a laugh at work, but I am sure working with such jokers can get tiring.

But honey, any fool can tell you have issues. I'm just not ready for such complex problems. I mean I thought my last boyfriend was strange (he kept moving town without telling me, and he's either had a sex operation and turned into a woman, or has left the country - noone is telling me, and his old neighbours all seem to cower when they see me! It's baffling!), but you take the cake!

So I'll be seeing you... (and not just via satellite from the well hidden secret CCTV I had installed in your room)...

XOXO

Miss Totally-CRAZY-For-You

Ke Nako

SPOILER - I HAVE BEEN A LITTLE FOOTBALL CRAZY OF LATE... YOU WILL UNDERSTAND AS YOU READ ALONG.

Ke Nako... It's time

We came onto the playing field, you and I, almost expecting glory. Ready to battle, ready to overcome, ready to shine. We came with hearts full of exhilaration, anticipation, and excitement - knowing that there would be challenges, and yet certain - positive - that we would come out winners. Oh, there was the occasional shadow of possibly unsavoury outcomes, but they were quickly swept away in the thrill of the game and the joyful frissons that blossomed at every sweet victory.

We could not lose. We would not lose.

We lost.

Perhaps it was our strategy. Or could it have been that we were simply not ready? Worse still, is the possibility that this alliance we formed was not the ideal one. My mind is on constant replay - fast forwarding, and rewinding, and pausing over and over and over again, trying to pinpoint the moments of weakness, and the little failures, and then trying to determine how best to overcome and strengthen ourselves for the next attempt on the playing field. But what if the only solution is to build a different team for a different playing field?

Ke Nako - it's time to admit defeat, put down our waving flag, and find comfort in the fact that we came, we saw, we tried.

Farfatoolalo

So I tried something new recently, that didn't really work out. For the sake of future reference let's refer to it as 'Farfatoolalo'. These things happen - or as in this case, don't. We fall, we pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off, and move forward. Ideally, anyway.

Not me. I went on a whinge binge, and it just occurred to me how annoying I have been lately. A few weeks ago I was reasonably interesting in that I could have a conversation about a multitude of things other than the aforementioned Farfatoolalo. But lately every word I utter is about Farfatoolalo, and every conversation I have is directed towards Farfatoolalo! Well this Farfatoolalo talking has gone too far! I seem to have no personality other than whingeing ALL the time, and I have begun to sound annoying even to myself! So to other people I must have reached unbearable levels, because I usually find myself immensely entertaining, and I can no longer say this is true. Sigh.

So I am done with the Farfatoolalo. Eat my dust Farfatoolalo. You belong in the past and all I can see right now is a Futurefatoolalo. My whinge binge is officially at an end.

But how I miss the idea of Farfatoolalo!

My little poet

I have a bunch of littler siblings who are all very special (read strange and quirky and incredibly interesting) in their own right. But tonight, it is the littlest one who has drawn me out in baffled surprise. She's seventeen years my junior (a fact that is going to drive me insane in the near future as I embark on my looming mid-life crisis), and at eleven years, she is as smart as a whip. She's very attuned to people around her emotionally, and as the evidence below will imply, I worry that she might be a tad cynical... I'm a bit worried at some of the depth of emotion that has evolved from her words - emotion I, at a SLIGHTLY riper age, do not seem capable of. She's recently begun to write poetry, and am eager to know your thoughts on the same.

I hereby present to you the words of Khushboo Shah.

Goodbye

As I said my goodbyes
I felt like a firefly
As my flight would leave in ten minutes
I couldn't say goodbye to mum
Otherwise I would start sucking my thumb
I couldn't say goodbye to dad
Otherwise I might get mad, or sad
I couldn't say goodbye to my siblings
Because they helped me with everything
But now I want to say goodbye
I need to cry
No matter how much I want to cry
I cannot cry
But now I find myself crying

And now for the REALLY perturbing one:

Untitled

All my life I believed
In a dream of a tale
Where a prince meets a girl
And it ends happily
But now I see that it can't
And it won't
Because my happy ending
Has been written into
A fated tragedy

Even now I find
I can never forget
All the songs that you wrote
And I sang
And it echoes in my heart
Every note that I hear
In my mind
Drives me mad
And I find
That I'm falling and
Falling apart

I am just wishing that
I could break the chains that
Hold me back
So I could maybe
Return
To better days

Fork In The Road

There's a fork in the road, and I feel inept. Which route should I take? Neither one seems easy. Neither one is clearly defined. There's smoke, and debris, and the signs are confusing. I have travelled so many roads, and yet I have never felt so inexperienced, so at a loss. I'm tempted to toss a coin, and let luck decide. And yet deep down I know which path I really want to take. And which one I should.

It's a fork in the road - this battle between what is sensible and safe, and what is emotional and unknown.

There's a fork in the road, and I have never changed my mind so many times. Never before have I weighed the pros and cons, and deliberated over the signs and possibilities of what might be... of what could be... of what probably WILL be...

There's a fork in the road, and no real need for a quick decision. But the urgency is bubbling within me... slowly simmering to a boiling point. The need to react is overpowering. But I'm not quite ready to choose.

Under his spell...

Anyone who knows me, or has read even ONE of my blog entries knows that I'm a little... strange. So my next confession will hopefully not surprise anyone too much (I hope).

It's no secret that I am at that age when dating, or the idea of dating, or the view that I should be dating (or in some schools of thought, married and with child) is supposed to be at the forefront of everyone's minds. I know it sounds like an exaggeration when I say 'everyone', but when people you met five minutes back begin tsking at my singular status (can I say that?), it seems like the universe and all divinity, and sceptics of the above are very intent on finding me a man even if I will not do it myself - especially since I am not doing it myself. I'm no longer affronted at how everyone and his (or her) mother's nose is in my dating business. REALLY. Well, on most days anyway.

So for those on the prowl on my behalf, I guess there is something you really need to know. And no, it's not that I'm secretly a nun, or into women - that I know of... What I'm about to reveal is a trait I find absolutely necessary in a man. So much so that even if the most gorgeous Adonis with the brains of Einstein and the wit of Russell Peters and the wealth of Bill Gates were to be a contender as my better half (hey while I'm dreaming might as well aim high), and yet NOT possess this particular trait, it would be a deal breaker. And I am very serious about this. Seriously serious.

Look, I'm no paragon of anything really. But I love the written word (in English - my linguistic skills are minimal), and a man who respects it is a real turn on. I can just see the confusion in your face (quit scrunching up your forehead, you'll wrinkle easier). Let me expound: Good grammar makes me go weak at the knees. Impeccable spelling will bring out the stars in my eyes. I know, I know, there isn't a type of therapy that has been invented yet that would work on me. But this is the honest truth. My man has to be able to spell, and construct good sentences.

Phew. There! I got it out!

In this world of highly abbreviated, speedy text messaging and instant messaging and all the ways in which we try to save precious time, I appreciate the special few who take the time to spell words whole and write sentences fully. To me, this trend of abbreviating everything is sacrilege.

So, please... if you're on the manhunt for me, get me someone who can spell - and I might just be putty in his arms!

Magic

Lightning lit the plain like paparazzi eager for a glimpse of the latest hot starlet. The view was breathtaking, beautiful, a centrefold for nature magazines. Soon after thunder rumbled throatily of promises - of rain, of romance, of mystery, of small somethings blossoming here and there. The stars were in attendance, twinkling charmingly; glinting with harmless mischief. The scene was drenched in magic and possibility.

A child woman perched herself on the jagged rocks overlooking the plain. Her raised arms, bathed in moonlight, spoke to the skies. They spoke of hope and love, and desires she dared not utter aloud. They told tales of yearnings and secrets. Her fingers stretched out to the stars - strong and assured that dreams do come true. Tonight anything seemed possible.

The embers from her little fire glowed like a frozen tequila sunrise. They scoffed cynically at her belief... But they agreed silently to let her have tonight.

Take A Good Look At Me Now

Take a good look at me now. I come to you tonight stripped of any inhibition and any pretense. I am the best version of myself, and all of me - within, and without - is here for YOUR perusal. I see the possibility of greatness between you and me, and I don't want to begin anything with muddy waters. Let's begin with you, and just you; and me - JUST me. No games, no lies, no bullshit.

I'm here baby, not for any guarantees. I know there are none. I come here not to hold you to any obligation - that's not what I want at all. I'm no baby, baby. I outgrew my naivete a long time ago. I'm no damsel in distress searching for a white knight... I am capable of executing my own rescues, thank you very much. Know this. Honour this. I come simply to explore the mystery that's brewing. And I know it's there. I don't know where it will lead. Neither do you.

Take a good look at me now, baby. This is all of me on display for all of you. It's an exclusive exhibition, so enjoy the honour. No strings my dear, you don't have to like what you see. Neither do I.

Steel

I looked in the mirror this morning, and glimpsed something there that is new. Beneath the obvious facade, there have been changes. Remarkable ones. If I did not have the familiar mask that is my face, I would not be able to recognise myself. Where there was once a skeleton of bone, there is now steel. The strength from within shimmers through. There's an extra sparkle in my eyes, an extra glow on my cheeks. My gait is no longer hesitant but firm, and sure.

The days when I felt helpless and lonely are not that long ago. But the me that was, has been dropped as quickly as last season's favourite fad. I know what I can take now, and I fear nothing. I know what I can handle, and I will not balk. I know what I can survive, and I know I will do it with grace. I know who I can rely on - I look at her every morning in the mirror.

I am woman, hear me roar.
You give me shit, I use it as manure.

On Edge

Tonight I'm a drone of dichotomies. Exhilarated and anxious. Hopeful and despondent. Needing oxygen, but unable to breathe. There's a feeling of being so small, so inconsequential, and of knowing something big is about to come. Something great. Something important. And there is so much fear because I may never be the same again.

Every song sung so far, has been sung for me. Every chord of music, is a plucking of my heartstrings. I am every cliche brought to life, and every metaphor simplified. I am panic and adrenaline and desire and yearning. I am my own hero, and yet all I can do is send out SOS signals. I'm the silver screen brought to life, and reality made into a movie. I am confused and clear, and exploding with so much feeling. My lungs are full - there is no room for another breath.

Breathe little one... Breathe!

I feel the best of myself merging with the worst of myself. I feel complete, and yet lacking in so many ways. I have lost my breath, my confidence, maybe even what little sanity I possess. I must remember to breathe!

I'm on the edge. Blue skies above beckon; the ground far below teems with jagged rocks. The terrain is stark and stunning. Birds chirp and predators prowl, and here I am teetering at the very edge. Breathe! I do not know yet where the next moment is going to take me. Will I fall, or will I fly? Knowing means going to the edge.

I'm here... at the edge. And I just can't breathe! The moment has arrived, and I need, I must, I will fly.

Fall Apart

Fall apart baby. Let it out. I'll be here with a glass of water and a big hug. I'm here to listen or sit with you in silence while you figure it out. I'll hold that box of tissues to mop up that mess your face has become. I'll love you no matter how snotty you get, and even if your nose becomes red and bulbous like Rudolph's.

Fall apart baby. I'm not here to judge. We'll make it better somehow, or we'll just wait it out until the feelings fade. I'm here for the long haul, and I'm here in your corner. I may not have the right words, or the wisdom to solve what needs to be solved, but I'm here with you. For you.

Fall apart baby. Fall with me.

Twenty Seven

I look in the mirror and I don't see a grown up. I look within, and I don't feel adult. It's scary. Don't get me wrong... the physical signs of my age are all too evident, but deep inside I feel lacking, and as uncertain and as wise (or unwise, as the case may be) as I was a decade ago.

Somewhere along this road I have become accustomed to being a mouse, to not having to put myself on the line. I've been lucky in the chances life has handed to me, and things have fallen into place of their own volition up to now. But there's a slow burn that's starting up - a desire to BE more... to TAKE more... but even stronger is a fear of failing that stops me from even trying.

I'm twenty seven, and I feel fourteen. Maybe it's because I still don't have my wisdom teeth?

I can't call myself a woman. I don't feel confident enough. I'm still a girl. Still. A. Girl. But methinks it's time to GROW UP.

Boost

Every once in a while I get a little stuck; a little complacent... and thankfully, when those moments arrive, the powers that be send me little angels that give me a swift kick in the arse to get things going again.

A year ago, a friend gave me one such friendly kick. She encouraged - no, INSISTED - that I start this blog as a 'gift' to her. It was more a gift to me.

So I want to say thanks, Pancham, for pushing me to follow a dream in a practical way (for now). A year has passed, and while I haven't written as much as I should have, I have written more in the last year than I had in the ten before, and I owe it all to you. Thanks for the initial push, and then bearing with the temperamental tantrums and indignant opinions of someone not quite talented enough to actually afford them.

I owe you, and I thank you.

Now Doesn't Last Forever

I write this in memory of Sang Lee who passed on earlier this month. I had the privilege and joy of reading his blog, and he truly made a mark on me. I read the quote I used below when he commented on a blog he followed called Restaurant Girl. The post in question was http://www.restaurantgal.com/2009/12/stark-reality-in-daylight/. I am sad that he died, but thankful his words, at least, will stay on forever.

'Fuck it. Not to the situation, or what you have to do, but how it affects you. It’s just now. And now doesn’t last forever.' Sang Lee

She fastened the seat belt and huddled under the blanket, leaning her head against the fuselage of the plane. She usually loved plane journeys. She would always be teetering on the edge of her seat watching the people board and put away their things as she made up stories about where they were headed and why. She'd be drumming her feet as the plane taxied, anticipation building as the plane took off. And if there was a cute guy next to her, she'd be plotting a way to start conversation, and planning the timing of the ice-breaker according to the length of the journey.

But not on this night. Not on this journey.

Tonight felt like the culmination of a thousand bad decisions and paths wrongly taken. She felt old and weary and lifeless. All her dreams felt so far out of reach; so improbable. She could see nothing to look forward to, nothing in her life worth retaining, or making better. All that she could see ahead were a multitude of dead ends, and it seemed as though every step she made forward led to umpteen obstacles that hurled her farther back than where she had started from. Life had become a thousand shades of grey - it seemed the only colour around.

When the stewardess came by and told her to put up the window blind, she looked out of the window. She was instantly struck by the splendour of the rain and its effects on the runway and the airport field. The tarmac was a glossy gown of charcoal black at this time of the night. The lights - orange, red, white - glittered prettily, and bled into the coat of rain on the ground. Each colour seemed more vibrant - like it had been given a wash and was hung out to dry. She felt some of the grey of her own mood lift, and her mind went back to another night; another journey - another bleak moment when she had felt like giving up. The earnest words of a dear friend floated in her memory, 'Fuck it. Not to the situation, or what you have to do, but how it affects you. It’s just now. And now doesn’t last forever.'

As the plane left the ground and soared towards a melting sky, the fog in her mind began to clear, and she slowly began to look for possibilities. It WAS just now... and now doesn't last forever...

Dirty Little Secret

They sat at the cafe one lazy afternoon, the sun dappling them in gentle shadows. Her eyes twinkled from the belly laughs of the past few hours. She had just finished a long overdue catch-up with some old girlfriends. It was rare for her to have the time to just hang out these days. But when he'd called, out of the blue really, to say 'Let's have lunch', she'd somehow had time and surprised herself when she agreed.

Her face was warm and flushed - the telltale effects of good food and a little red wine. Red wine always made her all cosy and slumberous. She peeked at him through lazy lashes as he ordered his meal, and realised that this was perfect. This was comfortable. She smiled inwardly, remembering their tête-à-têtes of the past. She didn't remember a single one that could be classified as 'comfortable'. There had been shyness, attraction, tension, hurt, irritation and confusion... nothing as simple as 'comfortable'.

They were meeting face to face after several months because their previous attempts at friendship had always been flailing, clumsy and unsuccessful. But on this sunny afternoon being friends finally seemed possible, and it gave her a warm, toasty feeling.

They talked easily about work, life, romance, and the future. Anything and everything really. They teased and laughed at themselves, and before they knew it the sky above was advertising stunning sunset shades, signalling it was time to leave. He offered to drop her home, and she accepted happily.

She hugged him tight as they said goodbye, and they agreed they must do this again. She hummed her way up the stairs feeling content, knowing that this would become a friendship she could count on. As she reached the top of the stairs, her phone gave a little blip.

The sms - from him - read, 'Please let's not tell anyone we met today. She can never know.'

She realised then that it was completely dark. The cold caught hold of her and clawed with icy fingers at her. She had been dreaming of being someone's friend when instead she was his dirty little secret.

Did You Ever Really Know Me At All?

I look at your face, and it's a blank mask. There's no room for dialogue; no space for understanding. That's fine. I don't have the energy, or the will, to try and make you see how much you have misunderstood me over the years. You will never realise how far off the mark you are about me, and have been about me - over, and over again. My face must look very much like yours. Completely closed up, completely blank.

In another time there would have been tears, or fury, perhaps even a searing pain. But how many times can I learn the same lesson? How many times will you ignore the truth? How many times will I let you see me oh so wrongly before you reluctantly, disbelievingly change your mind? I have no new arguments to try, I have no conviction that you might even believe. I have cried enough, tried enough, raged enough. You just don't want to see me.

I'll let it be. Let you think what you want. I can't prove anything to you if you're not willing to see. So I'll just let it be, and quietly wonder if you ever really knew me at all.

Bridges

Be careful boy. You're being just a little bit too cavalier. One wrong move and the flames will engulf your last chance of ever getting to me. So tread very, very carefully.

It's your last bridge to burn, and it's the most fragile one. We both know how you annihilated the ones that came before. Do you remember the first one? It seemed indestructible. It emanated simple, steely beauty. Its strength was quiet, and inconspicuous. But you wore it down slowly... excruciatingly... you were almost resilient in wanting to bring it down. And you did.

But because of who you are to me, I tried again. And there were moments when it was worth it. And so we built another bridge - wooden, and slightly ricketier than the first. I tried to ignore the sounds it made. Tried to ignore the creaks of warning... stubbornly trying to ignore the tearing out of my heart once again. But the weight of what you did... it brought it crashing down.

So realize this, boy. I have nothing left to give but this bridge of rope and twine. It's as shaky as they come, and its survival is in your hands. Tread with care, boy. The smallest flicker of hurt or anger can ignite into a flame... and whoosh! Down comes the last bridge.