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!