A Happy Anniversary Blog

I tend to not blog when I'm happy. To be fair, I have way more to say in my angry rants/angst than I have when I'm happy. The sun is shining. The weather is gorgeous. I have a book to read.

I don't know what to consider as the anniversary of my arrival/settling in at Saskatoon, but apparently this weekend is the fireworks festival, which is my first strong memory after my parents left me and I had moved into my house, anticipating the upcoming school year. What a year it was, filled with such lows but also such highs.

I can't complain about my 21st year, but at the same time, I don't know if it was good or bad to me. It just was. A year has passed, another year awaits.

It seems I got 99 problems but a bitch ain't one.

Cheers!

Oh God.

So. Yeah. A little mistake and everything you've tried to work for has gone to shit and it's all a little bit confusing because it's not like you didn't want it but it's not like you wanted it and it's not like it was bad but it wasn't good and it wasn't supposed to be like this. It sure as hell wasn't supposed to be like this. It was supposed to different and nice and sweet and you're not supposed to end up with burns, both metaphorical and physical. It wasn't just a thing that just happened and now it's done and you're like....oh.

I know what you guys are thinking it sounds like, and it wasn't *that*. It really wasn't.

I just want McDonald's and to re-watch Game of Thrones.

Butter chicken pizza is awesome.

Cheers.

"22, 22: The Year of the Lady"

I turned 22 on Tuesday. I always felt 22 was the year of the lady. It's such a weird transition:

a) at 20, you're still a kid.
b) at 21, are you a kid or are you an adult? It doesn't matter because you can be both if you want to be. People still consider you "young".
c) at 22, now you're magically an adult? A "young lady"? Words like "kid" don't get thrown at you as often anymore and you're not viewed as little anymore. Any mistakes you make are on your head and the pressure to find a career just continues to mount. Strange, isn't it, how arbitrary numbers are guideposts into looking back at your life and measuring how much you've succeeded or failed.

I started this birth year with a fever, kind of like Zuko when he chose to abandon the search for the avatar in BaSing-Se. I need a General Iroh in my life, although I hardly think I'm at the crossroads of my destiny, though I am/was at a crossroads.

I have learned this. I'm Shan fucking i and I will not be an obligation or a standby.

If 22 is the year of the lady, then I will be a lady in my own right. I will stop grovelling for approval from people who really don't deserve any sort of place in my life, let alone a pedestal. You'll need me before the world ends.

Cheers.

The Real M Word

I'm brown. I'm also the oldest girl, the daughter of the oldest girl (my mother), who is the daughter of the oldest girl (my grandmother). Now I know my family is not super Indiany (read: watch Bollywood, eat chapatis all the time) but we are pretty cultural. I can speak Konkani quite fluently, I respect my elders and refer to them as my elders, I can cook a pretty decent South Indian meal, and am often scared when I come home at 2 am wondering whether my parents will yell at me. 

I'm going to be 22 on Tuesday and in my heart I'm 19. My life right now revolves around me, my fun, my drinking, my parties, my books, my broken heart, mine mine mine. I have no responsibilities, no ties in this place, no one to hold me accountable (so to speak, the Jing Bangers hold me quite accountable to say the least). So of course it amuses me when my parents dare mention the big M word - matrimony. I suppose the only big B word that my mom would know how to say would be referring to my big butt (not boyfriend), which incidentally is a tried and true nickname of mine at home. I asked her what would happen if I went on a date and she half freaked out thinking I had one.

Sitting at Applebee's, which is apparently the place for heavy discussions, my parents informed me that I should be married by the time I'm 25, for my own good, and I believe they really think so. In response, I chortled and told my mom that was in 3 years, which meant that I would have to met someone by now (not necessarily, but it is a logical assumption). My dad then said that 2 -3 months was enough whereas my mom veered toward a year, and my dad rounded it off with a "Let us know when to start looking." Now, I don't know if they were serious or not because I don't know how they can possibly assume that they could find a boy for me from among the masses. What sort of masses? Brown masses? Definitely not anything other than the Christian mass (no pun intended). I mean, my parents marriage wasn't arranged, per se, but basically my mom got to pick from a bunch of people my grandfather had pre-approved of. 

Got me thinking about this whole M word business. I know I would need parental approval - all that Romeo and Juliet sort of passionate business doesn't last, it's but a butterfly memory once real life sets in, and I know more than anything else that real life is going to bite you hard in the ass, and "for better or worse" will become "far better in my hearse" because people are essentially aggravating. They smell, they aren't clean, they do weird things like throw socks around or leave shampoo bottles half open or eat the last piece of pizza in the fridge. You need something that lasts beyond and apart from your partner, something stable, something concrete, some people to hold you accountable to lifelong vows that you made. Parents do that. Parents are also crazy. There is no winning in life, maybe that's why people drink or get diabetes.

Maybe I should put an ad out. Join some foreveralone dating sites.

Age: 21
Sex: Female (to be verified - possibly before marriage)

Usefulness as a partner: can cook, can clean, can discipline children, repressed sexuality, relatively clean, friendly, funny, great drinking partner, likes music, family oriented, effective communicator, technologically competent, relatively flexible and adaptable.

Would you rather lose a tongue or a hand?

Things that might piss you off: sings loud and off tune to every song, has a dish pile in the room, doesn't keep honey mustard in the fridge, likes to eat out, gets really obnoxious and loud, reproductive functionality up in the air, dances randomly, has weird sleeping patterns, talks to people on the Internet, writes emo angsty poetry and waxes intimate about heartbreak.

Life goals: to sit around, write poetry all day and banter constantly.

Emotional baggage: 60 pounds

Looking for: .....................................

On second thought, I like having my own room and being able to come home at 5 am and sleep in my bed by myself and order pizza with beer mouth/hair, shaving whenever I want, wearing fuzzy socks at all hours of the day, and eating secret bottles of Nutella when no one's looking.

Screw the real M word, I'll settle for the real L word right now.

Awkward boner.

Cheers!

Where did it go now, all that you thought was worth a fight?

It's all but become just a passing thought in spite (E Minor - Other Lives).

The only part of me I left behind with you

was a hamburger with a bite taken out of it,

I wasn’t hungry the night we had met,

And you took it,

Wrapped delicately in its plastic container,

And placed it in your fridge for me to pick up tomorrow

Or later that night,

But I knew that I would never be back for it.

It makes me sad that I don’t remember how it tasted,

And that you probably threw it out the next day,

Fries and all.

Just know that if you had left your hamburger behind in my fridge,

With a bite mark around the edge of the patty in the shape of a moon crater,

I would have made sure you would have gotten it back the next day,

And if all else failed and you were halfway across the universe before I could see you again,

I would have eaten it in your memory,

Trying to recall if this is how you tasted that night I kissed you.

I'm hungry.

I'm Horrible at Being a Horrible Person

I AM HORRIBLE AT CUTTING PEOPLE OFF.

I've never done it before and now that I have to, well, in the words of a very Wise-au, "YOU ARE TEARING ME APART, LISA!" Not a literal Lisa.

When I become close with someone, I do not expect it to remain forever, but I expect that the parting will be organic and something both parties come to the (unsaid) conclusion to naturally.

But what if you need someone(s) gone from your life? Someone you thought would always be there? Someone you WANT to always be there but...but it's toxic because they treat you like shit! And the more you think about it, the more you realize, "Man, this person reallllllllllllllllllllly didn't care about me at all. Like this person/people treated me worse than they would treat a person who sold crack to their unborn baby." But being a typical girl, or by being a typical masochist, or a nice person I just keep on giving chances because I can't bear the thought of them not being involved in my life.

How? How can I go through life without sending them one more song? One more thought? Share one more poem? Lucky I have friends keeping me strong, but I feel so ridiculously pathetic that I often sit there and laugh at myself WITH myself about how pathetic I am. PATHETIC. I am such a sociopath.

Oh well, guess I have beef jerky. Oh wait no, I ate it. Meat <3

Cheers!

Thinking too much...

There was supposed to be a fight, a victory, a rejuvenation. Not silence.

But God was in the silence.


Eternal rest grant unto him, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon him, and may he rest in peace. Eternal peace.

Cheers.

The "What I am Not" Rant Cliche

I shouldn't browse facebook in a sleep-deprived state. All I see are people who piss me off, who used to call me friends but really don't give two shits about me, who talk about all the good things of this world, and I'm glad that the world for them is sunshine and lollipops, I really really am.

My world isn't like that.

I have money, comfort, family, and for that I am grateful.

I have food, I have friends, I have entertainment.

I have books, cars, comics, jackets.

For these I am grateful.

I have God. I never doubt that. But sometimes I doubt our relationship, not on His end, on my end.

I am selfish and needy, sleep-deprived and angry.

I am horny and hormonal and lonely.

I am full of hurt, things that you don't know about, and sure, go ahead and judge me. I know we're all hurt, I know that. There are a lot of things that have seared my heart. And it makes me full of rage.

I cannot call everything beautiful even though everything is beautiful. There is beauty in symmetry but I see in fragments.

All you who speak about modesty in clothing, what do you know about modesty? You Catholic hypocrites. You pray and pray and I know you WILL go to heaven, you are wonderful people. But, please, I beg you, open your eyes to the words you use. Words like modesty and humility, words like gratefulness and beauty, what do you know? What is modest about insensitivity? What is modest about refusing to acknowledge the basest of human natures and drives? You are sheltered in a cocoon of ignorance and bliss, you are loved and protected by so many, and maybe that is your call in life but I live in the real world, where there is bitterness and gnashing of teeth.

You hypocrites. When you mutter all that is female is supposed to be tiny and feminine and delicate and boys are the men of this world, and at the end all we become is cliche. Maybe at the end, that is the right way, I do not know. Maybe I will be that cliche, maybe I am that cliche. But not now. So enough! Pray for your eyes to be opened. Put an end to your syrupy hypocrisy.

In a world where you're supposed to be "ALL THAT YOU CAN BE", we're awfully miserable. Individualism has blinded us to the true nature of compassion and of selflessness. Not just you, me.

And I swear that I don't have a gun.

Cheers.