Too much, too little or a little too much?

I can handle it, can’t I? Of course I can, says a part of me. The other part, more dominant, is doubtful. I’m the kind of person who can do whatever is thrown towards her. But at the same time, I’m the kind of person who tends to forget that sometimes. I’m the kind of person who, if she makes up her mind to do something, does it well. But at the same time I’m also the kind of person whose time management skills suck. This is a time in my life when I’ve taken on a lot of things. None on which are unnecessary. Fortunate, you might say. At least I’m not wasting my time. Yes? But then, stop to think. Is it really so fortunate? My plate is overflowing with the delights of my favourite language, the wonders of being financially independent with the help of a job that I actually enjoy, the prospects of a better future with a higher qualification degree, the love and company of friends. How do I choose, if I have to?

“Stop changing. Stop being someone you’re not.” – Just a little something, someone said to me a few nights ago. While I didn’t have a response then, I have one now. And what I have to say is this: Why the hell? I like the person I’ve become. I’ve changed, but I’m essentially still me. The girl I see in the mirror is composed, focused, a little stoic and most importantly, doesn’t hurt easily. She’s still as random as random can be, she still loves with all her heart – that thankfully hasn’t changed. But she’s a lot more careful about who she’s random with, and who/what she loves with all her heart. For now, it’s the language that’s made her weak in the knees since the 8th grade. It’s the job that she didn’t ever see herself doing, but enjoys quite a bit. It’s basking in a sliver of hopefully fast-growing independence. It’s the professor she thought was never going to teach her again. It’s the hippie girl who feels more his than hers, but is still more hers than his. It’s the chai, and sometimes the god-awful coffee from the machine. It’s a warm and fuzzy feeling, which stems from looking at photographs of a bird. It's scrounging for time so she can keep diaryfaceness alive. It’s blogging at 5am on a weekday, when she could have slept till 7am. It’s all of that, and a lot more. I just hope it’s not too much.

Hair today, gone tomorrow.

“As each strand falls I watch it drift to the ground. My head feels lighter. The hairdresser hands me my ponytail. I refuse to take my hair in my hands. Every inch of that hair was from a moment that has now gone. Thoughts, wishes, hopes, desires, dreams that are no longer. I want a new start. A new head of hair. Snip, snip, snip.” – Joyce Conway in Cecilia Ahern’s “Thanks for the Memories”


People keep asking me what made me get my new look. This is all I have to say to them – I wanted change, I needed change, so I got change. That’s it. I wish I had a more eloquent piece to write about it, but Cecilia Ahern was eloquent enough for me. Even though Joyce Conway was a woman with bigger problems than mine, a woman who had just lost her unborn baby in a traumatic mishap, as compared to my seemingly trivial troubles, and was probably more justified in feeling the way she did, what she felt and thought is exactly what I felt and thought when I decided to do what I did. The book had nothing to do with it, it’s just the way I am, and it’s just what I do. To make an emotional change, I make a physical change. It’s a road I’ve taken before, when I pierced my nose four years ago. It’s not new territory. So yes, Lou and Diaryface may have spent many chai sessions convincing me to chop off all my hair for their own reasons, and I may have spent many hours telling them my reservations about going so drastically short. But the ultimate decision of getting change was taken after the realization that I wanted change, I needed change. That’s it.

Of everything on her mind. And yet, nothing at all.

I used to know her, she was a friend. I looked at her and saw her, more clearly than most. Now I look and see nothing. She seems to have disappeared, but she’s only just invisible to the naked eye. I have to take a closer look to realize she’s right there, not quite where I left her, but close enough. She wanders lonely as a cloud (sorry Wordsworth, but she does) and doesn’t have much to say. She’s lost something, something she can’t put her finger on. Is it her soul or is it merely her confidence? There must be someone to blame, but she doesn’t have the heart to. As much as she’s changed, that’s one thing that hasn’t. Whatever’s missing is to do with her and no one else. But it would be nice to put the blame on someone else. It would lighten her burden. The burden that’s been around for a while, the cause of which is blurry. She’s happy, yes. But not completely. She’d give anything to figure out why, but the answer is elusive. Is it one or the other, or a combination of both?

Her laughter rings out loud, a sound that offers me much relief. But is that laughter hollow? Again, I have to listen closely. There’s things she’s not telling me, but that’s only because she doesn’t quite know herself. She feels drops of rain fall down upon her. Little drops, big drops, drops that drench her to the bone. And she feels nothing. She’s never been fond of the rain, and getting caught in it has always evoked a sense of annoyance in her. But now, nothing. She lets the raindrops wash over her; she lifts her face up to the sky. She’s almost glad for the rain, and that’s what makes me realize something’s different.

A lot can change in a year. Truer words were never spoken. An old love went sour, but a new friendship created. A new friendship went sour, but two newer ones blossomed out of it. A lot can really change in a year. The last time she spoke to the lover of a Russian queen, was the last time she spoke to a special someone who had seen her through a lot. The last time she spoke to the ghost of the lover, was the first and last time she reached that level of anger and emotion. She thinks of him sometimes, not entirely sure anymore. Is he dead, alive or still in limbo? It pains her deeply now, the paralysis she felt earlier is fading away. But the pain is not so deep that she wants to do something about it.

Love is a strange thing. It makes you hate sometimes. Is that what you call a paradox? Hmmm. I think it is. You’d think I’d know, what with it being my field of study and whatnot. But, that’s not a tangent I choose to go on now. Love, yes. A strange, strange thing. She loved him with all that she had. But then she also hated him. He’s always been that person in her life. The one. Oh no, not “THE ONE”. Just “the one”. You know, the one? The one who knew her at a time when she didn’t entirely know herself. The one who grew as she grew. The one who was just there, hovering around. The one who hurt her more than once, and the one who she, in turn, hurt more than once. The one who patiently (and sometimes not so patiently) heard her silly tantrums, however rare they were. The one that always made her smile and laugh. The one who, even now, probably knows more about her than most. The one who will never be the one, but will still always be the one. She hated him then, and she hates him still.

The rain is still all about her, pelting relentlessly. It shows no sign of slowing down, just like the thoughts in her head. She begins to feel annoyance creep up into her. That’s a first, after a very long time. She’s annoyed that it’s going to ruin her shoes. They’re not silk, no. And she’s not being kissed by the Rue Voltaire. They’re good sensible work shoes, and the Rue Voltaire is nowhere in sight. So having her shoes ruined couldn’t possibly be as perfect as what Corrine sings about. Annoyance is justified then, isn’t it? But is her annoyance only directed towards the rain, or does it go deeper than that? Hmmm. Go figure. Because I sure as hell can’t.

Looking at shiny, fighting over Pictionary and buying expensive things... while making magic.

Ok, so anyone who knows me knows that M&Abu make me want to throw up, in the nicest possible way. I love them, individually and together, but it is this very love that makes me want to throw up. They represent that one couple-friend every person has in their life. The couple that is so in love that, even though they may have been with other people before, you cannot imagine one without the other. The couple that is so mushy, you exclaim impatiently, "GET MARRIED ALREADY!". The couple that has lasted for so long, that even you (a third party) know that the next step is only going to be forward. You look at them individually, and they don’t REALLY seem like the other’s type – she being so focused and career-oriented, he being so relaxed and unbothered. But when they come together, they’re the friggin definition of “meant-to-be” and you can’t help but sigh*.

M&Abu began four years ago, today. I wasn’t there the day they came to be, but I know all the details. It’s impossible I don’t, but considering the circumstances under which it happened, I wish I was there to see the looks on both their faces. That would have been epic. I only got to know of their existence a few hours later, when Abu called me to make sure Lou and the Penguin weren’t messing around with him. I don’t know if M knows this. But anyway, my first reaction was not of happiness, but of complete surprise. She says her world blurred the moment she saw him, but I had no clue. Of course, I never have a clue. But I’m sure the Penguin didn’t have a clue either, or she would have told me! Oh well, who cares now.

They happened, and they happened BIG. They’re so weirdly perfect for each other, that it seems unreal. He understands her competitiveness; she gets his lameness. He goes out of his way to make her happy; she lets him hold her hand when he’s distracted and distracting. She can be a mean bitch when she’s in pain, but he’s just always there. He can be really trying when he’s in one of his “moods”, but she overlooks it all. They spend the day together, sometimes eating at expensive restaurants, and then have stupid conversations of sweet nothings on the phone or online. After four years, they still look at each other the way they did, the day we first met Abu without his dogtag.

It’s been a long while since then, and a lot has changed. When I say a lot, I mean A LOT. I’ve known M for a long, long time and she has done things in these four years, that none of us EVER imagined possible. And, I’m not saying Abu’s responsible for it all, but he does have a HUGE part to play in it. With that, none of us can disagree. Whether it’s motivating her, calmly guiding her, gifting her coupons on their last anniversary – he’s been there, egging her on. And she’s finally begun testing her wings. I’m telling you, Sunburn will happen. Not necessarily this year, but it will!

It’s not just her who’s changed, don’t get me wrong. He’s not some God-like figure, who happened to come along for an undeserving, helpless girl. Oh no. But, I can only talk about the changes I’ve seen in her. I can’t say much about him, because I didn’t know him before he became part of M&Abu. I do know this though – they are the centers of each other’s universe. And if he knows what’s happening around him, academically, it’s because of her. No doubt about that. I’d like to see him attempt to pass his exams without her by his side. Tsk and a shake of the head.

The reason I am so particularly happy about the concept of M&Abu today, is because they have finally crossed the four year mark. It’s no longer “Boy & Girl *cough*three years*cough* Forever” and a sigh of relief can be heaved. It’s stupid, I know, and when I first heard that logic, I laughed. But recently that has been eating me up. The realization that all the so called “forever” couples I’ve ever known, have actually gone bust after three years. It doesn’t mean they’re out of danger of going bust, no. But knowing them, and knowing all the other parties of this relationship (you know, all of us have been third wheels at some point or the other), the possibilities of that happening are quite slim. I mean, really. If they can get past hurting fingertips, they can get past anything.

Here’s to the last four years, and the countless ones to come!

* Wait. Did I say sigh? I meant groan and gag. Friggin nonsense, friggin friggin. <3

Shut up and drive, drive, drive.

I love driving. Yes, that’s right. Shady and all other friends of mine who drive will laugh at that statement, but it’s true. I love driving. It is also one of the things I am most frightened of – out of my mind sometimes. But the high I get out of it is unbeatable. No matter how much I dither about not being able to handle it, no matter how much I hesitate to take the car out, the rare occasions that I do – YAY.

When Diaryface was here last month, she accused me of being a liar. We were scheduled to go to the outskirts of the city, which is a tough drive. So I made Shady drive my car. Diaryface wasn’t too happy about that. No sir, she was not. “Eh. You’re supposed to drive me around town. And now you’re getting HIM to drive? What zees? And you say you love driving. Pah!” she said and proceeded to shotgun the whole way as punishment. On the way back, however, I was forced to drive. ON THE HIGHWAY. Do you know how scary that is? I flipped out and just kept saying “Shit. NO.” over and over again, like a mad person. She, on the other hand, was most happy. She grabbed me by the hand and led me to the driver’s seat merrily. “Yes, yes. Come, come. You will drive me. The WHOLE way back. Ha!” said the friggin sadist.

BUT, I loved it. After dropping her off to her destination, I reached home. And as I was pulling into my parking space, I felt elated. It’s silly, but I had the most amazing adrenalin rush you can imagine and I felt like I could conquer everything, like nothing could stand in my way. I couldn’t stop smiling and telling everyone I happened to speak to in the course of the day that I drove 22kms at a stretch. The feeling was awesome, and something that I’ve felt before, but don’t feel often enough.

That’s changed though. I’m still scared as hell of driving, but it’s the good kind of scared. The kind of scared that drives (punny, no?) me to want to take the car out, to say no when people offer to park my car for me, to feel that same sense of elation I felt that day. After that day, I felt it last week, when I parked successfully. And again, two days ago, when I reached a crowded signal on a slope (on ground with more than a 4% gradient, yes. Ha!) and gravity did not get the best of me.

So yes, I really do love driving. And someday soon, I’m going to be completely unafraid of it. It’s a promise I made to myself last night, on the way home, when the bossy part of my mind told the submissive part of my mind to “SHUT UP AND DRIVE!” – cheesy? Haha. Yes, I agree. TRUE STORY.

Some of life's lessons so far

The last few days and weeks, I’ve been thinking. And while I’ve always known that experience is the best teacher and that life’s lessons are the best learning, it struck me how true that is – especially in the littlest of things. It has been on my mind since I read Diaryface's March post, which got me thinking of the things I have learned myself. So here is a list of some of the little things that I could come up with. It ends abruptly, because there can never be a conclusive end to such a post, but here it is anyway.

• While money isn’t necessary, sometimes it can be helpful. When I was younger, my contentment and happiness stemmed from the simple things. Racing my friends down the stairs, pressing the button in the elevator, swinging from the roots of banyan trees, listening to teeny bopper bands. All these things made me content, if not ecstatic. And it never once crossed my mind that money was something that was essential. But as time goes by, while some of these things still make me happy, it’s a little more complicated. While money cannot buy me happiness, it sure can facilitate the emotion just a little. Not because possessing it gives a sense of happiness, but because it can help to make some happiness-inducing things take place.

• Every kiss need not be followed by conversation, and every kiss need not result in a relationship. When I first watched “A Lot like Love”, I never got why Amanda Peet’s character said “Don’t. You’ll ruin it.” every time she and Ashton Kutcher’s character kissed. But now I do; now I get it completely. Sometimes, not saying anything after a kiss is the best thing to do. Especially a first kiss. That way, it can never be tarnished and it can never be led to stray into murky territory. And you’re left with the euphoria of the kiss forever.

• There is a strange satisfaction in art, even if you’re not artistic. And there is a stranger satisfaction in childish art and craft – drawing a stereotypical picture of a house with a long driveway, a huge front yard and surrounded by a fence that separates it from the hills in the background. Or colouring mindlessly, with no sense of dimension, the pictures in a children’s Jumbo colouring book. Or making one of those origami models from a do-it-yourself handbook.

• Some of the best conversations happen over chai, and not even necessarily accompanied by cigarettes. While I’m not entirely sure whether chai itself has anything to do with that, it is an effective tool of conversation. The best time to vent about a silly ex boyfriend, or a crabby old aunt is over chai. And the best time to squeak with excitement over a kickass idea for a present, or a plan that will help overcome all sense of irresponsibility is over chai. It works both ways – happily and not-so-happily.

• There is very little a good long walk with appropriate music cannot fix. Whether you’re angry and frustrated, miserable and sad, happy and energetic – walking fits all moods. Bad news? Walk it off. A writer’s block? Walk it off. A fight with a close one? Walk it off. Happy about something? Walk it… well, in this case, not off, just walk it!

• All friendships don’t necessarily last forever. Some tend to fizzle out and become nonexistent. For a variety of reasons, but that doesn’t mean concern for the other person also becomes nonexistent. True friends will always care for the other, even if the friendship doesn’t last forever. Maybe they won’t care in the same way, but they will.

• Bravery and courage exist in different forms, and being brave doesn’t mean not being scared. Being brave, at the end of the day, is being scared but doing what you have to do. A mother sending her child out into the big bad world is brave. A couple fighting against all societal odds to be together forever is brave. A young teen struggling with first heartbreak and trying to deal with it in a right, healthy manner is brave. Another young teen moving to a new city, starting afresh and learning to live there alone, in order to complete his/her education is brave.

• As much as being single and on your own is awesome, having somebody by your side kicks awesome’s ass. It’s all very well to sing “I don’t need a man” and other such single girl-power songs, but at the end of the day, being single stings a little. Especially when you’re surrounded by these happy couples, who seem to make it look so effortless. And you’re left wondering sometimes, if there is something fundamentally wrong with you because of which the longest relationship you’ve had was a little more than six months long.

Diaryface is coming to town!

Regular readers of Musings are familiar with the term, “Diaryface”. They may not know who she is, or understand the kind of relationship we share, but they are aware of her presence in my life since she’s featured here more than once. She’s a person I’ve never even met yet, but who knows much too much about me. Kindred spirits, like the kind Anne Shirley talks of with such fervor. Creepily alike, but poles apart. Someone who "not only tolerates my incessant ramblings, but actually manages to acquire the underlying sense behind them."

For six months, my Diaryface and I have anticipated the event of us coming face-to-face. We have six months worth of daily mails filled with, “When I get there…” and “When you get here…” and so on. We’ve made mental lists of things to do and places to go, people to meet and stuff to eat. And now, “DiaryfaceMeetsDiaryface” happens TOMORROW. Within 24 hours, diaryfaceness will be brought to chai-drinking, cigarette-smoking, violently affectionate, bossy life. I'm sure it will be peppered with fights and arguments with a scrawny being, as to who will spend how much time where and when and all that, but that’s alright. This event has been awaited for so long, that I’ll take it anyhow. She made me promise things yesterday, when she called to say she's in the country, things I wasn’t too happy to oblige to, but then I obliged anyway because she’s a Diaryface and it’s not everyday a Diaryface is procured! Not only that, she tends to be a little scary sometimes. Only, don’t ever tell her I admitted to that.

TOMORROW. Words fail me when I try to describe what tomorrow will be. All I can say (in addition to the disbelief I feel that it’s already here!) when I think about tomorrow is this: EEEEEEEEEK!