May 18, 2016 § Leave a comment
I’m tired of reading about how struggles make us stronger.
I’m sick of hearing how challenges make us overcomers in life.
And I’m fucking irritated with how life’s difficulties are romanticized into inspirational quotes.
I don’t care about how one day, my story will encourage someone else.
I don’t give a damn about how getting through my life’s problems will help mentor other women.
All I want, truly want… is to be happy. Now.
Is that too much to ask?
I want to have someone to text when I see something funny, or am feeling frustrated.
I want to be able to eat in a nice restaurant without worrying if I can buy groceries after.
I want to go away on a short holiday, to take a break from all this need that surrounds me.
I’m honestly very achingly tired of being responsible for so many lives.
I want to be selfish for a while.
Some days can be such a pain to get through, and I had one of those spectacularly messed up days today. Receiving several pieces of real fucked up news, my knees were wobbly, I felt strengthless and my hands refused to stop shaking. By the time I reached home, the edges of my person felt smudged against life’s hard edges. I climbed into bed and curled up into the smallest ball of existence possible. Yet I couldn’t cry.
Instead, I breathed.
And grew quiet.
breathe in… breathe out…
I won’t grow bitter. It’s too late for regrets and I refuse to live life looking behind.
I won’t give up living because I’m wired for survival.
I will find something to be grateful for, something to laugh about, something to dance to.
And no matter how many times I break down and cry, the tears will come to an end.
They always do.
I’m not strong.
But perhaps I won’t wait for my circumstances to change before I find a reason to be happy.
Even when every part of me deeply aches in pain…
April 25, 2016 § Leave a comment
I thought of pussy the whole of today, and it wasn’t an erotic experience.
It all began after a romp in the room with some chap last week. We were lying in bed after too many drinks and some acrobatic fumbles when he reached down to tickle me there.
“We’ve got to get rid of this,” he tugged on the hair.
“Wait, what?” I laughed. “No, I like my hair!”
“I’m going to convince you otherwise,” he shook his head.
After that night, we made no plans to see each other again. Which got me thinking. Not being hairless was obviously a deal-breaker. While I didn’t really care too much about him, I grew curious about the allure of having pre-pubescent nether regions. I find women with neat, triangles of hair sexy, and I don’t think I’d like it if a guy was hairless. We come with hair. It’s a little wild. It hints at some crazy abandon in a world so fixated with preening. To me, hair down there is like a secret rebellious act.
I might be old-fashioned though, which was when my pussy-obsession began.
“Do you wax?” I asked the Sister.
“Well apart from my head, I’m hairless everywhere else,” came her reply. “I just feel cleaner that way.”
“I don’t wax. IPL. It’s painless,” answered another girlfriend.
Lasers, tweezers, shavers or waxes… every girl I texted today had the same reply. Guys weren’t left out either. They all groomed down under. I’d understand a trim if someone had errant strands waving hello but when did being sphynx-like become the norm? I’m not Chewbacca so there never was an issue about keeping things tidy and clean; it came naturally.
I’d been jealously guarding my bush, but now, I was starting to doubt my own terms of beauty.
“Did you ever have a problem with my hair?” I asked Eric, after ranting about my current pussy-obsession.
“Oh… you’re epic! And no, I like a little hair down there. I never had a problem with your pussy,” he chortled in reply. I sighed in relief. “You could trim it a little shorter though.”
I couldn’t help it. When I got home, the first thing I did was to stare at myself down there.
Was I too… bushy?!
It’s exactly 12 midnight now and after writing this, my obsession has faded, as a clear resolve has crystallized. I won’t ever go completely bare. I really do like things natural. Still, there’s no harm trimming the patch a little tighter.
I mean… we all like it tight, don’t we?
April 24, 2016 § Leave a comment
“Dude, you need new pants,” I laughed at Dean, “unless you’re going for the Kriss Kross look that is.”
“Yeah! I love having such problems,” he grinned. Dean had been working hard to lose weight, and when we first met last year, immediately bonded over our passion for/against food. We are also some of the laziest asses we know, surrounded by an army of friends who gym, do handstands, MMA, yoga, sport climb… and nag us to join them on early Sunday mornings for boot camp.
We do love our workouts (when we’re done with them), but I fell off the exercise bandwagon two months ago. Work kicked in hard and for a night owl to get up at 6am every day, it was torture. Dean on the other hand, suffered a breakup with his girlfriend and diving deeper into sweat helped his heartache. I was happy to see his progress but it did make me feel a little awful about myself.
“You know the best part? I think my workouts have taken on a whole new level. I mean, I feel strong!” He whooped.
“Yay you!” I laughed, while I mourned inside.
I miss being strong. And it’s time I did something about it.
I have two dates scheduled for this week.
I’m guessing such plans would normally be greeted with enthusiasm. Unfortunately, I’m everything but excited. Weighing in a good 13 pounds more than what I did last year, none of my clothes fit.
How quickly can I lose weight and get fit again? I wonder to myself as I grab a beer, stare at it, put it back into the fridge, walk away, walk back to the fridge, pull out the beer and pour myself a glass. Yes, I have amazing self-control.
I sip the beer while watching workout videos, wondering if that somehow helps me burn calories. Maybe I’ll cancel the dates and spend the time hitting the gym instead.
My phone beeps just then. It’s Date #1.
“I was thinking we could go to this amazingly authentic Italian restaurant,” his message reads. Darn it. I google the restaurant and the food/ambience looks faaaantastic.
“That sounds great! Looking forward to it,” I reply.
Okay, so maybe I won’t cancel.
Sometimes, the things we need most aren’t what we desire.
We fail to see that if our needs were met, our desires might change.
And desires fueled by a lack in our lives are a double-edged sword.
An endless cycle of defeat and pain.
What are my most immediate needs? Work, for one. Getting fit and happy with myself is next.
My fight isn’t to lose weight. I need to get fit again. My fight isn’t against loneliness. I need to do things that fill my empty spaces with joy. My fight isn’t against tiredness. I need to sleep.
In view of a new start, I’ve scheduled a workout tomorrow, bought tickets for two gigs that I’m very much looking forward to, and yes…
I’m going to sleep now.
You can’t always get what you want, but if you try sometimes, you might find, you get what you need.
― Mick Jagger
January 10, 2012 § Leave a comment
I am tired.
Am I the only one who’s noticed that right smack in the midst of being tired is ire?
No wonder then, that as the days hurtle towards the hugest event I’ve not finished preparing for, I finally found myself surrounded with so many reasons to be angry.
The only comfort then, is that I walked away from those reasons.
‘You never know what lies ahead, what’s being built into you right now.’ The Mother said gently, as she hugged me. ‘You’re just getting stronger. And things will always get brighter.’
January 2, 2012 § 2 Comments
‘What if I give the wrong impression?’
‘Will people still like me’
‘What if they don’t?‘
It’s amazing how after all these years, these questions can still plague me. I mean, come on! Haven’t I grown up already? Aren’t I already a secure, independent adult who doesn’t need approval from people I meet, bloggers I read and facebook acquaintances who really don’t care much about who I am or what I do?
The incident that sparked off this mental tirade was a little mistake I made while reading another person’s blog. I was fiddling with the mousepad and oops, accidentally clicked on the ‘dislike’ button.
‘Oh-my-god! What did I do? I don’t not-like the post! It was a mistake! Should I leave a comment to apologize? Should I ‘like’ the post to make up for the ‘dislike’? What if the person tracks back the ‘dislike’ to me and then, leaves bad comments?’ And on it went, till the rational side of me kicked in and yelled, ‘What are you doing?!’
‘Umm, I’m worrying if someone out there will not like me because of what I did…’ Silly Me replied, somewhat sheepishly.
‘Didn’t you just give your daughter a talk on learning to live without seeking her friends’ approval?’ Rational Me said. ‘Didn’t you encourage her to ignore snide comments and the taunts of bullies, to be her own person because she’s fabulous? Didn’t you just tell her that there will always be someone who doesn’t like her, that the whole world is filled with haters, and that she can rise above all that by focusing on those who do care for her? Didn’t you tell your daughter to stop doing exactly what you just did?’
‘Umm… Yeah…’ Silly-And-Now-Contrite-Me whimpered.
‘Now stop your nonsense and get on with your writing!’ Rational Me said, quiet sternly.
Very meekly, I returned to writing a post (which obviously, I deleted, to write this one instead).
Will I ever grow out of caring what others think about me? Hmm… maybe not entirely. I like people to like me. Who doesn’t? But I am definitely learning how to handle it better. I think.
Dear god… don’t let me be like this till I’m 62. It’s a horrible wretched way to live.
“Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don’t matter, and those who matter don’t mind.”
– Dr. Suess
June 27, 2011 § Leave a comment
While out in the field on a military operation (training), KidG woke up from sleep with a desperate need to pee. It was the dead of night. They were in the forest. The guards were at their posts and it was dark all around. Not wanting to wake anyone up, he walked out into the thick blanket of night, away from camp and straight into a deep mud pool.
Stuck thigh-deep in murky god-knows-what, he couldn’t move.
And he refused to call for help.
‘It was too embarrassing. There’s no way I wanted to live the rest of my life with this sad tale etched deep in my personal history,’ he said. ‘That’s all that the guys would talk about every time we meet… no, no, no.’
So for the next hour, he struggled in silence. And finally managed to get out of the mud, using his trusty rifle and a long branch. Miserable, he walked back into camp with brown pants. His story didn’t remain a secret though. How could it, when he was the only one with brown pants in a platoon of guys all dressed in green? Every one wanted an explanation.
‘I’d rather tell my story than have everyone run to my rescue,’ he smiled.
And I wondered… how many of us are like him in life? Faced with our personal stuck-in-the-mire moments, is calling out for help instinctive? Or would we rather suffer in silence, work things through and tell our tale thereafter?
I’m stuck tonight, between calling off a dance performance and disappointing several people whose trust I’ve worked hard to earn, and going on with the performance but with a different, smaller audience. It’s hard.
We started planning this in April and auditions were already completed, as well as massive coordination from various parties. Rehearsals had already begun but as of two weeks ago, I had to call them off because there was a problem with the music track we were using. We needed to change it. Since then, I’ve searched but nothing. Na-da. There’s nothing as great as the original one we were working with.
The first cut of an interview was submitted last weekend and promptly rejected. The entire angle needs to be re-worked and oddly, I’m not surprised. The feedback given is akin to what I felt earlier and all I want to do is beat myself up for not following my gut…
Looks like I’ll be working overtime again.
And be found wearing brown pants at the end of this week.
Asking for help isn’t instinctive. With the tight timelines I’m looking at, the only person I dare make work through the night is… me. Yes, I have a great team who has been working around the clock to produce and meet demands. But why would I pull someone else into the mud with me?
Would be nice if the earth didn’t have mud holes.
What are they for, anyway?
‘Take my hand kiddo.’ The Dream Maker reaches out to me. ‘I’m kinda huge, you know? And I doubt I’ll fall in.’
So maybe there is that one Person I can run to for help.
Hope you readers have one too!
May 8, 2011 § Leave a comment
I am at a sort-of crossroads now.
There was one thing I always wanted to do as a child – I wanted to sing. Of course, the voice I hear in my head is infinitely more beautiful than what I produce, but that doesn’t stop me from doing what I love… because I don’t do it for myself alone.
I don’t sing because it aligns me to a group of people I want to be with, although my listening choices might. And I most certainly don’t do it because I think I’m spectacularly good.
I sing because I see creation unfold as the melodies swirl forth.
I sing because my world take shape as the words I utter mould it’s existence.
I sing because it’s the only way of fully expressing my heart’s song.
I sing because I was first created with a song.
Over the past year, I found myself singing less, and as my silent moments ticked away and my song grew colder… I knew I had to return to it soon. But the lack of time negated both my desire and will. Which was why I’d been looking forward to doing it again, come July. However, three weeks ago, I was asked if I could put that desire on the back-burner again, to focus on my upcoming projects.
I couldn’t find it in myself to answer that request. Because I’m not sure how much longer I can last if I live through another’s song. I need to sing again. Sure, I can rebel against the request and do it anyway… but that means being unable to give my all to the craft.
Would I do it if it was sub-standard?
As an experiment, I started singing in the bedroom, in the bathroom, in the cab, along walkways and corridors, in the office, at the grocery store, in a cafe… and found such liberation in doing that simple deed. But I missed being with a group and singing with them. There’s something special when you sing in unity with others. It’s as if the differences in personalities, beliefs and character fade away. You are just one voice.
I don’t know if I can walk away from it again.
And if I do (because there’s no other way), I’m not sure how I’ll handle it.
When you reach the little house, the place your journey started, you will recognize it, although it will seem much smaller than you remember. Walk up the path, and through the garden gate you never saw before but once.
And then go home.
Or make a home.
– Neil Gaiman
What’s written on my heart is plain to understand. I guess this is one time I’ll need to trust that the Author is the only One who can conclude this story. And as I’m faithful to what’s in my hands, the Author will be faithful to make what’s in my heart come to pass.
In the meantime, I’ll learn to call this new place home.
A bird doesn’t sing because it has an answer, it sings because it has a song.
– Maya Angelou