Tuesday, 26 April 2011

Safety-Pinned Mind

My mind's been off having adventures. Identity crises, moral ambiguities, confusing arousal, and euphoria and depression chasing each other in circles - and I've just sat back and allowed it do its thing. Usually it returns in time for Top Chef. Composure Coherence, on the other hand, arrives about as often as my freelance cheques and I'm rushing to make good of today's sudden burst...

I've realised only recently that my quest to understand people would be strides simpler if I stop trying to solve them.

The handful of relationships that I cherish have one thing in common. They're all based on the premise of Quality > Quantity. I'm not built for too much familiarity, I don't like knowing every last stitch of anyone's day or recounting mine, for that matter. Unless you can tell it well and the conversation has potential to descend into lots of meta humour, then I'm all ears. Otherwise, let's just talk when we actually have something to say.

I think I enjoy struggle way too much to ever really succeed in the conventional sense. I'm at a professional fork-in-the-road currently and while one path definitively leads to being able to afford poncy hair accessories I don't need, the one I'm on has me under house arrest because I can't afford even coffee without feeling like a shameless wastrel. It's still a tough choice. The writing jobs I enjoy the most are the ones that often push me to tears of inadequacy, the ones that come easy are forgotten almost instantly no matter how well they turn out.
I wish to have it all though even the thought of it bores me intensely.

Stupid trends irritate me so much I feel like punching my screen. This business of saying 'super like!' on Facebook,  SHUT UP, IT'S NOT A THING. Also, this sudden adoration of droopy hipster girls with limp hair wearing oatmeal-exciting fashions. WHERE WAS ALL THIS HYSTERIA WHEN MAGGIE GYLLENHAAL DID IT WAY BACK WHEN? Herd. I spurn you.

I have been feeling quite good about my weight even as I remain the fattest I've ever been. Except for this past week of beer and fries and Easter pastries and Pepsi, I've been pretty good about working out and eating well. I suppose it's freeing to know you've done your bit and it's now out of your hands.

I am diabetically girlie. Lace, florals, ruffles, sequins, pastels, sorbet make-up, aforementioned hair accessories, box clutches, diaphanous everything and I'm sold. I haven't triumphed in any popularity contests because of my love for jeggings either.

Ever since I watched Chashme Buddoor a few weeks ago, I've been mesmerised by Deepti Naval. Forever she's been no more than a clip-on Smita Patil to me but Christ, such beauty and vitality. 90% of the stuff below is from here.

Am I right?
Miss Chamko!
So Thelma & Louise :)

'course she's a poet.

Saturday, 16 April 2011

Happy to Board This Bandwagon

The first time I heard Adele, I pooh-pooh'ed her out of my natural instinct to pooh-pooh anything and anyone labelled 'the latest sensation'. The second time, well, Jaysus. My head began to bob and my insides started to gloriagaynor of their own accord. Pre-empting "events", I walked silently to the door and securely locked it. Then I brought out my highest pair of heels, belted my nightie, dabbed on every item of makeup I own and... un. leashed.

I am writing this from a very happy, tranquil place.

Monday, 11 April 2011



"What about me, Phil? Do you know me too?"

"You like boats, but not the ocean. You go to a lake in the summer with your family up in the mountains. There's a long wooden dock and a boathouse with boards missing from the roof, and a place you used to crawl underneath to be alone. You're a sucker for French poetry and rhinestones. You're very generous. You're kind to strangers and children, and when you stand in the snow you look like an angel."

Saturday, 9 April 2011

I Told You So

People always tell us who they are right off the bat. It's why I don't hold with the I Just Never Saw It Comings and the What A Bloody Tool This One Turned Out To Bes. If you're listening and watching closely enough, you'll always know. This is the boring explanation of course and personally I have always chosen to go the way of moral outrage: weeping fat, incredulous tears at the horrible transgression I've had to endure at the hands of a these, let's face it, VILLAINS AND LOTHARIOS! WOE WOE WOE, HUMANITY IS A BIG BUCKET OF SUCK. Some Jenny Owen Youngs later and weary from putting down a cocktail of trans fats, I usually end up feeling so sorry for myself it's really quite enjoyable. But that's besides the point.

People always, always tell us who they are. I once had someone say to me right at the get go, "I lie. Very often, I don't know why, I just lie. I'm trying to stop." To me this was staggering honesty and I knew right then that I definitely wanted to have whatever was possible to have with this person. Years later, the equation dominoed spectacularly - turned out that first truth had been the last. I just hadn't had the insight to take advantage of a gift like that. Lesson learned. Someone informs you they're going to rob you if invited to your party next Sunday, best to hold off on that eVite.

That once was the exception though. Usually it's a matter of simple deduction. Girl A does not have to tell you she thinks she's unlovable, she just has to be everybody's arch BFF and you'll know. Boy L, The Waiter Humiliator - I'm thinking either vacant Y-front or overindulgent mother? Chronic drunk dialing is a great way to let everyone know that you're, let's see... attention seeking, boring, narcissistic and disrespectful. And it's impossible not to get 'imbecile' and 'moron' from people who think Japan deserves its natural disasters, and 26/11 was avenged when India beat Pakistan respectively. Then there's always the quieter ones - casually going through your phone, knowing what you owe them down to the rupee but never vice versa, taking one too many friendly digs at your hair, congratulating you heartily on your golden luck whenever you achieve something.

As for me, I'm still consummately stupid about relationships. What's the alternative really? Being safe and very very lonely? The difference now, I suppose, is that along with focussing hard on what I like about people and hoping like always to be happily surprised, I can also appreciate that we're all creatures of habit. And we will usually always go on to do what we'll do. A tiny addendum but saves a whole lot of heartache.

Wednesday, 6 April 2011

Oh, reckless abandon

Lullaby these nights, this.

Tuesday, 5 April 2011

I've Seen Better

I have this crazy idea about how relationships are supposed to work. It circles honesty and every now and then bumps into loyalty. On the way the two happen upon acceptance, admiration and abiding love. They never meet agenda. That one always takes the short road.

At the best of times, a good relationship will make you feel almost transcendent. Other times, unimaginably burdened. You might not see it but all the time it is growing, this roiling mass of whispered confidences, terrible jokes you two must never ever utter to another soul, commonly held nemeses, small holidays, big calories, potent loathing, inevitable disenchantment and if you're really lucky, a weightless return to love.

It's just that once you've known this kind of exchange, it becomes the benchmark of your human experience. Any less chafes like mad. Relationships that might otherwise have managed a decent run time dissolve prematurely under the weight of its... betterness.

This post was really supposed to be about those barely tolerable enterprises. But I just can't be arsed.