okay so i've been like boiling water and like breathing into it on occasion cause that helps with congestion, and my dad was just like "who taught you to do that?" and i said "nobody" and he said "my little sister used to do that..." and now i'm crying cause family
Monday, December 31, 2012
Friday, December 28, 2012
i can't believe you still exist, journal.
my mind has shifted from the beginnings of one project, to another. i'm not sure if i want to do the first one anymore, or rather, i'm not sure if others are willing to give enough of themselves for the first one. i think i'm ready though. to give myself for the second one. it just takes discipline, and the willingness to try to articulate. i fear that, with this particular subject. but i shouldn't. no reason not to take it up in the coming months.
christ, i really must be my father. he too, after all these years, is gonna try to remember his type-writer skills, and tap away at our desktop mac, for a new newspaper in the cultural community. he came into my room, and told me, and he was smiling, so take that cynicism, world views, and sruti! i jumped in my seat, giddy, exclaimed, "when are you starting?!?!" to which he laughed and said, "i don't know." it was like asking superman when he was gonna save the world next, and having superman respond in total clark kent humility, that he didn't really know, but he appreciated my enthusiasm.
i told a friend, who had a (4? 5?) year old daughter at the time, that all little girls eventually face a moment where they realize their fathers are in fact, not superhuman. he said, "when?" i said, "around 6, i guess." how cruel of me. really, i had picked an arbitrary answer, because back then i was still uncomfortable with saying the phrase, "i don't know." his eyes got wide, as this meant he was two years away from breaking the delusion. i take it back friend! i am 23, and sometimes i still forget my dad is NOT superhuman.
crowds gather to him. friends gather to him. the blessing we get are in due to the sort of respect and admiration he gains from absolute strangers. it has been to his detriment, as well. but i, i am like my father. young, naive, and ready and willing to bare myself, because honesty is one of our greatest addictions. even if at the cost of trust.
i don't know why i am so particular about this past week. i keep telling everyone that my friends finally returned, and that made me smile, but - and not to discount the quality of the two - their value is great, but their quantity is low. they were just two friends. i don't know how to describe it. a large chunk of it, is definitely lauren's presence in my life. she is the main person i talk to about most things, so that's a void coming, for sure. but i don't know. that day with lauren and jacob?? this past week has just been bliss.
listen, listen. this is what we do. and you will come to conclusions after reading this. perhaps judgemental, perhaps not. but you should understand, that i already have come to these conclusions myself. i acknowledge that the bliss of this week is largely due in part to my total privileged existence. so here's to my twenties. listen. we meet up, smoke, eat at my favourite place for lunch, where the sounds play solange knowles, and the visuals stimulate thoughts. then we walk to the chocolate restaurant a couple blocks down, and share a sundae. eventually, we end with a coffee. but all through out, we talk. we just talk and talk and talk about people, and society, and the way humans function, and the way we're socially conditioned exist, what do genetics say about our relationships with each other, what do we want as women, what's unfair about this culture when it comes to women, and have you noticed how we all have the capacity to read a language no one addresses? the semantic language of symbols? which i know is ultimately language itself, but i mean the way we stop at stop signs, and the way we read danger, and what does that mean - from an evolutionary perspective? yes, maybe. but if we're still working on that basis, are we as women failing to evolve, or are we achieving at a greater rate, given our maternal, and sexual growths? why is this all so hard, but damn i love my butt, and skirts.
it's. bliss.
and i stumble home, sleepy, but alert, and a little buzzing from everything the day has inspired and fueled me with. and oh man, i hope, i hope, i can channel this fuel again, because i've got nothing but time now, kid. you've. got. nothing. but. time. you better use this. you better use this and become her, because you're not the only one excited about her. you might even be worth something to other people. you might help.
i think i adore attention. i want to be challenged, not frustrated. i want to be held. but i also want to be lulled to sleep with stories of my beauty.
ever complex, in every way.
Tuesday, December 25, 2012
intellectual stoner life is
it should be noted, that what blankets every aspect of the following, is the kind of intense, giving, gracious, conversation that can happen among individuals who care about what you have to say, and who you in turn, genuinely care to hear what they have to say. and believe me, only once after they all fly away, do you realize how rare that in fact, is. also. note to self, really, really, really, glad every single one of your profile pictures isn't of you and your boyfriend. really, really glad.
monday:
horrible morning work shift, done by 1.
lunch at k with l and j. oh the sandwiches, oh the chic-ness.
hiding between a bar and the walls of my recently graduated school, to blaze.
j needs to go buy a comic book. let's go to the comic book store.
chocolate restaurant.
pretty sure j cried when he hugged me after that one. i had handed over a key to pure bliss, so i understood.
tuesday:
horrible morning work shift, done by 11.
re-arranged the order. blaze between bar and walls of school.
then lunch at k with l, where everyone knew.
chocolate restaurant.
bliss.
wanderings.
settle down at the station, with coffee's and intense conversations.
note to self: tell l to watch tiny furniture, insist on it. don't think you have in the past.
today:
j and coffee with l, pre-extended family dinner. oh, that'll be a wonder.
Saturday, December 22, 2012
#Pray
I suppose this ought to be contextualized, given it's cultural significance. But South Asian Islamic folks, especially of older generations, send a different kind of email than I do - that is, than your average Western 20-year old does. There are no exclamations, and no lols, but instead there are the words "blessings" and "prayers." So when my father tells me to help him out with a technical issue - like how to compress and attach some home videos from a family trip to Bangladesh, so that we can send them to one of my father's nephews - I suddenly find myself typing up an email to said nephew, in said South Asian Islamic rhetoric. My dad says, "oh yeah, and mention how're your doing too. Ask for prayers."
So I write:
"Sruti is doing well, she has recently graduated university.
Pray for her."
So I write:
"Sruti is doing well, she has recently graduated university.
Pray for her."
Sunday, December 16, 2012
Is this true?
Someone
mythbusters this for me.
But when I was younger and I had my first period, I was told about the inner-workings of my body, and how the inner lining around my pelvic area were ripping, causing me to bleed. But because the lines of these walls were ripping, my exterior figure was supposedly changing. And thus was born Beyonce Hips. The curve that makes high-waisted things fun, and that allows for the waist of a skirt to cinch your waist just right. So you tilt, and bat your newly formed luscious eyelashes, pout every so slightly, and brush that last strand of hair in your face, behind the corners of your small ear.
This is the magic that alludes the men.
But when I was younger and I had my first period, I was told about the inner-workings of my body, and how the inner lining around my pelvic area were ripping, causing me to bleed. But because the lines of these walls were ripping, my exterior figure was supposedly changing. And thus was born Beyonce Hips. The curve that makes high-waisted things fun, and that allows for the waist of a skirt to cinch your waist just right. So you tilt, and bat your newly formed luscious eyelashes, pout every so slightly, and brush that last strand of hair in your face, behind the corners of your small ear.
This is the magic that alludes the men.
84 Words On Facebook and Why I've Come to Hate It in
"but like i'll get these fbook updates of like X's friend Y who just "liked my comment" on X but Y will have Z who i went to highschool with as a mutual friend
and so for a second i will be all confused like, OMG WHY IS Z TALKING TO ME I HATED HER when in reality Z has nothing to do with X
it is all just one creepy world
of "things you may not realize but let me tell you. everything.""
and so for a second i will be all confused like, OMG WHY IS Z TALKING TO ME I HATED HER when in reality Z has nothing to do with X
it is all just one creepy world
of "things you may not realize but let me tell you. everything.""
Saturday, December 15, 2012
2012-02-15 12:07:00
and then there was the time in jaipur, india. the time we had that nice dinner at that nice restaurant, with the folk dancers, and we watched them, and laughed at dinner, like a real family does. and when we got back to the hotel room, my mom was drunk with silliness, and she started shaking her hips. "dance like her" my dad teases, and she defiantly stands up, and shakes her hips, and giggles at herself, and my dad and i are in our beds, exploding with laughter. because my mom's trying to dance like beyonce, but she's my mom.
Friday, December 14, 2012
2011-11-05 01:03:00
sunsets without your having realized it, as you pull your knees to your chest, watching red painted toes gaping through your black wool socks. beer bottles on the table, and hearts on sleeves, two girls (who are very bad at being girls), delightfully spill repressed secrets on boys, sex, and the remarkable transition one makes from a weird high school nerd into an intellectual college babe. "you're a girlfriend, and i still like you" one shouts to the other. "you're really cool and totally hot" the other shouts back.
stumble across to the hip side of town, and share evening lattes and muffins with your best friend who just got off work. take a walk through said hip side of town, and up at the local vegan-feminist majority-lesbian cafe, and wait for an old third-party friend to arrive. chili. grilled cheese. cookies. memories of a couple years ago, of the future, of the friends we love, and hate to love, but love when we hate. "what is wrong with people?" is the layer that blankets the conversation (it tastes bitter)
and then we get to some weird, hip loft, with christmas lights clung by authentic spider webs, and a chalkboard sign that has the word, "BEER" earnestly, half-heartedly, genuinely, scribbled on. friends in a corner, bundled together in a couch. wit and laughs, and then your friend notices something allen ginsberg on the table, next to something asimov. "i'm going to steal this" she says with a giggle. she stole it.
skinny hipster, collared shirt, black sweater friend, leans over the couch, and whispers in your ear to suggestively advise you that, "there are a lot of boys here" and you look around the various jean jackets, black skinny jeans, and striped shirts, simultaneously think, WHERE? and god, i love this city. and then it begins.
one by one, some various twenty year old, or other, with their scraggly legs, and obnoxious hair, and oversized everything, tumbles onto the floor with the same pathetic story. born and raised in bumfuck, somewhere, of this northern country, and they've come to educate themselves in the artiest city they've heard of. teen pregnancies, fumbling sex (they call it frantic fucking though, alliteration is important), and an inclination to holler at their fellow colleagues, and say things like, "right on" instead of, "okay." they are enthusiastic about the state of the world today, and they laugh at the wreck they see in it. so they go, and they read, and your brain is having the most wonderful time figuring out what's happening. because what's happening is that these kids, and their simultaneous pathetic backgrounds, are coming together to channel something in them, that wants out. something that burns when all eyes are on them, and breathes when the applause begins. so they sit there, and some people read your mediocre secrets (it's no fun if you're lying to us, and some are lying, and we can see right through the-), and some let out real secrets. but all are letting it out. in that loft, in space, at that time, with that train passing right bye, right behind the goddamn window, as she's standing their reading a poem. and as you spot the crowd, girls in tights sitting on the ground with various scarves tied around their heads, boys with ties, and necks, and collars, and a disdain for showering, and the pillows and blankets that have been set behind the self-constructed stage, featuring gear for a band that's labeled it's drums with, the words "man + legs," you are thinking how obnoxiously transparent, this total, total, love for the "golden age" (the age that was never yours), is, and you think, my city is alive, and weird, and creativity has a home here. it can be harvested, and spawn truly, weird, weird, things. (have you heard our music?) but these are just kids. kids with the same fears, who wake up with the same shock of having just had sex. and some of their shit is kind of gross, and self-indulgent, and kind of bad, and kind of good, but they are cultivating something you feel in you every single day. at least these losers are touching theirs. no one, not even i, am touching mine.
stumble across to the hip side of town, and share evening lattes and muffins with your best friend who just got off work. take a walk through said hip side of town, and up at the local vegan-feminist majority-lesbian cafe, and wait for an old third-party friend to arrive. chili. grilled cheese. cookies. memories of a couple years ago, of the future, of the friends we love, and hate to love, but love when we hate. "what is wrong with people?" is the layer that blankets the conversation (it tastes bitter)
and then we get to some weird, hip loft, with christmas lights clung by authentic spider webs, and a chalkboard sign that has the word, "BEER" earnestly, half-heartedly, genuinely, scribbled on. friends in a corner, bundled together in a couch. wit and laughs, and then your friend notices something allen ginsberg on the table, next to something asimov. "i'm going to steal this" she says with a giggle. she stole it.
skinny hipster, collared shirt, black sweater friend, leans over the couch, and whispers in your ear to suggestively advise you that, "there are a lot of boys here" and you look around the various jean jackets, black skinny jeans, and striped shirts, simultaneously think, WHERE? and god, i love this city. and then it begins.
one by one, some various twenty year old, or other, with their scraggly legs, and obnoxious hair, and oversized everything, tumbles onto the floor with the same pathetic story. born and raised in bumfuck, somewhere, of this northern country, and they've come to educate themselves in the artiest city they've heard of. teen pregnancies, fumbling sex (they call it frantic fucking though, alliteration is important), and an inclination to holler at their fellow colleagues, and say things like, "right on" instead of, "okay." they are enthusiastic about the state of the world today, and they laugh at the wreck they see in it. so they go, and they read, and your brain is having the most wonderful time figuring out what's happening. because what's happening is that these kids, and their simultaneous pathetic backgrounds, are coming together to channel something in them, that wants out. something that burns when all eyes are on them, and breathes when the applause begins. so they sit there, and some people read your mediocre secrets (it's no fun if you're lying to us, and some are lying, and we can see right through the-), and some let out real secrets. but all are letting it out. in that loft, in space, at that time, with that train passing right bye, right behind the goddamn window, as she's standing their reading a poem. and as you spot the crowd, girls in tights sitting on the ground with various scarves tied around their heads, boys with ties, and necks, and collars, and a disdain for showering, and the pillows and blankets that have been set behind the self-constructed stage, featuring gear for a band that's labeled it's drums with, the words "man + legs," you are thinking how obnoxiously transparent, this total, total, love for the "golden age" (the age that was never yours), is, and you think, my city is alive, and weird, and creativity has a home here. it can be harvested, and spawn truly, weird, weird, things. (have you heard our music?) but these are just kids. kids with the same fears, who wake up with the same shock of having just had sex. and some of their shit is kind of gross, and self-indulgent, and kind of bad, and kind of good, but they are cultivating something you feel in you every single day. at least these losers are touching theirs. no one, not even i, am touching mine.
2011-10-31 23:21:00
i cannot do apocalyptic settings. i think about them all.
the.
time.
my older, wiser friends say that's the source of my anxiety. that i think ahead to that which isn't yet here, and then feel a total loss for anything that isn't in the future.
last night was sweats, and anxiety, and a tightness in my chest i can't ever get out of. and it wasn't because anything new had happened. the bad is never new. it is always there, but i make do, when i repress it. when i ignore the constant shaking fears that threaten the value i put to my life, and i try to make people laugh. but just because i ignore them doesn't mean they disappear, it means i am trying to continue, regardless. regardless. as in, they are always there. i can feel that tightness under my breasts, like a rock pushed up against my lung cage. things are not better or worse, they are either forgotten or remembered, and on the rare occasions where they are the only things i can remember, then i shake, and i can't breathe, and i sit up suffocating in the silly fear of my own skin.
the.
time.
my older, wiser friends say that's the source of my anxiety. that i think ahead to that which isn't yet here, and then feel a total loss for anything that isn't in the future.
last night was sweats, and anxiety, and a tightness in my chest i can't ever get out of. and it wasn't because anything new had happened. the bad is never new. it is always there, but i make do, when i repress it. when i ignore the constant shaking fears that threaten the value i put to my life, and i try to make people laugh. but just because i ignore them doesn't mean they disappear, it means i am trying to continue, regardless. regardless. as in, they are always there. i can feel that tightness under my breasts, like a rock pushed up against my lung cage. things are not better or worse, they are either forgotten or remembered, and on the rare occasions where they are the only things i can remember, then i shake, and i can't breathe, and i sit up suffocating in the silly fear of my own skin.
2011-10-27 08:40:00
really, really, tense household as of late. don't want to be here. feel really bad about that.
school makes no sense. i apply, i get a C+, i don't study and or write papers stream of conscious style/hung over, i get A's. school makes no sense.
i just really want to be dancing this weekend, and making bad decisions with boys. i love boys. it's exhausting.
dude followed me out of class though and asked for my name. i never like those boys. it's exhausting.
school makes no sense. i apply, i get a C+, i don't study and or write papers stream of conscious style/hung over, i get A's. school makes no sense.
i just really want to be dancing this weekend, and making bad decisions with boys. i love boys. it's exhausting.
dude followed me out of class though and asked for my name. i never like those boys. it's exhausting.
2011-09-13 21:07:00
and then today, we're having coffee, and this crazy ole dude stops by and points out b's little richard shirt, and they're doing the crazy polite conversation, and this dude is telling b that little richard is crazy and we all love him for it, and if b's wearing the shirt, b must be crazy too. then the old man gives me a look over and says to b, "you gotta be a little crazy, to get a pretty girl like that" and i blushed and smiled, and the man walked away.
b says, "did you hear that, sruti?"
i blushed and smiled again. i think i shrugged.
b says, "should we have done the whole, uh, no, no, we're not together, we're just friends thing?"
and i said, "why? so we could live out a staple scene in our ever blossoming romantic comedy?"
b blushed and got anxious and grinned a lot.
"look at YOU," i said. "look how he's getting all bashful and anxious."
meanwhile, i got all bashful and anxious, and let my stupid self remember that supposed lingering attraction.
b says, "did you hear that, sruti?"
i blushed and smiled again. i think i shrugged.
b says, "should we have done the whole, uh, no, no, we're not together, we're just friends thing?"
and i said, "why? so we could live out a staple scene in our ever blossoming romantic comedy?"
b blushed and got anxious and grinned a lot.
"look at YOU," i said. "look how he's getting all bashful and anxious."
meanwhile, i got all bashful and anxious, and let my stupid self remember that supposed lingering attraction.
2011-08-14 19:34:00
so i went to a park, smoked a j, downed a beer, and told the unfortunate dude sitting next to me how "fucking dope i am, though." he said my legs felt real smooth.
2011-08-13 22:48:00
"so now shits awkward, and it's my own fault, and i'm feeling very "winter" about it at all. like, crawl into bed with a season of something good, and turn off the phone, and just let everyone realize they would miss me if i was gone. and by they, i totally mean me."
Thursday, December 13, 2012
Tuesday, December 11, 2012
"when i see you, i'm gonna kiss you."
"i mean, really kiss you. put your face to my face, and your lips to mine, and just fucking make out. i'm gonna put my arms around you and just fucking kiss you. hard. is that okay? cause if it's not, tell me now, or else i'm just gonna do it. sorry, but not sorry.
i'm just... i'm... i'm gonna kiss you like they do in the movies."
i'm just... i'm... i'm gonna kiss you like they do in the movies."
Sunday, December 9, 2012
excerpt from the time lindsay asked me to write a list of 25 things that made me happy, and i could only think of 10
1. beyonce
2. laurens apartment, alcohol, and beyonce dvds
3. joints, at the right time
4. weird, weird, humour
5. cuddling
6. kissing
7. being bare legged (ex: in skirts etc)
8. the smell after it rains
9. that moment when you realize you forgot you existed cause you were too absorbed into that good book you were reading
10. hot showers
i've started something.
i've gone and dipped my toes in another fiasco, and i'm putting on a brave face before i embark on it, but it's been embarked. x says i have sexuality hang ups, which is not an uncommon opinion. none of my sexual partners would agree, though. strangers would definitely disagree. but people you know for a long period of time, take the effort to analyze you, to try to understand you, to frame you. so i have sexual hang ups they say.
you look so vulnerable before you're about to come. is that sentimental? i don't think so. every man who's ever seen my naked, has gone completely dumb in the face, post-shirt-off. this isn't braggadocio this is awe at the power of the female body. and when i say dumb, i really do mean dumb. it's almost unattractive. well, i find stupidity generally unattractive. so before you come, you look so vulnerable and far gone, and once it's over, you instantly revert back to your straight, cold, angel-broody face. which is why i was probably attracted to you, in the first place.
men.
AND.
women.
are horrifically insecure. so when you try to tell someone that what they're doing is "not nice" and they start yelling at you, it is because no one wants to admit to being capable of being "not nice." which is stupid, because everyone is capable of being not nice. i have "criticized" men before, and they have emotionally. shut. down. harder, than i ever have post-intense heartbreak. and they get pissy, and the make you feel really bad for criticizing them, and say things like, "why are you so critical and mean?" at which point you feel horrible and vulnerable, and basically ready to plead for them back. because you too, are insecure. one jab, leads to a defensive jab, which results in a series of defensive jabs.
and that, friends, is relationships.
i've never been in one.
etched in my brain is the conversation i had with a, regarding sexuality. "vanilla sex" was the term he implied, and for him to suggest that most if not all had vanilla sex?? what a concept! "you know... some people, are like... starfish..." i stare blankly. i stared blankly, with a coffee stain, on my newly purchased white-top. i stared blankly with my tussled hair, and dark eyes, and grumbling stomach. how, am i, not a member of the vanilla sex category? how much horrible sex must the majority of the world be having, for me to be considered "freaky" (his words, at that).
i gave a boy a lap dance once. it seemed like a fun idea. to which he responded, "do you do this often? you're... really good at it."
also, a certain song came on, and does no one else make life soundtracks the way i do? maybe it is telling of my perspective - that i foresee events in a such a way, that i can predetermine what songs to soundtrack them by. i don't know if i'll ever get married, but i have a wedding ost. i've had one since i saw my first rom com (and no, i do not remember what that was...) among my wedding ost, i have my funeral ost (i should really work on that one in case of anything...), and a sex ost. these osts exist in my brain, wherein i bookmark certain things for later. later, at my wedding. later, during sex. later.
yeah, so the song that came on that inspired the lap dance was on my sex ost.
do you, really, still not know what i'm talking about?
sigh.
you look so vulnerable before you're about to come. is that sentimental? i don't think so. every man who's ever seen my naked, has gone completely dumb in the face, post-shirt-off. this isn't braggadocio this is awe at the power of the female body. and when i say dumb, i really do mean dumb. it's almost unattractive. well, i find stupidity generally unattractive. so before you come, you look so vulnerable and far gone, and once it's over, you instantly revert back to your straight, cold, angel-broody face. which is why i was probably attracted to you, in the first place.
men.
AND.
women.
are horrifically insecure. so when you try to tell someone that what they're doing is "not nice" and they start yelling at you, it is because no one wants to admit to being capable of being "not nice." which is stupid, because everyone is capable of being not nice. i have "criticized" men before, and they have emotionally. shut. down. harder, than i ever have post-intense heartbreak. and they get pissy, and the make you feel really bad for criticizing them, and say things like, "why are you so critical and mean?" at which point you feel horrible and vulnerable, and basically ready to plead for them back. because you too, are insecure. one jab, leads to a defensive jab, which results in a series of defensive jabs.
and that, friends, is relationships.
i've never been in one.
etched in my brain is the conversation i had with a, regarding sexuality. "vanilla sex" was the term he implied, and for him to suggest that most if not all had vanilla sex?? what a concept! "you know... some people, are like... starfish..." i stare blankly. i stared blankly, with a coffee stain, on my newly purchased white-top. i stared blankly with my tussled hair, and dark eyes, and grumbling stomach. how, am i, not a member of the vanilla sex category? how much horrible sex must the majority of the world be having, for me to be considered "freaky" (his words, at that).
i gave a boy a lap dance once. it seemed like a fun idea. to which he responded, "do you do this often? you're... really good at it."
also, a certain song came on, and does no one else make life soundtracks the way i do? maybe it is telling of my perspective - that i foresee events in a such a way, that i can predetermine what songs to soundtrack them by. i don't know if i'll ever get married, but i have a wedding ost. i've had one since i saw my first rom com (and no, i do not remember what that was...) among my wedding ost, i have my funeral ost (i should really work on that one in case of anything...), and a sex ost. these osts exist in my brain, wherein i bookmark certain things for later. later, at my wedding. later, during sex. later.
yeah, so the song that came on that inspired the lap dance was on my sex ost.
do you, really, still not know what i'm talking about?
sigh.
Friday, December 7, 2012
"Anhedonia - On Relationships"
"You could call that “overeducation,” or you could call it one more instance of “people constantly creating these real unnecessary neurotic problems for themselves that keep them from dealing with more terrifying unsolvable problems about the universe,” or you could call it something else."
http://www.nybooks.com/articles/archives/1979/aug/16/letter-from-manhattan/?pagination=false
http://www.nybooks.com/articles/archives/1979/aug/16/letter-from-manhattan/?pagination=false
Monday, December 3, 2012
Sunday, December 2, 2012
WHOEVER SRUTI IS, SHE RULES
amazing thing happened today. had the chance to meet myself, as not me. i went out awhile ago with some friends, and we got, as they so eloquently suggest, "smashed." over coffee, this friend told me this story i have 0 memory of, to me, about me. so it felt like hearing a story about someone else, admiring that person, and then the total delight in realizing that person was you. try to imagine that, if you can.
"so basically, there were a couple people being lame and not dancing, and i remembered you looked around at one point, looked at me and said "watch this." then you ran off to a timid guy standing in the corner. the guy was staring to the ground, at the people, and back, in all his hesitancy. then you ran up, grinded up and down him for a total of 30 seconds, ran back to me, and we continued dancing. but dude, like while you were dancing on him, he was like, looking around, totally pleased, and totally like he didn't know what to do with life anymore. after the 30 seconds was over, you ran back to us and continued dancing. the dude had the look you left with him on the rest of the night."
"so basically, there were a couple people being lame and not dancing, and i remembered you looked around at one point, looked at me and said "watch this." then you ran off to a timid guy standing in the corner. the guy was staring to the ground, at the people, and back, in all his hesitancy. then you ran up, grinded up and down him for a total of 30 seconds, ran back to me, and we continued dancing. but dude, like while you were dancing on him, he was like, looking around, totally pleased, and totally like he didn't know what to do with life anymore. after the 30 seconds was over, you ran back to us and continued dancing. the dude had the look you left with him on the rest of the night."
Friday, November 30, 2012
Rants on Being Single and Death
SINGLE PEOPLE OF THE WORLD.
spice up your life.
I guess.
Listen, isn't it amazing how you go through your life, having people, society, whatever, tell you that there is no way of predicting the future. That life is this giant, uncertain road! Who knows where you'll be ten years from now! You can never know what tomorrow will be, reads your aspiring meme. Don't stress about the uncontrollable future, the older folks will say! And it is very logical advice, you know. There is absolutely no way of predicting what will happen to you - just think about how surprised you are about what has happened to you. Life unfolds, and you unfold with it.
And yet.
When you are single, you are surrounded by people who suddenly ignore this very real, very concrete, normally understood, fact of life, by saying things like, "Yeah, for now..." and, "It won't always be this way..." and "Call me in 10 years..." and, "Of course, you'll get married someday." Why is it, that on threats and anxieties about dying alone - society decides the future is totally predictable, totally controllable, and totally evident. Where is this evidence? Where did your understanding of how time works go, non-single, individual?
The only thing that is guaranteed is Death. For the un-philosophical, this will seem depressing. For the philosophical, this will seem honest enough. So what is this "for now..." business when it comes to single-dom? What makes you as presumptuous about marriage, as you ought to be about death?
Single people are single. They are not stupid. They know that there is no real validity in your futural assumptions, and that is why they are mad. If happiness with another person was guaranteed, there would be no TV, no movies, and definitely no music.
The only thing you should be concluding, "for now..." with, is, "I'm alive."
And Best of Luck, with the rest.
spice up your life.
I guess.
Listen, isn't it amazing how you go through your life, having people, society, whatever, tell you that there is no way of predicting the future. That life is this giant, uncertain road! Who knows where you'll be ten years from now! You can never know what tomorrow will be, reads your aspiring meme. Don't stress about the uncontrollable future, the older folks will say! And it is very logical advice, you know. There is absolutely no way of predicting what will happen to you - just think about how surprised you are about what has happened to you. Life unfolds, and you unfold with it.
And yet.
When you are single, you are surrounded by people who suddenly ignore this very real, very concrete, normally understood, fact of life, by saying things like, "Yeah, for now..." and, "It won't always be this way..." and "Call me in 10 years..." and, "Of course, you'll get married someday." Why is it, that on threats and anxieties about dying alone - society decides the future is totally predictable, totally controllable, and totally evident. Where is this evidence? Where did your understanding of how time works go, non-single, individual?
The only thing that is guaranteed is Death. For the un-philosophical, this will seem depressing. For the philosophical, this will seem honest enough. So what is this "for now..." business when it comes to single-dom? What makes you as presumptuous about marriage, as you ought to be about death?
Single people are single. They are not stupid. They know that there is no real validity in your futural assumptions, and that is why they are mad. If happiness with another person was guaranteed, there would be no TV, no movies, and definitely no music.
The only thing you should be concluding, "for now..." with, is, "I'm alive."
And Best of Luck, with the rest.
Thursday, November 29, 2012
WHY IS BEING A 20-YEAR OLD GIRL, SO GODDAMN SCARY AND HORRIFYING.
I KNOW THEY WROTE A WHOLE TV SHOW ABOUT IT, BUT I'M SCARED AND SAD.
YOU HAVE TO SIT ON STOOLS WHILE A LADY LOOKS AT YOUR VAGINA, AND TELLS YOU YOU ARE "PROBABLY FINE" BUT HERE ARE SOME PILLS, EVEN THOUGH THE PILLS ARE FOR YOUR KIDNEY, SO WHY IS SHE LOOKING AT YOUR VAGINA.
AND THEN YOU HAVE TO COME HOME AND SMILE AT YOUR PARENTS AS THEY ASK YOU HOW ARE YOU, BECAUSE TELLING THEM THINGS IS HARD TO DO WITHOUT TELLING THEM ALL THE THINGS AND YOU CAN'T TELL THEM ALL THE THINGS.
GOOD, I'M GLAD I WROTE THIS, I'LL NEVER FORGET THAT ONCE, I WAS 23.
THE GIRL INFRONT OF ME AT THE PHARMACIE, IN HER CUTE, HIPSTER, TWENTY-YEAR OLD GEAR, ASKED FOR PLAN B, AT THE COUNTER.
OBVIOUSLY.
CAUSE THAT SHIT'S LIKE ADVIL TO US NOW.
BECAUSE UNPROTECTED, CASUAL, SEX IS LIKE ADVIL TO US NOW.
BECAUSE MONOGAMY IS DEAD.
IS IT OVER YET.
YOU HAVE TO SIT ON STOOLS WHILE A LADY LOOKS AT YOUR VAGINA, AND TELLS YOU YOU ARE "PROBABLY FINE" BUT HERE ARE SOME PILLS, EVEN THOUGH THE PILLS ARE FOR YOUR KIDNEY, SO WHY IS SHE LOOKING AT YOUR VAGINA.
AND THEN YOU HAVE TO COME HOME AND SMILE AT YOUR PARENTS AS THEY ASK YOU HOW ARE YOU, BECAUSE TELLING THEM THINGS IS HARD TO DO WITHOUT TELLING THEM ALL THE THINGS AND YOU CAN'T TELL THEM ALL THE THINGS.
GOOD, I'M GLAD I WROTE THIS, I'LL NEVER FORGET THAT ONCE, I WAS 23.
THE GIRL INFRONT OF ME AT THE PHARMACIE, IN HER CUTE, HIPSTER, TWENTY-YEAR OLD GEAR, ASKED FOR PLAN B, AT THE COUNTER.
OBVIOUSLY.
CAUSE THAT SHIT'S LIKE ADVIL TO US NOW.
BECAUSE UNPROTECTED, CASUAL, SEX IS LIKE ADVIL TO US NOW.
BECAUSE MONOGAMY IS DEAD.
IS IT OVER YET.
Wednesday, November 28, 2012
HAHAHAHAHAHAH
AHAHA I FOUND MY ELEMENTARY SCHOOL CRUSH ON FBOOK AND HE INBOXED ME AND SAID "...you're looking good" and AND THIS IS THE BEST
HAHAHAHAHAHA
HAHAHAHAHAHA
Saturday, November 24, 2012
remember, when this was my SECRET FANTASY
"RORY: I mean, I know it's kind of cliché to pick Moby Dick as your first Melville but -- hey how did you know I was reading Moby Dick?
DEAN: Uh, well, I've been watching you.
RORY: Watching me?
DEAN: I mean, not in a creepy, like "I'm watching you" sort of way. I just -- I've noticed you.
RORY: Me?
DEAN: Yeah.
RORY: When?
DEAN: Every day. After school you come out and you sit under that tree there and you read. Last week it was Madame Bovary. This week it's Moby Dick.
RORY: But why would you --
DEAN: Because you're nice to look at, and because you've got unbelievable concentration.
RORY: What?
DEAN: Last Friday these two guys were tossing around a ball and one guy nailed the other right in the face. I mean, it was a mess, blood everywhere, the nurse came out, the place was in chaos, his girlfriend was all freaking out, and you just sat there and read. I mean, you never even looked up. I thought, " I have never seen anyone read so intensely in my entire life. I have to meet that girl."
RORY: Maybe I just didn't look up because I'm unbelievably self-centered.
DEAN: Maybe, but I doubt it.
(They smile at each other.)"
Friday, November 23, 2012
Four Hours.
there's lots to talk about, but today might want to think about what entitlement means. you know, i know, i of all, people, know, that at twenty-something, if there is one thing you are entitled to it - it is this: nothing.
these are the years of one shitty job after another, and another.
every job i struggle with, i wonder why on earth i am left to surround myself in a place (and it is important to note, that the note of leaving "work as work" as a very difficult task, when it is where you spend 80% of your life), that seems to eat away at my soul. be it in, the tasks at hand, or the people i'm surrounded with, or the, just lack of anything that feels worthy. but it is worthy. because it pays the bills, and slowly, (so, so slowly) but still it does try to add up the savings. the deposit for the future dreams.
i like how i say i can work a shitty job for awhile so i can save up money and afford to do unpaid internships. as if i'll even get unpaid internships.
because we are entitled to nothing.
long story short, i got a second job (and the goal, was for it to be a new full-time gig), that would allow me to leave, the gross, festing, infection that has been my past six-year job. both are dumb, and for part-time students, though the new one sounds arguably more professional than the last. at least for any future writing aspirations.
go read rakoff's, half-empty, and then you will understand why i never, ever write here. but i always, always want to.
anyway. so yeah, there it is. what i've been whining and begging for this whole time, and it's in my hands! a little cubicle, where i can bring a coffee, sit infront of a computer, and do my tasks, where no one bothers me, as long as i do my tasks. and i don't have to talk to anyone that resembles a customer. you know, the apparent dream.
but it's mindless, and my boss is scary, and my eyes hurt, cause all i'm doing is copying and pasting for 7 hours. scratch that, 4 hours. i cut my 7-hour shift to 4-hours, cause i'm genuinely afraid about what i'm gonna do, working at a job i hate, for one more hour.
because i have been paying my dues. i have. for 6 years, while my privileged friends have traveled, and eloped, and i don't know what, i have been slaving away at the shitty job. and no, i'm not the only one. and no it won't last forever, i don't think. which is why someone needs to take this sense of entitlement i have, away from me. it just makes the days that much longer, and the hours that much more dreadful.
no, it is not that bad, but no, i cannot, DO it anymore. haven't i already?? i have. and then there's the harsh reality, where really, i've only just begun. i'm only just graduating, now. in 2 weeks. what do you mean, i've paid my dues. another seven more to go, if not more.
none of you will take this seriously, nor should you. because i'm complaining about sitting in a room for 4 hours, copying and pasting. i'm complaining.
because other people don't have to work this hard, and even more people have to work even harder.
how dare i be upset that i have to spend 4 hours in a room looking at a screen? my mother and father spend 8 hours a day doing something they have 0 passion for, and don't even have the luxury of spending their (minimal) extra time with their friends, smoking j's, eating out, and just shooting the shit. and they really have no choice. it is fucking gloriously amazing that they have mastered the necessary skills from their, less-educated, non-technological, immigrant, non-english speaking background, to develop into fluent english-speaking, almost fluent bilingual-speaking, computer using, workers. and they don't fucking spend an entire blog post whining about it. and it is not their dreams. but that is not the point. they love their home, and they feed themselves and their daughter, whom they also love. and only once in awhile does my mother sigh, sit down, and say, "i wish i could travel more." and the sigh is heavy, and meaningful, and oh, how she painfully means it - but it is only once in awhile that she even gives that moment of self-pity to herself.
have you forgotten, sruti? calcutta, that early morning. you catch dad staring, peering through the window, and you fumble over, in your mid-sleep, and say, "what are you looking at?" and you see. that is early morning, and a group of 20+ people are huddled around a puddle in the middle of the street, using any old pail to bathe themselves in. they are naked, and huddled around each other, shivering. my father says, "look. look at how other people live." and there, in a quick flash, my father shuts the blind, and says, "let's go. they deserve their privacy."
what? am i not supposed to think about poverty when i complain about my developed world? because there's nothing i can do about that right, and i have every right to complain about shitty things, because they are just that, shitty. i know. my reality is a reality, too.
but i'm going to go take a hot shower now, before my shitty shift at my shitty job.
these are the years of one shitty job after another, and another.
every job i struggle with, i wonder why on earth i am left to surround myself in a place (and it is important to note, that the note of leaving "work as work" as a very difficult task, when it is where you spend 80% of your life), that seems to eat away at my soul. be it in, the tasks at hand, or the people i'm surrounded with, or the, just lack of anything that feels worthy. but it is worthy. because it pays the bills, and slowly, (so, so slowly) but still it does try to add up the savings. the deposit for the future dreams.
i like how i say i can work a shitty job for awhile so i can save up money and afford to do unpaid internships. as if i'll even get unpaid internships.
because we are entitled to nothing.
long story short, i got a second job (and the goal, was for it to be a new full-time gig), that would allow me to leave, the gross, festing, infection that has been my past six-year job. both are dumb, and for part-time students, though the new one sounds arguably more professional than the last. at least for any future writing aspirations.
go read rakoff's, half-empty, and then you will understand why i never, ever write here. but i always, always want to.
anyway. so yeah, there it is. what i've been whining and begging for this whole time, and it's in my hands! a little cubicle, where i can bring a coffee, sit infront of a computer, and do my tasks, where no one bothers me, as long as i do my tasks. and i don't have to talk to anyone that resembles a customer. you know, the apparent dream.
but it's mindless, and my boss is scary, and my eyes hurt, cause all i'm doing is copying and pasting for 7 hours. scratch that, 4 hours. i cut my 7-hour shift to 4-hours, cause i'm genuinely afraid about what i'm gonna do, working at a job i hate, for one more hour.
because i have been paying my dues. i have. for 6 years, while my privileged friends have traveled, and eloped, and i don't know what, i have been slaving away at the shitty job. and no, i'm not the only one. and no it won't last forever, i don't think. which is why someone needs to take this sense of entitlement i have, away from me. it just makes the days that much longer, and the hours that much more dreadful.
no, it is not that bad, but no, i cannot, DO it anymore. haven't i already?? i have. and then there's the harsh reality, where really, i've only just begun. i'm only just graduating, now. in 2 weeks. what do you mean, i've paid my dues. another seven more to go, if not more.
none of you will take this seriously, nor should you. because i'm complaining about sitting in a room for 4 hours, copying and pasting. i'm complaining.
because other people don't have to work this hard, and even more people have to work even harder.
how dare i be upset that i have to spend 4 hours in a room looking at a screen? my mother and father spend 8 hours a day doing something they have 0 passion for, and don't even have the luxury of spending their (minimal) extra time with their friends, smoking j's, eating out, and just shooting the shit. and they really have no choice. it is fucking gloriously amazing that they have mastered the necessary skills from their, less-educated, non-technological, immigrant, non-english speaking background, to develop into fluent english-speaking, almost fluent bilingual-speaking, computer using, workers. and they don't fucking spend an entire blog post whining about it. and it is not their dreams. but that is not the point. they love their home, and they feed themselves and their daughter, whom they also love. and only once in awhile does my mother sigh, sit down, and say, "i wish i could travel more." and the sigh is heavy, and meaningful, and oh, how she painfully means it - but it is only once in awhile that she even gives that moment of self-pity to herself.
have you forgotten, sruti? calcutta, that early morning. you catch dad staring, peering through the window, and you fumble over, in your mid-sleep, and say, "what are you looking at?" and you see. that is early morning, and a group of 20+ people are huddled around a puddle in the middle of the street, using any old pail to bathe themselves in. they are naked, and huddled around each other, shivering. my father says, "look. look at how other people live." and there, in a quick flash, my father shuts the blind, and says, "let's go. they deserve their privacy."
what? am i not supposed to think about poverty when i complain about my developed world? because there's nothing i can do about that right, and i have every right to complain about shitty things, because they are just that, shitty. i know. my reality is a reality, too.
but i'm going to go take a hot shower now, before my shitty shift at my shitty job.
Thursday, November 22, 2012
Wednesday, November 21, 2012
Tuesday, November 20, 2012
On asking, "Why Me?" - David Rakoff
""Writer Melissa Bank said it best: 'The only proper answer to 'Why me?' is 'Why not you?' The universe is anarchic and doesn't care about us, and unfortunately, there's no greater rhyme or reason as to why it would be me. And since there is no answer as to why me, it's not a question I feel really entitled to ask.
"And in so many other ways, I'm so far ahead of the game. I have access to great medical care. My general baseline health, aside from the general unpleasantness of the cancer, is great. And it's great because I'm privileged to have great health. And I live in a country where I'm not making sneakers for a living, and I don't live near a toxic waste dump.
"You can't win all the contests and then lose at one contest and say, 'Why am I not winning this contest as well?' It's random. So truthfully, again, do I wish it weren't me? Absolutely. I still can't make that logistic jump to thinking there's a reason why it shouldn't be me.""
Monday, November 19, 2012
oh!
and i can't believe last... thursday? happened! what WAS that. glorious, is what.
went to grab my favourite chili, as a little lunch before my one and only class of the day. sat in front of the cafe for a bit, and pulled out my laptop, to read what the internet had to say. a Chinese Canadian girl, i knew through a friend sat to my right. we have waved appropriately to each other, but had been the length of it. she sat besides a brown girl, wearing high waisted pale denim, and a grey t-shirt, crop-top. i instantly noticed this. as i was peering at my screen, i overheard them discussing issues i never hear anyone discussing, outside of the internet and my own brain. the brown girl was incredibly caught up in her discussion, and i heard them discussing racial representation, inherent white privilege, and how difficult it is to explain that reality to even your closest, white friends.
eventually i involved myself, and passed on as many references as i could. they enjoyed this, and it seemed to delight the brown girl in particular. i discovered, later, that she identified as an Indian Muslim. and so, suddenly, sitting at those white tables, burst a spirited conversation about our racial anxieties. a "go ask alice" for coloured folks. the Chinese Canadian, the Indian Muslim Canadian, and the Culturally Muslim, Bengali Canadian. Girls. I should add, girls.
later in the conversation, a white, tom-boy, visibly women's studies student sat in the corner overhearing us as well, and began participating in the conversation. she was very understanding, and kept saying, "this is so awful, that this happens to you. i don't know anything about this! how could i. it's your lived reality."
"thank you!" we appreciatively shouted.
later, a Persian Canadian girl sat down in front of us, prepared to have her lunch. She spoke with a soft voice, but with determination. she too could not keep away from our discussion, and started to chime in on stories about getting stopped at the border, on numerous. occasions. the reality of what was going on back home. she said her grandmother kept flying back to see their Canadian family, just so she could bring food back home. food.
and oh, how we all had white friends! hahah, and we all were so clearly westernized! and the joys that come with that! and the pains. we all had a specific angle from which we were approaching the subject, and though we did not necessarily all agree on everything, we could agree when most things were just "not okay."
"oh god, liberal white people hate it when you use the 'R' word."
"I KNOW."
"you can be as liberal as you want, honey, but the colour of your skin is inherently, uncontrollably, and absolutely, a privilege. no, it may not be your fault, so we don't ask that you take blame, instead all we ask is that you recognize, that you can write all the prose you want about equality - but honey, honey, honey, it ain't. no. thang."
laughter.
we went our separate ways eventually, but oh the way we inherently knew, and clung to each other! i walked to a class, refreshed. looking forward to progress.
went to grab my favourite chili, as a little lunch before my one and only class of the day. sat in front of the cafe for a bit, and pulled out my laptop, to read what the internet had to say. a Chinese Canadian girl, i knew through a friend sat to my right. we have waved appropriately to each other, but had been the length of it. she sat besides a brown girl, wearing high waisted pale denim, and a grey t-shirt, crop-top. i instantly noticed this. as i was peering at my screen, i overheard them discussing issues i never hear anyone discussing, outside of the internet and my own brain. the brown girl was incredibly caught up in her discussion, and i heard them discussing racial representation, inherent white privilege, and how difficult it is to explain that reality to even your closest, white friends.
eventually i involved myself, and passed on as many references as i could. they enjoyed this, and it seemed to delight the brown girl in particular. i discovered, later, that she identified as an Indian Muslim. and so, suddenly, sitting at those white tables, burst a spirited conversation about our racial anxieties. a "go ask alice" for coloured folks. the Chinese Canadian, the Indian Muslim Canadian, and the Culturally Muslim, Bengali Canadian. Girls. I should add, girls.
later in the conversation, a white, tom-boy, visibly women's studies student sat in the corner overhearing us as well, and began participating in the conversation. she was very understanding, and kept saying, "this is so awful, that this happens to you. i don't know anything about this! how could i. it's your lived reality."
"thank you!" we appreciatively shouted.
later, a Persian Canadian girl sat down in front of us, prepared to have her lunch. She spoke with a soft voice, but with determination. she too could not keep away from our discussion, and started to chime in on stories about getting stopped at the border, on numerous. occasions. the reality of what was going on back home. she said her grandmother kept flying back to see their Canadian family, just so she could bring food back home. food.
and oh, how we all had white friends! hahah, and we all were so clearly westernized! and the joys that come with that! and the pains. we all had a specific angle from which we were approaching the subject, and though we did not necessarily all agree on everything, we could agree when most things were just "not okay."
"oh god, liberal white people hate it when you use the 'R' word."
"I KNOW."
"you can be as liberal as you want, honey, but the colour of your skin is inherently, uncontrollably, and absolutely, a privilege. no, it may not be your fault, so we don't ask that you take blame, instead all we ask is that you recognize, that you can write all the prose you want about equality - but honey, honey, honey, it ain't. no. thang."
laughter.
we went our separate ways eventually, but oh the way we inherently knew, and clung to each other! i walked to a class, refreshed. looking forward to progress.
Sunday, November 18, 2012
i've been tackling instances of authenticity, lately.
as well as the perception of others.
there's a whole group of people who think i'm simultaneously Daria, a Beyonce fan, and hip-hop aficionado. these people rarely see me smile, and have only seen me truly happy once. they think being quiet must be easier on me, my habitude, that most people know i always look unhappy. these people know nothing about the kind of literature i read, or the existential thoughts i have. they are the common folk. and maybe they know i can't talk to them, because i can't speak their diluted, deluded language. they share facebook memes, and twitter statii about being cynical, and wishing our western population had more intellectual and cultural, artistic, depth. and then they see me as a snob, for rolling my eyes at their bieber excitement. it is hard for me to interact with that kind of phoniness - it's a millennial suburban delusion. a numbing kind of happiness, that's fronted with perkiness, and yet, a constant espousal for sarcasm. they want to be me, and so i can't talk to them.
do you think i'm egotistical?
i think i'm egotistical.
a girl who i was best friends with, in pre-kindergarden and elementary school, in all her mainstream saturation, recently posted this facebook status:
~ You have enemies? Good. That means you've stood up for something, sometime in your life ~
and I responded:
man, i couldn't agree with this more.
i miss him. his touch, his softness, his smell, and his warmth.
see? i am just like you.
i believe that i am so admirable and likable that when you adopt my characteristics, you are not trying to be something you are not, but rather, are recognizing something out there, in The Structure, that you want more of, because it feeds you. or you like the way that looks. that's how i construct myself, after all, why shouldn't you be allowed to do the same?
a friend recently pointed out that my high school best friend was simultaneously my high school best friend, and high school bully. we were both so insecure, and admired each other all at the same time. this caused a toxic relationship, one where we were never truly happy for the other. and loved each other just the same. a team against the phonies who denied their unhappiness, but a challenge to each other's validation. all the boys i liked, picked her, because she didn't have the weird acne, and didn't sport the baggy pants. but the creative, funny folks picked me, because i was creative. and funny.
i guess what i'm saying is, i can't tell who anyone is anymore. or what anyone is anymore. sometimes i think i can tell, and i find solace in that. of course, that's a problem as well. if the only time and space i can feel security in, is the one where shit makes sense, i will only find happiness and comfort in rare, random, uncontrollable, temporary, mili-seconds.
i'm a snob. let's just say it! i'm a horrible snob.
that's what i say sometimes. and then i make a 5-step plan, on how to be a better son, daughter, or real good friend. and i make a real good effort, real good try at it, and it makes me feel good to be good for others. and i do good. and then a little cape starts to grow on my back, and we're walking on productive territory, folks. but the cape eventually slips off, like most things on pedestals do. i do not belong there.
older folks, and people who met me when i was 16, all fall into the same category. and they all perceive me from the top of the staircase. i recently re-acquainted myself with a person from this past life of mine, and she looks at me, with a total incapacity to take me seriously. and if i tried explaining myself, and who i was now, i would still come off so absolutely trivial and small to her. like a child complaining to an adult about a bad dream. the adult never takes the kid seriously, and the kid is always seriously scared.
i hate talking to those people the absolute most. they see weakness in me, because for years i've been weak. i'm stronger now, so it's refreshing to meet people now - but oh, old friendships. you've truly seen me at my worst.
and i hate that he cape falls off - always falls off, because i can't shake it. it's franny and zooey, it's a fear of being an absolute nobody, or is it an acknowledgment of my alienesque quality? born different, born insecure, born sadder than most (thought not all.)
i should note, there are different, contextual kinds of sadnesses.
goddammit, cultural studies.
my experiences are not meant to be yours. do not take them from me. my identity is not meant to be yours. do not take them from me. my language is not yours. my wit is not yours. my intelligence is not yours. my race is not yours, my racialized gender is not yours. my passions are not yours, and so my art is not yours. my heart is not yours, my face is not yours, my breasts are not yours (they are gloriously, mine, mine, mine). my insecurities are not yours, my alien-ness, is not yours.
yours are yours.
i can't tell if i truly hope that no one ever gets me (inscrutable, sruti). but i find a quiet comfort in knowing that absolutely no one fully does. and a total frustration when someone tries.
i guess will be sixteen forever.
Saturday, November 17, 2012
Thursday, November 15, 2012
heavy, heavy, weight in your heart, after stressful day.
dad, "is everything okay?"
me, "yeah."
dad, "it doesn't sound okay?"
me, "no, no, it's fine."
long pause.
me, "i'm just never gonna get a grown up job, ever."
then your south east asian dad jumps to worrisome conclusions, and starts inquiring about your current part-time job, whether or not your financially secure, and starts reaching into his wallet pre-emptively.
me, "no, no, no. that's just it. i've got retail now, but i'm graduating in 3 weeks, and... yeah. it's not a big deal, it's just... hard."
dad continues stirring curry on top of stove and is silent. "oh," he says. "well that's much more serious," he implies. he begins to fear what he's previously experienced with his oldest daughter. hoping for the best, but settling for their unfortunately reality, of prolonging years of retail. this is why he says nothing, because from what he's seen in the past, he can't guarantee that i would be wrong.
this disappoints him, and i'm not sure if the disappointment lies in my own worth, or in the structures and standards of western, individualistic, "success."
i see this all occur within a single furrowed brow, say, "it's fine. don't worry. it'll be fine. anyways," realizing that i've made my burdens, his.
i head straight to bed without dinner.
"sruti..." he tries.
but i'm asleep.
me, "yeah."
dad, "it doesn't sound okay?"
me, "no, no, it's fine."
long pause.
me, "i'm just never gonna get a grown up job, ever."
then your south east asian dad jumps to worrisome conclusions, and starts inquiring about your current part-time job, whether or not your financially secure, and starts reaching into his wallet pre-emptively.
me, "no, no, no. that's just it. i've got retail now, but i'm graduating in 3 weeks, and... yeah. it's not a big deal, it's just... hard."
dad continues stirring curry on top of stove and is silent. "oh," he says. "well that's much more serious," he implies. he begins to fear what he's previously experienced with his oldest daughter. hoping for the best, but settling for their unfortunately reality, of prolonging years of retail. this is why he says nothing, because from what he's seen in the past, he can't guarantee that i would be wrong.
this disappoints him, and i'm not sure if the disappointment lies in my own worth, or in the structures and standards of western, individualistic, "success."
i see this all occur within a single furrowed brow, say, "it's fine. don't worry. it'll be fine. anyways," realizing that i've made my burdens, his.
i head straight to bed without dinner.
"sruti..." he tries.
but i'm asleep.
Saturday, November 10, 2012
today is one of those days,
where i absolutely have 0 interest/desire with/for men, because really all i want to do, is call in sick to work and fucking get all this shit that i have to get done, done, so that i can go ahead and fucking BE somebody.
Tuesday, November 6, 2012
Monday, November 5, 2012
Sunday, November 4, 2012
i have a new crush.
he spent all evening telling me about how in love he still was with his ex-girlfriend.
we kissed once, but apparently that doesn't matter.
he said he finds me attractive, and thinks i'm awesome, but apparently that doesn't matter.
then the boy i have been kissing the most often, told me he slept with somebody else the other night.
lindsay says she wishes i'd stop looking for self-validation in boys.
me too.
we kissed once, but apparently that doesn't matter.
he said he finds me attractive, and thinks i'm awesome, but apparently that doesn't matter.
then the boy i have been kissing the most often, told me he slept with somebody else the other night.
lindsay says she wishes i'd stop looking for self-validation in boys.
me too.
Tuesday, October 30, 2012
Sunday, October 28, 2012
no hard feelings.
so i've been going through a shitty guilty, neglectful feeling this past week. more on this later. on what it means to be somebody's child. i haven't seen my parents, and or spent time with my family in awhile. in fact, the other day, my sister who hasn't been over for months, came over, and i holed myself up in my room the entire time. i don't know how to talk to her anymore, ever since that incident.
but as usual, it takes a weeks worth of closing, openings, going outs, to continuously leaving the house prior to my parents waking, or get home, right after they've gone to bed. and then i miss them, which is always a nice reminder/feeling, given the frustration that can occur from still living with them. so i thought this today - i miss my parents. and then when i asked them what they did today, they told me, they basically had a family reunion. which is obviously, generally, lovely - but personally still - it ended up just widening a gap, i was already feeling from my split-personalities.
also, i think i've given up on you.
no hard feelings.
but as usual, it takes a weeks worth of closing, openings, going outs, to continuously leaving the house prior to my parents waking, or get home, right after they've gone to bed. and then i miss them, which is always a nice reminder/feeling, given the frustration that can occur from still living with them. so i thought this today - i miss my parents. and then when i asked them what they did today, they told me, they basically had a family reunion. which is obviously, generally, lovely - but personally still - it ended up just widening a gap, i was already feeling from my split-personalities.
also, i think i've given up on you.
no hard feelings.
Thursday, October 25, 2012
yesterday, i was smoking with ryan, and had a revelation.
obviously.
in the same way, enough time has passed for me to officially recognize this past summer, as in the past, enough time has passed for me to recognize my trip to bangladesh/india, as also having occurred in the past. so i found myself telling ryan all of these stories from my trip, which i'm sure i had already told him, but for some reason, i hadn't - and they were astounding stories! totally delightful. i had ryan on the edge of his seat at one point. and i think it took this long for me to recognize the significance of that trip, because that's what time does. it allows you the opportunity to recognize realities upon reflection. and i know, there are tons of people who fly back and forth, and travel all the time, and i spent a good week of my trip following my mom around shopping, but given my particular historical context, my individual history, my subjectivity, i can officially say that trip was fucking mind blowing and yes, i hope to go back, and no i have absolutely no regrets in going in the first place. where ever i stand years from now (i mean, perhaps i'll become a wild traveler, who knows) - i can't ever forget this. and i realized i can't, because i literally can't. because yesterday, as i was telling all of these stories to ryan, they were flooding out of me, with animation, and brevity, and stimulating pauses. i can't wait to tell you all, too.
also, i also spent the latter part of yesterday's afternoon trying to convince my classmates their dreams were possible.
in the same way, enough time has passed for me to officially recognize this past summer, as in the past, enough time has passed for me to recognize my trip to bangladesh/india, as also having occurred in the past. so i found myself telling ryan all of these stories from my trip, which i'm sure i had already told him, but for some reason, i hadn't - and they were astounding stories! totally delightful. i had ryan on the edge of his seat at one point. and i think it took this long for me to recognize the significance of that trip, because that's what time does. it allows you the opportunity to recognize realities upon reflection. and i know, there are tons of people who fly back and forth, and travel all the time, and i spent a good week of my trip following my mom around shopping, but given my particular historical context, my individual history, my subjectivity, i can officially say that trip was fucking mind blowing and yes, i hope to go back, and no i have absolutely no regrets in going in the first place. where ever i stand years from now (i mean, perhaps i'll become a wild traveler, who knows) - i can't ever forget this. and i realized i can't, because i literally can't. because yesterday, as i was telling all of these stories to ryan, they were flooding out of me, with animation, and brevity, and stimulating pauses. i can't wait to tell you all, too.
also, i also spent the latter part of yesterday's afternoon trying to convince my classmates their dreams were possible.
Monday, October 22, 2012
sometimes when i chat with my friends, i accidentally write poems about my #life
i used to
i think i sorta do
but mostly i don't
and wish i really didn't
Sunday, October 21, 2012
Saturday, October 20, 2012
uh, can we discuss how i facebook?
steven is my friend who would understand my total hunger right now, combined with my total exhaustion to get up and make myself a sandwich.
aj is my friend who understands cool things, and who consequently loves ?uestlove.
jeremie is my friend who understands artistic authenticity, and shares a mutual love for acting.
lauren is my friend who loves NBC's friends, fresh prince, and pop cultural facts.
can't someone pay me to professionally recommend things to people, i know they'd like? that's a job, right?
Friday, October 19, 2012
and then there are the days and hours i feel unbelievably heavy
and everyone looks at me like i bring this on myself.
i don't.
your persistance that i "should smile more" does.
fuck you.
i don't.
your persistance that i "should smile more" does.
fuck you.
Wednesday, October 17, 2012
Some people don't need that.
Supposedly, the best way to deal with things is, is to forget about them. I find this hard to believe, and key to all infected wounds. If you do not care to it, it will grow, and fester, and ooze out gross things. But then again, I also have a tendency to expect and want things from a situation on all individuals participating, not just myself.
Monday, October 15, 2012
Saturday, October 13, 2012
i'm going to get fired from a job
i should have been the one to quit after the past 5 years, aren't i?
Friday, October 12, 2012
i don't want to take away from every woman's individual authentic enjoyment of sports
because that's a thing -
but why does it feel like most girls who enjoy sports, do so, only for the sake of attracting a male?
hey, i got into cradle of filth once, with the attempt of attracting a male.
but cradle of filth sucks.
but why does it feel like most girls who enjoy sports, do so, only for the sake of attracting a male?
hey, i got into cradle of filth once, with the attempt of attracting a male.
but cradle of filth sucks.
Thursday, October 11, 2012
Tuesday, October 9, 2012
FOR ALL YOU DUDES WHO HIT ON ME AND THEN NEVER CALL ME
IN THE FUTURE, WOULD YOU JUST LEAVE ME ALONE IN THE FUCKING FIRST PLACE?
thank you.
thank you.
circa April 19, 2011, 18:16 : legit interaction with males
guy: Hey you're fun!
me: hey!
thanks..
are you spam.
me: hey!
thanks..
are you spam.
circa December 26, 2010, 01:02 : today, i finally let things be, and it is slowly concluding to a goddamn good one.
awoke to scrambled eggs, coffee, and the feeling of not having to go into work on this ought-to-be-filled-with-90s-cartoons-one-s
and i know, i know, going to the internet and blogging about how significantly magical your day was completely defeats the purpose of finally letting things be, but old habits die quite hard and i'm currently content enough to not mind.
and i know, i know, going to the internet and blogging about how significantly magical your day was completely defeats the purpose of finally letting things be, but old habits die quite hard and i'm currently content enough to not mind.
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