A Thin Slice of Pie.

I

Flickering blobs of yellow and orange- that was all I could see with my eyes half-closed. When I shut my eyes, it was a pitch black interrupted occasionally by flame-coloured pinpricks. But I opened them up quickly; I had to if I didn’t wish to walk headlong into a tree-trunk.
I am walking through The Sakura University premises. The university was named after Sakura Yoko, the founder principal’s Japanese wife. Of course no cherry blossoming festivals take place here, that’s a legacy solely intended and carried out by the Japanese. Nevertheless, the campus of Sakura University is dotted with trees- Buckeyes, Birches, Elms, Dogwoods, Willows, Maples; and the flowers don’t make themselves scarce in the summers either. We are half-way through August now, which accounts for the sweep of yellowish-brown and crimson leaves obscuring the tentative greens underneath.
I walk alone, my jute bag bundled up in my left fist. I can’t say for sure if I have any friends at all. Sure I know several students, but that is probably out of pure necessity. I’m wistful yes, but not sad. It isn’t easy for me to carry out niceties and I don’t think that’d get me far. Not where I want. If I look carefully, I can spot a few green-leaved trees. If I look carefully.
He has his back to me but I know it’s him. There’s no mistaking the shock of jet black hair, or the loosely fitted pastels that he generally dons. He’s alone, sitting in a natural cup of earth, in the redundant shade of an Elm. My breath catches, I keep walking though. I look ahead, he’s right there – a few feet away on my right. But I don’t use my peripheral vision this time. I’m done with underhandedness, even if it is to the slightest degree. I’m done with longing for something that no one possesses. I’m done with filling up the gaps in people’s personalities with my own dreams.

II

I’ve always been fond of oranges. Especially the sour kind. They make your taste buds tingle; I suppose that’s partly why tennis players squeeze freshly cut lemons down their throats during half-time.
There’s a large orange tree in my garden, which is not much of a garden. Of course, it’s not laden with fruit this time of the year, but its leaves still hold that slightly heady tangy smell I utterly love.
I begin to walk towards the edge of my garden. My feet are pulling me along, and my mind’s a white blank sheet of paper. It’s twilight, I think, because the sky’s streaked with lavender and there’s no sign of a sun. The compound wall of my house is short, and rather grimy, but it has a country-side charm that several architects strive to achieve for their posh, pseudo-intellectual customers, but fail. My feet stop only inches away from collision; my nose is on the other side of the wall. An inexplicable, vague fear grips me, I can’t speak. There is nobody to speak to, of course, but this time I’m aware of incapacity to move volitionally. My heart’s thudding, I can feel a thin strand of hair sticking wetly to the nape of my neck. It isn’t humid enough to perspire. I don’t know what has gotten hold of me. But I know it is imperative to keep silent. Without moving a muscle, I look at the thick foliage of the adjacent garden. The leaves look a dreary purple and maroon, like rhodendron, in the dimness. I can see a portion of the silhouette of a house- my neighbors’ house. It isn’t illuminated from the inside….wait. No. There’s an orangish glow in one of the upper-storey rooms, a small light. Blink your eyes and it’s gone, blink again and it sparkles as clear as a star. My pupils dilate, then constrict, attempting to focus on the orange flicker. Now I can see a sort of rucksack, the shadow of a chair and a boy-not the boy himself, but a part of his torso. My neck refuses to crane, and that sense of dread lengthens still.
“Hello. You’re a girl by the looks of it.”
I recoil at the sudden voice; my eyes instantly zoom to the upper-storey room with the orange glow. There’s no boy in there.
“Well?”
My eyes struggle a little to focus on the speaker. I cannot see much of his features; he’s decidedly tall and lean. No, bony, I decide. He doesn’t look like he works out. And his eyes sparkle a little but I cannot discern their colour. He probably wears a slight stubble, judging from his silhouette. And his hair’s poking about – a dirty brown is my guess.
“Uh, who’re you?” I ask.
“I’m your neighbor. New neighbor. You know the Greens right?” A slight drawl, too smooth.
I shake my head. What’s he talking about?
“Your neighbors! They own this house…you didn’t know they were called Green?”
“I’ve never spoken to them. For that matter, I never noticed their house had two storeys.”
“That’s strange. What are you doing prowling about here then?”
The apprehensiveness has slowly faded away; I feel nothing, as usual. I turn abruptly and head home. I don’t care for inquisitive new neighbors.

Five.

............................

This alien land
Rushes off with the wind
Like pages flying away.

............................

Dusty, grubby hands
Flies on the food
The noise of highway trucks.

............................

We made love on the
Tallest building in the skyline
In the dark.

............................

The dirt grinds to dust
The flesh and metal spikes
Of man's collective mind.

............................

A white reality
Closed eyes
A breathing cerebrum.

............................

India and Copenhagen

First:

After reading this blog post below, I felt a strong sense of renewed hope for a workable conclusion to the climate change talks in Copenhagen, and in the power of today's issues to unite people of different, even conflicting interests. COP15 itself is proof that the idea that politics is inextricably intertwined with corruption and diplomacy is (extremely) slowly being eroded as people (and politicians) open their eyes to the world that they helped to burn. And by no means do I exclude myself from this category. Read this guys.

http://sscinternational.org/2009/11/29/in-the-lead-up-to-copenhagen-it’s-developed-vs-developing/

But at the same time, although India's demands may be practical and even reasonable, they are not fair. The demands don't appear to be in the spirit of climate change - they are essentially a more sophisticated way of saying: Why should WE, when YOU are doing all the polluting? This argument is sound - it is only to the offender that the offence must directly be attributed. But this argument is still embedded firmly in the rut of the idea that the interest of any one nation is separate from the interest of another. This directly violates the purpose of the Copenhagen talks - the point is that all the countries are getting together to discuss how to achieve a common goal. If there is no common goal, then there is no point. This puts a kind of damper on the hope that the previous article instilled in me. Here below is a somewhat neutral look at how things stand.

http://english.people.com.cn/90001/90780/91345/6836912.html

Although it is good to spread hope about a good conclusion to COP15 (hopefully a concrete legally binding international treaty that will actually produce results), we must not ignore the colossal obstacles that loom over us; broadly defined, they are: diplomacy and dishonesty, politicians' service of self-interest and neglect of the public, and the inaction of the general public in the wake of drastic climate change.

Hopefully things will work out.

A citizen of Hopenhagen

As I write this, the COP15 Conference is taking place in Copenhagen. This conference will hopefully show some concrete results. Hopefully, the leaders of nations can come to a concrete agreement about such issues as cutting of greenhouse gas emissions and the redirection of resource valves to the places where they are actually needed, like the developing countries. What a person like me can do at this point is to follow the news concerning this event, and support anyone who is fighting for a sustainable future, by spreading awareness and trying to get our leaders to be accountable to US, the true power-holders. Take a few minutes if you can and be a part of the movement - sign the Hopenhagen petition. This petition will be shown at the conference, and the more support we can garner, the better. I know this is a bit late, the talks have already begun, but hopefully it will help in a small way.

Chompsky. =)

Hey, it's HARD to blog everyday! Especially for someone who's been at it for just as long as I have (four days). Withhold your censure if ye can, ye kind souls.

Well, you guys know what this post is going to be about. The title is quite revealing. So, instead of subtly leading to the point of this post, I'm going to jump right into it.

Chomsky. He started my day today. Without even bothering to brush, I acted on the sudden, inexplicable impulse to watch Chomsky interviews on YouTube. He is a terribly interesting personality. A Colossus in the field of Linguistics, and a vehement and outspoken critic of US foreign policy in particular and democracy and other political structures in general, he is the 8th most cited author in today's world. Almost insanely prolific, he, on the citation rankings, trails people who have single-handedly altered the course of history, like Marx, Lenin, Shakespeare, Aristotle and Freud, and even surpasses Hegel and Cicero; also, he is the only one out of the top ten on that list who is still alive. Go Chomsky!

I am as interested in what he's like as a person as I am in awe of his achievements. Sources who have been in direct contact with him say that he is a small man in a sweater (and no doubt adorable), and speaks in soft, hardly audible tones that do not in the least befit his image as some kind of a giant in all other respects. However, the ideas that he expresses in his speech are clear and clinically penetrating, while being expressed with a driving passion for fact. Liesbeth Koenen said something about him that really struck me as apt and beautifully put:

"...As soon as he opens his mouth you start to realize why he is so famous and notorious. Chomsky sounds rational, cerebral and detached, but at the same time probing and deeply committed to whatever his topic happens to be. He is utterly serious, but will break into a smile at the most unexpected moments."

Most pictures of him on Google Images show him surrounded by columns of books. He is a classic nerd. =) His own wife admitted to thinking of him as "nerdy", and said that he wasn't the type she would have dated (until she became a similar kind of nerd herself =). When he was younger, he apparently "[couldn't] tell a radio from a toaster" in his own words. He is so deeply involved in his chosen fields, linguistics and political activism, that he blissfully sees nothing else, and can tell even the most informed people a thing or two about their own areas of expertise. His "arrogance" is fascinating and entertaining to watch, purely because it is so well-handled - it doesn't get out of hand, he NEVER engages in people-bashing - and so justified. One (in other words, I) can easily derive pleasure from letting their imaginations take flight and imagine him as a grandparent, playing with his grandkids, or as a boyfriend, buying a bunch of flowers for his future wife to send to her room at UPenn, undergraduates both.

What is most interesting about him is his simplicity in the expression of certain ideas and his exhaustingly complicated and convoluted way of expressing others. I have had the frustrating and exciting experience of reading one of his papers - NOT any kind of cakewalk at ALL. At times I found myself thinking - Who is this guy? Is he so great that it's such a big problem for him to make his papers understandable to at least a small part of the general public? Now, my future self would like to give my past self a withering look and say, "He is, actually." My future self has also discovered that he is a very humane person. He is into political activism for a reason, and that reason is that he loves people and wants the best for them. He respects every man a great deal, enough to believe that they have the capacity to think for themselves and make a decision about something. He says this, too. His message to everyone is to: See, think, judge and decide for yourself. And his message to his fellow activists and human beings is: Keep at it. It will work out. It will come through in the end. This is really the centre of what he is.

I would like to end this post with a quote from my Linguistics professor, Mike Flynn. He had written up a document to serve as a set of general guidelines for all students writing a paper in Linguistics. In the "Things to Remember" section, the last but not the least important point was:

"There is no "p" in Chomsky."

=)

Quoting Arundhati Roy: "Chomsky zindabad!"

BLOG TIME !! After a LONG TIME !!

Hello Avid Readers!

I begin this post with a promise: I will post something everyday. And I will try as much as possible to refrain from posting negative things. =)

Well. We all know that there is a serious time lag already, but I like to make new starts so I'm not going to fill you guys in on what happened since my last post. Instead, I'll tell you about everything that happens this holiday. New start.

I got back yesterday. It was such a relief to be back in Bangalore !! The journey was the worst I've had yet: it was pure torture, I was extremely bored the whole time, and I'd left most of the much-needed stuff in my bag, which I checked in directly to Bangalore. Smooth move. I just engaged in rubbish timepass, which was really deplorably YUCK. Seeing Bangalore again was, therefore, all the more awesome. I had long chats with my parents and my sister and my grandmom too... and I'm off to my dear friend Rat's house in two hours to do the same. Life is good.

Life is good. But somehow, today I am annoyed. I don't feel great, about myself and in general. There are many reasons for this.

1. Today I was reminded of the lack of focus in my plans for the summer, etc. I will now have to change many of those plans.

2. I had a discussion with my Ajji about our particular sect of Hinduism, and it wasn't very much fun in the sense that I found myself just blabbing and making no sense. I realized how everything I had learned had been wiped off because I wasn't practicing my knowledge. I'm not in continuous touch with it, so it's getting erased away. That has to change.

3. I am settling into various undesirable procrastinative patterns. That's got to change too.

This holiday is not going to leave me feeling empty and useless. I am going to make this holiday a GOOD one. Every day is going to be consummated. Wish me luck, people.

Until tomorrow. =)

The child has grown, the dream is gone... I have become... comfortably...

And sometimes you close your eyes and see the place where you used to live

When you were young

I lost something today. It is finally and concretely gone. I just stopped meaning something to somebody. Just like how when a button is switched off. When you know the computer is in sleep mode, and then it just switches off silently, sometime in the afternoon, when the curtains are closed and there's no one in the room. Without a sound.

I know I want to be right. I am right. I don't want to have to grapple with the fact that I still mean what I used to mean to that someone, I just want to mean to them what I mean NOW, and that's that. Things have changed, and no one can suggest otherwise. I've had enough of otherwise-suggestions. It's time to say - yup. We're somewhere where we never thought we'd be, and here we are. Now the question seems to be - where do we go from here. Where indeed.

It feels so... blugh... to think how far you've come. Where you started, and where you are... How old am I now? 18? And what does that even mean? What does it mean? It's still in me to run around like as if I was three. I AM three. I am still in the first day of school, I am still a cute little thing that stumbles when it walks. I am still a thing that enjoys auto rides more than anything in the world, and cant wait for the next one. I still want to retreat into myself like a foetus sometimes, and I still want to smile with my whole self and stretch my arms out to anyone who's willing to carry me and perform funny antics to make me laugh.

It's bitter baby and it's very sweet

I'm on a rollercoaster and I'm on my feet

Insanity, it seems, has got me by my soul to squeeze

With all the dying trees, I scream

Fine. Whatever. I got everything I need. Find me somewhere. I don't know. I wanna yell maybe, but that's dumb. I guess this is the kind of feeling that inspires things like dry-sounding grunge. Drudgery. Decadence? Naw. I'm okay. I'm fine. I'm just... something, I dunno. I dunno.

I want you to notice

When I'm not around

What the hell am I doing here?

I don't belong here

Feather

I wish I could transcend into a state where my face completely clears. I want my skin to be smooth and a thin fabric stretched across what I have inside. I want to be a pixie, an angel, something that never stays in one place for more than a second, whose walk is as light and soft as velvet, something that knows no illness or bodily discomfort. I want to be emotion, I want every pore of myself to be cleared of all its clogs, and I want pure water to seep through every cell and cleanse it of all colour. I want to be a light, white translucent being, a lucid-bodied person hovering above the ground. I want my fingers to elongate and stretch out so that when I touch something, I can grip its essence and feel its surface with my palms. I want no dirt or grime or anything on me. I want my skin to have the lightest of creases when I smile, and I want the space of skin between my eyebrows and my eyelashes to be soft as cloud, so that my eyes glow when they're closed, asleep. I want to have light green-blue-gray eyes that reflect the essence of winter flower. I want to be clothed in that kind of comfortable, extremely light-colored teal cotton cloth where you can see the interweaving of threads. I want to be under the Tree on top of the hill on a cool, blurry night when everything around looks like my own souls, waiting for me, encircling me in their collective embrace, sparkling at the sight of me. I want to stand under the Tree on top of this hill and lean against the bark, perch on one of the branches, and wait. I want to wait for him that will come up behind me and hold me as his possession, as his solace and as his love. I want then for everything to stop, at that cozy moment where the night and the cold and everything else is my friend, and to simply be, so that I may love and be loved.

Falsetto

Cheryl’s lip is bleeding
Wally’s nose is a hose
I slouch in clanking,
Clawing, bawling.
They don’t see.
Mayla is sly.
Faces spin,
Swirling,
Leering.
It’s me!
It’s me!
Yelling,
Yowling,
Like a dog.
Laughter fails
As usual –startling,
Too startling; too harsh
To glimpse shards of reality.
Etiquette is all, they don’t say?
Father and mother-poles apart
Oedipus’s nemesis not a word
Blind mice must be so content
As tears make deep blue seas
Sweeping the cheeky rouge
Off his dark countenance.
Remaining a pale horse
Smoothing her muslin.
She takes no notice.
That selfish gene.

The Reward

The street seemed no different from other days. This street that housed many such as me. Always dirty and grimed by footprints of muddy sandals and the bloody residue of chewed and re chewed paan. Always holding a faint hint of promise, reminding me of the story of the frog that turns into a prince at the touch of a pair of beautiful bow-shaped lips.

I walked quickly, vigilant of the muggers that crept behind dustbins and shadows cast by the roofs of shops. The muffler half obscuring my features, the shawl wrapped several times about my body, I walked, spraying light rainwater onto the hem of my faded black trousers. I don’t know why I had decided to wear the clashing combination of muffler and shawl. A symbol of east-west harmony, I thought wryly. The truth, I knew, laid much closer home- I didn’t have much of a choice. The muffler was my father’s before he died of tuberculosis and left me homeless and penniless, just like him. The shawl was a gift that some rich old woman had bestowed upon me on a freezing night as I sat shivering, my lips purple, and huddled in a damp street corner, the inadequate muffler managing to cover only my bare knees.

A Toyota whizzed past, cascading murky brown water upon indifferent passer-bys. I was becoming one of them, I thought, so poor and fatigued by monotony that nothing meant anything to me anymore. I was on the verge of crumbling, like this city and this street. Everything was falling to pieces, being torn up to be replaced by something flashier, more fake and more corrupt. I was party to this as well but not in the form of a co-conspirator, just a menial.

Sometimes I wished I could just lie down in the middle of the road so that my breath would leave me as my body jerked as thought electrocuted beneath the expensive wheels of a car. It is better to die than to live like this, I used to constantly think. But I never had the guts to execute my wish. Or maybe it was my insuppressible optimism of the next day’s fortune. Today I lived to see the dawn of a brighter tomorrow and tomorrow the next. But everyday I woke up to the disappointing grumbling of the grey clouds and the irritating patter of rain water. Everyday was the same routine. Waking up to the delicious smell of filter coffee and the bickering of vegetable mongers and ugly mouthed housewives. Walking ten kilometers to the despairing old building that was my sole means of bread and butter. Twining the green, blue and yellow wires in and out, repeatedly, with mechanical precision, the fumes blackening my brown hands, the sharp ends of the wires scratching their surface. Gorging on rock hard chapattis at 4 in the evening, served along with a dark brown watery rasam. Walking the ten miles back on numbed feet and settling down outside the kindly coffee seller’s stall. Gratefully sipping on a half cup of piping hot caffeine and water mixture for a mere 4 rupees. Nesting within the woven folds of a ragged sack I had chanced upon on my way home from the factory one day. Falling asleep to the screeching of tires and blaring of lorry horns in my ears and the blinking of stars in my eyes. Always dreaming about a green hill that I saw everyday on the display window of a gift shop. Always seeing the same waxy purple flower crowning the pinnacle of the hill. A light, straggly figure clothed in a sheer white silk petticoat running joyously to the top, the wind gushing past and sweeping the dress in glorious folds, the hair waving in spaghetti curls, the hands fighting the converse stroke of the powerful breeze as they reached out for the solitary fuchsia winged bird of paradise. The hands never once touched the coveted flower. My eyes always flew opened at the stretch of the tendons across the brown hands paled by effort.

Now, as I walked along the sodden asphalt and potholes that foggily mirrored the navy blue skies, my mind kept seeing the purple flower with a single palm frozen above it, almost but not quite touching it. I knew not why I dreamt of that flower alone, I knew not its implications. But I knew by some intuition, some instinct, that the only reason I still professed to live was to see that green hillock with its purple banner. I knew that the real world was very different from the world of my dreams and yet I yearned for that day in a distant but certain future. Certain because all my efforts, the flex of every one of my fingers and the strain of every one of my toes went into achieving this. This vision was my motive power, the cornerstone of my existence, and if it weren’t for it I would have let the blood drain out of my body a long time ago.

I have never stolen in my life, nor have I begged and unlike my fellow vagrants have never felt either of these urges. Even while in the deepest troughs of my life, when faced with the clawing of hunger in my stomach, I couldn’t bring myself to snatch a peeled banana or a paper cone of roasted groundnuts out of careless hands and munching mouths. It was another matter that people usually saw me, destitute and sickly, and offered me a five or two rupee coin which I clutched in the small of my palm, its warmth a pinprick of hope against the callousness of the universe. Everyday I toiled in that miserable black hole at the heart of the monster that heaved pitch black gases out of its twin chimneys. The meal at the factory was the only meal for the day. Sometimes a part of my brain would scream against the injustice of it all. “What for?” it would cry out. Then the other part of my brain would answer, calm and firm in its assertiveness, “For the love of life. For the dream.” I had collected two hundred rupees which I kept safe in the pocket of my kurta top at the price of several lip smacking dosas and delectable toffees. At times, when I walked back from the factory, the bones in my body threatening to break; only the image of the purple flower and the weight of the coins at my side kept me going. Going going going, until it was my time to rest.

~ <3 ~

Where are you now

As I'm swimming through the stereo

I'm writing you a symphony of sound

Where are you now

As I rearrange the songs again

This mix could burn a hole in anyone

But it was you I was thinkin of

<3

Carleton.

And it's Carleton. For all of you who have been waiting to hear with baited breath what I have to say about Carleton, about the US, about how I've been adjusting and managing myself (hi Mom, hi Dad) here is my long-awaited take on everything, right from food at Carleton all the way to its fight song. Here you will find a detailed description of all events that took place after I got here, some of which I was a part of and some of which I wasn't. So without further delay. Here. It. Is. =]

...Oh, I forgot to say that this may take more than one post. So. Yeah. =]

*huge sigh* Ookay. Carleton. Waiting for the flight from New York to Minneapolis was very annoying. I was fidgeting in my seat, waiting for something to happen, or making things happen myself - the Arab family I was sitting next to was staring at me because I got up to use the restroom four times just for timepass. (The last time I went just to check if my hair was in place.) I wrote a note to myself in my diary, because I thought maybe I will want to see a record of this moment in the future. Here are some excerpts from that very same note.

"Aaaahhh!!!"

"I'm eager, at the same time, I'm dreading it like hell. I dunno what to expect, and at the same time I know what it'll be like, and that's KILLING ME."

"Oh god. Ummmm.... I'm blank. I need someone to talk to!"

So you see how I was feeling. Antsy. Restless. Restrained. Limited. I wanted the ability to see into the future and see what it was going to be like. I still don't know exactly how I felt, because it was so many emotions and I'm still not articulate enough. The best I can do is: it was a kind of quiet noise, something gnawing at me plus a sort of wholesome feeling of living one's life, of being at a point on the timeline. I could feel the timeline, feel my past and future stretched out on either side. I wanted terribly for something to happen, and at the same time I was willing to wait forever to go to college.

But I soon boarded the flight. It was uneventful. I have long since stopped looking eagerly out the window and telling myself "a new place... a new world... a new place..." in a wistful mental voice. On the flight I remember thinking how quickly I had become accustomed to flying, and how easily I had let it become a normal part of my life.

Anyway, I landed in Minneapolis (Minn for short) and there was some stupid luggage problem. I sorted it out soon enough. I remember seeing Koreans and Asian-faced people all around me, and thinking oh god these are ALL Carleton people I am SO sure. It turned out that almost none of them were actually going to Carleton, and that Minn has a large Asian population (it's quite possible). So finally after roaming around a little, I ran into Carleton people, namely Max Bearak and Luyen Phan. Mr Luyen was our International coordinator, and Max was an ISO (Int Student Orientation) leader. I met Peter from Thailand, Yuvika, Julia from China, Daoji from China, Yiran from China, Daniel from Russia, Kenneth from Singapore and Debbie also from Singapore. I also met Fadi, but he left with his uncle; he'd arranged his own transport to Carleton.

I remember feeling shy at first, and everything I did at TISB or wherever I went in Bangalore kicked in again, and I found myself slowly settling into the same loops. However, I didn't suddenly snap out of it and force myself to be outgoing. I told myself to just be myself and do what I want without fear or shame. Sounds big and deep, but when put in context, it just entailed chilling and not going hyper when people didn't talk to me, and doing whatever I wanted to at the time, for example unashamedly letting Luyen pay for my doughnut when he insisted, and going and joining a group of people because I wanted to talk to them and get to know them. I shelved my ego.

I let myself go, and took it easy. I didn't feel much pressure to be/do something that I was not. Do I sound proud of myself? I am, quite. =] I feel glad. I mean, there are still bouts of fear and loneliness, but that's also what I am and what I feel. There is no sin and no shame in it. =] I am what I am.

That's it for now. I will write an entry every night until I get to NOW. I know this must be frustrating for people who want news of Carleton, and got an in-depth reflection of the flight to there. Don't worry. Tomorrow night. =D

Love is in the air, but why can't I breathe? ( The full blown effect of Fenylethylamine)

Well, this is a rather personal piece, but I really need to let out these feelings of mine so I'm going to get it off my chest, right now.

I love him. I hate him. I looooove him! I despise him! Oh, just get out of my head, won't you!!!
But no, of course not. You won't go away will you? You won't.
Because you're the Fenylethylamine shooting through my convolutions (hee hee).
Because, you're so beautiful, so fresh, so different.
I know, I know, love is logical but sometimes I just can't seem to find any logic in it. Why is that? Beats me. God knows I've tried, quite desperately,to prove it illogical, stupid and insignificant. Some days I feel so happy, so reckless, so powerful. Where's all the mush disappeared? Some days I'm pathetic (like a child left behind, like a pet left in the rain *guitar chords*) But -but-at the end of the day, all my ups and downs, my highs and lows, my shrieks and sobs change nothing. I really really wish Roxette were right when they trilled : "It must 've been love, but it's over now....it must've been good, but I lost it somehow..."
Well, you've probably heard the proverb "Blame the hormones" (not blame the genes, you doofus!) . I respect that saying, it has a lot of truth to it. Atleast I think so.
Okay, okay, so I'm making excuses, but what else can I do? I'm forever stuck in a race, and I'm the lone athlete. Noodle quotes :"Acceptance is the path to peace, and peace to happiness." or something like that ( =P ) Well it's true but I'm human, dude, I'm not Jiddu Krishnamurthy (guffaws).
" The matters of the heart are far more complicated than the matters of the mind. You would do better not to indulge in them, my son." (hell, I don't know why I'm quoting people so much, citing accurate sources may be hard =S) The man who said this, and I'm sure it's a man, should be hanged I say! It's because of paranoid parents such as these that all the good ones are not "taken" but are unavailabe , even for comment!!! =O
I guess I'll have to admit, "I'm just a love-machine" on a long scary roller-coaster ride. Hey where are the breaks? What is my destination? No one knows, we'll all just have to wait and watch. =)

Independence Day deserves a post =] (Hey there, Mikey)

Today I wore saffron. The colour of sacrifice, purity and ascetism. And I hoisted the flag myself. Please take note everyone, on the Independence Day of 2009, Right Honourable Charu Kulkarni hoisted the Indian flag in the Kulkarnis' garden, having been accorded the honour to do so by her Dad, in view of the upcoming Cannon Launch event, where she will be sent flying through the sky with 22.99 kilograms of luggage and a tabla set, all the way to our very own Minnetosa.

...Oops, Minnesota.

Today is (uh...was) Independence Day. And what did I do? I ate two gulab jamuns extra. Hear, hear Ratty.

Well, this time, I can't even seem to make up something to say, but I feel too sad for Independence Day. And since I'll be "up, up and away", I thought I'll just bray... that I love my country. THAT DIDN'T RHYME!!! =D

Wait... Gimme a sec to recover from that joke... *collapses into giggles*

Okay. Now that we are all sober, I would like to say that I really do love my country. I don't love it for its culture, but for my personal culture as a result of living in it. I love it because it's a fun place to be. People often ask me, have you tried Cane-o-la? I hear they have the most amazing sugarcane juice. They also ask me, do you think you'll come back after studying in the US? Are you sure you won't settle there? And I answer: Yes, Cane-o-la rocks. Their caney-looking ambience is awesome. I avoid answering the second question. I say I don't know.

I do that because they wouldn't understand even if I told them. (And I know my blog readers are soooo smart.) The simple thing that will very likely bring me back to India is the amount of fun I can have here, and also that I feel at home here. I know the people, I can read their expressions, I understand the behavior protocol because I frikkin grew up here, I know my way around my city, when I go to a different city I know what to expect... India is my comfort zone.

...I have a feeling you already grasped that crucial point.

...So why am I still ranting?

=]

Wokay, time to wrap up. Good night everyone, sleep tight everyone, cheer for the freedom fight everyone. (That was lame lame lame, but this blog is mine mine mine, so it's fine fine fine.)

WHAT THE HELL!! Shut up and go to sleep, Charu. Oops, I mean Noodle.

Arre, love you India, meri jaan, oye hoye!!!

Aldrea and Dak, Part Two

So I'm finally ready to write Part Two.

What does it feel like, to hear the one you love make a promise to you that they will stand by you no matter what, and then to see them break it? What does it feel like, not to be able to trust the person you love?

Dak and Aldrea know. They have their own personal desires for themselves; they each have a vision of where they want to be at a point in their lives. Of what they want their surroundings to look like. Of the kind of people they want to be. Then they find each other, and they cannot tell why life has brought them together, although they each feel like they cannot do without the other in their lives. They see that they care for each other, and also that they don't get along and are very different. Also, that they cannot understand or stand each others' motivations sometimes.

And yet, amidst all the mutual disconcertment, irritation, puzzlement and distrust, there is undying love (though neither can tell why the hell it is undying). This love tears apart, as well as heals. It draws apart, yet attracts. It stings the brain raw, but covers the heart in a warm blanket.

And in an epiphanic moment, they realize that all that is real is their love, and that everything else they can calmly, and even happily, allow to go to hell. But all purity of thought and heart comes at a great price. And so it was, that Aldrea had to be trapped in the morph of a Hork-Bajir, and give up the Andalite identity she so dearly loved, and would once have chosen over Dak. Dak had to see his brothers be murdered and do the murdering, change the fate of the Hork-Bajir forever, and in a sense also lose the Hork-Bajir identity which he so fiercely loved.

In the centre of the whirling tornado of death, violence and hopelessness, they found love. They found it, because when life gave them the opportunity to choose themselves or the other, they chose the other.

I know I'm getting a little carried away with this. =] But Aldrea and Dak really were heroes, and their story deserves to be told with fanfare, due respect, and a big microphone. Hence all the high-flown dramatica. =] But, to be very sincere... Thanks Aldrea, Dak. I want to be like you someday.

PS: I would have loved to type in (even excruciatingly long) quotes from the book, but unfortunately I had to return it to the library.

Mikey Upside Down

=[

today Mikey is upside down

his lips are turned down

toward the town

where lonely people frown

and in sadness drown

and why is he this way?

coz he's had a rough day

when nothing went his way

and now he feels gray

i wish i knew why

girls are not like guys

and why

we all lie

when id like to fly

to anyplace in the sky

eye to eye

with you and without blinking

or thinking

just letting our hearts

assemble all the broken parts

of all the starts

that we began

and never ran

through until the end

what am i saying?

to whom am i praying?

why am i delaying?

all i want to say

is that i love you

and i love this happy day

when Mikey is down

with the frown

because today

i know that i love you

no matter what you do

that makes me blue

because its all you

and i dont care about anything else

ill take all the bad spells

and do only what my heart tells

which will always be to love you well

and soon

the frown

will turn upside down

and Mikey will once again be the clown

be Mikey

be the smiley

of you and me

Dawn’s Child

Okay, so I'm feeling kinda guilty that I've been lazing around and moping all day long. Well not moping exactly, but just slouching about like a lout (when I'm not hogging) and generally feeling yucky. So to up my confidence, I have decided to showcase this profound (note choice of word) poem. Hope you like it!

Dawn’s Child

The jacarandas- they swish aloft,

Their purple plumes a soft fire

Below below the men they stand,

Drowning out their restless ire.

Harking not the peaceful lull,

Sensing not the blooming rush,

They’re all around, yes ‘tis true

Upon us now, the candid blush.

But the men –those infants blind-

Glance about, loitering long,

Another day that drags on and on,

Spewing out the same old song.

Soggy with their wasted dreams,

Shrouding full an easy urge,

Struggling ‘neath the elders’ curse,

Leaving not the winds to purge.

Simple pleasures long discarded

Chasing, chasing after… what?

Ever-flitting eyes of chatty masks

Alive then, but coming to naught.

One entity that converges seldom

With the lassitude of the hackneyed

Instead choosing wild profusion

Drifting ‘long the springtime staid.

That staid surety shining sapphire,

Blinking into the wide-eyed sun,

Intrinsically bright, breathing life,

Suffusing all, segregating none.

Facebook note: At This Moment

Please forgive the rambling. I'm overdue for it.

[Warning: Convoluted, in(s)ane shit, incoming. Anjali, I doubt even you'd understand this one.]

There are times when I just stop and think -- what could be happening at this very moment? Are people dying? Sleeping? On FB? Getting stoned? (I know for a fact that people ARE getting stoned, like RIGHT NOW, and that makes me feel so so so lonely.) What could my friends be doing? What could people halfway around the world be doing? There are people who are laughing their lungs out, celebrating, silent, bored as hell, having the worst, most traumatic moment of their lives, realizing something.... realizing something!! Right this moment, someone in the world realized something!! It feels so weird thinking that... Someone might be thinking the same thing that I am right now...

At this moment... Someone might be writing a song, dancing, getting drenched in the rain, hacking, shooting, killing, raping, performing a surgery, crying for their dead mother, flying a kite, surfing channels, answering the doorbell, blowing out candles on a cake, writing an exam, writing the SAT (!!!!!), thinking about COLLEGE (I know a lot of people are doing that) getting tense for something, stealing something, racking their brains, following someone, getting mugged, solving a jigsaw puzzle, drowning, trying on a new shoe, or... getting married =)

Of course this note is pointless, stop reading it now and go look at your news feed. =]

But it feels nice to think that I took a moment to think about ALL the different sorts of things that people could be doing at this moment... because later in the day when someone tells me that they were doing X last night, I will have the opportunity to remain unfazed. Thats one thing that always bugs me. People can always surprise the hell out of me when they say I-did-this-or-that. So, tomorrow, they cant. =D Maybe I should try this ritual every night. Don't worry, that doesn't mean more notes of this kind on Facebook!

PS: Exploding an At-This-Moment thought bomb in your head provides even better results when you consider the entire galaxy (or even the entire universe) when you do it, and not just the earth. Try it!!

Semi-trance

Hello everyone. Today finds me in the uniquest of moods: a combination of cynicism, contentment and an urgent desire for sudden surreal randomness that makes cosmic sense. It's a weird mood to be in. I've heard some of the craziest things lately... they don't bother me as such, but they're putting me in this mood, which is kinda intoxicating and, surprisingly, not at all unpleasant/disconcerting. That's what I mean. I like the mood. But it's weird.

It is imaginably a bit of an overload for a person who knows people from all the various opposite ends of the personality spectrum to try to understand all of them, and to figure out how to be around them so that they think you're a nice person. (That classic Charu sentence took a bit of time and effort.) That's part of how I feel right now. Overloaded. But I don't want to let it go, because it's a nice sort of overload. Also what's amazing is that the mood persists as I'm observing and documenting it. That usually never happens.

Great! I'm getting better at self-control. =]

Well, now that that's over, I would like to share a little haiku that I wrote the other night/morning. I was in this stoned-kind-of state (but I wasn't stoned... don't worry), half-asleep, seeing things move around me in the semi-dark, and it just sort of "popped into my head", to use the oft-used phrase. Strictly, it didn't "pop", it sort of slid in, like as if it was playing on a slow record. So after that pointless prologue, here it is.

I don't know if the lights are too bright, or the shadows too dark

But I can't see your face in front of me

I really can't find any words in my tingu vocabulary to describe how I felt when I thought this. The best I can come up with is semi-trance, induced without the help of any substance of any kind. Like I said once on Facebook, I don't need weed to get stoned. Holidays are enough.

I hate to end this post... I really want to say more! But there's nothing to say... =[ I feel like thoroughly expounding on this incredible mood I'm in right now, but I already have. =] For good measure, I'll put up the note I put up on Facebook, for the benefit of my non-existent (except for me) blog readers.

.....Today is a nice day.

Aldrea and Dak, Part One

Aldrea is an Andalite. Dak is Hork-Bajir. Their home planets are thousands of light-years apart. Yet they loved each other, and died together.

Theirs was NOT the kind of love that defied boundaries of spacetime, hatred and mistrust between the races of the galaxy, or even their own personal differences. It was a love that embraced all these things. That is, after all, the point of love: not to defy, but to embrace. They lied to each other, mistrusted each other, resented each others' races and people, and even hated each other sometimes. But they loved each other: not despite all that, but because of it. It is not love if it fails to make you feel bad about yourself at some point of time. That which doesn't show you who you are by pointing out your strengths as well as your weaknesses, is not love. And therefore, Dak and Aldrea loved each other. =]

Dak and Aldrea saw each other as they truly were, and with time, understood, helped and learned from each other. Dak was, at first, enamored by Aldrea's Andalite intelligence and the world she had in store for him. She told him stories from across the galaxy, of all the different races and species that inhabited it. She told him of the technology of the Andalites, of how one could travel through Zero-space or morph into any other creature by just acquiring its DNA. He began to worhsip intelligence, and was embarassed by his own "stupid, simplistic" people. He put all his belief in a benevolent galaxy. And a Hork-Bajir has a great amount of belief. All of it, or almost all of it, broke down the moment Dak realized that the galaxy was actually at war, and that he and his brothers needed to become ruthless, mistrusting mercenaries and killers in order to survive. And what's more, he found that Aldrea already was one.

Aldrea then told him also of the Yeerks, a race of slugs that invade the brains of other sentinent species and take over their bodies and planets. A Yeerk-controlled person was no different from a normal person in terms of outward appearance and behaviour. But the slug inside had total control over whatever it infested. In the course of this war, Dak found that everyone around him had used him and his people for their own purposes all along. As a direct result of his disillusionment, he began to mistrust Aldrea, and his respect for her was punctured. He saw what the Andalites really were. What Aldrea was.

~~~

"When the battle begins I will race for the closest parked spacecraft," I explained. "The most important thing is that we get a message out to the Andalite fleet. Everything rests on that. It will be upto you to carry on the battle once it has started. You must not weaken. Attack, attack, attack. Don't give the Yeerks a chance to re-group. Don't forget: The Hork-Bajir in that camp are not Hork-Bajir. They are Yeerks."

Dak nodded his horned head. "Have you fought in many battles, Aldrea?"

I was surprised by the question. "No. Of course not. But I have studied -"

"Have you ever killed a fellow Andalite?"

"No! Why would you -"

"You ask me to kill my own people today and to lead my people in killing their brothers," Dak said. "You say they are not Hork-Bajir, but Yeerks. But when the dead have given up their souls to Mother Sky, there will be Hork-Bajir bodies lying dead."

"Dak, we've been over this and over this!" I exploded. "It's too late to be worrying about all that. This is a war! If you want your people to survive, you will -"

"Be quiet, Aldrea," Dak said. He didn't shout. He said it calmly, in a low voice. "These are my people who will die today. Be quiet, Andalite. Be quiet."

~~~

"Will you allow us to enter?" I asked.

"Listen to me, genius, this isn't a place for you. Why don't you go find some tree branches to chew on?"

Genius. It was one of the several sneering terms the Andalite warriors had for Hork-Bajir. I ignored it.

"Listen, you - " Aldrea began to yell.

I cut her off. "Simple question, friends. Will you allow us to enter? It only requires a yes or no answer. Yes or no?"

"Move along," the warrior said coldly.

I turned and walked away. Aldrea came up beside me.

"I guess you have to expect that. The rudeness, I mean. These warriors are under constant pressure, constant danger, far from home. They aren't always going to be very sensitive."

"Their insults mean nothing," I lied. "The fact that they are hiding something means something."

"Let's ask Alloran."

"No. He gave the orders to guard that place. I guess we'll have to forget about it."

Aldrea jumped ahead and blocked me. "Don't lie to me, Dak. You're going to try and find out what's in there. You just don't trust me to help you."

I was determined to remain calm. But I wasn't able. Instead I shouted. "We have fought side by side with your people and you Andalites still treat us like inferiors! Like errand-runners or servants or like idiot clowns to amuse you!"

"They didn't know who you are," Aldrea said. "They figured you were just some regular Hork-Bajir."

"Ah, yes. They assumed I was just one of the stupid Hork-Bajir. The simpleminded Hork-Bajir. The expendable, irrelevant, foolish Hork-Bajir."

"That's not what I meant."

"Of course it's what you meant," I said bitterly. "You Andalites have more respect for the vicious Yeerks or the cowardly Arn than you have for the Hork-Bajir who fight and die at your sides. All that matters to your people is intelligence. Well, I've learned enough about Yeerk and Andalite and Arn intelligence to make me sick."

"You're upset. I understand that."

I laughed. "You almighty Andalites. There is no limit to your arrogance, is there? Well, let me tell you something: We may be simple people. But we don't use biology to invent monsters. And we don't enslave other species. And we don't unleash a plague of parasites on the galaxy, endangering every other free species, and then go swaggering around like lords of the universe. No, we're too simple for all that. We're too stupid to lie and manipulate. We're too stupid to be ruthless. We're too stupid to know how to build powerful weapons designed to annihilate our enemies. Until you came, Andalite, we were too stupid to know how to kill."

"That's quite a speech," Aldrea said softly. "You've been wanting to say all that for a long time, haven't you?"

The anger had burned itself out. I felt hollow. Not better, not relieved. Just empty and tired. "We were peaceful people, tending to our trees, ignorant of our creators. Unaware of everyone else in the galaxy. Now look at us. Now look what has become of us. The despised children of the Arn. Slaves of the Yeerks. Tools of the Andalites."

Aldrea stood close to me and pressed her upper body against my chest. I put my arm carefully around her shoulders. We stood there on the walkway for a long time, blind to all who passed.

"I will help you find out what they are hiding," Aldrea said. "Tonight, when the Arn are asleep."

"You can't go against your own people," I said.

She looked at me then, with all her eyes. "Dak, I hope it never comes to a choice between my people and ... and you. But if it does, I'll stand with you."

I smiled. I appreciated what she'd said. But I didn't believe it.

~~~

Get thee behind me, IB

Did I study hard for the IB exams? I definitely studied. I definitely stuck to my study plan a hundred times harder than ever before. I definitely tried my hardest ever to study for these exams. Why? Because they were the last ! ! ! =D They would, like it or not, be looked upon as a culmination of my four love/hate, hellish years. These four years are the only time when the whole entire world demands that you prove yourself. Phew. Now, THAT'S over. =D

My precise results and the story behind them. A comprehensive analysis/ranting/gushing.

Economics Higher Level - 7

This I owe to myself and my extremely sweet teacher, Mr. Naveen Tom. I worked hard on the commentaries (albeit only on the previous night), and took part in class. I loved it. I loved sitting on the last-ish bench, and trying to get myself heard amidst economics giants and powerhouses Aashish Chaturvedi, Parikshit Kabra, Aadarsh Chhabria, Sujay Ravikumar, and who can forget the Harvard [summer school] economist Amahl Anand. Aaand Nikita Agrawal. (Only, her voice was as faint as mine.) =] Thanks go to Mr. Naveen, who always smiled at me. Thank you sir! That really helped. Really, I'm being very candid here. I'm serious.

Mathematics Higher Level - 6

I got a 6 because I screwed up Paper 3, I'm utterly positive about that. Mr. Sudarshan, sir, I'm sorry. I promise you I really worked hard. I thought the last problem was something much tougher than it actually was, and I solved the self-made tough problem, wasted time on it, and didn't go back to the 5 marks I'd left. Sir, I really understood everything you taught us in class, and I enjoyed all of it, even when I couldn't keep up. =] Thank you for everything I learnt from you. =]

Physics Higher Level - 6

=D Well. Um. All I have to say is ---- I enjoyed astrophysics, really-really. Like, totally. I'm so going to take a course on it in college. That's about it. I didn't like the rest of Physics HL, and I never should've taken it. I thought I was Miss Physics, and that thought might well have cost me a chunk of my career in writing, or in economics, or in theatre. Never will I make the mistake of thinking I'm good at what I fancy being good at. =] Or the mistake of neglecting something I'm not great at.

German ab initio - 7

Thank you, Miss Susan, for talking German in class, forcing us to do the same, and for appreciating me! =] I love German, and will pursue it. Then I'll move on to Russian, which I have always wanted to learn. I am so thankful I took German. It's taught me so much about English, Hindi, languages in general, European names, and certain nice little linguistic and social trends in Europe.

Chemistry Standard Level - 7

I never had anything special for Chemistry, but I never minded learning it. =] It was pretty good, I guess. Some things are cute, like the Periodic Table. That is the single, most amazing thing in my entire Chem text. No, wait. I loved Periodic-Table chemistry. That part of Chem I really loved. One day, I may want to hear each element's story, and maybe that day I will come back to Chem. But for now, it's bye-bye. =] And Ms. Prabha! =D Thanks so much for everything: for the teaching, and the constant encouragement you gave us. Also, not to mention, Chemistry class was the home of many cute jokes from Aadi. =]

English Standard Level - 7

*Sniff. *Sniff. *Wipes eyes. I'm so proud. =] This was my funnest class EVER. EVER. I'm serious. Miss Adina, you know we'll be friends for like EVER. You have no idea how much I learnt in your class, or what exactly I learnt. I learnt to do better what I do best - to take in, to absorb, to feel, to love, to play with, to understand, to honour everything in a certain book, or a certain world. =] Too high-flown-sounding? It's true. =] Ask Miss Adina, she'll tell you. =D

Extended Essay in English - A

Ever since the beginning of the 11th grade I had nurtured the idea of doing an EE in Economics. I couldn't wait. But in the last minute, I decided to do it in English, because I loved it so much and I was having so much fun in class. It was the class that I most looked forward to, throughout my life at TISB. Thanks a lot, God, for not stopping me by planting useless doubts in my mind about my choice. It led to an A!!!!! =D Miss Adina, Mr Colin, WE DID IT!! =D And thank YOU, extended essay, for introducing me to Mr Colin-the-English-teacher, who is impossible to describe or thank enough. =]

Theory of Knowledge - C

...................... =D

Um. Hehe. Welll...........

I really learnt from TOK, though it doesn't seem like it. Go ahead, laugh if you want. But, after TOK, I can now think of many possible solutions to a problem, many viewpoints on an issue, many flaws in a generalization, many useless analytical metaphorical thoughts about a simple object, and many, many different ways to convey the point: "You can never say." Thanks, Mr Colin. =]

Huh. Well. Now that the exhaustive typing is over, I would like to... to... end on a nice note. The IB was fun. It was. Admit it, it was. =] I'm glad I did the IB! =D

Love Poem, featuring MIKEY!! =]

=]

i hope the smiley which is the name of this file

has made you smile

for a while

i know this poem is lame

but im your dame

and pretty soon ill have your name

in my name

i dont know what to do

without you

i feel very blue

and when i think of you

i slip into bliss

and all i want is a kiss

but you're not there

and i just stare

into the air

i feel like calling you up

to ask you wassup

and i want to quickly grow up

and be your dame

with your name

and when we're both free

we'll be

together and happy

just you and me

just like our smiley

=]

Yeah, I'm free.....free-falling =)

Sorry Noodle, for not having shared my thoughts on this blog for a long time. As you know I was too *preoccupied* with other stuff =p.
Well, my life (over the past one month) has been like an unserviced car (imagine Archie's jeep, or is it a jeep?) The going's been pretty tough and I AM one to mince words so it's been worse than it should have been. However, I'm coming out of this phase, I think, and I feel pretty pepped up to DO something. To make everything WORK. Besides there's our beloved pet project, Osake (which I feel guilty to say is progressing at sloth's pace) to focus my energies on and also my Japanese! =)
This is what i feel like doing, and this is what I'm going to do- let go. Just that. Be what I want to be. I'm not going to adhere to any stereotypes of "Anjali". Someone said that with every second, a new you is born. I believe this, because with every passing moment, something is learnt. And with every new piece of information, something in your brain clicks, something repositions itself, something flips, something sleeps. But there is change.
So many things to do in so little time! YAY!

A Prayer to Cure Doubt

"Why should I feel discouraged?

Why should the shadows fall?

Why should my heart feel lonely

and long for heaven and home?

When Jesus is my portion

A constant friend is he.

His eye is on the sparrow

And I know he watches me.

I sing because I'm happy,

I sing because I'm free.

His eye is on the sparrow

And I know he watches me."

-- African-American Spiritual

A million people are going to tell you that you can't do it. Your mom, your dad, your boyfriend. The question is, are you what you are? Are you ready to accept who you are? Are you ready to be who you are, whether the world is right, wrong, or stupid?

Achtung, Baby!

Friends, Bangaloreans, countrymen!

Lend me your ears, for I have something important to say to you.

It goes thus:

My friend Rat and I, along with some other friends of mine, have decided to do what's fun for us these hols! We're going to make a myriad (I love that word) of artsy items (to be specific, necklaces, paperweights, bandanas, rings, chocolate - I know that's not artsy, that's yummy - and more!!), and then sell the whole lot. We're going to use the profits to sponsor a child's education. Mostly we'll be tying up with an organization to make sure the money is actually used well, like S.O.S Childrens' Home or Empower Education, or maye even the Rotary Club of Bangalore (hey Rat, wanna consider that?) We're collecting the funds for this venture from our dear friends, who, despite our inexperience in the business world, have put their valuable faith and trust in us (bless them), and are really energized about the idea. Thank youuu! Thank you.

We have a team of seven or eight (or nine - Meena will you come?) actually making the stuff. We're probably going to take a month or so to have the stock ready, and then we set up shop at one of many possible locations, which include Ranga Shankara and St. Joseph's College. We have permission to sell at St. Joseph's from the Rotary Club of Bangalore, thanks to one of our friends. We'll be selling for a minimum of three and a maximum of five days (I think), soo..... EVERYONE IS WELCOME!! Please come, even if you just want to look at the stall.

This is going to happen! We are going to make it happen. Guys, don't forget, next meeting on Saturday! See you there, and until then, spread the word! =]

And everyone, there will soon be a group on Facebook for this, so please join. It's going to be an open group, so... =]

Well, that's it for now! Wish us luck.

My Deepest... Thoughts (don't be scared off =))

*Extremely sweet sounding guitar riff*

He spends his nights in California

Watchin' the stars on the big screen

And then he lies awake and he wonders

Why can't that be me...

Coz in his life he's filled with all these good intentions

He's left a lot of things

He'd rather not mention right now

Just before he says good night

He looks up

With a little smile at me and he says

If I could be like that

I would give anything

Just to live one day

In those shoes

If I could be like that

What would I do

What would I do?

... A lovely song.

Why is it that I am always downer than I should be? What's keeping me from flying? Why does it feel like everyone else is at their happiest, having the time of their lives, and I am still stuck in the mundane and the tedious? Does it take more than what I am to have fun and never stop?

I think I would like to be somebody else. Just for one day. Or maybe even several. What is it like to tackle problems different from mine? What is it like to have different tastes, different likes and dislikes? A different thing to do when I wake up, and a different routine just before going to bed? Different friends? A different love life? I want to change everything I am in a picosecond. I don't hate myself, but I think it would be a hell of a lot easier to not be me.

All she wants is that somethin' to hold onto

That's all she needs

Yeah

If I could be like that

What would I do, Lord

What would I do?

..... She said I think I'll go to Boston

I think I'll start a new life

I think I'll start over

No one knows my name

Think I need a sunrise

I'm tired of the sunset

Here's its nothing but summer

Some snow would be nice

Can it happen?

Until then..

Where I go I just don't know

Well I got to, got to, gotta take it slow

When I've found my peace of mind

I'm gonna give you some of my good time.

*Extremely lonely sounding guitar riff*

WHEEeeeee

I'm feeling super energized at the moment. This feels so good. Almost as good as getting high ;) .
Okayyy, so this is my very first post and I'm going to blab. Just type out any random things that pop up. I don't even care if you like it or not. WOW, this feels GREAT! XD Alright, so today was a very satisfactory day and Hugh Jackman's HOT! It has also been a very important day because I just discovered today that I don't really hate Coke. I WANT to hate Coke. When I hate Coke, I feel all superior and righteous. HAHA, I know, I know, SO juvenile. But I'm like that =D. Also, today I realized that crows are VERY stupid creatures. GUess what a wonderfully crazy thing happened to me today??? You won't be able to guess so I'll tell you. A crow- get this- used MY head for balance as it flew down from some freaking tree. It practically tore through my scalp with its bloody (unhygenic) talons!!!! UGH. And of course I screeched like a banshee and the ignorant losers here and there looked at me like I'm mad or something. ANYONE would have screamed. It was almost a matter of life and death. But I recover quickly, as you all can see. So here I am being my cheerful, nice self again =D. That's about it for now. I'll keep you posted. ^_^

My first post! .... *sniff

Well, here it is, my blog, SweetTeas&Honey! It contains the stuff of my brain. It does not limit itself to a topic, and I'm going to use it to expand on (sometimes ramble about) random stuff. I mean completely RaNdOM. I'm not going to aim for brilliant English or flourish and fanfare, so... =] And you'd better befriend Mikey, my very own smiley. Here he is. =] He shows up whenever I feel the need to display my beautifully proportioned teeth.

So, here's to a long and fulfilling lifetime for SweetTeas&Honey!

Mommy dearest

My mom is so warm. Literally. When I hug her, I am enveloped by the incredible warmth of her arms. It makes me feel like I'm "wrapped up like a taco" (a quote from Like Water for Chocolate by Laura Esquivel). No blanket could provide the warmth that her very palm provides in an instant. When we settle down after a tiring day, and lie down side by side on the bed to talk, what we say gradually slips into the realm of nonsense, and we doze silently. It's like I'm in some kind of cozy little lair she built, where the single, glowing lamp radiates comfort, safety, acceptance, trust, love.

When I look at her sleeping, I wonder how in heaven I am ever going to give her everything that I owe her. It's not a question of repayment, or of any kind of duty towards my parents, or anything like that. It's just - I feel suddenly that if anyone on this planet deserves my unconditional, everlasting love, it is my mother. If there is anyone on earth I would love to pamper, it is my mother.

I'm not going to beat myself up here with the oh-look-at-what-she's-done-for-you-and-how-you-repay-her routine, though I am very tempted to. It would honestly do no good. Instead, I'll write down all the little things that all of us love about my mom.

She's always forgetting things. =] She's always trying to coax people into eating more. She's extra nice to her kids, and infra nice to herself. =X She's always rushed, but always happy and smiling, and ALWAYS ready to help solve the problem. I love the logical, step-by-step way her mind works, and sometimes hate the world for not giving her her due, because she always plays fair, and I hate seeing her lose. I wish I had half her ability to pacify, calm, soothe. She's so simple and safe. I love that about her, and wouldn't trade it for the world. She laughs easily and gives anyone who needs it a leg up and a smile, without ego issues barring her way. And finally, the best, BEST thing about my mother dearest, is that she understands me ... totally. She understands every shade of meaning in my words and actions. Communicating with her is one of the most enjoyable things I do everyday. She appreciates me and loves me for my brand of fun, and for my personality. Thank you God, for putting such a person in my life.

That was getting a bit too senti, no? =] Well. I'm just glad I can wake up in the morning and call out "Mummy!" and hear a reply from mother dearest. Mummy, always remember that you can hope for the same thing from me.