I was on a boat for a bit, yesterday.
I remembered how someone once tried to fondle me on the public bus when I was young, in Dubai. I used to walk around, and take the bus, and taxis, alone, a lot, growing up. That it only happened once is ... lucky.
I recognize how lucky I was that I lived on one of the most crime-ridden streets near my college in the USA for 3 years ... and nothing happened to me even though I walked and cycled alone very regularly, even late at night.
And then I remembered that I was also not a woman.
I nearly broke down and wept on that boat.
Sunday, April 3, 2016
Saturday, April 2, 2016
What Are Ye Thinkin'
Will I survive?
I don't know. I don't think anyone has.
What does survival mean?
I don't know. I don't think anyone knows.
Where do we go from here?
Oh, fuck my brain.
I don't know. I don't think anyone has.
What does survival mean?
I don't know. I don't think anyone knows.
Where do we go from here?
Oh, fuck my brain.
Thursday, March 31, 2016
Trust In Chance
I had a chance. Really I did. Didn't I? I don't know, I can't remember. I can't trust my memory any more.
I'm so glad I met Gretchen.
Why am I sad? Well, she's the fucking psychologist, maybe she can tell me, because I sure as fuck don't want to know.
I want these things to come together so bad.
I want to matter, to have a dream.
I want to sleep again.
I want to love, to trust.
I want to not hurt anymore.
I want justice for the world, but Santa's sleigh is kind of weighed down already with all those iPhone 9s and PS7s. No room for feminism in there, much less egalitarianism.
At least I got to touch boobs once. That was cool, I guess.
I'm so glad I met Gretchen.
Why am I sad? Well, she's the fucking psychologist, maybe she can tell me, because I sure as fuck don't want to know.
I want these things to come together so bad.
I want to matter, to have a dream.
I want to sleep again.
I want to love, to trust.
I want to not hurt anymore.
I want justice for the world, but Santa's sleigh is kind of weighed down already with all those iPhone 9s and PS7s. No room for feminism in there, much less egalitarianism.
At least I got to touch boobs once. That was cool, I guess.
Sunday, March 13, 2016
Friday, January 1, 2016
Between The Extremes
I've never known either true happiness or true misery in my adult life.
With the exception of that morning some time in the summer of 2012, now that was truly something. I woke from a truly blissful dream and for that short pre-waking period I remember the feeling of utter contentment far beyond words.
And lo, how I crashed from that pedestal. I'd thought I knew how to feel sad; nothing I know of describes the feeling of such joy revealing itself as a fantasy.
In the space of minutes, I experienced what felt like the highest height and deepest depth of my emotional capability. But after such happiness, what else is left but sadness? That is the default state; no doubt dark is merely the absence of light, but there is no self-sustaining light in my life to speak of.
It comes up in all the movies: trust. One thing that underlies all of what we so arrogantly call 'civilization'. Religious blowhards like to call it 'faith' like calling it a different name gives them special power (which, unfortunately, it actually does, in some sense).
As of this point in my life, I have yet found no one to trust except Princess Sierra - and it hurts. I'm not in America where I could cry on a friend's shoulder. Fuck, for crying out loud, I don't even trust myself. How can I be a functional adult?
Trust in human relationships is not a barter system in practice. And therein lies its difficulty for me, having never had anyone to teach me the ropes.
With the exception of that morning some time in the summer of 2012, now that was truly something. I woke from a truly blissful dream and for that short pre-waking period I remember the feeling of utter contentment far beyond words.
And lo, how I crashed from that pedestal. I'd thought I knew how to feel sad; nothing I know of describes the feeling of such joy revealing itself as a fantasy.
In the space of minutes, I experienced what felt like the highest height and deepest depth of my emotional capability. But after such happiness, what else is left but sadness? That is the default state; no doubt dark is merely the absence of light, but there is no self-sustaining light in my life to speak of.
It comes up in all the movies: trust. One thing that underlies all of what we so arrogantly call 'civilization'. Religious blowhards like to call it 'faith' like calling it a different name gives them special power (which, unfortunately, it actually does, in some sense).
As of this point in my life, I have yet found no one to trust except Princess Sierra - and it hurts. I'm not in America where I could cry on a friend's shoulder. Fuck, for crying out loud, I don't even trust myself. How can I be a functional adult?
Trust in human relationships is not a barter system in practice. And therein lies its difficulty for me, having never had anyone to teach me the ropes.
Thursday, December 31, 2015
'Tis The Season To Be Breezin'
In case you're unsure what the title is about: a Bacardi Breezer is roughly equivalent to a Smirnoff Ice; and I don't like alcohol, anyway. Am I missing out?
Happy New Year? I guess? Well, fuck that (which any number of people are likely literally doing right now).
Happy New Year? I guess? Well, fuck that (which any number of people are likely literally doing right now).
Sunday, December 27, 2015
I Had Such A Nice Title For This
It rhymes with 'fool' but it was such a good word to describe my current situation. Why didn't I write it down?!
After a half-asleep misdemeanour by me, and subsequent misunderstanding by my fellow human, I have no one to talk to except you, dear reader. Coming after a terribly therapeutic session of (what should have been) teenage angst, it feels hard to cope. But what are my problems in light of hers (and, by extension, theirs)? Nothing, and she knows it, and I know it, and, without sarcasm, it begs the question of why she tolerates me at all.
Perhaps tonight wasn't the best night to watch Dead Poets Society for the first time. If only all culture were homogeneously 1950s-era American-prep-school, then perhaps it would be more directly applicable to my life. Would I have done alright at a boarding school? It's hard to say.
My impostor syndrome is kicking in harder than usual recently, on account of meeting a goddess. I feel like perhaps I should be grateful I don't have any of those pesky "social skills" to get in the way of my interactions with her. I wrote a song on account of her, which is ... nice? I guess? Would I have written the same song were I in the USA right now?
The pain kicks in my chest with the usual regularity these days. I shouldn't have listened to her - she was only trying to get me out of my shell. I think I was in there for my own good.
Fuck human nature, that's what. A long-distance relationship? Out of the question. Help me out here, Ellie.
After a half-asleep misdemeanour by me, and subsequent misunderstanding by my fellow human, I have no one to talk to except you, dear reader. Coming after a terribly therapeutic session of (what should have been) teenage angst, it feels hard to cope. But what are my problems in light of hers (and, by extension, theirs)? Nothing, and she knows it, and I know it, and, without sarcasm, it begs the question of why she tolerates me at all.
Perhaps tonight wasn't the best night to watch Dead Poets Society for the first time. If only all culture were homogeneously 1950s-era American-prep-school, then perhaps it would be more directly applicable to my life. Would I have done alright at a boarding school? It's hard to say.
My impostor syndrome is kicking in harder than usual recently, on account of meeting a goddess. I feel like perhaps I should be grateful I don't have any of those pesky "social skills" to get in the way of my interactions with her. I wrote a song on account of her, which is ... nice? I guess? Would I have written the same song were I in the USA right now?
The pain kicks in my chest with the usual regularity these days. I shouldn't have listened to her - she was only trying to get me out of my shell. I think I was in there for my own good.
Fuck human nature, that's what. A long-distance relationship? Out of the question. Help me out here, Ellie.
Friday, December 11, 2015
Changesicle
Been a while since my last post. I'd ask if you missed me, but that'd be presuming a lot.
I'd like to think that I'm evolving and adapting. But really, I'm too afraid of life. One thing that's changed is that I've been talking to more women lately. What I don't understand is, why are they all so young?! The obvious answer (to me) being that socially functional women closer to my age are typically in places where I am not - in clubs, college, careers, church, and/or relationships. This doesn't bode well for my prospects, in many ways.
In a discussion with my friend the Princess Sierra (and also with a new friend, Revati) I admitted that what I really need is someone to hold on to. Like, physically (and by extension, emotionally).
Quite literally, I need nothing more or less than a hug. It makes sense considering that when I find myself liking someone, I can't really hold my feelings in check comfortably, when it feels as though my heart wants to reach through my chest and engulf that person. It makes me afraid to meet more people, because I keep meeting people that I really like.
Not only that, but when someone attractive is a lot younger than me it is really really hard to rationalize my feelings (quite a joke, really - emotions and rationality go together like ammonia and bleach ...)
More than once I've been told that "age is just a number". "oh, really?" I wonder, "And in relation to that, exactly what number of your gender have been abused and harassed on a daily basis, all the days of their life?"
I can't see myself being worthy of anything when I'm guilty by association. I know exactly why I am justified liking the people that I like, but one vegan lion doesn't absolve the species of its carnivorous nature.
I'd like to think that I'm evolving and adapting. But really, I'm too afraid of life. One thing that's changed is that I've been talking to more women lately. What I don't understand is, why are they all so young?! The obvious answer (to me) being that socially functional women closer to my age are typically in places where I am not - in clubs, college, careers, church, and/or relationships. This doesn't bode well for my prospects, in many ways.
In a discussion with my friend the Princess Sierra (and also with a new friend, Revati) I admitted that what I really need is someone to hold on to. Like, physically (and by extension, emotionally).
Quite literally, I need nothing more or less than a hug. It makes sense considering that when I find myself liking someone, I can't really hold my feelings in check comfortably, when it feels as though my heart wants to reach through my chest and engulf that person. It makes me afraid to meet more people, because I keep meeting people that I really like.
Not only that, but when someone attractive is a lot younger than me it is really really hard to rationalize my feelings (quite a joke, really - emotions and rationality go together like ammonia and bleach ...)
More than once I've been told that "age is just a number". "oh, really?" I wonder, "And in relation to that, exactly what number of your gender have been abused and harassed on a daily basis, all the days of their life?"
I can't see myself being worthy of anything when I'm guilty by association. I know exactly why I am justified liking the people that I like, but one vegan lion doesn't absolve the species of its carnivorous nature.
Monday, May 4, 2015
You Do You
Well, it's an interesting thing, isn't it? That need for companionship, that social urge. I never had much truck with it. (We can debate later on whether or not that was my own fault.)
But I've noticed that as much as I am afraid of people ... everything I do and everything I love requires, always, the presence of others.
The music that I do with my guitarist.
The quartet arrangements that I slaved over.
Not that it's surprising. Rome wasn't built in a day, much less by just one person.
Then I go and kick myself over and over and over again, dwelling on the past.
The one possibly legitimate 'date' I may have ever had / will ever have in my life is quite the memory. I convinced her to come for the social, I liked her glasses ... and then we got there, and I was so goddamn unsure and awkward that I just basically ditched her and hung out with my other friends who were there. Possibly I said something insulting without realizing it, too.
She probably hates my guts, and will never realize the truth behind it.
It was a fun dance, I guess.
I missed out on a lot of things, dear heavens. I should probably stop thinking about it. It's not like an errant vehicle would need any help killing me.
But I've noticed that as much as I am afraid of people ... everything I do and everything I love requires, always, the presence of others.
The music that I do with my guitarist.
The quartet arrangements that I slaved over.
Not that it's surprising. Rome wasn't built in a day, much less by just one person.
Then I go and kick myself over and over and over again, dwelling on the past.
The one possibly legitimate 'date' I may have ever had / will ever have in my life is quite the memory. I convinced her to come for the social, I liked her glasses ... and then we got there, and I was so goddamn unsure and awkward that I just basically ditched her and hung out with my other friends who were there. Possibly I said something insulting without realizing it, too.
She probably hates my guts, and will never realize the truth behind it.
It was a fun dance, I guess.
I missed out on a lot of things, dear heavens. I should probably stop thinking about it. It's not like an errant vehicle would need any help killing me.
Saturday, April 18, 2015
Scratching The Itch
Dear heavens above. Here goes.
I looked across the water, and saw a promised land
A line to mark the gateway, a blackbird in my hand
Swearing off the thoughts that question me, I wrote them in the sand
And the day passed by without end
The door is open, the table is set
And the music is playing, lest we forget
How the days gone by never end
A thought to mark the day is less than we ought to pay
But there always will be another song to play
...
to be continued.
I looked across the water, and saw a promised land
A line to mark the gateway, a blackbird in my hand
Swearing off the thoughts that question me, I wrote them in the sand
And the day passed by without end
The door is open, the table is set
And the music is playing, lest we forget
How the days gone by never end
A thought to mark the day is less than we ought to pay
But there always will be another song to play
...
to be continued.
Sunday, March 22, 2015
d eeeF IiimmNns
I need feminism.
It fucking depresses the shit out of me (I almost wish that were literal) because, really, what can I say?
Stuck on a coding problem? Well, boo hoo, you could be a woman writing the world's most incredible game, getting paid half as much.
Break a leg? Well suck it up, you could be a woman forced to deduct from her maternity leave to recover.
Someone irrationally shoved you for bumping into them? Good luck dealing with that as a woman, wondering which of the 17 men ogling her as she walked past on her way home, one of whom regularly follows her, might attempt to fondle her, or worse.
How the fuck can I be either satisfied OR depressed about my lot in life, when HALF OF THE PLANET'S POPULATION is in a trench that many have been conditioned to accept as the norm? How? I ask you! Seriously, when all one has to do to appreciate one's lot in life is think, "well, I could be a woman" ... that's some seriously fucked up shit.
Let's not go into what I could do about it though. I could speak out - and I'll be labeled as some upstart immigrant jerk who's disrespecting local culture. Not least because I don't know any local language. I could ignore it, and let others sort it out somehow, because anyway we're all going to die.
Not to mention, what do I gain? Almost nothing, because even if the world around me changed, I would always believe myself unworthy. I'm too candid. I don't truly know how to shield myself and so I never get close to anyone or anything. Which is itself ironic, considering my stint in the USA made me realize just how underrated simple human contact is, even disregarding intimacy. What do I do?
Ignorance is bliss.
It fucking depresses the shit out of me (I almost wish that were literal) because, really, what can I say?
Stuck on a coding problem? Well, boo hoo, you could be a woman writing the world's most incredible game, getting paid half as much.
Break a leg? Well suck it up, you could be a woman forced to deduct from her maternity leave to recover.
Someone irrationally shoved you for bumping into them? Good luck dealing with that as a woman, wondering which of the 17 men ogling her as she walked past on her way home, one of whom regularly follows her, might attempt to fondle her, or worse.
How the fuck can I be either satisfied OR depressed about my lot in life, when HALF OF THE PLANET'S POPULATION is in a trench that many have been conditioned to accept as the norm? How? I ask you! Seriously, when all one has to do to appreciate one's lot in life is think, "well, I could be a woman" ... that's some seriously fucked up shit.
Let's not go into what I could do about it though. I could speak out - and I'll be labeled as some upstart immigrant jerk who's disrespecting local culture. Not least because I don't know any local language. I could ignore it, and let others sort it out somehow, because anyway we're all going to die.
Not to mention, what do I gain? Almost nothing, because even if the world around me changed, I would always believe myself unworthy. I'm too candid. I don't truly know how to shield myself and so I never get close to anyone or anything. Which is itself ironic, considering my stint in the USA made me realize just how underrated simple human contact is, even disregarding intimacy. What do I do?
Ignorance is bliss.
Saturday, February 28, 2015
I'm Glad No One
I can't focus. Anymore.
Frankly I haven't been able to focus since third year of college. But, shh, don't tell anyone. It's probably detrimental to my prospects.
I don't see the point of these massive competitions. I mean, yes, I see the point but it doesn't really count for much. As it is, cricket it incredibly boring, as much as baseball, or rugby, or - dare I say it? - football of both the American and global varieties.
Passive-aggressiveness is a deliciously and uniquely human trait, and it is fucking infuriating. Doesn't help that I managed to learn it too as a defense mechanism and it sure as hell won't be going away while I'm still in India. Fucking country of hypocrites.
American media, Indian media has stolen your formula. I hope you're proud of yourself (of course you are).
I should probably see a counselor. But am I going to pay for one? Fuck no. What, am I made of money? While we're at it: I hate money. If I didn't need it to survive I can't even fathom how much happier I'd be.
And you, dear reader, will come to me with your nice words and possibly upbeat attitude, and attempt to cheer me up by pointing how how much worse things could be.
News flash: I have lived a large fraction of my waking life considering how my life could have been different, in both positive and negative ways. Your words do not help, as much as I would love them to.
Frankly I haven't been able to focus since third year of college. But, shh, don't tell anyone. It's probably detrimental to my prospects.
I don't see the point of these massive competitions. I mean, yes, I see the point but it doesn't really count for much. As it is, cricket it incredibly boring, as much as baseball, or rugby, or - dare I say it? - football of both the American and global varieties.
Passive-aggressiveness is a deliciously and uniquely human trait, and it is fucking infuriating. Doesn't help that I managed to learn it too as a defense mechanism and it sure as hell won't be going away while I'm still in India. Fucking country of hypocrites.
American media, Indian media has stolen your formula. I hope you're proud of yourself (of course you are).
I should probably see a counselor. But am I going to pay for one? Fuck no. What, am I made of money? While we're at it: I hate money. If I didn't need it to survive I can't even fathom how much happier I'd be.
And you, dear reader, will come to me with your nice words and possibly upbeat attitude, and attempt to cheer me up by pointing how how much worse things could be.
News flash: I have lived a large fraction of my waking life considering how my life could have been different, in both positive and negative ways. Your words do not help, as much as I would love them to.
Saturday, February 21, 2015
A Touching Experience
I hit on a girl once.
I'll be quite honest, it was two girls.
Oh, alright - in the interest of full disclosure: I had a rolled up chart on my person for some reason or other, and I randomly bopped them on the head for a little while.
You could say I ... tapped that. (goddammit, where are my dramatic sunglasses?!)
Judging me for that god-awful pun? Well, screw you, deal with it, because that pun is the closest I'll ever get to this particular woman, who has, to put it lightly, matured rather well. By which I mean she's (studying to be) a doctor. (A really hot one.)
Oh, and involved with some lucky European fellow. Fuck you, Scott, because in all fairness, I never had a snowball's chance in hell anyway.
... what else, what else ... ?
Oh, yes. I've taken to adapting popular songs for string quartet. It's not half bad, you can give it a listen - guaranteed to sound orders of magnitudes better with, you know, a real quartet.
Birthday coming up, so soon? Fuck. I hate having to figure out gifts.
I'll be quite honest, it was two girls.
Oh, alright - in the interest of full disclosure: I had a rolled up chart on my person for some reason or other, and I randomly bopped them on the head for a little while.
You could say I ... tapped that. (goddammit, where are my dramatic sunglasses?!)
Judging me for that god-awful pun? Well, screw you, deal with it, because that pun is the closest I'll ever get to this particular woman, who has, to put it lightly, matured rather well. By which I mean she's (studying to be) a doctor. (A really hot one.)
Oh, and involved with some lucky European fellow. Fuck you, Scott, because in all fairness, I never had a snowball's chance in hell anyway.
... what else, what else ... ?
Oh, yes. I've taken to adapting popular songs for string quartet. It's not half bad, you can give it a listen - guaranteed to sound orders of magnitudes better with, you know, a real quartet.
Birthday coming up, so soon? Fuck. I hate having to figure out gifts.
Tuesday, January 13, 2015
I REALLY LIKE CHOCOLATE. I WILL CUT YOU FOR IT.
There were a few studies done on people who subjected themselves to Botox injections. Long story short: botulism toxin injections 'remove' wrinkles by basically paralyzing your facial muscles.
I can't find the specific study I read; the basic point, at any rate, is this:
When subjected to emotional input after a Botox session, people were unable to empathize. The widely accepted psychological theory is that if your face is incapable of making an emotional expression, then your ability to experience said emotion will be diminished. Like a bit of a feedback loop.
If my facial expressions when I daydream (or my daydreams themselves) are any indication, my brain is a clusterfuck of emotion.
Hugs, please? I'll give you head massages. I'm really good. And I swear to you I'm not creepy, just a little* awkward.
____________
* okay, fine: very awkward.
I can't find the specific study I read; the basic point, at any rate, is this:
When subjected to emotional input after a Botox session, people were unable to empathize. The widely accepted psychological theory is that if your face is incapable of making an emotional expression, then your ability to experience said emotion will be diminished. Like a bit of a feedback loop.
If my facial expressions when I daydream (or my daydreams themselves) are any indication, my brain is a clusterfuck of emotion.
Hugs, please? I'll give you head massages. I'm really good. And I swear to you I'm not creepy, just a little* awkward.
____________
* okay, fine: very awkward.
Wednesday, December 24, 2014
Truly I say unto you, my dear: to this prattle I am indifferent
I don't give a damn.
I don't give a damn about not giving a damn.
Except I can't do that.
I don't want to give a damn. How do I get to not have to give a damn?
I wouldn't mind having someone around (preferably of the opposite sex, for obvious reasons) who understands why I don't give a damn.
Except that, honestly, I wouldn't wish such an understanding on someone else, because then they wouldn't want to give a damn either.
Damn, what do I do?
I don't care, and yet I do.
I care, and yet I don't.
I was in Bangalore for a bit. I met some nice (read: pretty fucking awesome) people. And, as per usual, I people-watched.
I don't get normal human interaction, it almost doesn't make sense. And yet, somehow, it seems I muddled through - apart from the mildly amusing mishap involving my glasses - and I don't think they found me overly weird.
(Heh, who am I kidding, I can be pretty intense and awesome with the right crowd, and this was no exception)
So, why do I put myself through this? Music probably has something to do with it ... but unless things pan out in a better way, that line of thought feels overdone.
I don't give a damn about not giving a damn.
Except I can't do that.
I don't want to give a damn. How do I get to not have to give a damn?
I wouldn't mind having someone around (preferably of the opposite sex, for obvious reasons) who understands why I don't give a damn.
Except that, honestly, I wouldn't wish such an understanding on someone else, because then they wouldn't want to give a damn either.
Damn, what do I do?
I don't care, and yet I do.
I care, and yet I don't.
I was in Bangalore for a bit. I met some nice (read: pretty fucking awesome) people. And, as per usual, I people-watched.
I don't get normal human interaction, it almost doesn't make sense. And yet, somehow, it seems I muddled through - apart from the mildly amusing mishap involving my glasses - and I don't think they found me overly weird.
(Heh, who am I kidding, I can be pretty intense and awesome with the right crowd, and this was no exception)
So, why do I put myself through this? Music probably has something to do with it ... but unless things pan out in a better way, that line of thought feels overdone.
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