This saying without saying. I do it sometimes. Because some things are better off left unsaid. I wrote the other day, ‘There are many S_’s in the world. The same beautifulness o f body.’ And the unsaid in this instance is that I would hold you in greater regard if I could appreciate you more for your beautifulness of mind.

‘My first meeting with you only confirmed what I first suspected. You are a fraud, a charlatan and a shyster. My favourite kind of person, in fact.’
The Liar- Stephen Fry

With one dismissive sentence he says, 'They’ve lost it. They’re mad both of them’. This is my family talking about my family. It fills me with a sense of foreboding more than anything else. These people they grew up together. The older they get the more opinionated they become. Less and less room for anybody else’s views.

It doesn’t have to happen to everybody. It doesn’t.

help

i still don't know when to use whom, who, who's and whose... it's mostly between the who and whom actually. gets me terribly confused. anyone?

There was this new person that I was rather taken with. When I say taken I mean. What do I mean? In this instance, he was lovely [and I mean the lovely this time] to be with. He lived on his own, in this nice uncrowded apartment. He let us watch movies whenever we wanted to and he had lots of DVDs. More than that, he made tea for us and gave us baileys too if it so pleased us. He was interesting to listen to too because he was a photographer for national geographic, so he had lots of stories to tell and well he was smitten with my best friend, so in an attempt to charm her, he had to be nice. Of course the girl refused to go there on her own, taking into account that she had a boyfriend and all. So, in a bid to ease her troubled mind I would say that I wanted to visit him and so we’d go. This is where my story starts. This boy he tended to use a lot of hmm, large words when he spoke. Now large words aren’t usually a problem for me and I can guess their meaning at least in context. But with this boy I couldn’t. And I wondered where he had picked up his vocabulary because it was apparent that he didn’t read very much, from the fact that he didn’t seem to know whom I was talking about when I vocally contemplated calling him Jeeves. [You know the tea and everything]. It suddenly came to me. He had to have done one of those exams where you have to study long word lists to go off to the u s of a. and he had. Gone off to study that is [and not photography]. So this is the end and I’d like a round of applause for my brilliant deduction and good luck to the boy. I admire him for being daring enough to choose his own life and succeeding in his profession.

i'm horrid :D *laughter induced by horrid act *



but you have to admit. sometimes people ask for it.

One of the few people who’s interested in what I have to say, and I push you away, because I sense that the interest is in more than just what I have to say.

You were just ordinary and I liked you. When did you become extraordinary?
22062005

Yesterday I met a lady who was… odd, I think would be a good way to describe her. She had a funny three seconds staring habit. She stared at me for about three seconds before she said hello and three seconds after. She said something to be friendly and continued staring for about three seconds after that, and when it was time to say goodbye, she took three seconds longer than necessary to respond and I imagine she also stared at my retreating back for another three seconds before she carried on with her work.

As incomprehensible as this earlier seemed to me, maybe I’m starting to understand a little bit the feeling that when my sister comes home from work there’s someone waiting for her who loves her very, very much.

I started out today all proud of myself. Yes, proud of myself, for figuring out how to attach the printer to the small computer. Of course there really isn’t very much to figure out. One plug here, another there. Clap, clap everyone. I deserve it. It isn’t that I did something marvelous, but whenever there’s something to be done, there are always at least three people in line ahead of me to do it. Like the other day for example, I decided that it was time to do something with that Goa lampshade that had been lying in my cupboard for over a year. Not really having any place to put it, I decided to put it up over the bulb above the tiny balcony outside our [my ex] room. My father suggested that I have a boy [i.e. Richard] do it. But no, Miss I have to learn to do things on my own, what will I do if there are no boys around, insisted on doing it by myself. So, there I was, precariously balancing between the window ledge and the balcony railing, trying my darnedest to get a hook-screw sort of thing into the wood base of the bulb. To my disadvantage I had height and I imagine a shortage of strength to hammer the thing in. And although I tried, I sadly found myself lacking in the skills required to do it. So I did the next best thing. ‘Richard!’ yup, I called in back up. Lovely boy [he he lovely] that he is, he got the screw in and left me to hang my shade up in peace. Which I did and I also said a little prayer asking god not to let the heat from the bulb burn the lampshade. So now every time you switch on the balcony light there’s this pink glow that fortunately doesn’t go much past the railing.
Oh and as for the printer, after all the self applauding and patting my self on the back, I found out very quickly that it was out of ink. The universe is against me I tell you, against me.

two steps forward, one thousand steps back.

scary shit. i think i'm mood swung!

others have come to similar conclusions long before i have. each one realises on their own. and the wisest of these take a realistic view of things and keep some realisations to themselves.

This World

The house is freezing. I don’t complain. It isn’t my house. But I will do something about it. Close the door, open the window. Let the humidity in.
I’m supposed to get a job here. I’m not even looking. I changed my mind. I look out of the window and I know why. It isn’t that I wouldn’t survive here. I don’t want to.
My teeth stop to hurt once the window is open. The heat. It’s comforting. And I wonder is this body so deprived of body fat that it refuses to withstand temperatures below twenty five degrees. Perhaps. I keep a glass of full cream milk at my side. Maybe that will help.
Everything in this house is at my disposal I have books and movies and internet and food. I don’t even have to cook or wash my plate after. Anything that isn’t here, I can have home delivered. But this house misses something.
It misses a woman and therefore routine.
This absence of routine doesn’t seem to tell on anyone but me.
The pink of this room. It hits me. But then I remember. The owner of the room is sixteen years old. She isn’t here. How does it matter? Least of all to me.
A stark world it is. This world without people.

it occurs to me to stop. not because i have nothing to say, because i have too much.

if some thing is added to you and the same thing is taken away, then logically you should remain the smae. here it comes :). screw logic.

I need to get back home and I refuse to take a taxi because it’s bloody expensive. I’m not terribly concerned. I do an unreasonably large amount of unwanted touring around the area before finally reaching Al Qusais.That’s where I want to be. From here I need to take a taxi back home. There is however a small complication, which I will not go into. I do manage to get a taxi, but sharing it with one other philipino and another man. And this is where my starring role begins. The driver starts to speak in hindi. Hero that I am, I pretend to understand. I even translate to the philipino. The driver, he’s grumbling away to high heavens. He wants to make the shortest trip possible. I’m certainly not helping. When he asks if it’s Al Futaim that I want to go to, I say, Yes, yes, that’s right and when he asks if it’s Double Cola that I want to go to, I say, Yes, that’s right, that’s right. [all in hindi by the way *cheesy smile *. Now this might not sound possible, this wanting to go to two different places and it is in face frustrating the driver. The thing is that I stay on the road between Al Futaim and Double Cola, a sort of I shaped figure could describe it. The driver just wants to take the shortest route, but the only thing I can say to that is, tough luck buddy. I don’t know, I’m new here.

Yesterday was laughable. I manage to get myself to the building and I'm asking for directions to the bank, but I can't for the life of me remember the name. I manage to remember it and I hurry up. I'm an hour late. I go upstairs and say, 'Hello, I'm here to meet...', *confused look* *mutters softly to self* 'What's her name?'
'Nithya' , the girl offers.
'Nithya', *smile*I gladly accept.

A part of me that I hate, the part that scorns.

I mourn the loss of a culture that I don't really want to embrace.Super contradictory, I wish I could explain myself.

'I'm thinking about putting you in a sari', she says.
And my mind is yelling, 'What demon possessed thought are you of anyway?!'
And my face , without missing a beat,smiles a sweet smile and says, 'Of course, that won't be a problem'

He wasn’t afraid or even bashful when it came to talking about things like nudity and lust. But for his sake, I would tell him to hush or to speak softer at least. Nothing he said was anything but natural. But everyone is not wont to see it that way. And these things tend to be considered vulgar and in bad taste [and sometimes they are (purely situational)]But he didn’t think that way. He would say things that people only think about , but never say out loud. I couldn’t quite manage not to smile, but I would yell at him and say, ‘ There’s a reason why no one says it out loud!’ What can I say. We live in a conservative world.


[Edited content] we don’t want this to seem vulgar or in bad taste.


This is where I disagree with the ‘he’ in question. Instead of making room in his mind for the conservative mindset that our culture has adopted, he scorns it. He feels that a half dressed person should be free to walk on the road [ I agree with this *] and not have anyone stare at them. [Which would be nice, but too high I think, an expectation]
I’m not saying that you shouldn’t be allowed to do what you want. Just don’t expect everyone else to feel the same way about it too.


* in the interest of freedom of expression.

He gets all worked up and emotional. Yuck.

Have I become one of the two people that I laughed at? [And felt terrible about doing it.]
Is it time to laugh at myself?

I tried really hard, and I even wanted to, but I couldn't squish my ego and turn a light shade of pink, and ask.Dammit.

If I could choose to be anything, I would choose to be more articulate.

my book, my colour pencils and my black reynolds ball pen.

I served and fed a baby girl her breakfast just now. *warm fuzzy smile*

Yesterday I Lied

Are you reading the bible everyday?
Yes [lie]
Are you asking God to give you what you want?
Yes [maybe not what you think I want, but yes]
Will you come with me to church on Thursday?
Yes [lie] How can I go? Unrepentant liar that I am.
Persistent, isn’t she?

They look at me suspiciously.
I have a black tongue.
I couldn’t help but smile a minimally evil smile.

How am I supposed to be nice to someone who gives me the impression that they’re circling round me and getting ready to eat me?

sometimes i just change my mind :)

for no apparent reason

M,I don't even know if you come here anymore, to know what i'm thinking and what's happening with me, but I wrote this for you a long time ago. I wasn't sure if I wanted you to read it then, but it's okey now.



[ this is for you. read it.i hope you never understand it's meaning or even realise that it's you i'm talking about. the ambiguity is there ..in place :)]

would you disregard all the things they say about you,
there's a pent up anger , that needs release..and you the unwitting target.
you never did anything. just lived your life the way you wanted to.
the anger was irrational and as far as i'm concerned. unwarrented.
could you see it the same way and disregard it. like the rest. or let it hurt you like it could.
for you i'd choose the former.
and as for the good things. you will not know what they are...but know this...they are there. and that is your comfort.
k

LIAR

‘Does this look nice?’
Mind- no
Mouth- yes
‘Really?’
Mind- no
Mouth- yes

Oh god, she can tell when I’m lying.

In retrospect, everything is for the best. *genuine laugh* [shared with nisha]

The Evil Eye

I don’t know very much about this, but this much I have gathered. Some people by saying something good have a capacity to harm. That is the general belief.
I’ll tell you a story.
Edthine Bai [i.e. Our grandmother. That’s what she was called] had a beautiful boblae [that brings horribly funny images to my mind] plant. No I think it was a kvualo plant. She had directed it upward to the covering over the front courtyard for support. And so it grew and gave lovely big kvualo fruit. So many of them. They grew together and big.
Along came a man one day. He had to pass through their land to get to his. And he was know so much for his black tongue that parents [at least in my superstitious family] would shove their pretty little children out of his sight, for fear that he would say something nice about them.
To get on with my story. This man saw her fruit and said to her, ‘Edthine Bai, what lovely fruit’, and he went on his way.
Not two maybe three minutes after he passed that way. It happened.
The fruit began to fall *phat * *phat * one after the other, to the ground and smash. There was nothing that anyone could do.


There is another story that I had to laugh at.
His tomato plant died because the neighbour lady put evil eye on it.


The last one.
Her daughter lost weight because I said the other day that I thought she looked taller. *shrug * No evil intent there.

I wanted to write about something. A sound. Children usually hear it. I used to too. But I don’t anymore. Not unless I listen very carefully. It’s like a high piercing sound and crickets at the same time. If I had to draw it, I would draw a straight line with a zigzag line running over it. Two distinct sounds, yet one. I think sometimes that it’s blood rushing and I can hear it. A child asked me what that sound was the other day, the same way I used to ask my father what it was. I knew what he was talking about, but I didn’t know what to tell him. He was suddenly holding my hand. I knew he was afraid. He said that you could hear it in the kitchen. So I went to the kitchen to listen. He was right. I said come, come listen with me. He refused. I told him not to listen to the sound anymore. To listen to other things. It has the capacity to make you go mad.

Everyone’s asleep except me. The muted sunlight reminds me of something I used to know. Space and trees. The soft light will give way to a glaring, relentless heat.
I don’t like people reading over my shoulder, it’s annoying.
Everybody’s getting up. I’ll miss the aloneness.

Our conversations were terribly uninteresting and being the only logical thing to do, I lost interest.

anusha

I didn't take this picture but I think it's lovely. 

I thought it was funny considering that i feel like being a big cranky puss right now anyway.

we are the same, yet we are not the same.
i could never accept what you accept.
and i worry.
if i question you. will you question yourself?

..I don't want to know anymore.

*huge sigh [as if i'm carrying the whole world on my shoulders]*
a large part of me doesn't want to stay.

I wanted to know what he thought, and what he thought of me.Because it was apparent that he had.

i remembered something just now that made me smile :).
he was retelling a story. some movie i think and instead of saying [insert the hero's name] he said 'I'

@caraf- when we were little, i thought the world of you too.i don't know if you ever knew that.

i don't know about original thought. i know about influenced thought.

individuality... what can i say of that.
pseudo... they're all afraid of being fake. or so they say. i wonder why. does saying it out loud give them a sense of being more honest.are they just thinking out loud.they must be.

remember

milk[full cream]
henna
eat
fruit..
oil
fruit juice [better]
water..

Yesterday's Thought

Like two little girls, playing dress up. Except that one of them doesn't really care.

i woke up early [er] this morning and i'm thinking. it's nice to be alone when you want to be.

chick, if we both manage to make enough money [and we're both in the same city] do you want to move into an appartment,on our own? or does that not make very much sense and is it just wishful thinking?

for my friend

wait. wait till someone comes across you who takes the time to find out that the person that you are is as lovely [if not more] than your face.it isn't that your face isn't important or even less important, it is a part of who you are just like everything else about you.
but i've noticed that there are two[correction-three] types of people. the first and greater, the type that looks at your face and nothing else matters. the second[and fewer, but they do exist], the type that sees a pretty face and automtically thinks that she has air between her ears. and then there is another type. they start to like a person and they find that they coincidently :) like their face too, by association.
but you know what, there's no telling. like the saying goes. 'love is not only blind, in some cases it's also mental'
see you when i see you. it will be good to be home.

I saw something freakishly useful the other day. Someone sleeping with his eyes wide open.

Citrus.
Citrus cannot write, but she will try. She doesn’t have so much a story as a point of view.
Citrus always had knowingness about her. At least she thinks so. When she looks back at baby pictures she can see it in her eyes. Her elder sister Joe had a baby frowniness about her and her other sister Law had a baby duhness about her. Citrus, she was different. She wishes somehow that she hadn’t been. Babies aren’t supposed to be knowing. She thought the world of her sisters. I wonder what they thought of her.
Citrus grew, as children do and she wonders what sort of child she was. Yes, she remembers her mother chasing her around the house with a plate of food to make her eat. She remembers that she was scared of the last room. She’s still a teeny weeny bit afraid of the dark. But then, isn’t everybody?And in her defense, the last room was scary after dark. She was terrible at street cricket. She couldn’t for the life of her figure out why. Perhaps she had bad hand eye co-ordination. Maybe she still does. Either that or she closed her eyes every time the ball came in the vicinity of her self.
She grew some more. She didn’t make any friends. At least any that are worth mentioning.
She started to notice boys very, very late. They started to notice her even later.
But there was this one. The very first time she saw him, she knew he simply wasn’t someone she would have even considered liking, but she did. That’s a whole different story.
A few years later she grew, not so much in stature but in mind and even that not so much vertically, perhaps laterally. I can’t be sure.
She even made a friend or more correctly, the friend made her. And then she found another one. A sister became a friend and a friend became a sister. The best.
She knows what she wants to do. She’s just not so sure how, and because of this she says nothing of it.
Citrus sometimes wonders [not very often and mostly when she has nothing else to do] what she will end up being. Like everybody else, she hopes something good. She doesn’t worry too much about it. For now, she just is.

I love the sea. And I find this odd because I always fancied myself a mountain goat.

He took care to give the impression that he didn't.

And if none of the below works, roll up a newspaper,and chase them around the house like a mad person.

I’m telling you when it comes to children, emotional blackmail, tickling and sneakiness is the best. It still works with my mother. [Maybe not the tickling so much]

This one I will hold on to, with a piece of string [even if a very long one] and never let go.

Name: Kamal Singh
Context:I don't know

afterthought

If it is for you, the context will fall in place.
If it doesn't, ask.
If i want to tell you, I will.

She doesn't understand. It isn't that i'm opposed to working.But if i'm going to be doing something that i'm going to have to learn to like, I don't see why I shouldn't be paid an exorbitant amount of money to do it.

Je suis- I am
of the root
Etre- To be

in

hoover, i'll be coming home soon.we'll do something. not coffee. maybe conversation.

enough

Subjectivity can be rather painful.It makes room for everybody's views.

Some things are not justifiable.

Don't make an impression.Not on me.In fact, I would prefer it if you didn't even try.

once in a way you come across someone who means something, even if not in the traditional sense.
i'm glad i came across someone.[whoever the hell he is :)]

Too much of me.He tended to agree.Ha!

The shirt had a seemingly low neckline [it wasn't really].I carefully folded so as to hide the neck and threw it in the shopping cart, hoping they wouldn't look at it.Would they behave themselves?? No, they had to look at it.Okay maybe were entitled have a look,given the fact that they were going to insist on paying for it. So they look. 'Isn't the neck low?' he asks me.'I'll wear a shirt inside', I said.The wife smiles and says,'this is her age to show,let her show'....OH COME ON!!*rolls eyes* So, the husband makes his already big eyes bigger at me and we buy the shirt.

'Do you want to go to church?', she asked.

AS IF I had a choice.

I know his first name.He knows mine.
Does this mean that I can now graduate from, 'whoever he is' to 'whoever the hell he is'

corticosteroid

it affects growth in children when used over a period of time.

i wonder if a couple of inches would have made a life altering difference to me.

:)

nearly cried.nearly.

there's cheating and then there's survival, and a fine line of subjectivity between the two.

corticosteroid

I can be a tiny[very tiny] bit sadistic sometimes.

I taught her many things.

I taught her East Coast and West Coast.
I taught her how to shake her bum,
how to wink,
icecream soda and
sorry amma one plate puri.

*pretty darn pleased with myself*

bait.interesting..just not very.

kan with more time on her hands 

kan with time on her hands 

kan and the brat getting along. i quite like her after all :) 

and now years later, all i have to say for it is that everybody needs a little bit of drama in their lives.
you were mine,
he was hers
and she.. i think she was the drama in everybody's life

Breakfast

1 laban up
2 packets of chilly chips
2 milky bars

*big junk food smile*