Thank-you for the Music

I am trying to remember when I last left an account of the latest ‘happenings’ in my life. I can’t. So I will sum up these few post-exam weeks with “boringly busy” or “busily boring”, whichever suits the moment. Yesterday was tiring as hell, and so was today, but today… it was something more.

I spent the day at Dees’. This meant an argument early in the morning with mum about why I’m going, what time I’m going, how I’m going, how I’m coming back, what time I’m coming back and all sorts of absolutely irrelevant and unnecessary little details about the visit. It did not help that Dee had called late last night (or more precisely, early this morning) and told my mother something to the effect of “this can’t happen”… so after roughly an hour of arguing (after like an hour of sleep too!) mum leaves and I decide that I must also leave. But this act of ‘leaving’ as many of you will know, comprises many other smaller acts (ex: breakfast, choosing attire, changing the choice of attire, trying on the attire, taking off the attire, showering, putting on the attire, changing the attire etc…) which take up roughly another hour. So the nine-thirty rendezvous was delayed to ten, and actually happened closer to eleven. Anyway!

My gosh, I had missed this woman! The first hour or so we spent on a sequence of events similar to that described above which took up my time between deciding to leave and actually leaving (minus breakfast and the shower) during which we decided (or tried to decide) on what I would wear for that not-all-important event taking place on Saturday evening which I was not even sure of attending. But this is not what I wanted to talk about!

Ah, yes. First remarkable event of the day: It’s not exactly an event, it’s a movie.
“Big Fish” starring that absolutely adorable guy from Moulin Rouge with the absolutely GEORGOUS voice (yeah I can’t remember his name, something like … Finney? No way)! *faint! Directed by Tim Burton. Sounded good to me. The story is basically about a storyteller. His story is the story of his life. The problem is, he (like some other people we know) exaggerates a bit, and this leaves his son (who believed the stories until he was a little too old to believe them) thinking his dads’ a fake etc, etc… the movie doesn’t really prove a point, but it’s a great watch, a few typically Tim warped moments, some told-a-million-times-over but hilarious jokes and the feeling at the end like some searing hot liquid that burns your throat and brings tears to your eyes but makes your stomach warm and bubbly, leaving you happy. Really. The end is just amazing. Maybe the whole point of the movie is that there’s no point. A persons’ life story doesn’t really have to prove point as long as it’s interesting, because in the end, it’s just a story.

Either way, everyone needs to watch that movie.

The Second remarkable event of the day was a revival of the ancient tradition of whacking vague chords on the piano and calling it ‘improvisation’. Actually it’s more like mystic composition but I can’t expect normal human beings to understand the concept, so… yes, Dee and I sat at the piano together after about a year, the last time we did the same together being the 1st of October, 2006 at a certain event dubbed ‘Viva la Musica’ where I think we manage to scrape through with quite a good farce, together with Shez tapping a kala-gediya. The experience was amazing. “Amazing” here my hearts, does not mean the regular kind of amazing. It was so amazing, it lifted us up off the piano stool, threw us on the floor and had us shaking and tearing with laughter.

I had forgotten completely how good it felt to just play random chords and tunes on the piano with somebody else, and have that stuff ring through your flesh and bones into your soul. Damn, I had forgotten how good we were at this thing called improvising. I had always felt the power of the bond which is created through making music together. But after months and almost years of not doing this, I had forgotten. The experience brought back so many memories of choir practice in our little school chapel, sitting around the piano just humming random harmonies and rapping random rhymes while Dee played random chords. It also brought back memories of those hours during which she and I made the other choristers sit around the piano and listen to our painfully personalized renditions of Evanescence and the like.
It’s sad her parents are packing her off to Colombo, but it’s also good cus she’s finally getting the chance to do something the way she wants to. So I don’t know how I should feel. I think I’ve decided to be neutral about it, and look forward to seeing her in colo (without her parents!). these meetings are bound to be ‘happa’ as I’m making sure she takes ‘Our Sketch Book’ with her [ this book by the way, is a great book of our compositions which have very enlightening names such as ‘A-minor’, ‘D-minor’, ‘Five-three’ and ‘Staccatto’ – we have got as far as the table of contents].

(sigh!)

I think I’ll miss the woman more than I plan to, but that’s the way these things happen isn’t it?

Look out for the phenomenal debut album!

Kids

Younger siblings, especially thirteen-year-old male ones will never – NEVER – know when they really GOT to keep their gap shut when the rest of the household is arguing about things they don't understand, and this (if you happen to have a younger sibling, especially a thirteen-year-old male one) will ruin your evening/day/week/month/year/life.

<kick>

Political Posts

I generally find it amusing when bloggers choose to rant and rave about the country's political situation in their posts. I suppose this has something to do with the fact that I know nothing about politics. But it also seems like those who rant and rave about politics don't really know much about it either. I suppose this too, has something to do with the fact that I know nothing about politics. Anyway, I'm dedicating this post to something I know nothing about. Politics.

See, it's just a little past 8:00pm, and I've just been watching the news. The highlight today was a brawl at parliament. Yes, a BRAWL, at PALIAMENT. I'm not going to pretend I know what the whole thing was about, cus (just in case I didn't make myself clear enough) I know nothing about politics. But it was quite amusing, the whole thing.

These are people that "the people" voted in to represent them. So if (IF) I voted these people in, then I'm displaying myself as a fist-happy idiot. Right? Right. But no wait, politics is politics, and so maybe, just maybe these people don't really represent "the people" and they just put their money and muscle towards getting into parliament so they can acquire more money and muscle. In that case, our parliament consists of a group of business-minded morons right? Right. So okay, let's forget the 'moron' part and think of them as highly intellectual businessmen. Then/still they would be concerned with money and power.

Now 'Money and Power' makes me think of Coolio and also a certain group of little boys from a certain little gamey school down here in our little haven that call themselves the FreeWorld Wanksters. These guys put 'money and power' side by side with 'respect' and call the whole soup gangsterism. So now, I think we're dealing with gangsters. Or wanksters. Either way…

I'd say that the definition of gangsterism is loyalty – doing unto others as you would them do unto you and sticking together no matter what, for the sake of keeping the peace in the hood – but some others would say it is 'respect'. So since according to the previous scientifically proven fact our parliamentarians are gangsters, their main concern must be respect. But if respect is their main concern, I think it's alright to say that somebody somewhere needs to redefine "respect".

I watched that whole thing on the TV and laughed. I mean, damn! We used to conduct out interact meetings with more dignity despite the fact that 'happa' incidents like the President sleeping with the Secretary who is the Treasurers' girlfriend created immense amounts of friction between the members of the club (which makes me wonder… maybe these guys got 'issues' no?!). If the younger generation of the country laughing at you is the sense of respect these guys got, well then I guess it's understandable that people rant and rave about it even though they don't really know what they're ranting and raving about!

Growing Up

I cleaned up my room today. This is phenomenal and blog-worthy because:
1.) My room is (WAS!!!) the biggest freaking mess on earth. (Should have taken pictures to prove this, but too late!)
2.) The muck on the floor has been accumulating since April, and the floor itself hasn’t been swept since then
3.) The table and bookshelf were removed from my room a week ago. I.e.: all my books, cds, and crap lie strewn across the floor wherever they are dropped.
4.) There is dust EVERYWHERE and cobwebs occupy an eighth of the space
5.) I had the girls over less than a week ago, and their wedding attire, party attire, accessories, shoes, makeup etc… are still heaped up on my bed.
6.) My clothes from the trip to the “remote village in the middle of nowhere” (very smelly and gathering mildew) are heaped up in a corner. (The clothes hamper lies somewhere underneath it I’m sure.)
So yes, I proved a point no!? Anyway, like I said, I cleaned up my room. This took a rough period of about eight hours, with the help of the maid. Unfortunately, the completion of the whole task didn’t leave me as satisfied as I expected it would. Thus I shall label this event of “cleaning up my room” the first anti-climax of the season (The season, by the way, is “right after ALs”). Yet despite its’ nature, it did have its’ moments, which I will now go through in no particular order:
The old Love Letters: Now, those that sucker no.1 sent me are still inside that little pale-blue bag that I always kept them in, and I read them every time a long-lost friend comes over, dwelling on how sadly romantic he was etc etc… These don’t really inspire any emotional changes within me really, although I must say they are quite well written and should succeed in deceiving any poor creature in my (excellent) state of mind. So anyway, it’s not the rainbow coloured cards or the perfumed (gag) letters I’m talking about, but those secret ones that I wrote him, without anybody’s knowledge. The ones I wrote when I was so totally pissed off I could say all kinds of really really nasty things to him. The ones I discreetly decided I would tell NOBODY about. These letters are written in scrawling letters on pieces of random paper, presumably take from the dustbin, and they made me feel good. The handwriting makes it obvious that I was pissed as bleeding hell, but the words! Damn! You’d think I was twenty-six and not sixteen, reading that stuff! Ha! Okay, yeah, so that made me feel real good, but I won’t dwell on it, cus it might – just might – result in some unprecedented level of gloating.
Taking the old posters down: THIS experience was… different. I had long outgrown most of the artists on my wall, except probably Eminem, but taking them off the walls was very significant. It left the walls blank (after the imagination is stretched far enough and one ceases to see the millions of pencilled in rhymes and verses on the paint) , impressionable, which made me think of my mind as blank and impressionable, cleaned up of all the muck stuffed in there during AL coursework.
This brings us to the end-result which left my room looking cleaner, neater and actually bigger, and ME feeling all grown up. I’m serious. It was hilariously elating. I just had to share it!

Spitting out the demons

This blog is not dying. Because I am angry and I have a headache, which means I'm inspired again.

I am angry. I say I am angry because my eyes hurt and I'm sleepy, but I can't sleep. I can't sleep because I'm thinking about how fucked up my life is. I think this is the glitch cus my life is NOT fucked up. I am an average teenager with a million stupid problems and I love to think that my problems are the biggest, so I just believe my life is fucked up whereas it really is not. I'm going around in circles. But then again, that's okay since I can't go around in squares. So I will go around in circles and possibly ovals thinking about everything in my life which has the potential to be fucked up, but is really not, as long as I choose not to label it "fucked up".

The "fucked up" cycle: A cycle can't start anywhere but I will start with what's foremost in my head right now (always). It can't be mentioned. The second thing on my mind is the same as the first and thus can't be mentioned. I am going to be elusive and call it illusive. The Ego. My ego is in pain. Oh poor dear darling. But my ego is in pain because I have subconsciously chosen to keep it in pain. But if I am consciously aware that I have subconsciously chosen to keep it in pain, then I can consciously decide to undo this subconscious decision right? Wrong. Well, right. So I have consciously decided to undo the subconscious decision, but at the same time I have also subconsciously decided not to give in to my conscious. Which is probably the stupidest move a human (or animal) mind can make, but that's called imperfection. Or the subconscious. It's a vicious fucking cycle you see. But I know where it started. It started with not listening to what mamma says and getting laid. See when you get laid, the sucker keeps taking you somewhere you've been before but you feel like you haven't been. You're tripping. And you can't get out of the trip because when the trip is falling in love, then getting out of the trip is falling out of love. But you can't fucking fall out of love. So you get on another trip called falling out of love. And this trip involves falling in love again. But this time you can't be sure if you're actually falling in love or just tripping. But then since falling in love is anyway a trip, you're always tripping. The only thing you can know is the only thing you keep coming back to. You're still in love. With sucker no.1

This leads to sucker no.2 who is still very much amazing. But this is crazy because that sucker no.2 is really a sucker, and not just somebody who gets called a sucker out of a sense of "sour grapes". So fuck that. Another conscious subconscious denial of the conscious. This 'alliteration' of words helps to create a sense of the confusion inside my head.

Which in turn leads to sucker no.3. This one made me realize that once you get bitten once, it gets worse every next time you get bitten. This is a pathetically sad truth. Yet it would be a very happy truth if this was universal, which I am not yet sure about. I think I'm going to conduct a poll on this, and see if it's universal. But I'm thinking natural selection will leave sucker no.3 out of this whole thing. I am aware that I am confused about nothing. There are only two possibilities and I know which possibility is wiser to accept, based on the healthier nature of its outcome, but this is conscious, and my subconscious is the one that rules.

I am angry that I allow myself to be consciously ruled by my subconscious, but then again, don't we all?

I am happy that writing helps.

While chatting

"Sometimes life turns out to be better than dreams"

Shez

Prologue

I am half dead. No, closer to fully dead. Today has been blissfully hectic, and I managed to pop a few of mums' blood cells as hoped.

Made some bucks in the process as well.

I'm pretty happy, considering the fact that I managed to take a couple of very ego-satisfying photographs. Plus I don't mind jerking off to the middle of nowhere now, because it will probably be followed by a fatiguing trip down to Colombo to sing at some Gandhi memorial thingy…

Hectic heaven!

Freedom

So the crap is done and now we're free. Fat lot the bleeding anti-climax. Woke up late and prepared the short-story, dressed and left for school. Paper was "okay" as usual. But I discovered something in the process of answering it. Writing is feeling. When the words automatically pour you realize that you're living what you're writing although you've never been there yourself. This is probably absolutely priceless. The experience of writing. Reading these words I type now would probably mean nothing to anybody else, but saying this moves me, moves me so, that the only thing more important is the experience I'm describing. The writing. I did honestly almost cry with the girl. I was there; I lived those few months with her as she lost her mother and almost lost her whole family. I was there as she fell through to the pits of depression, as she decided to fly, and as she actually did, letting go, and accepting her loss. I lived that life with her, in one hour.

I was telling you my story, the most important thing that ever happened to me.

It was real.

And I want that fucking A.

I came out the hall feeling terrible, but as usual, all those dejected looking people inspired me to smile a bit and be happy and look forward to another day of being disappointed and fighting with my mum about useless shit.

Q: Do I get my hair ironed at the salon or do I let my mother do it at home?

The answer is obvious to me, unfortunately it's obvious to my mother as well, and our opinions differ. So we argue; I want to go to the salon and get it done there, because:

1. My iron is old
   
2. My iron is burnt
   
3. The clasp-thingy is missing
   
4. I don't have the time or patience to sit around while mum messes with my hair
   
5. I don't want my mother to do my hair because I'm pissed off with her for vague reasons during this time of my life
   
6. I know Amma will say no and I wanna do something she doesn't want me to do because I wanna piss her off cus it's unfair that I'm the only person pissed off these days
   

Amma wants to do it at home because:

1. It's cheaper
   
2. She likes playing with my hair
   
3. She doesn't have to wait with me at the salon which means she can go for her stupid 'woman-to-woman' meeting
   
4. She can control what I'm doing to my hair
   
5. I don't want to do it at home
   

A: I do it myself

This seems like something of a compromise, but that's the kind of deception mothers are paid to come up with. I don't get what I want, but she gets most of what she wants. Plus she didn't go for the stupid meeting

Q: What do we get the couple?

I wanna get the little feng-shui crystal balls that light up the whole house with this unearthly brilliance in the morning when they catch the sunrise. They're cute and they're happy and they come in these little boxes so wrapping (which inevitably falls to me) is easy.

Mum wants the stupid chimes cus they sound nice (like bleeding crickets early in the morning).

I have more reasons for getting what I want but mum gets what she wants because… well, because she's mum and she's annoying.

A: Chimes – which I have to box and wrap and listen to before they're boxed and wrapped – urgh!

Tomorrow is going to be hectic, and I'm already loving it. Most of the people I met today (upon realizing it was the last day of my A/Ls) asked me what I felt like. My prompt and honest reply was "busy". Right after the paper I had to go to the studio and confirm the bookings, the times etc.. and (yes!) there was something wrong with the arrangement and somebody had got the time wrong. This meant another million calls to people who weren't answering their phones because they're sick, because their phones are on silent mode, because they're driving, because they're having legal sex for the first time and because they just can't be bothered… but anyway I loved that… walking down the road, real fast with the phone on my ear, my tie flying off and my hair in a mess. Felt like I was in charge again. After that there were a million things to buy, last minute flower-arrangements to check, make-up tips to share and snotty remarks to make at my brother who wanted to know my plans for tomorrow.

Oh I am going to love the drama tomorrow. Mum's gonna have a heart attack every few hours and I am going to boss the whole bleeding party.

I am coming back to life, real hard.

Watch out!

;)

Oh LOL and I acquired a piece of interesting information (call it gossip if you like). Dear mister I-need-to-fuck-a-bitch-with-French-manicured-nails has been dumped. THAT is why he asked me out yesterday. That is probably why he asked me out again today. Rush Hour 3 – yippee!!! (urgh!) WHY do males in general not have the volume of brain-cells necessary to understand that when you hurt a girls' pride she's never gonna be the same after that? EVEN if you're really upset about the fact that your father just had a stroke (oh! Poor baby!)?

Oh I think I'm feeling good again…

Now to fuck with my hair and sleep, dreaming dreams of a hectic home-coming…

Sunday, August 26, 2007

So what I have a very important paper tomorrow? No better reason to waste the day on a mother-daughter shopping spree which pretty much achieved the purpose – not of emptying mums' purse but fixing the atmosphere between us. I actually told her about the funny phone call last night and managed to whine her into taking me to see an angel afflicted with diarrhoea. I think I'm going to be disappointed with my English grade. I really hope not, but I can't help thinking it's very possible. I am nowhere near finishing that short-story I'm supposed to have ready for tomorrow afternoon, although I've got a rough idea of the plot. I haven't seen a past-paper since about a month ago and I won't be surprised if I'm shocked at what I will have to confront tomorrow. I'm already disappointed with myself. I've not studied enough and I'm probably gonna fuck this up, the only paper that I really worked for and that I really wanna do well.

I'm going to allow myself to be diverted again, this time by my brother. He has acquired a funny sort-of twig. He picked it up somewhere in the jungle behind our house and fashioned it so now it looks like one of those old-fashioned pistols which curve at the handle-bit. Mother-dear is vehemently against violence and so he has had to stop himself from giving into the urge to point it in my face and tell me to "surrender and take those absurd earrings off!"etc… the new entertainment is beating time with this twig-pistol on any severely vibrating surface (example: the dining table) which creates the most unpleasant sensation in the ears. Perfect when one suffers from tinnitus. Well, anyway this noise is seriously annoying and it's ruining my mood, which has been better today than the last few days.

So yes, to continue with the details of my (comparatively) wasted day:

• Wake up late
  
• Argue and read the papers over tea
  
• Refuse breakfast
  
• Set off shopping (end up baby-sitting)
  
• Get a hair-cut
  
• Encounter a retard – this actually happened 'cus my mother (having brought up two lunatics) failed to recognize the guy for the psycho he is. We're standing near the car waiting for mum to turn the key in the lock (because the stupid remote gadget thingy suddenly kinda hurled its' internal organs in various directions) and he comes and stands real close – I mean REAL close – to Amma and goes "primrose ekata yanne kohomada?". Now he looks about my age but speaks like he's half a century older, which is phoney but my mum doesn't think it's a good enough reason to quickly get in the car and rush off, so she proceeds to give him directions to the place. The guy smiles, says "thank you" and turns around and walks in the wrong direction. Amma tends to gesticulate a lot when she speaks, and this is very much more true when she's giving directions so now it's OBVIOUS that this guy is off his rocker, but SHE, being even more so calls him back and says "puthey, anik peththatai yanna oney!" so the guy smiles again and says "thank you" again and walks ten steps in the correct direction and just stands there looking at the other side of the road <sigh!>. Yes, another random event, but 'random' is my thing, so there.
  
• Get felt up a few times by homo-sexual police officers
  
• Try on a million-and-one pair of earrings
  
• Politely tell the ex-boyfriend that you don't wanna go out with him tonight because you have a paper tomorrow afternoon and you need an early night (and because he fucking fucked a goddamned bimbo that looks like something out of the Underworld in that Tim Burton cartoon!!!)
  
• Get another hair-cut
  
• Come home and try on the whole Tuesday do – jewellery, make-up included
  
• Read The Chronicles of Narnia
  
• Get random insults form your mother about the state of your freshly-shaped (after a century) eyebrows: "Oh my God! I just notice! You look like something out of a science-fiction movie child! WHAT did you do?!" "Here, let me fix that" "Aiyo! You look HORRIBLE!"
  
• Blog
  
• Enthusiastically (not) eat an excuse for bread-pudding which tastes of that acrid stuff they apply when doing the whole 're-bonding' thing
  

Today has been a relatively useless day (for the umpteenth time!) but I'm happy. I've been listening to a lot of Christmas music (it's WORK!!!) and I'm sure that helped. It's funny how the sound of bells or something kinda intoxicates you. Also crashing plastic cars one against the other and 'blowing them up' with a three-year-old who can't remember your name and calls you by your brothers' name (especially endearing when you're female and your brother is male) improves the generally low tolerance levels.

No wait, I just finished the cycle I think.

Oh and my mums' boyfriend called again.

=)

The Magicians’ Nephew

"The trouble about trying to make yourself stupider than you really are is that you often succeed"

C. S. Lewis

Some more complaints

1. I'm simply NOT having the saree of my dreams for Tuesdays' homecoming. Not even if I pay for it AND have somebody other than my mum make the jacket. Because it's criminal to spend so much money on a saree. (because my mums' boyfriend isn't talking to her)
   
2. I am NOT having my hair done for Tuesday because the only woman whom I will allow to put a scissor to my hair (apart from myself) is somewhere in Colombo with her cell-phone off and a blank calendar and you can't really say whether she'll be back in time, and I suppose you can't exactly find out either. (because my mums' boyfriend isn't talking to her)
   
3. I am NOT getting my teeth fixed before Tuesday because I can't remember the dentists' phone number and my mother just can't be bothered with telling me what it is, and because I shouldn't waste time going through the Directory scanning every Herath (because I have an exam on Monday) because I'm not wasting her money calling people at peak hours about my vanity because it's a Saturday and the dentist won't be working and because it's just stupid. (because my mums' boyfriend isn't talking to her)
   
4. I am NOT staying out late with Shez on Tuesday night because I'm being tied up, shoved in the fucking dinky car and hauled off to a remote town in the middle of nowhere called 'Eheliyagoda'. (because my mums' boyfriend isn't talking to her).
   
5. I am NOT not going to Eheliyagoda and staying alone in Kandy because the maid won't be here since she needs to go home, and I just can't stay alone and because I'm being tied up, shoved in the fucking dinky car and hauled off to a remote town in the middle of nowhere called 'Eheliyagoda'. (because my mums' boyfriend isn't talking to her).
   
6. I am NOT staying at Shezs' place while the rest of the household the travels various other parts of the country because it's not nice to burden them like that for three days straight and because the maid won't be here since she needs to go home, and I just can't stay alone and because I'm being tied up, shoved in the fucking dinky car and hauled off to a remote town in the middle of nowhere called 'Eheliyagoda'. (because my mums' boyfriend isn't talking to her).
   
7. I am not singing for the wedding on the 1^st with the choir I helped found at their first official appointment because I'm not staying at Shezs' place while the rest of the household travels various other parts of the country because it's not nice to burden them like that for three days straight and because the maid won't be here since she needs to go home, and I just can't stay alone and because I'm being tied up, shoved in the fucking dinky car and hauled off to a remote town in the middle of nowhere called 'Eheliyagoda'. (because my mums' boyfriend isn't talking to her).
   
8. I am NOT living my life because my mum fancies that I don't live my life. (because my mums' boyfriend isn't talking to her)
   

Oh gosh! I just realized something. My mums' boyfriend isn't talking to her!

<urgh!>

Some Complaints

 

I just woke up. Sleep still clings to my skin and drips from my eyes… its freezing and my mums gonna kill me if she sees me at the computer. But I have to have to say something that happened last night. I got a phone call. From one of those angelic people I wake up thinking about that I mentioned yesterday. She said "Nam, are you like, busy or something?" and I said "No ma, what's up?" and she started crying. And she cried and she cried and she cried so hard it scared me. I thought she went out with somebody she shouldn't have gone out with. It scared me. But she was crying, and that was all that was important. What made her cry was not important, and what I was gonna say was not important. What was important was the fact that she was crying like I hadn't heard her cry since fifth grade, and she was letting it out. After recovering from the initial heartache of listening to her I ventured to ask what was wrong. It was worse than I thought.

This would not be her definition of it, but I think what was wrong was the fact that half this frigging world is so damned ignorant. Let's call her K.

1. K's mum has problems with the sister-in-law. And/or vice-versa.
   

   Now when adults have problems they need to keep them to themselves, and not get the children involved. When did anyone with a milligram of caring sit her niece down and tell her how horrible her mother is? When did a grown woman – and a mother at that – begin to think it within her decency to tell a nineteen-year-old girl that her mother is a conniving bitch who stole from her husband and her husbands' family and just did 'whatever' with that money? When did a normal human being tell a daughter that her mother kept the other children hungry? When did anyone with a brain think it was diplomatic to say "you don't have to pick"? When in fucking hell did you bitch on a kid's mother with her and expect support?
   

   I think this aunt is fucking crazy and I need to bitch on her, and that's all I'm doing cus K won't because…
   

2. K lives to make others happy.
   

   Does nobody realize that happiness is not given as a gift but simply generated? And what's the deal with keeping bitches and fucking do-good-ists happy? It's not possible to keep that type happy and if you're trying lemme tell you – it's a waste of time. So your aunt baby-sat you when you were tiny. So she kept you in her bleeding mansion during high-school and let you use the pool and the garden club and whatever else was there to entertain your friends. So fucking WHAT if she kept telling you your family was not right and your dad was this and your mum was that and you were the offspring of 'bad' people? Of course, she's doing all this out of the goodness of her heart and it had nothing, NOTHING to do with feeling good about herself. I'm sure.
   

   One thing though, this aunt has understood one of the fundamental laws of life – in the end it's just you for yourself and only you. Alone. So making other people happy gets you nowhere unless you're happy yourself. It's just so goddamned obvious, how come the rest of the world isn't as smart as me to realize this? Because…
   

3. Some people study the wrong things.
   

   What's the deal with being a doctor or an engineer? What's the deal with Science and Law? Its sad how the world we live in is still so trapped in its' mediocre ideas of 'education'. I still get looks when people hear about what I do and plan to do. If I wanna just bleed my fingers on the piano and sing my heart out for a cause and remain a broke-ass kid for the rest of my life, it's my deal isn't it? I don't wanna be a doctor "like my mother" because I got the inside dig and she's not happy. I don't wanna be a lawyer because I can't give my kids law. Fuck the law. I was made to break it. I wanna give my kids music; I wanna give the whole world music. The real stuff that makes your insides bubble, just like that. K wants to give the world her peace. She wants to talk. Because talking and letting things out helps sort out the problems and she wants to sort out the problems. The big ones. Like war and peace. (Yeah, peace is a problem but we'll talk about that later.) So what she'll not make as much money as she would if she went to med school? She'd still be happy. Cus she's doing something that helps her to achieve a goal she believes is worth it.
   

   You got to believe in what you do man, that's how you get rich. That's how you get happy. Why can't grown 'mature' adults understand this? Because…
   

   Oscar Wilde knew it when he said:
   

   "I am not young enough to know everything"
   

   
    

   I don't know what I'm trying to say. All I know is that K's mum is one of the most amazing women I know, and some fucking aunt with a brain the size of a peanut (or no brain at all) is just not worth getting upset over. Especially since she's got a brain the size of a peanut. And the laws of life should not allow people with a brain the size of a peanut to make the most amazing people on earth cry like my angel did yesterday.
   

   Oh fuck the world again!
   

   Bleeding short-story to write also…

Cheers when you’re low

The million worst things that could happen to you. Ever.

1. Your mum (after telling you she doesn't mind splurging once in a while) refuses to buy you that magenta/fuscia – turquoise sequin adorned saree you've been dreaming about for roughly the past century because "Child, I am NOT going to spend so much on a bleeding saree you're going to wear once!"
   
2. You take two kids to the store opposite the street and it turns out their tyrannical mum doesn't know they've left the one you were in earlier, PLUS they've never ever crossed the street before – ever. Although they've been alive and WALKING for the past ten years or so. And so the tyrant wrings their ears right there on the street while you look on guiltily and hopelessly and your mum gives you the look. Fuck the haters smirking from across the street.
   
3. You run out of precious credit on your phone, and REMAIN so for the next few days because some sucker who is on a different network has decided that you're a nice one to bug with nuisance calls (possibly 'cus 'patta kunuharapa' from a pink-ass teenage female is entertaining? Shit!).
   
4. Your twin soul has invited her friend (aka The Bitch – who is not YOUR friend) to her house and leaves for town just before The Bitch arrives. So The Bitch calls you up (one instance you DEEPLY regret living close to your best mates' place) and says "hey! I'm at Shezs' and she's not here! What do I do??" and you, have no choice but to go over and entertain her with fake-ass small-talk for the next hour or so although you can't fucking stand her guts OR the sight of her (especially after that FREAKY short hair-do that makes her look like she's got a stick of candy-floss glued to her head).
   
5. You go to a family friends' place 'cus they've got a son who's like HAWT and a sophomore (who is being PAID to study!) at Harvard to discover that your mum's REALLY interested in the warped bio-physic he studies at college. No possibility of that cosy chat you were hoping for.
   
6. You are the Sudoku champ but you fuck up that simple puzzle they set for the fucking 'Common General Test'. Your friend who's never seen one before gets the damned thing right.
   
7. You find a person to blame everything on and then realize that person doesn't really exist.
   
8. You're have a long-awaited terribly-missed conversation with your psycho-sister about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named only to discover you're STILL not over that other bastard who looked like he was made of matchsticks and couldn't fuck a tree (although he did you pretty good) and was DEFINITELY NOT GOOD ENOUGH FOR YOU AND FUCKED ANOTHER BITCH (who looks like something from a 'save the starving Ethiopians' advert) BEHIND HIS FUCKING DESK AT OFFICE!!! Plus the guy you liked soon after that episode (the one who didn't know you existed) is STILL SO HAWT!
   

   *faint!
   

9. That disproportionately divided half of you leaves on a train bound for Colombo while you stand on the platform and half-heartedly stare 'cus, although she's coming back in two days, that's a hellova long time to be semi-existent…
   

Which brings me to the woman herself. It's something I've been thinking about lately, how amazing real friendship can really be. I've known her just a coupla years but some things we've been through together, I know will keep us this way for ever. It was difficult not to stand protectively behind her as she stood on that platform waiting for the train. It was difficult not to tell her a million things she already knew about her safety. It was difficult not to tell her that maybe she should take the gold chain off and put it on when she's safely in her aunts' car. It was difficult not to walk slowly behind her as she went up to the right carriage. It was difficult to watch her confront the guy who was sitting where she should be, and not go punch the suckers' face in. It was difficult to smile and wave as the train slowly pulled out. The hardest part was turning around and walking back to the vehicle and going home. She's no child of mine, she's just two months younger, but it's difficult not to think she needs my protection and it's difficult not to need to protect her.

It's good to wake up in the morning and think of a few people that mean the world to you and know for sure that they wake up thinking of you. It's great when you're feeling bad and you need a hug and they know before you have to tell them so. It's just elating when you can say "I love you" and they say "I love you too" and you can see in their eyes that they mean it. The best part is that there's nothing more to it.

Its funny how I always took this for granted, never realized that it wasn't a common thing but something special God gave me. Switching schools and good friends moving out and moving back in has made me realize how many people out there don't really have real friends. The type you can cry on and use their t-shirt to blow your nose, the type you can spit on and scratch 'til they bleed just to vent your anger. The type that's the earth you stand on, the sun that lights your way, the wind that blows in your face, the blanket you wrap around yourself in the cold and the water you stop to drink when you're tired.

I have this, and when I remember, I am happy.

Not complaining yet

I don't know why it has to be a headache that always inspires me, but that's the way it is. So here I am, venting my anger and frustration at the pathetic state of my existence on another stupid blog which will last about a week or as long as this phase does. Last night I slept as soundly as I did all of last week, which is not really much to be thankful for, unless one considers the fact that staring at ones ceiling until dawn slowly gropes her way into your room through the cracks in the curtains keeps the nightmares away. I had been having a terrible week, and last night seemed like the climax (until today happened) which meant that every bleeding thought that entered my mind was negative negative negative. This left me angry (with myself, the rest of humanity, all of Creation and the Creator Himself), frustrated (because I was angry with myself, the rest of humanity, all of Creation and the Creator Himself) and fatigued (for some reason I can't comprehend). Anyone with half a brain will tell you that this is not the perfect recipe for a good nights' rest but the exact opposite. Thus, the headache.

Now, this headache, I think, is generated from a point right behind my right eye. It's not exactly pain, but feels more like a bubble inside the eye is slowly expanding, and the pressure forces the brain against the skull, and that lets me feel my heartbeat – in my head. It is constant. It has been here since I (didn't wake up and) got out of bed in the morning, it has enhanced the irrationality of my mothers' arguments over coffee about expenses and my presence (or absence) at home, and it accompanied me through the streets in the afternoon, on a most fruitless trip.

[I must at this point let myself get sidetracked by something I just remembered. My brother-in-law will attend my brothers' wedding in a few days, and he must have nice clothes to wear at the occasion. Now he already has the nice clothes, but he needs to have them dry-cleaned, and of course, I have to be the one to go to the launderers' and get the shit done. The place is very neat and they've got white marble tiles on the floor and this huge lobby-like place with white (very classy) couches where one waits 'til ones' garments are brought out, BUT the man and the two girls at the counter are deranged. I walk though the glass doors (the place has this aura which makes one NEED to do the catwalk and the total 'attitude' act), give the guy the receipt and look away like "yeah, hurry up; I've got better things to do than stand here so you can stare". The guy stares at me for a bit (I don't really think it had anything to do with the violet-indigo-blue-green-yellow-orange-red scarf I was wearing around my head) and then hands the receipt to the girl. The girl walks off to this little glass-walled room at the back and says something to the guy inside who stops what he's doing (ironing a very expensive-looking suit) to pull out a three-piece suit (my brother-in-laws') from the closet behind him. Now I'm feeling good 'cus I've got something done today – the suit is ready – until I realize that the guy pulled it out to start ironing it, which, the girl returns to tell me, will take about another half-hour. Urgh! So I start walking out (with the same total catwalk thing) and then realize that the bloody receipt says that the suit should have been ready yesterday. So I turn around (Prince Charming copies Cameron Diaz hair fan) and proceed to initiate a conversation with the guy behind the counter, which goes a little like this:

"what's the date?"

"sorry miss?"

"the date today"

"Thursday"

"no the date"

"(brahaspathinda kiyanne Thursday ne!?) Thursday"

"no the DATE!"

"ah! Twenty-third"

"yeah, and this receipt says the job shoulda been done for yesterday?"

"yes madam, but you did not come to collect it"

WTF???????????????????

Okay that was terribly random and not such a bad thing, but I was pissed off you see, I needed to pretend something went wrong today. Plus I needed to prove that there are stupider and 'insaner' people than me – although how far I was successful I must leave someone else to judge – Getting back to whatever nonsense I was talking earlier…]

The headache. It was with my while I got soaked in the rain, it was with me when the freaking three-wheeler broke down IN the rain, it was with me as I sat in my room at three o'clock in the freaking afternoon waiting for lunch and it did not leave even when I got my meal. Oats by the way (?!). By this time the ringing in my ears had also set in and I was settled with having a terrible day. And…

You know what? I think I'll just say I had a terrible day and just leave it at that, because I have to get up at eight o'clock in the fucking morning tomorrow to start writing a short story which I have to complete for Monday morning. Monday morning and I haven't even started thinking about it…

I just wanted to say "Fuck the World!"