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!
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:
Amma wants to do it at home because:
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…
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:
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 trouble about trying to make yourself stupider than you really are is that you often succeed"
C. S. Lewis
Oh gosh! I just realized something. My mums' boyfriend isn't talking to her!
<urgh!>
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.
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…
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…
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…
The million worst things that could happen to you. Ever.
*faint!
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.
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!"