“For thou art my rock and my fortress”

For as long as I can remember I’ve needed someone to depend on. Someone to save me. Tell me that its going to be okay when I know deep down that it won’t.

Pathetic people like me rely on people to save them. Sometimes it’s your family or your friends. But if you’re really lonely, someone on the street can save you too. (I’ve read enough chicken soup to justify that)

Superficial people rely on expensive shoes and clothes. Every purchase gives them hope that it might fill that deep hole in their lives. I love that saying, “I know my life will be all right, if I find the perfect outfit”. So it’s an unending cycle of consumerism and materialism. Dior to Balenciaga, liposuction to butt implants, Lamborghinis to private jets; everything goes!

Knowledgeable people rely on wisdom. They learn, they teach, they read, until they have no time to think about the unending misery of their lives. You’ll see them get Ph.ds in neurophysioplathyetics. They’ll immerse themselves in their jobs. Their career ladder reaches the skies. There is no end to their self-actualisation.

Religious people rely on prophets and messiahs to save them. If they can say the right prayer, act the right ritual, God will instruct any monster to back off. They hope that they will be like God’s Jonah, vomited onto dry land after being in the stomach of a fish.

We constantly look for a rock of our habitation. A way to move beyond the winter of our discontent. And in the end, someone or something always needs to be crucified for each one of us to be saved.
What is this absolute need to be saved?
Maybe it’s the absolute powerlessness we feel in situations. As much as we try, from tornados to death, humans can’t change, stop, prevent create or even predict anything.
Even the proudest amongst us will have to recognise that we have no control of our ultimate destiny.

So with no control, why do we spend hours fretting and worrying? Do we all realise that our salvation isn’t infallible.

I live in constant fear that one day that my salvation plan will run out. Family will die, friends will lose touch. And if I do find that right outfit what if it still doesn’t save me? What if I reach the last step of my career ladder and there’s no where else to go but down. What if my prayers were not good enough or my rituals too stoic?

I’d love to know what’s your salvation plan is and who or what is saving you tonight? Maybe, it will help me save myself!

A letter to myself

Dear me-when-I-was-nineteen,

Stop wearing so much makeup. You look ten years older than you really are. Stop making yourself sick over those love handles. They’ll disappear. Talk to people. Some of them are really nice. Stop feeling misunderstood. That constant sad look on your face is depressing it breeds more sadness and contempt. Stop lying to your parents about everything. Anything that you have to lie for is not going to be worth it in a few years. 

Lying in the college corridor reading Stephen kings and listening to Sinead o Conner is something your going to miss all your life. The stupid and meaningful stuff you read today will help you write better 5 years from now. Show your literature teacher your personal essays.You might not know it but you’re smart and funny. So stop with all your insecurities.   

You shouldn’t have destroyed your immature writing. Some of it was really good. Don’t feel bad for talking back to your psyche teacher. She was a bitch and deserved it. You will see her in the future and you will still have the urge to spit on her. But you’ll change into a goody two shoes, hold back everything, conventional and conservative almost religious person. You’ll say hello to her like she did you no wrong. Hard to believe huh? 

You’ll also stop singing like a crow and dancing like a leper when you’re happy. You’ll keep your emotions in check all the time. Your parents will never like you as much as your sisters so stop trying to please them so much. You will get over him. I know it seems impossible today. But it will happen. I promise. It doesn’t mean you won’t think of him once in a while but in a less wistful way. They’ll be plenty of boys that will feature in your life in small and insignificant ways. You won’t care about any of them. You’ll get to dump all of them. HA!

You’ll get to write. You’ll be published. Not so much of your creative stuff. But a writing career is something you only dreamed of. You’ll be thin. Not as thin as you would like to be but thin none the less. You wont grow taller, im afraid. You’ll find yourself the greatest pet in the world. You’ll eventually afford some brands. You’ll travel quite a bit. You’ll find a best friend who will make everything all right for you. Regardless of how complex the situation is. 

Oh yea wax don’t shave! Thread don’t pluck! Oil that dry hair and freaking moisturize! Cap sleeves are not your friend. Leggings and Skinny jeans will be back so be very very afraid. You’ll live through an almost plane crash. But it wouldn’t be as scary as that nightmare vicky B haircut you’ll get.

Listen to music. Good music. It spurs your creativity. Write. Write. Write. Good…Bad…everything…stop judging yourself…you have enough people in your life doing that already. Don’t rethink. You’ll get to redo anyway. Prove people wrong. Wear high heels. Walk it fierce! Wear bright red lipstick. FLIRT for god’s sake! Have fun. 

Take chances. Love yourself. Let go. SCREAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAM
If you haven’t guessed it already YOURE FABULOUS. And if you don’t take care of your fabulousity itll be gone before you know it and you’ll be left writing another woulda coulda shoula letter to yourself.


Toodles. (Say stupid stuff like that)

Me at 24


 

Stop and stare

Have you ever had a moment with someone?

When words become meaningless.

Gestures insignificant.

All you have from the other person is ‘one’ look.

And in that one look

Heaps of history is unfolded.

Love expressed.

Forgiveness given.

Regret displayed.

Wounds healed.

I’m a firm believer of ‘the moment’.

Words always defy.

Gestures can be mimicked.

But you can never fake that life-defining moment.

Maybe the moment is nothing but a deluded prophecy

Maybe the moment is mere fantasy.

Just a way to satisfy the id.

………………………..

I’ve been getting the feeling
that some of my moments never existed.

And sometimes
I want to run up to some people and scream “YOU HAD A MOMENT WITH ME!!!! Or was it all in my head?”

But that’s the funny part.

You have nothing to show for it.

Nothing to prove it by.

And so it’ll remain

Nothing but a fleeting moment.

Blue Blue Sky

I think there’s a time when you realize you are ordinary.

When you fall on your face from your rooftop and realize your not superman.

When you look in the mirror and see those wrinkles.

When your art is nothing but random scrawling on a canvas.

When your writing fails to move you.

When your jokes become stale

When conversation runs dry.

When you realize you’re nothing but part of an endless blue blue sky.

When greatness is galaxies away.

When you realize you are

Ordinary!

One jeans and a man on top please!

I’ve spent a lifetime searching. Searching for the perfect jeans and the perfect man. Believe me they’re just as important. The jeans/man that makes you feel beautiful despite all your flaws and gives you a reason to shake that booty. You’d be surprised they both don’t come easy. Believe me I’ve tried. Countless stores, parties and sometimes on the internet too (Internet shopping not dating)

With jeans they’re either too loose or too tight. With men you either find a drunk lunatic grabbing your friend’s ass when he thinks you’re not looking or a guy who takes you to a bible study on your first date.

And if they fit right then they’re too long or too short. You can get them altered, dyed and hemmed but they’ll never look perfect. They’ll always remind you of their imperfections. Ditto that for men.

I’ve gone so far off the limb that I’ve spent my whole paycheck on one of those expensive diamond studded jeans. They look perfect almost but you keep wondering if you really belong in them. Like, they’re just not your style.

With cheaper flea market versions, no matter what you do, how hard you try they’ll never hit exactly where your heels start and magically tuck in your fabulous 50 pound tush in some magic pocket!

And sometimes you buy a pair that feels just right for a day or two. But just when you swallow a jelly doughnut with a crème center you feel it coming. You know you’ve landed the scariest of them all jeans- the muffintop jeans. The ones that won’t let you free, that’ll bind you forever, tie you up in ropes, follow you around like a stalker jeans.

And then they’re mirages and decoys. They lead you on and lure you in, make you believe, make your heart skip a beat. But once you’ve tried them on and god forbid brought them home you always find out that they just weren’t right!

But when all else fails you go back to your old trusty pair which is slightly tattered, slightly torn slightly faded slightly old from all that waiting and slightly pissed that you keep looking around for the perfect jeans. In their opinion (my jeans are called earl and I have an ability to talk to inanimate objects) the perfect jeans don’t exist, never did and never will.

What do you do? Do you finally let your trusty pair sneak up on you and become your favorite jeans if not perfect? Or do you keep searchin...searching for that lost cause!

So help me circle the correct option! Should I buy into the:

a) Perfect Size 2 jeans with the right color size fit and makes you look like heidi klum

b) the trusty old pair which accepts your unshaved legs and your not-so-cute dimples!

c) the scary spill all over muffintops!

bleaching my WHAT?!

Just today a friend of mine informed me about a new very popular salon practice “bleaching your vagina”. YES MULTIPLY YOUR EXPRESSION A THOUSAND TIMES AND YOU CAN BEGIN TO IMAGINE MINE. Women in California have started getting their vaginas scrubbed and bleached. You ask why, “because men like women blond down there.”

I mean, are these women for real? How far would you go to please a man? What happened to being yourself? Aging gracefully? Are we heading towards an age where we all will be botoxed, knifed, bleached to every inch of our body? Do we seek approval that bad? Do we all want to look like porn stars with blond pussies?

If you don’t believe me, check

http://www.pinkcheeks.com/analbleach.html

YES! They offer that too!

Oooh baby babyy its a fat world!

Every time I need some inspiration I climb up on my old roof with my five year old German sheep dog in tow. He races me to the stairs and head butts all the way till we get upstairs. He adores this place as much as I do. Amongst all the old tattered boxes of clothes and furniture, in-between the remains of dead birds and the gunk floor we both can just be ourselves. He runs around freely and pees at every corner, barks at anything that moves and sniffs every nook and cranny. Me, I grab onto my old letter pad and write my heart out. It’s usually dark when we go there and I can only see my pen moving and the paper crustling. When I return usually an hour or two later I have in my own twisted mind a masterpiece. I look at the roughly written words and almost think of myself as a crazy scientist who has just discovered ummm something. 

So today while I was lying on the floor of the dirty roof watching my dog eat the remains of some old bird, I realized something.

I hate other people eating.

And especially if I think they’re overweight.

And I don’t mean just my dog eating.

No..Noo..nOoo

I’m the friend who will raise an eyebrow when you upsize your meal.

I’m the sister who will tell you the exact time if you god forbid eat after 11pm.

I will clear my throat if you ask for another serving.

Don’t be so quick to judge.

I’m neither an anorexic nor a bulimic.

I just think that I’m the savior of all fat people.



You can very well imagine the stuff I’ve been told because of this annoying habit.

FOOD HATER! FOODANAZI! THE FOOD POLICE! Junk Buster!

But frankly…I don’t know how to fix this problem.

And I usually mean it in a good way.

But of course no one understands it.

My sisters have gone so far as to avoid me while eating.

They’d lock up their rooms and eat eat eat. I’d knock on their rooms and scream ITS 11:33 PM.

Maybe it’s the fact that all my life I’ve had control over one thing in my life.

How much I eat or how little I eat.

So I take this control very seriously.

So for me to see someone have 5 glasses of coke or 10 pieces of chicken wings or an upsized meal makes me wonder how someone can be so okay with having no control at all!

Leave comments people :)