Some lovely readers with high morals have found my blog offensive and non-conducive for a PG audience. I don’t know if I should be offended and angry or pleased by the fact that someone is actually reading this. To all moralists out there, well I am who I am and will not apologize for my actions or beliefs. At the end of the day I’m the only one that has to live with my self. Yes those in the general do figure out into this equation, however since no one really knows about my deep, dark and yes dirty secrets they are protected and shielded away from this aspect of my identity. At the end of the day if I can get a good nights sleep without the burden of my actions churning away in my head giving me bouts of insomnia, I’m safe from the burdens of my conscience.
I’ve been meaning to write for the last few days, but to be honest I’ve been too depressed to express my feelings into words, when I’ve not been depressed I’ve been too lethargic to type. I’m not a sex-crazy maniac, I have a normal life, I have a family that I adore, I have a job that I love and I have friends that I care about. I want a normal life with normal things. Normality eludes me time and again. Just like any 20 something I desperately want the joys and comforts of a strong, stable relationship. I want a kind, understanding man to come home to at the end of the day. A man that will hear me bitch about my work day, who will understand my frustrations as an artist, a man who will be my accomplice in my hunger for the unknown, a man who will share my passion for adventure and life. Unfortunately, I haven’t men the man who will be all these things and then make passionate love to me when I’m done expressing myself and run out of words. What am I to do until I meet Mr. Right? Is it not okay to be temporarily satisfied with Mr. Right Now who meets at least one or two of the above criterion until my prince charming prances into my life with much pomp and fanfare?
I’ve made my peace with T. I have realized that just because you meet someone that you share a lot in common with, doesn’t mean that they are necessarily right for you. What is it then that makes the perfect relationship? Is there even something called the perfect relationship? Should I be satisfied with something that gratifies me to a certain degree and compromise on the rest? Does anyone really know what is the perfect recipe to avert a relationship disaster? I certainly don’t have the answers to these things.
For all my pessimism and screw-up’s in life, within the core of my being, shielded and protected from the world lies a pure optimist. I know that I have the infinite capacity to love, care and forgive and I know that one day I will meet that person who will recognize my potential to love and will be a willing accomplice to step into my eccentric existence. In the mean time I shall keep my fingers crossed and keep my eyes open.
What I was really hoping for when I crawled into T’s sheets was the chance at a meaningful relationship. Will he ever find out about this now that he has so unceremoniously dumped me? Never. What he did find out while we sipped chai on the oceanfront was that he is exactly the kind of man that I don’t need in my life right now. He was actually quiet taken aback and somewhat offended by my bold statement and I was actually very glad about it.
There was no begging and pleading, no false desperate claims of “ Oh honey, I think we can actually make this work, please, please don’t leave me.”
I stood strong and proud, he looked a tad bit disgruntled and taken aback. I mustered all my dignity and proudly stated that what I wished for more than anything else is to restore the equilibrium and balance in my life that he so ceremoniously took away. In order to do that, I didn’t need to see him for a long, long time. One day we might even be friends, but right now I needed to be far away. Then I walked away, sad but relieved. I had made my peace with T.
Yes there were a lot more words exchanged, lame attempts at justifying ones horrid behavior. “ Gosh, I’m so emotionally messed up.” Isn’t a good enough excuse to play with people’s feelings. Sex complicates everything, whether one would like to admit it or not. I’m not one of those people that can have meaningless, sexual relationships with one or multiple people. I’m not cut out of that rock and honestly I’m not. Yes, I’m a liberated, independent woman that is truly and utterly proud of who I am and what I stand for, yet at the end of the day past my views and beliefs lies a thinking, feeling, breathing, hurting sentimentalist. She is just as important part of me as the rest of me. This sentimentalist empathizes with her friends 20 something life troubles and her mothers woes at getting old. She feels sad when she looks at the half-naked child on the street corner begging for some spare change and wishes desperately to do more to make the world a more tolerable and fair place. The thinking, feeling creature that nests within me makes me more human and I hope wish and pray with all my heart that she never leaves me.
This sentimental being within me also assures me that no matter how many times life of people fail me, or I fail it and them there will always be a chance to make something wonderful in the future. This undying hope that I have in humanity makes me give people a chance time and again. I will never stop believing in this tiniest capacity for good that each and every one of us possesses. In this ugly, ugly, cruel world these small acts of humanity that remain unknown to the world at large that make miracles. And I for one believe in miracles.
I don’t believe in permanence, I don’t believe in anything forever. Everything changes, it’s ought too and it will. It’s nature’s law. What I do believe in is making the most of the temporary state that I am in. One-night stands don’t figure into this equation. I rather be no stand than a one-night stand in anyone’s life. I am better than that.
I’m not mad at T for his deception that would be giving him more importance than what he deserves. What I am really annoyed at is my own lack of judgment and the emotional aftermath of it all. This post is striking the nail in the coffin. This is the final, written closure to a sour experience.
In five years, he will be just another chapter in my book and I hopefully at a healthier, happier place.
Saturday, January 26, 2008
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Tuesday afternoon blues...
I have been going back and reading my last few posts. I’m shallow, I’m vain, I need constant attention and I need constant affirmation. I do not feel very apologetic about it.
When I’m not dating or sleeping with someone my hormones go through the roof and I start fantasizing about random men that I see and interact with on a daily basis. No one is spared from the dark, sensual, seductive fantasies that stem from the deepest recesses of my imagination. Not the cab driver, not the bus conductor, not the cute fruit vendor, not my friend’s husband, no one.
But I guess this is the good thing about fantasies they are what they are, a purely fictional element of my overactive imagination. I am too lame and boring in real life to actually legitimately attempt to make them come true. In fact I rather write about them, nurture them in my mind and use them as weapons of self-amusement in times of great boredom and monotony.
It seems like I have an extremely colorful life of numerous romps in various sacks around the globe. Well I do, at least in a way. But these brief periods of great sexual excitation and exploration are marred by long periods of inactivity. The clock keeps ticking, days, weeks; sometimes almost months go by where almost nothing happens. If I were motivated enough to make changes to my existing identity, I would most definitely give my self a middle name. I think inertia would be a befitting mid-identity.
I truly, whole-heartedly believe that the universe has a way of working in mysterious ways. I am also of the belief that I should leave it to its own devices and not disturb its fragile balance my adding my two cents. So where as others go seeking for what they truly desire or think they truly desire, I sit here in my chair and let “It” happen to me. This is of course if fate is all permitting. Some might call me lazy, complacent or even cowardly (yes, I’m a little bit of each) but I would like to think of myself as patient. It has been my experience that life surprises you the most when you least want or expect it. Whether this “surprise” is good or bad is completely secondary.
My “let life surprise me attitude” has begotten many, many random and absurd adventures my way which, have made life ever so amusing. I have often let golden opportunities of work; love and artistic expression go by, but not without learning a valuable lesson from my momentary inadequacies. I am still yet to master the art of wisely implementing these morals into practice. They say well begun is half done; I started a long time a good and hopefully will eventually get there. Where’s there? Good question, when I know the answer I will let everyone know.
“Give the boy a break!” my head keeps repeating over and over again! A lot can happen in a week. Countries get bombed, floods, earthquakes and raging fires destroy miles and miles of civilization, people get busy. The unforeseen events of ones life makes one inaccessible those around them. You are never really a priority, priorities takes time to develop, you are merely a weekend distraction that is shoved to the bottom of the pile to make room for things much, much more important. You resurface when the time to indulge in celebratory pleasure, at the accomplishment of ones priority occurs. Almost understand it. I have given up the opportunity to copulate for matters more pressing such an assignment that needed much immediate attention or simply because I felt like being alone. With life’s intricate complexities that offer both immense joy and sorrow both unexpectedly and fleetingly who has the time to make regulated intimacy a priority? I know for a fact that I avoid it at most times.
I can’t blame T for being away; I cannot burden him with the weight of my unknown expectations. I’m not all that sad anymore, neither am I dejected. Life threw T my way when I least expected it. If it is fates desire it end it at that roundevu', then who am I to intervene? I only wish that I was still getting laid.
When I’m not dating or sleeping with someone my hormones go through the roof and I start fantasizing about random men that I see and interact with on a daily basis. No one is spared from the dark, sensual, seductive fantasies that stem from the deepest recesses of my imagination. Not the cab driver, not the bus conductor, not the cute fruit vendor, not my friend’s husband, no one.
But I guess this is the good thing about fantasies they are what they are, a purely fictional element of my overactive imagination. I am too lame and boring in real life to actually legitimately attempt to make them come true. In fact I rather write about them, nurture them in my mind and use them as weapons of self-amusement in times of great boredom and monotony.
It seems like I have an extremely colorful life of numerous romps in various sacks around the globe. Well I do, at least in a way. But these brief periods of great sexual excitation and exploration are marred by long periods of inactivity. The clock keeps ticking, days, weeks; sometimes almost months go by where almost nothing happens. If I were motivated enough to make changes to my existing identity, I would most definitely give my self a middle name. I think inertia would be a befitting mid-identity.
I truly, whole-heartedly believe that the universe has a way of working in mysterious ways. I am also of the belief that I should leave it to its own devices and not disturb its fragile balance my adding my two cents. So where as others go seeking for what they truly desire or think they truly desire, I sit here in my chair and let “It” happen to me. This is of course if fate is all permitting. Some might call me lazy, complacent or even cowardly (yes, I’m a little bit of each) but I would like to think of myself as patient. It has been my experience that life surprises you the most when you least want or expect it. Whether this “surprise” is good or bad is completely secondary.
My “let life surprise me attitude” has begotten many, many random and absurd adventures my way which, have made life ever so amusing. I have often let golden opportunities of work; love and artistic expression go by, but not without learning a valuable lesson from my momentary inadequacies. I am still yet to master the art of wisely implementing these morals into practice. They say well begun is half done; I started a long time a good and hopefully will eventually get there. Where’s there? Good question, when I know the answer I will let everyone know.
“Give the boy a break!” my head keeps repeating over and over again! A lot can happen in a week. Countries get bombed, floods, earthquakes and raging fires destroy miles and miles of civilization, people get busy. The unforeseen events of ones life makes one inaccessible those around them. You are never really a priority, priorities takes time to develop, you are merely a weekend distraction that is shoved to the bottom of the pile to make room for things much, much more important. You resurface when the time to indulge in celebratory pleasure, at the accomplishment of ones priority occurs. Almost understand it. I have given up the opportunity to copulate for matters more pressing such an assignment that needed much immediate attention or simply because I felt like being alone. With life’s intricate complexities that offer both immense joy and sorrow both unexpectedly and fleetingly who has the time to make regulated intimacy a priority? I know for a fact that I avoid it at most times.
I can’t blame T for being away; I cannot burden him with the weight of my unknown expectations. I’m not all that sad anymore, neither am I dejected. Life threw T my way when I least expected it. If it is fates desire it end it at that roundevu', then who am I to intervene? I only wish that I was still getting laid.
Sunday, January 20, 2008
And this is how the week begins....
Okay, so I’m back on the blogging track again. Brace yourself my non-existence readers for there will be a lot of late night confessionals and contemplations. So I’ve been really meaning to write all day, I swear! But just like how most things in my life have a strange way of not working out, this lack or space or time to write didn’t bother me all that much. Oh the joys of being apathetic. I grit my teeth as we speak. (Yes I am delusional enough to consider this as a conversation between my viewers and me.) I am trying to put all my energy into being articulate and witty at so late and hour, but fate has a way intervening in the form of useless conversation from my half-asleep mother.
Do I really have to show interest and care about the fact that my sister’s ex-boyfriend didn’t get into some fancy management-training program that he applied for?! Ex’s are meant to be loathed and ridiculed; every failure that comes along their way is meant to be a source of immense gratification and satisfaction for every self-respecting jilted woman. When did my baby sister grow up to have a mature adult friendship with her ex and why wasn’t I told about this?
Things haven’t changed a whole lot in the last two days, I’ve been stuck in a self imposed irritated funk that I stubbornly refuse to get out off. We’re all just a tad bit sad in an overwhelmingly sad world. Keeping the grand scheme of things in perspective, my problems seem almost miniscule and often contrived from the inner recesses of my imagination. If I didn’t have them, I wouldn’t be sitting here today happily farting away, without feeling self-conscious as I type these words.
Mama sleeps in the corner, I shudder as I write these words, and I would never want her to read about the things that I think, do or say. It would truly kill her. It would truly kill me to know that I was responsible for so hideous an act. But for now I’m safe. I try to keep the typing noise to a minimum and sneak glances in her direction to make sure that her eyes are away from the monitor.
I’m the poster child for mediocrity. I write, but I’ve never been published. I take pictures that draw appreciative exclamations from my friends, but my work has never been exhibited. I’ve made a few films, but have not won any major film festivals. I make enough money to never have to ask “adults” for any, but not enough to get my own place. I have no exceptional talents or skills and I’m not beautiful. I wonder about my place in the world and almost always draw a blank. In spite of all the odds against me, I have total faith in myself. It’s not my abilities that bolster my conviction time and again but my blind conviction in them.
Why do I say all this? Because I have some elaborate plans cooking in my head that I will execute in the near future. Why do I mention this now? Because something strange and exciting happen to me yesterday that I shall reveal later.
It suddenly hit me that I had relented to the charms of a raging womanizer. I’m quiet the idiot at the matters of the heart and bodily pleasure. I’m angry, irritated and sad. Do I feel used? Sure. Do I feel taken advantage of? Absolutely. Is this the only reason that I’ve been barking at people all day? No.
I’m ordinary looking, my hips are too wide, my hair is too frizzy and my face is momentarily covered with hideous acne. I avoid looking in the mirror lately as my reflection frightens me. I’m blind without my glasses and refuse to wear them to the guy in order to avoid interacting with myself in the glass house. No boy has given me a second glance in the last few months and matter is gravely upsetting. Naturally, I was extremely faltered when T showed some interest in me that night. Cerebral appeal can only get you so far and it’s almost always a waste if not supported by some killer looks. I wasn’t instantly attracted to him, I didn’t even notice him at first, there were one way too many people that night at the bar and he was just another friend’s friend. As the night progressed my intoxication grew and with it my heightened awareness of my surroundings. We gradually got talking and discovered we had a lot in common. Our passion for world cinema and literature bonded us that night. The evening was supposed to end predictably, I was to get drunker and pass out in my own bed at some obscure hour of the morning just before the sun shone. I did end up passing in my own bed but with a few extra additions to my cell phone book and remnants of the feel of R’s drunken kisses upon my lips. (R being my other suitor that night!)
We courted on facebook; we exchanged playful “pokes” and messages. I hesitated, he persisted, we met, we talked and we fucked. Sounds like the perfect ending to a 21st century fairytale. I’m not angry or guilty at the fact that I committed the preposterous act fornication. Neither am I angry at the fact that I didn’t wait long enough, didn’t play hard. I’m just angry at the fact that it all had to end so soon and so abruptly!
No self-respecting sexual active woman in her mid-20’s would like to think or know the fact that the man that she has slept with doesn’t desire enough to want to do it with her more than once. It’s an insult! It’s worst when you are much more experienced that most in the country and culture that you inhabit. (Hookers and call girls of course remain an exception.) I’m shy but somewhat adventurous, I’m open to suggestions, ideas and experimentation in due course of time. I need to be understood and nurtured, but most men that I meet are I guess incapable of that. I did dinner and desert with a friend tonight, he has generally been upset at the fact that hasn’t gotten laid in a long time. Many women have caught his fancy but he hasn’t managed to snag any. A told me that I should feel good that at least I got some as opposed to none. There grass is always greener on the other side I say. In my case you get on the other side and realize that there really is no grass all it is, is a mirage. Yes I suppose I’m glad that I “got some” what I’m really not so glad about is that the getting some had to end then and there. May be I should prepare my self to fathom the unthinkable.
I might just absolutely suck in bed.
(More reflections and contemplations on the unexpected events of Saturday night to come.)
Do I really have to show interest and care about the fact that my sister’s ex-boyfriend didn’t get into some fancy management-training program that he applied for?! Ex’s are meant to be loathed and ridiculed; every failure that comes along their way is meant to be a source of immense gratification and satisfaction for every self-respecting jilted woman. When did my baby sister grow up to have a mature adult friendship with her ex and why wasn’t I told about this?
Things haven’t changed a whole lot in the last two days, I’ve been stuck in a self imposed irritated funk that I stubbornly refuse to get out off. We’re all just a tad bit sad in an overwhelmingly sad world. Keeping the grand scheme of things in perspective, my problems seem almost miniscule and often contrived from the inner recesses of my imagination. If I didn’t have them, I wouldn’t be sitting here today happily farting away, without feeling self-conscious as I type these words.
Mama sleeps in the corner, I shudder as I write these words, and I would never want her to read about the things that I think, do or say. It would truly kill her. It would truly kill me to know that I was responsible for so hideous an act. But for now I’m safe. I try to keep the typing noise to a minimum and sneak glances in her direction to make sure that her eyes are away from the monitor.
I’m the poster child for mediocrity. I write, but I’ve never been published. I take pictures that draw appreciative exclamations from my friends, but my work has never been exhibited. I’ve made a few films, but have not won any major film festivals. I make enough money to never have to ask “adults” for any, but not enough to get my own place. I have no exceptional talents or skills and I’m not beautiful. I wonder about my place in the world and almost always draw a blank. In spite of all the odds against me, I have total faith in myself. It’s not my abilities that bolster my conviction time and again but my blind conviction in them.
Why do I say all this? Because I have some elaborate plans cooking in my head that I will execute in the near future. Why do I mention this now? Because something strange and exciting happen to me yesterday that I shall reveal later.
It suddenly hit me that I had relented to the charms of a raging womanizer. I’m quiet the idiot at the matters of the heart and bodily pleasure. I’m angry, irritated and sad. Do I feel used? Sure. Do I feel taken advantage of? Absolutely. Is this the only reason that I’ve been barking at people all day? No.
I’m ordinary looking, my hips are too wide, my hair is too frizzy and my face is momentarily covered with hideous acne. I avoid looking in the mirror lately as my reflection frightens me. I’m blind without my glasses and refuse to wear them to the guy in order to avoid interacting with myself in the glass house. No boy has given me a second glance in the last few months and matter is gravely upsetting. Naturally, I was extremely faltered when T showed some interest in me that night. Cerebral appeal can only get you so far and it’s almost always a waste if not supported by some killer looks. I wasn’t instantly attracted to him, I didn’t even notice him at first, there were one way too many people that night at the bar and he was just another friend’s friend. As the night progressed my intoxication grew and with it my heightened awareness of my surroundings. We gradually got talking and discovered we had a lot in common. Our passion for world cinema and literature bonded us that night. The evening was supposed to end predictably, I was to get drunker and pass out in my own bed at some obscure hour of the morning just before the sun shone. I did end up passing in my own bed but with a few extra additions to my cell phone book and remnants of the feel of R’s drunken kisses upon my lips. (R being my other suitor that night!)
We courted on facebook; we exchanged playful “pokes” and messages. I hesitated, he persisted, we met, we talked and we fucked. Sounds like the perfect ending to a 21st century fairytale. I’m not angry or guilty at the fact that I committed the preposterous act fornication. Neither am I angry at the fact that I didn’t wait long enough, didn’t play hard. I’m just angry at the fact that it all had to end so soon and so abruptly!
No self-respecting sexual active woman in her mid-20’s would like to think or know the fact that the man that she has slept with doesn’t desire enough to want to do it with her more than once. It’s an insult! It’s worst when you are much more experienced that most in the country and culture that you inhabit. (Hookers and call girls of course remain an exception.) I’m shy but somewhat adventurous, I’m open to suggestions, ideas and experimentation in due course of time. I need to be understood and nurtured, but most men that I meet are I guess incapable of that. I did dinner and desert with a friend tonight, he has generally been upset at the fact that hasn’t gotten laid in a long time. Many women have caught his fancy but he hasn’t managed to snag any. A told me that I should feel good that at least I got some as opposed to none. There grass is always greener on the other side I say. In my case you get on the other side and realize that there really is no grass all it is, is a mirage. Yes I suppose I’m glad that I “got some” what I’m really not so glad about is that the getting some had to end then and there. May be I should prepare my self to fathom the unthinkable.
I might just absolutely suck in bed.
(More reflections and contemplations on the unexpected events of Saturday night to come.)
Saturday, January 19, 2008
Twice repeated
Okay so I posted the last post twice, I'm an idiot. I also do not know how to mend my ways and don't really feel like looking into it at the moment either.
Sexual Curry
Okay, I admit I did fall off the wagon once again. Maybe I shouldn’t be, but I’m a lot more generous of my mistakes and follies now than I was in the past. After all who better to be kind, loving and generous to myself than me. So what was meant to be a momentary break in my reemergence in the blogsphere turned to be more than a week or so? Actually, I’ve lost track of time. I write these words in a tool that facilitates bad spellers and poor grammarians the opportunity to somewhat correctly express themselves in the rigid confines of the English language. All hail to technology and it’s ability to empower us in more ways than one.
This wasn’t supposed to be a sex/men/life bitch blog. But this is what it is going to be.
Why you ask me?
Because it is my mine and I can write whatever the hell I want!
Who reads it?
Probably someone without enough sensibility to know that I speak utter rubbish and that my “meaningful” insights in life really don’t mean a damn.
Why write it?
Catharsis, a place of self reflection and realization that for all the self-cultivated wisdom through life’s innumerable experiences we don’t really learn jack shit.
With age brings the much non-awaited memory loss, I gave in to my inadequacies of my failing memory and went back and re-read what I had last written about. Total hogwash, something about past lovers and bygone years and the profound lessons learnt from past relationships. I do believe that we are the product of our experiences and I shall go back and pick up that thread from the past at a later time. At the moment I wish to dwell on the here and the now. My latest past will dictate my present and consequently my future. As usual the year began on a cheerful, upbeat note. I should learn to be a little more cautious and guarded with renewed cheer that the dawn of each New Year brings and beat it into submission like I do for the rest of the year. My renewed cheer and zest for life was infectious and it reflected in my interactions with most. The normally grumpy, sad, cynical, pathetic me was no more and in her place stood the enthusiastic, cheerful, effervescent me. Exactly the way I had planned. The vivacious me was bound to attract unwanted male attention and how I reveled in it! Armed with a plethora of knowledge from self-help books and a steely determination to be noticed, I transformed myself from the strong but cynical heroine of a Jane Austin novel to the bubbling, romantic fool from a Disney classic.
I was determined to take Bombay by its horns and shake it to its core. All those months of self-doubt, loathing and self-criticism would evolve into refined package of confident sexiness fortified by my reemerging curves fuelled from a stringent workout schedule and dietary restriction. Champagne kisses and caviar dreams with hot, an eligible man was the next logical step. The right career move and a job that I was interested in made life almost perfect. The new me pitied the blighting old fool that stumbled every step along the way and dropped her pants for just about anyone remotely knowledgeable about Kafka or Kant.
Sadly, the idiot in me still exists and is nowhere close to being vanquished. The cool, calm seductress in me is yet to emerge partly. The me that will bask in the joys of sexual rapture and revel in the glory of sexual fulfillment am miles away. I thought I was almost there with Brian (I think that’s his name?) But that me only exists monetarily, enraptured in those minutes glorious sexual revelry aided by the body and minds natural reaction to another’s touch. Those hormones will only get you so far and almost always into trouble. Almost instantaneously the blighting, self-doubting fool returns unsure of how to react next. I told a boy once that if I sleep with you the first time I see you, I would never want to see you again. The sad part is, they want to never see me again either, and so the infamous one nightstand emerges as a sure winner. Am I so incapable of having a mature, adult, sexual relationship dictated merely by carnal desire with the messiness of emotions and feelings get in the way?
What is this pressing, urgent, frantic need to be wanted loved and desired beyond comprehension that I seem to chase after? I was told that everything would change once I returned to India. Men here are kinder, nicer, caring and boring. It was the perfect remedy for my somewhat tempestuous nature, the soothing balm of love and adulation that would remedy the burning ache of my soul. When Matt first told me that he loved me I made him repeat it over and over again while he made love to me. There was an obscene, sadistic pleasure in knowing that the strings were now in my hands, I dictated the terms of this relationship. Knowing that I would never love him made it all the sweeter. Did I hate myself for being so cruel? No of course not, one unrequited love after another and having my heart trampled upon by merciless men from across the globe made me almost blind to someone else’s feelings.
Men are men, and yes as much as we are the product of our experiences and culture our inherent kindness and cruelty transcends all cultures and geographical boundaries. It binds each and every one of us is this fucked-up realm of humanity. I’m not a man hater, far from it, In fact I love them so much that I let them dictate and impact my life in such a big way.
Why do I say all this here and now, yes I was seduced. Was the experience good? Sure. Was the aftermath of it all pleasant? Certainly not. Am I sitting in my pajamas on a Saturday night with facemask smeared all over my face trying to analyze my feelings? Absolutely.
This wasn’t supposed to be a sex/men/life bitch blog. But this is what it is going to be.
Why you ask me?
Because it is my mine and I can write whatever the hell I want!
Who reads it?
Probably someone without enough sensibility to know that I speak utter rubbish and that my “meaningful” insights in life really don’t mean a damn.
Why write it?
Catharsis, a place of self reflection and realization that for all the self-cultivated wisdom through life’s innumerable experiences we don’t really learn jack shit.
With age brings the much non-awaited memory loss, I gave in to my inadequacies of my failing memory and went back and re-read what I had last written about. Total hogwash, something about past lovers and bygone years and the profound lessons learnt from past relationships. I do believe that we are the product of our experiences and I shall go back and pick up that thread from the past at a later time. At the moment I wish to dwell on the here and the now. My latest past will dictate my present and consequently my future. As usual the year began on a cheerful, upbeat note. I should learn to be a little more cautious and guarded with renewed cheer that the dawn of each New Year brings and beat it into submission like I do for the rest of the year. My renewed cheer and zest for life was infectious and it reflected in my interactions with most. The normally grumpy, sad, cynical, pathetic me was no more and in her place stood the enthusiastic, cheerful, effervescent me. Exactly the way I had planned. The vivacious me was bound to attract unwanted male attention and how I reveled in it! Armed with a plethora of knowledge from self-help books and a steely determination to be noticed, I transformed myself from the strong but cynical heroine of a Jane Austin novel to the bubbling, romantic fool from a Disney classic.
I was determined to take Bombay by its horns and shake it to its core. All those months of self-doubt, loathing and self-criticism would evolve into refined package of confident sexiness fortified by my reemerging curves fuelled from a stringent workout schedule and dietary restriction. Champagne kisses and caviar dreams with hot, an eligible man was the next logical step. The right career move and a job that I was interested in made life almost perfect. The new me pitied the blighting old fool that stumbled every step along the way and dropped her pants for just about anyone remotely knowledgeable about Kafka or Kant.
Sadly, the idiot in me still exists and is nowhere close to being vanquished. The cool, calm seductress in me is yet to emerge partly. The me that will bask in the joys of sexual rapture and revel in the glory of sexual fulfillment am miles away. I thought I was almost there with Brian (I think that’s his name?) But that me only exists monetarily, enraptured in those minutes glorious sexual revelry aided by the body and minds natural reaction to another’s touch. Those hormones will only get you so far and almost always into trouble. Almost instantaneously the blighting, self-doubting fool returns unsure of how to react next. I told a boy once that if I sleep with you the first time I see you, I would never want to see you again. The sad part is, they want to never see me again either, and so the infamous one nightstand emerges as a sure winner. Am I so incapable of having a mature, adult, sexual relationship dictated merely by carnal desire with the messiness of emotions and feelings get in the way?
What is this pressing, urgent, frantic need to be wanted loved and desired beyond comprehension that I seem to chase after? I was told that everything would change once I returned to India. Men here are kinder, nicer, caring and boring. It was the perfect remedy for my somewhat tempestuous nature, the soothing balm of love and adulation that would remedy the burning ache of my soul. When Matt first told me that he loved me I made him repeat it over and over again while he made love to me. There was an obscene, sadistic pleasure in knowing that the strings were now in my hands, I dictated the terms of this relationship. Knowing that I would never love him made it all the sweeter. Did I hate myself for being so cruel? No of course not, one unrequited love after another and having my heart trampled upon by merciless men from across the globe made me almost blind to someone else’s feelings.
Men are men, and yes as much as we are the product of our experiences and culture our inherent kindness and cruelty transcends all cultures and geographical boundaries. It binds each and every one of us is this fucked-up realm of humanity. I’m not a man hater, far from it, In fact I love them so much that I let them dictate and impact my life in such a big way.
Why do I say all this here and now, yes I was seduced. Was the experience good? Sure. Was the aftermath of it all pleasant? Certainly not. Am I sitting in my pajamas on a Saturday night with facemask smeared all over my face trying to analyze my feelings? Absolutely.
Sexual Curry
Okay, I admit I did fall off the wagon once again. Maybe I shouldn’t be, but I’m a lot more generous of my mistakes and follies now than I was in the past. After all who better to be kind, loving and generous to myself than me. So what was meant to be a momentary break in my reemergence in the blogsphere turned to be more than a week or so? Actually, I’ve lost track of time. I write these words in a tool that facilitates bad spellers and poor grammarians the opportunity to somewhat correctly express themselves in the rigid confines of the English language. All hail to technology and it’s ability to empower us in more ways than one.
This wasn’t supposed to be a sex/men/life bitch blog. But this is what it is going to be.
Why you ask me?
Because it is my mine and I can write whatever the hell I want!
Who reads it?
Probably someone without enough sensibility to know that I speak utter rubbish and that my “meaningful” insights in life really don’t mean a damn.
Why write it?
Catharsis, a place of self reflection and realization that for all the self-cultivated wisdom through life’s innumerable experiences we don’t really learn jack shit.
With age brings the much non-awaited memory loss, I gave in to my inadequacies of my failing memory and went back and re-read what I had last written about. Total hogwash, something about past lovers and bygone years and the profound lessons learnt from past relationships. I do believe that we are the product of our experiences and I shall go back and pick up that thread from the past at a later time. At the moment I wish to dwell on the here and the now. My latest past will dictate my present and consequently my future. As usual the year began on a cheerful, upbeat note. I should learn to be a little more cautious and guarded with renewed cheer that the dawn of each New Year brings and beat it into submission like I do for the rest of the year. My renewed cheer and zest for life was infectious and it reflected in my interactions with most. The normally grumpy, sad, cynical, pathetic me was no more and in her place stood the enthusiastic, cheerful, effervescent me. Exactly the way I had planned. The vivacious me was bound to attract unwanted male attention and how I reveled in it! Armed with a plethora of knowledge from self-help books and a steely determination to be noticed, I transformed myself from the strong but cynical heroine of a Jane Austin novel to the bubbling, romantic fool from a Disney classic.
I was determined to take Bombay by its horns and shake it to its core. All those months of self-doubt, loathing and self-criticism would evolve into refined package of confident sexiness fortified by my reemerging curves fuelled from a stringent workout schedule and dietary restriction. Champagne kisses and caviar dreams with hot, an eligible man was the next logical step. The right career move and a job that I was interested in made life almost perfect. The new me pitied the blighting old fool that stumbled every step along the way and dropped her pants for just about anyone remotely knowledgeable about Kafka or Kant.
Sadly, the idiot in me still exists and is nowhere close to being vanquished. The cool, calm seductress in me is yet to emerge partly. The me that will bask in the joys of sexual rapture and revel in the glory of sexual fulfillment am miles away. I thought I was almost there with Brian (I think that’s his name?) But that me only exists monetarily, enraptured in those minutes glorious sexual revelry aided by the body and minds natural reaction to another’s touch. Those hormones will only get you so far and almost always into trouble. Almost instantaneously the blighting, self-doubting fool returns unsure of how to react next. I told a boy once that if I sleep with you the first time I see you, I would never want to see you again. The sad part is, they want to never see me again either, and so the infamous one nightstand emerges as a sure winner. Am I so incapable of having a mature, adult, sexual relationship dictated merely by carnal desire with the messiness of emotions and feelings get in the way?
What is this pressing, urgent, frantic need to be wanted loved and desired beyond comprehension that I seem to chase after? I was told that everything would change once I returned to India. Men here are kinder, nicer, caring and boring. It was the perfect remedy for my somewhat tempestuous nature, the soothing balm of love and adulation that would remedy the burning ache of my soul. When Matt first told me that he loved me I made him repeat it over and over again while he made love to me. There was an obscene, sadistic pleasure in knowing that the strings were now in my hands, I dictated the terms of this relationship. Knowing that I would never love him made it all the sweeter. Did I hate myself for being so cruel? No of course not, one unrequited love after another and having my heart trampled upon by merciless men from across the globe made me almost blind to someone else’s feelings.
Men are men, and yes as much as we are the product of our experiences and culture our inherent kindness and cruelty transcends all cultures and geographical boundaries. It binds each and every one of us is this fucked-up realm of humanity. I’m not a man hater, far from it, In fact I love them so much that I let them dictate and impact my life in such a big way.
Why do I say all this here and now, yes I was seduced. Was the experience good? Sure. Was the aftermath of it all pleasant? Certainly not. Am I sitting in my pajamas on a Saturday night with facemask smeared all over my face trying to analyze my feelings? Absolutely.
This wasn’t supposed to be a sex/men/life bitch blog. But this is what it is going to be.
Why you ask me?
Because it is my mine and I can write whatever the hell I want!
Who reads it?
Probably someone without enough sensibility to know that I speak utter rubbish and that my “meaningful” insights in life really don’t mean a damn.
Why write it?
Catharsis, a place of self reflection and realization that for all the self-cultivated wisdom through life’s innumerable experiences we don’t really learn jack shit.
With age brings the much non-awaited memory loss, I gave in to my inadequacies of my failing memory and went back and re-read what I had last written about. Total hogwash, something about past lovers and bygone years and the profound lessons learnt from past relationships. I do believe that we are the product of our experiences and I shall go back and pick up that thread from the past at a later time. At the moment I wish to dwell on the here and the now. My latest past will dictate my present and consequently my future. As usual the year began on a cheerful, upbeat note. I should learn to be a little more cautious and guarded with renewed cheer that the dawn of each New Year brings and beat it into submission like I do for the rest of the year. My renewed cheer and zest for life was infectious and it reflected in my interactions with most. The normally grumpy, sad, cynical, pathetic me was no more and in her place stood the enthusiastic, cheerful, effervescent me. Exactly the way I had planned. The vivacious me was bound to attract unwanted male attention and how I reveled in it! Armed with a plethora of knowledge from self-help books and a steely determination to be noticed, I transformed myself from the strong but cynical heroine of a Jane Austin novel to the bubbling, romantic fool from a Disney classic.
I was determined to take Bombay by its horns and shake it to its core. All those months of self-doubt, loathing and self-criticism would evolve into refined package of confident sexiness fortified by my reemerging curves fuelled from a stringent workout schedule and dietary restriction. Champagne kisses and caviar dreams with hot, an eligible man was the next logical step. The right career move and a job that I was interested in made life almost perfect. The new me pitied the blighting old fool that stumbled every step along the way and dropped her pants for just about anyone remotely knowledgeable about Kafka or Kant.
Sadly, the idiot in me still exists and is nowhere close to being vanquished. The cool, calm seductress in me is yet to emerge partly. The me that will bask in the joys of sexual rapture and revel in the glory of sexual fulfillment am miles away. I thought I was almost there with Brian (I think that’s his name?) But that me only exists monetarily, enraptured in those minutes glorious sexual revelry aided by the body and minds natural reaction to another’s touch. Those hormones will only get you so far and almost always into trouble. Almost instantaneously the blighting, self-doubting fool returns unsure of how to react next. I told a boy once that if I sleep with you the first time I see you, I would never want to see you again. The sad part is, they want to never see me again either, and so the infamous one nightstand emerges as a sure winner. Am I so incapable of having a mature, adult, sexual relationship dictated merely by carnal desire with the messiness of emotions and feelings get in the way?
What is this pressing, urgent, frantic need to be wanted loved and desired beyond comprehension that I seem to chase after? I was told that everything would change once I returned to India. Men here are kinder, nicer, caring and boring. It was the perfect remedy for my somewhat tempestuous nature, the soothing balm of love and adulation that would remedy the burning ache of my soul. When Matt first told me that he loved me I made him repeat it over and over again while he made love to me. There was an obscene, sadistic pleasure in knowing that the strings were now in my hands, I dictated the terms of this relationship. Knowing that I would never love him made it all the sweeter. Did I hate myself for being so cruel? No of course not, one unrequited love after another and having my heart trampled upon by merciless men from across the globe made me almost blind to someone else’s feelings.
Men are men, and yes as much as we are the product of our experiences and culture our inherent kindness and cruelty transcends all cultures and geographical boundaries. It binds each and every one of us is this fucked-up realm of humanity. I’m not a man hater, far from it, In fact I love them so much that I let them dictate and impact my life in such a big way.
Why do I say all this here and now, yes I was seduced. Was the experience good? Sure. Was the aftermath of it all pleasant? Certainly not. Am I sitting in my pajamas on a Saturday night with facemask smeared all over my face trying to analyze my feelings? Absolutely.
Wednesday, January 2, 2008
Do all posts need a title?!
I have been suffering from a bout of flu for the last day and a half and hence the delay in posting the next blog. Again, the fact that I have decided to take this seriously is a matter of great accomplishment for me. Finally after a year of empty promises to myself and drunken confessions to various friends I’m going to finally take my desire to be a serious writer seriously!
So back to New Year stories, I refuse to add juicy details of my big bang out of self-cultivated modesty. I’m desperately trying to keep my stories straight and not get one year mixed up with the next. If you expect a gradual transition towards maturity that comes with adulthood and experience, you are in for a rude surprise. I’m a classic specimen of the stubborn humanoid species that refuses to learn from my past mistakes.
My dating patterns have become predictable, I hover around emotionally unavailable men like a moth around a light bulb. Guess what happens to the moth once it gets too close? It drops to the ground and dies, scorched by the relentless heat emitted from the light bulb . Fortunately, none of the men that have come into my life have prompted me to consider hanging from a noose seriously or purposely leave the gas on. But, with every failed relationship, I loose an ounce of faith in fluffy ideals like love. A wise woman once told me that “ Messed up doesn’t mean interesting.” I nodded my head in acknowledgment, my eyes shone in realization at this new found wisdom. I let this knowledge seep in for a minute or two and promised myself that I would mend my ways. It almost worked I was in a picture perfect relationship for the next six months. I had everything what a woman would hope for- An adoring boyfriend, weekend getaways, flowers, candy, presents for no occasions and great sex. I was bored out of my mind. Any normal person with half a brain would appreciate the joys of a great relationship. I missed the tumultuous time, the unwarranted chaos and the heated arguments that my past relationships offered.
I had everything that I should hope for, all that was missing was the intellectual connection, a small compromise in the grand scheme of things. Unlike the last few times, this relationship actually did end on a good note, me leaving the country played an important role in the amicable end. Today I stand before the world a single woman in search of the holy grail of dating, the mother of all relationships that will provide me the organized chaos that I look for with the added perks of an adorning man and a great life. Why can’t a woman have her cake and eat it too goddamnit!?
New Year’s eve 2005 started on a really great note, I was back home for the holidays. Spending the last day of the year with the my two favorite people was the ideal option. An adorable nerdy boy who had been an amazing friend for the last five years was my official date for the night. The adorable nerdy boy has now transformed himself into a dashing, successful, emotionally unavailable man scarred by life. I'm secretly in love with him at the moment. But back in 2005 he was my winter fling, the man who would kiss me senseless at the stroke of midnight and make me dizzy in anticipation of the pleasures to follow. We huddled together in a cramped auto to reach our party destination. The sky erupted in a kaleidoscope of colors and the street bursted in an unanimous cheer somewhere in the distance as the clock struck twelve. 2005 had officially come to an end, we still remained cramped in an auto wishing for the traffic to magically disappear. Passionate kisses were replaced with awkward hugs between three people suffering from a mild buttock ache due to minimal muscular activity.
(My head is starting to hurt again, I don't feel particularly articulate or witty at the moment, so I'm going to end this one here and pick it up at a later time.)
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