Thursday, May 28, 2009

Me, by Myself

I am slow. I can only do one thing at a time. That's because my mind is in ten different places, nine of which have no bearing on reality. I like my day to be filled with large spaces of calm peppered with bursts of newness - new energies, new people, new experiences...Like this morning, I found a lizard in the kitchen sink that was trying to get out but kept slipping against its steel interior. So I wracked my brains and came up with an ingenious solution to slip a newspaper in. By doing so I achieved two things that I had never done before in my life. I rescued the critter and I conquered my fear of lizards.

I love music; although it used to mean much more to me when I was younger than it does now. Then, a song was a direct message to my insides that skipped past thoughts and landed smack dab in the centre of my emotions. Although, it would take many more years for me to learn to express myself honestly, those first few songs at 15 taught me that there was an entire world within that I'd missed all along, a world that would eventually lead me to myself. Now, at 30, music is still an essential part of my day. But I no longer need its permission in order to feel my feelings. I love it more for itself than for its services as a shrink.

I also enjoy dancing but don't do it as often. I don't do it as often because I can only dance when I can feel the song and its rhythm. I don't often feel the rhythm in public because I am uncomfortable about how my body will be perceived.

I am a fat chick. This, as you might imagine, make things a little difficult when it comes to establishing romantic relationships with men. Unfortunately, what the world does not know (or won't admit) is that most men are scared of fat chicks. It's like the homophobe's reaction to gays. They're constantly terrified of being hit on by the 'undesirables'. I've had the horrible experience of having a good friend call me up one day (admittedly drunk) to tell me that I should not fall in love with him. At the time it hurt like hell. Today I look back on it and feel infinitely sorry for the gentleman. (a) because he lost the respect of a fabulous friend and (b) the arrogance of such men who feel they are so irresistible....

But don't get me wrong. I've also met some rather lovely men :)

I am 30, female and unmarried. In India, that short sentence acquires a whole host of meanings. I don't need to spell them out but I would like to say that these 'meanings' and assumptions that people form about me were, at one point, so strong that I thought there was something inherently unlovable about me. Then, spectacular things began to happen this year. I just stopped caring. Stopping to care meant looking at every choice I made to get to this moment and acknowledging their rightness. I may be husband-less but it is not a failure. I see it as an acknowledgement of my own independence and refusal to settle for anything less than love. I have never, sadly, been in love. Not even close (in spite of the lovely men!). So, I see no reason to get married.

I love, love, love to write. It is the most satisfying activity I've ever indulged in. I'm even more in love with it now that I am not competing with the phantom Pultizer Prize winners in my mind. I'm not the best writer that ever lived. I'm not the worst either. But by god, I love the damn feeling of words spilling out of me. I love the tactile experience of fingers knowing exactly where to go on the keyboard.

I enjoy blogging because it lies at the intersection of secrecy and exposure. It's not writing that's buried deep within the 'Personal' folder on my computer. It's unadulterated me placed in the public domain. At the same time, in the vast ocean of blog posts, this is just one miniscule drop. No one's seen my blog yet, I haven't told anyone about it although the link is on my Facebook profile. If they find it, great. If they don't that's fine too.

I put myself out there and that's all that matters for now.

No comments:

Post a Comment