How Do I Thank Thee, Let Me Count the Ways...

There are actually far too many ways but most would be unreasonable via net, some illegal and a few just pure wrong (I won't actually explain or give details as to what these things could possibly be, so quit wondering)  But, but, but...Let me just take a quick moment to thank those who follow this blog. 

Thank you, thank you, thank you!!!!!!!!!

How can I possibly explain to you what your readership means to me?  Would you even believe my sincerity?  No but you should because the only way that I can appropriately convey my emotions is in fact through my words.  So here I go... 

 

It's funny because since I started to take pen to paper at the tender age of 10 or so, I knew that I had a passion for it...I just knew this even when I didn't know what to eat for lunch or what shirt matched with which pair of pants (I was a seriously clueless kid clearly).  I was also the weird kid with over-large geek-ish glasses who sat hunched over with a notebook held closely to her writing feverishly and looking around suspiciously to make sure that no one was close enough to peek. I had tons of these notebooks stacked up on a bookshelf in my bubblegum pink painted bedroom (go figure) until I scored my first typewriter at which point I took the painstaking time to type each of those handwritten pages out so that I could save them forever, carefully hole-punching them and hen placing those in a large binder which I hid in the back of my closet.  Then years later the computer was introduced to the world (and my household) so there I was again, retyping what I had already typed (and believe you me, I was slow).  I failed to realize though that those lil disks could easily become corrupt so many a good stories has long since been sacrificed to the 'unbacked up' computer gods.

Eventually though I wanted to share my genius (lol, okay I'm being super facetious here) with those I trusted so with trembling hands I handed over one or two chapters of a manuscript that I had been working on for a few years, to my best friend.  She was a smart cookie as well as brutally honest most of the time so I figured her opinion about how good/bad/ugly my writing was would make me grow as a writer and I could hone the skill that would may be one day be a career?  When she came back to say that I was actually good, funny even, I remember looking at her thinking "I didn't realize you were such a good liar".  She smacked me for that because clearly I must have uttered the words out loud as well.  Anyhoo... 

I have a confession though, I am very insecure about my writing.  The truth is that I can have everyone telling me that I write well, that my stories are this and that and the other but I am my biggest critic no doubt.  Often I will re-read something I wrote ages ago only to find myself wincing as well as wondering what brand of cheap crack had I been smoking that day when I decided to write those particular words.  To this moment as I sit here on the couch typing up this blog, I admit that the very idea that there is someone, anyone, out there in the world who would actually take the time out of their busy existence to read the words that I have written slightly astounds me.  After all people could be doing so many better things like reading a book by some fantastic well known author, stalking others on Facebook, watching porn, playing some violent video game that's probably making their eyes glaze over with their mouths hung open with a bit of drool seeping out at the edge...hey these are important things right?  Who am I to judge? 

Oh, I digress...so yea, I mean I saw the evidence, heard the words of encouragement but some part of my cranium rejected the praise to be false, even from those who I knew would be my toughest critics.  Starting this blog though has been very gratifying because at the end of the day, I'm not actually handing over a manuscript to a friend and demand that it be read.  No, this is the only forum where I can just put it out into the world and leave it to surfers to either click or not click, read or not read, ignore or fall in love with..and may be, just may be people actually like it?  Huh, wow and *jaw drops in astonishment*.

I'm glad to say that in a few short months, I have noted a steady growing readership and I am thrilled...let me repeat that again...THRILLED.  Doesn't matter in the least if it's one person every few weeks..that one person gives me reason enough to continue to write.  I couldn't write 'thank you' enough throughout this particular entry so get ready to see it a few more times before all is said and done. 

Total Bragging Moment:  Recently I discovered that I am being followed by folks in Russia, Ukraine, Germany, France, South Africa and China, not to mention the USA and India. 

My heart feels so full just by these few hits and I again thank you for taking a moment to read me. 

Tonight I'll probably sleep with a big grin on my face.  *sigh* 

Let me be a bit redundant again:  Thank you, from the depths of my soul...thank you each and every one of you!

<3

Oh...P.S.  To my wonderful friends around the globe who celebrates Holi, here is wishing you a wonderful, colorful, fantastic, joyous Holi!!!! 

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Holi <----This is where you can learn about what it is if you so feel inclined. 

Spring Where Art Thou?

For a normally sarcastic, 'glass is always half empty' kind of human as myself, I admit that spring is probably one of my favorite seasons.  Autumn comes hand and hand with it though, while winter is dead last other than the whole 'first snow falling' thing and the opportunity to rock the outerwear and scarves but otherwise that's about it.

So being such a fan (of Spring), you can imagine how impatient I am for this particular season to arrive.  It's just that Spring represents such newness, growth, rebirth, hope even.  Who can think of Spring and not visualize blooming flowers, shedding coats and jackets for warmish breezes and a strengthening sun?  The smell of fresh cut grass, the sudden presence of children's laughter renting the air as they run helter skelter in mid-play and the sudden pallet of colors literally "springing" (pun intended) up hither and yon?  I mean come on, such newness makes even the most jaded soul smile and come out of winters grey hibernation in hopes of something good happening.

For several days though, I have been wondering why Mother Nature has been so angry with us.  Last Monday we had a 'snow' storm (sure it didn't equate to much but it was miserable nonetheless, cold and yuckily rainy) and for the last few days I've been listening to weather forecasters wax on about another storm that is headed our way and should arrive by Sunday night and last into Monday morning.  Since we know how accurate these weather forecasters can be, most have poo pooed this coming storm as nothing more than rumors.  Well let me just tell you, it's now Monday night and yes, it did start to snow just as predicted.  They were right for a change...go figure.

So this morning (Monday) I stood at the window peering out of my second floor master bedroom window eyeing the outside with complete and utter sadness (as well as a bit of shock because in fact them darn weather folks had called it indeed).  Above was a gunmetal grey sky that seemed to be hanging low, below was white snow that hadn't completed covered the ground because it was still warm(ish) and all around people were bundled up in scarves, gloves and heavy coats scraping clean their cars of annoying ice/snow while looking rather put out. 

For about the 20th time I picked up my blackberry and hoped against hope that my employers would have decided to take pity and give us the day off but no go, they weren't having it clearly so I heaved a sigh and turned away thinking that I could have used a day to laze around at home in my PJ's and watch nonsense daytime television.  Alas that was not to be and so I was off to work.  Even as I was driving it was snowing/raining/spitting and my normally crabby disposition on Monday mornings just shot up several notches to 'stay out of my damn way and no one will get hurt'.  It was even hard to squeeze out a smile to the attendant in the garage who tried to make polite conversation.  Normally I indulged in A.M. chitchat with him and try not to be a total biatch but today just wasn't a day when 'nice' was going to make an appearance.

Work glared at me as soon as I walked into my office and I admit I glared back but alas it laughed at me, or so I think I heard it do so, and I knew I was beat.  Sitting glumly in the ergonomically correct chair that did nothing for my back, I looked around and felt my eyes glaze over knowing that this week there would be little respite for the occasional browsing of the net or more importantly, blogging (blast it) because the workload was going to surely kick my butt.  To take things from bad to worse, it was too cold to actually venture out the building in order to get coffee which would for sure sooth pissy nerves.  It wasn't even viable so I had to settle for the nasty weak stuff from the coffee break room.  Yea, perfect.

Grimacing over the first sip, my eyes involuntarily slid to a painting that was sort of propped against the wall of my desk, the only thing in my office that I consider personal, the only thing that I had brought with me to the job when I had first joined.  I had purchased it on my trip to Jamaica.  It depicted a beach scene, bright, sunny and inviting, the colors full of warm yellows, oranges, crystalline blues and vibrant greens.  I had decided that I would put it in my office and whenever I felt overwhelmed or depressed,  whenever life seemed too far away, I would look at it and think of warmer climates, the gentle breezes and crashing of waves but today I just did not find that comfort upon my study of the painting.  Because frankly, while we do not have 'crashing waves' near where I am, at least we could have the warmth and breezes right?  In fact, it should have long since made and appearance so where the heck was it?  The painting reminded me of what in fact was happening outside and I became even more morose.

What this all boils down to is, I'm annoyed.  I want Spring.  I'm way over winter and all that it brings, mainly cold, snow, ice, cold, sleet, cold, frigid winds, and did I mention cold?  I demand that Mother Nature finally flip whatever switch she has and or dial the thermostat to where it should be in order to make the heat start a-pumpin'.  I want the sun to shine so that I have reason to pull out sunglasses that are still in style.  I really want to be able to have a reason to shave my legs and show a bit of ankle!  Give me a reason to shed my beloved scarves and trade them in for undone collar buttons and peep toed heels.  I love boots but colorful sandals await in my closet.  White skirts are whining at me, telling me that they feel neglected while soft cottons are sulking on hangers.  I need to have a reason to get a pedicure, not want, but need. 

I want to be able to grab lunch and sit outside to soak up a bit of rays.  I know I don't need to brown anymore than I am but hey that shouldn't be the only justification right?  Have any of you visited this region during the budding month?  Well let me just tell you in case you haven't had the fortune:  it's gorgeous.  Not only are things a-bloomin' (such as the cherry blossoms) but happy people seem to be everywhere (whether they are or not is irrelevant, they appear so and that's all I care about).  Go for a walk around the monument of your choice, choose a restaurant where you can sit outside to indulge in food and drinks while you watch the sun sink somewhere in the distance, listen to music being played by some talented unknown at the corner of some street or just grab an ice cream, find marble stairs (they are surprisingly everywhere) and watch humanity walk by.   I'm not much of a jogger but heck you can use the paths that run by the Potomac if you so wish or you could even simply go home while it's still bright and warm to take your kids to the park.  I mean the options are endless but the first thing that needs to happen is...SPRING HAS TO ARRIVE.

Please, please someone find it and bring it to me?  I know a lot of people who would agree with me as to how winter should have long since moved on so I'm not the only one doing some praying here.  Ought not the collective voices of the desperate (tan less, toneless, lifeless) mean something, be heard and answered?  Of course it should!  (And yes, yes, I get how we should just blame ourselves for the present global state of the earth including odd weather patterns and whatnot but that's another blog.)  *sigh*  C'mon...c'mon Mother Nature...c'mon God, I know you can take pity...just do it, relieve us from our suffering (really how dramatic do I sound?).  I'm sure you can get us in other ways, but for now, just this?  This isn't too much right?  I mean, give me hope that there's a picnic or a barbecue not too in the future for me.  How low maintenance can I possibly be?

I read on my handy weather app on my iPhone that tomorrow it's going to be in the 50's (F) but I swear if by next Monday I hear again that we're going to have to deal with more snow, I'm picking up my sh** and moving to the DR, Jamaica or somewhere equally warm trade-windy place that I can find where I shall open up a beach shack from which I will be grilling chicken or fish and selling it in exchange for payment.  I guess I'll have to give up blogging because I know Internet connection is usually dicey down in the islands so unless you want this to happen, I suggest you start to pray right along with me. 

 

No but really Spring, where art thou?

   

**Attached here are  pictures I took in the past right around this time of the year...I figured I'd just show off some of my photo-taking skills and at the same time live vicariously through my old memories.  Enjoy!

Cherry Blossom time in the Capital City

This lil guy was smiling, or at least it looks like it right?

The Cherries, they are a blossomin'

Well hello there : )

The dome of the Capitol building right around sunset

Ocean City, MD

Shenandoah National Park

Look at that blue!

 

Conversations You Hear Around Town: Ear buds, Coffee and Rage

Today, as usual, I arrived at work on time and decided I had just about enough of it on my hand to go grab a cup of coffee.  So I walked into a local shop and while busy getting a hot cup of liquid 'get me through the day', two men walk in.  They were in animated conversation, at least one was fairly engaged as he flailed his hands and was talking rapidly.  The other seemed a bit less expressive in his body language but clearly by the look on his face, he was also very much into the conversation.

I, again as usual, had my trusty ear buds secured and was listening to some acoustic version of 'Duma Dum Mast Qalandar' taped at Coke Studios Pakistan and therefore couldn't hear their words.  If you've ever seen me about town, walking down the streets of DC, you will already know that my music and I are rarely parted.  This is not just because I in fact enjoy the tunes, but because I prefer to ignore humanity as a whole.  Sounds harsh right?  But it's true really.  I do not enjoy being stopped on the streets (other than if it is someone I know and often they will have to jump in front of me physically to be noticed since I'm in my own personal bubble) and I am far too often accosted by bums pandering for a handout for my liking.  It's like I'm a magnet (my prior posts have proven this to be very true).  I am the sort of person who if you see me from far away, you would think I was either stuck up or in a bad mood.  I make sure that my face is carefully blank which inevitably gives me a 'do not even think about talking to me' sort of persona.  That's just fine by me.

Anyhow, so my ear buds are blaring music directly into my head probably causing some sort of hearing issue that I'll have to deal with not too far into the future but as I approach the cashier, I politely take them off.  The cashier, who I've seen many times, is slow but since she is the only person there, I sigh and wait for her to charge me the $1.85 for the steaming cup presently clutched in my cold hand. 

It is during this moment that the two gentlemen slide up behind me and I hear one say to the other something to the extent of:  "May be what you should do is to tell her to dress less provocatively?  At least then the men won't flock around her and they can focus."

My brain sort of stuttered to a stop as it is often want to do.  I felt as if I needed to shake it, clean out my ears (which I did thoroughly this morning anyhow) again or turn and ask "excuse me?  Can you repeat that?"

To hear such words...so early in the morning...from a man who seemed to be fairly successful and well-to-do...well I guess such stupidity doesn't restrict itself to the abjectly uneducated person or downtrodden, right?  No indeed and the two men there were, if not book smart, at least successful to some extent if I was to go by only their clothing alone.  Hey, if they could afford to wear tailored suits and shiny loafers, they weren't bad off I was thinkin'.  I felt ill. 

The 2nd man made a response, but it was under his breath.  I guess he understood how inappropriate the conversation was for such a public place.  I wished I heard what he said though, but I didn't think it would have pleased me for the 1st man chuckled in reaction.  Right.

I paid up, scooted past them and left.  Walking back to work, I couldn't help but wonder who these men were, who was the woman they were talking about, why in the world would they say/think such stupid things (no less in a public place and very loudly) and more importantly, did they really believe such garbage?  People, men specifically, still thought this way?  In this day and age, how was it possible even?The questions buzzed around in my head and I figured, why not put it into blog form?  So here I am.

Can anyone answer my question?  Am I getting this wrong?  Am I overreacting (which I do plenty)?  Can someone tell me any scenario where it's justified to suggest to a woman that she dress less provocatively unless said woman is in a place of worship?  And how is it a woman's fault that just because she dresses to look pleasing, a man/men will/would be distracted?  Why do men feel that it is okay to lay the blame of their wandering eyes solely on the shoulders of women?  You're telling me you can't control such a simple body function?  By the way, before anyone cries foul on me, let me clarify, yes sometimes (a lot of times) we do dress to please men, to be admired, to attract attention and all that jazz but I know far too many women who could give a rats ass about that and dress to feel good, look good, feel attractive but yes, all for themselves so please if you think that the only reason women put on a low cut shirt or a short skirt is because of you...then you have another thing coming.  Hell we even dress like that to make our girlfriends jealous, so really...don't feel so special.   

Now, let me just say to be totally fair, I have also judged a few women on their clothing choices.  I too have looked at a woman and said 'boy that is so inappropriate' or 'what the hell was she thinking?' but my reasons are not to lay blame for my inability to focus nor to huffily point out that they are the reason for distracting me from the task at hand.  No, I am a woman and I'm bitchy by nature...as well as harsh on my own gender.  That's why I do it.

And don't think I am so ignorant or naive that I am not aware that this type of conversation is happening every where, in every country, time zone, race, religion, blah blah blah.  Sure it is, but that doesn't mean its okay.  This is just not okay PERIOD.  In a world where women are now CEO's of fortune 100 and 500 companies, ruling nations, sitting in Congress and being the sole breadwinners of a family, why are we still being subjected to such insulting views? 

Tell her to dress down so that they will not be distracted?  Really?  But is she doing her job?  Is she competent?  Is she doing what she's supposed to be doing?  Aren't those the questions?  What if she were more...masculine in her demeanor/styling choices?  Would that then be better?  Or would you go around and say 'she's far too masculine, tell her to make it softer, sexier'?  I don't think so.  And if we women could say such things, would we?  The most I've commented is that some dude doesn't have a sense of style...but then again that's as far as we could go right? 

I am just plain ol' outraged is what it is and I can't help but sit here and think to myself, 'if this is what society still is and how the common man still thinks, then we really are in a heap of trouble.'

One last thought (yes, don't I sound so uber Jerry Springer-esq?):  I do not know all the facts.  I do not know what she is like, what the whole situation is nor any details.  I have no connection to any of these people and that's just fine by me but I think that a person doesn't have to read a 300 page white paper to 'get it'.  I get it and I'm saddened by it because this thing leads to a much bigger and horrific issue about rape and how men justify their actions by blaming it on women for their way of dressing and...that's definitely another blog.

Anyhow, I guess the only good thing about taking off my ear buds and listening is that I have blog topics.  May be I should do it more...

May be. 

Short Story: Happily Ever...What? Chapter 3

It was a moment in time when one stares into eternity hoping to feel something, expect something.  I found myself feeling and expecting nothing, absolutely zero.  No happiness or sadness, no joy, no fear, no elation, no devastation.  It just was and I was numbly accepting it without a word.  The urge to run away had long since died.  It had been killed with emotional blackmail so heavy that they were like weights tied to my feet and sinking me down.  I had no other option, this was it.  And if someone would have told me that this was going to be how things would work out, I would have laughed at them. 

The last month had gone by in a numb blur.  Plans were being made, activities being mapped out, life moving at the speed of light yet I felt as if I stood in the middle of it being ignored completely.  Not a soul asked me what I wanted and I knew at the end of the day no one cared, not really because to them the 'right' thing was happening, what was the accepted, the norm.  May be they were right?  I had asked myself this question a few times.  I tried to see it from their point of view.  Was what was happening the best for me?  Had I not known what was right for my life?  Did I need my elders to take control and steer me in the right direction?  At the age of 29, how was I so ignorant?

"Do you like this?"  I was always getting jarred out of my thoughts now a days, this was just another occasion. 

A piece of 6 yard long colorful silk cloth in the shade of bright pink was held under my nose for inspection.  I took it numbly into my hand not really feeling it's softness nor seeing the lovely intricate gold embroidered details but I nodded because that's what they wanted me to do, "they" being my aunts and mother.  5 women who stood around me clucking over this sari or that color, this price or that store...all overwhelming me with their demands to focus when focus was just what I couldn't seem to do, no matter what.

"That would look nice against your skin color," said a now familiar masculine voice.  I looked up from the small stool I had been perched upon.  He stood their smiling down at me, his look almost sheepish. 

I looked down at what I was holding.  When had the pink one been replaced by a midnight blue silk that seemed to morph into some shade of red when in different lights?  My brows furrowed.  "Okay," I murmured. 

"Buy it?"  He suggested with a soft smile that I could hear in his voice.

The women who had been so busy up till then suddenly were up and crowding him even as he said those words.  I watched quietly as he was engulfed in cries of delight and fawning words of endearments.  I myself had to sit there dealing with similar attention as I too was greeted by his mother and her sister.  Their perfumes choked me but their genuine warmth was gratifying although I felt nothing in return.

It was chaos after that, everyone talking and laughing, driving the poor shop keepers crazy and on their toes.  He stood not to far from me, staying a respectable distance away.  I avoided his gaze although I felt his eyes upon me.  I had a feeling He wanted me to talk to him but some part of me refused to let go enough, to bend to that will.  Eventually though he stepped closer when someone asked him his opinion about one outfit that was casually draped over me.

He looked as uncomfortable as I felt as he ran his eyes quickly over me, his face suffusing in color.  "Yes, that's nice."  He said clearly embarrassed.  The women, all of them, tittered and giggled, throwing each other knowning looks.

I was in hell.  This was hell and I was in it and burning in it's fire.  I would never escape, I would be here forever.

"I think I'll go get something to drink, I'm not feeling too good."  I stood abruptly nearly throwing the offending garment off.  I wasn't speaking to anyone in particular. 

My mother though was quick to hear and turned, "what's wrong?"

"I just feel...hot."  This was not a lie.  "I need some...thing."  What I really needed was something I would never be able to have.

To my horror, she turned to him and asked him to accompany me.  I should have anticipated this move but a sluggish brain was the after affects of my recent happenings in life.  Hell, lately my brain was almost working in reverse gear.  He just nodded like a good desi fellow and followed me out.  Again we heard a gail of laughter.  I clenched my teeth in aggravation, wanting to head straight for the doors that led out into the sweltering heat but at least this was freedom to some extent from eyes that watched far too carefully.

"You are unwell?"  He asked.

I didn't answer for a few steps, then nodded though still not looking at him, "no." 

"There is a small store over there." 

I don't remember following him but I guess I did to a small shop that sold snacks, cold drinks and ice cream.  The interior was not much cooler then outside but it afforded some respite from the warmth since it was air conditioned.  He slid the glass door open and we walked in.  A few people were already there, an exhausted mother with her children possibly who were busy licking dripping ice cream cones while she had a slightly glassy eyed look in her coal smudged eyes.  A couple sat near the back of the store so engrossed in conversation that they barely had touched their sandwiches or drinks.  Otherwise the place was quiet. 

A thin man with an impressive handlebar mustache stood behind the counter smiling and standing ramrod straight.  Before he could order for me, I said in a clipped tone to the cashier that I wanted a coke, cold.  He also ordered the same.  When I went to reach for my wallet, he held up a hand.  I knew he wouldn't let me pay and that bothered me but these days, what didn't bother me?

We found a table which wasn't in some intimate corner of the place but front and center because intimate was the last thing I had in mind, not with him.  I glanced around, not wanting to look at him, anywhere but him.  The walls were blue, cracking and chipping but hidden by the darkness of the interior.  The smells that perfumed the air wetted my appetite but again I had no interest in breaking bread with him.  The mother who sat not too far from us looked at me, giving me a fleeting smile.  I stared back at her wondering if that wasn't my future, looking haggard and tired surrounded by a bunch of boisterous children who spoke too loud, ate too noisily and was demanding constant attention.  That wasn't how I had ever seen it but may be I was coming face-to-face with my future?  The thought sickened me slightly.

He did not attempt to make conversation, or at least right away he didn't.  I was satisfied with sitting there in utter silence avoiding eye contact and I couldn't help but wonder if this was how...but then again I did know the answer to that unsaid question...yes it would be.

"I feel as if we should make an effort to know one another."  He finally said in a meak voice that seemed to immediately grate on my nerves.

I immediately bristled, "It's a bit late for that, don't you think?"  I even surprised myself with the bitterness in my voice.

"Okay."  Came his response, as weak as the original statement as he lapsed back into silence and I couldn't help but wonder if he possessed a spine or the ability to hold a conversation.

I sipped the still lukewarm coke, not because it had turned thus with the passing of time but because it appeared as if nothing in this country was the right temperature, or at least to me.  During these quiet moments, my mind often drifted back into the past even when I had no interest in revisiting for it cause me nothing but intense pain.  So I would viciously pull my mind back and try to go blank though it wasn't always easy...sometimes things just filtered through.  The pain of the memory was intenste, like that of a super heated rod straight to the heart, scorching and leaving it in cinders.  Death, I thought, would be easier than this.

But at that moment, I just closed my eyes and for a second I was transported...

The Importance of Being Familial

I've sort of mentioned my extended family a few times here and there as I recall never going into any real detail because after all I have all of 33 blogs uploaded and a sister can go just so far.  But because of the Raven's win (how this is connected I don't know) I feel all warm and fuzzy from the bottom of my boots to the top of my roots.  (Note:  This blog was started the day after the Super Bowl...sorry for the delay in posting).  So let me tell you a little about my fam.

They are really annoying.

The End.

Haha...I'm kidding!  Although they can be annoying I'll be honest, I wouldn't have it any other way and that appreciation for them has only come with time (read that as age and wisdom).

For those who do not know, most of my family are here in the states.  My dad's oldest brother was the first, and thanks to him the rest of us started to immigrate, all at different ages, different times.  Once my mother became a citizen, she also filed for her family.  After I got hitched, P's family also all shifted so now you can just imagine how many of us there are...we're like weeds really, we're everywhere and growing out of control. 

Every small occasion for us is a big party and there's a lot of food present, real good food and lots of laughter, the real loud belly aching kind and as big families are want to do, lots of fighting, real bad fights.  I admit the last thing isn't a bonus but I've learned that if I can love these folks even through the fights, then it's gotta be the real deal, right?  They say you can chose your friends but not your family.  Don't I know it but here's the thing, had I the choice anyhow, there is not one member, not one single member that I would trade, be them here in the states or those few that still reside in the motherland.  Because, through all those fights, arguments, disagreements, etc..it is a fact that for sure we sure are there for each other regardless of circumstances or life issues and we are fierce in our solidarity.  Basically, don't mess with us.

So you get the idea right?  For all our craziness, we are one big crazy complicated passionate bunch of fruitcakes who stand together to fight the world if need be as well as yell at each other.  You think this is not normal?  You'd be severely wrong.  It's really normal.  I mean all over desi-land there are similar scenarios I'm fairly sure.  This is very much a part of our culture, which is this:  Parents are not eager to kick their kids out of the house at the age of 18.  Hell they would rather lock the door, throw away the keys and bolt the windows.  Our parentals do not tell us to get our own money instead they tell us 'what is ours is yours'.  Every big, and small, decision becomes a family meeting.  When a learners permit is gotten, you must call every single member of the clan so that they hear the 'good news'.  When someone gets married, everyone, and I mean every-bloody-person, meets the intended bride/groom.  Attending and being apart of weddings?  Heck don't even ask.  You're not just required to be there at the nuptials, you got to help and you best be asking questions and showing interest.  Holidays are where you come home and are engulfed in love and belonging so strong that when you have to go home, you feel tears.  We have the families where the elders sit and tell the "children" (this can be anything from the age of 2 to the age of 62, just as long as there's someone older then you there) about their youth, re-tell family stories, share grandparents memories, laugh at childhood antics, wipe tears away as they wistfully remember a member who has since passed on. 

Clearly family bond is everything where I come from and as a kid I guess I accepted it without question.  It was a big part of life, particularly when at one time it was really just a few of us residing here so it was nice when the remainder of the chaos joined forces.  But there were moments when I wanted to run away, thought to myself 'when I get older, I'm so outta here' and I will not have to deal with the crazies.  But now, when I am older and I probably could run, I come to realize that I don't want to and in fact I see my generation becoming as close to each other as the prior.

That 'other' generation though belonged to our parents, brothers and sisters who had to tolerate one another (for the most part) but ours...well we just do not have those large numbers of siblings in one family so instead what we do have are cousins.  And boy do we have cousins.  They are everywhere...peppering the east coast of the US, Pakistan, Bangladesh, India...Brussels : )  They are literally multiplying by the day.  And if I had hoped for a second, even a mili-second, that these nutcases would be at least a bit less certifiable than our/their parents...then I should have had my head checked because nope, we are all, and I mean every last single one of us, pretty much the ditto copy of our prior generation and you know what?  that's just fine. 

This is how I reconciled it to myself:  If they have unbound, untold love for each other, then we cousins do too.  If they have the ability to bring into their midst their spouses and make them also feel as if they were born into their family, then we cousins possess that same remarkable skill.  If they feed each other, take care of each other, are concerned for each other, then we cousins do all those things but we do it on a more voluntary basis.  If their nieces and nephews were akin to their own children, then our nieces and nephews hold the same places in our hearts (whether or not we're parents yet).  Whereas they were forced to spend time together, to share meals and go out as one, we look for the mere opportunity to do so. 

But that's us here right?  what about those who are living in the motherland?  are we mentally distant from them due to the miles?  If you think that's reasonable, that distance does it's tragic magic, then you would be wrong in our case because those 'back home' are as much apart of our existence as those who actually live in the same neighborhood/town/state.  We are as very much apart of each others lives, we know what's happening if not on a day-to-day basis but yes, enough so that they are not strangers and we don't suddenly 'hear' of something and are surprised by it.  When they cry, we cry for them and when they celebrate we do as well.  Our nieces and nephews who have never seen us still very much know who we are because their parents make sure to show them pictures or talk about us.  And those here?  Well the same is being done. 

See the thing is, for us the title 'cousin' isn't what we consider "distant relative".  We do not just see our cousins on special holidays or birthdays (if) only.  We don't ignore them unless something happens and then they crop up or we do.  No we are all connected as our parents have been.  We are brothers and sisters.  When a non-desi friend of mine tells me 'the last time I saw my cousin was years ago' my head blanks and I look at them like an owl.  This very idea doesn't compute.  Years?  Really?  I mean I go like 2 weeks without seeing these folks and I get hate mail or I miss you calls.  I can't even think about going home to see my parents without them showing up and if I did try, and they found out later that I had been in town...well, yea I've gone through that guilt trip many times to know it's not worth it.  But then again, would I want to go home without them crowding into the house excitedly telling me about what was going on in their lives, demanding for me to take them out for frozen yogurt or coffee, trying to steal a piece of jewelry or clothing or even yes, shoes, right from off my person?  Of course not! 

Well so there you go, this is my family.  I dislike them a lot sometimes but for the most part, I could not imagine breathing a day without knowing that they were all there, the whole lot of them being the nutso crazy ridiculous frustrating exasperating loving caring warm group that they are.