Tuesday, April 30, 2013

Lil Sicky Me : (

Well folks, it's been a few days since I posted something and I'm getting a bit worried.  I don't want my little readership to dwindle away.  You know how much I love this blog and j'adore those of you who stop by!  But I do have a legit excuse as to why I've been slacking. 

You're truly has been sick. 

Okay, not like sick in the head or anything (although some could debate that fact) but more like the 'coughing, sneezing, body aches, temperature, feeling all around crappy' sorta one.  Actually this one is weird.  I'm not coughing, nor sneezing, I do have slight body aches but the temperature is always with me.  I don't get what the hell is going on, it's low-grade at best and annoying as hell.  

Saturday night we had (another) big family party (again), this time to celebrate my uncle and nieces birthdays.  I got all gussied up in a new sari (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sari) and floated (because honestly people shouldn't do anything other than float in a sari) to my aunts house in B'more (seriously, I'm always there, or at least it seems so *sigh*) while clutching a absolutely fantastic purple purse and cute lil strappy heels.  As expected the family ooh'ed and aah'ed over my appearance and god knows I was appreciative over the acknowledgement. 

But by 9pm, I was sitting next to my SIL and she sorta gave me this funny look as I was slumped on the sofa trying hard to maintain a smile.  She said that my eyes were 'too bright'.  I'm never sure I know what that means but I trusted her since my insides felt hot-ish.  I turned to her and said 'um...something's wrong.'  I honestly had to resist the urge to pass out but that would have so stolen the thunder from the birthday folks.  Instead I 'manned' up and spent the better part of the next two hours or so trying to focus on the convo at hand, which was no easy feat.  

Normally when I go to home to visit the fam, my bro, me, P and any one of my various amounts of cousins will go to the nearby 7-11 and chill out having coffee and gossiping.  This has been our routine for nearly 10 years now and it's the one part of going home that I do honestly look forward to (other than spending time with my parentals and eating yummy homemade food prepared by the loving hands of my mommy).  I think it's rather an unspoken agreement that no matter how late it is, we'll try to squeeze in this ritual but that night as I finally glared P into getting his butt off the sofa from the post-pig-out session everyone had indulged in less than an hour before, so we could head home, my mind was pretty much telling me 'you even think about it and you'll regret it'.  My bro even looked slightly perplexed when I told him we were going straight home.  With an 'okay, drive safe and take care' we were so outta there.

I honestly hoped that I wasn't really legit sick, that maybe it was the effects of so many people crammed into the house but nope, got home and yes indeedy the fever was making the most in my body nearly throwing a party as for the last two days I've been able to keep 0 in my stomach and resorted to working from home yesterday.  As a side bar, I read a study about how people worked less when they were 'telecommuting' but frankly I disagree with this.  Most likely because I don't have kids at home to distract me, I can seem to get more done.  Hell I put in 12 hours of work on a 'sick day' then I would have had I been in the office physically.

You may wonder how I am feeling now.  In one word: crap.  I don't know why I came to work today.  My eyes are blurry and the constant spiked temperature has embraced me but good so there is no escaping its clutches.  I think going home is the only remedy although I'm loathed to go out into this drizzle-y nasty weather.  Oh, oh, yes and thanks to this weather I believe I am sick in fact.  I mean with these up's and down's in weather patterns, one can't blame a body for finally succumbing.  Heck I know far too many people who are even now doing pretty much the same as I am, cursing fate and all illnesses in general.   

Anyhow, so there's my explanation.  I'm still trying hard to keep up with this blogging thing but boy o boy is it hard when all you want to do is sleep.  You know I gotta love y'all to be still typing now when the letters swim-eth before my eyes-eth!   : )

I promise more shall be posted later. 

**Here's another original drawing.  Um...in case you were wondering, that's a water bottle on the head, not a beret since I don’t tend to wear berets anyhow and that thing on the nose?  A nosering...heh.  Also if you couldn't figure it out, that's a thermometer sticking out of the mouth.  I said I could try to draw, not that I was good at it =\ 

 

Friday, April 26, 2013

Random Convos: "Honk!"

This was Staff Appreciation Week and like other companies, my firm is also "appreciating" us.  On Wednesday we were treated to cupcakes, on Thursday a pretty yummy breakfast consisting of an omelet station, fresh fruits and flaky croissants, and then today was pizza for lunch.  Hey, appreciate me as much as you like if it means free food.

Me, K and R (my girls at work) promptly all tromped down to the conference room at precisely 12:30pm to grab some food and sat with other colleagues at a conference table while enjoying hot Papa Johns.  It was pleasant enough but we craved sun, particularly K, so after finishing up pretty quickly we made a beeline for the great outdoors.  We ended up sunbathing (yes, because after all I so need to get tanned...not) while soaking up Vitamin D at the Navy Memorial which is but blocks away from the office, turning our faces up to the rays of the big ol' yellow globe up in the sky.  And as usual we chattered on about nothing in particular, our topics never staying stagnant, never un-amusing either.

But amongst all our conversations to date, today's was probably the oddest.  Somehow we got onto the topics of geese...you know...the waddling big overgrown birds that hiss and spit and will aggressively chase you down to peck at you even if your shadow so much as crosses their paths?  Yea, look at it  (scary, right?) ----> 

These things are a damn menace to society if you ask me and I'd be happy to see each and every single one of them roasted on a spit somewhere.  I thought though that this was just my POV but apparently I am in good company for both K and R also seemed equally passionate about their dislike for this particular breed of fowl. 

(Since I don't usually tape record the random conversations I have with folks as I'm having them, the below is as close to accurate as I can make it but the sentiments are just about right.) 

K:  In the neighborhood that I live in, they're everywhere.  The other day a bunch of cars waited while a line of geese crossed the street.  There was a male goose that sort of stood in the middle as it watched all the others crossing, keeping them safe I guess.  As if no one would dare to run it over!  *says she in equal parts of astonishment and outrage*  I mean, they're GEESE!  Why can't they FLY across the street?  You know they do this on purpose just to be annoying!

R:  Like it's thinking 'no, you do NOT want me on your tires!'  *she says with a 'don't you even think about it' look on her face*

Me:  Yea, it'll turn around, give you a look over its shoulder and go "HONK!"...which means "you WILL wait...WHAT?!?!"  *imagine me giving an example of it in an uber ghetto style*

We all proceeded to fall over laughing as we continued to make obnoxious honking sounds, vowing that from now on, we would honk at each other at every given opportunity that presented itself.  Considering how rife with humanity the immediate space about us was, I can't imagine how many people weren't wondering what the hell was wrong with the 3 of us.  Oh so many things really...so many blessed, wonderful, awesome things. 

Since this afternoon, we also have now decided that a flock of geese guarding your house would be far more dangerous than any watch-dog.  No one, and we believe absolutely NO ONE will dare come within even a mile of your domicile if they believe that some crazed psychotic overgrown feathered menace was pacing the premises.  R did ask though in sort of pondering retrospect, "wouldn't they just fly away?"  I suggested little leashes on their scrawny necks while K said in pure exasperation, "no, cause they don't fly, they only do that during the winters when they go South, otherwise they stay put!"  We all nodded and hooted in response.

Seriously though, these sorts of random conversations totally make your day and are fodder for fun blogs (if you ask me). 

Honk, Honk folks, consider this a warning to the wise...stay away from them geese and TGIF!

Thursday, April 25, 2013

Another Weather Blog =\

There is simply no better way of saying this:  The weather is screwed. 

And it's terrible that I have so many blasted posts on the weather, I mean how boring is that right?  It's literally up there in the same category of boring as when one finds themselves talking about the weather as a conversation filler.  You know, like when you're sitting with someone and all of the sudden silence descends and your mind goes blank, you shift uncomfortably, maybe cough, surreptitiously check your phone and then go "So!  This weather aye?  How crazy is it?"   This is about the same.  I wouldn't be surprised if one of you isn't looking at this post even now and saying to yourself 'Really?  Seriously?  You have nothing better to write about?'  My answer to you is: no.  I actually don't.  Not that I can't think up about 100 other more worthwhile topics but for the moment I'm just pissy about this weather.

Oh come ON!  I wrote not too long ago about how happy I was to see the sun and yada yada and blah blah blah and I swear to god I jinxed my own darn self.  Because for whatever reason the sun has decided to move away from the earth.  Uh...hello?  What the heck?  Away?  NO!  You're supposed to come closer...CLOSER!  Oh the injustice.  Who did this?  I mean who!?!? *looks around* 

Err...I mean okay let's break it down...here in the beautiful mid-east coast area (of the USA)...we have a cold spell that's killing our vegetation.  To the north of us, the cold is even worse with records amount of low temps.  To the south of us we have tornado's and flooding which are literally washing or blowing away lives.  Somewhere in the middle part of this vast land the poor folks are being dumped with snow and all the way to the west they're trying to copy our fall.  Let's not even talk about the earthquakes, the tsunami's, avalanches and pouring rains all over the globe...I shall not even go there.

I recently wrote a status message on FB bemoaning the coldness and a friend of mine was complaining about how her lil trees was unnecessarily being harmed.  This is so not fair.  I mean, what the heck did those lil things do to anyone huh?  And she is also the reason I decided to do a bit more complaining about the weather (no matter how boring and tiresome and redundant I'm sounding).  At least I know others share my sentiments. 

Okay, it is now two days since I started this blog and I will say (with a great deal of reservation) that my nemesis (yes the weather is now going to be referred to in this way) has started to behave somewhat.  Last night I went out with an old friend and we had a chance to sit outside and enjoy the soft breezes and do some people watching.  I even got away with tromping around outdoors without a winter coat (although admittedly I had a suit jacket and a thin cotton scarf tied around my neck).  This is improvement I believe however due to my normal 'glass is half empty' mentality and also because every blasted time I've written about how beautiful and gorgeous and sublime and blah blah blah it is outside, I've immedately been smacked upside the head by Mother Nature and have been told to 'STFU, don't count your chickens before them embriyos become...," (you get it right) I'm still very leery.  Today I had to still wear a light jacket to work but at least earmuffs, gloves and heavy wool scarves were left at home, mind you not stowed away, just left at home.  They sit at the foot of my bed waiting in anticipation and I believe a bit smug and gleeful that they have reigned for so long as the predominant articles of clothing that I can not walk out of the house sans.  Very irritating I must say.

BTW, is there some sort of dance, chant, prayer, burning of something that will help speed up the weather recovery?  Anyone have any ideas?  I'm thinking about some sort of summer solstice voodoo ritual where I dance around a fire like Betty White from the movie The Proposal.  That is about one of the best scenes ever.  Check it out: 



Anyhow if you see an improvement, you may immediately contact me and thank me because it will be due to my chanting and shaking of bootay that the general atmosphere has vastly improved all around this wonderful earth of ours. 

One last community service message:  Keep our planet clean!  Go hug yourself a tree and enjoy a few flowers here and there.  Hop into a car with one of your buddies and think twice before throwing plastic hither and yon.  Remember, these bizarre weather patterns aren't cropping up because Mother Nature is tired of doing her job.  We gotta take responsibility. 

Recycle, replenish, revive our world : )


Note:  Still due to fear of copyright infringement I hesitate in uploading pics that were not taken or created by me which is why you see these silly lil drawings.  These are originals :D 

Sunday, April 21, 2013

Moone Porlo Tomai...Mama (Translation: I remember you...Uncle)


Okay so this song, the one I posted, it's a lovely one.  Listen to it, you may not understand what it says because it's in Bengali (unless you know the language and then you'll be okay) but trust me it's lovely.  It speaks of watching the rain and thinking of a love lost.  The song didn't prompt me to write this blog but the story behind it did...or rather the memory of someone made me want to share it.
 
My mother is 1 of 8.  4 brothers, 4 sisters.  Rather, my mother was 1 of 8.  Several years ago, one by one, her oldest brother (Haroon Mama (the word "Mama" means uncle)), second brother (Selim Mama), third brother (Roton Mama) and oldest sister (Baby Khala) all passed away in the span of 2 years.  There is no other word but 'tragic' that could be associated with that string of events and it still shocks me to think that they are all gone.  My poor mother has never quite recovered either.
 
Yesterday was my Roton Mama's death anniversary.  Generally we will read the Quran, pray and count rosary beads for the departed soul.  I had thought that I would go to Baltimore to be with Ammu but work had me occupied, staying up till the wee hours of Friday morning (actually 4am on technically Saturday morning) by 10am I was dead on my feet and still had a pile of stuff to tackle.  I told mom on the phone that maybe I wouldn't be able to come but it took one sob caught in her throat that had me resolving to make the 45 minute drive back home no matter what or the consequences.  Never mind that I couldn't focus due to staring at a computer screen for hours and hours, that I felt like throwing up from exhaustion or that my head hurt like the blazes, when a mother cries, the child flies.  Simple.
 
I arrived home at about 6pm.  Mom was busy in the kitchen and didn't hear me open the front door.  As usual I called out "Ammu" in a soft sing-song voice that I was sure sounded tired even though I tried hard to inject some pep.  I shuffled down the hall and wasn't surprised to find her in the kitchen, a scarf around her hair, wearing a long full sleeved black and printed abaya.  She turned when she heard me and within an instant I could see the sadness that had probably been on her face, lessen just a bit as a smile of happiness flashed across her lips.  I knew it was because I was there, therefore I also felt exhaustion slip away (sort of).  Okay not really but seeing her relieved face made me feel as if the decision of coming to her was the right one, no matter how badly I wanted to catch a few hours of sleep.  Small sacrifices, right?  They were well worth the dua (blessings).
 
It was pleasant to sit with her, have a late lunch with my Bro, and then it was Magrib (the prayer one performs exactly at sundown).  We observed it together, which was peaceful.  Unlike my mothers prayers though, mine are shorter.  She goes on for hours while I try to get the basic done but of course that day I needed a bit more time as well.  I sat on the floor beside her, my back resting against the bed, rosary beads in hand.  "lā ʾilāha ʾillā l-Lāh, Muḥammadur rasūlu l-Lāh" (meaning "There is no god but God, Muhammad (pbuh) is the messenger of God")
 
I repeated this over and over again but after a few hundred of them and like most things that are this repetitious, I found my mind flooded with  other thoughts...in this instance, memories.  I saw a man, a dear beloved figure as I remembered him clearly of medium height and medium build, fair with a mustache and pearly whites...a very handsome man to be totally truthful and completely unbiased.  His smile brightened any room and his laughter was infectious.  I swear I can still hear it ringing in my ears to this day.  I have far too many wonderful (and a few not so wonderful) memories of him...my Roton Mama, but let me tell you about the one that holds closest to my heart, the one that is directly connected to the song above and which is one of the most crystal memories I have of him.
 
My cousin T was getting married back in 2005 (or was it 06?) and I decided that I hadn't been back home (in this case Bangladesh) in so long that I almost felt obligated.  Two birds with one stone was how I looked at it because I could not only attend the wedding but also hang out with the in-laws.  After about a week in the main city of Dhaka with the husbands fam (sans him), I hopped a plane to Chittagong (the port city)...here check it out in case you've never looked at the geographical location of Bdesh: 
 
This is where my mom's family lived, back when there were more there than in the United States.  Since then, with the deaths, we have (sadly enough) more family members in the States than in Bdesh.  Never thought something like that would happen *sigh*.  The very night I arrived, there was a major power grid explosion leaving us in 100 degree (even at night) weather with no electricity for over 12+ hours.  This didn't surprise me, load shedding wasn't/isn't an unfamiliar phenomenon in 3rd world countries, which Bangladesh most certainly is and because mentally I was prepared for the heat and humidity, I took it in stride while everyone else around me freaked out.  Mostly, they were worried about me which I told them was unnecessary but they weren't listening. 
 
Anyhow, those following days in Chittagong were busy in preparation for my Cuz's wedding.  All sorts of ceremonies were being planned, all sorts of traditions were being observed.  My mom though had decided that she wanted to throw a Bridal Shower for T and was determined to cook all the dishes herself (what was she thinking I didn't know since there were cooks in the house who could take care of it).  No matter that my mother and heat didn't like each other, she had insisted and since we were staying in Roton Mama and Lizi Mami's home, they readily agreed to co-host the event as well as leave my mother to sweltering in the kitchen.  Actually Lizi Mami hovered close by asking about a million times whether she could be of help but Ammu had shoo-ed her away repeatedly. 
 
That day I recall the heat had been particularly ugly and whereas normally it didn't really bother me much, my body was rebelling and I was having odd stomach pains.  Nausea had stayed at bay for most of the day while mild cramping accompanied this and by early evening, I was paying homage to the toilet gods.  No, it wasn't 'that time of the month'...I just didn't feel well.  My Aunt and Mom had pushed me out into the veranda where I sat listening to the sounds of the night which included the bell ringing of the rickshaws, the honking of the occasional cars and buzzing of bikes.  There was music playing in the distance and murmured conversation and laughter that wafted up to the 7th floor apartment.  Above that, another layer actually, was the sounds of the wind and the smells of Bangladesh in general. 
 
At some point, Mama came home from work finding me huddled in a corner with my head tipped against the grill barrier.  He felt my forehead to see if I was running a temperature (his hand was surprisingly cool), asked me if I had eaten anything (which I had but also had lost), then went off to change with a promise that he'd be back.  Within that time one of his friends, Afsar Mama, showed up as well; a man who was almost like a brother to Roton Mama.  He pulled up a chair next to me and we chatted about nothing in particular.  Since I was feeling not so great, Afsar Mama started to share stories about his youthful antics in an effort to get me to laugh, which I appreciated.  My Mama came back, looking refreshed and comfy, hair wet from a quick wash.  He too pulled up a chair and I sat listening to the two friends reminisce about childhood, telling me hilarious tales about the women they had woo'ed, the troubles they had courted and the fun they had experienced, all while they sipped milky sweet tea.
 
Now, the other big thing about my Roton Mama, which was of sorts his claim to fame, was that he had a sublime voice.  He performed extensively and was always heard on the radio.  In fact, he sounded just like the singer in the video above.  Every time I hear this guys voice, I think of my Mama and yes, admittedly, I cry.  The similarity is rather eerie to be honest but unfortunately I don't have a recording of Mama to post and share therefore you'll have to trust me.
 
At one point, I don't know how this happened, we got to the topic of music and I had asked, rather begged, Mama to please sing (the song above) for me.  I recalled having liked it before although wasn't terribly familiar with it.  He refused, saying that others paid to listen to him, I wouldn't be getting a private concert for free, I failed to see the small smile on his lips that were particularly hidden by his stach and the shadows of the night.  A tiny bit hurt, I sulked while Afsar Mama tried to cheer me.  After a moment, Roton Mama disappeared returning in a few seconds with his harmonium and there, in the darkness of the veranda he sang this song to me. 
 
I will never ever EVER forget that moment.  I will never forget him, no matter that I don't speak much of him, it's painful to be frank.  I will never forget that moment of utter silence as he sang just for me, how his voice rose in perfect harmony, how lithely and expertly his hands flew over the keys of the harmonium, how he emoted the very meaning of the song through his singing.  I will never forget the softness of that night, the depth of the darkness, the perfection of that moment.  And beyond that one night, I will never forget how he used to lay his hand over my hair and stroke it or how he would smuggle me choc bars (ice cream) or how he would burst into singing at any given moment, or harass me when I wanted to be left alone.  I will never forget our mutual admiration for anything and everything that was musical or his fierce adoration for his family.  I will never forget his laughter, his anger also and I will never forget to my dying day, how much he loved me.
 
I so miss you Mama. 

Wednesday, April 17, 2013

Confused, Sad and Tired...Questions and Prayers

I was on my way to posting a regular old blog about nothing important but something happened that derailed me and I felt that I couldn't let the day go by without not only acknowledging but asking God a few questions as well as a request or two.
 
 
***WARNING (of sorts): I recognize many of you may not believe in God, a higher power, some greater entity which rules us all and that's okay with me. I don't judge you for not believing, please don't judge me for my belief either that there is an Almighty who is looking out for me and who at the end of the day is in fact merciful and has some big plan (I just don't know what it is). I'll stick to what I have...faith. If you don't want to read about God, faith, etc...don't read this blog.
 
 
***Clarification: I wrote this the day of the Boston bombing and had every intention of posting it right away but as usual I had to read, re-read, edit, think, ponder, delete and start all over again. This is why the reference is of that day, not today. Clearly blogging isn't all that easy.
 
 
So about 3:30ish this afternoon as I sat glaring at my computer considering what I could go get as a mid-day snack, my buddy calls and says to me 'did you hear about the blasts...in Boston?' My mind went blank and a part of me did a 'oh Allah, not again'. So yes, another afternoon was spent sitting at work listening to news, my heart sinking further and further into my stomach. Another terror attack? Yea so it seemed even though a part of me was screaming 'No! Please let it not be another damn jihadist on a mission!' And although people, who include the President, have been careful not to condemn any group of people, I did almost immediately. As did the media but that's another blog I think but honestly, shame on me...at least till there is proof. Anyhow...
 
 
Since I heard, as soon as I got home I did what most people were probably doing which was turning on the news to be able to take in every bit of information that is out there; sit and watch with wide eyes the video of the moment the bomb blew and I'm sure many are horrified.
 
 
I'm not.
 
 
Are you surprised at my reaction? May be a little? But I'm being honest here. No, I'm not horrified or shocked anymore. How many times in the last 12 years have I, and the world, done the same thing? Watched live events unfold before our eyes which we couldn't quite believe was actually happening; visions of things straight out of one’s nightmares have far too often been realized in Technicolor? Endless amounts of gasps and racing hearts and scenes of terror which made us immediately murmur a prayer to God.  No, I’m sorry, I really am not surprised.  What I am is confused and well…plain old tired. 
 
 
And I have a few questions also.  The #1 being: When will we be able to breathe again without fear? This single question has flashed through my mind repeatedly over the last few years and I have yet to be bestowed with a reasonable answer.  Don’t I, along with the trillions of others who inhabit the earth deserve the answer to this one simple question?
 
 
I wish to God I could tell you that I didn’t also suspect that the person who did this in Boston wasn’t a Muslim.  I so want it not to be because only those who practice the religion could aptly sympathize.  Only we can tell you how exhausted we are of defending ourselves, our religion, our beliefs.  Only we can tell you how spiritually it’s devastating to watch all this on television and want to scream to those around you that “hey these folks don’t reflect me or what I follow…these people are misguided and lost…they are not me!”
 
 
Probably a good amount of readers here know that I'm Muslim and now the rest of you do also. I am not one who goes around screaming this fact not because I'm embarrassed but because it is very personal to me therefore I don't have any interest in 411'ing it all over the place. I've never thought myself as a fantastic Muslim (nor, sadly, a very good one) but I am firm in my faith and have studied it enough to have a somewhat above average knowledge in it. Mind you, I am no scholar but if I had to explain to someone/anyone why I follow my chosen religion, I'd be able to do so without batting an eyelash and with full confidence in knowing what I was speaking about.
 
 
Now since 9/11 it seems like Muslims have been demonized, Islam the vessel of those demons. I've watched the world label anyone who followed/follows my faith as terrorists. I have been told, about my own religion no less, that Islam promotes terrorism. I remember the first time I heard this I thought to myself "hmm...all this time I've been practicing it, reading on it, learning about it, and no where have I ever seen it being said that a Muslim should go out and bomb the world in the Quran." Hmm, weird.
 
 
No, don't fret; this blog isn't about Islam and the defense of it. The fact is, my faith does not need to be defended at all because in many ways it speaks for itself...by its people, the majority of us who are just normal every day human beings who aren't walking around with explosives strapped to our chests. We are just like you. We go to work, we come home, we have families, we plan vacations, we look forward to holidays (although may be different from yours) and when we see people dying due to some suicide bomber thinking that he/she is waging a war against the infidels, we are the ones who suffer the consequences ultimately and we cry along with the rest of the world as well as we fall to the mat to pray for the souls who were snatched away so unexpectedly. Our clerics are not brainwashing us, they are not telling us to join some sleeper cell but they are trying their hardest to explain to us those things that even they don't necessarily understand about this extremist mentality and stress to us that these sort of actions do not represent Islam in any way.
 
 
Again let me repeat, we are just like you. My Islam has never ever taught me to hate. It has never ever taught me intolerance. It has never ever encouraged me to hurt innocents for no reason. My Islam is peaceful, loving and tolerant. My God is all those things and more. YOU cannot change this fact just because you insist. If you want to know about Islam, find a Muslim, sit, talk, educate yourself, you will be surprised I can guarantee it because at the end of the day, we are more similar than dissimilar.
 
 
WE ARE JUST LIKE YOU!
 
 
Okay, now this is clear, the next part is really for God, read on if you wish...
_____________________________________________________________________
Dearest God,
 
 
What is going on in the world? What is wrong with us? Have you given up hope; have you really turned your back? Is that why we suffer like this? What happened to the world I remember devoid of fear? When did we become such accusing horrible vengeful humans? Were we supposed to be this way? Were things supposed to happen this way? I want the days when we could feel comfortable about going out and living our lives without terror lurking in our hearts. I want to not have to be scared to let my loved ones step away for me for an instant without worrying over whether they will come back.  Is this asking for too much?
 
 
I am tired of seeing people all around the world suffering and the hatred for one another...why such hatred? We are all basically (down to the smallest atom) made of the same thing yet why do we hate each other so very much? Because of invisible borders? Because of differences of opinion? Of religion? Of culture? Are these the reasons to kill? Are they valid? But we were never taught this as kids, were we? I don't remember having learned these things in school, by teachers, most certainly not by my parents or the quiet halls of the Mosque were I learned how to be a good person. I was always told tolerance, tolerance, tolerance. So...so God, what happened? Who are these people that harbor such hatred against not just government or an organized institution but mankind in general? Who are the people who teach this sense of intolerance?
 
 
God I feel lost. I feel little hope and no comfort that one day, if I were to have a child that he or she would live in a world that made any sense, that they would be able to have had a childhood like I did which did not include red alerts, safety procedures to escape crazed gunmen or having to keep an eye out for suspicious packages. Give them the ability to laugh without worry, to plan their future without fear and to be able to love their fellow human being...not just their neighbor. This prayer is not for just me, those I love or care for, but the world in general. Somehow, wake mankind up and most of all, give us some common sense. We cannot keep doing this to each other. Take the hate away. Please.
 
 
Yours Truly,
Me
_______________________________________________________________
 
I do have more to say but right now I’m a bit overwhelmed.  I have to organize my thoughts.  I don’t even know whether this blog made any sense, I re-read it and think I’m rambling but again, I admit that I’m an emotional person and therefore, well...I am emotional.


I don’t only mourn those people killed in Boston, this blog wasn't just about Boston or only tragedies happening in the USA...no my sadness casts a much wider net.  I pray for the swift recovery for those who were injured here most certainly for this is home and these are my people but I also mourn and pray for the millions and millions of people suffering horrors in war torn countries all around the world, for souls who have lost and lost and lost again.  I recognize the roll that my country plays in these horrors, please do not think I am not fully aware, but for right now, I just pray. 

 

Friday, April 12, 2013

One Raindrop and Everyone Goes Insane



Last night due to far too many nights of insomnia, I finally passed out at about 11:30pm which is odd for me.  My eyes opened at 7pm and the first thing I heard was the pattering of rain on the roof of my house.  P had already left for work so everything was quiet and still.  I closed my eyes again and snuggled deep into the comforter considering (again) to call out 'sick'.  Knowing this wasn't really going to fly I took a few moments to remain that way before tumbling out of bed. 

Is there anything better then being in a warm house, in your PJ's, in bed, under the covers, listening to rain while dozing on and off?  I think not my friend, I think not.  This has got to be a universal love affair if you ask me.  If someone here in the States loves it, someone in Thailand does too as well as India or Germany.  But the trick is that you do not have to go out in said rain, so as long as you are indoors (and that does not mean work) then you're good to go right?

About an hour later after a hasty shower and donning anything that came close to fingertip distance, as well as armed with coffee, I sat in my car glaring at the packed highway.  It was truly bumper-to-bumper.  As we already know I am not a morning person but this particular morning I was even more so not a morning person (precisely how many times did I just use the word 'morning'?).  Honestly I realize the weather does accurately reflect my mood to some extent.  When it's gloomy, I'm gloomy and when it's sunny, okay well I can still be gloomy but less so...I think. 

There was a point though, where there was a break in traffic and finally I was making headway.  However I couldn't help wondering why the congestion less then a quarter mile back.  Obviously there had been no accidents, no major obstructions, no construction, not even a huge converging of lanes yet I was hitting the brake one too many times.  I'm just sayin', if there's going to be traffic, shouldn't there be a reasonable explanation for it, such as "hey a helicopter made an emergency landing on the highway" (which BTW did happen to me and P when we were in Europe heading into Rome from Venice and I was driving...but that's another story).  This made me realize that VA/MD/DC folks just do not have any concept as to how the hell to drive in rain.  It's water damn it, it's not that tricky.  Slow your butts down a bit, be careful around corners, try not to hydroplane and keep going.  What's so difficult about that?

It's not just rain too, I wish it were.  No it's also any sort of inclement weather and this area seems to come to a screeching halt, people freak out, start running around in circles like a dog chasing it's tail.  Honestly it's about the most darn aggravating part of living around here.  And there are even dangers of sitting in traffic which refuses to move.  What's that you ask?  Well, you can turn to casually look at the car next to you and see some nasty dude digging for gold up his nostril. 

*blah*

Yea, TGIF =\

(Ooh...original artwork by yours truly...didn't know I was so multi-talented, did ya?  Um...clearly my talent doesn't extend to being able to straighten the darn picture so please, tilt your head.  *smiles* )

Wednesday, April 10, 2013

Repost: What's wrong w/me?

Here's something I posted a while ago in my other blog (the dead one) but it still seems to apply.  Check it out:

Why can't I fight the demons of insecurity in me and finally have something published, even if it's a stupid little article in some stupid little po-dunk newspaper somewhere in bum fluck no-where? What's wrong with me? I am never more content or happy than when I am sitting in-front of a screen typing away, dictating from ideas in my head. What am I so scared of?

My job gives me only temporary satisfaction, nothing more. I'll never be anything more than 'just a paralegal' to anyone, no matter how many years I work, no matter how long I toil away, no matter how good I get. It doesn't matter. IT DOESN'T MATTER. Being a paralegal is one of the most thankless jobs in the world.

I'm tired of fighting a system I will never master, ever. I used to love the challenge, and I still do, but somewhere between living the life and fighting for every crappy inch of respect I demand to get (I stress the word inch) I find myself disenchanted. Burnout? Maybe. Maybe that's exactly what it is but then again maybe not? Is it possible that I'm not cut out for this?

Long ago in a past work life I met H-Mali who always seemed so angered about her lot in life. I mean this girl walked around with a churning cauldron of resentment towards the whole world that was liable to bubble over. I felt sad for her, I almost pitied her because she was inevitably making her life more difficult than it needed to be. I had the nerve to feel superior because I was in fact perfectly fine with what I was doing, how I was being treated, the work product and so on and so forth.

Don't rock the boat Bina, I told myself.

Now I sneer at myself. Ironically I find myself standing at the same precipice as she probably had way back when. My only consolation is that I'm still (and hopefully will never be) as bitter as she. She let her negativity effect not only her whole life, but all those around her and everything she touched. I can't do that, my faith in Allah (swt) is too strong. I believe that Allah will make things better eventually.

But here's the bottom line...

I am good at what I do.
I am competent and dedicated
I am thorough
I do think outside the box
I do consider work before everything else
I am capable of handling more than anyone can ever conceive
I do thrive on challenges
I do gripe and bitch and get stressed out but I do not hate it and secretly find satisfaction
I love being a part of a team
I love being needed and appreciated
I hate being considered 'just a paralegal'
I am not 'just a paralegal'

So, so, so long ago during one late night when we sat reviewing documents, working hard, H-Mali was spewing her bitterness and I said to her 'listen, you didn't go to law school, you did not have to study till you felt like your brains were going to slide out of your skull through your ears, you didn't have to sit for the bar or spend the next few years sacrificing your life and sanity to the God's of a law firm where internal politics is what it's all about even though it should be your work product. You are a paralegal and a good one and that's what you should take pride in. Do not expect people to fawn over you because you're one and not the other and do not expect them to recognize you because in fact you are not one, but the other. Be happy with what you're doing and when the dissatisfaction is so great that you can no longer bare it, move on, find another path and be happy with that choice as well.'

Did I say the right things? Should I listen to my own advice? I don't expect the same. I AM a paralegal. I AM proud of what I have achieved. But damn it acknowledge what I am and realize that maybe without me (and my ilk) you'd be far more screwed than you already are cause guess what? Without me (and my ilk) you'd be the ones who are quality checking and bates labeling till your brain melts and slides out of your ears in boredom because you're intelligence is far superior to that of a gnats.

Okay, I'm done.

Tuesday, April 9, 2013

Oh Well, Look Who Decided to Show Up! (Psst...it's the Sun)

Dear Gorgeous Globe of Warmth and Shining Wonder...Greetings!!  You're here!  Finally!  Yay!  Welcome!!  You have NO idea how much you've been missed : )

(Now you know I'm seriously happy when I use an excess of exclamation points!!!)

I woke up this morning to the sound of the whir of the fan.  Last night I had flicked it on for the first time in I can't remember how long and had fallen in to a very dreamless sleep almost immediately.  This morning I remember waking up without really opening my eyes.  I did what I usually did which was contemplate how to get out of going to work but the unfamiliar sound disturbed my musing and caused me to crack an eye.  Oh, the fan.  

This one little fact made me happy, believe it or not.  The fact that the fan was turned on. 

I have been keeping an eye on the weather predictions in hope that things would finally warm up.  Today it was supposed to and I'm happy to report that the sun had finally made an appearance...with a bit of a vengeance too because we hit 80's by mid-afternoon

Getting into my Stella (yes, that's the name of my beautiful Audi, I've named her, don't judge me) I immediately opened up all the windows as well as sunroof.  I was purely thrilled.  Even the backed-up-to-hell traffic didn't dim my slight elation although by the time I drove into the building I did do a bit of cringing but that's to be expected, right?  It's work after all.

Now the problem with beautiful weather, for me at least because typically speaking I don't like to talk for others, is that I want to be out in it which made sitting still and focusing all that much more tougher while in the building.  When lunch time arrived my two colleagues and I quickly left to join the crowded streets of DC. 

Humanity was literally everywhere.  Gone were the coats, gloves and hats that had ruled our lives for far too many wintry months.  Out for all to see were pale legs, shoulders and faces turned up to the sun.  My friends and I sat outside lounging until we were forced back indoors but bootay was dragged, fo' sho'.  The only plus point was the knowledge that today I had to leave early since I have music classes every Tuesday and must get on the road by 5:30pm in order to make it to class by 7pm.  Yup, it takes me 1.5 hours to travel 20 miles during rush-hour.  By the time the appointed moment came ticking by, I was out of their so fast I think I left skid marks behind.

I've mentioned how this time of the year is lovely as my city literally blooms (see the prior blog about Spring and where it thou be) but the biggest problem that comes with those lovely blossoms?  Tourists.  And they are honestly everywhere.  Crowding all available spaces, walking hither and yon, asking for directions, cramming the metro, blocking the doors of the train anxiously, halting abruptly in the middle of the sidewalk to take a picture of this or that and worse of all, deciding to do most of their travels right around the time when all work slugs were leaving their offices.  Normally this is cause for many scowls and cursing (me, not them) but not today...no indeedy not today.

I smiled the whole way out of the crawling traffic, ignoring the out-of-towners who kept cutting in front of me, swerving the bike nuts who thread in and out of the cars, and not trying to flick off the moron who decided that he wanted to be in my lane, even when he was two lanes on the other side of the 3 lane road.  The smile stayed in place as I waited for the endless amounts of hoofing tourists who were headed for the Jefferson Memorial and the Tidal Basin to see the Cherry Blossoms.  It wavered only for a moment when I drove by a pretty horrible car crash which left a car literally in ashes and it's driver sitting on the curb looking stunned.  I thanked God for at least sparing the man his life.

As I drove on past the Washington Monument, I eyed it, noting that the scaffolding for the repairs that would be done to it from the damage inflicted during last years earthquake was now half way up.  I tried to take a quick picture of it...check it out: 

Hmmm...actually I think it's more then half, or possibly the bizarre angle I was tilting the phone but I couldn't get a better because right beside me was a cop who just gave me the stink-eye, shook his head and waggled his finger.  I gave him a sheepish grin, quickly putting the phone down. 

By the time I got to the Tidal Basin area the place was crawling, simply crawling with happy touristy folks in their touristy outfits.  I couldn't begrudge them their joy.  Hell I would have been out there with them to take a few pictures, gawk at the stubby pinkish trees and enjoy the warmth and sun (!) but that was not to be, off to music class I was.

Class was good, I felt satisfied (mainly because for a change I had practiced) and as I strolled back into the warm night, my first instinct was to find myself a nice little cafe, sit and milk the rest of the evening for everything it was worth.  I think some part of me was/is still leery, thinking the warmth would vanish and the cold would reappear just to spite us.  But eyeing the clock I realized that I had 30 minutes to get my butt home so I could catch Dancing With the Stars - Elimination Night (again, don't judge me, this is one of my favorite shows and I'm not ashamed to admit it). 

So now it's 1:30 am and I haven't gone to sleep yet (obviously since I'm still writing) and I feel a bit sweaty but happy.  Tomorrow I get to meet up with one of my best friends who is back in-town for a few days for a conference and I have every plan to drag him to a restaurant with outside seating.  I probably won't care how hot it is or if he protests.  Going into this season, I have promised myself that for as long as the sun is here, I will take full advantage of it, whenever and wherever I can. 

I'll tell you what folks, it's clearly time to bust out the shades, the sunblock, the flip-flops and dust off the grill.  There are lemons to be squeezed, sprinklers to be turned on and ice creams to be licked.  And I'm all ready to go. 

Helloooooooooooooooooooooooooo again Mr. Sun! 

(Um...just a small P.S...Do not be surprised if in a few weeks I'm not complaining about how hot it is outside and blah blah blah.  Let me have my moment okay?) 

Monday, April 8, 2013

Short Story: Happily Ever...What? Chapter 4

The grocery store was busy, oddly so for a random Wednesday afternoon.  I had chosen that time for a specific reason.  It was safe.  At least I thought so for the most part.  That had been why I stood with confidence near the organic apples and carefully inspected each one, turning it this way, then that, then this way again finally looking at the bottom and top.  My brows were probably furrowed in concentration while narrowed eyes scanned every single inch of the smooth green skin.  I hated mushy mealy apples.  Was there anything worse?  Any signs of imperfections and I would toss the offending piece of fruit even though my normal 'there are people in other parts of the universe starving' moral side would rear it's ugly head and castigate me.

As I stood there, I felt a finger gently move the hair on my neck aside and a kiss deposited 'just there'.  I shivered and sighed but my eyes stayed focused.  "Are you done?"  He asked.

"You can't rush this sort of thing."

"Babe, it's been literally 10 minutes," he peered into the basket that swung from my left arm, "and you've managed to find 2 acceptable ones?" 

"I warned you about this."

"Fair enough, you did," he said, wrapping his arms around my waist so that he could pull me back into his solid warmth.  "I'll just keep myself occupied."

"You're distracting me," I admonished with a smile.

"Yes, and I just don't seem to listen."  His voice was a low suggestive murmur in my ear.  I knew that tone well and the chemical reaction within me was instant and the astonishing fact was that it had stayed the same for nearly the full two years we had been together.

My first meeting with "PT" had been at a party that was thrown by mutual friends.  In fact, he was the younger brother of the hostess, having had just shifted to my city.  We were introduced, chitchatted, then I swiftly forgot about him. It wasn't that we didn't have some zing of chemistry from the moment we spoke, but knowing that getting involved with someone wasn't an option, I had put that spark away somewhere so that I didn't have to think about it.  Complications, I did not need.  Clearly he had no such compulsion for within a few days he had called me out of the blue and asked me out.  I lied to him and told him that although I was flattered, I was already seeing someone.  The flattered part was not the lie.

2 years went by and I luckily didn't run into him.  Life had become busy and being social wasn't in the cards.  But one random night as I was out with a few friends, I looked up to see a fairly good-looking though somewhat familiar gentleman staring at me from down the bar.  Eventually he made his way over and I realized it was PT.  My friends were happy to invite him and his few companions over to join us and the night took off.  It didn't take long for the initial spark to re-ignite and that was that...now I couldn't imagine existence without him.

As we strolled hand-in-hand picking up the fixings for dinner that night, I felt happy and surprisingly enough, comfortable.  The ability to feel relaxed with PT in public had taken a long time to achieve.  Not that it was him per say but the idea that if we were out together, there was a chance we would be caught.  Because, no matter how many wonderful attributes he had or how amazing of a man he was, the one thing that worked against him was that PT was white and Christian.  He hailed from a very Irish, very affluent New England family who took pride in the fact that their American roots went back several generations.  They were as American as grandma's apple pie and the Kennedy family.  All PT's parents wanted for him was his happiness, however he found it.  My family, on the other hand, was everything that embodied conforming and demanding.  They prided themselves on having been able to acquire financial stability in a country they had adopted, was comfortable surrounding themselves with their own kind and determined that even if we lived in the States, we would not change.  It had always been expected of me to eventually have an arranged marriage to a good Indian boy and settle down to have a lot of curry loving kids while being the perfect wife and baahu (daughter-in-law). 

I had somehow settled with this idea long ago because it seemed about right.  That's what most did, right?  Besides, arguing that there was another way to go about it, that there were other options, well I just didn't have the gumption to speak up.  I never had when it came to them.  Some part of me believed firmly that I owed them for not only life, but the lifestyle I now lived.  What hadn't they sacrificed for my soul purpose?  That was the least I could do, right? 

But PT had put a kink in not only the plans that had been in place since my birth but in my head as well.  Before when everything was about what would make my parents happy, proud, suddenly I had started to dream about living with a man who, although not of my culture, race or religion, would still keep me as happy as anyone who did possess those qualifications.  When he had brought up the topic of marriage, for the first time in my life, I didn't shrink away from the thought, only the idea of having to tell my parents.  I was just plain old scared.   

That fear alone was what kept PT and our relationship a secret.  We had been successful in this endeavor, something of relief between the two of us, though it took him some time to come to terms with the need to have to keep things hush hush, at least from my family.  Maybe the problem was that we had become too relieved and too comfortable.  These two reasons alone could have been the only explanation as to why...why I had been so careless on that trip to the supermarket.  Why, until that day at the grocery store when I looked up to stare my own personal walking nightmare in the face, had I fooled myself into believing that nothing could tear me away from my happiness.  It just wasn't meant to be as my eyes widened fastening upon the figure of an Aunty that I knew well, a close family friend who was close to my mother.  She was also one of the biggest gossips in town and the first thing her eyes zero'ed in on was our interwoven fingers.

I let go fast but it wasn't fast enough.  He tried to step away not because he wanted to or was afraid to be seen, he had never been, but he knew that's what I would want him to do.  It didn't help though.  Nothing helped.  We stopped, I introduced PT as a friend, a buddy, I was helping him with some shopping, taking a break from school.  She just nodded, eyes narrowed with gossip-y glee, as if she couldn't wait to spread this news.  I knew the jig was up. 

As we headed back to his place, I felt as if I was going to throw up any minute.  The pit of my stomach was perpetually clenched and I couldn't focus.  He was saying things to me but I didn't hear him, he tried to calm me down but there was nothing he could do for me.  I was beyond listening, fear had taken root deeply and I knew, absolutely was positive, as to what the outcome would be.  Now I just had to face the music. 

When I got home later that night, my father and mother were both waiting in the living room.  My dad looked downright grim while my mothers face was sufficed in red, her eyes glittering with fury, anger, accusations that were yet to be hurled.  It did not go well.  Nearly all night long, she unleashed on me.  She didn't even bother to go with the outright threats of disowning and such, no she went for the heavy artillery, the emotional blackmail that included such statements as 'all we've done for you and this is how you repay us?' and with those words, it was her win.  My relationship with PT never stood a chance.

My father had remained quiet through it all not saying one word of support nor damnation.  His eyes were firmly upon the television that was turned on but muted, face completely impassive.  Sitting there, watching them, seeing how they both were perfectly okay with snatching away every bit of happiness from me, something inside seemed to shrivel and die.  The belief that at the end of the day they would want me to find whatever it was that would bring me joy was destroyed and I sat there realizing that in fact it, none of it, was about me but truly them and their precious society, family, etc...I didn't hold a candle to any of it.

I broke up with PT the next day over the phone telling him that I just couldn't go against my parents wishes.  He argued, pleaded for me to reconsider, suggested that he come meet my parents to talk to them, demanded to see me when I refused the request to meet mom and dad but I knew that I wouldn't be able to handle seeing him.  The answer was still no.  For weeks he tried through various channels to get to me, even reaching out to friends to see if they could help but I had withdrawn so far into a shell that I was completely impenetrable.  No argument nor words would change my mind at that point. 

Where I had become a recluse to many degrees, my only companion were tears, they never stopped falling though I tried so hard to restrain them.  I cried whenever I was alone, without fail and had to figure out reasonable excuses for consistent red swollen eyes.  Most believed these explanations or didn't care to ask for one at all, some knew, for the most it wasn't always needed.  This was a blessing in many ways.  If one thought though that my misery would soften hardened hearts, then the assumption would be wrong.  There was no pity to be had.

By the time it was suggested that the best way to deal with the situation as whole was to see me married, I was resigned.  I didn't flinch in the least.  They reasoned that I was about to graduate from college, age was just right, like the perfect mango waiting to be picked.  They said it was wiser to go back to the motherland to find a 'good boy' of our ilk.  What was that anyhow?  Who was that?  What constituted a 'good boy'?  I didn't bother to ask though because they would be quick to respond 'not who you chose'.  I couldn't hear that one more time.  The barbs were something I had to endure even when I said nothing, did nothing but sit there like a zombie staring at nothing.  Even when I felt so lost that breathing was the only sound I could hear completely, I was still being told what a horrible person I turned out to be, how much I had dropped the proverbial ball and hurt my family without thought as well as humiliated the family in front of the community.   The world 'selfish' was one that was constantly flung around my house on a daily basis.

I came to believe it. 

I gazed wordlessly when they showed me a picture.  He stood with his friends in a group beside some lake.  I didn't know which he was, didn't particularly care but a finger pointed him out.  That one.  Yes, he wasn't bad looking, seemed friendly enough with a pleasant smile and an arm flung over one of his friends shoulder.  He lived in the states also, total bonus, right?  But presently he was back home visiting as well as looking to get hitched.  Why not go immediately to meet him?  They had shown him my picture as well.  They were all interested it seemed, all of them.  If things went right then everything could be wrapped up within a month, may be two max.  I would be a married woman before the end of summer.  That was so handy. 

When asked if this was acceptable to me, I did the only thing I could:  I nodded.


Thursday, April 4, 2013

Childhood Memory: Kickball and One Moment of Fleeting Fame



I was one of those kids in primary school who just really sucked at sports. 

Usually the intro to my blogs are a bit longer (sure you can say long winded even) with way more detail but there's no better nor apt way that I can possibly express my dislike for organized sports as a youth than the first line I wrote above.  And it wasn't that I just disliked sports, it equally disliked me.  We were not friends at all.

Our rivalry started when I was but a small chubby legged toddler and I couldn't...okay wait, no I don't remember back that far so let's fast forward.  As a kid around the age of 8 or so, I was actually quite the tomboy.  And because I had a Big Bro whom I looked up to. I wanted to do everything he did but the problem was he was (is) 2 years older than me which didn't translate into many things I could actually do that he could.  But I didn't let that stop me, oh no, not tenacious stubborn little me.  I followed him around a lot, much to his horror and annoyance, feeling as if with enough persistence I would win over his admiration.  Um right, which little sister ever really accomplished this with their elder brother short of paying them off?  So now you know my success rate.

I was also sorta scrawny (go figure right?), all arms and legs.  I also, at that time, had a hate relationship with food hence I barely ever consumed any much to my mothers yelling/threats/warnings.  She also couldn't bribe me into wearing frilly dresses and tights (which I think I've explained in an earlier blog) but boy did I jump into shorts and jeans.  And those didn't last long because 9 times out of 10 I'd come home with at least some article of clothing ripped up or with holes in them.  Yes, this was not well received by my mother who was tired of replacing.  Then there was the 'dirt' aspect.  It seemed as if back then I just attracted dirt even when I was 'innocently' sitting doing nothing.  Lol...(yes I lol'ed)...my mother once told me, 'even when you're doing nothing, I know you're up to no good, probably thinking up the next bad thing you can do that will get you into trouble'.  She sure knew her daughter well.

So back then though I was all about running faster than the boys, climbing higher than the boys, jumping further than the boys and throwing at speeds that the boys would be envious about.  I'd come home with cuts and bruises from my failed attempts and my mother, as she put stingy horrible medicine on the war wounds, would warn me not to play with said boys again or she'd give me worse bruises.  Did I listen?  Of course not!  That would be far too rationale.  Like clockwork I'd be out there the next day trying to out-do some snot nosed kid who I knew I could best.

I'm not sure though when I started to lose interest in all that running and stuff but before I knew it I was not so gangly and so very not keen on breaking into a sweat.  Mind you, I was also not down with wearing dresses, fawning over boys nor gawking at posters of boy bands.  I just had by then accepted that me and anything athletic didn't go hand in hand.  When gym became the most hated class in my young life I can't pinpoint but I think to this day that my gym teachers had at one point or another wished that they didn't have to deal with me. 

I was no star athlete by any stretch of the imagination and yours truly was that kid who was picked last for every team, all the time.  No, don't say 'aww, that's so sad' because in reality it wasn't.  If you had me on your team, you were guaranteed to lose so rather then feeling bad for myself, I felt bad for those individuals who were stuck with me.  Naturally I had those true blue buddies who were all about showing me love and support, who would always pick me.  Fools!  And I think my utter laziness made them a tad lazy too.  I mean no one really expected any team that I was apart of to win.

Now this blog wasn't spurred on from nothingness, something triggered it of course (something always triggers my writing) and let me tell you what it was.  So a few days ago I'm flopped in front of the tv watching something nonsensical, not really paying attention because I'm sort of a habitual multi-tasker which meant I was also busy playing some word game on my handheld.  A commercial comes on, don't ask me to tell you what it was for or what it was about, but there was a scene of 2 children waiting to be chosen for a game of dodge ball and as soon as the last kid was picked, a little bony boy was left standing there all alone in his sad white long knee-length shorts and matching white-wife beater top with big ol' horned-rimmed glasses and shaggy hair looking pathetic and woeful. Within a second a shower of balls comes and starts walloping the kid as he...well he dodges and ducks and covers his ginormous head in the effort to save himself.

This is what triggered a memory of mine although not the same, it was the balls that made me remember:
It was a rainy day at school, I was in...7th grade...and we were stuck in the gym.  It was announced that we would be sharing the gymnasium with the boys (which went over well with the other girls but I wanted to puke because I really, really didn't want it to be known by the opposite gender how un-athletic I was).  The two coaches, girls and boys, had come up with the fantastic idea of having a game of kickball...remember that silly game (or is it a sport? You tell me)?  Well the same ball used for dodge ball was also often used for kickball...lemme show you in case you don't remember:



Ok now that some of you have done a "oh yea" and a few of you have done a "wtf is that?" let's move on.  Yea these lovely red muted soft things.  They didn't hurt you if you got whacked by one but stung just enough to leave a red mark.  I hated those things and the 'pong pong' sounded they made.

The teams were mixed, meaning boys playing with girls (hehe...that sounded so wrong) (get your mind outta the gutter) and luckily we were just assigned numbers (count off 1, 2) in order to determine who would be on whose team.  I always preferred this method since it made you feel much less like a loser.  The trick was to ignore the groans of frustration when the others realized that they were stuck with you because of mathematics.  My team was up first to um...kick...and I do admit that I did an okay enough job when it was my turn at least to a point where I didn't want to die and fall through the slippery gym floor.  However yes, later at one point I did let a ball slip right through my grasp (I mean literally) stumbled after it, tried to tackle it but missed completely and gave plenty of 7th graders a reason to laugh.  Well my dignity would not be bruised so I turned my noses up at them and decided to ignore the barbs flung my way.

The consequence of that one small mistake?  When the other team was 'kicking', and we were 'out on the field' I was relegated to the furthest corner of the gym, my back practically pressed into the compressed bleachers.  I mean honestly even if I yelled no one would have heard, that's how far I was banished by my teammates.  And since I was very much in never never land, I had not much to do so I stood around gazing at my nails, picking off the remnants of polish.  I would glance up every once in a while just to look as if I was even remotely interested (which to be truthful I was not), at times stifling a yawn or two, and even postured a bit, legs bent and akimbo, arms stretched out looking for all intent and purposes as if I was actually hoping a ball would come zipping my way so that I could catch it.  Yea right!
Unlike myself though, the others had been playing a pretty good game and by the end we were tied.  I wish I knew baseball lingo well enough to retell this part aptly but I'm not that cool so I'll stumble through as best as possible.  The bases were all loaded, 2 out...okay no, I won't even bother.  Anyhoo...yea the other side needed literally one more run and they would win.  My team members were all hunkering down, looking intent upon winning as well so there was a weird hush in the cavernous gym.  I may have coughed but it wasn't like anyone was listening (this bit of detail has been thrown in for comedic value more so than historical accuracy since there would be no way I could possibly remember such a thing after so many years). 

Their best 'kicker' was up and we had one chance.  This was it.

I was busy staring at my nails still, intent on getting that one annoying bit of polish off that persisted upon staying put no matter how I scratched at it.  All of the sudden there was a loud ruckus, I look up to see everyone else staring at the red projectile ball that was even then soring through the vaulted ceiling.  My eyes followed the path of my arch nemesis and it was about that time, almost instantaneously, when I realized that it was headed towards...me!  Omg!  And the rest of the kids also realized it.  The other side cheered in excitement for their presumed victory, my side gasped in horror...in unison...so loud that I believe my face may have registered a split seconds worth of annoyance.  They could at least pretend like they have faith in me!  But all this happened within a blink of an eye as the ball headed right at me.  I kept thinking, "I'm going to get beaned...I'm going to get beaned."  I wanted to run around in circles covering my head but some spark of that feisty child in me screamed in protest and insisted that I at least try to catch the blasted piece of plastic (or whatever the heck it's made of).  I reached out thinking that at least a half hearted attempt would suffice to muzzle my inner tomboy and also so that for the rest of my school career I wasn't the girl who would be known as 'the one who dropped the ball' (literally). 

Oh, did I fail to mention that I also closed my eyes?  You realize how hard it is to catch a ball with ones eyes closed?  Generally speaking it's not recommended.  Apparently it could result in being hurt or even missing the ball.  But yea, brilliant me didn't want to see the vessel of my destruction come hurtling at me so I closed my peepers and said a prayer to God to see me through that moment without too much humiliation or injury. 

You wonder what happened?  Did I get knocked out like Mr. T did in Rocky?  Was I proverbial kickball roadkill?  Well...

NO!

HA!

Yes, the blessed thing sailed right into my stiff arms logging itself firmly there.  Not even a flippin' bounce.  I caught it (okay well rather fate let it drop to this specific location but let's not get technical) and there I stood shocked and a second later elated.  There was also a pause from the others, as if no one could believe what they had just seen.  Mouths hung agape, my eyes caught those of my best friends and even she looked bewildered.  Then the cheers, the hurrays, the loud hoots and hollers all making a deafening clamour around me as I was literally swarmed with my counterparts. 

It was a good day...a good good day.

I still bask in that glory.

I still do NOT like sports. 

Just sayin'.