Long December (Or Good Riddance 2012)

Well, here we are again. The end of yet another year. I had such grand plans for my year ending post, but I thought I'd save that for a first of 2013 post instead.

I suppose I should reflect on the year and all, right? Well, it's been a terrible year for blogging - I've posted the least number of posts this year since I started this blog. I shall attribute this to less time in front of the computer and more time actually doing things, and I'd only be half lying. It's been a pretty good year on the music front though, what with the Colombo Music Festival, my introduction to the Melomanic Sessions in January, and the recently concluded "Final Wishlist". When it comes to music, there are few better teachers than experience, and I've had a lot of hard lessons this year. Some good shows at Melo, a few good performances at the Music Festival, and a lot of bombs that have me still shaking my head. Still, I'm so glad for all the opportunities I've had to perform and I hope 2013 brings even more my way.

It's hard for me to write about the personal front. It's been challenging, and I have made mistakes more often than I have succeeded, but isn't that life in general? I've watched the people I love let me down, and I in turn have let down the people that love me, and at the end of the day all we can do is try to forgive, try to heal, try to live with the things that have been said to us or by us. Our hearts keep beating, our lungs keep breathing, and time calls out from ahead of us asking if we're coming or not. Is it easy? No. But mixed in among all the bad, there is a lot of good, and sometimes that's enough to make peace with the rest of it.

My brother moved to Switzerland for his higher studies, and I miss him terribly. I wish he had been here to watch my sing; he has always been an honest critic. Christmas was tough without him, but apparently he was working on Christmas so I suppose we got the better end of that deal. Looking forward to seeing him in 2013.

All in all, 2012 was memorable, for both good and not-so-good reasons, and if anything is 'memorable' then I suppose it was worth it, wasn't it?

So here's to a new year, with more of the new and less of the old. May you, dear readers, always journey forwards and onwards to brighter, better things.

To sign off, let me add a few songs to this post. The first is a video of one of my solos at the "Final Wishlist" programme 3 weeks ago. The second is a rush job, hastily edited cover made with my hoarse vocals and zero editing. Not something I would normally do, but I just wanted to get it out there.

Happy New Year everyone!

G

My Father's Son

I don’t understand you. Me. Us.
I am constantly shifting from yearning to be like you to being terrified that I will
Your strengths are magnified in my eyes because of my weaknesses, which in turn are magnified in my own eyes because of your strengths
We are cut from the same cloth, of the same blood, but are we the same?
Will we ever be? Do you want us to be?

I know nothing about anything anymore, but I know this, father.
In the cool silence of these nights, I have learned one bitter truth
I am my father’s son
So make room at your table, for I too am destined to disappoint the ones I love

I hope you are proud.

Late Night Psychology

I just caught myself in the most bizarre situation.

There I was, in my room, at 2am, shooting imaginary free throws in the dark.

I kid you not. One minute I was in bed, staring at a silent phone, endlessly refreshing Twitter, when suddenly I just jumped out of bed, stood at a ‘line’ formed by the floor, set my feet, and went through the motions of a free throw. I must be losing my mind.

I’m a mess right now, but you couldn’t tell by looking at me. On the outside everything is pretty much business as usual, yet inside my head there is a lot of confusion, a lot of stress, and it manifests itself in strange ways. I have often looked to music and singing in times of turmoil, but it was two o’clock in the morning, and there was no way I was bursting into song at that ungodly hour. Option 2? Basketball.

Why basketball? I’m not sure. It’s not just because I love the sport, or because I was any good at it (I wasn’t). So what possible explanation could there be?

I got in position again and went through the same motions again, the same ball spin with all those dribbles before getting into my shooting motion, letting my arm rise with an open palm, releasing the imaginary ball at the apex and following through with the shooting arm.

In basketball, no matter if you are shooting the ball well or shooting it horribly, the true scorers know that you need to get to the free throw line by drawing fouls on you. Scoring points from the free throw line is key; they’re relatively easier than shooting with someone trying to defend you, and they are the same all the time. So players develop routines, unique to them, that helps them get in rhythm and shoot the free throw as close to perfect every time. Easy points.

Perhaps that’s what I need: routine. Something tried and tested that I can go back to with confidence. Something to restore order to chaos. Something stable.

I am reaching and searching for answers right now, and I am struggling to find them. I am struggling to find comfort or stability in anything. I am blessed with a home and a loving family, but after the recent trials we have been through, that ‘stability’ has not yet been re-established in them. Friends are too fickle and fleeting; they come and go depending on their posting. I am constantly on the move, one week at home, one week in Colombo, the rest of the weeks at work.

There is too much flux, too much change, and nothing constant. It irks me. I crave peace, silence, stability, but there are just no answers, not in music, not in reading, not in prayer, not in meditation, not in family, and not from above.

Perhaps soon I will figure out what will give me this peace that I desire, but until then I suppose I’ll just stand here like a complete idiot, shooting invisible basketballs, and seeking solace in the imagined swish of the ball falling through the net. Comical, pathetic, and melodramatic. Yes, even I’m laughing at myself. Yet tonight, it will have to do.

When Words Are Not Enough

My world makes no sense to me, and unlike before, my words are unable to encapsulate this and present it as a witty commentary on this blog.

I used to be able to express myself in song, but now I can't find anything that accurately expresses what I'm feeling.

It's moments like these I simply raise my hands in surrender.

This song helps me do that.

Love

To you,

The lines of communication between us have not always been open. I remember a time when I would shut my heart and my head from whatever you would say, choosing to paint your words as an annoying empty tune on repeat.

How things have changed; coming home is no longer complete without sitting in the kitchen with you, listening to you speak into my life. Speaking words of life, of hope, of strength, and of steel.

We have both come through the wars, and I see now that whatever semblance of 'strength' I can claim as my own, originated from you.

I salute you, and I honour your sacrifices, and I am forever in awe of your toughness and character.

Before our worlds end, I pray I make you proud.

Happy Mother's Day.

Being Strong By Being Weak

As I type this post, the day is almost at an end. I've just got back from dinner and the gym (not in that order), and I feel very, very tired. It has not been a good day, or week for that matter. 

Let me start with the gym. Working out has become very taxing off late, not nearly the joy that it used to be a few years ago. My inability to stick to a routine and come regularly to the gym (because of work) has resulted in me losing all of the little muscle tone I had. I still go as often as I can, and it is a very humbling experience. I can no longer jog the same amount I used to as easily as before, nor can I lift the same weights I used to as easily. My body is noticeably weaker than it once was.

This brings me to my point - what is strength, really? Is emotional strength (or strength of character, or whatever you may choose to label it,) really something we can measure and quantify, or just a vague variable we assign ball-park measures to? What makes one person 'stronger' than the next?

I'm in my 27th year on this Earth, and I have to admit that ten years ago, I expected my 27 year old self to be in a better place, and to generally be 'better'. I always assumed I would have conquered my demons and elevated myself to the 'adult' plane, tackling 'adult' problems. Things like insurance, bank accounts, housing loans, taxes. Perhaps even a family.

Instead, I find myself in pretty much the same place I was a few years ago. I am still weak in the areas I was, still unable to deal with certain things, still unable to fix areas in my life that need fixing. Still struggling. 

But of late, I'm starting to look at it differently. There is a difference between the person I am now, and the person I was back then. It's not that I'm stronger, or wiser. The only difference I see is that now, I know my weaknesses. 

As I try to peer through the fog that seems to shroud my future, I find that I am not armed with many weapons to tackle the struggles I will inevitably come across. However, just like in basketball, sometimes a good offense is a strong defense. I know where I am weak, and my vulnerabilities. As much as I'd like to pretend I have thick skin now, my heart is still very much on my sleeve, and my emotions are far too close to the surface for comfort (a fact my discerning mother takes great pride in pointing out). Yet by acknowledging these weaknesses, I am better able to adjust to the inevitable hurt. If I'm to return to my gym analogy, by accepting that I am no longer as strong as I once was, I can in fact produce a more productive workout by lifting less, but lifting it correctly.

The next few weeks, and perhaps months, are going to be extremely difficult. The hurt that I will undoubtedly feel will be unbearable, and it will be, for the most part, constant. Things are going to get far worse before they get better. 

Yet, perhaps God, in His infinite and often indiscernible ways, has brought me through so much so that now, while I may not be the strong, stable, immovable rock I once envisioned I would be, I am finally fully aware of who I am as a person - the positives and negatives.

I am reminded of a passage from the New Testament where the apostle Paul in his letter to the Corinthians mentions a weakness in him that has bothered him for a long time like 'a thorn in the flesh', and how he had asked God many times to take it away from him. Paul never mentions what it is that he is struggling with, but God answers him and says "My grace is sufficient for you, for My strength is made perfect in weakness."

As I read this passage, I try to claim it for my life, and I tell myself that while I am not strong enough to deal with the pain, the hurt and the struggles I will go through in the future, I can rest assured that I will bear witness to God's strength in my many areas of weakness.

Perhaps, sometimes, strength is a measure of your ability to admit your weaknesses.

Brotherly Love*

How time flies, huh?

The day is almost done, but before it is I must give a 'shout-out' to my little brother, who just turned 20 and is not deserving of the title 'little' any more. Knowing him though, I'm not going to share this post on Facebook - I would lose a lot of points in his book for writing something as lame as this.

Twenty years. Man. I still  love telling the story of how when I was growing up, I told my parents I wanted a brother, simply because I was tired of playing alone. When they came home from the hospital with him, I was extremely disappointed. See, my 7-year-old mind didn't understand that he had to grow before he could 'play' - I just assumed he would be my age. I think my disinterest in the new addition to the family showed; my father was not pleased.

Seven years is quite a large age gap, and growing up we didn't always get along as brothers are supposed to. 

But as with most things in my life, I have often initially felt that the timing for something was inconvenient, only to realise later that the timing was perfect after all. Watching him grow, and teaching him things the few times I've been able to, has been such a joy. I watched him achieve things I never achieved when I was in school, excelling as a friend and a student, and I feel a special sense of pride. Pride and gratitude, that my fervent prayers for him were answered. 

Through everything that has happened,especially with my family over the last 5 years, he has been a special kind of strength for me. We are so similar, and so different at the same time, which is what makes us get along so well I suppose. He mirrors my love to have fun and fool around (I have never met anyone, not one person, that makes me laugh like he does), my love for basketball and the Celtics, as well as parts of my temper, yet he is ice-cool when I am emotional, laid back when I am tense, and always a complete idiot when I am trying to make a serious point. 

So here's to you, 'boss'. I love you with all my heart, and I promise to stand for you my entire life, as I know you will for me.

*"He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother" was too cliche, even for me

Black

What happens when love dies?

Does it simply evaporate like the morning mist, to be forgotten till it is seen again and no sooner? Or does it transform itself into another emotion with equal intensity; anger, depression, apathy? Some say that losing love is almost as powerful an emotion as being in love, and I would have to agree.

Here's a song that to me, is one of the most gut-wrenching, most powerful songs about love I've heard, and Eddie Vedder just sings it with such raw emotion. I've always wanted to sing this song live, but never had the opportunity to; it would sound beautiful with strings, don't you think?

It's been a while, but I hope you know the routine: click here to listen to the original, and click here to download the mp3. Don't forget to check out my youtube channel to see some other covers I've done (my cover of Rob Thomas' "Ever The Same" is about to become my 5th song with 3000+  views - mindblown!) (Hi Pseudorandom!).

I must admit I worked my ass off for this one; let me know what you think!

Indie Ink Writing Challenge: Silence

While others were fearful of his words, it was his silence that terrified me.

Not the silence that Mom chose to adorn herself with whenever he was in one of his 'moods'; this silence was different.

No, my father is more imposing in his silence, and more demanding of respect. His silence means not just disapproval, but complete rejection.

My mistakes are not just errors in judgement to him, they are utter failures.

I am an only child, and as such there is no measuring stick to gauge his affection by. It is either mild annoyance or silent judgement. These are his favourite emotions.

I am 29 years old. I have a good job, good pay and a good life. I have never let anyone push me around, never let myself get taken for a ride, never let a man tell me what to do. I have fought tooth and nail to get to where I am, and while it is no lofty height, I know I am an influential and important woman in my own right.

Yet this old, balding, slightly obese man, with his clipped mustache and clipped conversation, is able to reduce me to dirt. All with a single dismissive wave of his hand, a nonchalant grunt in response to a statement I make, or a stony stare when he disagrees with me.

Sometimes in my head I scream at him and say, "DO YOU NOT LOVE? DO YOU NOT KNOW HOW YOU MAKE ME FEEL, HOW YOU MAKE ME FEEL WORTHLESS? DO YOU EVEN CARE AT ALL?"

And yet, even in my head, he responds with a silent, emotionless stare, and it is in those moments I understand my mother's silence. Perhaps it is easier to simply accept his rebuke, than to do anything about it.

Sometimes only silence can answer silence.

---

For the IndieInk Writing Challenge this week, Mare challenged me with "I hate that he tells me how much he thinks I'm worth and I really hate that I listen to him" and I challenged Kurt with "I want to thrive, not just survive".

"Every Conversation Begins With A Lie" | Indie Ink Writing Challenge

In the bar by ~onesummerago

"Hi, is this seat taken?"

He looked up from the menu he had be staring at the last 15 minutes, a little surprised to be shaken out of his daze.

"I'm sorry.. Yes. No, I mean.. I'm just.. it's free, yes."

The girl laughed, a small quick release, as if he had said the wittiest thing she'd heard all night. Given the state of the bar they were in though, and it's patrons, it may have been. The poor lighting made it difficult for him to accurately distinguish her features, but from what he could tell she was about his height, his age, a little over-dressed and definitely over-perfumed. Her dark hair was tied up in what may or may not have been a fashionable way - he never knew anything about these things.

She sat down gently, as if the booth's seat might let go at any minute, and stretched a well-ringed hand towards him.

"Hi, my name is Carla."

He took it, timidly, and replied; "You already said 'hi'."

"What's that?", she said, her face suddenly going blank.

"You.. you said 'hi', twice. I was just.. my name is John."

"Hi! Nice to meet you John!"

She continued smiling, waiting for him to continue the conversation. He declined.

"Where you from, John?", she blurted out, unperturbed.

"Around. Excuse me, but I'd like to be left alone. I'm waiting for my - I'm waiting for my wife.."

She laughed again, an elaborate gesture involving her entire upper body, that was still somehow devoid of real volume. It clashed completely with the stiff, staccato tone that John had just used.

"Oh c'mon, John, you're way too young to be married, surely! Besides, you've been waiting here a while, am-I-right?"

She smiled again. She smiled a lot.

"She's a little late, perhaps..", he offered weakly, glancing at his watch.

"No way, John, you're a bad liar." She suddenly leaned forward and took his hand before he could react. "Besides, no ring!".

She leaned back, looking pleased at her deductive skills. His silence simply confirmed her assumptions, and she smiled. Wider.

He sighed, a deep and tired sigh, and didn't respond.

"It's okay sweety, I understand. Some stranger sits in your booth with you, and you don't know what to think, right?", she said, in a patronizing tone.

"Sorry."

She put her hands up and said, "Oh don't be! The world is a crazy place, I don't blame you. " More smiles, more gesticulating. He tried to go back to reading his menu.

"How about we start again? Hi! My name is Carla, I like a good time, and you're name is John, and you like being all blue and.. -"

"My wife died", he said suddenly, numbly.

The transformation was almost instantaneous. Carla suddenly became serious, the rest of her playful ramble snatched out of her lips. First he saw surprise, and then perhaps the flicker of deep sorrow and sympathy flit across her face.

"Oh gosh, I'm so sorry. I didn't know, I mean, I ..."

"It's okay. Car accident. Two months ago today."

This time there was definitely sympathy, as Carla leaned back in her seat without saying a word, her hand involuntarily touching her mouth. She looked around the bar now, for the first time unsure of herself. It was almost empty, with a few stubborn patrons semi-conscious on the counter, staring into space. She looked back at him, attempted to say something, but words failed her.

She reached her hand towards his, and was about to say something when a voice suddenly yelled out from behind the bar; "Lisa!"

A large, burly man had just stepped in from the back entrance and was walking towards their booth.

"Lisa, goddam it, how many times do I have to throw you out of this place??", he bellowed, moving quickly for such a large man.

It was now Carla's turn to look down at her menu, trying to blend in to the furniture, but the large man walked straight up to her, rudely pulling her up by her elbow and pushing her towards the door. She struggled and tried to protest

"Man, I'm just talking to this guy..!"

But he was having nothing of it;

"Oh don't even try, I've heard enough of your stories! Now get out! And tell that pimp of yours I'll take care of him permanently if I see you or any of his other little toys here again!"

And just like that she was gone. The man, presumably the bartender, turned and slowly returned to the booth, looking back at the door as if  to make sure she wouldn't return. He then turned, and looked down at John, whose eyes barely left the menu.

"It's late.", he said gently. John didn't budge.

He rolled his eyes, muttered to himself before reaching down to take the menu out of John's hands.

"Go home, your wife must be worried about you. You know how she gets, and she's just going to call this place any minute now. As usual."

John's shoulders dropped a little, but remained seated.

"Dammit, you have a kid on the way, you shouldn't be out here drinking like this every night. Go home, okay?"

Still nothing, not a word. The disgruntled bartender finally says firmly, "Jacob! Go home! NOW!"

The man stirs, finally, and slowly gets out of the booth. He looks up at the stern expression on the bartenders face, but finding no sympathy there, he slowly makes his way to the door, one unsteady step at a time, and leaves.

---

This week's Indie Ink Challenge came from Jamelah, who gave me this prompt: A conversation beings with a lie -- Adrienne Rich "Cartographies of Silence". I challenged Andrea with the prompt : A lot of movies these days have an extra scene after the credits roll; a little twist to leave the viewers with - write a scene that would occur after the final chapter of a popular fairy tale or children's story.

21 Questions, And No Right Answers

Faded memories by ~velar1

Isn’t it fun to turn back the pages of a photo album, or, as is more apt in this digital age, to go through old Facebook pictures from years past?  We laugh at the ridiculous hair-styles, the awful clothes, the old hangout you used to love and now cannot stand, the old friends we used to love and now too cannot stand. The inexorable passing of time is evident all around us, is it not?

I am forever looking back at my life, perhaps because I am fascinated with how I have made it this far. Believe me when I say, I have come a long way from my younger years, and considering that I am hardly anyone of even minute significance right now, this speaks a lot about the sort of person I was long ago.

Yet, as much as we’d like to pretend otherwise, that person in the picture really is us. Perhaps not as mature, perhaps not as hurt, perhaps not as happy or as sad; but nevertheless that person is still you. Or is it?

Indulge me for a minute, and pretend that we’re in a Michael Crichton novel, one where we are able to bend the fabric of time so to speak. Imagine if we could transport ourselves, and our consciousness, back into our younger selves.

What the heck would we do?

Would you really say that thing that got you beaten up in school? Would you really like that girl? And if so, would you really write that note to her and pass it in that totally un-subtle way?

Would you let your parents still yell at you, even though you now know better? Would you ignore your brother or sister the same way you used to, knowing he/she would return the favour soon? Would you have told him or her that you loved them, if you knew how much harder it would be to say that in the future? 

Would you side with your father or your mother during that divorce?

Would you choose those subjects, and in effect, that career line? Would you have put your foot down and said ‘no’ to your parents’ desire to keep you close to home, or would you have silently been led like you were then? Would you kiss that girl, at that time, or would you have waited just those 5 minutes more, in time for the moon to come out and make it that more perfect? Would you have kissed her at all, if you knew how it turned out?

title and registration. by~RAWR-ima-Dinoroar

Would you have tried so hard to be liked, if you knew that nothing you did would be good enough? Would you have let the memories fade faster, if you knew that you would be forgotten first? Would you have made the same mistakes, even though you know that the pain is what made you who you are? Would you have willingly suffered again, just because you told yourself that it was ‘necessary’? What if you decided it wasn’t?

How different would those old pictures look now? How many of those memories would be wiped away, to be replaced by new ones, and maybe a new you? What if we never became who we are today?

Who are we, really, today?

Indie Ink: Faking A Smile

The clock ticks on, yet sleep eludes her still.

She doesn't toss or turn though, choosing instead to stare fixedly at the luminous second hand of her alarm clock. The steady staccato 'tick' of each passing second fails to lull her to sleep, and with each minute, and hour, she grows more convinced that she will lie like this till morning.

She forces her eyes closed one more time, forcing her tired brain to dream, yet like a blank slate it remains bare, waiting for someone to touch it in a way it will understand.

And she knows who that someone is.

She smiles, as she thinks of him. His lively, light brown eyes, and his laugh; the loud one when among friends, and the softer, more personal chuckle he reserved only for when they were alone together. She imagines his strong arms around her, carrying her away to distant and exotic locations. Anywhere would do, as long as he was there.

Suddenly, there's a sound at the door, and her eyes fly open as her dream evaporates in an instant. There's a pause, and heavy footsteps slowly enter the room. Her body involuntarily tenses, waiting, apprehensive.

"Are you awake?", a slurred voice says to her from the direction of the door.

She turns over, slowly, feigning sleepiness.

"Yes, yes I am ", she replies, softly.

"Good. What are you doing?"

"Dreaming. Of you..", she lies.

In the dim light, she can see a lopsided smile spread across his face.

"Good...", he drawls, slowly walking towards her, while taking off his clothes. His black, cold eyes light with a dull, ugly sparkle as he climbs into the bed with her.

She takes a quick breath, looks him dead in those eyes and smiles wide, a smile that is as warm as it is forced.  He doesn't notice it either way. As for her, well; for yet another night, her hopes have abandoned her for reality, her memories of a better time deserting her when she needed them the most. Her dreams of 'him', lost in the sands of time, confined to her subconscious, never to be realised except in the waning hours of daylight.

And so, the clock ticks on, yet happiness eludes her still.

---

My second attempt at the Indie Ink Writing Challenge (for my other entry, click here). My challenge this week was simply "Faking A Smile", given to me by Joe Sanders. In turn, I challenged Jason Hughes with a rather complicated challenge of writing a 'tragic romance' that was centered around breakfast (don't ask!). You can see his response here.
I seem to have a thing about writing dramatic fiction centered around women. I'm sure someone will probably psychoanalyse me for that, but please don't bother. For this particular post I was inspired by Pearl Jam's "Better Man" as well. I hope you enjoy it!

Another Confession

She always knew it would come to this.

As often as she had tried to ignore it, the fact remained within her mind, bursting at the seams of her subconscious like a relentless river against a rickety old dam. And now, here it was being realised before her eyes. She hated confrontation, but this was much worse; a goodbye long overdue.

How did she get here, she asks herself almost incredulously. But no, she stops herself from going down that road; that road leads to self-loathing, and God knows she has enough reasons to hate herself without having to add this to the list.

Her mind finally returns to the present. She sits at the edge of the bed, her sacred bedroom in total disarray. Drawers hang open, their contents upset or missing. With a heavy heart she takes it all in, not missing a single corner of the room. Well, that's not entirely true; she makes a distinct effort to ignore that space taken up by the person standing right in front of her, his hands on his head, his face an expression of total incomprehension.

She looks him in the eyes, and tries not to notice the pain behind them, the confusion that engulfs him. His things were neatly packed in a cardboard box at his feet, when minutes ago they were in her drawers, together with hers. His hands are clenched, when a few hours ago they would have been surrounding hers. Her heart is cold and empty, when a few days ago it would have been his.

"Why?", he says, softly.

She looks back down at the floor and sighs, gathering her thoughts, before speaking.

"I don't know. I don't know how to explain it in a way you would understand. I'm not entirely sure I understand it either. All I know is.."

She pauses. This will be hard.

"'You think we're happy, and even I did for a while. We were comfortable with each other, you moved in without any trouble, we never fought about a thing. But, you never fight about anything! You never question me, you never stood up to me, you let me steam roll right through your life and you assume that's what I want but it's not!"

Her eyes find his now; she wants him to understand this, more than anything.

"For God's sake, were you born to resist, or be abused?"

Silence.

"You probably think I'm just bored, just looking for something new to excite me, some new toy to play with; but - I've got another confession to make," she says, as her voice drops to almost a whisper.

She turns to face the window, taking in the last remaining light of day as it reflects off the city's skyline, before saying with finality:

"I'm getting tired of starting again somewhere new..."

---

This was part of the Indie Ink Challenge that many bloggers seem to be taking part in recently. It's pretty simple; you enter your name in a database weekly and you get to challenge and be challenged by other writers to write a post on a specific topic within the next 5 days. Mine was given by Sunshine , and I was supposed to use a line from my favourite song to tell a story. It's not my usual type of post, so I'm not sure how it turned out. The song is "Best of You" by the Foo Fighters. Hope you liked it! Also, in turn I challenged Catherine, and you can see her response here.

Perfection And Promises

I remember it like it was yesterday.

I stood at the entrance to my room and paused, just to survey it. It was somewhat spartan, and yet it felt homely to me. Doesn't speak much of my idea of 'home' I suppose. My trusty bedside lamp was on, providing me with its inadequate and yet appropriately dull yellow glow; a peaceful silence seeped through the curtainless windows, waiting as if with bated breath.

"Must get curtains.", I tell myself. I need my privacy, and never as much as I needed it tonight.

The bed was made, and the fan was on. I almost hated to switch it on, it disturbed the quiet that I had been soaking in till then. At that point I realised I was being rather OCD about all this, and I smiled to myself. She was just coming to say 'hi', that's all.

I moved my shoes to the corner, sat on the bed and once again surveyed the room. I felt myself growing anxious with every passing minute in my attempt to make everything just right. I wasn't even sure what I was expecting for that night; all I knew was that I had learned to expect the unexpected. Just a few weeks earlier I had been 'surprised' at Odel; I wasn't going to let that happen again.

"Odel.", I whispered, a wry smile on my lips. I would have to get her back for that.

I turned to my laptop and flicked through iTunes, looking for something that would befit the mood. I knew so little about her, and yet I knew her so well. Kings of Leon were her favourite then, but instead I decided to queue some Andy McKee. Gentle yet precise music, with no vocals; in a strange way I found that very appropriate.

I sat back down on the bed, and waited. There was so much running through my head at that time: work concerns, family problems, and the usual barrage of static that fills your head after a long day. All that faded away though when my phone beeped to indicate a text message. I read it, and smiled as I flicked the switch of my lamp off.

Stealthily, I made my way to the front door and opened it ever so softly.

"Hi", she said, and in that moment, nothing else mattered.

---

This one is for you.

My inadequacies as a writer do no justice to the perfection of that night, perhaps one of the only instances where I can claim to have done something right in an ocean of wrong. My inadequacies as a man do no justice to the perfection of you, either.

Words are cheap, and my words are nothing, just as this post is nothing. Mere letters in cyberspace, soon to be erased by the passage of time like chalk writings on a pavement. Dust in the wind.

You deserve more.

I make you no more promises, for I know your distaste towards them. No more confessions of love and devotion; you are sick of them as well. I cannot ask you for anything; you have already given me so much. Perhaps though, if my words are moot, you will allow me to paraphrase someone else's.

All I ask is, now that my 'time has come';

forget the wrong that I've done

help me leave behind some

reasons to be missed

don't resent me

and when you're feeling empty

keep me in your memory

leave out all the rest.

Single Ladies FTW!

There are many things wrong with couples these days. Drama has reached an all time high, as have the levels of PDA, which isn’t all bad to be honest. I always laugh at how couples try to get as close to (and discreetly feel up as much of) the other person as possible, all while walking down the street. It takes great skill and co-ordination to pull that off.

But I digress. Couples, go ahead and do ya thang, I have no issues. Except when it’s in buses and in restaurants and in a 10 foot radius of me. Then we have a problem.

Every once in a while, I make friends with a girl who is fun, relaxed, and doesn’t immediately go to that default conclusion a few annoying women do when a boy is talking to them (“OMG I think he likes me - wait till I tell my BFF - do I look fat in this? - [giggle giggle]..”). Everything is fine and normal and I don’t give anything a second thought, until said friend finds a boyfriend.

Then everything goes to hell.

First, said boyfriend tries to befriend me, if he’s not in my circle of friends. This is fine; we talk, I am polite and act like he’s the cat’s meow, everyone is happy. Right? Wrong.

Phase two involves said boyfriend acting slightly strange towards me. No worries, it’s not my problem.

And then comes phase three. The girl starts acting weird.

It’s all slightly amusing if you look at it. Let’s go with a few examples:

ME: “Hey, where were you? We missed ya at the party last night”
Girl: “Hi, yes I missed everyone that happened to be there, not just you but all persons present. As a friend, I mean”.


ME: “Hey what goes on? Haven’t spoken to you in a while, we should catch up”
Girl: “Hi, yes I haven’t spoken to a LOT of people in a while; I need to catch up with SO many people, not just you, but including you too. As a friend, of course”.


ME: “Can I borrow some cash?”
Girl: “Of course, because I would give cash to ALL my friends if they asked, since I treat them ALL equally and enjoy giving my money to anyone who asks. As.. a friend”


ME: “My cat just died, I’m depressed”
Girl: “Oh that’s terrible news, I feel AWFUL! Just like I would if anyone else’s cat died, because I love all cats equally. As a friend”

You get the point.

Naturally, blame initially falls on the boyfriend in question, but seriously how insecure would you have to be to induce such paranoia in your girlfriend? I mean, he’d have to be reading her texts for any of this to be even close to justified, and surely no one does that. Right? The only explanation I can come up with is that sometimes, when we get into a relationship, there is a particular pattern and expectation of us on how we should interact with people now on. For guys, we’re expected to find all other girls mildly boring yet tolerable, and unattractive as mud. Girls, apparently, are expected to reinforce the perimeters of the friend zone with electric fences and barbed wire.

A rather mundane and pointless observance, I know; and yet, perhaps if there are any ladies out there who are unknowingly doing this, perhaps you will realised the error of your ways and decide to give your guy-friend a break.

After all, he was there first!

It's Not Cheating If...

... it's for practice.

Probably one of the funnier responses to a trending hashtag on twitter recently, followed by "it's your mother" and "we're on a 'break'... ".


Of late I have had several discussions and conversations about infidelity. It seems that it is the latest trend that is doing the rounds in all circles, both the friends and the famous. I am hardly the person to come to for juicy gossip; everyone knows I have little or no interest in other people's dramas, at least not enough to spread the word. However, this tight-lipped-ness is also a magnet for all those people that have stumbled onto a secret and are not allowed to tell another living soul. Apparently, I am either not living, or without a soul.


While filtering through all the 'goss' that comes to me (which I dutifully keep to myself, of course) I notice that I don't have to look to Hollywood or the tabloids for scandal. I hear of bizarre hook-ups, between best friends and ex's of siblings; I hear of cheating on spouses and lovers; I hear of drunken one-night stands and year long secret relationships. In short, life has become the set of "The Bold and The Beautiful".


I have often been called judgemental, so I try to be as open-minded to these things as possible. Having never been in such a situation, perhaps I do not get the thinking and the reasoning behind it. 'Angel' wrote a few interesting posts on the topic, but I'm not really trying to 'define' what cheating is, but rather the thinking behind it.


Take for example, dating an ex of your best friend or sibling. While men stick to the unwritten rule of "bro's before ho's" whenever possible, clearly someone forgot to create a witty saying regarding the bro's leftovers. I think there are some lines that just shouldn't be crossed, and if they are then you're either in the most understanding of relationships or in an episode of One Tree Hill. Same goes for best friends; I mean, how do you go out with someone knowing that your best friend has already - err - gone out with her? That's just not something you can male-bond over. As for women, well, you're going to have the "who's the ugly sister?" looping in your head throughout the relationship.


Infidelity in marriage is nothing new these days, infact it's almost yawn-inducing. It's come to the point where I am sure people get married just so that they can get involved in some steamy scandal ala the silver screen. "Marriage? You want me to get married Ammi? YES! FINALLY! No more conservative living, time to get my freak on...!"

In this strange world of infidelity, the one-night stand is probably one of the more forgivable, especially if there is alcohol involved.

"I wasn't in my senses baby", he says, tears streaming down his face, "I just had too much to drink at the strip club, and I thought I was in a Snoop video."

Why anyone would want to let that slide is beyond me; in my opinion you're just encouraging it in the future then. However, I'm not quite sure about that one though, so please, don't go experimenting based on anythin I say here!

Bottom line: I'm just a bit saddened that it's so hard to find completely faithful couples these days. There was a time when perhaps holding another girl a bit too closely would be equivalent to 'cheating', but nowadays people don't just cross the line, they run all the way to the end zone.

Wrestle The Angel

"I wanna see miracles
See the world change
Wrestle the angel
For more than a name
For more than a feeling,
For more than a cause
I'm singing
Spirit
Take me up in arms with you
And you're raising the dead in me...

Oh, I am the second man
Oh, I am the second man now..."

So Jacob was left alone, and a Man wrestled with him till daybreak. When the Man saw that He could not overpower him, he touched the socket of Jacob's hip so that his hip was wrenched as he wrestled with the man. Then the Man said, "Let me go, for it is daybreak." But Jacob replied, "I will not let you go unless you bless me." The Man asked him, "What is your name?" "Jacob [meaning trickster, liar, cheater]," he answered. Then the man said, "Your name will no longer be Jacob, but Israel [contender with God], because you have struggled with God and with men and have overcome."

~ Genesis 32:24 - 28

You

Clouds rolling on moving shadows
Over the countryside
A ray of light descends from the heavens
Your presence fills the sky

I can't deny what I'm seeing is true
When all I can think of and all I can dream of is
You

You're the love I have always known
And it's You
I will never be alone

You're all I desire You're all that I choose
I guess that explains why I feel like I do
I cannot deny what I'm falling into
When all I can think of and all I can dream of is
You

The earth declares Your glory
There's nowhere it can hide
And still You let me in
You draw me to Your side

You are my hope and I know that it's true
When all I can think of and all I can dream of is

You

You're the love I have always known
And it's You
I will never be alone

You're all I desire You're all that I choose
I guess that explains why I feel like I do
I cannot deny what I'm falling into
When all I can think of and all I can dream of is
You

- "You" by Kutless

The Vendetta Against Valentines Day

Valentines Day. Just saying the words brings up a look of slight revulsion in most people's countenance. Valentines day is about as appreciated as the musical talent of the Jonas Brothers or Megan Fox's Golum-ish thumbs. The Twittersphere is rather full of V-day bashing, and no doubt as I type this post there are couples being assaulted and set fire to in India, Hallmark card shops being stoned and loud angry men marching in the streets denouncing 'Western' influences on their great country and vowing to make India a land without any form of expressions of love; unless of course it's in the form of two people running around trees and bushes in various locations around the world. (For more details, click here to read a full detailed report about why Valentine's Day is evil). No doubt, our local riot and protest 'organisers' will catch on to this spectacular idea and try in the near future to emulate their Indian counterparts in an attempt to rid this great land of 'Western' influence, while driving Western cars, dressing in Western clothes and buying Western appliances.

But I digress.

Yes, it's Valentines day, but it seems rather ironic that there is so little love for this day which celebrates love, especially among people my age. Why all the hating? Girls especially seem to be offended by Valentine's Day, saying it is unnecessary and commercialised and pointless. Most of them are single though, but I'm sure that has nothing to do with it. Apparently due to media pressure they are made to feel alien if they do not have a date for Valentines Day, but really that's like accusing Chuck Norris for promoting exercise equipment that makes men feel inadequate about their bodies. And who on Earth would accuse Chuck Norris of anything?!

The men in general that I have observed do grumble a little bit about having to step up to the plate and make this one day special for their girlfriends, lovers or whatevers, but otherwise are not too affected by it. By now we've gotten somewhat used to every other day of the year being meant for something or the other. Pick a random date and you'll probably find it's World Panda Day or International Day of Remembrance for Bambi's Mother (everyone makes Bambi eyes at each other and scampers away at the sound of loud noises).

As for me, well, I've had some disastrous Valentine's Days in my life. I was telling one particular high school incident to someone last night and she literally covered her face in horror. (Yes, it was that bad. Not her face, my story. Err.) And yet, I'm really not that affected by this. In fact, I find myself rather happy for the people out there who are willing to take the time to make one day especially great for the people they love. Sure there are the odd couples here and there that make you want to yell "GET A ROOM! AND A LIFE!! AND SOME PRACTICE COS WHAT THE @$%! ARE YOU TRYING TO DO TO HER?!" - but all in all I don't mind seeing the sea of red in shops, malls and restaurants, nor do I hate on the people that actually enjoy this opportunity to openly express themselves in ways that might have been considered corny or over the top any other day of the year.


So to all the haters - just calm the heck down. Don't make me come over there and force you into diapers at arrow-point.


Happy Valentine's Day!

Ever The Same

It's 11pm as I sit down to write this post, and I'm struggling to find the right words to convey what this song reminds me of. Lyrically it's a beautiful song, and that really comes through in this live acoustic version that I found on YouTube recently.

Of late I've been reading a lot of posts, tweets and emails about the 'economics' of love, marriage and relationships, their logical and practical applications and limitations. I read about how love is blind, how it fades, how things change, about compromise and sacrifice and self-development, plus a lot of jargon that I don't fully understand.

It breaks my heart; or, in the words of Collective Soul - "And I laugh to myself, as the tears roll down, 'cos it's the world I know..."

Bible teachers often speak of the greek term "agape", which is used for "love" in many of the New Testament scriptures. The greek language has many words for "love", varying in degree and meaning. "Agape" love, if I may condense Wikipedia, is an 'unconditional, self-sacrificing, volitional and thoughtful love'. Now that's a love I want to believe in.

While this song conveys feeling that is nowhere near as intense as what I just described, it still brings to my mind questions of whether I would be able to display such powerful emotion. I want to believe that I can; that I am capable of putting someone else first, of voluntarily making sacrifices and showing unconditional support for someone. I want to believe that I can still show love in a way that, sadly, has become a bit of a joke in this cold, logical and theoretical world.

But enough of my rambling. This is "Ever The Same" by Rob Thomas. As always, the original is here and you can click here to download the audio. Many thanks to Pseudorandom for lending her fantastic voice for the backing vocals on this one.

I hope you enjoy it!

G

"Ever The Same"

We were drawn from the weeds
We were brave like soldiers
Falling down under the pale moonlight
You were holding to me
Like a someone broken
And I couldn't tell you but I'm telling you now

Just let me hold you while you're falling apart
Just let me hold you and we'll both fall down

Fall on me
Tell me everything you want me to be
Forever with you forever in me
Ever the same

We would stand in the wind
We were free like water
Flowing down
Under the warmth of the sun
Now it's cold and we're scared
And we've both been shaken
Hey, look at us
Man, this doesn't need to be the end

Just let me hold you while you're falling apart
Just let me hold you and we'll both fall down

Fall on me tell me everything you want me to be
Forever with you
Forever in me
Ever the same
Call on me
I'll be there for you and you'll be there for me
Forever it's you
Forever in me
Ever the same

You may need me there
To carry all your weight
But you're no burden I assure
You tide me over
With a warmth I'll not forget
But I can only give you love

Fall on me tell me everything you want me to be
Forever with you
Forever in me
Ever the same
Call on me
I'll be there for you and you'll be there for me
Forever it's you
Forever in me
Ever the same

Forever with you
Forever in me
Ever the same