The Horror!

and you though you had it bad!!

Are You What You Write?

The more blogs I discover and read, the more I feel like I get to know these people, at least a little bit. It’s a small window into the lives of people I wouldn’t necessarily ever have met otherwise. But how much of yourself do you really put into your blog? Do you write from the heart or do you just portray one side, the good side?

The question arose at dinner, actually, with my cousin and his girlfriend. All three of us are big John Mayer fans, and if you’ve listened to his music you would know that the magic is in the lyrics. He has a way of writing the most intimate lyrics that are deep and meaningful and relevant. And then he goes out with Jessica Simpson. I’m sorry but I have an issue with this. The girl is pretty and all, but she sings dumb songs about teenage love and boots for god's sake!. Obviously I don’t know what she’s like in real life, but if she’s anything like what the media says she is, then what was he doing with her?? How can someone write songs that are so deep and insightful and then go out with one of those generic Hollywood Barbie types? My cousin insists that it was just a publicity stunt but that doesn’t make it any better. So when he writes then, is he not the person that comes through in the lyrics? How does one figure these things out?

The same thing applies to blogging. I know some bloggers personally, and I know that their blogs are a genuine reflection of themselves; their attitudes, their opinions, right down to the way they talk. It’s not so much how personal the content of their blogs are, it’s how they write what they write. Then I know other bloggers who write such uncharacteristic posts that, when I read them, I gape in disbelief.

I started reading blogs off kottu sometime last year, so when I went home last summer I actually met some of these people, and one in particular stood out for me because of the direct contrast between him/her and their blog. I was quite taken with their writing and we became friends and then I met the person and thought ‘well, you really are not what I expected’.

It leads me to think that maybe bloggers shouldn’t meet after all. We construct with words this careful façade for the world to see, for what else do your readers have but your words, and with them you have the power to create a literary avatar who maybe you are not or maybe you wish to be and then all these people believe you and are immersed in the life and image you create online. And then you meet the people in real life and suddenly they see right through you and you’re forced to be who you really are.

It’s quite the seductive idea, leading a double life, being someone else and escaping reality for a little while. I would just find it tiresome though, all the switching back and forth; a tad too MPD for my liking. (Or Dissociative Identity Disorder as we in the Psycho world like to call it.) I highly doubt that the blogs I read are written by such people. Most of them seem too busy and in touch with reality to find the time or effort to create a whole new online persona. But who knows... oh the mystery of it all!

So how much of yourself do you put into your blog? I know I tend to get a tad personal, and I’ve been told time and again to watch what I say on my blog. But then that defeats the whole purpose of me having this thing. I’m careful not to say anything that would be negative towards my family, even when I need to let off steam about that stuff, because I’m fiercely protective of those I love. Besides that, I’m not too concerned with what people think of me. The reason I started this is because writing is my outlet and sometimes just seeing the words appear across my screen and then hitting that publish post button is hugely satisfying and relieving. It’d be unfortunate if you were to judge me by a single post, but I think the blog as a whole is an 85% accurate representation of who I am. I’ve been trying harder to avoid personal posts but I do type em up and save them, and I might just slip one in here and there for stress relief. Its annoying that blogger doesn’t have that handy password protect option that wordpress does. I would switch but oh, the hassle of it all would kill me.

So my question then, is, are you what you write?

And In This Moment

I am inexplicably, inexorably happy. I am at once disconnected and tightly bound to what is and is not. I lay in the grass among the flowers and a cool breeze moves over me, playfully tugging at my hair, making love to my skin. The sun warms me, right down to the very being of my soul, as it warms the water next to me, the light dancing off the surface, flashes of crystal at once blinding and mesmerizing. Soft strains of Bob Marley reach my ears. There’s a natural mystic blowing through the air, he says, and I’m inclined to agree.

I close my eyes, all the better to absorb the moment, and drift to a place somewhere between dreams and conscious. Shapes and colors shift, around me, inside me. Yellows, greens, cheery pinks. My mind hastens to make sense of it all but ‘relax’ I say to it, ‘just relax’. I dream of a man and he exists, but does not. And he makes me happy. I hear the ocean and smell the familiar scents of home, and I can reach up and touch it, that memory. And it makes me happy.

There is a peace here, one that is hard to find. One that is always just out of reach whenever I try to find it, in those candle-lit moments before bed, under the relentless beating of hot water on my back in the shower, on a lone walk under a moonlit sky. I’ve found it here, in the grass, among the flowers, and in this moment I am happy.

What A Man - fer shizzle!

Being the avid Wiki-er that I am, recently having acquired Snoop Dogg’s new album, I checked him out. Hilarity ensued..

In 2000, Snoop (as "Michael J. Corleone") directed Snoop Dogg's Doggystyle, a pornographic film produced by Hustler. This film, combining hip-hop with X-rated material, was a huge success and won "Top Selling Release of the Year" at the 2002 AVN Awards . Perhaps in conjunction with his entry into the x-rated world, Snoop claimed in a 2006 interview with Rolling Stone magazine that unlike other hip hop artists who've superficially adopted the pimp persona, he was an actual professional pimp in 2003 and 2004, saying "That shit was my natural calling and once I got involved with it, it became fun. It was like shootin' layups for me. I was makin' 'em every time." (courtesy Wikipedia)

The cherry:
“upon the advice on some of the other pimps he knew, he eventually gave up pimping to spend more time with his family”

Damn, where can I get myself one of these stellar husband-types?

For more knee-slappers.

Crisis Averted

I was woken up this morning rather unceremoniously by a text message. I had been having an unnecessarily vivid dream about a tsunami; a whole group of us were trapped on the beach and the water was receding and a school of Nemo-like fish were congregating right in front of us trying to figure things out, and I was trying to get my sister to safety. It was all rather unnerving, especially since I have tsunami dreams quite regularly and it always involves me trying to save my sister in one way or another. I’d rather not wake up in a cold sweat feeling traumatized, thanks very much. So anyway, the text was, needless to say, very welcome, and upon reading it, it turned out to be all the way from Singapore, our resident loud mouth wishing me a happy new year. 'esema vewa!' I replied, a tad too exuberantly for my own good. There’s something about text messages, overseas ones in particular, that make me happy. But now I’m craving kiri bath. Sigh.

However, the point of the post, finally, is that Super Dad has come through once again, as I knew he would, and I will be in sunny Colombo come first week of June. So all you people who have the misfortune of knowing me, kindly clear your calendars for the aforementioned week, I will be wanting to see your ugly faces as soon as I get back. And those of you who I don’t know, we should have a drink sometime!

Spring, Once Again

Today was, if possible, the most perfect day of the year so far. The weather was exquisite. Of course I would be stuck at work half the day, then in class, then in bed recovering from work.. you know how it goes.. But the few times I managed to sneak outdoors were pure joy. The grass was being cut so everything was extra-green with that mowed-lawn smell and there was a riot of flowers everywhere. They've been coming up slowly for a few weeks now but the weather has been such that I didn't, couldn't notice them. But gone were the brisk winds and gloomy skies of prior days and the sun was out in all its glory, the sky a mesmerizing blue; people were out in droves, skirts and shorts and strappy tops, frisbees and skateboards, guitars and portable radios, soaking up six months worth of sun. Everything was cleaner, brighter, happier.

And on that cheerful note, subha aluth avuruddak to all you Lankans, and no matter how nice it is over here, I wish I was over there watching the milk overflow into the fire, eating kiribath and listening to that koha doing his thing.

Obstacles

Beautifully constructed summer plans are getting hazy. And the disappointment is great. Its funny cause I didn’t even expect to go home this year, but then I found really great work and Shobs was gonna come, and obviously I got prematurely excited, just to be informed by the father today that the tickets are ridiculously expensive. Basically, for all of us to come home it would cost as much as next semester’s fees. That’s not cool. What I don’t understand is, and I’m no economist so correct me if I’m wrong but, if there is a war in the country and tourism is on the decrease, shouldn’t airline tickets decrease as well? It makes sense to me. I really want to be a brat and whine about it but I fear I am too old for that. Hopefully dear ol’ dad will come through as usual, but if not, I’ll see you peeps next year I guess.

Let it be

Tired. So very tired. Was in the city celebrating O’s bday. Crawled home at 5am. I don’t know why they market them as sex heels when after a few hours you can barely walk let alone have sex. I was scandalized by how extravagant these people are. A $500 dinner, $12 shots at the club, champagne, flowers. It felt like sin. Turning 21 can’t be that big a deal, can it? To top that off, all the little server guys at the club were brown. I felt very uncomfortable watching these older men cleaning up after drunk white people. It was very upsetting for some reason, like watching modern day slavery.

Excited. Very very excited. The Shobster is coming home with me for the summer. It’ll be fun taking her around. Reacquainting myself with everything I’ve missed, everything that’s changed. Hoping most of it is still the same. Meeting old friends, making new ones. (that one’s for you Savi lol). And I think I’ve had my quota of pretentious white people for the year, so.. home, I miss you!

A little amazed, actually. The Duckling is a new woman, apparently. I was rather taken aback at her suggestion of what we should do when I come home, but of course, I’m game. And on top of that she's got Mayer on her playlist! And not just any Mayer but 'love song for no one'! What is the world coming to?

They’re Here!!

My new books, I mean. After my last splurge I seem to have acquired an affinity for South Asian authors. So over spring break, after having received a little monetary bonus from work (why, I do not know. I don’t really do anything), I indulged in a little Amzaon/Ebay spree and now they’ve arrived, so I guess I can kiss my textbooks goodbye for a couple weeks at least.

Interpreter of Maladies- Jhumpa Lahiri
The Weight of Water- Anita Shreve
The Inheritance of Loss- Kiran Desai
Sons and Lovers- D.H. Lawrence
Mrs. Dalloway- Virginia Woolf (I’m trying to get into serious literature and whatnot)
A Trip to the Beach –Blanchards (it was 1 cent!)

How much, you ask? Well, I should have paid $74, but thanks to e-commerce and the savvy acquisition skills of yours truly, I paid a grand total of $28.22, and had it delivered to my doorstep to boot! Now that’s what I call a transaction!

Unseen

You don’t see me
You never did

You don’t know me
You never could

But I see you
And that’s enough
For now