Friday, December 28, 2012

Birthday Lust List

28th, 29th, 30th, 31st December and 1st of January! Yay, happy birthday to me! The first day of yet another brand new year. It is amazing how fast time moves as you grow older that you can't seem to catch up with it. And yes, another number becomes my age, a year older, yet just another number. So what is more exciting than being the birthday girl? The gifts!

The birthday lust list...

1) A Swatch

I have something about Swatches, my first expensive watch was a Swatch and after that I have been just a huge fan of Swatches until I grew up to be a woman and Swatches just didn't cut out for the
type of matured clothes I started wearing plus, it looked a little unprofessional when it came to looking serious during a serious meeting or a fancy party but now, I am all ready to embrace my childhood love again and I am starting to go all dizzy in love with neon something and topsy turvy graphics.

2) Something naughty, something Victoria Secret

I am finally old enough to not be embarrassed to have a special wardrobe for lingerie and flaunt them. I cannot think of a better line to get all kinky and sexy and feel an instant billion dollars. I wouldn't mind the wings, too.


With me running out of space and weight with the relocation and everything (if you are aware), I have been seriously deprived of going on shopping sprees and I am not so happy, even though my bank account is so happy. So, if you get me some shopping vouchers or gift cards for ASOS, I will still be able to shop and the best part is free shipping to Australia and ASOS is just every girls' dream site.

4) Tillari

 I am a little traditional and I love jewelries. When I got married, everything was too fast I forgot all I ever wanted was a Tillari. I have told gentleman this is all I want but I don't see it coming.

5)Faux fur coat

At a major risk of looking like a bear and being shot down by animal rescue, I cannot stop wondering how soft, comfortable and warm fur coat would be like.

6) PJ

I don't know why but I want pajamas. Cute looking, absolutely soft pajamas. I like the idea of sleeping pretty and waking up pretty and I also frequently play with ideas of fire in the middle of the night or earthquake and I will have to run outside to be safe. I am also very fussy when it comes to sleep time, everything must be right from the pillow to the cuddle.

7) DHL gift vouchers

Do they even exist? Well, I certainly hope they do. I need this to transport my pillow and a few other stuffs I cannot squeeze into my luggage like my family, a wick basket and my heart-shaped laundry basket. And you wonder why I am not exactly ready to leave.

8) Four poster bed

This just spells enchanting romance and a chance for me to create our own fairy tale with the happily ever after even though people constantly pull me back down to ugly little earth and remind me fairy tales don't exist.

9) Loads of $$$$

You can never go wrong with giving me a stack of $50 dollars note. I will even give you a lap dance, if you ask nicely for it provided you don't look like a complete pervert and an asshole. Nothing ever works out without cash and I need a pretty big bag right to pay for an education, a car, a house, a good and comfortable life.

10) The last and always

Every year, I just wish for nothing but happiness when I blow out my candles and this upcoming year, I will wish the same and I wish for all of you to give me good blessing of best wishes for me as I start on life, for real this time. I think if you are happy, nothing else matters and no bullshit from life can get to you.

And with that, I want to wish all of you readers and well-wishers a very thrilling and exciting last couple of days before we count down to 2013. I wish all of you to get kissed by someone special as the seconds tick down to its last seconds of 2012 and I hope 2013 is a much better year than 2012 and if 2013 is shitty, come back to this and remember the 7 steps to happiness. I take my farewell for the year.

Happy New Year 2013!


Wednesday, December 26, 2012

Review: Male masseur + me (A perfect combination at Heritage Spa)

Sometime back, I had the pleasure of doing some spa and beauty parlor reviews for Living magazine but the list I was given was too far and wide, I ended up choosing just one and delegating the rest to the other writers (everyone deserves some free pampering!) and because I was just too tied up with too much to finish, I chose the one nearest to my office. I have never looked back ever since. Before I found Heritage Spa, Sanepa Heights (on the way to Kiran Bhawan), I used to get my pampering done at a few spots, going back to them only when I was really in a horrible state. They were all dreadfully expensive, and the service wasn't up to how much money I was forking out each time. But, I have a very bad back and money comes second when it comes to attending my needs besides, I have horrifying posture and I am even a tad bit hunch backed, so every time I booked an appointment, it was more for medicinal-recovery purpose than pampering.

I had woken up with a really sore, tensed shoulders a couple of days ago but I just didn't find the time to book for an appointment but hey, it was Christmas yesterday and I really needed for someone to give me the release. My neck and shoulders were in terrorising pain. I was feeling completely drained out of whatever chi was in my body. Plus, yesterday, I was celebrating five glorious years in Nepal. With fingers and toes crossed, I sent a message to one of the partners of the spa asking if they were open for business and if they were open, do they have any opening for a booking. They did! I was expecting a surplus of customers for some Chrissy pampering, like me. Good they didn't.

While I waited for my room to be ready, sipping on piping hot yummy Nepali masala tea, my muscles were all screaming for help. I could feel them all feeling so down and sad, probably crying the reddest tears of absolute discomfort. I couldn't wait to go in. I was feeling so lethargic but I made a mistake of making a small conversation with the receptionist, telling all about my aching raw shoulder massage. He tried convincing me into some other massages than I asked for, particularly the Dry Thai full body massage and I wasn't really in the mood to be kept off my track and convinced into something else. My usual is the Raw Coffee Bean full body scrub (hey, its winter and I am too lazy to do at-home scrubbing myself), followed by a European Swedish full body massage and the Bio-Fruit facial (hey, I need to be pampered!) If you know me well enough, you would know I hate changing my mind and routine. I hate not knowing what I am in for and what I am supposed to expect. I lack the 'spontaneous' bone. I was also not feeling particularly adventurous at all to try anything apart from my usual, and breaking a bone or two on Christmas day was far from what was on my agenda and rushing to an emergency room to fix a broken hip, just no. I was already almost convinced by the receptionist's suggestion after all, they should know better than me and then. Reena came, she is the owner and Principal (all masseurs in-house are trained on site by her), all she had to say was, "You should try Dry Thai, it is really good!" I was about to politely turn her down again, but because she is such an absolute sweet heart and so very caring and charming and all those nice things, and just then, my back just screamed more, I gave in. Maybe twisting and turning and contorting my body into a funny little pretzel would do some good. I was finally okay going off my routine.

And then, another hmmm moment. "Would I be fine with a male masseur? The guy you were talking to you gives excellent Dry Thai." Ahhhhh. First thing on my mind; gentleman would not at all be pleased with this (and he wasn't when I told him much later) but hey, he was just doing his job and I was just getting pampered. No kinky, pinky, freaky in the massage room where I laid naked in a pair of disposable underwear. Surprisingly, I felt at total ease. He was just very friendly and very professional about making me comfortable first. I will admit I was smiling cheekily with my face down as he started warming up my body for the session. Come on, I had to! The second reason why I almost hesitated on a male masseur was because of their roughness. I am very intolerant of pain. Every time gentleman tries to give me a rub down (the softest he can go), I am always screaming in pain and he gives up. I assumed the same. And then, he started scrubbing me down. Was I wrong! His touches were more defined, more pronounced, less ticklish, and unusually gentle unlike any other female masseurs I ever had. As cheesy as this sounds, he made a temple out of my body and he had me saying 'Sweet Heavens' under my breath a hundred times.

With the hour of scrubbing dead, dull skin away over, I took a quick warm shower to wash off all the raw beans to show off my now very polished, baby smooth and refreshed, wonderfully smelling skin. I changed into the most comfortable pair of pajamas-like pair of hemp made top and pants (its called Dry Thai for a reason) and I was ready to charge out of the room and change my package but I was too late and thank god, I was too late. He started from my foot and traveled his hand up my thighs and pressing all my pressure points and kneading into them, softly. Oh, it was twitchy painful like five to eight big needles were poking right into my open flesh. I was all red and frightened and again, I was this close to charge out of the room to change my package. But I just clinched my jaws as tight as I could and just withstood the (initial) pain. He was just working on finding how much pressure I could take. He was very receptive of my needs and not once was he complacent, and just placed focus on doing what he had to do to put cash to his pocket. His primary job was to make sure I was relaxing and not freaking out and then, doing his actual job of releasing all the stiff knots in my body. He asked me if I was comfortable a million times with his reassuring voice. I guess why I keep going to Heritage Spa over and over again is that they genuinely care to place customers' comfort first and everyone is always so nice and bright and just so delightfully pleasant to be around. Surely enough and shortly after, my body was stretched and turned into all kinds of weird shapes. I was in a fetal position and soon, I was a starfish and the most awesome one was when he basically lifted my legs and almost my entire body off the bed with just my head and the last of my shoulder blades still on the surface. It felt like I was defying gravity for real. It was just too blissful. I was making funny faces when he started doing that but I found myself saying yes to a second time. I kept asking him how much more time do I have because I just didn't want it to ever end by second half of the session and finally he ended it, he had to with a cute little namaste and more of, "How do you feel?" Sweet lord, I felt and still feel like a new woman! Good bye knotty knots, well, most of it anyway.

Another review I really want to do on is their Bio-fruit facial which I didn't have time for yesterday but this is one bit of heaven you just have to try. When I first did it, they told me that 99% of their clients who has done this has slept and I convinced them, the 1% is me. I never sleep even when they do those soulful head massages, I am an extremely light sleeper and all my senses are always awake but, I don't remember much of what happens during the facial because, ha! I fall under the 99%. I sleep and wake up with moist skin all the frigging time, even when I say, nope, not going to snooze this time. I know they apply lots of honey (which you would think is a perfect breeding base for pimples, it is not) and almonds. A lot of facial types leaves my skin red and peeling, especially when it comes to exfoliating. I am a Capricorn and as far as my know-about go, Capricorns have very sensitive skin. But this Bio-fruit facial is tremendously gentle. Trust me when it comes to knowing gentle and safe-care products, out of self loving and self defensive protection, I know the ins and outs of what is good for the sensitive skin. The only downside of this is that not all your blackheads are removed, which is the chief reason why I go for facial to be hones but give it the next day and you are literally glowing. I love looking on the second day after I do this facial, this glow is a lot different from the glows your other beauty parlor gives and while I am at it, the 1% who didn't sleep was a guy, some kind of expert who was trying to figure out their techniques and products used.

Besides the four, I haven't tried most of their packages, because well, I have a routine but if you are not as boring as me, I suggest you give this spa a visit and try their manicures and pedicures and fancy massage names like Pichu (is that even a massage?) and trekkers massage and I will promise you a superb and fancy time. They can be contacted at 552-4442. If you are keen on knowing their prices first, do leave me a comment and I will get back to you as I only have a wordfile with me and I have next to no clue how I can upload it here. I know the next time I am going there, I am choosing between a Dry Thai and a Swedish (yay, an expansion on my usual flavor) and I am definitely using a male masseur. And if I were to just push the praising to yet another level, it feels a little at home every time I am there.

So, I am just thinking of two Christmas later. I will be getting my Christmas massage from gentleman because next Christmas, I will give him the perfect present to me by signing him up for a spa and beauty course and the next, next Christmas he will be qualified enough to give me his signature Christmas massage and he will no longer have to fuss about another man is touching his woman's body. On a second thought maybe, I will just give him a pair of shoes or watch or some fancy dumb badass jewelry because I like that he is all fussy and not happy that I let another man touch me. I like when he is sooooooo, "No one has the right to do anything to you and with you!"


Saturday, December 22, 2012

I feel silly but so happily silly right now.

I am looking back and seeing how much I have achieved and smiling and thinking, shit, this is my life. For more effect, I’ll repeat, this is my life, my goddamn fucking life! Just holy cow, I am thinking. I woke up feeling so fantastic yesterday, much more so today. It honestly feels like I am given a second chance to make things right again. I basically did a lot of cleaning around the house to celebrate my recovery, not that I was dying or anything serious like that, it was just a very nasty cold. I also found a very motivating blog of a wife and mother, with a cancer-stricken husband who fought cancer, and now, he has the chance to see his three young boys grow up to be fine young men. Just makes me love life more than ever and find glee in having lost my voice and even in the poor spider waddling in the glass of lukewarm water I left unattended for just a few seconds. Sadistic I know, but hey, my head doesn't feel like it’s filled with heavy black smoke and a thousand little needles.

I spent the entire, yet another sleepless night of yesterday, going through one blog post to another and then, I decided perhaps it is time I get a little bit more personal with my blog, too. I don’t know if I am personal enough with my entries  maybe I already am, maybe I am not. I think I am vaguely personal. I like talking in circles and popping out of the bushes like little red roses once in a while, but maybe now, I want to tell you more about who I am and write about the people I love (there aren't a lot, to be honest, because I don’t have too much love to give away and I will warn you, if I do this, you readers are bound to be bored with a lot of stuffs on what my daily life (read: boring) is like, focusing mainly on this stroll of life I am taking with the gentleman. He is me and I am he, we are two rolled in one. He is terrifyingly like me and I am exactly like him. ‘Just the milder version,’ as he likes to put it. My life just comes to rust and dust if I do not have him. Cheesy but completely true to a point of tad bit creepy, because that is how dependent I am on him to make life better for me. He hates it but that is just something he has to put up with, for the rest of our lives together.)

As if I was not high on life already, gentleman added more sugar to it. He occasionally does this thing where he asks me a lot of random questions that almost usually starts from, ‘What is my favorite color?’ or ‘What is my favorite fruit?’ or ‘What is my favorite food?’ Crap but goddamn when he does this, it makes me realize I have someone, who at this age, still bothers to ask me about my favorite color. That is so five-years-old! He must really love me a billion times. I love being five-years-old with him, and 18-years-old, 22-years-old, 32-years-old, 55-years-old and even 102-years-old.  Though, it took him a couple of asking and memorizing to finally know the answers himself but he still asks those questions. It’s like a game for him and I go all *%&#! He sure does know all the right ways to hit all my wrong nerves. Like I said, that is just the preface before, he goes into deeper profound questions. Now, this game, I enjoy. He takes me by my hand and enters me into a philosophical class I never knew I even signed up for. Today, his first logical question after a few of annoying questions was, “If you could change the world, what that would be?” I didn't have to think a lot about it. I have always been passionate about finding a cure for cancer.

“But that doesn't change the world.”

“Yes it would. Cancer would no longer rob people of their time (and more).”

“But that still doesn't change the world.”

Clearly annoyed now, I could possibly have screamed, “But it changes the world I live in.”

He annoys me plenty and I pretty much drive him batshit crazy. He hates me, he loves me. I hate him, I love him.

“If you had to change your name and you couldn't run away from it, what would it be?”

“I am not going to change my name, no fucking way.”

“But you have it, its official thing; you could land in jail (and the yadah).”

“I will tell them, ‘No fucking way! I just won’t allow it.'”

“But you just have to.”

“Okay, I will name myself ‘X’!”

“But they want a real human name.”

Annoyed again, and screaming at him to just stop being so irritating, I said, “Fine, Jenny it is.”

And he is happy. Gosh, he is so maddening.
He asks me about my favorite books, I have none. I justified with him saying, “It’s like asking me who my favorite child is.” He was reasoned enough. Five favorite authors? I just had four and he insisted I name a fifth because he asked for five. Oh goddamn him! Again, I reasoned with him saying, “I cannot tell about a fifth child I don’t have.” Oh, it’s a wonder really why I cannot get enough of him and why I even bother to talk to him, at all. And if you think that is all that is to him, his magnitude of annoyance I mean, wrong!  

“So if writing was forbidden, it was unlawful, what would you do?”

“I would still write. I wouldn't care.”

“They will jail you for it!”

“Still would write. I wouldn't want to die a coward and for heaven’s sake, who imposes such laws?”

“Even if they hang you naked, out in the open?”


“Or maybe, they will not hang you and instead leave you naked outside, alive, and let vultures feed on you.”

“Yes. It will never change.”

“Even if they put you naked in front of people……….”

At that point, I got super provoked so I don’t remember how that question ended. You do not ask such questions to a person like me who makes a living through writing. Jeez! Yes, come to think of it, I think I probably won that one with that.

He wrapped up the therapist-patient conversation with, “It is to see how loose your screw is and if I need to tighten it, how much then.Thank you for answering with honesty.”  And that he is hungry, he wants to go have something and he just leaves me at, “eh?” Thanks very much for the free consultation. He is pretty much an idiot, as you can tell. He essentially takes me as a weirdly wired up childish little pampered girl, who wants to celebrate her birthday with a lot of silly hats and silly costumes, where I make everybody treat me like a princess if not I will not give them goody bags at the end of the day. I don’t know why he does all this; as a mere entertainment for me mostly I suppose. Other times, I think he does it for inspiration --  to inspire me or to inspire himself, and he always leaves me inspired and reminds me that I still have some humanity in me, in this harsh little world and that I still have a golden heart, even though it is plenty smaller than a lot of golden hearts. Or maybe, he is simply trying very hard to understand me. And here I sit, smiling and thinking, being thankful for all that I have in my life and some of which I wish I didn't have, and that I couldn't have a better person to call my most favorite person in entire the world. But of course, when we fight, he is but a devil, a devil who still manages to make my life infinite rosier than it was before him.

Yes you genius, you finally figured out, I am so madly, madly in love with him. ;) 


P.s: If I feel like it, I am even going to change the 'About Author' section today too, so please care enough to read about me, boast about me (that shouldn't be challenging)! But my eyes feels like it is about to pop out and I am starting to feel really nauseous. 

Thursday, December 20, 2012

Sick and dirty

For weeks, I have been just getting sicker by the day that chances of me dying before the apparent doomsday is seemingly higher. But still, I have been teetering towards death being as dutiful as ever because that is just how I am. I find it ridiculously hard to just break apart from the life I lead to just be a lazy sick slob. Story of my pathetic life. With fever threatening to burn my hair and a cough that just don't bugger off, is the reason for sleepless nights. I slept just an hour probably last night. Life of a, well, me! And swallowing slimey worm-like medicine is the most unceremonious time of my day but there is something about that medicine I cannot seem to get enough of because it is like methamphetamine; it makes me high and really pumped up and then, out of utter exhaustion when I finally realise it, I fall asleep like a baby, a happy baby. Unlike last night, last night was all kinds of bitterness.

Today, I am groggy as hell but hey, Christmas is five days away and I know I have been a really good girl so I need my Christmas list up (not that I see anyone presenting me anything) but, I have been thinking and thinking but like every other year, being a good girl will have me no presents at all because I have completely no clue what I could possibly want. On second thought, yes, I would like a ticket to go to Space on that Russian Spacecraft next year and I would like airplane tickets to visit my friends and family all over the world. Mostly, I want to go to India and just mediate because I think I really need that, besides a new iPod because the one I currently have, its battery runs flat within two hours and what good is an iPod if it doesn't last me the entire day and I constantly have to check to see if the red warming battery button sign is on. It is just not cool, having to worry if skipping one song will reduce the remaining battery life and so on. I used to love my iPod, now its just a reminding alarming fear that good things always come to an end.

As does bad, I need to remember, bad things come to an end too. Life is a vicious cycle, no one is on a constant track. There is no plateau. There is ups and downs, a lot of downs and a few ups and a few plateau but hard times moves to good times and good times will collapse to hard times again. So when good times roll in, don't be a queen or a king and just sit on your throne and enjoy your dried fruits, get out and do something because the throne turns into a fucking monster as soon as you get too comfortable. And that is 12 minutes worth of prep talk for you and especially for me. I need to just sober up and be more better at becoming the person I truly am. Everyday, I am just becoming unbecoming and it is really not glamorous, to be honest. I haven't washed my hair for three days straight, that is how disgustingly unbecoming I am but when you are too gunk up with blocked nose, the hair doesn't really seem to stink and besides, my body smells a lot like Axe Oil and Vicks, which in my opinion is parts of heaven. Okay, now just forget the part of me not having showered for three days, its frigging winter and I am just human. I am allowed to make mistakes, be imperfect, be lazy and be crazy.


Tuesday, December 11, 2012

A raging war and saved bullets

Freedom is a limited thing; there is only so much of it I could make use of until it started to rhyme a lot with boredom. If boredom was ever a middle name, it would fit in right between my first name and my last name. I am partly a meaning of monotony, even my dull hair clearly lacking in hair treatment, nutritious elements and color highlights says so. I believe a person’s hair says all of a person’s life, just think about it – if it’s unkempt and oily, or if it’s soft and silky. There is no logical way of explaining this phenomenon of mine, and so, I am not going to make the tiniest attempt to clarify my thoughts and no, this is not boredom talking but the mind of a very frustrated analytic being.

I am completely losing it staying at home all day, not exposed to the waves of people and creative thoughts. Day to day, I have been doing nothing but the usual thing that just robs the joy out of living and life, honestly to this point, life is just killing it for me. Being a human being is tough. You have to talk to people when that is the last thing you want to do, you have to make a living to survive, you have to write because people are waiting to read something and the worst is you have to please. Unlike our pet dogs, Tommy and Snow (I still hate this name), who just sleeps all day and play with each other and if they don’t feel like doing anything or seeing anybody, they just get lost and we just assume, they will come back home and they always come back home. If I were to just disappear from the face of earth… its better if I don’t go on. Life needs to give me a break. Oh, eureka! I have a passport, a couple lakhs. I need to run away! I can run away.

But, we have got to just get up and do it. Again. Again and again. Be with a broken arm in a sling or a stinging hot fevered head or the third sleepless night or stitching up a fragile broken heart that just gets torn up again, we just have to get up and do it again. No excuses, no amount of scratches and bloody sore muscles gives a break. Those are all signs of weakness and like boys as they were growing up were told to not cry because big boys don’t cry, in women, parts of those traits have been instilled, involuntarily. You don’t show vulnerabilities to anyone because if you show, no amount of strength you show before or later will ever be remembered. Life in all its essence tells a tale of a war and we are all in it, tugging every might in us finish the fight.  It is not about rewriting history as the victorious one or to prove anyone, anything but only to get through yet another ordinary day and price up your worthiness.

I am not a decorated soldier and I have no wish to become one. I have survived too many gun fires and saved too many bullets of mine that I could have just shot and let out bloodshed but everyone has a moral sense or at least I have a moral sense that tells me they are just another human being and maybe, like me, they just want a break. Fine, I will give them a break if that is what they want but I calculate and weigh things out. I might not be good in mathematics or physics but the more bullets you shoot out, the lighter the gun gets and then, it gets a little easier. Maybe it is time for yet another genocide I will take charge of or maybe I will just sit still and count down the days. Just carry the heavy gun and just soldier on because those times when you were brave, those counts for nothing but a small sign of weakness, weakness is always remembered. A war always has an ending and mine is coming soon, I know. If I just keep my bullets to my side, I should win and I shall forget it all and forgive but any war veteran will tell you, you are never just normal after coming back home even though life gets back to normal. 


Thursday, November 29, 2012

Sinking into red

The layout in the magazine. I think they did a marvelous job! 

I look a little out of the map and I sound a little too much like a broken record [when I speak Nepali]. The tongues I can converse in are far too foreign for the ears of yours. I spent 18 years holding onto my green Nepali passport, most of the times forgetting my roots and ignoring the fact that I was not of the same nationality as my best friends. Now, it would be impossible to tell I had once thought  my father was the craziest man for bringing me to this place which is clearly falling apart. Cracks by cracks, bricks by bricks and stones by stones, it is falling. We are nothing but a pile of dust when stepped on, when walked over, when blown over, we cause such unsettlement and we seem to mean business and then, we just settle back down, right back to where we were, like nothing ever happened. That is how it is here in Nepal. The bandhs that don't make sense half the time; our bandhs are like dust and so are our politicians, as are the citizens and the roads we tread on. We are a country of dust -- literally and figuratively. 

We are a country of great magnitude. We have the Mount Everest. We have Prabal Gurung and we have the Chaudhary group, referred to by Forbes as the richest non-Royals in Nepal with net worth crossing a billion US dollars. We have Lord Buddha's birthplace marked here. We have amazing trekking routes and equally amazing people. We have momos, chhyang and sel rotis. We have streets full of stray dogs and dangerously hanging wires out in the open with tall, old buses and trucks threatening to rip them apart as the vehicles better fitted to be retired make their way through, almost blindly. We have a funny rule of breaking up what is already broken - the demolition of roads for expansion is baffling enough for me because truth be told, it's just causing more jams than ever.

We practically have no system at all. The only systems we have are that the taxi drivers will almost always be  pain especially when in rush and caught in the pouring rain. The traffic is always a killer. We spit everywhere on the roads. The vegetable and biscuit prices differing more than Rs. 10 from one shop to another, is such a mind-playing and a time-consuming effort to remember where to get a cheaper deal. We never get all the good Hollywood movies, just the mainstreams. Now, with the new ban on Hollywood and Bollywood movies in our cinema halls, we have nothing but just Nepali movies. We have micros, inhumanely packed with humans, breathing in each others' musky evaporating sweat. We don't shower until we have to, once winter is here. We don't even shower during the blistering summer heat. We are the second richest in terms of water resources but load shedding has been haunting us forever, forget water for a shower. We are one of the poorest countries in the world, but we also have one of the richest cultures and heritage. The holy Bagmati River doesn't smell as holy but we are such religious bunches and in bhatti pasals, that is where we spend our days lazing around drinking tea, talking about everything, especially politics.

We party hard every Friday night, even on Wednesdays, just because we are sliding into the weekends. Can you believe the month-long Teej festivity, the ladies singing dhori in screechy voices and dancing in circles again and again? I am up for the joy but I find it all too ridiculous at the entire merriment. And even before Dashain was here, the slaughtering of khasis had begun and so had the gambling and extra drinking, just because we got out Dashain bonus and because we can think of every excuse to party. Let's not even go into weddings. We are a loud bunch. We love to wear gold and speak of our wealth and our failing health because we eat too  much khasi ko masu and we don't really have a good control over our alcohol consumption once we begin with a sip. We have everything - the beautiful sky, the polluted streets, reckless drivers and impossible people. We have worms, nails and algae in our coke bottles. We have Tito Sattya and we have a very successful French language school when we can't even speak and write our native language fluently. We love delicacies from foreign countries so much that we forget our very own finger-licking good Thakali food and instead we crave for finger-licking chicken from KFC. We disregard our local designers and their talents because we are obsessed with anything from America, anything out of Nepal for that matter. We are uniquely made, a diversity of squinty eyes, wide doe eyes and medium-sized eyes, sharp noses, flat noses and wide noses with no nose bridges, all of which tell stories of our ancestors and us. 

I am sinking into red blue, white and the shape of our distinctive flag. I am falling in love with my motherland and the color of the sky, every bit of our sloppiness, our relaxed nature, our wounded country demanding attention from everyone to improve the current state we are in, our pot-holed roads, our talented musicians and artists. I am in love with Patan, the smelly gallis of New Road, and the ritzy Durbar Marg and Nanglo restaurant. I am in love with the out-of-shape metal bowls of beggars and the extravagance of the rich, the cheap spa packages and Rs. 45 momos. I am in love with falling sick every time. I am in love with the men and the women, the children and the cows sleeping in the middle of the road. I am in love with dhal-bhat-tarkari and how we eat with our hands with blackened finger nails. I am in love with cursing the electricity people switching off the power before the scheduled time. I am in love with waking up with the sun on my face and the smell of Nepal in the morning and night. I am in love with romancing the wind of Nepal, the polluted wind. I am in love with our country, in all its shambling beauty. What makes Nepal the pinnacle of beauty is what's killing her. 

Note: As published in the November issue of +977, a Sydney based magazine for Nepalis and those who appreciates the finest of Nepal. +977 hopes to unite all Nepalis in a foreign land, providing a platform to uphold our culture and values, and to remind us where we came from. 


Monday, November 26, 2012

Circle of love

Towards the end of the year, I always get too excited for something - my birthday! I am just a kid, I love celebrating my birthday with a huge fanfare, and I don't think I will ever grow out of it. I love hanging those kiddish, lame Happy Birthday decorations all around and wear silly hats. I love blowing out numbered candles and not those longish candles. I love it more when the blown out wick, lights up again two to three times more. I like choosing my own cake (that is how irksome I can get), and cupcakes. I am a huge cupcakes fan! While a lot dread adding a year to their age, I am forever endearing towards it. I have something about turning old. I want to know how I would be like when I am 40, how my thoughts would be like, if I would grow up to be wiser or just be more rebellious, choosing to not care for other opinions because I would know better with experience. I reckon, I will just be more rebellion than ever. How I would look with greying hair and if I will even have grey hair at all. And if I don't have grey hair, would honey brown dyed hair suit my face crumbled with wrinkles in every space it finds? I want to smile and have lines that tells my history; if I had a hard life or if I had an easy one, I want to see those lines and I want them to vouch for the life I led.

At the age I am, I am curiously defiant. I want to discover things for myself, I want to learn for myself the hard way round. But I have too many love ones around me, always cushioning my feet so I don't step into a puddle. I am not even allowed to step in the puddle and enjoy the beautiful, humbling reminiscent of the thunder storm. Every time I land in rain, someone always brings me the umbrella and I shout for the umbrella too, well, because I know I can be protected. Being the youngest girl in the family has me loved, and restrained. I know I can always go running to my dad if I land in deep shit. He fixes things with the finest skills. And if I need some comfort, I go to my four sisters, my best friends. My brother when I need a little extra love, he pacifies me with his once in a blue moon lucky strike of good food if not, it is just still-edible-out-of-desperation kind of a cute baby's vomit. If I need a lot of comforting especially when I am sick, mom is the only key and I always cry like a baby when I talk to her, without fail and within a few minutes, she would have me cracking in laughter. Let's not even go into gentleman's protection. He is my traffic police, doesn't let me cross the roads without looking left right, doesn't let me walk in the middle of the road even if I claim it's my father's road, doesn't let me walk on the roads at all and insists I walk on the pavements. All he lets me handle is bargaining. He thinks I will die, so let me, I think. Let me learn my mistakes in heaven or hell.

Last year, I wanted to go backpacking around the world. Write and earn money as a travel writer, be a globe trekker and be content simply with being my only trusty friend for a long time. Sisters backed down my plan before I even started to pack up my laptop and a small haversack. Dad would have killed me if he knew what I was up to. I would have learned a lot on that self-discovery journey, if only they had let me go. Let me go and die, if I was to die. And if I don't get visa for the country I want to enter, then there are other countries. I want to taste my own freedom but no one lets me. I want to hurt my knees when I fall, but I am held tightly around a circle of love and it is impossible to fall down when everyone is holding you up by the arms and supporting your every move. All of which is a good thing but I want to be my own teacher or witness me blame everyone for even the tiniest turbulence in my life. 

Now, I don't have a fascination with death or anything satanic as that, though I am obsessed with escapism. It's just that, if I want to live my life in a certain way, let me and if I were to endanger myself in the process, let it be. Let everything be. Just let me live life how I want to. I will handle all my struggles. They all call me selfish but I am not. I have been loved and I have learned to love, and while it is just wickedly affable, I just want to discover and just discover and be my only person to depend on. I want to learn new things. I hate confinement. I hate restriction. I hate people thinking I know nothing. People actually think I am rather stupid. My dad says I am a bird brain. Of course he would and I wouldn't blame him. I have made the most stupidest mistakes with him. This is making me laugh, thinking of the silliest mistakes of mine he endured through. 

So, we are 35 days away from my birthday.  I have always loved my birthday, maybe, it wouldn't have been so special had it not fallen on New Year's Day. A year older, my age is not something I want to reveal to the crowd because I think when people know the age, they tend to directly and blindly associate how much you know, the lesser the number, the lesser you know as well as the height of ones' arrogance. As I get older, I know I can't run away from love, and family is the most important thing in the world. I haven't ever tried to live life on my own terms even though I have every way and reason to do it now. I guess in a lot of ways, I am just afraid of living life without the umbrella. Even when I am 40, I won't dare to break the family circle. I have realised that much importance now. Maybe on second thought, when I turn 40, I won't be the rebellious kind, I will be wiser.


Saturday, November 24, 2012

Two weeks

When things are great, things are really great. Gentleman arrived home in one perfect piece of the other half of my heart and left for Melbourne after two weeks. The thing with love, even when it is bad, it is still great enough. The one thing I miss most, now that he has gone is our disagreements and we have a lot of it. Mostly because our behaviors are too much alike and when two stubborn reflections try to merge, they diverge. We are each others' best friend and the worst enemy, too, and I couldn't ask for a much handsome, richer, healthier and lovelier gentleman.

The first week, we just hung around the house celebrating Tihar and the second week, we spent countless hours sleeping most of the time whilst travelling on buses, going around one circuit of Nepal. Instead of our plan to go to Pokhara and Bandipur, we went paying visit to gentleman's family and spent just a night in Hotel Barahi, Pokhara; not one of the wisest decision we have made, especially since we paid about Rs. 4,500 per night for a Deluxe room with breakfast -- all of it was B- grade. Then we made a curve towards Rudrapur to visit gentleman's very aged but super healthy, though a little hard on hearing grandfather, his saila uncle and family via Syangja, one place I love passing by for their scenic view. We throttle too much on bus, drooled too much on each other and gentleman even snored some times which garnered attentions of those around us. I laughed uncontrollably when that happened because his snores are rather terrible than cute. Everyone far and wide knows of his horrible snores. He would make the perfect case study for those looking to do their thesis on snoring.

We spent two nights with in the Madeshi region, and a journey to the borders of India, Sununli. I can still hear the Tharu music in my ears fives days onward, that the bus driver played on the way to Bhairawa. They have music that is too much of jiggle and drums that automatically makes you tap your feet to the music and you can't even stop yourself. Yesterday, my sister was repairing her shoes' sole at this Tharu's shop here in the valley and he was playing the same music on his phone, the latest megahit apparently, and he stopped it to be polite but I told him to play it again. I grew to love the music on the two hours journey. Buy your pressure cookers in Sununli, the outskirts of India, buy almost everything there except China-made products. They are bloody inexpensive but be careful of those tax office right at the sides and avoid eye contacts with any of those uniformed personnel if you attempt to bring in goods without paying tax, for your own good and always wear something breezy whenever you go there, because it was scorching hot despite the country's brewing winter status.

And then, we went to Sardi, a place I had never heard of before to visit his kancha uncle and wife. It is absolutely green there, with gawking hills surrounding the village and not a watt of electricity in any span of area. It is every environmentalist's dream location. I can see Johnny Depp living there, after selling his fully solar and hydro-powered house in the States. They plant their own food and milk their cows and use cow dungs as fertilizers and depend solely on solar energy to light up their dark houses. It is just too lovely there. Cosmic amount of spaces in between houses and the freshest air possible even in mid-day. Coming back to the main road after one night there was painful, I didn't want to let go of that place. It was just too beautiful, every inch of it. So much life in a place you wouldn't possible think contained life. Going around Kathmandu was terrifying and daunting as I struggled to breath the much polluted air, something that I thought I was immune to.

We rounded our trip with a lunch visit in Bharatpur and then back to Kathmandu and hectic schedules, where everyone is in a rush to become someone and be better than everyone. City life is a silly life. Pulling in towards Thankot, I wanted to turn back and run away. I started to have a heavy heart. My unwillingness to resume my crazy, unrelaxed life could be one possible reason but I think the obvious reason is that, I wanted to create an identity in a place where you can greet the sun in the morning, instead of going head-on with a stranger in a race to win and count the stars at night and not think of ways to have a better win tomorrow. I hated being a cool city girl.

P.s: We don't have any photographic testaments of the beautiful places we visited because well, I never once thought of clicking pictures and if gentleman's Galaxy S3 had better battery life than, he would have but it has a dreadful one. I hope just the writing makes you want to visit the places we visited.


Wednesday, November 7, 2012

What 2nd last day feels at work

Every day of the last month has felt like my last day and now, it is my 2nd last day, it really finally feels like the last day because it is the last day! I am coming into work tomorrow just because that means one less day without anything to do. It hadn't sunk into me that I was leaving this job until this morning as gentleman was packing his suitcase to come back home. He was humming a stupid song and my thoughts wondered about my own packing to do. A rock in my throat, I told gentleman this: "Today, I am going to clear my desk. The guy taking over me is already in love with my desk. My desk is going to be his."

For 11 months, I have held onto this desk. I have made the desk what it is today. I have bought life into this desk and the desk has support me all too well and the walls have become a good friend. Bidding goodbye to co-workers won't be tough. Bidding goodbye to my desk and the walls might just kill me. This is my first desk, having had worked freelance before, from the dining table at home and tables of local coffee shops with coffee mug stains on it. I have sat on this desk meeting the tightest of all deadlines, I have ate in front of this desk and got sick all over it. Got pissed around it for various issues and cried my eyes out. I have fought with gentleman on this desk over the Internet and entertained a lot of my fantasies, day dreaming right here. On this same desk, I wrote quite a few much-appreciated articles. I have made 11 magazines on this desk, 11 magazines I am proud to acclaim my hard work paid off. I wish I made 12 magazines here. I wish I made Living for the rest of my living life. This desk saw me as a new girl, saw me as an struggling soul, fought my confusions, made certain writing is what I am to do in life and made me stronger than I was 11 months ago. This desk has witness me hitting many climaxes and falling down as many times. This desk has given me comfort without even saying a word. I am pretty sure if the desk had arms, it would be hugging me right now. Maybe, it is hugging me as my heart sinks. I have too much history on this desk for me to not want to break it down to pieces and take it back home with me. This desk has encouraged changes in me, been there for me always and I am going to miss it so desky much. This desk has made me who I am today. Thank you, desk, thank you for all the good times and enduring the extremely messy me! I owe you one good scrub, yes I do. 

On the 9th of November, I am going to wake up and my planner will look like this;______________ and then a lot of 'Fuck, I am bored!' My mind won't be filled with all the things I have to wrap up for any issue. I will be jobless for the first time in my entire working life and I wouldn't know how to handle such freedom. I don't do well with freedom, forget how I am going to survive without a paycheck to go merry with when the shopping vein in me bugles. I am getting out of a routine I love too much. I hate changes. Give me two days and I will break out in an anxiety fever. This is ACTUALLY the first time I am jobless since I started making my own living. Holy moo moo! See, it didn't even take me two days to go all anxious and I am not even jobless yet, as least not until tomorrow. So people out in Australia, if you are hiring someone, hire me. Don't let me be unemployed for a  long time, I will go crazy. I have already started going crazy, just look at me right now. I will work for a minimum wage, if I must and I will work hard, nothing reciprocal to the amount I am paid. Hire me especially for reason you will never find anyone who laughs the way I do and a cheerful spirit is always bonus for anybody and any team! 

Editorial Coordinator/ Feature Writer for Living magazine - till 8th of November 2012

P.s: While I am at this, I should totally start writing my own obituary as well, not because I will die from the 'jobless syndrome' but because holy cow, how cool would it be to have written my own death note. It will go something like this, "I tried and I succeeded." Because I will succeed in this life, there aren't much options. Life always throws me around like garbage and leave me to pick up my own plastic bag and put all my dirt in it and carry on. Wherever life throws me, whatever I have in store, I take this new life as an opportunity to improve myself and create a better future for my future family. 

Sunday, November 4, 2012

Don't make me hate my body

I could do without a lot of extra kilograms attached to my body mass. I could do with a flat stomach, slim thighs, toned arms and smack-able ass that would easily fit into a size six dress, not the double of it. I am constantly exposed to wafer thin models, needless to mention media feeding me with more images of what I am supposed to be. People want me to be slimmer. I want to be slimmer but I am not. I know what I am supposed to be but I am not. I live with it.

I could blame my genetic structure for the shape I am and I will. I will blame my laziness, my low metabolic rate and my fondness for food. It's a disaster relationship, really. I will blame my lack of time to do any form of real exercise. Exercise to me right now means the free time I have which I utilize well to shake my left leg and reblog countless photos and things of my interest on Tumblr. I will blame my need for a glass of coke, or sprite and my sweet tooth for not being able to resist desserts. I have lived with my body. I know of all the things that made the contours of my body and the flaws, the same things also  made what I can flaunt proudly. 

I don't stroll around with the fittest of all bodies, I never have. I don't need to hear it from anyone to affirm anything; for the love of food, I sleep and wake up in my body and I am relentlessly in touch with it. I know of all the things I can do, or stop doing, to get myself into a size six dress. I am not a weight-joke prude. I don't care if you crack two jokes in a row about my weight but crack three, and I would want to break your bones. I will break your bones. I am the way I am. I try to be who I am supposed to be, but I find it incredibly difficult and to be really honest, I don't really give a damn about my sizeable ass. If I can't fit into a size 28 Levi's, so be it, there are bigger sizes and a reason why they are made -- not everyone has a svelte body. 

Don't make me hate my body with your unfiltered thoughts because you don't  know my body or me. Don't make me hate my body with your hurting speeches because all your words are mentally damaging my self-esteem. I know I shouldn't crumble, but I am a big human with bigger feelings, and I can be sensitive. I want you to know I love every parts of me, even the not-so flattering sides. You act like as if my body is yours to show off. You forgot it's mine and all mine. I am not your piece of Art and if I were looking for criticism, I would ask my mirror or the man I let see me naked. Don't make me hate my body. I don't owe to you to make it perfect for you. 

The girl known for what she does and not what she looks like, 

Tuesday, October 30, 2012

Letter to my ailing Granny

Dearest Granny,  
Remember that time I was changing you out from your soiled diapers, your frail legs up the air so I could wipe your behinds with those lavender fragrant wet wipes, you let a little gas out and my face was about five centimeters away. It was pungent. Adults’ food doesn't produce the kindest smelling gas. I was half laughing and half disgusted as you laid back, clueless of what had just happened and then, you struggled a lot when I tried to put the new diapers on. Granny, you need to put those on and not try to rip them off your body and try to go to the toilet. You and I both know it is close to impossible for you to wobble to the bathroom. 
One day, I rushed from work to meet you at the hospital. I found no taxis around me and I almost cried, when a micro came. I broad it and I don’t think reaching any destinations have ever taken me that long. Dad had called me minutes earlier asking me to come to the hospital to feed you sunn pani. Apparently, according to religious beliefs, you probably had a wish to get fed water from my hands before you made your way to the heavenly abode. As much as I didn't want to let you go, I knew this was the one thing I couldn't avoid. I was beside you a little after five. I fed you your favorite biscuits dipped with warm milk despite the doctor warning me against it, for the fear you might chock on the semi-solid food but you were effortlessly gobbling them down like a toothless child. You were obviously hungry. It was the least I could do for you. Before I left, I tucked you in bed and used a spoon meant for babies because that was the only size that fit the small opening you made with your mouth after gathering whatever energy you have in you and fed you the drop of water I was supposed to. It broke my heart that by night, you would have reunited with granddad even though, I know that is probably what you both want, I wasn't ready to let go of my last grandparent. 
Doctors gave you zero chance of recovery. Dad came home while brother took turn to look after you in the hospital, his eyes all red and puffy. Granny, your son is such a cry baby. He sat down with Mom and me, and started discussing how your funeral procession would take place, if we should take your body back to your birthplace for the final rites and the arrangements for transportation. We had everything planned out. That night, we barely ate. But, Granny, you are unbeatable. You survived. You are still surviving. You are immortal. How else can people with most of their vital organs failed, still survive? 
You and I have had our share of arguments; after all, we share the same blood. I have your same hair type and I am as angry as a person as you are. We regularly fought about how I cut your nails too short and why I don’t wear any bangles or earrings, and I have called you mean things because you gave Mom, your daughter-in-law, a tough time, you still give her a tough time now even though, you can’t do anything. Could you please ask for forgiveness? You are not the friendliest human being in the world, but maybe, on your deathbed, you would cut yourself some slack and just melt everyone’s heart.
It has been years since you have been struggling with your health now. Diabetics, Cholesterol, High Blood Pressure, Uric Acid; you have it all. Yesterday, I got an updated from Mom about your health. Looks like yet another few lakhs in the hospital but, this time Granny, please let go. It is time. You are already 80 years old. If you could still nag the way you could have a couple of months ago, I wouldn't have minded bringing you the best healthcare facilities to your bed but, you have stopped being you. I no longer see you, but just a body and you no longer recognize anyone, including me. Granny, you have fought on for too long now. Just let go now, it will be fine. I know you want it, too. I will miss you even though, for the past few years, you have been quite a nuisance. I am sorry I called you a nuisance. Human beings are not immortal, Granny. You aren't, as well. 
Lots of love,

Saturday, October 27, 2012

If I win the lottery

If you are in Australia, perhaps just in Melbourne and you belong to the league of I-will-win-the-lottery-this-time thinkers, then you must have heard about the grand $70 million prize this coming week and if you haven't then, ask around because I am not particularly sure how it works. So, two mornings ago, gentleman told me about it. He has won before; $23 for a $50 ticket, that paid well for his brunch, so in my opinion, he has the potential. The last time it was a $50 million jackpot, I only remembered about the numbers I had to give him a couple of days after, so to me lottery is just well, lottery. I have never played it, but if you think gambling is kind of like it, then I am quite the Queen of it. 

The conversation from how many numbers I am supposed to give, structured into what I would do if I won, I have to repeat it again, if I won. Bruno Mars has sang a song about being a billionaire and what he would do, many love that song and many dream of being rich, whether or not they are believers of the luck-game. I've come across too many people in life who have told me, if they had money, they would do this and that. I am not one of those dreamers. I am a doer. I do things, instead of dreaming and wishing. When it comes to something I can't get and when I can't get something, it makes me so agitated and makes things more complicated for everyone  because I will go through lengths to just get what I want. What I wanted will become what I need. Point is, I have never thought what I would do if I had a million dollars, or presumably  I won this $70 million pot. Though, the probability is zero, I thought I might as well have a plan and because it would make quite an interesting blog post, if I say so myself.

1. I would scour for the perfect family home with acres and acres of land surrounding the house. I wouldn't fancy it in any of the first world countries because I hate them, they are overwhelmed with richness that covers their insecurities. I imagine it to be either in Bali or Thailand, where there are many beaches and boosts of a pureness in culture and not the fast-food culture.

2. And to get to the family home, you would need a plane to fit the family. Hell, I would get a helicopter. Just because I can bloody well afford one with $70 million and for reasoning of accessibility. 

3. Remember Elizabeth Taylor's enormous engagement ring? Yes, definitely mine. I would go through all kinds of trouble to be its owner but I wouldn't mind settling for one of those less famous but absolutely rare gems. Diamonds have always been my greatest weakness. I have to drag myself away when I see one.

4. I will buy The Week or any doing well or well-to-do publications going online due to the decrease in paper readership. The Internet will always be here and there will always be readers. I would even buy the publication I am currently working for. This will be a lucrative purchase and a successful family business. 

And the list of small-not-so-expensive-buys which I might be able to afford myself eventually, but what the hell, since we are on it.

1. A chain of diamond necklace, one which never goes out of fashion and one that I can pass down generations and still leave everyone awestruck.

2. An iPhone 5. Or iPhone 4s or whatever iPhone. I hope my trusty Nokia doesn't get hurt but I need to move on and get into the smartphone generation. I am heavily obsessed with the bitten apple generation more than the ice cream sandwich system which from my observations, always get hanged. Plus, if some gadget hottie talks iPhone to me, I will be able to have a smooth conversation with him because well, I am one of those nerds who refreshes, watches the keynotes and follow endless forums around and after the release. 

3. And if I really get into Team Apple, then I will need to complete my gadgets accordingly and take iCloud seriously. I am typing from an ageing Dell hence, I would love a MacBook Air. As far as I am concerned, this is for me. Sleek and thin, something which will be an advantage for me having to always have my laptop around me to type things out. As wonderful as the iPad is, typing is pretty difficult and iPad's external keyboard isn't exactly something that would work for me. 

4. A home. With big windows, big kitchen, open beams, maybe brick walls, rugged looking classy home.

5. When I was 18, I wrote a story about me and in it, I went into my future. The future me drove this red Volkswagen. 

6. I decided with my first pay check, I would get myself a LV-something. I almost did get a wallet because they are the cheapest of their variety but then, I don't recall what happened and then, I completely forgot about it. Now, I have already blew off two years of salary just like that, into thin air. 

7. This. Forever. This is a Harry Winston charm as my luck would have it. Had it been a brandless diamond ring, I would still be a slave of it. But, I would never get this for myself. It has to come from someone who knows me freakishly too well. 

8. A claw foot bathtub with endless supply of expensive bath salts that leaves me smelling like heaven. It is not about sinking into a tub of heaven but sinking in a tub that looks like heaven's gift. 

9. Get concert tickets for Rachael Yamagata, Imogen Heap, Britney Spears and all my favorite artists, and have the best seat in the house. 

And now, I have got to go because I am boring myself.


Tuesday, October 23, 2012

Sleepless night ranting

10.25pm. It pretty much feels weird to be me right now. For the last one and a half hour, I have been trying to sleep. I don't believe in the counting of sheep or coaxing myself to sleep, because if my mind is wide awake, it is wide awake so I ended up reading a lot of articles on Thought Catalog, got inspired to write a few pieces myself and then, got uninspired again when I flipped open the laptop's screen and my thoughts went blank as I desperately tired to type out some words, if just for the sake of it until it got to the moment of frustration when I simultaneously pressed on to 'Ctrl' and 'A' and almost too quickly pressed 'Delete'. When I get stuck, I just feel like a worthless piece of human waste. 

And I am stuck now. I am writing because I need to write to clear my mind of whatever that is haunting it. You might think I know what it is that is on my mind but I don't. I will never know because it is not just one mantra chanted over and over again, my mind is far from a sweet melodies. If I am to compare my mind to the rhythm of music then, my mind is House Music with heavy rapping and then suddenly it goes to Blues before it soberly turns into good ol' Rock and Roll and then the jumbling of the genres in the next couple of hours before my mind finally wears out and bless the God, I fall asleep. I am just a troubled little girl with infinite thoughts.

One thought that could be keeping me up should be the invention of the driverless car probably penetrating markets in the next decade or so and how brilliantly the article was written on The Economist.  It was so well-written, I got affected by it in ways it shouldn't daunt me this much but it did. I am such an emotionally charged person, when something gets to me, all my cells are just gossiping with each other about what is happening. If only for tonight they would keep quiet because the cores of my bones are aching from the overwork on my muscles. The other thing that keeps me up all the time is the inevitable future. I wish I would just be reckless and not give a fuck about anything and just live in the moment. I am not like that, not a chance of that happening even in a billion years and even if I give the universe a billion dollars. 

I could watch a movie but I lack patience and characters talk too slowly and pictures slide by too slowly, like just cut the crap and just tell me like it is instead of going in circles because, again, I lack patience. I hate watching movies surely because most of them have too many irrelevant scenes in them and almost all have idiot endings. Also because every time I watch a movie, I cannot stop thinking every other second that such things doesn't happen in real life and thus, watching it, is not beneficial to educating my mind and instead it is polluting my mind. The recent one I watched was 'The Descendant' because George Gorgeous Clooney is in it but they wasted a lot of time on visual play and I basically hated George in ugly Hawaiian prints and the cliche rich  stories that Korean dramas have aced in. I just expect much more creativity from Hollywood, after all they have produced great movies like Requiem for a Dream and Pulp Fiction.  If I choose to watch something intellectual, then I am back to what driverless car is doing to me. I could read a book but the moment my eyes hit the bright glaring screen of the iPad because I haven't been able to download ePub files which basically means I cannot use iBooks' inbuilt innovations of night-read mode with the PDFs I have downloaded, I am squinting my eyes by 30s and in the next two minutes, I am feeling drowsy and the moment I put my fancy gadget down and call it a night, brain talks and cells start gossiping. Bright glaring screen excels at sleep mockery and movies just makes me hate myself that my life is not as perfect as movies portray it to be despite knowing reel life is not reality. I am a perpetual self-contradiction.

I feel sleep beckoning me. Maybe, I should give this sleep-call a go because it is 11.05pm now and my alarm clock is set to go off at 5am tomorrow. A plane is flying pass the sky above me, my bladder a little too heavy for a peaceful sleep. If I go to the toilet, I will lose sleep and if I don't, I will lose sleep, too. I should try counting the number of words in my favorite quotes the next time I cannot fall asleep, maybe that is just what I will do now.