What's happening?

I have always loved writing, and writing has always come easily for me. Writing has always been my emotional outlet but somewhere along the way, I lost my touch. Someone once told me, "Don't ever stop writing, ever!"

At that point in life, I had the biggest eye roll moment and I said something in the lines of..."Writing is the way I function so I really don't see myself stop." Lies, lies, big fat lies. I stopped somewhere in the last few years. I stopped writing personal blog post. Although I still do some freelance writing that does not touch any parts of my emotion, it is never the same. Now writing feels like a strage dead-weight I am dragging around.

In the last few years, I have had a baby, who is already four years and a bit more. An amazing little daughter who I feel I let down more than I inspire her. I have also dreamed and lost several dreams along the way. I have now reached adulthood and I have realised this is hard and so I stopped attaching myself to words so they do not drag me down. I stopped attaching myself to words so I did not have to let anyone read what's happening in my life. While I do say loud and clearly of whats happening to me, its always somewhat a rushed whisper that I almost wish for the wind to blow away before someone hears it.

So life has been a bit hard, maybe it is not hard. Maybe it is just how adulthood is but I just never saw it coming. So that is what is happening. So I will keep trying, and trying. And one day, let's hope all the pieces fall into the right places and all this emotions will be a far away distance memory we will just sigh at and be glad its in the past.


Love,
Genisha 

Sleep, my hateful love

I find myself sleeping more hours of the day than I don't. 20 minutes up on my feet has me down for a nap of 20 minutes plus another hour and a half and some more. How dare I even call it a nap anymore? 

Thus, with such a syndrome, it's doubtful I will be very instrumental in moving any mountains around the world, might the mountain be just right beside my bedside or finishing a textbook and gaining some knowledge for my examination around the corner. Life is such. It's a continuous dragging effect of slumber and eating too much and feeling like I have already moved the mountain and climbed it up and down. I am literally drained off all my energy after washing just a plate. Like seriously!

It could be a thyroid problem, I could be a chemotherapy patient, I could have some bad bad horrid blood circulation, I could be pregnant, I could be sleep-walking all night with zombies that I wake up more tired than the night before, I could simply be the most laziest person the world has ever faced, or god help me, I could be studying a little too hard! My defence is, I am just so bloody exhausted so forgiveness goes a long way.

I have my darling gentleman feed me fries and burgers sometimes in the middle of the night because I am so goddamn tired but still famished doing next to nothing, to do any form of mechanisms with my arms. That's how terrible it is. Oh bless that man's big-little heart! And he does the laundry around the house as well, so whenever I change my bed sheets with a new one, I have to search for the pillow covers and matching quilt all over the place to only find them still stranded in the bottom of the dirty laundry basket. What do I get out of his love? A bed full of fresh but mismatched pillow cases and bed spreads to quilt cover and dishes which are yummy but look strangely like how our dog Tommy's meal. God, forgive me, but I almost hate that man as much as I adore him! He obviously hates me, he says, "Oh you are worst than me, a woman should behave like a woman and its not excusable for a woman to ever behave like a man at any time of the day." I hope he one day climbs Mount Everest without so much of a training and come home to a pile of dishes and laundry to do and we will talk about who the throne of laziness belongs to...though, even at that point, it could still scantily belong to me.

With love,

The ultra-lazy one

Letter to my life

Dear life, you need to enter my mind and we need to talk. Don't run away from me because you are scared to tell me what I need to hear, because you don't want to hurt me. Look at me, I am a case of complete ruin, or I will be. You can't just pop over once in a while to say you've missed me and leave when you think I am going to be fine. You can't make me laugh until my mouth is aching and I am coughing and then leave. You can't bluntly suggest that I snack on those KitKat bars I have in my pantry and expect sugar rush to tune me well. No, don't try those orange and super fresh carrots in my fridge. Don't misuse the stress-eater handicap in me into something only for your benefit. You are killing it for me! You can't say I need to get lost, to be found again because excuse me, I am sick of getting lost like for the millionth time. How about you give me directions like a well-functioning GPS and tell me with confidence of where you would like to see me go and not forever ask me to go wherever I want to go because I am a goddamn flower, not a fucking weed. Garden me well and I promise to give you bouquet of flowers every now and then and whenever I can. We are in this shit together, you keep forgetting that and I feel like a shithead for depending too much on you but guess what, I am nothing without you. So stop doing that thing with me that you do, yes, that thing where you sit on that perfectly built swing on an oak tree as you dangle your feet in a mist of cloud and get drunk over a glass of screw driver. With love, your carcass

A bitch-fit throwing lover

If I were to visualise the internals of my brain, it's pretty darn simple. I open up the top half of my skull and in it, I see a brain - of course - and I see a plain white nothingness right in the centre of it all and at the edges of the oval-shaped brain, I see some active redness. The redness are the creativity in me striving to come out and overwhelm the plain whiteness but when, what seems like 92% of my brain is just wilting away, the active redness is starting to turn a shade of pinkish-purple. But, look at me trying, trying very hard to just jumble up a few strings of words.

In the past two months, I have written very few, unlike the typing mechanism I usually am. I have sent a few articles to work and then shortly recalled them back and didn't give them publishing rights. I have been very disappointed with what I have been writing. I am in a state of nothingness, in a state of disappearing. I breathe in and out like a normal person would do, but inside me, there is no flame burning for me. There should be flame burning in everyone.

I am writing now because I need to write. I have to force myself to write. I can't die now. I am overcoming the plain whiteness. I cannot let it defeat me. The only reason why I feel like I am in dark murky water is solely because I haven't been writing and any writer can tell you that is how they feel when they don't write for a long stretch of time. It is not because they don't want to write, if anything, I want to get back to writing so badly but you know, when I am whining all the time about how I feel so depressed, I fail to see myself as an impressive human being and for me to be able to elucidate my emotions, I need to feel all sorts of awesomeness! Besides, no one wants to read about depression.

I have been whining like a major bitch and gentleman has been absurdly amazing in handling me. I have been crying all the time, because that is what I do best. I cry a lot and often. Everyone should cry. I am very emotional. I like to think I am 10 times more emotional than anyone and I like to think it's true. If I am happy, I am 10 times happier than anyone has been and if I am sad, I am 10 times as sad. I feel too much and trust me, I want to be the kind of person who doesn't give a fuck about anything but I am the person who thinks too much and too aloud. If I choose to go silent, people get worried because a loud person like me never stays quiet for too long and if I talk it out, my thoughts and words are not nice. I want to be the person who can just stay calm but I can't be her. If something doesn't go in my way, I throw a bitch-fit. I have always been this person and I will always be her.

You can't blame me either. It's self-preservation of some kind and a defence mechanism. I am a hermit crab with soft insides and hard outer cover. And I think it is because gentleman knows this that's why he is so tolerant of me. It's not his problem that I can't control my emotions but he makes half of my whole problem his and he apologises for me. I know I can do better than just use him however I want to. I have so much teenage angst in me. I had such an easy time growing up unlike most. I didn't get heart breaks, was a good student and good at everything I put my hands in (except maths but even that went fine) and I didn't have body issues like 99.99999% of teenage girls, not that I was fit and slim. I had hair issues because I couldn't tame my fizzy hair but  I just tied it up in a bun and lived life and didn't let it hold me down and over time, my unruly hair suddenly became one of the best features in me. What I am having here, is a post-teenage angst in me.

A few days ago, I decided what I wanted to do with life and I finally felt well and alive. I feel so good right now that I walked to the supermarket yesterday and swung my grocery bags in twirls as I walked with an oomph in every step I took. I even sang songs aloud, whenever I thought I was alone. I feel recovered now but I don't see the bitch-fit throwing person going anywhere because I have a man in my life who loves me even when I am crying and so lost.

With love,

Genisha

I feel like marigold.

An ugly habit has developed in me or maybe, it is a habit that has always been a trait of mine but I never had time to notice until recently. Lately, I have started taking notice of how I clench my jaws tightly all the time and I find the deeper my thoughts are at the moment, the tighter the clench is and whenever I release the tension when I  finally become aware, my jawlines are exhausted. I can only think of how much damage is being done to my teeth...my entire mouth. I have also noticed I tend to take more time brushing the left side of my teeth than the right side. I have taken points and try to spend equal time on each sides, front and insides. I have noticed a lot of things about my oral functioning in these two months. How if I brush my teeth immediately after breakfast, I am more likely to throw up and its disgusting because nothing is digested yet and when vomit mixes with all the brushing-Colgate-plenty-of-germs-and-plaque residues, which if anything, makes me throw up more. Every day is a lesson.

In the number of years I have lived, I have been slowly unveiling myself like a bud of  a plant, from the first signs of a tiny bud to the beginning of flowering where a hint of color petal shows and you are glad of the color species it is, because you were afraid it might be from the species of another - color - alleles. Over time, the flower blooms and you see the shape of the petals and you can touch the softness of it, you can even smell the fragrance it rewards. As expected of the plant, more and more flowers changes the mood of the boring greenness of life and one day, in the fullness of time, the last flower hangs down and dries up. This plant I am talking about is not a seasonal plant and does not go into remission until the next Summer. This plant I am talking about, its root withers and breakdowns and turn into debris and eventually into soil waste. I feel like this annual plant. A hydrangeas can last throughout winter into Spring and blooms again during the warmer days, marigold can't. I feel like marigold.

As a young little girl, I wasn't very ambition - or ambition at all. I was definitely not studious and I wasn't sporty which means I wasn't into sports. If I was good at one thing, it was day-dreaming. I was always a wandering soul, having teachers chasing me around for failing my dictation and spelling exams. Surprisingly, I was better in Mathematics when I was younger than I was in English. I frequently slept in classes in a classy way, making telescopes with my Pets course book and pretending to be looking through the hole, onto the whiteboard when actually both my eyes were closed and totally resting in an entirely different world altogether. Like most lazy students, I was only hyper active during recess. I am a very late bloomer.

As an young adult now, I am discovering my earnest hate for shopping and anything skin tight. I am discovering I don't need to pretend to like everything and everyone but I have to. That it is alright to be afraid and if I don't move my ass, time still passes on but I don't want to move my ass until I am certain it is what I want to do. This is the part in the horror movie where people are screaming for me to run, because the killer is right behind me, what they don't know is that, it is a goddamn movie and the director can make the killer come out of anywhere and there can be more than one killer. I am the girl in the horror movie, someone is directing and so if the rest could just keep quiet while I plan out a strategy to outdo all evil on path, it would be good. Thanks.

P.s: I am watching reruns of Grey's Anatomy and Fringe and obsessed with Game of Thrones, which could partially be the reason why I am stalling and waking up to crumbles of my moral esteem collecting around me. I also have a season of Gossip Girl I haven't watched yet.

Love,
Genisha

Transit of darkness.

When one is suffering from a writer's block, words just refuses to get out and I am having the worst form of it. The words are escaping me, and I feel like a complete illiterate trying to catch up with them. Trust me, I have tried a couple of times to write something but the words gather at the slowest speed and I get frustrated. Even now, I just want to shut this page down, crawl into my bed and watch a movie that shouldn't have been made in the first place. I am trying ways to open my mind; I tried reading but all I have been reading, plays almost zero relevance to the deep-emotional-inspirational articles I really need to immerse myself in.  Polls on who Kardashian-West baby's look take after and a lot of askmen on how to make a lady orgasm and even weird ones like how to fake a male orgasm, won't do much for me at the end of the day but I couldn't stop myself from opening yet another bubble-gum news. And honestly, why would men need to fake an orgasm? That makes everything statistically wrong (Aren't men like some sort of overachievers capable of reaching the toe-curling-head-out-of-space sensation every single time?), unless, of course, in cases when they have been having sex with another woman and then coming back home to another woman as guilty as one can be, but not having the heart to hurt her and he doesn't have enough load and energy. (And yes, I have also been reading up on cheating spouses, because I found myself stumbling upon huffingtonpost's divorce section).

I am in this transitional period of some sort where I feel like a caterpillar in a cocoon. I am changing, slowly, as a individual, as a writer, as a dreamer and as a realist. I am changing into another person, different from whom I am familiar with. It is like a fresh new haircut, you don't like but after a few weeks of growth, you can't stop obsessing about how the layers of the hair is finally falling into place but right now, I am still at the phrase of hating it but I know I will eventually like it or I can always go for yet another haircut to correct all the cuts ruining it. My thoughts are incomprehensible, I can't even hear myself talk and I have lost signals with my inner self and my heart and mind are forks apart, after a narrow road. And everyone knows when you can't feel, listen and know a single thing that is happening in the chambers of the souls, you are just stuck in a rut until for sometime or maybe a long time. I am in a transit of darkness. I feel like a caterpillar about to morph into a butterfly but, a stiff fear of becoming a moth is painfully scary.

Love,
Genisha

Change in taste, a city of wonders

I had always wanted to walk through a flea market ever since I was in Singapore. Today, I went to one and fell in love with all the sunny people and a bunch of useful and useless things stacked together, plenty tables apart. Gentleman knows of my ideal and high expectation of all things that goes through my mind, and tried to warn me of a disappointment but it was exactly what I expected. I cannot wait to go to other markets, especially around the neighbourhood for the rich.

To me, it wasn't at all about the cheap deals, well in tiny parts it was but it was more for the ambience. Those shop keepers are all lounging around, sitting under the sun in their foldable chairs and tables full of wares and stuffs to sell, with their wide-brimmed sun hats and just smiling at everyone. There is no grumpiness or too much of friendliness which is evidential in too much of Melbourne that its suffocating. It was just people, a few dollar coins and raspberry jam filled hot doughnuts, sprinkled with sugar. It was just relaxing and peaceful, everyone there was just out to have a good Sunday and it wasn't all about money-making and money-saving. It was in other words, the perfect way to start off the day.

This weekend has been wickedly amazing for me. Out of spontaneity, gentleman took me to the city at 10pm on a Friday. It was just a drive back home from Ikea, after getting my niece and nephew their birthday present and a on-the-spot kind of decision. I wore pyjamas underneath a black trench coat and gentleman donned a nice shirt and made his hair and we walked to the train station and used our first Myki card (a pass for travelling on public transports) and entered into a whole new world. I loved the city and from there onward, my view on the Australian life is changed forever. It was small arty buildings and nightclubs and young foolish people wearing leggings that deserved to be thrown but I know they actually paid so much for that design. It was lovers and seeing their happiness and it was idiots on the road living their life fully and ladies wearing four inch heels that I would die to own and seeing them
Sashay in their pretty dresses and cute clutches. I felt alive seeing those life within a small estimated land of LED lights and ignored traffic signals. It was also Victorian styled buildings and attention catching buskers. It was seeing the Herald Sun's building and so much more, to me, it was all inches of perfection except that maybe, we paid too much for the terrible quality of sushi and sashimi.

By the time, we finished one side of the city,we were yawning and aching and besides we had decided to come back in the morning but we slept until 11.20am (very unusual for us because by 8, I drag gentleman out of bed for breakfast). We must have been exhausted, we snoozed on the train back home (we have perfected the art of sleeping while traveling) while I secretly giggled at one Chinese man trying to really ace his accent with his fellow Chinese friend and a white man. It was hilarious for a few seconds and then, it started to get annoying, like holy crap, 'I am going to be a poser like him' reality check. He just going on about the girls who hates him (next interest character already, please). Everything about that night was 11/10.

And from that night onwards, the Australia life doesn't seem suffocating. Everything is looking rosey, I am even getting good buys and my stove is finally working with me and my food are not under cooked or burnt and even gentleman has been cooking the yummiest meals for us while I slug it out on the table just thinking of the next step and wondering how impossible it seemed to be, that one person could bring so much happiness to me and how the country changed overnight for me, though perhaps, I should have bought romantic novels at the flea market instead of true crime stories based in Australia. I am this close to shitting in my pants reading it that every little crackling of the book's spine has me all alert and waiting for a man to pop up from somewhere to kill me. Oh god bless me!

P.s. I am trying to start on a series for the blog but I don't know if I am capable of executing it. Help?

With love,
Genisha

Lessons after lessons

Well, I always thought I was or could be Bree Van de Kamp (Marcia Cross) of Wisteria Lane, now I am pretty sure I am old Karen McCluskey (Kathryn Joosten). For those of you who can't put an image to the two characters, Bree is modern day Stanford wife who cooks delicious and her roses are always in full pretty bloom and Karen is just an old fart (excuse me) who is always seen snooping around and gossiping. When we were kids, my parents used to say we were lucky that we were educated and not mowing the fields with buffalos. I never used to think much of it but today as I was gardening the smallest patch of our backyard garden, their words rung so loudly. Ladies and gentlemen, parents are seldom in the wrong. Oh, how I was dreaming of plucking my own fresh ripen red tomatoes from my own garden and other produces! I think we also made a mistake in purchasing the wrong sized (too tiny, we bought) tools for gardening but I am beaming some confidence in my herb garden and my blue hydrangeas. They were something I always wanted as young girl and now, brushing my fingers through their growing leaves and smelling my fingers flips my stomach is much excitement. It is a dream come true and they make me so happy. They are my babies. Yes, I am also the weird blogger who blogs about her plants (offense to anyone is unintended) than her human babies.

The past two weeks have been extremely intense. Making a home from scratch is not easy, trust me you! I am never one to enjoy shopping, especially with another person and that is exactly what we have been doing, over and over again and constantly on the lookout for a good bargain for the best. The only problem was, I have no idea how to qualify the price and quantify the good. The dollar game is such a tricky game, thankfully, I never found myself stopping once to compare the price of each item with Nepalese currency and it was too many unfamiliar brands to absorb at once for which I am thankful for my sister's nosing around with everything in my hand and throwing out 9.9/10 picks, saying I will find better deals - which would have been a good thing until it has left me too afraid to purchase anything without her consultation. I am usually the kind of shopper who picks and buys whatever I like even though it is too expensive because I am also the kind who thinks I deserve it all but now, it is totally different. Without thinking, I cannot wait to start earning to cover my own living, and even my luxurious expenses. It's more about my independence than depreciating gentleman's open invitation as a sugar daddy.

Most days, I think I am settling fine, even though too many days are tougher than the rest but every step is a lesson to learn. When you are much younger and less rigid about changes, because when you are young what else do you care for except a new toy or something in the line, it is easier to adapt but as you are older, a new toy or something I really love, is not enough to not zone out and be less afraid even though an actual fear is not present. Everything is new and everything is heart stopping and a second thought over. It's deep scrutiny over all I come across which includes my own actions. . It's a lot of discovery and a lot of wandering eyes figuring this new arena. Learning when the rest has already learnt is just appalling, I feel like an alien (well, I am an alien, aren't I) and strangers' eyes feel uneasy. I feel like a blinking strobe when I just want to be the darkest light. The other day I was going about photocopying my documents but since everything is computerised and something I have never done before, my heart was in my mouth. Back home, you would just chuck the papers to be copied to the owner because he wouldn't trust us poking his old machines and get the job done and pay but here, everyone is just on the go and everyone just wants to help themselves and be left at that. It's lessons after lessons.

I am an introvert who becomes an extrovert only in places and with people I am comfortable with, if not it is just eyes down and little to say.  I will be lying if I say I don't wish to be back home in my perfect comfort zone but then, I remember this is home, as well.

Additional add on: Holy crap,  Blogger the host for my blog changed my URL with an additional (dot)au and I just realized it. Come on already, no more changes!

With love,

Genisha

Hey, hey Melbourne!

Melbourne to me

Its been about four days since I landed in Australia, Melbourne. Its been about four days since I found the kind of freedom I was yearning for, for almost a year now and its been about four days of not missing Nepal, to my surprise. But I would be lying if I say, I am absolutely loving it here and factually, I am far, far away from actually loving this country! I have been trying to underline a word or a string of words to make the idea of how possibly could I not really be embracing this idealistic world for plenty, but I just end up becoming a sort of an entertainment for people because they cannot wrap their minds around why I would find the country missing bits in all essences necessary. It is not really a comparison between my motherland and this new land. It is something else and because I am very confused myself with my very complex personal thoughts, I haven't been able to illustrate my mixed feelings about Melbourne, a place I am more than glad to call home and make a home. I guess I will leave understanding this to some other time in the future when I get to reflect on the first few days in Melbourne after a couple of years.

Tips on flying

I took a 11.30pm flight from Kathmandu on the 19th of January, after having just about the hardest time finding an available ticket and phone calls to all the airlines serving Kathmandu to Melbourne. It was three recharge cards worth Rs. 100 each just scratched, pin keyed in and gone in a flat 40 minutes or less. It was frustrating, it was a lot of number games and a lot of head scratching and then, finally giving in and purchasing a ticket that costed me a little more than a lakh for connecting airline Dragon Airs to Hong Kong to Cathay Pacific to Melbourne. To be honest, I would have rather bought myself a pair of diamond earrings with that money because I had the most terrible time. It had been five years since I last board a plane, and the first time I was flying a long flight. If you want my advice, I would say, fly in the morning or afternoon and try to land somewhere around night time from the place of departure but arrival doesn't matter as much as the beginning of getting used to the new pressure from higher altitudes and restricting seats. Those are what makes you the most uncomfortable you could be and I think its much easier when you are not fighting internal clocks urging you to sleep because its sleep time.  Trying to control the most stubborn of all things, the biological clock, on the plane is like trying to chase a bird over a hanging cliff. Unless, you are some business people, we have plenty of time to change our body clock once we are adjusted to the new country. And also trying to do anything productive such as reading a book, writing and working is just plain nuisance especially when you are highly charged on the questions of 'Why the hell are you doing this to yourself?' and 'Is this even worth it?' Till now, I am still having bouts of rocky feeling whenever I stand still, like as though I am on a moving ship of some sort. Initially, I thought it was jet lag and then I thought perhaps, because houses in Australia are not made of strong foundations of cement, maybe it was the house sway and then I was convinced it was jet lag again and now, I am starting to worry its something else.

I could have murdered

Without saying, I couldn't sleep on the midnight flight to Hong Kong even though I had a comfortable sleeping area; the Nepalese boys in front of me had me wanting to wrung their head and flush them out of the plane through the lavatories' toilet, all three together in separate toilet bowls throughout the plane. They were just showing off to each other about what they have in Nepal and what they have in Australia. Like come on already, just show your ass and go back to being modest. Everyone was just complaining about their voice levels, imagine me being directly behind them and actually being able to understand their conversation so in the lull of boredom, even I had my share of joy listening to them but when I was sleepy and cranky and feeling like flushing my own head out, I was this close to just cutting off the tips of their hair popping out of their seat with the plastic knife I got with my meal.

Nostalgia and confusions (probably due to zero eye shut)

And then, upon landing in Hong Kong, my cry-nerves were just having their party. I had actually forgotten how wonderful and clean and organized shopping is actually and it just punched me in my stomach of how much getting used to I had to face in Nepal before I grew to love the country and gotten used to the way of living there. And then it frightened me to the point of sickness that it wasn't even a few hours away from home and I was already comfortable with all the high-glam shops and cleanliness and their toilets even had a toilet seat cleaner right next to the toilet bowl, like just kill me already! But I didn't shop or even bothered to shop, all I wanted to do was sleep. I was not a happy kid. and I was just dreading a flight twice its flight time. I slept pretty well on the hard chairs of the waiting lounge in Hong Kong.

Immigration and checks

All went breezy. I was fearing a few delays and probing with the new label-free visa regulation but it went smoothly, even in Nepal, thank God. I don't think I would have been able to handle any more stress; I would have just preferred if they jailed me or deported me back to Nepal after cutting my passport in halves before my eyes even though I know there is absolutely nothing wrong I have done, I wouldn't have minded the punishment.

Hey, hey Melbourne!

After getting through Hong Kong's airport, I think it falls in the top five best airports around the world, Melbourne's one was just a 'hmmm'. I don't remember much of the journey, I remember popping into a few shops, just to get used to the entire circus of shopping paradise I was about to face. I was walking slowly. Everything was new but everything seemed less sparkling than Hong Kong's airport. Mostly, I couldn't believe this was home now and I guess a lot of me was just scared to get out of the exit to meet gentleman. This step finally meant we were going to be officially a couple who do things together instead of tell each of the things we did, in our own space. Were we ready for all that is in for us? Its sharing a house, living under each others' nose and just still staying in love. I was dragging my feet. I got too used to having a long distance relationship that even as I am staying over at my sister's place at present, and him at his home, it doesn't feel like the worst thing ever to be so near yet so far. Of course, when he can directly reach me on a cellphone to cellphone network without the functional use of a 3G network to Viber, my stomach feels like a jelly and I love the idea of having him just an hour or so drive away. It feels wonderful to know he is just a call away and he can appear in person if I need him to be but hey, I don't seem to need him as of yet because I am still partially struck in the long distance rhythm. And as I stepped out of the airport, I looked at the floor in front of me and obviously, they have either been under hiring cleaners or they lack dustbins or people are just ill-mannered. The floor was litter with plastic linings and such, not pretty especially for an International airport if you were to ask me.

So, on the first night, all I did was wake gentleman up every other minute and just beg for sleep to knock me out. I was exhausted and dehydrated and all I wanted was a good rest to kick start tomorrow. Because I was starting to get really restless tossing and turning, we went to the airport to shop (we stayed at a hotel a walking distance away) and then came back more exhausted than ever and slept about an good hour and a half before heavy buffet breakfast and after a power nap after breakfast. This is the kind of freedom I lusted for!  The entire day, I was still exhausted and dehydrated but we managed to sign a few official documents and went around the city, carrying gentleman's sleepy head on his shoulders. You have no clue how ridiculously excited I was to enter Ikea for their delicious hot dog, I wanted the welcoming door to open and say, 'Welcome to Ikea' when I passed through it. It didn't. I love Ikea for too many reasons.

And since like I said before that I am staying with my sister, yesterday, we went shopping for a few stuffs and shopping with her is the best thing because she is really brilliant at it - knows where the cheapest stuffs and the reasonable priced quality stuffs are, shopping with her is just much fun because she actually knows what is good deal and not which makes me feel like everything I bought was worth the purchase and wow, technology is so advanced these days that cashiers are not even necessary, I hate the entire idea of robbing people of their chance of making a living. Yes, yes talk to me about efficiency and money-savings and I will tell you how much you are stealing from human beings to pay these machines. There, see it, reason one why I don't really like this place (actually the first was, the airport's side walk was littered). But, its a toss of like-dislike. We bought a tub of yogurt as well as plenty of other stuffs I needed, but the highlight is we bought a tub of yogurt. Goodness graciousness, a tub of yogurt and it was creamy, it was light, it was speckled with peaches and mango and it was just spoonfuls of heaven. I am so glad for the grocery stores, I absolutely dig grocery shopping and the best part, I found find fresh herbs and even growing herbs everywhere. This just paradise city, if only everyone will quit asking 'How've you been?' in the thickest accent ever!

And today, we went to Ikea again to grab a few stuffs for our home. We are moving in to our home on Friday but all I got was thing I would need eventually and not things I need urgently. Of course, we didn't forget the hot dogs!

And that is that

Melbourne needs some getting used to. My family and friends are here, it shouldn't be all that tough. That is all for now, my eyes are shutting off.

Toodles,
Genisha

Sometimes making no sense, makes the most sense

Lovers come in and let go, hands once held so tightly together suddenly feels better empty and brushing through the wind instead of bracing the sweaty palms of another. Sometimes we fall down so hard, it just feels better to wallow in self-pity even though that is the worst form of pity the world can witness. Sometimes we just let down people in our lives just so we can protect ourselves. 

One would think on the third heartbreak you would learn a lesson to give everything away except the heart but after the fifth time, its just a waste of tuition fees. Counted broken faith in happily ever after, seeing your first love getting married to a beautiful lady mightily crushes the toughest of bones and shreds the stomach to pieces of splinters, splinters you wish could bite the hands that wears the ring engraved with the name of the man whom deflowered you. You tried so hard to be the one who was the first to move on, but you find yourself in the middle of the night mumbling his son's name. Is it a coincidence that his son's birthday falls on the same day as yours or is that a punishment from God to remind him of the woman who once promised to give him everything and he didn't believe or is that an added torture to turn a year older every year with the son who could have been yours, for promising all that you would give but never gave? What could you possibly have done wrong or maybe if you had met him now, instead of before, would you have the chance to carry his last name? But every girl is a Cinderella waiting for their prince coming around with the glass slippers and princes are in abundance.   

At the sixth break up, love is still the most precious thing in the world even after seeing all six past lovers married with outrageously beautiful children, children that could have been yours, with the brightest eyes and the cheekiest smiles. The hue of hydrangeas' petals depend on the acidic of the soil. Adding an extra tomato to a dish can do wonders or just ruin it. The petals of roses can defer but the smell of them still hits the familiar note. A few pegs of vodka is a sure fire way to move on. At the seventh try because you should never give up, when the magic words of 'I love you' are spoken, all the epidermis on the skin stand on perfect attention and the stomach awakes the sleeping butterflies - every single time it happens and the rush never weakens like time past and memories has weakened the blushed face. Love is a like moon; going to its fullest form and depleting to a narrow sliver line and then it grow again - its sad when its gone but at every full moon, a celebration is a must. 

How does a full moon occur? How do we fall in love? How do we stay in love? Do we say the magic words to comfort ourselves and make us feel like we are capable of loving another because many can't or do we say the magic words just to hear the other reciprocate the feelings just so we know we are loved by someone? When is too soon to say it? When is too late to say it? Is there a rhythm or right timing? Should we look into eyes and say with sincerity? Does purest sincerity and truest intentions exist in the world? Does love even exist? You never become an expert at love, having been in love for the hundredth time even. But love is never a lesson to be learnt, it just happens and when it happens you just sink into the moment and live it fullest. Just bask in the moment and glow.

On trampoline, inside a tent, a forest, on decaying green-yellowish patch in the garden, a bed in a room or outside under the open sky, a sofa bed or a parked car in the middle of a creepy looking car park, wherever you could possibly be, home is where the arms wraps around the goosebumps skin of roses scent, petals that change according to the pH level and many dishes are just garbage if tomatoes doesn't dress it. Roses are roses, hydrangeas are hydrangeas and no bad can come out of tomatoes. Love doesn't even need a home, lovers are just some drunk assholes just wanting to fall asleep in a place thought as home. Lovers are like a dream of a toilet bowl and peeing in it and waking up suddenly to a warm and wet bed with your urine soaking into your underwear; its comforting, its disgusting, its private, its funny and its a lot of seeing dreams come true. It doesn't make sense, love shouldn't make sense to anyone except you. Love is when you could have possibly kissed a million lips but when you can wake up next morning with zero trace of mascara and a breathe that could make a horse feel blessed, and the millionth and one lips turn to you and kiss you, all the million lips before are but a million lips you can't even remember any longer.

Love is a lighted candle, protect it to stop it from dying but if it dies, let it die. As long as the wick is still part of the candle, you can light up again. All you need is sparks and sparks are endless. Or maybe, you chose to blow off the lighted candle because with him, even darkness is such a splendor. Love is also being cheesy as hell and lovers should be forgiven all the time for it.

Love,

Genisha

New Year baby's Tillari!

It is probably a minus 1 to minus 3 degrees right now but this blog post has to be up. My toes could possibly break off  from frost bite and I wouldn't even know because the sock would hold the mangled toes intact. Every five seconds, I dig my hands and hide it under the quilt. It is obviously a night better for just snuggling inside warmness but I won't give in. I am coughing, sniffling and shivering. Today is possibly the worst day to even attempt doing this; there is afternoon sunlight or nights when it is half as cold but I couldn't wait. I shouldn't wait. After having written that I don't see my Tillari coming, this blog post was inevitable.

I couldn't withstand the thought of people thinking of a man not being able to keep his woman happy, because I cannot imagine of the existence of another man being able to keep up with me the way gentleman has and for this, the world deserves to know that gentleman made me a very happy birthday girl, the happiest I could ever be! 

P.s: I need to pay another homage. The pote (glass bead necklace) was my mom's love for me. It is no ordinary pote; its Singapore's original which she bought with her from Singapore way back when - its worth is eight times the cost of ordinary ones (I talked to the expert) and I thought I was paying a lot of money for the best versions of Japanese pote I usually wear. Mom even painstakingly beaded the strings and made it perfect with little help from me. I had no idea mom was such an expert. 

Kudos to the two people who make living a hell lot lovelier! 

New Year baby's Tillari! 

Kisses,

Mrs Kaucha ♥ 

Belated New Year thoughts (bunches of it)

I obviously haven't been taking my vitamins seriously or paid enough attention during Biology classes. My immune system has taken such a downpour, it is never sunny anymore. One trip outside of my home area and I can be assured of falling sick. I detest going out these days, even with mask on and all protective measures, I still crumble down to all the pollution and winter chill. I am just keeping my fingers crossed this is just a phase I am passing through and not something that happens to you as you get older. I surely hope it is because I thought I was well before I was actually well enough but hey, I am learning my lesson. My terrible coughing has subsided by a lot, it is no longer a struggle to breathe and I don't want to slice open my throat anymore to insert my fingers to give the walls a good scratch and my nose isn't about to fall apart from wiping mucus every five seconds. I swear at one point, I was just dripping brain juice from my nostril and it was a mucus water fall, not pretty at all. But, I am still not fully recovered and I am just going to stay in bed all day long or out in the sun. At this point when my health just deteriorated in a way I had never experienced, the last thing on my mind is to please anyone. I have had enough of it. Needless to say, I didn't have a good time celebrating New Year or me turning a year old.

I had many plans for the blog - creating a new series, posting up pictures and getting a little more involving but throwing up my guts and then just crawling into bed sounded more ideal and so that is all I did. Nine days now and counting. One thing is for sure, everyone just thinks I am pregnant. We are not expecting a junior! There are two dead weights to a marriage; either pregnant or cheating. Apparently, I am not allowed to look at handsome men and gush about them. Look, my wedding ring might sparkle a lot but it is not sparkling enough to blind me. I have every right to look at guys across the table and enjoy my breakfast set more, just like gentleman has every right to talk about his ridiculously sexy suicide girls and FHM calendar girls. It is hard to get into a lot of people's head that eyes are to enjoy all and heart is an organ just for one.

So in these nine lazy days, I have been planning a lot. Planning for the future, planning for life, planning for the blog, planning on ways to earn a little more...basically planning for everything that eventually ends with comfort. And with planning, it comes with a lot of dreaming and really exciting dreams, all while on drowsy pills; it is just about the best thing pharmacist has created for us humans in the most legal form. We are never ever satisfied with the life we have, are we? It just sad but then again, I think it is just good that we are never satisfied with life so we can get better in life. I guess it is just about knowing when to stop obsessing about everything a little too much and that is the hardest and I am just so obsessive with everything happening my way. Yes, planning and dreaming is a dangerous game, it is frightening when nothing comes to factual happenings. So in these nine lazy days, I have also been going through a tumultuous time with my emotions, too.

Alas, a new year, a new thing. I am ready to leave Nepal, this is something I haven't been able to admit for a few months now and yesterday while I was up on the roof, I watched about five planes disappear over the hills and I wondered to myself when my time to go home will come. Australia is home now. It was no longer about the pains of hearing gentleman whine about his food at every single meal, bad Internet connections and keeping my life on hold, it was more of a feeling of wanting to belonging somewhere. For seven months, I was just dreadful of forgetting the culture I am in love with and neglecting my country and giving what little talents and capabilities I have, to another country but in all those times, I couldn't belong to the working industry in Nepal and neither could I truly belong here. I was just cheating everyone. Now, I am ready to start the beginning of a new chapter in my life. I am ready to fall down seven times and get up on the eighth. I am ready to be all scared to move an inch forward but move anyway. I am just ready for Australia where heat wave catches 42 degrees and forest fires are just about the most happening thing that could happen in Melbourne. I am ready for the beaches, I am ready for white friends and I am ready for the poisonous spiders. I am ready for the weird accent, I am ready to be 'that Asian' again and I am ready for the culture. Just eleven days ago, I was offered a job position, an amazing job I would have not thought twice of giving up on but in these nine days of lazy and tumultuous, I took it as a compliment and didn't look back. After seven months of denying, I am waiting impatiently.

Hearts,
Genisha

In 2012, we lost a good man

If you are in my friend list on Facebook, many of you must have read my first status update for 2013 and if you have been in my friend list for some time now, you must have also read of the post when I questioned the existence of God.

2012 wasn't all that 'unexpectedly perfect'. In a lot of parts it was, and in the same amount, it wasn't. On June 2, 2012, my family and our close friends lost someone we loved, respected and had big dreams and hopes for. We lost a man whom had beautifully weaved into a perfect piece of our family line; a man my niece called 'father' and a man my sister called 'husband'. It just happened one regretful night, it happened in a fraction of a second that sometimes, I believe he is still alive and is being the terrific father he was to his daughter. In those moments, I forget and we forget, of a man absolutely undeserving of a death. It is hard to see my sister being stronger than I ever thought she was, it is harder to see my niece be deprived of so much more and it is hardest to digest he is never coming back and things are never going back to the same. 

In 2012, we lost a good man and no matter how many times the calendar changes to a brand new year, we will still have a seat saved for a good man that we lost. I take this moment to remember him in all the times when I was and we were, too jovial to have forgotten his passing on and wish for him to find his eternal peace.

With love,

Genisha 

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.

3) ASOS

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!

Love,
Genisha 

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!"

Love,
Genisha

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?”

“Yes.”

“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. ;) 

Love,

Genisha

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. 

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 typical...hm, 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.

Love,
Genisha 

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. 

x

Genisha

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. 

X

Genisha