Monday, November 23, 2009

When you hurt people, they begin to love you less. That's what careless words do. They make people love you a little less.
Abhilash Talkies, The God of Small Things

Of all things, this is one sentence that really scares me. It bothers me if people like me a little less. Even if it's people who I don't like too much. Isn't that weird? Why would I ever give anyone that power? And why do I?

So here's to a new endeavour. Here's to learning not to care.

and oh well, here's to lost causes...

Saturday, November 14, 2009

Dear Boy-I-Was-Sort-Of-Hitting-On,

I really really like you. Like you in a 'love is' cartoons, line drawings of walking into sunsets hand-in-hand, make me go ridiculously girlie giggly mushy, moon over your Facebook picture, consider doodling your name at random times but not actually doing it since I am too grown up to, way. I like you and the only reason I find this so easy to say is because there is very little chance of you stumbling into this blog. Sigh. As someone very wise recently pointed out I apparently always fall for those who are outside the realm of immediate possibility.

But anyway, even if you'll never read this, I write this to just get this off my chest. And to serve as a warning to all other dimwits like me.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry for being so dense. I'm sorry for replying to you in a flurry of excited typos every one and half month you pinged to say hello. I'm sorry for doing all that natak of hitting on you and pretending I wasn't. And I'm sorry for not realising that the interest wasn't actually mutual. Which is where epiphany number two comes in. I think my arrogance stops me from registering that someone I am so obviously interested in, isn't interested back. So I keep pushing and pushing despite all sorts non-encouragement (not active discouragement, mind you) until the boy is forced to act like a jerk. Which is when I register "he's not that into me" and go crying to friends who rally around saying 'there there, he's a jerk'.

But you! You are so totally sweet. Thank you for not being a jerk. Thank you for asking me to what I now see wasn't a date but just an arrangement for us to be at the same place at the same time. Thanks for not getting sleazy. Thanks a thousand times for not taking advantage of my adolescent type crush and giving me your room number (yes, this has happened to me before). Thanks for hugging me goodbye and kissing my hair, in a way that made me close my eyes and feel a little squishy inside. I realise now of course that your oh-so-sweet gesture wasn't an exclusive move but an applicable to all girl friends thing. Am sorry for being a small-town type who didn't see a PR type move for what it was.

And what I'm really sorry for putting you in a spot where you couldn't say "back off!" This will teach me not to hit on professional contacts. Gah, what can I say, I'm really sorry for being a stupid cow.

Swooning still,


P.S. But you're still so cute!
P.P.S. Sniff. Here is my rebellion. Will not wear my heart on my sleeve any more. Or, for that matter, your favourite band on my caller tune. So there.

Thursday, November 12, 2009

On hold

Sometimes it feels like my whole life is on whole hold. I don't know how many stories that I've filed are on hold. That's work. There are three blog posts which are still on hold cause what I have written on I have no clue how to finish. That is, or so I kid myself into believing, my writing. And all my plans of working outside the city, doing my own thing, making ends meet on a higher salary that is still far too little to survive on (God, why does that sound good?) will probably come to naught. That's life
Somebody hang up and let me go.