Today is Sunday, which means that the weekend is apparently over. Thankfully, tomorrow is Labour Day so I get some more time with the entire family for another day. Plus, it relieves me of that awful feeling I get at the end of a Sunday night where I realize everyone else is dreading work the next day, my elders, and I will sit at home and do basically nothing.

I had a good day. I won't reduce or stretch that statement because it was full without being full of too much excitement or activity. I woke up to my parents calmly discussing my necessity for a higher degree. This usually frustrates me but the house was absolutely still and quiet (my vent was also closed) so I heard my Dad's loud/calm voice approach the matter differently for once. And I came to the conclusion that I should take it into consideration. Krishanu will be busy with his work for the next while, which could posisbly mean years. I am young and I have this opportunitty to ensure that I have a sense of security for the rest of my life. Why should I just drop my aspirations and run the other direction because I feel so guilty? Anyway. Today's entry is not about my sudden desire to actually plan the next year. I simply want to recall the day's events.

Krishanu called home randomly soon after that conversation. My parents were still unaware of my wakefulness at the time. It was a sweet gesture on his part and it really made a difference in the general mood of everyone at home. I'm glad he is patient and terrific at explaining matters that would otherwise be difficult for a person to understand.

I had a breakfast of PB&J, an egg roll (I'm random like that) and french vanilla coffee with hazelnut cream, lots of milk and of course, Cool Whip.

We had mangso bhat for lunch, but it was special because it was "desi" chicken. This means that it was quite flavourful and worth the effort of eating it. But my mom's hand got cut while she cut the chicken itself, which was NOT worth it. :-( I really feel so scared when any small thing happens to her.

I briefly talked to my friend who shall remain nameless here, for today.

I studied French, the least bit.

I cleaned the bathrooms and for once, I didn't take forever to do it. Somehow I just did it and I finished.

I wanted to vaccum but that might happen tomorrow.

I took over my mom and rolled parota for my brother and grandmother.

I just came upstairs after having washed the dishes by hand, but prior to that, my entire family sat in the family room and we talked about a range of topics, from development issues in India to old teaching methods (some violent) in India. My parents and grandparents told us about the stuff they personally experienced when they were elementary students: student life in the village. It's pretty hilarious to hear about how naughty kids can be, but at the same time it's quite sad that so many people are exposed to so much fear and violence in an institution of learning and knowledge. What the fuck is up with that?

Oh, and I almost forgot. My brother drove me to the library. I returned my library stuff at the front. He wasn't in the greatest mood the entire time. He's easily annoyed by me but I can't say I'm indifferent when I'm around him. I deliberately annoy the heck out of him because it's hilarious to see his reactions. But I wish I seemed less annoying while in the passenger seat with him.

Oh, and of course! Krishanu and I got along. We must make note of that. That's pretty good for an entire weekend. I wonder what the coming work week has in store for us. Weekends, for us, is usually excused so that we can just clobber each other with negative energy and words. Not_fun. Speaking of which (well, not really), it's 11:30 PM here and it's Monday there and he should wake up by now. Hm!

Au revoir! A bientot! And thanks... to whomever. Sometimes good days seem like such a paradise lost in the distance.

Fortunately, I had another relatively calm day. I didn't wake up at 6 AM today, as I've done for most Saturdays during the past month and a half. A tense conversation among my family members did arise earlier in the day but it eventually subsided after lunch. We had a good conversation about religion and God. Despite all of the wisdom I've steadily lost over the passed five years, I guess my deep setted interest for philosophical questions and religion still exists as an integral part of my internal self. The fact that I was stimulated by the conversation I shared with my parents and grandparents today really bridged a part of me I thought I lost. I haven't thought about my faith in quite awhile. Apparently, I still have strong beliefs and a load of questions to tackle before I can really give up on the great big endeavour that is my faith. Of course, I also appreciate how calm everyone becomes in pursuit of the bigger questions in life. I like how in this enclosed space, five seperate brains crunch for some type of expression or conclusion to mark their comfirmation of life and the human experience. These same five brains, any other day and in this exact same space, wouldn't be so calm. Yet, there they were and here we are. What else is being OK? I value this side to my family so much. I complain about so many other things that don't exist in my family, but I realize that this attribute isn't existent in all family situations. In a way, it's what makes being Indian and multi-ethnic/religious such a special gift. I've been given space to evaluate my faith and what I want to believe in. Of course, no one will appreciate it if I decide to marry a Muslim or convert to Christianity, but at least there is space in the form of faith. I don't have to blindly accept religious conventions and for the most part, it's OK. I mean, my parents always expect us to pray regularly and attend religious activities, but really, it's upto us. I think it should be. My relationship with God is my own and only I can determine which course it will take.

Krishu and I got along today. I should mention this for the record.

Early in the day, I decided I'd structure my day a certain way. I wanted to devote my energy toward studying and planning, but I spent my entire day doing other things instead. I looked up a lot of music, spent time with my parents & my brother. Was any of the time productive? Not really, but it was time well spent. I like being with my family because I realize how easily all of this time will pass and (unfortunately) this love won't be so readily accessible. Sure, there are webcams and awesome phone plans but there's nothing like going randomly to my brother and mother and doing a crazy monkey dance, at which they give make the most embarassed faces (amusing). That's a whole other type of love I will absolutely miss if and when I leave home. Let's not forget my father's talkative moments (it's funny in retrospect) and my grandparents' weird love for each other.

The feelings I felt last night are still there. I understand if people are busy but honestly, it doesn't take much to send a text or give a quick call. I want to be resentful but I can't be. I will lose all of my friends if I become upset over this. Everyone else is busy and quite honestly, I'm not! I can deal with this. However, I must note that at some point or another, my friends have to realize that I'm not a scapegoat that is pushed aside and pulled in when it's required. Of course, many people have stopped scapegoating or pulling me in, which hurts all the more. Nevertheless, this can only bother me as much as I let it. I really need to focus on a plan and make excuses to meet new people to become friends or acquaitances with. This loneliness that comes with adulthood is unbearable sometimes but I'm only going to remain an adult for as long as I live. I have to accept it and transform it to solitude when I can. Otherwise, I have to reach out with great effort and assume that all friendships won't be picture perfect. I wouldn't know, but I doubt friendships really are picture perfect.

Music helps. I'm suddenly ambitious to access a bunch of music I would've otherwise not listened to five years ago. It's hard to weave out music that fits my preferences though because I'm so picky, but after so long, I'm able to have fun with music. I spent a good portion of my night sat in bed with music blaring through my broken head phone as I tried my best to dance with half my body. When I'm left alone in the night, I'm left with all of this guilt I can hardly withstand. I want to go to sleep absolutely dead and heart broken by my own failures. If I willed it, I could easily cry myself to sleep night after night. I have for months. It's not worth it though and music helps a lot. Music can drive out the noise inside my mind and it can release my frustration built inside. I never thought of music as a way of escaping my anxiety disorder. The fact that I can actually rely on you and other forms of art to cope makes me smile a little. Maybe simple things are not easy for me sometimes, but it doesn't mean I can't be my best person.

Tomorrow might not be another today. I know that. For whatever today was worth though, I'm grateful for it. And seriously, although no problems got solved, we're OK. Tomorrow is another day without any mistakes in it yet (L.M. Montgomery).

It's quite late. I'm incredibly tired. I decided I would write entries as much as possible so here I am.

I had a good day. I spent my entire afternoon outside with my two favourite people: my mom and brother. We accomplished a few errands, but what I loved most was our time spent together. I'm glad that we didn't spend as much time at home during my mom's day off because I think she needed a break from the unnecessary drama that occurs here on a regular basis. I wish I had enough energy to share the tid bits of the day, but I'm completely drained. It was outrageously humid outside today and there were a few times when I wanted to complain but this heat will be gone soon. My father's mood was also calm. I had pizza for breakfast, a McFlurry after years, bubble tea for the first time and pitae once we reached home. I later made myself some ramen with shrimp balls. It was good, but now I feel sick for not having eaten an actual meal all day. I will easily remember this day in my memory bank for years, simply because it was calm. I'm truly grateful.

I have to admit something though. I'm still awake because a feeling emerged earlier this evening. Loneliness. I felt driven to change my phone plan after I helped my brother find a new phone today. I figured that I should put more intiative and faith in the idea that I have people to actually interact with. Sometimes, my problems feel less self-absorbed and more common when I can actually talk about it or hear someone else out. So I paid my bill and I changed my plan to accomodate more discussion with others. Instead, upong trying to send a few text messages, I realized how enclosed my friend circle really was. I'm mostly friends with people I can't see in person easily. And even then, I'm afraid of interfering. I don't honestly know how they feel about me. I miss what I used to share with certain friends who were so much closer once. Now, I just feel alone. And for a few days, I was under the impression that this could all change. I could at least have a sole person other than my boyfriend to reach out to. It would help lessen his load to, if I reached out to others for once. Really though, there's no one there. I know about everyone's lives. I know what's going on and  don't want to interfere. I just wonder sometimes if any of them wonder about what I'm upto, genuinely. I wonder if anyoen else other than Krishu ever wants to poke any questions or understand me better. Sometimes I feel that my family doesn't even care. And Krishu and I are polar opposites so discussion about common interests fall absolutely flat. I look to Tumblr for some kind of stimulation and sometimes to books, when I'm in the mood. Now, I have wanted to turn to music. Yet, for someone so obsessed with the human experience and others, why am I so empty and alone here? Stranded. You know, when I write in second person, I have the same people in mind again and again. After years, my love has not wavered. I don't know though, if I was seen then or if I'm seen now. And it's a horrible feeling because I shouldn't care to be seen by anyone else through the eyes of "love" other than my boyfriend -- sorry, fiance -- right? Maybe my presumptions have always been wrong. Love isn't so confined after all. Emotions don't simply adjust themselves to social conventions.

Another person is in town today and a part of me wants to make a gesture but another part of me is scared. I don't want to have to lie to see this person and I also am afraid to see them. The last day we saw each other, I left him in so much pain. I know we could be great friends. I know a lot of things as much as I've regretted. Perhaps it's best to swallow my pride and let everything take its own course. I don't want to cancel people out of my life simply because I'm "supposed" to get married. I also don't want to fool myself into thinking that I'm not engaged.

 Well, all of this is in a day's work. The happiness earlier and the tears that have just passed. After such a long time, I can sit in the dark and in a quiet place in my mind and actually talk to myself. Quite honestly, I don't know if anything will turn out as expected. I don't even know what I actually want when anyone asks me that question (in any way). I just know that everything has its time. Maybe I'm a slow person. Maybe these things unfold slowly. Maybe I'm even being irrational, but I love you. I can say that. I can love graciously. I just wish it was acknowledged. I'm so lucky to have such a wonderful partner. And yet, I wish someone outside of myself would tell me I'm here for a reason, I was purposeful to them, or that I have some redeemable quality.

Maybe tomorrow. Until then, good night.

Perhaps the point of making sure a personal blogs works has a lot to do with the length of the posts. I can write non-stop if time and energy permitted. I don't admit this because I claim to love writing that much. My mind just functions at hyper speed at times. I can subject hop a lot. As a student, my biggest difficulty after procrastination is my inability to remain focused and consistent with my ideas. I find that most people joke about their inability to concentrate on certain tasks or thoughts, but I write about it very seriously. I've suffered a lot because I can't stay consistent on paper/screen or in real life. I survived an entire school year with decent colours because I treated every single week as a challenge. There were times when I would've found myself defeated for the 5th time, but I sought help and followed through for once because I put a lot more energy than ever before in the belief that I can succeed. Of course, I could've done better. Nevertheless, I passed and I can only take it slowly and positively from where I last left my quiet ambition.

I finished the requirements for my first degree, my B.A. in General Arts in April. I've not officially graduated, however, because I have yet to pay the remaining $3000 of my tuition from last year.

Since April, I've looked steadily for work between April and July. In the middle of July, I started to fall apart and you can say I gave up. The last month and a half have been calm in the way boring and pointless days spent at home, on the internet, ect. are. My high point were my Level 2 French classes which required a four hour commute (to and from) every Saturday. Every Saturday morning, I'd muster up the courage to wake up at a ridiculous hour and happily attend my six hour class that I (I won't lie) thoroughly enjoyed after what were normally 6 days of absolute boredom and anxiety. Weekdays have been spent in worry and anticipation for that grand moment when a potential employer will call with my name in mind. Somehow, I will turn into this wonderfully confident woman who has a lot to sell. Everytime I am rejected and everytime a week goes by and the phone doesn't ring after what has now been months, my aparent confidence breaks down even more. And I will not lie here: since mid-July, I've not spent a lot of my time and energy looking for work. On average, I will probably accomplish 1 application a week, where as I previously would accomplish four in a single day. I could take the pressure associated with being unemployed with such a huge financial burden on my chest if I had some sort of encouragement from home. My father is worried about my situation, but instead of pushing me to continue trying, he only pokes at how incapable I am at basically everything. So I feel so inexpressably stuck. Here I am, all anxiety ridden about every possible thing one can imagine. I have anxiety disorder and it's not treated in anyway (partly because I can't afford it). And here is this atmosphere at home, in which fights occur every fucking day. Often, I am the topic. Most of the time, it can be anything, from the imperfect food to the weather and especially his seemingly incompetent family members. I can never explain the situation in a way that others can actually empathize because it's impossible to give words to the kind of anger he shows to such simple and trivial matters. No one can be right against him. And what hurts most is that, in that anger, he really cannot identify with anybody, his wife, his flesh and blood, my grandfather. I want to be more compassionate but I've lived far too many years in fear of what the next day would bring. I can clearly remember the days in my earlier childhood when my father didn't express some sort of frustration overtly and take it out on my mother or us. I still remember because those were the days that were actually entirely happy. I know my words about my father and his mood swings express my anger towards him but really, I just want him to be OK. I love him a lot and I love the rest of my family as a unit even more. I want there to be peace and I've always wanted this, ever since we moved to Canada and lived together. I never expected family ties to come with no pain but being 23 and still experiencing some of the emotions I feared as a child is a bit ludicrous at times.

The only solution I have is to fake it until I make it. I suppose this includes the dilemmas I have to deal with at home, although, mostly the challenge with my family feels impossible. I have stupid traditions that no one (not even in India) follows anymore being thrown at me like I was actually raised in a village. My father can be really difficult at times and my grandparents don't help in those times but only contribute to whatever the problem maybe. No one feels comfortable with me wearing certain clothes, being out at night, leaving the city or house at night, or doing anything that tickles my fancy just for fun because they don't understand the concept of fun for fun's sake. To them, and by them I mean the older patriarchs, making crude comments about other people who could not give two fucks about our family and discussing their familial troubles. There is the occassional racist slurr being swung. And evidently, there is also religious "slurr" that is also swung from time to time.

Most people I know who come from South Asian families (first-generation) simply rebel. I totally surpassed that phase in my life at 14 when I decided that I was in the wrong. I also realized my father would never understand my cultural language. The biggest problem I have now though, is that they expect me to suddenly be OK with myself. Like, I get criticized for not being social or more approachable at events. I'm compared constantly to other people my age, who were actually given the privelege of hanging out with other people when they were growing up as teenagers. The second most important time for an individual to develop their social abilities is during the time of adolescence and he totally stripped that away from me. Now he expects me to be a diplomatic diva. Fuck, I would love to be diplomatic and my true soul with people around me. But let me remind you, I have anxiety disorder and it fucking sucks to communicate to people who I don't see everyday and feel absolutely comfortable with. It doesn't mean I can't do it, but it does mean that it takes a shit load of more time for me than it does the random odd ball who's developmental processes occured perfectly fine! Dear Lord, save my soul. When do I get a little compassion here? Is that the consequence of being born into a totally impoverished family to having 24/7 access to Canadian water? Was the entire process far too easy? If life wasn't like this, would I have somehow been different and ignorant? I honestly don't think that would've been the case, but some force out there certainly believes it.

That was the angry part of today's entry. So I conclude that I need to fake it. The only problem is, and I seriously wish someone would just hear me out, I don't know if I can. I'm scared. I sit in my room sometimes and I want to die. I actually can't breathe properly at times because the pressure just builds and  I find myself nowhere and alone, constantly. I have very few friends and none that I could've relied on for so long. I have one but I'm not comfortable with personal expression anymore. In high school, it was so easy until my best friend blatantly told me I was weak and I realized that was uncomfortable feedback so I withdrew from expressing my home life to her. Now I rely on Krishu but he can't take on the additional worry. I get upset because I'm supposed to be able to discuss things with him and he ought to be able to discuss these matters with me. But can I blame him? He's under pressure constantly. His relationship is supposed to be his paradise. I feel worse when I can't provide that for him anymore. I've officially become weak, like my friend said. Alone. An island. And I know some of the things I want but I can't have them.

So really, one has to "fake" it. In other news, this entry was supposed to be focused and short. I was supposed to write about my new plans associated with my job search and filling up my schedule. Instead, I've just crashed into my emotions. Even talking to a good friend makes me feel anxious. It's really pathetic and unhealthy but there are only about 5 people in the world that I feel comfortable around. And my father is not one of them. In fact, he's at the top of the list when it comes to people I encounter but don't feel comfortable around at all. That recurring feeling makes me so sad. I want my dad to be what I call him, my daddy.

What a rant! Good night, reader.

I think that is as far as I'll go for tonight after all. It's quite late. I just spoke to someone very dear to me and I guess I should crash too.

I've had about 500 calories today:

• XL coffee from Timmies
• apple fritter donut
• a bowl of pasta

I'm going to sleep. I wanted to go to sleep when it was only 8:30, but surprisingly, aimlessly surfing Facebook has magically made it 9:45 PM. I think now is a more-than-reasonable-time to crash. I don't have much of an appetite anyway. It will feel nicer to eat heavier in the morning.

Good night awful week.

Today was a horrible Friday. I skipped World Literature. My essay has not been written or submitted yet. I have my Romantic Literature essay due on Wednesday, with my final response on Friday. Then, on Monday, April 4th, I have my last essay due for Victorian Literature. Delaying the submission of my first essay has evidently screwed up the time and energy I have to prepare, plan and write the other two. Nevertheless, I suppose I will manage, somehow. Weekends aren't exactly in my favour when it comes to school work. Or, to be honest with myself, I don't seem to be in favour of school work during weekends. This very incident proves such a resistance: I shouldn't be sitting on the computer right after arriving home. But, nevertheless, here I am.

The horrible Friday consisted of a horrible night. I don't know what kept me up last night, but I was wide awake. My own stupidity kept me awake, really. I drank a large coffee with a limited amount of milk earlier yesterday. I had the intention of keeping myself wide awake and finishing that darn World Literature essay overnight. I wanted to submit the thing before the weekend came. Well, that certainly didn't happen! I stayed up and I  talked to a number of friends on FB chat, but I certainly didn't touch my bag at all. That, indeed, was an awful mistake. Obviously.

Sleep deprived, I somehow mustered up the courage to get out of bed. I made it to class only 10 minutes late. I say "only" because I didn't feel like attending school today, like really. The happy thing about class was that I got an 89% on my second quiz in the course, and Professor Terretta remembered my name. After class, I bought myself an XL coffee from Tim Horton's with an apple fritter, of which, I didn't pay a penny. I didn't eat anything else today. Really, I don't have much of an appetite.

From the moment I went to the library until the last few minutes, Krishu and I "talked" about a whole bunch of exhilirating topics. You know, how much we disagree with each others' perspectives. We threatened our relationship a handful of times. And, I don't know, it was the typical fully passionate discussion. Passive really. I mean, we were sitting behind computer screens. Passive...

...So passive that I skipped class and I cried in public and it was an awful, four hour long mess. I am glad now that the mess was cleared up (at least mood wise) with the vision of Faith sitting in an empty "71" headed home. She was such a great person to talk to at the time because she understood a great deal of what I could be feeling. She's happy and fun too. I think that was a message: I will be okay. But you know something? This time around, I'm actually quite scared. I don't know what I did wrong and I don't blame him for anyway he offended or hurt me in return because everything was out of heated passion. We were absolutely pissed off. But the mere fact that we can become so bothered with each other and a mere discussion can blow totally out of proportion, only further suggests that there is a problem. A rift. A growing, unbearable and painful rift that is stripping us further apart. I don't know what will become of us at this point in time. I feel a lot, but nothing entirely explicable. The food I am depriving myself gives the inner feeling a physical dimension. Hunger. That's all. I know that I should eat something, but I'm really not in the mood. Maybe later. Besides, shedding a few pounds won't hurt either. I only wish I knew what I said specifically. Or what he doesn't like about me. Or how this is going to work out if must break up. I don't know what to say. I'm not numb, but in a way, I'm weak. I feel so weak.

The weather is sunny, but the temperature is freezing. Very cold. The breeze encapsulates exactly how I feel inside. Gothic. The sun is going down now, and I feel like I could ignore the whole world and remain in a dark corner of my room. Unfortunately, I can't. There are two more weeks of classes (or something like that), with all three assignments and a ton of exams around the immediate corner. I've got to face upto reality now. This dying relationship. These parents that expect more than I can offer. A degree that is not mine. Payments that I cannot make. A heart just panging with hunger. I wake up with my bladder burning in pain. My piss smells. I'm probably sick. All I ever know how to do is write about it. Some think I write because I want attention. I think if I showed this to anyone, they would think I was definitely seeking attention with my actions too. A blog? Why would anyone want a blog to resort their private thoughts to? Especially when a perfectly good, pink journal is waiting with half of its pages totally empty. The place where private thoughts are supposed to go. Burn-able. Rip-able. Smell-able. Where the ink smudges at the places where tear drops drip. Where mistakes are not deleted, but merely crossed off. There is evidence that the writing process is not perfect, and yet consoling. The other half of the little book's pages are filled with endless thoughts, contemplations, and frustrations. Nothing is ravishing or deep. They just exist to replicate what would have been a friend's mind bank. One day I can carry and show it to you, the reader. If I die, my book will continue to exist.

And yet, I still choose the blog. What does this imply? Why do we write? Communication to self, or communication to others? Or is there a difference at all? What if communicating with others was communicating with ourselves? Hm!

I feel that whether we are in a relationship or not, I will need to learn how to communicate in this way again. To myself, that is. People don't seem to comprehend that this is a way that people rationalize and organize their thoughts/feelings. Hm. I can't survive without it. Really.

Bad luck?

The last time I wrote here, it was morning.

Now, I am home. I was at school then, on Gmail chat with Krishu. I had begun a rant, but I cut the rant and posted it here instead. Hours have passed since and unfortunately, I hate to conclude, but most of today hasn't been particularly delightful. I want to be grateful that the day happened at all. The most liberating moments were in the classroom. The happiest moment was being able to converse with a previous classmate, Indie, on the bus.
I was fortunate enough to come home to happier parents. I can't say the same... fourty minutes later.

Bittu Uncle called, and from what I can determine, Rani Aunty (his wife) has gone to some type of college to push herself toward building employability skills. From what I'm guessing, she's acquired an education in something signficant. My father is jealous. My mother is tired. I am annoyed. Aggravation. I hate it when my father is like this. He demands that she be so many things, play so many roles and yet, it's not possible. My mother makes daily living possible for what is now a household of six members. I often delve into an all consuming depression wondering why my father fails to acknowledge the importance of my mother's role in our family. Why doesn't he ever appreciate her? Even if she were merely a housewife and didn't contribute economically, then she is still the owner of the hands that makes him his meals.

I can't express how scared this makes me feel. I'm afraid not only for my mother's emotional and psychological security. That woman, who is the breadth of my existence. I fear that one day my father will be served his karma and the consequence will be unforgiveable. I fear for both of my parents.

...

I have since had dinner. I still want to hug my mother. I still want to change my dad, though he acts like nothing happened. And she, she smiles and acts more outspoken then ever to show that she is not afraid. But what if she implied that she was? That he hurts her with his words. Would that not be effective? Is anything effective when one has so much power? A revolution? Of what sort. Of what strategy?

Making Choices

 It started with Dadu just constantly checking to see if I'm awake, which can get pretty annoying when you're lacking sleep anyway and you find the courage to get up and get out of bed. Obviously, that wasn't a big issue. Cleaning the bathroom and having it get dirty really quick, however, is frustrating. If anything is wet in the bathroom, I wipe it so that neither I nor the next person has to deal with that. My grandparents really don't. They really take up a lot of space. Wet clothes will be on the counter, bundled on top of the tap for bath, water will be all over counter and floor, toilet seat, and of course, the teeth container! I hate being so annoyed by really insignificant matters, but it's annoying. The space, for seven years, was mostly mine and my brother's. I adjusted to him growing up and becoming really disgusting, but I also had an authority over him. If he forgot to flush or something, I'd make him. If he made a mess or forgot to put his clothes away, I had the authority to tell him to do it. I can't do the same with my grandparents, and quite frankly, they are more messy (in some ways) than my brother. Considering what they have to say to me about remaining tidy because I am a girl, it just seems ironic and that itself ticks me off, as you may imagine.

Eventually, when it was time to change into clothing, I found that among my newly washed clothes, the one item I told my mom to specifically not wash otherwise it would get ruin... she washed. It's not unwearable, but the material looks worn out and I only bought the top in January and wore it merely 3 times. I bought it with my own money and right now, I'm really paranoid about what I spend my money on. Whenever I actually make a choice in purchasing a clothing piece, it somehow gets ruined. Most of my t-shirts became stained somehow when Dida washed them. Many of my clothes have really become unwearable because of stains from other clothes, but I still wear them. It's just frustrating that it always has to happen to my clothes. I'm not exaggerating. My clothes get stained and really badly too - pink or unidentified coloured blotches all over a shirt that is green, for example! In the past, such items that I really liked and cherished somehow disappeared in the laundry. I told my mom this time that I would do my laundry myself but you know something? Moms have this way of still wanting to obsessively do things themselves because they are control_freaks too! And the mold us just the same!

Then a series of other unlikely events happened, which I could have dealt with if I was in a better mood and well-slumbered. I carried (all in one go down the stairs) my school bag, an extra bag of library books in one hand, laptop somehow carried, all my essential items (socks, cell phone, ect), and two cups that were in my room from last night's coffee attempt in my other hand...!

I had to go downstairs to print my assignment, which I did somewhat successfully. "Somewhat" because the ink became discoloured halfway down the pages. Whatever. Then when I went to staple the assignment, I had to hunt down the stapler, only to find that no staples were in the damn thing! Then, I had to hunt down my own stapler that my dad often uses and misplaces. After a minute of running around the house 3 times, I found my stapler and stapled the stupid thing. I was a raging bull though. I was pretty pissed off because, in the meantime, I had 8 minutes until the bus came. The next bus at any stop close to my house would take another 20 minutes at minimum, at which rate I would be late for class on a day when something was due.

My complete downfall. When I packed my pasta, Dida offered to do it as I eat a deem. I loudly stated that I don't have time but I was pretty angry with everything so they took it offensively. Quite honestly though, they really don't look at context and take most things in offense. I know my mistake in this situation and I'm not saying that they merely perceived my mood differently than it was OR that what I said and how I said it was justifiable by any means. But if they do look at it in context, then perhaps it would make more sense to them than to simply be offended. And they definitely were offended because as I raced around for a way out of the house, Dadu let out a sigh. I am, by no means, my mama. I think that's the impression they get with my anger. The problem with me is that I have intense emotions and I don't know how to control it because I've not learned how to effectively channel them out. I was never allowed to so it's hard for me now, though I am aware that I must be my own agent of change.

In the end, I made it to class on time. I feel bad about what happened, but not totally upset because I am too sleep deprived to entirely care. They never seem to realize that it's their own carelessness about certain things that drive them into the position they always feel their in - invisible, disrespected, such and such... I don't, by any means, support my uncle in his actions or the way he deals with things but sometimes I can relate to his source of frustration. All of this prayer, and then all of this anger that comes out. Instability is everywhere between both of them, and yet, they like to suggest that they are spiritually close with higher power. I wonder what that makes people like my brother or you, who don't necessarily confide in any source of spiritual consolation - or the recent me. I certainly don't. What does it mean when we, too, are imbalanced, or perhaps when we feel totally balanced but we don't need all of that ritualistic endeavour / prayer in our lives?

They make me question authenticity even if they are my kin and I love them dearly. They make me wonder what it must be like if I continue in the path I've begun... Negligent of my duties primarily to my own self. They have lived their entire lives in this all consuming type of selfish love. There is no doubt in my mind that they do love each other, but appreciation? Respect? What about the mere respect for one self? Dadu might present himself as being humble now, and he might say things like "I am like a poor man" but I wonder how long that excuse has been engraved in his mind. I don't think he is a weak person, but I don't think he was ever aware (when he had the chance) to accept his own agency. Instead, my grandparents usually took the route of running away.

My grandmother speaks for herself right now. I don't have expectations for her. I don't think she will ever change. There are good things about her personality and then there are the overly ugly. Everyday that she overtakes the space that used to be only my own, I recognize how I, too, have been changing. I see why my uncle felt aggravated in the presence of such a woman. She isn't aware of how deeply she cuts through her own life and causes her own misery. Again, she isn't aware of her own agency; the mental ability to deviate from reality and remain strong during times of defeat.

I am not writing this to suggest that I am better. I love them and I always will, but I think my point is that I recognize these realities and when the thoughts build, I become confused and aggravated. I don't want to be like either of them. I don't even want to be like either of my parents - a generation that certainly progressed, but not entirely. I do want my mom's inner strength and faith, and my dad's ambition. I don't want my mother's subservience or my father's neurosis. I don't think I've ever "fit in" because I always thought I was supposed to embody someone else. I am my own person and as a new generation, as a leader of my own pact, all I can truly assume is my own mental space. The only thing I can truly learn to acquire are my own thoughts and how I perceive the reality that exists around me. Through that particularly, I can also acquire my agency.

I've been looking in the wrong directions. I was always moved and shaped by the perceptions of others but now I realize that it truly is an inner struggle. In order to take action in my own life and witness outcomes, I have to take action internally and choose one thing over the other. I have to make decisions, even when I can't imagine the causal effects of any choice I make. When I don't know the answer, or the questions feel like they're too much, I still have to come up with something. Sometimes, we'll bullshit. But every time, we will come out learning something if we allow our minds to work that way. So yeah. The big dilemma. Making choices.

From sleep deprivation, bad morning getting ready, angry grandparents and making choices. That's right.

I am incredibly tired. I am writing here because I need a space to myself where I can isolate my thoughts. Sometimes the act of actually writing out thoughts with ink and paper feels strenuous. I spend a good duration of my weeks taking hand-written notes as it is. So, I will try my best to find consolation here, in this tiny space. Welcome.

It is 1 AM on a Sunday night. I have an essay due on Tuesday at 2:30 PM. I don't have a thesis statement yet. I have two classes tomorrow. I will spend 2 hours travelling and 3 hours in class tomorrow; and perhaps another hour for other pre-occupations. I also have a "take-home quiz" which is also due Tuesday, but at 8:30 AM. Quite honestly, I don't know how I'm going to do this because I am tired. It is quite late. Even if I had the aspiration of waking up early, it would be nearly impossible because (chances are) it's already 1:20 AM. I can't focus, so really, this is an issue. But not an unfamiliar issue, in the least. The old me is just more used to giving into sleep. I want to think I've changed so I'm still awake. Am I making progress? Considering I've only responded to my stress by creating a new blog, definitely not.

What is bothering me otherwise: I didn't eat anymore than about 700-800 calories today. No, I am not proud and I didn't anticipate this but somehow, I didn't eat nearly as much food as I should have. I had a corner of my brother's tiny breakfast pizza. I had a very small piece of sausage that my brother didn't use. A cup of coffee. A handful of cheetoes and a Reeses Cup. A cup of tea. Two very tiny puris. A tiny bowl of fried beet. Most recently, one slice of a whole bagel with butter and cream cheese. A cup of chocolate milk. Listing the food makes it seem more in quantity than it actually was. Majority of my caloric intake today is from liquids. I'm embarassed to even express this reality, but my food intake has become really reflective of how I feel inwardly. I'm aware that this is a problem but sometimes, it just doesn't seem like a problem. What seems more like a problem to me is the fact that when I want to eat something of my own choice, someone in my home makes a comment I cannot stand. Snacks, as I know them, are private things. This is particuarly because so much of what I deem as a snack is sometimes judged by family members. At other times, the problem has to do with the pre-conceived notion that everyone in the house carries about me: that I don't get hungry, and ultimately, that I don't eat. If I eat, I supposedly eat very little. No one sees this as a threat or health problem, but often I get ridiculed by my father for "dieting" -- I have never practiced or promoted any such thing my entire life. I eat little infront of everyone else because it is uncomfortable for me to not have absolute control over something like the food I decide to put into my body. Surprisingly, food and its intake becomes quite political in our household. From the judegements of how well something is cooked, to the dictates of what should be eaten, the gender divisions do exist. They aren't always frustrating for me to deal with. However, sometimes, I feel stunted because these matters are judged. Women in my family are not arguing or judging the actions of the otherwise lazy men in the family; they are not being called out for their lack of ambition and financial responsibilities. I don't understand, then, why the divisions still exist. Why anyone ever had the right to suppose I am the type of child that doesn't eat a lot when I've eaten enough growing up? Sometimes the assumptions associated with my gender have defined me before I was given the opportunity to speak for myself. Now, I just feel either frustrated or overwhelmed. My only way of having control over my own food is through isolation. I prefer eating alone because sometimes it is the only way I can actually enjoy my food. I am ashamed to say that for this reason alone, I sometimes fail to meet a decent quota of caloric intake. And yes, it does hurt my body. As I write this, I can feel my muscles ache. I am exhausted and my body feels malnourished. I tried to feed myself before bed, but it is too late to make much noise. Snacks are limited. And honestly, sometimes, the feeling, the pain, is actually the most liberating feeling from the entire process. That is probably the most frightening thing I've ever written about my own thought process, but that is exactly what I think sometimes. When my physical weakness and instability reflects my inner instability, I simply try to sleep away the drudgery and eat enough the next morning. It's not liberating in the sense that I somehow feel empowered through this. No, not at all. Rather, what I feel inside is given some sort of tangible expression. It's an avenue. It's not the best one, but sometimes, and on certain days, it exists and is entirely accessible to me. I can't say the same for people.

I am falling too tired to remain awake, so perhaps I will try to sleep tonight after all and see where my own motivation takes me. There were two other thoughts I wanted to include:

1. I need discipline in my life. I realize this when old habits creep back into place. I wasted so much available time and energy today, totally unaware of it. When I finally closed the computer lid to fold laundry, I thought to myself. I need discipline. It's something I must work on. Eventually, as soon as I was done putting my clothes away, I found myself on the internet again, entirely distracted and not focused on what I was supposed to be doing in the first place (i.e, paper). One of the things I want to do once school is over this semester is read more. I want to read a variety of new authors and types of literature, but I also want to explore spiritual questions too. I was never a well balanced and organized person. There has rarely been a long period of time in my life when I felt absolutely secure and secret-free. The only time I can truly consider is 2006 when I graduated high school and began university: no financial problems, no grade problems, no future to think about except the exciting idea of university and adulthood. The only thing hidden then was Ritwick, a situation I just drove myself into and crashed with. If I regret anything about my younger self, it's that I was always too busy chasing after people I could not "have" and dreams that were highly unreal. I wish I was more involved and equally infatuated with the practical. I wish the thought of finding romance wasn't such a priority in my mind. I wish my main priority was the dream of being someone and acquiring something. If there is anything I would tell my younger self, it would be to read more books -- to invest in my own broader education. Read to shake away what Daddy said or what Harman did. I regret it. Most of it. I wish I just cared about doing well in life first and foremost. I forgot that I had a life of my own. Then, more than ever, I lived against the wall, forgotten. I need to replace that old, younger me with a more disciplined older me -- the adult. But it's hard with the daunting question of marriage around the corner...
2. Krishanu De and my relationship with him is in flux. We fight  a lot and we fought last night. I am too tired to go over the details of last night's fight. Perhaps it is not worth writing about. Surprisingly, when it comes to our relationship, I end up writing nothing about it, or very little and generalized descriptions. I wonder what this means: I don't like talking about us; I don't want negative attributions pitted against him; or I just don't feel that it's necessary to talk about him since I talk to him directly? I'm not sure. It sometimes worries me that I can't see him in the same, highly romanticized light anymore. Attraction has nothing to do with it. Now that we are in a position to actually discuss the nitty gritty of a shared future, I realize how much our opinions clash with each others'. And it's not at some easy-peasy, let's just pick on over the other type of negotiations that we have to make; one person really gets robbed entirely of their life, while the other makes very little adjustments. According to his traditional principles, that person "should" be me because girls move from their parents' home to their in-laws'. I understand that much and I'm willing to adhere, but he claims that we would have to be at his home between a possible period of 3 months to one year. What am I supposed to do in that much time? What happens if I learn to adjust there and we decide to settle there? What happens to me? He may have the capacity to take an entire household under his wing, but is he aware of the pressures associated with that in this day an age? Does he acknowledge the person I am and what I actually want to do with my life, as opposed to what he wants to do with me? If we did live together, then what would happen to "us" -- would going to school or working outside of the home be a question of "if I want to then I could"? It's time that men started to realize that women going to work isn't some sort of a liberation about choice. It's about being INCLUDED as citizens in the public sphere. AS WORKING CLASS MOTHER FUCKING CITIZENS! I am deeply hurt by the sudden views he has evoked. I thought I knew this man. We've been communicating everyday for three years and somehow, we clash in every way. I love him a lot and care about his well being. I fight with him and then I feel awful. His life has not been easy these passed three years. The reason we are together and took things this far is because 2009 took such a major turn in his life and somehow, we worked through it together. Fights didn't have space in our relationship then because they were out of the question. Things aren't the same now because circumstances have changed. I had expectations too. For one, I wanted my husband to at least have some knowledge about the greater world, if not well travelled. Krishu is a good soul and man. I deeply believe that. But you know, when he talks about compromises and expectations, it feels like too much. We don't communicate at all. He wants things from me and that's where I feel this ends. I don't offer much, but he does want things from our relationship. I want things too, and I have, but somethings I've let go of. Like height and attraction. I had my own set of expectations too. Don't those matter?
   
   I don't think I can easily accept his family and their opinions quickly or smoothly. And if I can't, I shouldn't put myself or anyone else through the trouble. If I can't, I'd have to stand my guard against my dad and wait until I meet someone in the same career path/field as myself. I don't want to believe it but sometimes I just want to run away. Sometimes I feel like I'm making a mistake and he is not the right person for me anymore. Other times it's just a question of time; I am too young. But mostly, it comes down to how he responds to things. Saying I am sad isn't a plea for a rescue. I just want to feel secure. Does he think that his wallet is the only thing that can provide security? I don't know. I really don't.