Sunday, March 20, 2011

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.

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