Wednesday, June 23
I'm curled up in bed with a pack of cigarettes in hand; contemplating whether or not I should light up so early in the morning. If I do, it'll set precedent for the entire day, and I'll probably have another somewhere down the line.
I wanted to sleep in, but as soon as it was seven, my stupid internal clock woke me up. That and my dad barging into my room six times within a fifteen minute period giving me various 'instructions' for the day. I cannot have the car, he says. It's basically his attempt at trying to keep me home and crippled.
God, I hate feeling so helpless. I hate being at the mercy of other people. I hate having limited resources to do my own thing.
Sometimes I think I work really hard for nothing. I'm hollowed out already. Sometimes I feel absolutely nothing and it's beautiful. Other times I just feel angry and it's frustrating. I'm constantly thrown back and forth between indifference and loathing and I can't decide which one I prefer. I don't think I can properly explain how it feels to be in this 'family'. I don't think I can convince you that it isn't a dramatization at all.
"I know you can't wait until you graduate and get the hell out of here, but until then, you're still a part of this family."
Well, at least they know I'll never stay.
Seems like a bitch thing to do, no? Just abandon them. Never look back. You have to be one cold hearted bitch to do that, huh?
Wednesday, June 16
I'm allergic to Adriana's cat, so every time I go over to her house, my eyes get all watery and itchy. I'm going to scratch my fucking eyes out at this rate.
This is the summer for self-improvement, I've realized.
Pounds lost: 25
Days since last cigarette: 4
Since last made contact: 23 hrs
Things are coming along swimmingly. :)
Tuesday, June 15
Recently, my mom has taken to calling my dad fat. He is very upset by this and has retaliated by lacing her coffee with sugar. She is a diabetic.
I find their heated exchanges extremely amusing in the sickest way possible. Yet, they've never been happier together. Their relationship is less strained and they've been found cuddling on several occasions. I am perturbed, to say the least...
I'm roasted, in a tragically literal sense. I spent most of the morning gallivanting around Orlando on my little adventure with Andrew. I'm also quite displeased. It seems that he only wants to spend time with me so that he can attempt to snog. Me. Again. Ugh. Fucking asshole. Why I put up with his bullshit, you may wonder? He has a nice Porsche. Kidding (almost, anyway).
I felt very productive today. We have a slew of guests coming to visit us in the next few months, so my dad has made arrangements to make our house more visitor friendly---meaning, I made arrangements to make our house more visitor friendly. I spent hours pulling weeds, trimming, primping, and watering the neglected jungle that disguises itself as our backyard. I'm surprised most of the vegetation survived this winter.
This has always bothered me. I've always felt like our house is a vacation home to all of my parents' relatives and friends and that during the holiday months especially, I am displaced from my room. I particularly don't like the idea of people snooping around my shit and using my lotion. I'm very ardent about people not using my lotion. It's my fucking lotion. Back off.
But summer is in full swing and I am not naive enough to believe myself capable of stopping the cruel parade of barbecues, parties, and annoying familial relations from invading my typically introverted ways. I have the play the role of dutiful hostess. I hate it.
P.S. That's a picture of the basil I planted a week ago. It's beautiful. :)
Saturday, June 12
Whenever I get sick, I become so damn needy. Not that I act on it or anything. I sort of just lie in bed, wishing that someone would give a fuck about me.
God. I'd like to shrivel up and die right now.
I'm not saying that people don't care about me. That would be downright disingenuous. I have very lovely people in my life whom I respect and care deeply for. I just want someone to bring me soup. Or sit in bed and watch 80's movies with me all day, gathering warmth from big blankets and hard bodies. I want someone here. Tangibly here.
Someone emotionally available, I guess.
And I can only think of one someone that I want that someone to be--- that, my friend, is delusional.
I want what I can't have, what you're unwilling to give me. So instead, I take what I can get--- hoping that it'll be enough. But I'm afraid it never will be.
Who are you trying to fool, kid? You know it never will be enough.
Then what the fuck am I suppose to do?
I can't. I've tried. God knows I've tried.
Then maybe you need to be miserable now so that you can be happy later?
I'm firmly rooted in the present, thanks. My generation is all about instant gratification, after all.
If you want to get better, truly get better...you know what you have to do.
I don't want to.
You have to.
This isn't good for you. It isn't healthy. Love is about caring for yours and another's emotional/spiritual well being. You aren't doing that. You aren't loving yourself. Remember what you've learned? Remember how far you've come? Please, please, please. Remember these things. You can't love him more than you love yourself.
But I'll miss him too much.
You'll miss the person you had the chance to be even more.
He makes you forget that you're amazing. You think you're ugly because he doesn't like you. You think you're stupid and foolish whenever he's around. You shouldn't. You're beautiful. You know you're beautiful. Why would you do that to yourself?
Because he might---
Change his mind? Never. He doesn't like you. He won't love you the way you want him to. You need to understand. Try to understand.
He'll be miserable.
Are you shitting me? He'll be fine. Doubt he'd even bat an eyelash.
I'll be miserable.
Yes, for a little while.
How long is 'a little while', exactly?
As long as it takes for you to move on.
Tuesday, June 8
I think the thing I'm looking forward to most on my birthday is massive consumption of sugar. It's been three weeks since I've had anything but the natural sugars found in fruits. I even drink my coffee black and tea raw nowadays.
I'm only partly joking. I really haven't had any sugar in three weeks, but it's not that big of a deal...ish.
I am not ashamed of my major. I have never been even though it takes me a full fifteen minutes to explain to people what it is exactly that I'm studying (and I still get those 'are you shitting me?' looks). Granted, it hurts when my parents say that I've given up on my life, that all the effort and money they put into my education has been a waste. However, I've always managed to let it slide. After all, I know that what I'm studying isn't an easier path. It's just a different one. Humanities, philosophy, literature---it's not a joke. They aren't easy courses. Hell, two of my classes last semester were 4000 level courses and they were tough shit.
Doctors and engineers have their power in immediacy or in the tangibility of the variables they can empirically measure. But words start revolutions.
P.S. So, it's kind of weird that I have three full length evening gowns in my closet. Does it help that I got them on sale? Well, one of them was on sale, at least.
Monday, June 7
I have a bronze anklet. One I keep hidden at the bottom of my jewelry box. It's simple: made with little glass beads and tiny bells. It is pretty. It was a present from the boy who proposed to me two years ago. I remember the night he gave it to me.
We were staying at Gorashal in my uncle's guest house and had just gotten back from a boring dinner party. I was in a bitch of a mood. It was the eighth consecutive event we *had* to attend, for my father's sake, for my grandmother's sake, for the sake of the whole motherfucking Chowdhury clan. I was bored shitless. The entire evening was spent away from my cousins, away from him, mingling with strangers I didn't care about; all the while attempting to move elegantly in a sari. Not cool.
That summer, we spent many nights on the rooftop of my Uncle's bungalow playing poker, smoking, swearing, daring each other to do stupid things--- all the things we couldn't when the adults were in sight even though all of us were of age. It was dangerous. It was fun.
So that night, we were congregated on the roof, talking until it was past 4 am when most of us decided to call it quits. Not us. He and I were deep in conversation over politics, over books, over life, over love. We didn't even notice that we were the only ones still there. By now, our limbs had somehow managed to tangle together and the moonlight had a strange affect of highlighting the depth of his features. His broad shoulders and strong chin seemed even more prevalent with the dancing shadows around us. I rested my head on his shoulders, content.
That's when he took a parcel out of his pocket. It was one of those tiny brown bags you'd get from shopping at the village market.
'You look like you could use a present.' He smiled, shaking a string of beads and bells from the packet. He wrapped it around my ankle, handling the clasp and letting his fingers linger far longer than was necessary. A present, he said, so I'd think of him when I was back home, surrounded by the American boys and their big guns and games. I should have been swayed by his charm. I should have swooned. I didn't. I thanked him politely and kissed his cheek goodnight.
In a month, he'll be married to his betrothed and my eldest brother will be the 'best man' at his wedding. I don't really feel anything about any of this. It was summer. Everyone knows summer flings never last. Besides, a man like him---a man who was destined to head his father's corporations, destined to run in the same circles we both said we hated that summer---needs a trophy wife who he can frolic about with at those stupid dinner parties I detest so much. Keeping up appearances has never been my forte...
Sunday, June 6
I'm here again. At 3 am. Listening to the steady breathing of the inhabitants of sugargrove.
I should be exhausted. I should have collapsed hours ago. Instead, I'm writing. Yawing. Writing. Craving sleep. Not sleeping.
So fucking weird...
It's like I'm waiting for something to happen. Like I'm waiting for someone to burst through my door and tell me to stop bullshitting. Who are you trying to fool, kid?
So I just let the smoke linger in my dying asthmatic lungs. It feels so good. Waiting.
I can't really do it anymore. Any of it. It takes too much energy to be your daughter, your sister, your friend. Participating takes so much fucking energy. Keeping up appearances. Exhausting.
I need a break. I need a break from everyone. Everyone expecting something from me, expecting me to act a certain way, react a certain way. Gnawing at my fleshy bits. Get the most out of me, ey? Fucking bastards.
You don't know me.
I don't want you to know me.
Saturday, June 5
I’m practicing gratitude. It’s kind of funny that I have to remind myself of this every ten minutes or so. Constant affirmations of the divinity within the self is common play in the sting of conversations I have. The dialogue in my head runs in an unoriginal loop these days---skipping beats entirely. I bounce between self-hatred, disgust, love, faith. I’m trying to find God everywhere.
Instead, I find you. You, with your big eyes and smooth hands--- with the palms of a boy who has never worked a day in his life. And I imagine the tired, cracked hands of my grandfather, of my father. Would you ever measure up a man to them? Whose expectations could you fulfill? Whose expectations could I?
Certainly, my limbs aren’t dainty, aren’t feminine in the least. Too use to moving swiftly through bustling crowds of hungry patrons, searching for something to give. But I’m too rough to exhibit a genteel spirit. You see right through me. Right past me.
I could be pretty if not for my continence. You could be handsome, if not for your timidity. I am a brute. You are meek.
It makes me sick, but I’m practicing gratitude, remember?