Monday, July 28, 2008
Friday, July 25, 2008
a good conversation
I fell asleep on the couch in the office yesterday. Shhh...don't tell the boss. And when I woke up I went back and read old blog posts that were so happy I barely recognized them - until I went back and read the conversations they referred to...
I've always been the kind of person who remembers things. Not necessarily to hold grudges (I don't like the concept of them; they are so cruel and pointless) but only because moments that you remember define a lot more about you than you might realize.
I realized yesterday that it was a good conversation. I also realized that someone I thought a great deal of wasn't exactly all that great. Or kind, or considerate. On the contrary, and here's a list - hypocrite, immature, evasive, selfish, inconsiderate, cruel, coward.
It makes one feel a fool to always think so highly of people only to be let down. Oh, I realize that people aren't perfect, I do. I'm as imperfect as they come. It's just that one likes to believe that people want to change, or want to believe, or want to be better, always.
There was this boy who held a piece of my heart for the better part of two years. I can't call him a boy, I suppose, but as much as I'm willing to talk about him to friends, the blog feels off-limits, somehow. So this boy, he suddenly figured out that what I felt was something larger than platonic, and then he pulled the dirtiest card of all - "I know better than you, because I'm older and wiser and it makes more sense that way."
Dear me, and we all know how that turned out: I really have not the self-confidence required to combat claims of that kind. And now, after months of abject misery and the bathroom scene of episode 105 of Gilmore Girls, I'm finally ready to be the adult in the situation and let things go.
Oddly enough, I don't think it will be as hard as it sounds. This makes me sad.
I've always been the kind of person who remembers things. Not necessarily to hold grudges (I don't like the concept of them; they are so cruel and pointless) but only because moments that you remember define a lot more about you than you might realize.
I realized yesterday that it was a good conversation. I also realized that someone I thought a great deal of wasn't exactly all that great. Or kind, or considerate. On the contrary, and here's a list - hypocrite, immature, evasive, selfish, inconsiderate, cruel, coward.
It makes one feel a fool to always think so highly of people only to be let down. Oh, I realize that people aren't perfect, I do. I'm as imperfect as they come. It's just that one likes to believe that people want to change, or want to believe, or want to be better, always.
There was this boy who held a piece of my heart for the better part of two years. I can't call him a boy, I suppose, but as much as I'm willing to talk about him to friends, the blog feels off-limits, somehow. So this boy, he suddenly figured out that what I felt was something larger than platonic, and then he pulled the dirtiest card of all - "I know better than you, because I'm older and wiser and it makes more sense that way."
Dear me, and we all know how that turned out: I really have not the self-confidence required to combat claims of that kind. And now, after months of abject misery and the bathroom scene of episode 105 of Gilmore Girls, I'm finally ready to be the adult in the situation and let things go.
Oddly enough, I don't think it will be as hard as it sounds. This makes me sad.
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
because it turned out oh-so-prettily
You have stolen my heart
Love like suicide
Like the sunshine
Let's make it out, baby
I could possibly be fading
and I keep thinking tomorrow is coming today
I want you to come along for the ride
crawl like ivy up my spine
Tell me that you'll open your eyes
I walk in the air between the rain through myself and back again
trading stories with the leaves
I still find pieces of your presence here
and oh lord, I’m not ready for this sort of thing
One more notch I scratch, to keep me thinking of you
the crumbling difference between wrong and right
So high, the sky I scrape
I'm still here but you don't trust at all
Can't you see my walls are crumbling?
These feelings won't go away
Words will go from poetry to prose
What is love, but whatever my heart needs around?
And it's all right where it belongs
Suppose I said you're my saving grace?
Yes, be what you'll be
You're the other side of the world to me
Without you here there is less to say
because if you don't want to talk about it then it isn't love
and it's not a love it's not a love it's not a love song.
That's not the only lie I told you - and you'll never notice
So I am endlessly waiting
I'm blind and waiting for you
I only make jokes to distract myself
From the truth, from the truth
There you are standing right in front of me
Yes and No are the answers written in my true love's eyes
and every word is nonsense but i understand and
I can tell you're in denial; get over it.
Too many.
Love like suicide
Like the sunshine
Let's make it out, baby
I could possibly be fading
and I keep thinking tomorrow is coming today
I want you to come along for the ride
crawl like ivy up my spine
Tell me that you'll open your eyes
I walk in the air between the rain through myself and back again
trading stories with the leaves
I still find pieces of your presence here
and oh lord, I’m not ready for this sort of thing
One more notch I scratch, to keep me thinking of you
the crumbling difference between wrong and right
So high, the sky I scrape
I'm still here but you don't trust at all
Can't you see my walls are crumbling?
These feelings won't go away
Words will go from poetry to prose
What is love, but whatever my heart needs around?
And it's all right where it belongs
Suppose I said you're my saving grace?
Yes, be what you'll be
You're the other side of the world to me
Without you here there is less to say
because if you don't want to talk about it then it isn't love
and it's not a love it's not a love it's not a love song.
That's not the only lie I told you - and you'll never notice
So I am endlessly waiting
I'm blind and waiting for you
I only make jokes to distract myself
From the truth, from the truth
There you are standing right in front of me
Yes and No are the answers written in my true love's eyes
and every word is nonsense but i understand and
I can tell you're in denial; get over it.
Too many.
Sunday, July 6, 2008
winnowing worms: an unsavoury interlude
Probably not as disturbing as that old chestnut *click at your own risk!!!*, but please consider yourself warned.
The T spent a sizable portion of her Saturday evening picking these fellows out of the night's quota (and a little extra for fun) of rice.
There are 36 worms in there. My mother and sister were highly disgusted and squealed things along the lines of "Take it away take it away take it away" (sister) and "No I cannot enjoy the wonder of the worms" (mother). My father said nothing but, "They're quite big, eh?"
I was rather pleased with the whole exercise because:
The worms begin as hefty little fellows - a clear millimeter across at least - wriggling their way all over the container and performing feats of acrobatics that can entertain for hours.
Within ten minutes or thereabouts, however, they have lost their rotundity somewhat, and their energy a great deal more.
By the time the twentieth worm is found, therefore, the first few have reduced in size to minuscule versions of their former selves. Some of this size were actually found by me while winnowing. I am very proud of this fact, because they are tiny.
Each worm has some black spots near the front, and some legs. Perhaps they are not worms, at that. They have - wossname - striations? all along their length and look rather like light-coloured very small earthworms only with eyes. And they move like worms in cartoons, and are rather fun to watch until they reach the lip of the cup and try to get away.
I have very much work to do and my sister's off to college on monday, but I still *had* to make the time to create this. Enjoy!
The end.
The T spent a sizable portion of her Saturday evening picking these fellows out of the night's quota (and a little extra for fun) of rice.
There are 36 worms in there. My mother and sister were highly disgusted and squealed things along the lines of "Take it away take it away take it away" (sister) and "No I cannot enjoy the wonder of the worms" (mother). My father said nothing but, "They're quite big, eh?"
I was rather pleased with the whole exercise because:
- They are worms that are NO LONGER IN THE RICE and it is ALL BECAUSE OF ME.
- This episode reinforces my confidence in my ability to detect motion of the littlest magnitude when wonderful things are to be seen. (other reinforcing episodes all involved birds, e.g. the bird I spotted just entering its hole in the trunk of a tree when we were on a bird-watching walk in Whitefield. The chief ornithologist said, "Well spotted!", yay! Everyone seems to think birds are much cooler, but a bird is not 36 worms.)
The worms begin as hefty little fellows - a clear millimeter across at least - wriggling their way all over the container and performing feats of acrobatics that can entertain for hours.
Within ten minutes or thereabouts, however, they have lost their rotundity somewhat, and their energy a great deal more.
By the time the twentieth worm is found, therefore, the first few have reduced in size to minuscule versions of their former selves. Some of this size were actually found by me while winnowing. I am very proud of this fact, because they are tiny.
Each worm has some black spots near the front, and some legs. Perhaps they are not worms, at that. They have - wossname - striations? all along their length and look rather like light-coloured very small earthworms only with eyes. And they move like worms in cartoons, and are rather fun to watch until they reach the lip of the cup and try to get away.
I have very much work to do and my sister's off to college on monday, but I still *had* to make the time to create this. Enjoy!
*WARNING. MOTION OF WORMS FOLLOWS*
P.S. Kindly do not hate me because I do not agree with you on all the things you find disgusting.The end.
Saturday, July 5, 2008
not a love song
Oh, I do like my job. :)
It's hard and confusing and tiring and sometimes means I have to put off or cancel non-work-related-happy-events, but once in a while I wake up and realize that most people would pay to get this sort of exposure.
I've actually reached that stage in my professional life when I can't really stop talking about work once I get properly started. It's exciting, you see. It's been nearly four months, and I've already worked on close to ten separate projects, each of them almost completely different from the other.
But first! Perhaps a little background.
The T[1] works for a firm that specializes in Landscape, Conservation and Research. (In fact, the boss has a Bachelors degree in Physical Planning, a Masters degree in Landscape Architecture and an M.A in Conservation Studies.) We are thus qualified to undertake a very wide range of projects,which we do.
At present, for example, we are
Besides this, the other partner at the firm specializes in interior design, and I've been working on her projects, too. The only thing getting to me was the fact that this was an office consisting of two bosses and a single worker bee, but I think the T needs some laziness kicked out of her before it's too late.
Our office is on the ground floor, and adjoining it is a little garden where I have my lunch. We have various visitors, including but not limited to the following:
A bird that you can see if you squint really hard and tilt your head a little and stare just exactly at the centre of the photograph.
Life is kind. :) Kind of.
One must add the disclaimer on account of things that are (still! still!) making the T mope around for all of her free time, but SHE CAN'T COMPLAIN.
Well, she had better not, at any rate.
1. Apparently I can't begin to recite facts except in third person. Whatever.
I've actually reached that stage in my professional life when I can't really stop talking about work once I get properly started. It's exciting, you see. It's been nearly four months, and I've already worked on close to ten separate projects, each of them almost completely different from the other.
But first! Perhaps a little background.
The T[1] works for a firm that specializes in Landscape, Conservation and Research. (In fact, the boss has a Bachelors degree in Physical Planning, a Masters degree in Landscape Architecture and an M.A in Conservation Studies.) We are thus qualified to undertake a very wide range of projects,which we do.
At present, for example, we are
- the landscape architects for one nos. apartment building, one nos. residential layout, one nos. commercial warehouse and one nos. school campus in the city
- the landscape designers for the restoration project at the Mughal gardens at Pinjore
- the empaneled landscape consultants for the State Bank of India
- the Indian landscape consultants for the Delhi Airport project
- responsible for the publication of the World Heritage Site Management Manual for UNESCO
- responsible for the publication of Bangalore Lalbagh heritage maps
Besides this, the other partner at the firm specializes in interior design, and I've been working on her projects, too. The only thing getting to me was the fact that this was an office consisting of two bosses and a single worker bee, but I think the T needs some laziness kicked out of her before it's too late.
Our office is on the ground floor, and adjoining it is a little garden where I have my lunch. We have various visitors, including but not limited to the following:
A bird that you can see if you squint really hard and tilt your head a little and stare just exactly at the centre of the photograph.
A year-and-a-half-old visitor who wanders in and out at will and says "mamma" and "hi" a lot. A dedicated post on this visitor is in the pipeline. Perhaps with photos, if permission is so obtained.
Life is kind. :) Kind of.
One must add the disclaimer on account of things that are (still! still!) making the T mope around for all of her free time, but SHE CAN'T COMPLAIN.
Well, she had better not, at any rate.
1. Apparently I can't begin to recite facts except in third person. Whatever.
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
philanthropic
It is raining in my city. I love this time of year; it makes my heart feel as though it were ten times its normal size.
This morning was an extension of last night, which is a pretty way of saying I didn't sleep because I stayed up all night watching season 3 of Gilmore Girls.1
I have noticed that the most dangerous ideas show up around four in the morning following a sleepless night. The latest in this series is a letter. (Oh, I know. All my worst ideas are letters. Or emails. It's a given.) It was to have been (oh horrors!) a FutureMe letter, only addressed to someone who was emphatically not FutureMe. Luckily, I was far too tired this morning, and far too busy the rest of the day, to actually carry it through. Thank the heavens for saving me from a fate worse than death, e.g. ignominy! But enough about my miseries, let's talk about me.
This year has been such a busy year. I passed my thesis with dignity, had inappropriate thoughts about the L-word, went on my first two dates with two different people, got a job (that pays me next to nothing but which I am grudgingly beginning to appreciate for the opportunities it offers), conducted site visits with aplomb, took notes at international conferences, made serious plans about future studies, conducted quizzes, went trekking, photo-walking and caferati-ing, met multitudes of new people, bought my sister her first phone, rejected multiple potential suitors that my mother picked out on tamilmatrimony.com, and-
gave my first public performance.
Indeed, boys and girls. T was in Gandhigram over the weekend with the sister and a couple of far relations-by-marriage putting up a grand show of dance and music for a hall full of children from the ages of five to sixteen. The sister's music didn't work, and we had to wait for the kind audio-people to fetch us a DVD player so she could dance her dances. The T sang four songs well enough to be pleased with herself, and then nearly cried when all the little girls mobbed her afterward.
*sigh*
It was a beautiful weekend. I don't know that I have the words to describe it yet. Perhaps in a little while.
1. Yes, I am a fan.
This morning was an extension of last night, which is a pretty way of saying I didn't sleep because I stayed up all night watching season 3 of Gilmore Girls.1
I have noticed that the most dangerous ideas show up around four in the morning following a sleepless night. The latest in this series is a letter. (Oh, I know. All my worst ideas are letters. Or emails. It's a given.) It was to have been (oh horrors!) a FutureMe letter, only addressed to someone who was emphatically not FutureMe. Luckily, I was far too tired this morning, and far too busy the rest of the day, to actually carry it through. Thank the heavens for saving me from a fate worse than death, e.g. ignominy! But enough about my miseries, let's talk about me.
This year has been such a busy year. I passed my thesis with dignity, had inappropriate thoughts about the L-word, went on my first two dates with two different people, got a job (that pays me next to nothing but which I am grudgingly beginning to appreciate for the opportunities it offers), conducted site visits with aplomb, took notes at international conferences, made serious plans about future studies, conducted quizzes, went trekking, photo-walking and caferati-ing, met multitudes of new people, bought my sister her first phone, rejected multiple potential suitors that my mother picked out on tamilmatrimony.com, and-
gave my first public performance.
Indeed, boys and girls. T was in Gandhigram over the weekend with the sister and a couple of far relations-by-marriage putting up a grand show of dance and music for a hall full of children from the ages of five to sixteen. The sister's music didn't work, and we had to wait for the kind audio-people to fetch us a DVD player so she could dance her dances. The T sang four songs well enough to be pleased with herself, and then nearly cried when all the little girls mobbed her afterward.
*sigh*
It was a beautiful weekend. I don't know that I have the words to describe it yet. Perhaps in a little while.
1. Yes, I am a fan.