Square Peg, Round Hole

Ever see a pair of shoes you just had to have? The kind that you instantly fall in love with, and start imagining the possibilities, the outfits, the heads turning? I found one such pair, but the story ends in much despair.

Having size 7½ wide feet may not sound like such a terrible thing, but no matter what anyone says, finding shoes that fit is no easy task. Never did I realize this more than two weeks ago when I went scouring for the perfect pair to go with my perfect dress for a party that evening. The shoes were either too tight, too big, too expensive, too high, too dark, or too something. After 30 blocks, 5 stores, and 3 hours later, I finally came across a pair that I liked. One small problem though – the shoes were just a tad bit too big. Surprise surprise. But as time and my patience were running out, I snagged a pair of in-soles to go with the shoes and called it a day.

As I’ve been trying to sift through the debris left from my broken heart, I suddenly realized why this one hurts so much. I kept insisting to buy a pair of shoes he wasn’t even selling. But we tried each other on anyway, and we just didn’t fit. I figured I’d be able to squeeze my way into his heart the way I did into my pair or Bandalino’s.

Maybe there’s something to be learned from the story of Cinderella – a guy who wore his heart on his sleeves, fell in love with a girl with a missing shoe off her feet. There will come a day when someone will sweep you off your feet. Shoes optional.

Death of a Salesman

We're born with two ears and one mouth so we can listen more and talk less. Apparently I didn't get that memo because I rarely listen. I should've listened to my instinct when it told me not to stray down heartbreak boulevard. I should've listened when my friends told me to snap out of it. I should've listened before his "I don't know" turned into "I like you." Because my ears didn't do their job, now my eyes have to pay the price. Our bodies are wired in such a way that when you get hurt in one place, it actually aches in another.

Our bodies aren't built to keep secrets; whatever is going on inside is bound to slip out one way or another. You bruise black and blue when you bang your knee. You bleed when you cut yourself. You puke when you punish your liver. You cum when you're satisfied. And when your heart breaks, your tears play that coveted role of messenger. Message received.

After a full year of heartbreak sobriety, I guess the streak is broken once again. In the midst of her sage advice, my Mom actually said something interesting: "your life truly begins when you think it's over." I guess I can buy into that. I fought for so long that I finally just wanted to give up completely... quit being hurt and quit living. Once you accept your loss, you suddenly begin to lose a lot more... your sleep, your appetite, your sanity, your desire to do... anything.

I cried myself to sleep, only to wake up to more of the same. Last night was long and cold, but not lonely. I was stuck in bed with my own thoughts that kept replaying what was said and done over the past month. Each vivid thought is like picking up a piece of my shattered beliefs and dreams, with its jagged edges cutting me into two pieces: what if and what is. As much as I want to be removed from these thoughts, I can't help but drown in them, because therein lies my anger, my sorrow, and my regrets.

I check the time every so often, hoping it would magically fly by and I would be far far away from this moment and this agony. But time -- much like my tears -- no matter how much I try to hold them back, is something you can't control. And I wonder, even when time does pass, will things be that much better? When I broke up with my ex two years ago, I told myself things will get better in time. Well, they did... my wounds healed, my memories of him vanished, I resurfaced and was free to fall in love again. And boy, fall I did. But now I'm back at it -- fighting with time because it has dragged me back to that dungeon again.

Times like these, my mom always reminds me of two types of people: those who have it worse than you, and those who wish to make it worse for you. Like my Aunt, that my Mom just spent the past three months with, is facing far greater hardship than I can ever fathom. Her resolve and beliefs are being tested every minute of every day as she tries to care for her ailing husband. "That's true sadness and that's worth crying for," my Mom reemphasized. "What you're going through is unfortunate but inevitable, because you're destined to be with someone else." I guess some day I will find someone who'll make me realize why it never worked with anyone else. But I'm not holding my breath, because sooner or later, my nose will give out and I'll burst my mouth open for a breath of fresh air.

Heartbreak Heroes

As I was disputing with the insurance company this morning about my Dad’s damaged cell phone, an interesting thought occurred to me… we can purchase insurance on just about everything under the sun – everything from your life, your house, your pets, your jewelry, your plane ticket… well, you get the point. But the one thing that so many of us are vulnerable to is the one thing we can’t protect ourselves against: heartbreaks.

So then how does one insure their fragile heart? Call me a hopeless romantic, or a glutton for punishment, but I love falling in love – even though my uninsured broken heart may tell you otherwise. I don’t just fall – I dive right in, without worrying how deep the water is. But once I’m submerged in water, it’s not a matter of who will save me, but rather how I can stay afloat. You see, the true heroes aren’t the insurance companies or the lifeguards on duty – it’s those who dared to jump in… head first. And that’s me – it’s how I do, because quite frankly, that’s the only way I feel alive.

Torn

It's been a while since I've sat down in this thought chamber - not because I haven't been compelled to write, but mainly because words escaped me - even though I could feel them trapped inside my head, bouncing around from one corner to the next.

A lot has changed in my life in the past couple of months. While new relationships have been formed, some old ones have been strained. A close family member has been diagnosed with cancer - an illness, that only seemed to plague the Armstrongs of the world and acquaintances, suddenly hit home. I've started grad school (and anxiously counting down to 2011). I've put on an apron and attempted to add "domestic goddess" to my short-list of accomplishments. I've developed a love-hate relationship with my blackberry. I've taken sudden interest in politics - thanks to our interesting line up of D.C. bound candidates. I've visited a third world country and experienced it like never before - with sweat, tears, and hugs - lots of them.

I guess what I'm saying is I've done some growing up lately, and frankly, I'm not sure if I'm ready for it. But with it, there's been a growing sense of melancholy inside of me, and I don't know what to attribute it to. I put on a coat of lipstick and a smile everyday to mask this feeling gnawing away at my heart. Am I discouraged? Disappointed? Depressed? Defeated? Maybe. Yes. No. I don't know.

As a friend recently aptly put it: "I want a life unlike my own." I want that too, but for some reason, I'm overridden with guilt as I think that. Why am I complaining? I have a roof over my head - something that the former residents of Galveston, Texas would appreciate. I have two loving parents that any of the orphans from Copprome would cherish. I have years left in my body, before any threatening cells attack it.

Some may even think that "I have it all," though at times, I feel like it's nothing at all. So why do I have this sinking feeling? I know I'm torn... just unsure between what.

Faith & Funds

www.faithandfunds.com

He’s a proud son, a baby brother, a loving husband, a doting father, a caring uncle, and most recently… a cancer patient. My uncle, Pankaj Modi, was recently diagnosed with Acute Myeloid Leukemia (AML), a cancer of the myeloid line of white blood cells, characterized by the rapid proliferation of abnormal cells which accumulate in the bone marrow and interfere with the production of normal blood cells. The symptoms of AML are caused by replacement of normal bone marrow with leukemic cells, resulting in a drop in red blood cells, platelets, and normal white blood cells. These symptoms include fatigue, shortness of breath, easy bruising and bleeding, and increased risk of infection. Although several risk factors for AML have been identified, the specific cause of AML remains unclear. As an acute leukemia, AML progresses rapidly and is typically fatal within weeks or months if left untreated.

Acute myeloid leukemia is a potentially curable disease; but only a minority of patients are cured with current therapy. Treatment of AML consists primarily of chemotherapy, and is divided into two phases: induction and postremission (or consolidation) therapy. The goal of induction therapy is to achieve a complete remission by reducing the amount of leukemic cells to an undetectable level; the goal of consolidation therapy is to eliminate any residual undetectable disease and achieve a cure. Although he’s currently taking oral chemotherapy and ayurvedic medicine, we’re still exploring alternative solutions, including hematopoietic stem cell transplant. Despite aggressive therapy, however, only 20%–30% of patients enjoy long-term disease-free survival.

Typically people who develop AML are around the age of 60, but my Uncle is just shy of 40. This isn’t a race with time, but rather, a test of our faith, the power of humanity, and the strength of body and mind. So today, I ask you not as a daughter, a sister, a niece, or even a friend… but simply as a believer that people can unite for a common cause: to give my Uncle another chance at life so he can continue on to becoming a survivor.

"Little Wonders"

By: Rob Thomas

let it go, let it roll right off your shoulder
don't you know the hardest part is over
let it in, let your clarity define you in the end
we will only just remember how it feels
our lives are made in these small hours
these little wonders,
these twists & turns of fate
time falls away,
but these small hours, these small hours still remain
let it slide, let your troubles fall behind you
let it shine until you feel it all around you
and i don't mind if it's me you need to turn to
we'll get by,
it's the heart that really matters in the end
our lives are made in these small hours
these little wonders,
these twists & turns of fate
time falls away,
but these small hours, these small hours still remain
all of my regret will wash away some how
but i can not forget the way i feel right now
in these small hours
these little wonders
these twists & turns of fate
these twists & turns of fate
time falls away but these small hours these small hours,
still remain,
still remain
these little wonders
these twists & turns of fate
time falls away
but these small hours
these little wonders still remain

Unearthed*

I generally don't post stuff on my blog written by others, irrespective how good or relevant it is. But there's a first time for everything so I'm making an exception. The following is an email I received from an acquaintance. And I stress the word acquaintance rather than friend, because this person knows nothing about me yet understands me better than my own friends perhaps. This email captures that essence that I've been struggling to find...


Maybe I do have you confused with someone else? The girl I am refering to is mentally tough, insightful, adamant, & always sure of herself. The only time she crumbles is when her love life fails to add up like it should. The problem is within the numbers. Out of 98% of the guys she meets, they just fail to impress. The other 2% that come close to what she is looking for bring a certain hope and possibility. This hope/possibility mixed with a certain void or loneliness can lead to a bad combination of judgement. The question is at what point was the person following their heart, and at what point was it a certain void and loneliness that dictated their emotions?

Sometimes a person finds themselves heartbroken not because of the person who broke it, but rather the fact that they are forced to let go of that one thing they were holding on to. Once their hopes are crushed, with no one to hold on to, and no one in the horizon to look forward to.... the big empty void feels bigger then ever. This is the reason why they feel heartbroken, lost, & 100 other emotions. They are disappointed at themselves, they feel let down again, and that bleak outlook fogs up optimism. That big void consumes so much energy, that they question if they will ever find what they are looking for. They question their own strength & insight, and they have to channel through their emotions until they find a way to recharge their emotional batteries. They want that peace of mind, but their head is a mess.

*for those of you who know what my name means

The Truth About Truth

Hurt... crushed rather. Disappointed and disgusted. Furious yet composed. These are my feelings, raw and unedited. I didn't seem to mind much when you didn't give me the time, the attention, or even a sign. I didn't seem to care that it was a one way street, because I liked you... "you." But I hardly even knew you; and now that I do, I know the truth. I didn't wanna hear it, but I had to. I didn't wanna believe it, but I do. I didn't want it to end this way, but it has to. The truth of the matter is, I wish it were all a lie, but it isn't. I wish you could tell me, it isn't so... it isn't so... but it is. Maybe this is another one of life's ironies: first I lost my heart, and now I lost all respect for you.

Keep It Movin'

People lie, pictures lie, but a scale does not lie. No no. When my Mom started calling me fat, I scoffed at her thinking she’s delusional. When my friends commented on my protruding assets, I took a sigh of relief thinking I finally hit puberty. I guess sooner or later, I was going to have to retire my “skinny bitch” t-shirt because all those years of burritos and mozzarella sticks were bound to catch up to me.

So I decided to do the unthinkable… the impossible… the invincible: diet. The mere word is almost as scary as the thought of me stepping foot inside a gym. But I knew that eventually one of us was going to have to go: either my love for cheese or my figure. Being the typical self-conscious woman I am, I chose the former, of course.

Diet day 1: All the temptation demons are after me like a dog chasing a ball – they just keep coming back. I decided to severe ties with my old friends, Dunkin and Wendy, because they served more harm than good. My body retaliated as every muscle in my stomach started growling louder by the minute. All the billboards for McDonald’s seem to have suddenly triple in size and are flashing in neon lights. (And I don’t even like hamburgers!) Forget mind over matter – this was becoming personal – it was mind over platter. I hungered for food like recovering alcoholics thirst for liquor – I didn’t need it, but I wanted it, because I knew I was depriving myself of it.

The more I tried not to think about stuffing my face with 500 calories of greasy carbs, the less I succeeded. All my life, I was blessed with a fast metabolism and a petite figure. But gone are the days when stepping on a scale were a breeze, and size 0 clothes adorned my closet. I refuse though – I refuse to live a life full of self-deprivation and nutritional dieting. I want to have my cake and eat it too dammit!

I finally decided it was time for an intervention. So Avani-the-dating-extraordinaire stepped in and said to Avani-the-blossoming-cow: “You’ve given up stuff plenty of times before. This should be piece of cake (no pun intended). Remember the time I gave up on the guy formerly known as P-Dub? Or what about my childhood crush that I pined over for 4 years? Or the time I stopped pretending to care about cars because that guy was an auto junkie?” And so on and so forth the spiel went.

The more I thought about it, I realized that dieting was a lot like getting over a guy. Ultimately, they both require me to fight every instinct I have to act on impulse. What I really want is a large order of fries, but I stuff an apple down. Sure, I’d like to pick up the phone and call him, but I pick up a book instead. It becomes a torturous process of unsatisfactory substitutions. It really just comes down to moving on – from the “what used to be” to “what needs to be.”

Moving on is something else I’m not terribly apt at; I’ve only moved twice in my life: once from the motherland to America and then once within Jersey. Moving furniture or changing addresses isn’t really the hard part. Moving from somewhere is easy – it’s the moving on from someone that’s difficult. I can neatly store all of my belongings inside a big box, load the truck, dispense the keys and be gone. But how do I do that when someone lives inside of me – inside that little beating organ that seems to pump out more memories than blood? How do I change the locks when someone else holds the key to my heart?

I repeat it like a mantra, “I can do it, I can do it…” Interestingly enough, it’s the same pep talk I give to myself right before I swallow a pill (it’s a phobia that took me years to overcome, and one that I still try to avoid at all possible cost). If there was a magic pill I could take that would cure me of all symptoms related to being sprung, then by all means, bringeth to thy. When you start liking someone, it just sort of happens. Yet when it’s time to undo the liking (not to be confused with “disliking”), it takes every ounce of effort to control your thoughts and actions from leading to that one inevitable destination: your crush.

If practice makes perfect, then all recurring acts should eventually be carried out with supple buoyancy and efficiency. Optimal word being: should. Such is not the case unfortunately, my friend. Granted, you learn from your mistakes, so previous failed attempts and its consequences can be avoided the next time around. Yes, in a perfect world, practice makes perfect. But alas, our imperfections stand in the way like a speed bump – only further slowing us down when we’re trying to speed things up. But if it weren’t for my imperfections, I wouldn’t be the pudgy 113 pound girl head over heels a guy who barely thinks of me. And sometimes, honesty isn’t such a bad thing either.

Is it worth it?

I tried -- I really did. I tried to write about things that were unnatural to me, and I got a writer's block the size of Manhattan -- as if all of my words went on a strike, demanding me to return to normal working conditions. So here I am -- a month later -- back at last.

First and foremost, those inquiring minds can rest at ease -- I am no longer enlisting my services to a third world country for a two year stretch -- at least not in the immediate future. The Peace Corps requires the kind of commitment I can't afford. As much as being part of a greater good is rewarding, I've decided to shelf that idea for now.

Going through the application made me realize the things I value dearly in life: functioning and sanitized toilets, for starters; the internet, a war-free zone country, and my family to name a few others. The application process really makes you question your true reasoning and intentions for joining the Peace Corps. I thought about it for a while -- dug deep down in the depths of my stomach (because you have to crave it – hunger for it), hoping for some holy awakening that would give me a sign that the Peace Corps was for me, just as much as I was for it. I eventually realized that I was trying to convince myself more than the Peace Corps committee of why I should be qualified.

Turns out that I'm, in fact, not qualified because I lack the ability to sacrifice. I'm not willing to give up witnessing my niece and nephew's childhoods. I'm not willing to trade my familiar complicated life here for a foreign complicated life there. Nor am I willing to put this life on pause, only to find it fast forwarded to '2 years later' when I return.

We make small sacrifices on a daily basis, often times inconspicuously. Then there are those occasional days when I fast for some preordained religious custom. I'll have to forego many mouth watering urges and trips to the vending machine -- all in hopes of not receiving bad karma from Mr. Almighty himself (or at least that’s what I tell myself). As cynical as I am of these fasting practices, I do give credence to them. Fasting teaches you to give up something without getting something in return. In this materialistic world, we've grown accustomed to extending our one hand to give, as we reach with the other to receive. At times we sacrifice our pride for love, food for weight, vacation for work, liver for liquor, comfort for fashion, independence for marriage, life for our country, divorce for the sake of children, and even friendship for a night of passion.

Ironic isn’t it? Some of the most priceless things in life actually come with a hefty price tag. It makes us question whether what we desire is truly worth it. And I’m slowly beginning to find out that sometimes the things I like… aren’t necessarily the things I want.

Message in a Bottle

I’ve been having dreams about my grandfather lately – nightmares almost, rather. In them, I find him dead in the same disturbing manner every time, even though he died peacefully over three years ago. I wasn’t sure what to make of them – is it suppressed guilt emerging for not being able to resuscitate him, as I watched his life slip away in disbelief? Or is it a sign of things to come? With nowhere to turn for answers, I turned to the next best source: Google. Turns out that dreams about death, on the contrary, actually symbolize rebirth – the start of something new and fresh. According to most sites, dreams about death are common and often mean that some part of the self needs to be radically reworked – whether it’s one's attitudes, emotions, or relationships. Bingo.

Suddenly it all became clear; I had a startling epiphany a couple of days ago. On my way home from work, I was recounting to a friend the turn of events of the day, and at one point, I just broke down and cried. I cried – not because of what was said or done, but because I finally realized the person I had turned into. As if someone brought forth a mirror that I had feared gazing into for a long time. This isn’t me or who I wanted to become, I thought – then how the hell did I let it happen? Too many chick flicks, I presume, but that’s the easy answer. At some point during the last two years, I embarked on a voyage in search of finding the guy I was destined to be with. I wanted someone to love, and started holding on to any guy who gave me the faintest notion of “this could be it.” And with each pit stop on this long road, I’d wonder, “Are we there yet?” One thing I became really proficient with overtime, was the ability to deflect blame onto others and circumstances, rather than the one person who was at fault the most: me.

Posing as the victim allowed me to curse everything and everyone but myself. Long distance, age gap, no spark, incompatible, insensitive, insecure, arrogant, unattractive, boring, too nice, too short… the list of excuses is endless. After all, there’s a perfectly reasonable correlation between every cause and effect, but I never dared pointed the finger at myself. Anytime I ended things, I’d justify it by telling myself, I’m not breaking hearts… I’m just crushing egos. Yet, whenever a guy ended it, I’d be relentless in my pursuit of happiness that I intrinsically believed lied in his companionship. That was me Friday. Time of death: 6:12pm.

After reflecting in that X-ray mirror long and hard, I finally came to terms with the fact that I’m a victim of my own crimes. “Whoso diggeth a pit, shall fall therein” as the saying goes. Well, I’m finally throwing my shovel away. I’m tired of dating, going through the motions, hoping to be interested, and acting surprised when things don’t end in “happily ever after” - especially when I could anticipate the outcome all along. Maybe there is some truth to too much of a good thing, and that’s why I’ve decided to stop dating. Yes, indefinitely, and no, I'm not kidding. Sorry boys.

Somewhere in this search for “him,” I lost myself. And maybe moving thousands of miles away isn’t the answer, but it certainly asks the question: what will be my legacy? When Tim Russert died this week, people around the country mourned the loss, because we lost a brilliant man. When my grandfather passed away, hundreds of people were moved because of the lives he had touched. And it makes me wonder… what will become of me when I’m gone? What will I be remembered for? Beyond a eulogy, what words will be uttered in my memory?

Only time will tell but for now, I’ve decided to join the Peace Corps. Go ahead… I’ll give you a moment to scream out “what?!” Well, it’s quite a lengthy process so I’m not going anywhere immediately, but hopefully, I’ll be leaving soon enough. A seemingly dramatic and an impulsive thing to do – I know – but I need to remove myself from what I am, and be the person that I can become. Maybe I need to make a difference in order to become a different person. After all, the people living in third world countries are the true victims of humanity…of natural catastrophes, atrocities, and maladies. It’s time to stop playing the victim, and start helping them. It’s time to turn that recurring dream into a reality.

Game Over

When we’re young, it’s what we naturally do. Even as we get older, we figure out ways to play them by ourselves, thanks to the wonderful world of Nintendo, Xbox, and most recently, the Wii. Take a stroll through any casino, and you’ll see herds of senior citizens playing them till the wee hours. But once you mature from the playground, remove technology, and throw away the deck of cards, all you’re left with is a tally between the winners and the losers.

I was never good at playing games – be it sports, video, or gambling – I just never had a knack for those things. I liked to think I was good at all of the above, when in reality, I knew someone would call my bluff any minute. But beyond just a skillset, the one thing I lacked the most was the ability to follow the rules. Apparently I never was able to acquire that skill – as much as I wielded myself to try – my heart had a will of its own. And that’s precisely where I faltered. In games, you check your heart and emotions at the door, and enter with nothing but rationale and logic to help you maneuver your way to victory. You see, I try to tell myself to do that. I do… really, but in matters of the heart, “mind over matter” does not hold true.

In fact, when you truly like someone, nothing seems to matter. Like now – I like a guy who has defied me to break all the rules, whereas all he’s done is broken my heart. (So poetic and cheesy, yet so true). In fact, I broke the paramount rule of them all: I pursued him. I know it’s the 21st century; I know women can run a business and a home with equal finesse; hell – we even had a female presidential candidate! Women can do it all – except for one thing: chase a man.

It’s a simple concept that takes time to embrace: if he wants thee, he will come after you and chaseth. Frustrating, isn’t it? Women can push out a nine pound human being out of a nine inch opening – yet we’re not allowed to nudge a guy to pull him towards us? Some traditions are born of nature and last through time for a reason. Men ask women out. Men reach for the check. Men propose to women. It’s really that simple – no mixed signals – no playing games. So leave the scheming and plotting up to the players, because there’s no room for it when you’re in it to lose your heart to someone who’s out to win it.

Modern Day Fairy Tale

Like most children, before I lost my innocence to heartbreaks and the grim realities surrounding us, I too, used to believe in fairy tales. The land of make believe where prince charming triumphs over evil and whisks his princess into the sunset. Once upon a time, I used to believe my prince charming would appear out of the oblivion and save this damsel in distress. The clock has struck twelve, my honda has turned into the value of a pumpkin, but there’s still no sign of the thy prince.

As I was browsing through the children’s books section for my nephew the other day, I wondered, is it wrong to teach kids to be so delusional at such a young impressionable age? After all, we all know Santa Clause isn’t real – as is the tooth fairy, or the monster under the bed. But we read these bed time stories to them anyway. We tell them to leave their broken tooth under the pillow anyway. We do it, because we like to instill a sense of the invisible hand – that mysterious figure that magically transforms life’s problems into happy endings. We do it because it teaches us to believe in love, and its supernatural ability to conquer – well, just about everything.

As we grow through the years, and begin to shed our baby fat and innocence, we still carry the weight of the beliefs engrained in us. Deep down inside, we truly believe that love conquers all – whether that “all” entails betrayal, rejection, or pure evil. But does it? If your husband cheats on you, will your deep-rooted love for him prevail over the hurt, and allow you to forgive him? If the object of your affection breaks your heart, will you be able to woo him by showering him with love and attention? As with most things in life, such answers are never clear and always subjective.

Or do we just rely on the “love conquers all” idiom as a crutch so we can mask the bigger evil: denial. Denial of the non-existent Santa, or the denial of your husband’s affair, or the denial of being unwanted. Let’s face it… we all like to delay coming to terms with the cold hard truth, but sooner or later, we can no longer run from it. Two months ago, I became infatuated with a guy that I had known for several months. It’s as if the “tooth” fairy came in the middle of the night, took a piece of my heart and gave it to him, in exchange for – well, not sure what. Two months ago, his name meant nothing to me, and his presence had no effect on me because he was just some guy. Now I categorize him a tad bit differently; he’s the guy that makes me smile at the mere thought of him, the one that makes me cry, the one that I want to be with because no one else quite makes me feel the same damn way. Unfortunately, the feelings weren’t mutual so I tried to make myself believe that I can live with being “just friends” and that eventually he’ll come around. That was the child in me, ever so fervently naïve, who believed that my feelings would triumph and win him over.

So kids, the moral of this long winded story is this: running away from the truth doesn’t make it disappear, so put your big girl panties on and deal with it; love doesn't conquer all, so when someone doesn't reciprocate your feelings, accept it and move on; and finally, kiss slowly and passionately, but when you do kiss, do so without the hopes of him turning into a prince.

A Walk to Remember

I did something I had been meaning to do for quite a while now—I went hiking. Yes—the self-proclaimed lazy pig, allergic to the gym, who considers walking to the parking lot a form of exercise—went on a five mile hike through the Bear Mountains. To call the experience amazing or refreshing, or even exhausting, would be stating the obvious. More than anything, it was humbling, because it required me to utilize a basic motor skill that we’ve all acquired (and taken for granted) from an early age: walking.

My niece recently started walking and when I saw her standing on her two tiny feet, inching towards me, I thought, there she goes taking her first few steps. Soon enough, she’s going to walk into other people’s lives, their homes, their hearts, their world—the way she entered mine a little over a year ago. My Mom, on the other hand, has been walking around for a little over 50 years now, but has been experiencing some difficulties lately due to arthritis in her knees. Her recent trip to the doctor’s temporarily put her in some disability, as the acute pain made it unbearable for her to walk even the shortest distance.

The timing of the two disparate instances couldn’t have been more ironic. There’s my niece, barely getting acquainted with her newfound ability… her newfound “independence”… the new sensation of ground beneath her feet. And then there’s my Mom—trying to adjust to being put on bed-rest, and being dependent on others for support. At one end, is my niece who graduated from crawling on fours, and at the other, my Mom who began to use a walker. Indeed, the provincial irony of life.

“C’mon… left foot, right foot,” we teach toddlers as they learn to master the art of walking at that fragile age. As we grow up, we’re taught to take things in stride—as they come. Eventually, as we continue treading on the path carved out by destiny, we end up at interesting junctures. Like now, here I am—in between two generations, united by one common thread: my brother—the one who walked around the holy fire seven times and vowed to be there for his wife, every step of the way…

Call it a hike or a ceremony, but above all else, walking is the journey we take to get from point A to B – from a date to a wedding, from a diploma to a masters, from infancy to retirement. And whether you take that journey in sneakers, flip flops, stilettos, or barefoot, make it a walk that will leave footprints for generations to come.

Searching in Space

I have a confession to make – well, to those of you that don’t already know this. I subscribed as a member to shaadi.com about four months ago. Why? Well I figured, why not? Apparently meeting someone the old fashioned way is so passé – might as well see what these “807,112 and counting matches” have been raving about. So I part-grudgingly, part-jokingly, and part-optimistically clicked on “register.”

Within the first 48 hours of joining, my profile had been viewed over 200 times and I had received over 50 “interests” from suitors around the world. That was until I discovered this little function they call “filter.” I can select exactly who I’m interested in based on everything from their height to their location to their profession to even blood type (yes, because God forbid you marry someone with an incompatible blood type). It almost seemed too good to be true – I mean, here’s a site that’s willing to cater to my each and every whim. So, I went on a checkbox ticking spree and selected all the things I was looking for in my dulhe raja. Surely, this ought to bring me a step closer to finding The (elusive) One a lot quicker, I thought. Well, it’s been four months, 1 week, and 3 days (but who’s counting?) since I joined this site full of “10 million possibilities” – yet not a single one that has stopped me in my tracks.

Perhaps the people over at shaadi.com sensed my – and those other 10 million still single-and-looking members’ – skepticism over the true successful nature of this site. Perhaps that’s why they released Matrimony version 2.0 this week. I kid you not. I received a notification email informing me of the site’s enhanced interface applications and improved algorithms. Furthermore, this version is “aimed to empower me and make my search for a life partner, fast, intuitive and easy.” Right – why didn’t I think of that? All we need is a more robust search engine to becoming one step closer to finding our life partner. Eureka!

The site has increasingly become more of an annoyance than anything else. I get messages from guys asking me to demystify myself – mainly because I refused to write an autobiography under the “about me” section of the profile, whereas others have taken the liberty to boast about their many oh-so-great-and-unique qualities. If you really want me to respond, here’s a hint: don’t make “hey” the subject of your message, because that just screams READ ME, doesn’t it? Also, don’t message me if your user ID resembles anything similar to “dream_come_true” or “the_one_for_you.” Of course, sense of humor is key, but where and how you apply it, is even more crucial. Take notes boys.

Despite my cynicism towards this site (and all other related dating/matrimony services), I still remain a one in a 10 million member – partly for entertainment reasons (try reading some of the profiles out there if you want a good laugh), and partly because… well, I’m still searching for that one in a million…

"Good"bye

Goodbye -- it's the one word I absolutely hate. Such a small two syllable word that's packed with volumes of pain, solitude, and angst. Where's the good in "goodbye" anyway? It’s the one word I try to avoid, and the one word I uttered twice this weekend.

The first time around was with the aforementioned friend moving to Tokyo. It still feels surreal, as if it isn’t really happening at all. As if I didn’t just see all his suitcases packed up. As if I didn’t really go out to his farewell party. As if I didn’t just hug him for the last time… No, I don’t buy it. A part of me will continue to think that he’s still in NYC – just a hop, skip, and a jump away. And maybe it’ll never quite hit me until I actually turn around and realize I’m standing there by myself, in a room full of memories.

Saying “goodbye” robs people of creating new memories. Whether it’s death, career opportunities, or distance – at some point or another, we all become victims of this thief. And if you have my luck – more often than others. I’m unlucky in love. I get it Mr. Almighty – thanks for making it loud and clear. I fall for all the right guys who are totally wrong for me – which just forces me to bid adieu to them sooner or later.

I fell for someone really unexpected recently. All I knew is that I liked him – without ever really being able to pinpoint exactly what it is that I liked about him. Those are the best kinds of attractions though, I think, because it goes beyond just a single quality – it’s the kind of attraction that makes you smile unknowingly at the mere thought of them. How quickly that smile turned upside down though, with a single word: goodbye.

He said it – just like that, closing off all possibilities of any illusions I had. Let me make one thing clear: saying goodbye is not my forte – being in denial, however, is. He said it and I heard it, but I don’t want to deal with the inevitable: the pain, the anger, the solitude. If only ignorance of these pangs of emotions could bring bliss, how many years of therapy that would save people. But alas, here I am – fuckin dealing with it.

We both saw the red flags ahead but gave it a go regardless, in our quest to answer the “what ifs.” I took a chance and welcomed him into my world of hookah, bollywood, and so much more. The problem occurred when he got the answer to his “what if,” but I was still trying to figure it out. The bigger problem, however, was that he didn’t enjoy being a part of my world as much as I enjoyed having him there.

Maybe that’s the solution: stop inviting people into my life. If they never enter, they can’t leave. And if they never leave, then I never have to say another ill-fated goodbye ever again.

From Sole to Soul Mate

It’s been said that love and death both come unannounced, but unfortunately, only one of them is inevitable. While death is certain, love is not – and if there ever was a day that exemplified that statement, then today was it. A friend had a death in the family, while I said goodbye to yet another guy in my so-called love life. While they were both imminent, there was one clear distinction between the two losses: soul.

When someone dies, we’re taught to believe that their soul has left their body. So with the passing of a loved one, does that mean, you’ve also lost your soul mate? Soul mate. Two little words, one big concept – one that I never quite thought about. It’s hard enough finding a guy that sticks around for more than a month, let alone finding one that’s supposedly meant to last all eternity. With each relationship that ends, I become less and less of a believer of this elusive rosy theory. Believing in it means that until I find this mystery guy, out there somewhere in this big ol’ universe, I will forever remain just a lost soul. And I’m too much of an optimist to believe in such daunting things.

Things with the recent bachelor #34592 didn’t work out (yes, despite the “magical” first date as gushed about below). Cause of death: lack of spark. Shocking, I know – considering that’s been the #1 reason with most of the guys I’ve recently dated. But it made me wonder today – is it me? Is it them? Which one out of us is to be blamed for “us” not working out? I don’t know. I can just leave it at "we didn't click," or I can sit here and do a post-mortem analysis by dissecting each spoken word, and replaying each date under a microscope – but why bother? Everyone wishes for a quick easy death – and it was just that.

We’re all destined to die some day, but not all of us are meant to fall in love. Death is not the greatest loss in life. The greatest loss is what dies inside us while we live. And if I keep that flicker of hope inside of me alive, then I’m certain that I’ll find that someone out there who may not be my soul mate – but he can be my permanent roommate – that someone I share my bed, my secrets, my dreams, and my life with…

Mixing Business with Pleasure

Office romance – it’s one of those taboo situations that we all try to avoid. Try – yes, avoid – not so much. It’s a temptation that looms around us like a shadow in the darkness. But no matter how hard you try to fight it, your feelings are bound to submerge from the shallow murky waters. It’s to be expected I suppose when you devote 40+ hours of your week either working with or for these people… somewhere along the line, a line gets blurred, things get read between the line…and before you know it, a line gets crossed. Often times, as wrong as it may be, we press forward instead of pressing pause – maybe because there’s an element of excitement, fear, and surprise that comes with the possibility of meeting someone unassuming and undeniable – that someone who you’ve tried to avoid… that someone who was right before your very own eyes.

Fifty First Dates

I once heard some incredulous fact about how people tend to make judgments based on first impressions within the first 15 seconds of meeting someone. I think it takes me 60 seconds alone just to get people to pronounce my name correctly, let alone get them to evaluate me accurately. But despite my cynicism, I’m inclined to somewhat agree when it comes to matters of the heart. As soon as you meet someone new, you instinctively decide and categorize the respective party into one of the following:
1) no way – “you don’t have a shot”
2) maybe – “sure, I’ll give you a chance”
3) hellz ya – “where have you been?”

In my experience of exploring the male species in this wilderness, I have had many moments that began with one of the above reactions. And ironically enough, I’ve been wrong nine out of ten times – hence why I’ve stopped having any major expectations when a guys asks me out on a date. It’s rare that I get nervous or even excited about a first date, because after a while, you fall into a rhythm and you realize which ones are a waste of time – rather than the time of your life. But last night was different; the night began with a sense of trepidation and ended in simple perfection. Looking back at the past couple of years, it feels as if I’ve been on fifty first dates, but for the first time last night, I thought… I’d rather have a date like this fifty times, every time – because if the first felt this great, I don’t want to imagine it being the last.

(And in case you're wondering, the answer is #3).

When Rubber Meets the Road

Location, location, location. Any real estate agent – or common sense – will tell you that location dictates the price of the property. But what people or logic don’t often tell you is how location also dictates the fate of relationships; more than changing the address on an envelope, it changes you and the dynamics of friendships.

Last week, three different cities, all located hundreds and thousands of miles away, distanced three of my friends from a place I had grown accustomed to calling their home: the tri-state area. There’s the Philly friend who will be moving to Bean town Boston by the end of this year. Then there’s the local Jersey friend who’s moving to ritzy LA in a month. And finally the NYC friend who is moving to Tokyo faster than you can say Mitsubishi. I’ve known all of them for a couple of years now, and shared unforgettable moments with each of them. And although I never considered them to be the closest of friends, something triggered inside of me when they told me about the new place they’ll be calling home. It made me realize… we’re adults… how did this happen? And how do we make it stop?

As happy and proud as I am for the strides they’ve made in their respective careers, a part of me wants to hold them back. I just want to keep everyone at bay and continue pretending that the status quo hasn’t really shifted at all. Yet I’m forced to face reality as I share the last supper, throw the farewell party, and wave goodbye to each one of them… one by one.

I asked one of them if he will stay in Tokyo permanently, and even though he said he doesn’t know, it unnerves me because we take comfort in the possibilities that come with the unknown. He may hate it and move back, or he could fall madly in love and settle there forever. Granted, the pendulum can swing either way, but right now… the only direction destiny is taking him is two continents and an ocean away from me. I guess it’s nice to know that no matter where life takes you, the ones you love, are just a call, email, and a plane ride away.

Ironically enough, I was scheduled to fly out the day after they all shocked me with their big news. Let me tell you – nothing is quite saddening as sitting at the airport wondering how this is the very place that both unites and divides people. This is where people come to venture off into the world – be it near or far. This is where people come to go to a place they call home. This is the place where people shed tears and embrace closely one last time. This is the place where people jump into the arms of their lovers. All the ironies in the world, reside under this one roof.

Later that day, as I was sitting idly on the plane, looking out the window into the bright horizon, I wondered about what my friends will think as their flight approaches their destinations. Home sweet home? Shit, where am I? You look out below and see sparkling water, enormous buildings, and wonder how soon enough… you’ll be among them – perhaps seamlessly… perhaps not. Whatever your fears may be, as soon as that rubber meets the runway, it all comes to a standstill and you hear the attendant over the speakers, “Welcome, we have arrived…”

When I finally returned from my trip, and was waiting (and waiting and waiting) at the baggage claim, it occurred to me how the carousel is quite analogous to our lives. (Yep, here comes another wacky analogy). We stand there, waiting for something to appear – something we can claim as our own, hold, carry, and be gone with it. Yet we see others get it first, and wonder when will it be my turn? When will I get what I want? But unlike the conveyor belt, life isn’t guaranteed to deliver us anything – only the things we’re destined for, and the things we work hard towards. And I believe that if work is done right – it not only opens up new windows of opportunities, it can open up the sky for you.

Big Bang

It was a typical weekday morning: I was running late to work as usual, and trying to beat the clock during rush hour traffic in time for my meeting. Then suddenly, everything came to a standstill and for a moment, none of it mattered. I saw a utility truck violently collide into a sedan just as I was driving by in the opposite lane. The cold wet air outside started filling with trepidation as I saw glass shattering and heard sirens blaring. I almost don’t know what was worse – the deafening clash of the hood into the rear of the car – or actually witnessing the crash with my very own eyes.

We’ve all been bystanders in roadside crashes – and some of us unfortunate ones – have even been in one – but never have I actually seen it happen “live.” Later that morning when I finally proceeded to making my way to work, I thought about what I had seen just a couple of hours earlier. I wondered if the victim had a chance to say “I love you” before she left the house that morning. I wondered if she even had anyone to say that to. I wondered what regrets the offender had – “I wish I hadn’t picked up that call” – or “I wish I wasn’t so reckless.” I also wondered what others, like me who were stuck in the jam, were thinking; “Damn, I should’ve left my house 5 minutes sooner.” What about the EMTs and the cops? “I’ve seen worse” – or “This is going to be a messy one.”

This isn’t my feeble attempt at recreating the Oscar winning movie “Crash,” but it does make me wonder – one horrific event, everything leading up to it, thereafter, and the multiple people it touches. All of our lives are so interwoven in today’s modern world that it’s hard not to affect someone by your actions – no matter how innocent or deadly they may be.

Love is Like a Bottle of Gin

By: The Magnetic Fields
Lyrics -

It makes you blind, it does you in
It makes you think you're pretty tough
It makes you prone to crime and sin
It makes you say thing off the cuff
It's very small and made of glass
and grossly over-advertised
It turns a genius into an ass
and makes a fool think he is wise
It could make you regret your birth
or turn cartwheels in your best suit
It costs a lot more than it's worth
and yet there is no substitute
They keep it on a higher shelf
the older and more pure it grows
It has no color in itself
but it can make you see rainbows
You can find it at the Bowery
or you can find it at Elaine's
It makes your words more flowery
It makes the sun shine, makes it rain
You just get what they put in
and they never put in enough
Love is like a bottle of gin
but a bottle of gin is not like love

Lost & Found

It’s common knowledge that I’m somewhat directionally challenged while driving (and often times, walking as well). Now it’s official that I’m pretty lost when it comes to navigating through my so-called love life too. I’m not sure when or how a seemingly simple straight road turned into a maze with no beginning and no end, but the longer I keep treading, the more lost – and frustrated – I seem to get.

Apparently the adage, “take the road less traveled” was not meant for me. Every time I try to venture out onto uncharted territory, I end up driving an extra 30 minutes… in the opposite direction. It finally occurred to me – as I was getting lost for the umpteenth time this past weekend – that my heart tends to follow the same course. Even with a clear destination in mind, for some reason or another, I veer off course and end up wasting time and going the wrong way.

Finding things in life isn't necessarily the hard part -- you'll find a great guy for every jerk you meet; you'll find a guy that wants to spoil you... a guy that wants ravish you... a guy that wants you want him.... a guy you want all to yourself. You can find it all -- but until you find it all in a single person, you'll be left -- well -- single.

Whether it’s intentional or accidental, one thing that I’ve learned from my years of getting lost and found is that getting off track isn’t such a bad thing, after all. Sure it wears my tires out, adds unnecessary mileage, increases my blood pressure… but at the end of the day, it exposes me to new roads – and it shows that sometimes it doesn’t matter how you reach your destination, as long as you find your way.

Fight vs. Flight

Something fascinating happened two years ago: I left an insecure, conniving, unfaithful guy, that I made the mistake of calling my boyfriend for five arduous years. I finally learned how to cut my loses and walk away. I kept thinking it was a war between me and the “other woman” – until I realized what it was that I was truly fighting for. I was struggling to be with a guy that would have essentially promised a lifelong of suspicion, dishonor, and resentment. And it wasn’t until I finally walked away far enough that I realized what a fool I had been to try to win a losing battle. And it wasn’t until today that I realized what a fool I had been to think that I actually lost.

What it all boils down to is a simple concept I learned in psychology class. In a threatening situation, your mind and body must decide between combating the obstacle and averting it altogether. For instance, let’s say you’re minding your own business and taking a stroll in the park, and a man suddenly creeps up from behind to assault you. Presuming your lack of preparedness or level of expertise in martial arts, your initial instinct would be to run. You can fight the perpetrator or you can fleet from the danger.

In my case, I did both. My ex made an assault on my trust, family, and feelings. But I chose to fight it. How naïve I was. It wasn’t until I fled that mock of a relationship that I finally felt safe – safe from being made a fool and being hurt… over and over again. Fast forward to the present: He’s marrying the girl he habitually lied to, repeatedly cheated on, and continues to disrespect by attempting to correspond with me. He’s venturing into a lifelong commitment when the only thing he’s ever been able to commit to is covering his ass. So when I still see his number on my caller ID, or see his name in my inbox, or see his picture with his fiancé, I’m not reminded of the war injuries – instead, I thank God that I had enough sense to realize that the victory wasn’t worth the fight.

Eyes Wide Shut

Have you ever had a dream that felt so real, yet you wished was anything but that? A dream that blurred the lines between fact and fiction so much that it made you cringe at the mere thought of it? A dream that suspended your reality and trapped you in state between insomnia and frighteningly alert? I had such a dream – and it scared the bejesus out of me.

Ironic how our minds work, isn’t it? Normally, when our dreams take us to fantasy land and show us grandiose visions, our mind is so quick to shove them to the abyss of our subconscious. Yet when we’re shown the grave and stark images of evil, there’s nothing we can do to erase them.

For once, I’m actually going to refrain from sharing the details of this vivid dream – mainly because I’d rather just forget about it completely, than have this blog serve as a constant reminder. A million thoughts cross our minds daily, but the other handful that we push aside, resurface from our subconscious into our dreams, and open up our eyes to the possibilities that lay beneath – even with our eyes wide shut.

Happy Single Awareness Day

As a marketing professional, I envy the genius who came up with the idea of commemorating St. Valentine’s Day. I imagine the inception to have occurred at a cocktail party where the who’s who of Hallmark, Ghirardelli, Kay Jewelers, and 1-800-flowers were discussing a joint venture of some sort that would enable them to serve one common goal: suck those lovers dry. Well done, you greedy creative bastards.

As a single gal, I simply dread this day. It’s the one day where you’re reminded of how truly empty your life can feel without having someone to whisper “I love you” to, without someone to hold your hand, or without someone to buy a special gift for. Not to say that receiving a bouquet of roses would really fill that empty void either – it would be nice though (all interested parties, please inquire within for shipping address).

It’s ok though... because I don’t need an annual marketing scheme to tell me I have to put my feelings on display by eating at an outrageously priced restaurant with a prix fix menu consisting of limited vegetarian options. So cupid can just take his arrow and strike it up his bare ass.

Burn It Up

Ok, disregard my last blog – I don’t know what I was smoking. I feel as if I just eclipsed around this thing called love; I’ve seen it, felt it, and witnessed it from all angles now, and I can say that I’m finally beginning to understand it. Finally…I think.

As I was listening to two of my friends gush about their new blossoming relationships, it occurred to me that I too, want that. I do want to get married. I do want to believe in the sanctity of vows and promises. I mean, who was I kidding? I already have my wedding songs picked out, along with my colors and party favors. The only thing left to pick out is a groom now. But more than a wedding, I want a marriage.

Hearing them talk also made me reform my stance on the debate over: “is it better to have loved and lost, or to never have loved at all?” I used to think the former caused too much pain and agony, thus, it would be better to never get caught up in the love shenanigans. But a scary thought then crept into my mind later that night: what if I never fall in love again? After all, there’s a sense of mortality and virtue in longing for someone. Without having someone to love, is sort of like being an envelope without an address.

As interesting as the past couple of years have been being a 20 odd year old, single gal in the city, I’m ready to hang up my gloves and step out of the rink. It’s a crazy world in there, believe you me. Meeting someone isn’t the hard part. The trouble is finding that someone that makes you want to stop time yet rush to the altar, all at once in this weird sweet cacophony. Those who have recently professed their desire to pursue a relationship have had a lot to offer – but there’s something missing – it’s that damn spark. I’m talking about that can’t get enough of you—inconvenient—unexplainable—sweaty palms—just want to grab and kiss you—kind of a spark. (Hopeless romantic here, remember?)

A single heartbreak, two boyfriends, and countless dates after, I have finally discovered what matters most in a relationship; ultimately, it doesn’t matter how smart, how hot, how rich, or how sweet a guy is, because all it takes is a spark to ignite the fire that will light up both of your worlds.

Silencing the Wedding Bells

I seem to have taken this “turning over a new leaf” thing to the extreme. My recent actions and change in attitude have managed to shock the one person I thought impossible…. myself. Jumping out a plane – risky yet adventurous. Chopping off my hair – drastic yet understandable. Not wanting to get married – now that’s just crazy talk.

I can pinpoint the precise moment this thought entered my mind, and never quite made it through the exit door. A friend told me the story behind someone’s divorce – nothing original though: husband cheats on wife with a coworker; and to add insult to injury, he takes the mistress out to the very place his wife wanted to go for her birthday (on her birthday, might I add). Not to say all men are alike, but has marriage completely lost all sanctity? Why do people chase like dogs, struggle to make it work, and celebrate their union – only to hire the best lawyer possible 7.5 years later to legally relinquish themselves from all bonds created from that holy state of matrimony?

In all fairness though, for every heartbreaking story I hear, I’m reminded of an equally heartwarming story of a couple that has stood the test of time. I once met a cab driver who told me about a backpacking trip to Europe where fate introduced him to the love of his life, and has since been happily married for over 30 years. They defied cultural barriers, and reinstated my belief in fate. Or more recently, my hairdresser told me about the love letters (yes actual letters – like the stuff that requires postage and ink) he and his (then) pen pal used to write to each other. They defied the vast distance, and reminded me that patience and respect go a long way.

But just because I choose to remain a miss, why does it have to feel as if something is amiss in my life? I don’t want to conform to society’s notions of what’s considered “right and proper.” I don’t want to commit to someone who might just be a page, rather than a chapter, in my life. The simple fact of the matter is that people – men and women alike – can’t be trusted and marriage only obligates you to remain together. I’m not saying I’ve sworn off being in a committed relationship either – but I don’t find it necessary to get a marriage license as a stamp of approval to validate my relationship.

But I also know that the hopeless romantic in me (she’s still in there) will make me change my tune if I meet someone incredible yet completely unassuming… that someone who will shake me from the core and make me believe in love again. As for now, the search for Mr. Right has been called off, because Ms. Modi is in no rush to turn Mrs. Right.

C'est La Vie

I’ve been debating whether I should write this blog or not. Writing it seems to give it more credence than it deserves, but if I didn’t… it still wouldn’t make it any less inconsequential. So I’m putting my pride aside and stripping my thoughts naked.

A day that I’ve been long expecting – half-dreading, half-wishing – finally arrived. I received the news of my ex’s engagement, which wasn’t really news to me at all. He had been doing such a wonderful job lurking around in my life like a shadow, that I foreshadowed this probably long before he even did. I used to wonder how things would be when this day would come. Will I be single? Will I care? Will he still be a liar? Will he be happy? And now that the moment of truth is here, the answers almost don’t seem to matter, because the only question that makes a difference is… would I rather be in her shoes? The beauty of seeing his life unravel before mine is I get to see how that could’ve been my life – and how glad I am that it isn’t.

I wrote this blog not because there’s baggage that needs to be unloaded, but because I like to give credit where it’s deserved. He played a big role in my life, there’s no denying that. But he’s about to play an even bigger role in someone else’s life, and there’s no denying that either. I’m not bitter, nor am I jealous or hurt – ok fine, maybe a little. Life does seem a bit unfair at times like these; how can a person who caused so many people so much grief deserve to be so happy? You see, getting over a painful experience is much like crossing monkey bars; you have to let go at some point in order to move forward. All great (and not-so-great) things must come to end. And in this not-so-great end, is my great new beginning.

Ciao Bella

It’s gone baby gone. I did it. It’s chopped off and ready to be shipped off for a child in need.

All you skeptics out there didn’t think I’d be able to muster up the courage to do it. Well honestly speaking – neither did I. Cutting my beloved hair off was much like ending a marriage. I made a promise that I would take care of it in sickness and in health, ‘till scissors do us part. Those of you who know me – or even those of you who have Rapunzel’s hair length – can understand the long (no pun intended) love affair I’ve had with my hair. I was attached to it like a baby to its pacifier. “It’s just hair, it’ll grow back,” people would tell me. Yes, thank you for your brilliant insight. “Don’t do it, you’ll look like a boy,” other detractors would say. Thanks jerk.

But most of you are probably wondering what possessed me to take such a drastic step in the first place. No, I’m not trying to emulate Rihanna (although I wouldn’t mind swapping genes with her). Perhaps if you scroll down to my “Wonder Year” blog, that will better explain my desire to reinvent myself – be it by stepping outside my comfort zone, or by stepping inside a salon.

Whether people love it or hate it is yet to be seen, but regardless of the verdict, it’s gone. But rather than crying over the loss, I almost feel a bit liberated because I feel empowered. I know it sounds a bit silly – creating all this fuss over a haircut – but it made me think about how hard I try to hold on to things in my life, when in fact, I have the power to let go… if I simply choose to. All I ever knew and had was long hair, and I feared change. Feared that I won’t look the same. Feared that I won’t know what to do with my new do. Feared that I might actually look like a boy. But now that it’s gone, I fear no more. With those 10 inches, I also shed a layer of inhibition.

Like an umbilical cord that releases a child from its mother, I’ve released my baby – and we’re both doing just fine.

All's Not Fair in Love

There’s a line from the movie “Kal Ho Na Ho” where the character proposes to a girl and says kneeling down, “I know right now there’s no love for me in your heart, because you love someone else. But I promise that if you give me a chance, I will spend the rest of my life loving you enough for the both of us.” Touching and very Bollywood, indeed. However, it makes me wonder if it’s powerful enough for me to accept the proposal. Allow me to explain:
Is it better to be with someone that loves you, or to be with someone that you love? That is the question.

It’s a question that has spurred great debates among me and my friends, yet a question that has remained open to speculation. I’ve been on both ends of the spectrum so my arguments have been anything but biased. I know that being the object of someone’s affection brings you more than just flowers and compliments. The title tends to come with a pedestal that guys sit you upon, where you are infallible and almost too delicate to handle.
“You’re one of the best things to have happened to me.”
“Why didn’t I meet you sooner? Where were you all this time?”
“You’re like a breath of fresh air…so refreshing.”
These are the words spoken by those who have fancied me in the recent past. But when I read them back, I’m almost a bit puzzled at its oddity – mainly because it never struck me to feel the same about them.

Then there’s the other end of the pole – when you become the lover – rather than the one loved. This is when you truly realize the depths of your feelings for a person. I once drove a 100 miles on a weeknight after work, with a pit stop to pick up cupcakes, to surprise a guy I was dating on his birthday. Not to toot my own horn, but I can be pretty damn sweet if the right guy comes along. But it was evident soon after, that the drive back home was going to be a lonely one. Yet I still yearned for his affection, in hopes that the scale of balance would finally tilt in my favor. Well, it never did. I couldn’t fathom why despite my attempts, he still couldn’t reciprocate the feeling back. Just like how I couldn’t get myself to fall for those who had fallen for me.

Yet looking back, the times I was the happiest was with the person that also made me the saddest. I know that being with someone that loves and appreciates me will always try to keep me happy, but I also know that if I’m with the one I really love and want, I’ll do everything in my power to make him happy. The question then becomes… which gives you more satisfaction – being at the receiving or the giving end? And no, having both is not an option. After all, this is reality – not some chic flick.

The Wonder Year

The ball has dropped, the confetti has been thrown, and all the champagne has been popped. A new year is finally upon us. For some, this will be the year to wipe the slate clean and start over. For others, it’ll be the year to tie lose ends – or the knot. For me, it’s always a bittersweet time; it’s the time I reflect and reminisce about the previous New Year’s Eve and the journey that led me to the current one. The past year was quite tumultuous for me in every aspect of my life. But it was also just as incredible – new friends, new places, and new opportunities were met with equal fervor as old flames and first jobs were left behind. It’s a time for me to resolve and rejoice the new possibilities that await me… 365 new possibilities to be precise. There’s the possibility to fall madly in love – not to be confused with infatuation or lust (yes, I finally figured it out). There’s the possibility of adding another bullet on my resume. There’s the possibility of finally embracing the freedom I’ve been craving. And of course, there’s my favorite possibility of jetsetting off to yet another unseen city and experiencing a new culture – a different way of life.

I don’t have any concrete resolutions – well, maybe a couple. But the one difference between this year and those preceding will be this is the year I make it happen. This is the year of doing – not just planning; this is the year of moving on – not just letting go; this is the year of fulfillment and no regrets. This is the year I stop wondering and start living, because 2009 is just a drop, throw, and a pop away.

Up & Down

When a baby cries, the whole house hears it. When a glass shatters, the whole restaurant hears it. But when a heart breaks, no one hears a sound – possibly because it’s muffled by its own tears. The first time a guy broke my heart, I promised myself this would be the last time I’d ever give someone a chance to do it again. But like most men’s penises, hearts also have a mind of their own. Clumsy ol’ me, stumbled upon a fellow and fell. I fell without realizing he’d be there to catch me. It’s not that he didn’t want to… it’s just that he had cast his net elsewhere.

So now, here I am. Broken… hurt… fallen… and staring at the monitor, as if the cure to this pain will scribe itself on my screen. I guess the beauty of being down is that the only place to go from here is up, up, and away.

The Great Escape

We do it in our dreams while we’re fast asleep. We do it during a vacation in a foreign country. We do it during those two hours at the movie theater. We try to escape from reality at every chance we get – sometimes without really knowing what it is that we’re running from, and what it is that we’re running towards. It’s as if we’re allergic to life and are constantly looking to prescribe ourselves with something to cure us of our mundane activities.

I’m guilty as charged myself. I love to get away from it all – though I’m not quite sure what “it all” encompasses. Responsibilities perhaps. Applying to B-schools. The quest for finding Mr. Right. My crazy ex and his even more insane antics. A break from my phone and email. But like an alarm clock, something always brings us back – whether it’s school, work, or family – reality usually comes knocking just as you’re about to close the doors on it.

Magicians seem to have mastered the art of escaping from some of life’s greatest tricks. And if there’s anything to be learned by them, it’s that escaping is merely an illusion – a blanket of denial we use to cover up reality. No matter how many escapades you venture out on, the fact of the matter is…you can run, you can hide, but you can never truly escape…

The Monster Within

There lies a monster within all of us. Yes, people are predominantly born good, but certain circumstances overtime shape the course of that purity. A war can make a soldier out of a boy – but it can also make a Hitler out of a man. The true litmus test for a person occurs when you stick your hand out for a rose, but get pricked by thorns. Do you curse the rose or the thorns?

I’ve been dealing with a “creature” for some time now, because he has made it his mission to haunt me like a nightmare. My patience is beginning to take its toll, but if he has learned anything from the amount of time invested in me, he will soon realize that my silence speaks volumes louder than his cowardly acts. Perhaps he’s afraid of his own true evil reflection, thus finds it necessary to hide behind a transparent mask. I’ll deal with him when the time comes. But as for him, he’ll have to face his own demons, because sooner or later, they’ll eat him up inside.

First Love

What can I say about first love that hasn’t already been said the first fifty times? What can be said about an emotion that is universal and all consuming? I can take the cheesy approach and write something poetic and romantic, but my gag reflexes won’t tolerate such gaudy talk. I can play the scorned bitch role and talk about the scars left so deep, that it gave Mederma a run for its money. No, I don’t want to go that route either.

There’s something special about firsts. Your first child. Your child’s first step. The first day of school. The first kiss. The first time. Your life takes a mental snapshot of that moment and stores it deep inside the pockets of your mind. A moment that is now marked in history, irreversible, and irreplaceable. Back when my heart was still untainted, I used to think that falling in love would be the hardest thing to do – as if it were a task on my list of things to do – or a goal to be achieved – or a rites of passage to the ‘couples club.’ But then the love bug bit me, and it felt so natural. And now that I’ve fallen out of love, I think to myself… how the hell will I ever fall in love again?

If only falling in love could be like the first time every time. Maybe it will be… we’ll see. Maybe it will be just as unexpected and enchanting. Better yet, maybe it will be love at first sight. So what if it won’t get the coveted title of being my first love? It will, at least, be called my one true lasting love.

Blast from the Past

Sometimes a song on the radio reminds you of a certain someone. Sometimes a simple drive down a road will lead to a stroll down memory lane. But sometimes the people from your past return themselves, reminding you of the memories left behind. By some odd coincidence, the past couple of months have turned out to be quite boomerangfull; I’ve been running into people from the past at a much greater frequency recently – as if the tectonic plates have shifted once again and the world just got smaller by another degree. For the most part, these people have been of no significance in my life, but they carried some memory or another – memories that I wish to leave buried six feet under. It’s hard enough dealing with people as it is, because even though they’re gone, they still manage to reappear… either in the lyrics of a song, in the butt of a joke, in a box full of mementos, or in the very roots of your subconscious. If only we could put a “do not disturb” sign outside the doors of our minds and hearts, how much simpler would it be keeping people curbed.

But a part of me almost wants to break the chains off the door that I’ve kept securely locked. I want to introduce my past to my present so I can share the tales of my journey. Though I fear that my past wouldn’t recognize me, having lost my virginity to Manhattan and other worldly escapades. A small town girl with big dreams – as the cliché goes – is no longer the standard caption under my profile picture. I’ve aged, as have my perceptions of reality. When you’re growing up, you earnestly try to fit yourself into a mold preconceived by society. But now that I’m two months shy of turning 24, I’ve realized that more often than not, most of us are square pegs in round holes. And that’s okay.

We keep a welcome doormat outside our homes for a reason, I suppose. Whether it’s an uninvited guest or a friendly neighbor, our doors are always open. Come past or future, I’ll be there to greet you.

Sign Language

As we begin to reach that inevitable phase in our lives – the holy phase of matrimony – we scrutinize our decisions and question our hearts evermore intensely. Could he be the one? Do I really want to spend the rest of my life with him? What if I change my mind? Is there someone else better out there for me? We ask these questions, as if God himself will appear holding a sign with the answers.

The answer that we’re ultimately all trying to figure out is, how do we know for sure? More so than being afraid of settling down, we’re afraid of settling. We wait for signs to comfort and convince us that we’re treading down the right path – and down the right aisle. Sure, it would be nice if we saw the red octagon sign right before agreeing to a blind date, or a “dead end” sign during a two year courtship, or a flashing green light when your boyfriend proposes. What we don’t realize is that these signs don’t always appear in their traditional forms.

When you’re contemplating engagement with your girlfriend of 4 years, yet you have an uncontrollable tick that forcibly redials your ex’s number at odd hours of the night, that is a sign. When you feel obliged to spend time with a significant other, that is a sign. When the week couldn’t pass by any more slowly because of sheer anticipation of that Friday night date, that is a sign.

These signs have a language of their own, which we slowly learn to decipher as the intensity of these questions grows with each passing day – each passing date – and each passing experience.

Born to be... wild?

I noticed something interesting this morning while playing with my 6 month old niece. What I set out to be a random act of play, actually scared the living bejesus out of her. I was carrying her and I kept pretending to drop her, without actually letting go of her one bit. (I simply bent my knees and added some sound effects). She would tightly shut her eyes and grab on to me even more closely each time I made that swooping motion. After the novelty wore off the first time, she clearly expressed her disdain for this “playful” behavior.

What transpired from this unseeming experiment was the realization that people are inherently fearful. They’re born with fear of falling without being caught, born with fear of dying without being saved, born with fear of suffering without cure, born with fear of pain without relief… My question is why? Why is this fear instilled in us from the moment we begin life? Is it because we have an innate understanding of how precious life is? Or is it because we know that it took us nine months to finally see light, but it could only take a split second to return to darkness?

I guess the answers lie in my niece’s mind – a mind waiting to explore the possibilities awaiting her in this world filled with danger. “Don’t worry,” I told her, “I got you.” And that’s when I came to even a bigger realization: I loved her infinitely, and would risk my life without a flinch for her. We may be born with fear of dying, but more importantly, we’re born with the courage to protect those we love.

Tick-Tock

As I was sitting at the airport today waiting for my flight home, I weighted my options on how to kill my time: read Cosmo, browse the web, email friends, talk on the phone, listen to music, or eat. Given the amount of time I had, I did 3 out of those 6 things, but I suddenly found all the quiet bustling activities going on around me somewhat more interesting. Planes flying in and out, baggage being tossed from here to there, people waving hellos and goodbyes…and I thought, this is it.

Our lives are always in transit, yet we’re always waiting for something. Waiting to go from being an assistant to manager, to go from being Ms. to Mrs. – waiting for that moment when things will change. I had been preparing myself and waiting for this past week for over a month, and it came and went. And although I felt like my life was being played in fast forward during the entire week, I just put everyone else’s life back home on pause. But sitting at the airport, watching everything made me realize that you can’t press the pause button on life because time never waits for anyone – no matter how long you do.

Mostly we’re always waiting for things to go from now to then… and luckily, the hands on a clock only move in one direction. It’s only a matter of time till months dwindle down to weeks, and weeks to days… until all you have to look forward to is that one single moment.

Pro-Choice

“Don’t make someone your priority when you are merely their option.” This seems to be the mantra for many victims of the broken heart. Sure, everyone will agree with it and lend their sympathy to those who got burned. But what about the culprits – the heartbreakers – you know, the ones with the options?

Suddenly, being the villain in this ongoing saga of heartbreaker versus heartbreakee, I’ve come to terms with options. If it weren’t for options, would you really know if you like vanilla better than chocolate? Would you prefer Gucci over Coach? Would you watch Monday Night Football or Texas Hold ‘Em? Would you choose this girl or that?

I deal with options at work all day; I understand its value and its recent growth in volume – granted these options deal with matters of the money more so than the heart. But what it has taught me is that having options isn’t such a bad thing after all. Sure, it adds confusion to your already complicated life, but it allows you to pit your choices against one and another, and in the process, help you realize what really matters to you. In fact, options are a means to helping you identify your priorities.

What Goes Up Must Come Down

I took the plunge. And it was amazing.

At the onset of this summer, I was discussing my summer plans with a friend, and I randomly blurted out I’d like to go skydiving – without putting much thought into it. As I started planning it, my friends looked at me with hesitation because they thought it was a bit out of character for me to want to go jump out a plane. Contrarily, this wasn’t at all unlike me… thrill-seeker, risk-taker, and a bit zany.

At the time I made my reservations and gave my deposit, I was signed up to go alone. But that didn’t stop me. As long as I had someone behind me during the jump, it didn’t really matter if there was someone besides me during it.

So the much anticipated day finally came. I signed the waiver forms. Still excited. I saw others before me plummeting down. Still fearless. I got geared up with the harness. Still unwavering. I got on the plane and started to ascent. Holy shit.

Although, it still didn’t quite hit me until I stood on the ledge of the plane waiting to fall off. As I looked down from the 15,000 altitude, all I could think was, “there is no turning back now.” And off we went. I can’t recall exactly all the thoughts running through my mind as I was flying down at 150 mph, but in retrospect, I knew I felt strong. It reminded me that letting go isn’t that scary, after all. In fact, it’s quite exhilarating, because it allows you to see the world from a different perspective (quite literally in this case). Aside from reminding me of the obvious laws of gravity, it also reminded that sometimes things just have a way of falling into place.

20/20

After weeks of squinting and denying, I have decided to finally succumb. I officially need to start wearing glasses. Not that I have a problem sticking a plastic frame on my face, or even sticking lenses in my eyes… I just have a problem admitting that I can’t see clearly. It’s a problem that still pains many of us; more than just strain our eyes, blurred vision often distorts our thinking. We mistaken arrogance with confidence, greed with ambition, comfort with love, revenge with justice…

It’s ironic that we really don’t have eyes at the back of our head, because we tend to see things clearly once they have passed – rather than when they are right in front of us. Sometimes the very thing that we’re searching for is right before us, yet we look hither and thither, like bats in a cave.

I used to be of the belief that seeing is believing, but then I realized how much more accurate the other adage, “love is blind” truly is. Although many of us are probably guilty of falling into that trap, you can get out of it by simply removing the blindfold off your mind. Let’s face it, your heart and mind may never see eye to eye on certain things, but that divide is often what brings us to a clear 20/20.

Excess Baggage

When people walk into our lives and move into our hearts, some tend to leave their stuff behind – even long after they’re gone. For those of you speculating if this is in regards to me and my ex, let me clarify and give you a big resounding NO. It’s simply an observation – somewhat annoying – albeit, an observation I’ve made.

People boast about moving on and letting go, and turn on the “vacancy” sign to the doors to their hearts, but fail to throw out the luggage that still remains boxed up inside.
Airlines lose our baggage all the time, so why is it so difficult for us to get rid of ours?

Pop!

I always found it a bit amusing when people said that “they need to find themselves” – as if all their life, they were wandering like lost souls. But I get it now, mainly because lately I’ve began to discover myself increasingly. Yes, I’m aware of how extremely cheesy and clichéd that sounds, but for lack of originality, I’ll continue… Although I was never on a “mission” of any sort – or none that I care to acknowledge – I realize that I have learned more about myself in the past year than I might possibly have in my entire life. I guess I sort of was living my life in a bubble, because although I could see the possibilities that lay outside of it, I never dared to burst out of it.

Whether it was a date, a vacation, a celebration, a dispute, or even a simple conversation… I learned something about myself and the world swirling around me. Everyone has their own idiosyncrasies, so you’re all bound to reach this point through some unconventional way or another. The point when you realize
…that your strength comes from the mind – not muscles
…that love originates from free will – not the heart
…that serenity comes from knowledge – not ignorance
...that respect is earned by speaking up - not kneeling down
…that happiness is created by you – not delivered to you

Catch & Release

Every once in a while, something great comes along unexpectedly, but we let it go for reasons unknown. A few months ago, I wrote a blog about the beauty of being chased and never getting caught, but I failed to realize that sometimes you can get so caught up in your emotions, that you forget that you already fell in the trap you’ve been trying to avoid.

I was supposed to have gone fishing this past weekend – I know, I see the irony of it considering I’m vegetarian. But I’ll take any excuse to go on a boat and soak in some summer fun (and free food, of course). I’m against the whole concept of fishing actually – watching your soon-to-be tuna sandwich/sushi roll hanging off of a lifeline, gasping for air – just seems cruel. But I decided to go along anyway, to watch the whole spectacle take place.

Then – as my love for analogies continues to grow stranger by the day – I realized how fishing resembles so many of our lives. Often times, we’ll end up reeling in garbage off of the bait we’ve set for the fish. But then, something pulls at your heartstrings and starts pulling your rod closer to it – and before you know it, you’ve actually caught something you’ve been waiting for all along. But once it’s hooked, do you proceed to catch it or release it?

There may be plenty of fish in the sea… but if you catch the right one, just one is enough.

Gone...

People have been asking me what my favorite part of Europe was. And I’d name some cities and maybe tell a few funny stories. But the most memorable part of the trip actually occurred today – yes, after the fact.

While in Ibiza, my friends and I met some guys from Australia, and us all being brown, we naturally clicked. We shared a dance, a meal, a drink, and above all… a good time. And as all parting friends do, we promised to keep in touch and perhaps even pay a visit across the Atlantic.

But before we even had a chance to reminisce about all the memories created, we received the most tragic and unexpected news of all: Ramnik, one of the Australians, drowned last week while swimming in a river in Munich. Even as I write this, the words feel raw because I’m still in denial of it. I just met him three weeks ago! Here was a great, fun loving guy that walked into our lives by fate. And here goes a guy who was taken away by that same wretched fate.

I guess in the end, you always tend to think about the beginning. And I can’t help but think about how he first approached me, and the last time I saw him… People always say God works in mysterious ways. I guess it’s true, because nothing quite explains how a seemingly normal life suddenly turns unfair. Or how life itself turns into death.

But he didn’t die in vain, because if every day is lived as if it were your last, then I know he was alive and kicking just as much then as always. He drowned in a sea of memories, leaving us all thirsty for more.

*RIP Nik*“Good day mate!”

Oyster Wings

“The world is your oyster;” I’ve heard (and used) this saying quite frequently (and even more so recently). But what in the world does my world have to do with an oyster? I don’t even eat seafood! So with the help of my dear friend, Mr. Google, I learned of its true origin and meaning. Basically, “oysters produce pearls, objects of great value. Once you have the oyster, it gives up the pearl without much of a fight.” Hence, if the world is your oyster then it’s a place where you can get something of great value with ease.

Frankly speaking, nothing of great value in this world ever comes with great ease. Often times when we really want something – like really-genuinely-deeply want something, to the point where you begin to plan your life around it, if it were to come true – you take a leap. You leap and hope you can fly, because otherwise you just drop like a rock, wondering the whole way down, why in the hell did you jump? But the only thing that makes you feel like you can fly is the very thing that gave you the wings in the first place.

And sometimes you will stumble and fall, but you dust it off and try again. You can perceive yourself as either a failure the first time around, or determined the second time around… but despite how you see the circumstances, the circumstances in itself are an opportunity to turn things around. The fact of the matter is… you never know which way the wind will blow… you just have to be prepared to fly.

Bon Appetit

That little bulb on the top of my head is turned on. I get it, but I just can’t grasp it. How often do we dish out advice to others, yet draw a blank when it comes to following it ourselves? We’re all hypocrites when it comes down to it. It’s as if we’re salesmen out to sell a product that we don’t truly believe in ourselves.

Well, here’s something I do believe in: love. It’s out there. I found it once. Then I lost it. But I realized that I was looking for it in all the wrong places. It’s sort of like searching for a 4 year missing child at his contemporary age of 10. He obviously won’t sound the same, look the same, or even act the same. So, why am I looking for the same love that I had 5 years ago… now?

But if it’s possible to make two different breakfasts, omelet and scrambled eggs, using the same key ingredient, then perhaps it shouldn’t be so difficult cooking up a new recipe this time around. I know that makes no sense at all to you, but it makes sense up here.. and that's all that matters.

The Making Of...

Movies are the stuff dreams are made of – especially Bollywood ones. Those characters just know all the right things to say, with a perfect hint of smirk on their lips and a spark in their eyes. It’s as if the actors performed an open heart surgery on a girl and took notes on all the things that make it melt. But as much as I love watching those melodramatic Indian movies, I hate those suckers for giving me such unrealistic expectations of love.

How come in my history of running after the subway and trying to hail a cab… I have not once met a guy waiting at the other end with his arm extended out to me? Not once have I been to a reception where my hair was blowing ever so smoothly (the entire time). Nor have I ever been so lucky to have been the fancy of a debonair and be pursued relentlessly with his charming (and perhaps melodious) ways.

I clearly have this all wrong. Maybe my prince charming isn’t going to be the groom’s bestman, or a guy I meet on a trip to Europe, or the friend I’ve grown up with. Lets face it, I’ll probably just meet him online or at a speed dating event. Or most likely, at an overcrowded club in the city while he clumsily spills his drink on me. Maybe I’m not supposed to find true love inside an expensive restaurant, wearing an expensive dress, drinking expensive wine.

Whether you realize it or not, we subconsciously draw many of our expectations from these fictional plots. My past relationship was quite tumultuous and dramatic – almost as good as a B grade Bollywood movie. It had all the right ingredients: innocent girl, bad boy, the vixen, family disapproval, betrayal, passion, suspense… the only thing missing was some background music – and a happy ending. Sometimes I even think that maybe he’ll show up at the last minute at my mandap, perfectly poised, armed with a filmy dialogue and profess his love and win everyone’s heart over. "Cut!" Back to reality.

I guess in the ongoing battle of “life imitating art” vs. “art imitating life” there should be a tie. Because ultimately, our lives are much like a movie in which we are the lead – and sometimes the villain or even just an extra. Maybe I just need a new agent to get me better roles.

Guilty Pleasures

Whether it’s behind closed doors, or submerged in a web of lies, people succumb to guilty pleasures in innocent ways, more often than they realize. But we comfort ourselves by insisting that maybe it’s not so wrong, after all. It’s as if we plant the seeds of the forbidden fruit, knowing we can’t reap the fruit of our labor, in all its succulent glory. But we water it regardless, in hopes no one will see the tree grow. And even then, one bite just leaves you hungry for more.

It’s like the proverb of the tree in the forest… if no one knows, does that make you innocent until proven guilty?

The Great Wall

As I was driving today, I saw a pick-up truck carrying an oversized bird’s cage in the back. And I thought, there goes another poor bird about to get its wings clipped. Then I realized how much I resemble that bird…

Growing up, we’re sheltered inside a cage and told of all the various things not to do, such as:
- don’t talk to strangers
- don’t eat meat
- don’t do drugs
- don’t have sex before marriage

How different would our lives be if we had no limits, no boundaries, no restrictions, no no’s? Would our lives be any more colorful if we had dared to draw outside the lines? I can pinpoint the exact barriers that stand in the way of my happiness – or at least, in the way of where I think I’ll find happiness.

I would love love love to move someplace far far away. Someplace quiet yet bustling with excitement; someplace new and exotic, but old and familiar. But something tells me, that any sentence beginning with “Mom, I want to move to another country…” will probably not be well received. And really, who am I kidding? I would be on the next flight to Newark after suffering from homesickness for a month.

Our lives are never truly lived as “freely” as we claim. We inadvertently refrain ourselves from doing many things that would probably be considered, “crossing the line.” My ex has expressed his desire to rekindle the relationship – but just one small glitch – his girlfriend, aka barrier #1. Meet barriers 2, 3, and 4: my family, friends, and dignity.

I want a job where my sole motivation for work is the work itself – not the money. But I remind myself that life gets expensive – especially with my uncontrollable fetish for all things food and accessories.

But if the Berlin wall can be broken down, then what’s holding up the walls built around us? I guess only after we break down these walls, can we truly break away…