Reality TV

After watching a Sex and the City marathon on TBS for the past four hours (yes, on a Saturday night), I’ve become inclined to pay homage to the show that inspired yours truly to begin tapping away on the laptop three years ago. The movie sequel, which is just around the corner, teases us with its glimpses of the fabulous fashionable foursome and their Moroccan escapades. Oh how far they’ve come – from douchebags to diaper bags, from the Big Apple to Mr. Big, from columns to books… And the crazy part of it all is that it’s all fictional, yet we’ve come to personify them as if they’ve been growing up right alongside with us.

It got me thinking about how my very own fabulous not-as-fashionable foursome (myself included) has grown up so much this year alone. For starters, one of my best friends is getting married this summer. Married. It’s one of those words that remains dormant in hibernation until you reach the age of, in my case, 26. Despite being one of the bridesmaids, a part of me feels like I’m watching just another episode on TBS, where eventually I’ll turn off the TV and return back to reality. Except this time, this is reality. When we met back in 6th grade, we were both fresh off the boat, oblivious to marriage, makeup, and master’s degrees. That was the season premiere of our friendship.

The plot recently thickened when a second of the foursome accepted a job offer in Atlanta. Granted she would only be a 2.5 hour flight and a phone call away, knowing that she will no longer be in arm’s length, unnerved me a bit. Up until now, I had been watching others get married and relocate both out-of-state and beyond, but I continued living in this world where my friends were just friends without titles or state borders. Now it’s the “married friend,” and “the one in Atlanta,” and “the hot single one,” and well, then there’s me, "the crazy one."

I just got the memo that somewhere between naïve and circa now, we became adults. When we were younger, I remember we had our lives all mapped out with our dream jobs and dreamy men. As our dreams started turning into realities, we threw out the maps but kept our compass, because no matter where life takes us, I hope it brings us closer together.

Baz Luhrmann - Everybody's Free (To Wear Sunscreen)

Achy Breaky Heart

The other morning, after I made a heart shaped pancake for my nephew, I sliced it into pieces for him, and he said the most beautiful unexpected thing: "my heart is broken." I awed at his innocence, and wondered how one day he'll actually understand the figurative meaning behind his words. But until that day comes, I'll simply ask him, "Would you like syrup on that?"

I still vividly remember my first heartbreak: I was in second grade in India and had a crush on my teacher (what can I say, I always had a thing for older guys). As in most private Catholic schools here, teachers there were also allowed to discipline their students. Apparently I had interrupted the teacher by talking to one of my peers during class, so he walked over and sternly said, “Avani, give me your hand.” For a split second I thought, “Shouldn’t he be asking my Dad for my hand?” But that fairytale ended as soon as the ruler smacked my palm and sent a wave up my arm.

And so began the evolution of my heartbreaks. I know I’ve written about heartbreaks at ad nauseam but it’s one of those a forever young topics that’s always the new black, gives songwriters an endless source of material (see exhibit A and B), and gives Jennifer Aniston a reason to keep acting. So naturally I’ll talk about it... perhaps I’ll even sing about it at a karaoke bar one of these weekends. Ironically enough, I’m writing this blog at a point in time when I don’t particularly feel heartbroken. Nope, no Prozac for this gal.

I think it’s time we acknowledge heartbreaks the way we celebrate unions, and give the “have-nots” the attention they deserve. What about the broken engagements and the failed marriages? What about those who aren’t destined to put on a veil or a tux and renounce their sexual freedom? Are they not entitled to the same rah-rah, gift registry, and video montages? After all, where is “up-side” in a break “up”?

So here’s a toast to all the insomniac nights, the Kleenex boxes, and empty bottles of wine. I commend those who have suffered and surfaced, because eventually you learn to stop wallowing in your disappointment, and build the courage to stick your hand out for someone who will actually hold it.