Confessions of a Liar

"You lie!"

It's the latest catch phrase of the season, but the one thing that never seems to go out of style. We learn it from an early age and perfect the art with time and practice. The reasons are infinite, but the truth is one. And that simple truth is this: when the truth hurts more than the lie... lie.

I guess I'm now due for a confession. I'm lonely - and not in the literal, anti-social, or horny kind of way. There's a void inside of me, and I try to fill it with humor, with friends, with work, with school, with trips. But like a tumor, the more you ignore it, the more apparent it becomes. People are afraid to confront their sadness because it's seen as a sign of weakness. What people forget is that strength is actually drawn from moments of sorrow.

Yesterday's tears and tomorrow's laughs won't matter, because we live in the moment. My Finance class recently taught me the concept of PV: everything is worth its present value. And at this very moment, this is how I feel. It's not a plea for help, nor is it a cue for Cher to yell "snap out of it!" It's just the ugly truth.

Numbers

Last month while traveling in Paris with my cousin from India, she randomly asked my friend the big taboo question: “how old are you?” I tried to tell my cousin – who was clearly naïve and unaware of the American social stigma behind that simple question – “you don’t ask that.” But my friend answered anyway, a bit hesitantly and a bit unabashedly: “forty.”

But admittedly, even as I was giving my cousin a disapproving look for asking such a question, I wondered why it was such a no-no in the first place. Perhaps it has something to do with the stark reality behind numbers. Age, weight, salary, number of sexual partners… it’s all so bare bones. Numbers lack stories… and emotions… and dramatic climaxes to those aforementioned stories. Forty. That was all she said. It didn’t even nearly explain the joys and tears she had experienced in those four decades, because numbers don’t tell stories.

Last week I was asked another dreaded question, “Where do you see yourself five years from now?” Had this been a question on Who Wants To Be a Millionaire, I would’ve surely used a lifeline to answer it – perhaps polled the audience, because their guess would have been as good as mine. I answered it as candidly as I could and said, “I don’t know.” Had someone (and I’m sure someone did) asked me this question four years ago, would I have painted the life I’m living now? Most probably not. Four years ago, my dreams, morals, and perceptions were different. Four years ago, I entered the corporate world bright eyed and bushy tailed, eager to apply my B.S. degree in Marketing to the company formerly known as Merrill Lynch. Four years ago, I was dating a guy I once imagined spending the rest of my life with. But that was four years ago.

Much like its prefix, numbers are numb – they lack feelings and sensation. They’re like candles without its flame on a birthday cake – you can count them but can’t feel their warmth until they’re lit.

Plan B

I recently saw an ad for an emergency contraceptive pill, Plan B, whose tagline read “because the unexpected happens.” Nice work pharmaceuticals – here is a simple solution to fix your “oops” from the night before. How convenient, I thought; if only all of life’s unwanted problems could be so easily resolved. I plan events for a living so it’s my job to be prepared with a contingency plan. What if the flight’s delayed? What if the A/V doesn’t work? What if the package gets lost? What will I have to resort to?

Life is full of the unexpected, with its mixed doses of pleasant and horrid surprises. But we plan anyway. We plan in the hopes that we can live our lives on our terms. We dream in the hopes of seeing them come to life. We plan, we dream, we hope… until destiny gets in the way. Just as a single night of passion can change the lives of two people, a single disease can shake the lives of countless.

After months of fighting a downhill battle, my uncle’s body eventually caved in to cancer. Neither doctors nor prayers could cure him, and so he slipped away from here to there. It served as a wake up call, and reminded me that when it comes to losing someone to a greater power, there is no plan B because it’s all part of a bigger plan. As we tiptoe around these cracks in plans, we’re so caught up looking down, that we forget to just live and let things be.

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