Quirks

Hello self. It’s been a long time since you sat down to write.

Hello anyone who may have bothered to read this. Thank you.

Why thank you? Well because I need to vent. And you can't vent out to open spaces and thin air. Well you CAN but it is sorta pointless. It helps so much more when you are venting at someone even if said someone is not the source of the anger/frustration/misery that has caused you to need to vent in the first place. A person just helps. 

So I'm going to pretend that I am actually directing this to someone instead of talking to myself. 

So, why do I need to vent? Well because I'm angry and frustrated to the point of tears. I'm not crying yet but if I don't get this out, I will start pouring soon. Though I have nothing against crying, I'd rather not do that just yet. I will eventually. It is therapeutic. It just makes it all go away.

I'm straying away from the point. Do it too often. (Note to self: Try not to do it so often)

Well to begin, it is about a friend. Silly troubles it may seem. but when you come from a place where you have trouble making friends, trusting people and issues keeping a relationship(of any kind) alive for more than 3 years, It doesn't seem so silly at all. It is a BIG deal.

My post says "Quirks" because this problem I believe is about accepting the quirks of your friends. 

Let me start from the very very beginning. 

Well maybe not. Getting distracted again. 

Suffice to say that I found this person. Extremely vivacious, fun, and joy to be around. I made a conscious effort to become friends with her and within no time we were borrowing each other’s clothes. Well I did little borrowing. I have no issue lending but I try not to borrow. Work with what's my own you know. So this person is really nice and all but of course everyone has their faults. I have many. When I say faults, they aren't universal faults. They are things a particular person may not like about you that someone else is completely fine with. 

So my problem with my friend was I don’t like the way she shuts people up. She has to have the last word. Not just with me, with everyone. And no one else seemed to mind it or they'd have told her. She’s liked by everyone that she comes across. 

I think it’s just the way my mother brought me up. I’m polite. I’m nice. I don’t believe in false modesty. And I believe in the power of words. My parents were extremely careful with theirs. And I grew up the same. I believe that words have the power to give life and end life. Well yeah so you get my thing with words. I don’t use them lightly. Weigh and measure them when I do use them. Not everyone has the same consideration. It isn't that important to everyone. 

But I don’t make a pointy of telling my friends what it is I don’t like about them. Whatever it is, good or bad, I accept. I can’t have only the good. Or try to change everything I consider bad. It’s just my opinion. Not a universal standard. I’m not looking for perfect people. I have way too may faults to be friends with anyone who doesn’t have at least a few. I accept people as they are. I know it sounds like I’m not right now. But I truly do. I don’t even call them faults. I prefer to call them quirks. People have their quirks I have my own; we accept each other along with our quirks. Well that what I believe in.

On my side, one of my quirks is that unlike most children of the mobile age, I’m not particularly attached to phones. It serves all of three functions: calling, checking my attendance and taking pictures. I’m not heavy on texting. So if my phone isn’t ringing, I will most often than not even know where my phone is. People who have known me for a while get this. They get it. Of course, once in a while they're like "would you just look at your phone at least once in 15 minutes"? But then they shrug and let me be. Of course, if I’ve seen a message or call, will respond. No matter how much later I’m seeing this. 

This friend that is giving me heartache right now is also someone who likes having her own way. Of course I didn’t mind that in the beginning. Because I was the one who wanted to be friends. But after more than 2 years of knowing each other, I expected the equation to change. Small things like visiting each other’s rooms. Her roommate doesn’t like people in the room so I have to scuttle every time she comes. So I very obviously suggest hanging out in my room, she flatly refuses with a straight face saying she likes her room better. Okay. She always needs something from me. Clothes, oiling her hair, crepe bandage and so on.... This is the only time she’ll come to my room

I dint mind because I had loads of free time. But that was before the beginning of the current academic session. Now I had loads of work and no time. But does she make more effort to come hang out? NO. I get tired of it. I don’t go to her room for a while, but in the end, it’s me who has to initiate conversation. Nothing from her side. Sure she BUYS me things. But you can’t buy my friendship or loyalty. I don’t know if she expected me to be obligated to her for buying me things. Maybe. I don’t really think so. She isn’t a bad person. 

The current cold war started because she was snappy about me replying late and not texting her as soon as she did. I am patient. Very. But I have a threshold too. I saw her condescending and rude message and I just snapped. A part of me said "I’m done. Done." 

So now I’m not talking to her. I don’t go to her room even when I know she is alone in the room and I don’t have any work. I think I've done my part in the relationship. I want her to ask me if something is wrong. Come talk to me. If at all she cares about our friendship. Because that’s how things should be done. That’s what I did when a friend stopped talking to me because she thought I was taking her for granted. I went up to her and asked her why she wasn't talking to me. She told me. I apologised profusely for making her feel the way she did and promised her I’d be better. And now I know we are good. And if she has anything to say to me, she'll say it to me. It brought us closer. I could have gone on ignoring her. If I didn't care about the friendship. But I did. And I loved her so I went up to her scared and apprehensive as I was. To find out. And I’ve never been happier to face a confrontation. It made us that much closer. 

I don’t know if it is normal, but I hurt physically when I hurt emotionally. My chest hurts, my lungs hurt. And I wanna cry. Which I do. 

What I don’t want to do I cry and forget about it. Because once I let I cry it out. I will stop caring. I will rationalise about how we lose friends along the way all the time. I will make myself stop caring. At least on the outside. I never stop caring. It kills me. Crushes my heart and the pain never really goes away. I don’t wanna turn cold and stop caring. So basically I want her to come and talk to me. Because I want proof that our friendship is worth fighting for. 

Petty I’m sure.  But I can’t help it. My heart’s been broken way too many times for me to be sure. 

This was cathartic. Thank you.

ありがとう　ございさひた　みんあ　さん

The First Memory

Unlike many people, I don't remember things like "hearing people's voices" "seeing a face" "asking for something". My first memory isn't actually a single memory at all. It is a cluster of images I have of myself. All of them have me, tiny, dirty, bare footed wearing some semblance of a white baniyan and some form of shorts. And along with those images, I have the warm fuzzy feeling of happiness. It brings a smile to the face and warms the heart.


Of these memories, the earliest(if i was to really put them chronologically)would be perhaps an image of my mother's pudina (mint) patch at the back of the house. It seemed to me to be forever there- that square green patch of grass. And the minty smell that wafted when a breeze blew past as mum crushed the leaves with the stone pestle- for an accompaniment to dinner- is a still fresh on the mind. As if I can still smell it, here and now. Right behind the mint patch was the peach tree that me and my brother so loved. We always ate the fruits before they ripened- thus almost always making us ill. That beloved tree of ours- fell down when the cyclone hit in the late 1990's. How we mourned it's loss.


Moments of mourning were rare though- in those days. It was one fun filled day to the other. And for me, the best FUN was being drenched in water. I was a water baby if there ever was one. Though I don't remember how I developed this affinity for water, as far as I can remember, I have loved this particular element like no other. So I never spared a single chance I got to  follow my brother and  run off to the huge lake right next to the settlement. Of course, the lake was to deep for us, but luckily, it gave birth to a gurgling stream which was just the right depth for us. So we'd be there - in that ice cold water until too late when playtime got over. Mind you, all these activities were not a bit approved by the parents. In fact, they had expressly forbidden us from going to the lake( for most obvious fear of us drowning). And so it was that I was returning home from yet such a day- but unlike the other days, we had been too long in the stream. the sun had gone down, we were wet and had no way of drying ourselves before we got home. So with blue, shivering lips we went home where the wrath of our father awaited us. And wrath face we did.... But I don't remember what happened after that... (Will have to ask Dad)


However our day would end, the morning would begin with Mum dressing us for school. Blue uniforms, white shirts, neck-ties, and black shoes. Except on Wednesday. On Wednesday we wore our sport shirts and white shorts, and I wore my favourite white shoes. A hurried breakfast later, me, my brother and all the other kids from the settlement would be in the Jeep ready be dropped to school- a few kilometres away. I don't know why, but I was always made to sit in the front of the jeep(the Jeep didn't have doors). The Jeep would have just started when all the older  kids would begin chanting "Ramhuai Speed!" which literally translates to "Devil's Speed" and our kind driver would more often than not humor them by obliging. In all of this, I would be clinging on to the only support I had in front of me, a bar like handle, waiting for us to arrive. I couldn't jump down fast enough!


School held another bunch of memories. From the peon sharpening our pencils for us to the distinctive gong of the hand hit bell. Lunch hour was most entertaining. I remember this piece of memory where the teacher says "Lets see whose morsel is the biggest!" and I shove an fistful of rice into my mouth and then proceed to grin like an idiot.


Strangely enough, despite the fact that I have pictures of me from that time, I have no recollection of those captured moments. Its as if my child mind grabbed onto those memories- spontaneous and brimming with life, and kept it safe for older me, and the to-be-older-still me. I'm eternally grateful to her.

Reminiscing

Reminiscing. 

I've been doing a lot of it. I don't know if it is the approaching birthday that has let loose these torrents of memories that constantly flood my mind. They come crashing down at every little rest my constantly buzzing mind takes. Of course they are not distasteful at all. In fact, all of them are fond fond memories of my childhood. 

Sometimes I wonder at the clarity of these memories. They are as clear as a wiped glass yet the very same is frosted over. I don't even know if its possible. But then again, I tell myself, the world is full of contradictions and dichotomies and all possibilities exist.

The flow of my thought is erratic. I know. It shows in my writing, and if one would hear me in a conversation, it shows in it as well. One short string of thought catches on to another stray string much too easily. 

This is how I now find  myself now thinking about how the idea of memories flooding back to me, while not distasteful, makes me come to a very unwelcoming realization- I am no longer young. A lot of people would disagree- those well above my age. But it think it is the same feeling a 30 year old person experiences when they see someone 10 years younger than them. and to them too there will be those saying, "Tch! YOU sare still young! In the prime of your life!". 

So while I do know that I am RELATIVELY young, I am at the same time, no longer young. The idea is subjective really. So while I am feeling miserable feeling old, the very same cause for my misery becomes a source of joy. It makes me realize what a rich and fulfilling childhood I've had. I have so so many memories, wonderful memories of being a child- in the true sense of the word. 

Thus, I've been reminiscing a lot. Tracing my memories. Going as far back as I can. So I decided to make a project out of it. To write a blog starting with my earliest memory. This is like an intro to it... he he he he.

I'll begin shortly. when I'm done. Reminiscing that is. One tends to get lost in it.

Reminiscing

There's a place within our hearts
Where we keep our favorite memories,
The ones that never fail to make us smile --
And when life becomes too hectic
It's such a special feeling
To close our eyes and reminisce awhile.

Amanda Bradley