Lunch that got us talking

P.G has the most insane way of asking questions. And I as always have the privilege of having lunch with her. So today while our boss was happily eating his buth, she spoke.

“So are your parents dead?” I choked.

I tell her that there are better ways of phrasing the question, she looks at me and says, “oh you mean, like are your parents alive?”

I’m not the queen of tact, but surely she can’t be this blonde. He decided to interrupt and casually tell her in nicer words that she’s a moron. I wholly agreed. Then P.G not the one to let things go, struck back “so how old is your son”?

“Daughter”. We almost shout back. Unperturbed she questions him about his daughter. Now I’m mortified as he rattles on about his little girl who is actually 9. I keep looking in P.G’s direction to communicate with my eyes that she needs to watch what she says next. But alas, I’m too late.

“Why does she behave like 3 year old if she’s 9?”

We sigh, and he says that she’s got Down’s Syndrome. I felt a gush of relief but at the same time I refused to make eye contact. I wasn’t sure whether my eyes would betray any emotion or maybe his would.

P.G feels embarrassed and stupid and as usual is now struggling for words or maybe her own emotions, but he continues throughout lunch regaling stories of his daughter. I feel elated. Here’s somebody whom I’ve known for ages and I knew about his daughter’s condition, yet I’ve never inquired about her for fear of how he’d respond. But here we’re merrily discussing her antics and laughing. It’s like he has always waited for someone to ask him about her, and all it took was P.G’s inquisitive questioning in the most uncivilized manner to get him talking.

For once I didn’t berate her for her lack of etiquette.

Meeting the boyfriend’s parents

GASP!

Don’t GASP because I’m not meeting the boyfriend’s parents but it did get your attention, I hope. Oh and boyfriend hope I didn’t give you a scare . Well this drastic topic was provoked by a similar caption in the Vogue magazine (yes I’m a faithful reader of the VOGUE) which after much deliberation was read by an overeager me. The article had a lot of brand names that could be utilized when some poor girl goes to ‘meet the parents’. Unfortunately since I live in Sri Lanka and don’t care too much for brand names (but, Body Shop rocks) I decided to reveal all in my blog about what I think is the perfect way to meet the parents.

(SFX: Drum Roll) Don’t meet the parents!!

Ok joking I wish life was like that but unfortunately most men are momma’s boys so one day Mother Dearest will have to be dealt with. When that day dawns I’m going to hide under my bed, and anyone who comes looking for me will be unmercifully poked with a broom.

Actually come to think of it, I haven’t met a parent who hasn’t liked me, most of my male friends parents love me so much that they think I should marry their sons. Which makes me wonder what they used in their tea (because they sure don’t know what I did with them when they had their backs turned (kidding, I’m not a bad girl, just kicked the family cat and occasionally kicked the guy)).

Anyway the last episode of meet the parents was when I liked this guy and he liked me (whatever happened with that no one knows, or rather I do but won’t tell) and then one day I ran into him at a mall. He was with Mother Dearest. I froze because I was in my scruffy sneakers, with the laces undone, hair all in a mess and a tee which said “Rock on”. Boy what an impression!! Picture this… I saw him, had this big smile on my face, then I saw his mom, tried to do a U turn, stumbled on my laces, and did a little ‘oopsie I nearly fell but I’m alright dance’. He came up to me and asked me if I was all right. So I casually remarked saying I was but my shoes weren’t, lame! His mom, who had caught all this, walked over and said “hello, I’m (So and So) mum”. I nod and (So and So) quickly introduces me to her, So and So also decided on the spur of the moment to invite me to lunch with them. I mean come on… so I politely say I can’t but mom insists that I come. Oh boy!! So I go and we have a really good time and guess what I didn’t have to behave all prim and proper, I was just myself, I even managed to spill sauce on my ‘rock on’ tee. So the point of this story is basically just be yourself, dress conservatively though, heard short skirts and cleavage showing tops are a big no in today’s parent meeting society. But I’m all for meeting the parents somewhere else apart from home. And damnit I will wear my jeans when I meet them.

My mum: For goodness sake wear the white dress with pink flowers

Me: No, black dress and that’s final!

Mum: Are you going to a funeral?

Me: I will be if his parents don’t like me.

This conversation will never happen because secretly she will wish that ‘his’ parents won’t like me because she doesn’t like him. So jeans it is then!!

I am who I am

Because of many reasons…

Nine years ago I lost faith in people because I watched my dad’s best friend outsmart him, disintegrate my family and strip us clean. My dad whom I was closest to had to venture out to a foreign country to pull us out of the pit. His departure tore me apart. I needed him and he wasn’t there. When he returned I hated him. He was almost a stranger and I wanted to blame him for everything that went wrong.

A few years later I realized that it wasn’t his fault and learnt to love him because he was good man, a bit stupid though and that his biggest mistake in life was that he trusted everybody. A quality that seemed inherent in me (according to analysis by myself and family members) I am just like my father. Too good hearted to be successful.  So fearing imminent doom I set about tearing my personality to pieces and in place built a shield so no one would ever be able to hurt me.

I learnt to mistrust people.

Four years ago I lost a bunch of friends because I thought I had an attitude problem but really it was all because of a boy. A boy whom I liked a lot. I decided to trust him. He decided to use me. He with a few of my then close friends turned against me. I worked on my personality once more.

Mistrust coupled with anger played a vital role. For a while.

Two and half years ago I yelled at a friend/colleague at work. I’ve regretted that moment ever since but I learnt a valuable lesson about my temper. That yelling nearly cost me my job and a friend. I worked on my personality; I erased anger off my list. I’m not an angry person anymore. I do get irritated, a little pissed off but I haven’t yelled at anybody in the past 2 years and I’m happy about that. I cry instead. At least that won’t hurt anybody even if it means embarrassment or shows that I not as strong as I project myself to be. It’s better this way.

A couple of months back the friend who hurt me said that he likes me. I’ve forgiven him for whatever he did, for however much he hurt me but I couldn’t go out with him. I didn’t love him. Probably because I still mistrust people. Probably because we’re not compatible. Probably for many other reasons. But what I said to him was hurtful, completely uncalled for and I know I haven’t been the nicest of people. So I apologized with many tears because I want to be a good person not the bitchy, egoistic maniac that I am. I cried because I realized that I still haven’t removed hatred from my heart. I haven’t learnt to trust people. I haven’t learnt to love people.

I prayed about it and I know that if I work extra hard I could and would become a better person. It’s going to take time and assistance from my friends and family.

So I am who I am.

I’m willing to change for the better.

I’m extremely proud of my family and love them unconditionally.

And friends, I think I have the greatest and coolest bunch ever.

I knew life was going to take an exciting twist this year and it has.

Firstly I’ve been promoted. It was a goal I’ve been working on since the latter part of last year so I’m glad that’s accomplished. I think more than the actual promotion I was just simply thrilled when The Great White One and Big R told me that I was one of the better writers in the department and that I have the talent and potential to become a good advertising writer. So yippee! 

In other happy news my sister-in-law is pregnant. So I can expect a bundle of joy during Christmas. So double yippee!!

Aunt Scatterbrain came down from Aussie, it’s been awesome fun having her around. I love the gifts she brought for me specially the dress I’m dying to wear. Also went to visit my Nana (dad’s mom) and some my cousins and aunts and uncles. Susie girl has a really cute baby girl. So all in all 2008 is looking awfully bright, sparkling and happy.

I’ve decided that I’m setting a new goal since I seem to be accomplishing most of the ones I’ve already jotted down. So the new goal is to win Metal at an International award show. 

The importance of praying

Now I believe that prayers are answered.

At my church when we come to an age of understanding we are allowed to give talks based on bible topics. These talks help us understand the bible better, it also helps us tackle difficult questions that people might throw at us. Giving your first talk is a big deal. I gave my first talk when I was eight. I still remember that day. It was a great day. After I finished, everybody applauded, they hugged me and my parents gave me gifts. I was thrilled and looked forward to more talks but the gifts stopped coming.

This Friday it’s my lil sister’s turn to give her very first talk. She’s 12, took her a bit longer to decide whether she was up to it. I feel extremely excited for her. My parents usually make a big fuss about things like this, so we bought her gifts, she doesn’t know it yet but I’m sure she’ll be thrilled. This is where the prayer bit fits in, well I completely forgot that this talk was happening and scheduled an extremely important meeting to completely wreck my chances of witnessing my sister’s debut. When realization hit me like a big JMC truck, it was too late. So I started panicking and decided to explain to my sister that I won’t be able to make it but I didn’t have the guts. She would be so disappointed in me and that’s something I simply can’t stand. So I prayed fervently over the past couple of days, begging God to cancel that wretched meeting.

Guess what? The meeting is canceled and rescheduled for another date. So now I can listen to my sister with a huge grin on my face and share that one awesome moment of her tiny life.

My splendid years

Since I had a bit of time on my hands, decided to evaluate my past in a yearby year format…13 and 14 – They were normal years. Full of fun and frolic. I still climbedwalls and trees, chased boys up the road (not in the way I would have lovedto have chased them). Was dorky, still wore my hair in braids, still woreVictorian frocks which were usually two sizes too big but I thought theywere spectacular.15 was a very different year, I started becoming more girly. With theintroduction to Theatre I took every stride that came, started changing mywardrobe, started talking about things I didn’t know about and as a resultlearnt a lot more things that a 15 year old could have done without. I alsostarted seeing boys in a different light, started attracting older men.Strangely made a very spiritual leap. Developed a crush on a guy at church(that wasn’t the spiritual leap, but it did help because he gave me a hug).That was also the year my bro introduced me to clubbing and I justabsolutely loved it.16 by far was the best year of my life. I was getting used to the whole ideaof being a teenager and was playing the part pretty well. So I let go, had alot of fun and at the same time maintained my principles.17 was the rebellious year. I fought a lot, with the people at church, withmy family. Ditched my friends and completely dived into things I would havenot done otherwise. 17 was also the year I started dating, my first kiss anda whole lot of other things.18 was the career year. My first serious job in a big company. I wasoverjoyed, the parties, the guys, the booze… took it all in and it was ZEN.This also led to my second relationship, which had its absolutely fabulousmoments.19 was the guilty year. I felt bad for everything I’d done, didn’t want tohurt my family who’ve been there for me. I was heartbroken when myrelationship started to fall apart. My career wasn’t doing too well. Met aninteresting guy though whom I fell head over heels in love with but itwasn’t mean to be.20 was the year for change. I stopped my bad girl ways, started attendingchurch, didn’t party so much. Won a couple of Chillies, which did a lot tomy ego and proved that I could still be a worthy asset to the company. Alsomet another interesting guy but unfortunately felt like he was taking medown the wrong road so I cut him off the picture.This year is going to be extremely different from all the other years and Idon’t feel all that bad about being 21. I’m happy. My family is happy. Myfriends are happy. So what more is there to ask for?

From the past to the present

To smoothen a rough patch, which is buried in the past, is the most difficult thing to do. The whole exercise requires having to brave bitter memories, revisit the issue, and then usually make amends.

3 odd years have passed. The stress, disappointment and heartache have been successfully dealt with and left to rot in the recesses of my brain. Unearthing it seemed a bit of an effort but at the insistence of Specko I figured that maybe it was time to let him know what actually happened. It strangely seemed more like an obligation on my part because he did after all play an important role during that whole fiasco.

So I did recount the story, maintaining a calm voice and an intact spirit. I spoke my mind, dispelled his doubts and pinpointed facets of his personality that I don’t like. But strangely the more I spoke, instead of feeling closer I felt strangely disconnected with everything. We spoke at length about trust and Friedrich Nietzsche expressed exactly the way I feel about the matter when he said “I’m not upset that you lied to me, I’m upset that from now on I can’t believe you”.

Was the conversation enlightening? No. Did it make me feel any better? No. So what am I to make of the conversation…in a way we voiced our issues, sorted them out but actually the issue also involves ‘others’. These other people are the bigger problem, a problem that exceeds the capabilities of just Specko and me. I tend to move around these people on a regular basis because I have to. I don’t hate them. I don’t love them either. I’m just another person in their circle of other people and I’m fine with that.

I guess the point of revisiting the past didn’t help. Maybe it’s just me but if it helped Specko in any way I’m happy, at least some good came out of it.

Something that has always lingered in my mind…I don’t know to what extent Specko was hurt by the whole incident but one thing for certain he didn’t suffer as much as I did, neither did his family and friends. That is exactly why I will feel the way I do.

My final words on this issue: I’m not going to do anything about it because I’ve already suffered the repercussions of actually trying to do something. I know I’m a fighter but this time round I’m going to be a coward.