Broken words, broken thoughts -
Remnants of a broken soul.
Stilted sentences, fragmented paragraphs,
Scrawled on a burnt parchment.
Jilted and jolted out of the comfort of rationalization -
I am now a series of bad punctuation.
A misplaced period, a tentative comma -
I am a dangling clause awaiting conclusion.
Monday, June 30, 2008
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Her first trip to the therapist
Disclaimer: By no means is this passage meant to poke fun at people who’ve really had it tough and have real problems.
Well, as you can see, I’m not a very well sown up person. I’m practically spilling over myself on every side. But I still keep finding one life raft after the other. That’s when I think that some one out there is looking after me. It was The Secret last month and this month, its Feynmen’s I wonder why coupled with Feng Shui. Both were recommended by Cosmo’s latest issue. Apparently my room is totally at odds with my Feng Shui Map…but apparently you can appease the negative energy by introducing more of your birth element into your midst. My birth element is fire; I was born in the year of the tiger. That was a few years before the anticipated arrival of Orwell’s dystopian deluge. I know, because I read that book in school, but it, the deluge you know, didn’t really get here till recently. Now that the End is here, I’m drowning quite willingly, completely happy to accept my fate because...
.... living is really getting to be a pain.
My brother always told me that I would meet my end in a bad way, because I wanted too many free lunches. And dinners, and vacations and pretty, sparkly things and drinks every Friday night. He is very, very good at finding out exactly what is wrong with me. I know exactly what’s wrong with him though; he knows too much. The thing about being right all the time is that everyone else around you turns out to be wrong and so they hate you anyway. I don’t care to be right, you know. I just want people to be happy. A guy I dated for a nearly a year…you know he was one of those writer types… he gave me a book for my birthday after we broke up, a Paulo Coelho book, and it had this inscription on it. Here, I’ve got here it with me, 'coz I wanted to show you…I don’t know why it fucks me up whenever I read it. “You have excelled in the art of being the faulty one and hence, will always be loved for your simplicity, helplessness and eagerness to atone for your sins. Add that to the mild, unthreatening look of an innocent and there! What a terrific combination! All you ever have to do is be yourself – and there you are! An it girl in every crowd, because whatever they want you to be, you are it.”
I’m not like that you know…he makes me sound like I’m such…such putty. But that was when I was younger, I’m not that naïve now…I guess I’ve learnt the hard way.
If you want to know who I am, all you have to do is ask my friends. They’ll tell you I’m talkative, funny, extremely absent minded, always pleasant, artistically talented am always eager to try something new. If you want you know who I want to be, all you have to do is raid my bathroom cabinet. I want Straight to perfection hair, Irresistibly smooth skin, a Clear, Light, Blemish-free complexion (from tea tree oil, lemon extracts and SPF 25), feet with soles as smooth as a baby’s behind, to wake up bright and energetic (with citrus body wash) and smell like happiness (with Clinique Happy!). You might also want to check out my bedroom closet, the overused Yoga mat and the free weights in a corner, sets and sets of chic, aspirational executive wear, two ‘little black dresses’ and six or seven other little dresses you know, 7 pairs of stilletoes- 2 of which are red, one black, two white and one golden, trainers, all purpose Pumas and 2 pairs of flip flops and bathroom slippers. My room smells of sandalwood and cinnamon, wafting alternately from the open jar of potpourri and scented candles. My bookshelf has an odd assortment of classics, paperbacks and self help books, of which I am most often caught with the latter. My CD stack consists mainly of chic flicks with the occasional Oscar winners and Cannes film festival Palm d’Or to impress any smart people who visit my bedroom. Hey, I’m a Lit major, its not like I’m stupid. I just like movies about girls like me…that’s all.
I would have been fine now, if it hadn’t been that there were no babies. I’m 28 years old and according to my life plan, I should be married by now, with my second baby on the way, since I want three children, preferably sons, and all babies born after the woman’s thirtieth year are several times as likely to have Down’s. The absence of the Husband doesn’t upset me so much, because I’ve long since realized that men my age really want to fool around till they’re much older and the much older men actually want to have their babies with much younger women; the much younger than me, women. I went to the adoption agency only to find out that I didn’t meet some of their credentials and thought, fuck, I don’t want any Mandarin-speaking babies anyway. But still, not to have even the option…now that really unnerved me. My friends, who are mostly married keep telling me that I’m better off, I can really concentrate on my career unlike them, who had to take 10 months off and haven’t since recovered from the slide down the corporate ladder. Maybe…well ya, maybe I should just get a dog. Not cats, since, as you know, cats eat their owners after they, the owners that is, are dead.
Work is actually one of the things I actually enjoy doing…I work in publishing and the thrill and the gossip and the politics of a real job is really great. I found my calling three years ago, after I met a career counselor who helped me find my Personal branding. Once I got that down, I knew who I was and what sort of employer would be looking for me plus, I was never stumped when they asked me what my USP was. I was a unique brand, a thing the world needed. Its been an upward journey ever since. Buzz around the office is, I’m going be promoted again. But before I branded myself, I held jobs in three different advertising agencies as a copy writer, but I was miserable and was spending a lot of time really trying to establish myself as a model and actor. And I did get pretty far, you know, did about twenty commercials and even worked on three short films, one of which actually entered the Cannes short film segment. I gave up advertising ‘cause it wasn’t working since I had too much on my mind and it made me worry, and worrying isn’t good for your face. Plus shoots were getting pretty hectic.
I had a few more offers but the roles didn’t get any meatier, like I’d hoped, so I waited around till something better showed up and I waited till one day, the electricity was shut off. That’s when I had to get a job again. My first job after that stint was at Starbucks. I had an Honors degree in English and my mother told me over the phone, that she cried herself to sleep every night wondering where she had gone wrong with me. I felt like shit so I decided to get busy. I scrounged and saved like a dog or something and saved enough money for Personal Branding. I think it was the single most smartest thing I ever did.
But even the office doesn’t distract me enough these days from the reality of the world’s situation. I look around me and all I can see are things that are going down hill. Look at America, for instance. I always wanted to go to America and Disneyland and live in my very own rented loft in New York and become a columnist. But I mean, I can’t go there now…not after what they’ve done in Iraq. Plus, have you watched their TV these days? Gossip girl is so immature.
And I know…that its here, the time is nearing, because every other non-fiction book on Borders these days has something to do with the non-existence of God. I wish people had more faith. In God or in Feng Shui or whatever. Its when you think too much about these things that you get into trouble with yourself. You’ll start thinking about what you did with your life and about death and such, and you might even start regretting some of the things that you did with your life, but I don’t like that because I don’t believe in regret. My boyfriend, my ex that is, he for example, told me that he did regret cheating on his wife. I told him if it weren’t for that, we would never have discovered each other. All of a sudden, he looked so destroyed, that I knew, I knew then, that he really didn’t want to be with me. I dumped him the next morning and he got his stuff and left without kicking up a fuss. That’s when I felt really bad about letting him in and opening up in the first place because every time you do that, people just use you and leave you with a broken heart. But that’s when I remembered that I didn’t believe in regret. I decided that hell, I would have a family with or without a man and I booked an appointment with the adoption agency.
Now, I really can’t stop the spinning. I can just feel the earth just tumbling into its own centre and nearing the heat of the sun. I just can hear all the dead people waking up and trying to warn me. When I did my Yoga this morning, I had a vision of a Mandarin baby with a red bandana and a gun telling me to run away before it got me. I know its here doc, I know everything’s gonna fall apart and I can’t sleep anymore. So I need some pills to stop the pain in my chest and the spinning and help me sleep some…’coz you know…all I wanna do is sleep. If I just go to sleep, I’ll be alright.
Well, as you can see, I’m not a very well sown up person. I’m practically spilling over myself on every side. But I still keep finding one life raft after the other. That’s when I think that some one out there is looking after me. It was The Secret last month and this month, its Feynmen’s I wonder why coupled with Feng Shui. Both were recommended by Cosmo’s latest issue. Apparently my room is totally at odds with my Feng Shui Map…but apparently you can appease the negative energy by introducing more of your birth element into your midst. My birth element is fire; I was born in the year of the tiger. That was a few years before the anticipated arrival of Orwell’s dystopian deluge. I know, because I read that book in school, but it, the deluge you know, didn’t really get here till recently. Now that the End is here, I’m drowning quite willingly, completely happy to accept my fate because...
.... living is really getting to be a pain.
My brother always told me that I would meet my end in a bad way, because I wanted too many free lunches. And dinners, and vacations and pretty, sparkly things and drinks every Friday night. He is very, very good at finding out exactly what is wrong with me. I know exactly what’s wrong with him though; he knows too much. The thing about being right all the time is that everyone else around you turns out to be wrong and so they hate you anyway. I don’t care to be right, you know. I just want people to be happy. A guy I dated for a nearly a year…you know he was one of those writer types… he gave me a book for my birthday after we broke up, a Paulo Coelho book, and it had this inscription on it. Here, I’ve got here it with me, 'coz I wanted to show you…I don’t know why it fucks me up whenever I read it. “You have excelled in the art of being the faulty one and hence, will always be loved for your simplicity, helplessness and eagerness to atone for your sins. Add that to the mild, unthreatening look of an innocent and there! What a terrific combination! All you ever have to do is be yourself – and there you are! An it girl in every crowd, because whatever they want you to be, you are it.”
I’m not like that you know…he makes me sound like I’m such…such putty. But that was when I was younger, I’m not that naïve now…I guess I’ve learnt the hard way.
If you want to know who I am, all you have to do is ask my friends. They’ll tell you I’m talkative, funny, extremely absent minded, always pleasant, artistically talented am always eager to try something new. If you want you know who I want to be, all you have to do is raid my bathroom cabinet. I want Straight to perfection hair, Irresistibly smooth skin, a Clear, Light, Blemish-free complexion (from tea tree oil, lemon extracts and SPF 25), feet with soles as smooth as a baby’s behind, to wake up bright and energetic (with citrus body wash) and smell like happiness (with Clinique Happy!). You might also want to check out my bedroom closet, the overused Yoga mat and the free weights in a corner, sets and sets of chic, aspirational executive wear, two ‘little black dresses’ and six or seven other little dresses you know, 7 pairs of stilletoes- 2 of which are red, one black, two white and one golden, trainers, all purpose Pumas and 2 pairs of flip flops and bathroom slippers. My room smells of sandalwood and cinnamon, wafting alternately from the open jar of potpourri and scented candles. My bookshelf has an odd assortment of classics, paperbacks and self help books, of which I am most often caught with the latter. My CD stack consists mainly of chic flicks with the occasional Oscar winners and Cannes film festival Palm d’Or to impress any smart people who visit my bedroom. Hey, I’m a Lit major, its not like I’m stupid. I just like movies about girls like me…that’s all.
I would have been fine now, if it hadn’t been that there were no babies. I’m 28 years old and according to my life plan, I should be married by now, with my second baby on the way, since I want three children, preferably sons, and all babies born after the woman’s thirtieth year are several times as likely to have Down’s. The absence of the Husband doesn’t upset me so much, because I’ve long since realized that men my age really want to fool around till they’re much older and the much older men actually want to have their babies with much younger women; the much younger than me, women. I went to the adoption agency only to find out that I didn’t meet some of their credentials and thought, fuck, I don’t want any Mandarin-speaking babies anyway. But still, not to have even the option…now that really unnerved me. My friends, who are mostly married keep telling me that I’m better off, I can really concentrate on my career unlike them, who had to take 10 months off and haven’t since recovered from the slide down the corporate ladder. Maybe…well ya, maybe I should just get a dog. Not cats, since, as you know, cats eat their owners after they, the owners that is, are dead.
Work is actually one of the things I actually enjoy doing…I work in publishing and the thrill and the gossip and the politics of a real job is really great. I found my calling three years ago, after I met a career counselor who helped me find my Personal branding. Once I got that down, I knew who I was and what sort of employer would be looking for me plus, I was never stumped when they asked me what my USP was. I was a unique brand, a thing the world needed. Its been an upward journey ever since. Buzz around the office is, I’m going be promoted again. But before I branded myself, I held jobs in three different advertising agencies as a copy writer, but I was miserable and was spending a lot of time really trying to establish myself as a model and actor. And I did get pretty far, you know, did about twenty commercials and even worked on three short films, one of which actually entered the Cannes short film segment. I gave up advertising ‘cause it wasn’t working since I had too much on my mind and it made me worry, and worrying isn’t good for your face. Plus shoots were getting pretty hectic.
I had a few more offers but the roles didn’t get any meatier, like I’d hoped, so I waited around till something better showed up and I waited till one day, the electricity was shut off. That’s when I had to get a job again. My first job after that stint was at Starbucks. I had an Honors degree in English and my mother told me over the phone, that she cried herself to sleep every night wondering where she had gone wrong with me. I felt like shit so I decided to get busy. I scrounged and saved like a dog or something and saved enough money for Personal Branding. I think it was the single most smartest thing I ever did.
But even the office doesn’t distract me enough these days from the reality of the world’s situation. I look around me and all I can see are things that are going down hill. Look at America, for instance. I always wanted to go to America and Disneyland and live in my very own rented loft in New York and become a columnist. But I mean, I can’t go there now…not after what they’ve done in Iraq. Plus, have you watched their TV these days? Gossip girl is so immature.
And I know…that its here, the time is nearing, because every other non-fiction book on Borders these days has something to do with the non-existence of God. I wish people had more faith. In God or in Feng Shui or whatever. Its when you think too much about these things that you get into trouble with yourself. You’ll start thinking about what you did with your life and about death and such, and you might even start regretting some of the things that you did with your life, but I don’t like that because I don’t believe in regret. My boyfriend, my ex that is, he for example, told me that he did regret cheating on his wife. I told him if it weren’t for that, we would never have discovered each other. All of a sudden, he looked so destroyed, that I knew, I knew then, that he really didn’t want to be with me. I dumped him the next morning and he got his stuff and left without kicking up a fuss. That’s when I felt really bad about letting him in and opening up in the first place because every time you do that, people just use you and leave you with a broken heart. But that’s when I remembered that I didn’t believe in regret. I decided that hell, I would have a family with or without a man and I booked an appointment with the adoption agency.
Now, I really can’t stop the spinning. I can just feel the earth just tumbling into its own centre and nearing the heat of the sun. I just can hear all the dead people waking up and trying to warn me. When I did my Yoga this morning, I had a vision of a Mandarin baby with a red bandana and a gun telling me to run away before it got me. I know its here doc, I know everything’s gonna fall apart and I can’t sleep anymore. So I need some pills to stop the pain in my chest and the spinning and help me sleep some…’coz you know…all I wanna do is sleep. If I just go to sleep, I’ll be alright.
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