Girl in the Back

The first time we met I would have never guessed that this would be the guy that finally made me fall in love. This is the story of how we first met.

I had a meeting that Monday morning.  I came in early, or so I thought. When I walked into the meeting room, I realized I was more like the last person to come in. I took a seat in the back. I figured I'd get some studying done too during the breaks. I didn't really pay much attention to the people around me. What I didn't know was that a certain someone was paying very close attention. 

I kept to myself and tried to pay attention to the lecture. During one of the breaks, all of us were experiencing technical issues, so one of the guys in front of me decided to send an email to IT on all our behalf. When he got to my name, he turned around and asked, "How do you pronounce your last name?"

I pronounced it and then they asked me to pronounce it again. The girl to the left asked, "So what ethnicity are you?" 

"Take a guess."

For a few minutes, everyone was silent. One girl looked as though she was going to say something but held back, thinking again. Finally, the tall guy with the glasses and the thick flowy hair spoke. 

He asked, "Are you South Indian?"

"Yes," I said. I was stunned, surprised. I didn't fit the standard stereotype of a South Indian. I was tall, fair skinned, the opposite of dark and short.

"Are you Tamil?"

"No, I'm Malayalee. How did you know that?"

"Your last name. I've been to India before." 

"Really? Where?"

"Delhi, Agra . . ."

Prior to that moment, all I noticed the back of his head and even then, still didn't notice anything much other than the dark flowy head of hair that he had. It was longer than most guys' and thick, the kind you could run your hands through.

According to him, he said he had noticed me from the moment I walked in through the door. He noticed the dark blue top and skirt I wore. When I took my seat in the back, I became "the girl in the back" in his mind. I asked him more than once when he said that phrase and he would never explain. 

We went through the rest of the training without any more technically difficulties. We took a break for lunch and we kept talking, getting to know each other better: where he went to school, origins, etc. The more he talked, the more interested I became. What really got me was that he was well traveled. Europe, Uzbekistan, etc. I was in awe. 

I continued to multi-task. At the end of the training we were heading to a bowling event. I did not do much bowling. I was never much of a good bowler as it was. I was more interested in getting to know him better. The entire team was there but I sat at a table of three that eventually it became four. It was a rather diverse table: myself, Leslie (a Hispanic girl), him, and Ella (an older woman). He told us more stories of his travels. One story stood out to me in particular. 

He was telling us about this hole in the ground in Turkmenistan in the Karakum Desert. It is a crater created decades ago and the flames within have been burning ever since. The locals call it the Door to Hell. Even the trek to get there was a little crazy. A long drive and then a 20? mile trek from the road and then you finally get to the giant burning hole. 

"You went to go see that?!"

"I didn't get to. They rejected my visa."

I sat and laughed. It was the most absurd thing I had heard. During our talks, we all would get up and go bowl when it was our individual turns. He was a really good bowler and when I asked him how often he would bowl, he said rarely. The more we talked, the more eager I was in getting to know him better. It felt like drinking from the ocean. The more I learned, the more I wanted to know.

What I didn't know at the time was that he was spellbound by "the girl in the back" from the minute she walked in through the door at training. For him, the bowling event was just an opportunity to get to know her. The more he got to know her, the more he liked her. For every time he had to go up there and bowl, he come running back to the table.

Once it was over, I needed a ride to the train station to get back to my car. Ryan, one of the team members, offered to drop me off, as well as drop David back off to the hotel. I took shot gun but what I really wanted to do was sit in the back and talk to him more. Later, I found out he had felt the same way. We said by once we got to the station.

I would be seeing a lot more of this tall, well traveled, dorky guy. I never thought this would be the guy to change everything I knew about myself.

The next things to happen are found in Chocolate Kisses and First Love
http://reverse-cinderella-stories.blogspot.com/2015/04/chocolate-kisses.html
http://reverse-cinderella-stories.blogspot.com/2015/11/first-love.html

First Love

Even as turbulent and crazy as our relationship got, there was always one day, one moment that I never forgot. Even when things got bad, I would hold on to that one day in time. It was the day I realized I was in love with him.

We had known each other for a while at that point, spending time with each other quite often. I knew I had fallen for him, but I didn’t realize it ran deeper than just that. One day, he had a 4 hour layover in my city. We had planned to get dinner together, probably our favorite semi-Mexican place. I counted down the hours and minutes, until I got out of work. I even left a little earlier than usual. Luckily for me, the train near my office went straight to the airport.

As I jumped on the train, I thought about the little moments, all ones we had shared together since we met. I felt a happiness, a warmth that filled me. At the time, I just chucked it up to giddiness at the prospect of seeing him. Upon arriving at the airport terminal, I went down the escalators to the Delta arrivals/departures area. I was just about to call him to ask where he was, when I saw him. He was dressed in his usual hipster attire: jeans, scarf, shirt, and a jacket I hated. He didn’t have the raging beard that I loved. Instead, it was a much more manageable scruff. I missed the beard. The thing that got me was the smile on his face, big and bright.

Part of me wanted to run to him but I forced myself to walk, though I walked very very quickly. The entire time I was smiling so hard my face was hurting. When I finally reached him, I fell into his arms and wrapped mine around him. I hugged as hard as I could. In that moment, I was happy, utterly, completely, happy. The warmth inside had turned into a blazing fire and it was wonderful. That moment felt like forever but in reality it was probably only a few minutes. And I cherished each one. It was in that moment that I realized I was in love. Not just falling for him, but a love that touches your soul and fills every cell in your body with hope. And just like that, I was in love for the very first time in my life.

Chocolate Kisses

Kisses, unexpected kisses. Sometimes on the head, sometimes the shoulders, but my favorite were the ones on the lips. Soft and gentle. Not at all like the first time. The first time, to be honest, was pretty awful on his part: too fast, too much tongue, too much everything. Nevertheless, I liked them. They were earnest and sweet, like the person giving them. They were also very inexperienced in the beginning. In his defense, he’d always say, “I hadn’t kissed a girl in a very long, long time. Then, I met you.”

I actually had to tell him to slow down. Before him, my friends had always told me that you have to train a guy to kiss the way you like. Until him, I didn’t understand that.

We were hanging out in his room. He had offered me something to drink, multiple times too, until I finally accepted. The thought did pass through my head that he may very well be trying to get me drunk, but what I did notice was the nervous energy around him. I didn’t understand why though. He kept asking if I wanted to go out to dinner. I’d look at the clock and say, “It’s only 5:40. Are you hungry? We can go if you are.” He’d shake his head each time. Looking back, I can see he wanted to get me out of the room for fear of screwing things up. I think it was inevitable, even if it hadn’t happened the way it did.

He kept roaming around the room as I sat in the chair. It added to the nervous energy about him. Later he told me it was testing out a hypothesis. He kept moving to see if my body would move towards his direction. Each time he moved to a different direction, he said I would move my feet or my body to point towards him. That is how he knew.

Eventually he stopped moving around and asked me if I wanted to watch TV. I shrugged my shoulders and agreed. Later, I found out it was because I took my jacket off. It gave him the idea that may be I’d be sticking around longer than he thought. He started flipping through the channels, asking me if I had a preference. I didn’t. Eventually, I moved over to where he was sitting, siding up besides him, shoulder to shoulder. We continued to talk as he flipped through the channels, until we got to one with elevator music, showing different landscapes and such. As we were talking, he looked down at me. The inches he had on me always had me looking up at him. 

As I replied to something he said, I looked up at him and smiled. It was one of those moments, when it happened. The next thing I know his lips are mine, his tongue invading my mouth. 

Overwhelmed. That’s how I felt. To me it was unexpected and I didn’t see it coming. Looking back now, the signs were all there. I just refused to notice.

My mind was trying to catch up to my body, to the lips on mine, to the rough 5 o’clock brushing up against my skin. Once it did, however, I broke away from the kiss and looked at him. 

"What's wrong?"
"You need to slow down."

He moved in for another kiss. This was worse. Our teeth bumped and kept bumping after every try. I gave a little push, coming up for air. I burst out laughing, as he looked at me confused. 

When I finally caught my breathe, I looked up at him again. 

"You need to slow down. Bumping teeth while kissing is not normal."
"May be you're not doing it right."
I gave him a look. 
"Ok I'm going to do something and I need you to do nothing, while I do it. Think you can do that?"

He nodded. I leaned over to him, moving closer to his lips. 

I paused, just hovering above his lips, before I placed mine on his. I kissed him, slowly, loving the lack of teeth bumping. 

I pulled away. His eyes were still closed, savoring the moment. 

"That's how you kiss."
"It's been a while for me."
"I could tell."

He ducked his head, a little embarrassed. I chuckled. The tables were turned. 

I swooped in for a quick kiss. He smiled and returned the one I gave him. 

We kept at it for a little bit, until I noticed something on his arm. They were brownish splotches on his skin. 

"What's wrong with your arm?"

He looked down, noticing it for the first time. I tried rubbing it, but no such luck. 

"I swear this wasn't there before."

While I'm rubbing his arm, he noticed something on my shirt and began laughing. 

"What?"

"Look at your shirt."

I look down and notice the same colored splotches on my black polka dot top. Then I look down at the sheets under us. I notice the same thing on it as well. I get up and I finally see the melted chocolate squares on the bed. He takes one, popping it into his mouth. 

"It's still good."

I fall back onto the bed, laughing. He pulls me into his arms, his lips finding mine. 

I taste the chocolate on his tongue and I smile against his lips. 

See You Again

"We've come a long way from where we began. I'll tell you all about it when I see you again."

They say when you love someone, they can never really die. So long as you carry your memories of them, they're never truly gone. I believe it.

Sometimes I wake up unable to remember your voice or the way you laughed. I just see your face, smiling. I hate that I'm forgetting bits of you. It scares me, considering how much you meant to all of me, to all of us. It's been ten years and not a year goes by when I don't think about you.

I wonder what you'd think if you saw me now. I'd like to think you'd be happy for me, that you'd still be that cousin sister I'd talk to. I had another cousin pass away the way you did. It made me remember you and all the times we had. You took me to my first R-rated movie. You covered up my eyes during the sex scenes. It was Alexander with Colin Farrell, terrible movie, but I was excited. I watched it with you and the rest of the older cousins. The summer before I finally got be one of your dance students, when you taught us a dance for Ammachi's surprise 70th birthday party. Granted we messed up a ton when we performed it and I was too focused on imitating the person in front of me to notice that you were in the back of the crowd doing all the moves along with us. You were a dancer, an older cousin-sister, and a great listener. Nothing and no one can ever take your place.

"How could we not talk about family when family's all that we got?"

I wish we talked about you more. No one ever mentions your name in the family. I think the last time I heard yours was when I talked about you with Stef. You looked out for us as kids, talked to us, kept in touch. No family is ever the same after a loss like that. Ours isn't and I don't think it ever will. The closest we got was when I threw that 25th anniversary party for my parents. We had all the cousins, young and old, in the basement. We drank together, played flip cup together, and we took care of one another. I'd like to imagine you'd be there and stayed up late with us, instead of going to bed earlier like the older ones. Probably would have been the one to take care of Jakey, when he started throwing up. Knowing you, you'd probably have given a lecture the next morning too. Whatever it is you'd have done, I know we'd have loved you for it.

Since you left, sometimes I think about the other path that you could have taken. But I know that's not our reality. Since you've been gone, I see the world differently. It taught me that nothing lasts, the good nor the bad. You taught me to appreciate the moment you're in; that no matter how bad things are right now, it'll get better. I can appreciate the good moments better because of you; I can live in them because I know they might not be there tomorrow. I don't know if I'd have that without you.

As much as this still hurts a decade later, I hope wherever you are, that you're happy. I hope that the pain is gone. I hope that you found peace and I hope that you found your way home. I'll hold on to the memories and that love will never be lost.

"It's been a long day without you my friend. And I'll tell you all about it when I see you again."

Snapshots II

We were fire and ice. I always ran warm while he ran cold. I loved all things warm. While others complained about the 80 degree weather, I welcomed it. There’s something about summer that I just loved wholeheartedly. Him? Well let’s just say he was the exact opposite. Mountains, snow, and multiple layers of clothes, that was his thing.

It made sleeping in the same bed a little difficult.

His constant complaint was that sleeping next to me felt like sleeping next to a body heater, except in human form. He’d move away from me at some point, but he got stuck with the girl whose body honed in on any sources of heat. Over the course of the night he’d wake up once again with me glued to his side.

On one such night I woke up with him hovering inches away from my face. Lucky for him, I was completely out of it. Confused, I looked over at the clock. It read 3am. I looked back at him and asked, “What are you doing?”

“Making sure you were breathing.”

“Why wouldn’t I be breathing?”

“You’re burning up. I just wanted to see if you were still alive.”

“As you can tell, I’m breathing. Go back to bed.” I turned back onto my side.

“One more thing though.”

I turned back to face him annoyed.

“What?”

“Just this.”

  He kissed me and promptly turned his back to me. Amused, I placed a kiss on the back of his neck and turned over on my side, facing away from him. A second later I felt his arms wrap around me. 

Of course, the next morning he complained about how he couldn't get any sleep what with the human furnace he slept next to. 

Snapshots

                There was a night when we were hanging out at his place. He was cooking. I was sitting at the counter watching him. Music was playing on the stereo system. For the life of me I can’t remember now what the song was, as much as I try to. He was swaying to the music as he took the spoon to check the sauce. Instead of bringing it to his lips, he brought it to mine and said, “Try it.” I took a sip and took a moment to savor the taste. It was good but being my smart aleck self, I replied, “It’s good, just not good as mine.” He laughed and said, “Well next time we can switch places. You cook; I critique.” I laughed and stuck my tongue out at him. There was always something about him that brought out the little kid in me. He tried the sauce himself and said out loud, “It needs a little more salt.”

“You should know by now that I’m terrible at knowing if there’s enough salt in the food. Dad with high blood pressure and cholesterol problems, remember?” I said pointing at myself. He laughed and continued with his cooking. Suddenly, he lifted his head and stopped his cooking and looked right at me.

“What?” I asked him, confused by his actions.  

                Suddenly, he put the spoon down and came around the counter to my side. He pulled me by my hand and led me out to the middle of the room. I looked at him, bewildered by his randomness. I raised my eyebrow, silently questioning him. He just laughed. He took one of my hands in his, intertwining our fingers, and placing the other one on his shoulder. His other hand slid down to my waist, reaching the small of my back. We started swaying to the music, probably off beat but neither of us cared in that moment. I was caught up in the look in his eyes. I had seen it occasionally in the eyes of friends who had the misfortune to fall in love with me, but this time it was different. I knew if you took a photo of us in that moment you would see that look reflected in my own eyes. I was madly, deeply in love with this man.

The song ended. He resumed cooking and I went back to my place by the counter, watching him. Try as I may I couldn't get tired of watching him. Guess that's what love is.

It was random moments like this that made me fall harder for him. He was unpredictable, very random, and prone to doing little acts of love.

If I had to pick a song that fits that night perfectly, it would be "We don't have to take our clothes off" by Ella Eyre. Thank you Youtube.

Life musings, Pooh Bear, & whatnot

“Rivers know this: there is no hurry. We shall get there some day.” 
                                                                              - Winnie the Pooh 

Sometimes life gets busy, crazy. You get caught up in all the wrong priorities and forget all the important things. You could say that's what happened to me but unlike most I was aware of what was happening. I knew and didn't do anything to stop it. I had the usual excuses. Work was hectic-ish, there was soo much to study, my exam is right around the corner, there's so much to do, etc.

But the problem of prioritizing all those things, not that they're not important, is that it leaves you feeling isolated, lonely, and slightly crazy. And I was certainly going crazy. I had become the friend that had to always say "Sorry, I can't. Have to study, work, etc." I became the daughter that would come home at 10pm from work, say a quick hi and go straight to bed. There would be days that would go bye where I didn't see my own parents. This is despite the fact that I live with them, I was probably also starting to become a shitty sister. I barely knew what was going on in my brothers' lives or bothered to ask. If I had a boyfriend around this time, I'd probably make a shitty girlfriend. It felt as though my life was at an absolute standstill, wrapped up in work and studying, while everyone around me got to live.

Along the way I was also losing myself, the part of what made me Me. And believe it or not, the girl who used to enjoy her solitude for the most part, was starting to fear the idea of spending her life alone, despite the fact that the idea of a house on a beach, a few kids, and a dog still seems like the dream. I guess there's something about having the people around you finding significant others, getting engaged, getting married had be feeling like the turtle from the turtle and the hare fable. I had become withdrawn, quieter, less social and outgoing. And it was eating away at my sanity, despite the fact that this life was my choice and I made it a year ago knowing that it was the best considering my circumstances in the here and now.

Then, about a week ago I found out my cousin passed away. Suddenly, everything turned upside down. I put my priorities list on hold for a moment. I started coming home early to spend time with the people I love. I'd come home and sit and actually talk to my parents. Anyone who meets my parents knows that they always have interesting stories to tell. Unlike me, they have lives, my mom, especially. She told me about this 80 year old lady she met on her flight back home from the funeral, how they spent the entire plane ride talking to each other.

Sitting there talking to the two of them, I remembered all that I had put to the side in favor of work and the CPA. I have a pretty great relationship with my parents, despite the fact that I live with them. It took time and not a few hurdles and troubles before we got to where we are right now, but I wouldn't take any of it back. Sometime in college I came to realize that my parents are people too and not just my parents. Not just that, there will be a day when they won't be here anymore, because at some point we all die. The last thing I want is to spend our days arguing and staying mad over the little things. Granted, it's easier said than done, especially after moving back home after college, But, it doesn't change the fact that at the end of the day they're the ones who stay by your side when all else goes to hell.  

As much as my cousin's death pained me, it also reminded me of everything that I had, all the relationships in my life. It gave me a little part of myself back. May not be much but it's a good starting point to rebuilding who I am. As much as I complain about my life/schedule right now, I still have it pretty damn great. Sure I don't have a life between work and studying and the concept of the weekend makes no difference to me. But, I know at the end of this part of my journey, I know I'll have people waiting for me. I just need to make sure there's a me to get to the finish line.

 So yes my life will still be work and studying until I pass this last exam, Just now, I can see what's waiting for me at the end of this road and if I remember not lose myself along the way, I should be ok.


" 'I don’t feel very much like Pooh today,' said Pooh.
'There there," said Piglet. "I’ll bring you tea and honey until you do.' "
                                                                         - Winnie the Pooh

Two Days with My Grandmother

About a week ago my cousin passed away. My mother, my grandmother, my aunt, and I went to both the wake and the funeral. Obviously a somber occasion. You won't find too many people cracking jokes or not thinking about death. We sat near the back row and well, it gave a pretty good view of anyone coming in to give their condolences to the family and pay their respect to the dead.

One group that came in caught my attention, mainly because one of them looked very family. Then I realized I knew one of them. He was a friend and I say friend loosely since I hadn't spoken to him in years. My mother, on the other hand, recognized him immediately. She asked, "Isn't that S?"
I replied, "Yes."

My grandmother, having overheard my mother, quickly buts in, asking, "Who?"
Mom replies, "Oh he's so and so's son."
"What does he do?"
"He's a d_____."
My grandmother turns to me and says, "Do you know him?"
"Yeah, I do."
"Do you have his number?"
"No and we're at a wake!"
But of course it didn't stop there.

The next day after the funeral my grandmother and I walked to the car to grab our coats. She asked again, "Did S____ come?"
"No."

Then, that very afternoon as we waited for our flight, she turned to me and asked yet again, "So you don't have his number?"
"No I don't." I didn't bother asking who the "he" she was referring to was.
"You should talk to him, before it's too late."
I just gave her a look and laughed to myself. I said what I always say to her when she brings up the subject of my singlehood.
"Sure , . ."

Another time during the trip . . .
On the drive from the office to the hotel my family was talking about how potential guys to set me up with and got on the topic of "qualifications." Somewhere in that conversation I put in my input which was, "I want a tall guy."
"How tall?"
"Six feet?"
"You're never finding a guy."
"Looks fall away, waistlines expand, but a person's height doesn't really change."
They had no response to that.


FYI I said the six foot thing just to piss off my grandmother, not because the guy I date has to be that height or taller. Personally, I think that's just setting myself up for disaster.

Family Phone Moments

When I was in college, I would call home frequently. These are the ensuing craziness . . .

Me: “Hi mom, how are you?”
No “Hi, I’m good. How are you?” but instead
Mom: “Which boy do you like the best? S___, T___, or D____?”
By like she meant which one would you prefer to spend the rest of your life with.

When I called the house, my baby brother picked up the phone. Instead of the usual "Hey, how are you?"" I get: “Do you poop well? Cus I have a product that will make you poop well.”
Never too sure how to respond to such a question.

Calling home and my brother picks up.
Phil: “So Mom likes Justin Bieber; she thinks he’s cute.”
Me: “Ask her if she knows who that is.”
In the background, Mom: “I know who he is . . . He’s a singer.”
Me: “Ask her if she likes Usher.”
In the background
Mom: “I like him too! He looks like a nice person. He has that song ‘Oh My Gosh! . . .there‘s so many ways to love you . . . Oh oh oh.’ ”
And she continues singing the rest of the song. Keep in mind she’s close to fifty.

Yet another phone call home.

Me: “Hey Mom, what are you guys doing?”

Mom: “Watching tv with your brothers.”

Me: “What are you watching?”

Mom in half Malayalam and half English: “Some show about old famous people that are drug addicted or drink too much. It’s on V something. Neil, what channel is this? . . . It’s VH1”

Me: hey mom, there’s a channel that shows soap operas all day long.

Mom: What channel?! Do they have the Bold and the Beautiful?”

She’s been watching that one for the last 15 year of my life

Quote of the Day

Random quotes from over the years from different friends and family that I remembered and wrote down with no intent of showing them to the world. And yet, here I am. There's a reason why I like to keep them anonymous.

Part of a longer conversation of randomness
"You can make me paralyzed with amazement just by staring at me with those gorgeous eyes. You could be like Medusa and you wouldn't even have to beat me up.
You can run 9,000 miles. There's no way I'll ever get away. Better to just get beat up by you."

Yet another one with a different friend.
"By the way, you're house is calling me while I'm on the phone with you. Care to explain?"

Theory of Likeability

Of my three closest guy friends, one is what I like to call the funny asshole. He’s blunt but funny. More often than not, what comes out of his mouth are the truths that most don’t want to acknowledge, even if it’s what everyone else is thinking. This is what I call A___’s theory of likeability aka how to get people to like you. This started off as a random daily conversation and then morphed into a value added lesson. I take no credit for the following. 

 “One thing that I find works: if you want someone to like you, ask them to do little things for you. Gradually increase the things you ask for. Just start with something small, like ‘Pick that up for me’ or ‘could you give me a ride here if it’s on your way.’ Then you give them a biscuit with gratitude and a little charm.”

Note: metaphorical biscuit, not actual.

“There’s a second part to this. When you ask people to do stuff for you, sometimes you got to do nice things, like buy them ice cream when they least expect it. Coffee, pick up a cheap lunch. We call this ADDED VALUE. Thank you's that actually come off as really thoughtful yet inexpensive. Then before you know it, you got someone taking your notes for you! And all you got them was a Jr Bacon in return! I’m telling you try it! Works with boys and girls!”

Family Moments

My parents have a strange sense of humor that only they seem to understand. One night while the brothers were out, I'm sitting in the living room talking to them, when suddenly my mom asks my dad point blank, "Do you love me?"
He says all nonchalantly, "No."
They continue to stare at each other, while a smile grows on both their faces. Before long, they burst out laughing, leaving me totally confused.


My brothers are telling me how we have a Ferrari and Bentley dealership in Alpharetta, AKA Suburbia, when my mom says, "I saw a Maserati a few days ago when I was driving somewhere with your dad."
Me: "You know the difference between a Ferrari and a Maserati?!"
Mom: "Duh . . ."
Some days, I feel so behind.


More about my rather random mother . . .
I went to a EDM festival called TomorrowWorld in Georgia the year it started. I was showing her the trailer, when she asks, "Can I come with you??"
Surprisingly, imagining my mother at an EDM festival wasn't the craziest idea, and for a short moment in time, I actually considered it.

Parental Moment
When we went out to dinner with the family for my birthday, I forgot my ID, so my parents got me the drink I wanted. After a drink (a few), the parentals got tipsy and the following conversation ensued.
Parents: You're lucky you got us for parents.
Me: How so?
Parents: What other parents buy their daughter alcohol? No one! We're so cool!
Me: Um . . . no.
Parents: Yes, we are.
Me: Buying your kid a drink is normal. I know parents who do that. You guys aren't special.
Parents: . . .
Me: My friend's mom bought her beer at the liquor store and she's Indian.
Parents: . . . well, at least we have class. We didn't buy you cheap stuff like beer.
They always have to have the last word.

Indian Kid Problems #1

There are certain things in life only kids raised by immigrant parents will ever really get. I was born and raised in the US by Indian immigrants. Here are a few stereotypes/issues that every 1st generation kid can understand.

Gossip
I could go on for hours on this topic, but an example will have to do. Last month, I went to my cousin's wedding. The day after the wedding, I went over to my aunt and uncle's hotel room to where a group of the parents were. I went mainly to go play with the kids. While I'm playing with my younger cousins, I start the parents start bitching about who they got stuck sitting with at the wedding. Who did this, who was being rude, how rude they are, and how they have no class, et cetera, et cetera. That is just the tip of the iceberg. It hasn't even been a full 24 hours and the gossip has begun.
There's a stereotype among our generation that goes a little like this: you go to someone's house and everyone is nice to each other. The minute you leave, they start talking about you. Your car has barely left the driveway when they start in on you. I've been privy to this more than once. As a friend once put it, "Some aunties need to be hired by TMZ. At least they'll make some money off of all the gossip they got. They'd never go out of business!" Ensuing eye roll . . .

2-20 are in the works.

More to come . . .

Black Doos

So I've been recently inspired to write even though I really don't have the time, really really don't. But, my conversations with a friend have reminded me how much I love this. I haven't abandoned this blog. I've just been putting it off, thanks to grad school, exams, etc. Luckily, grad school is now over. I still have boards to take, that I'm in the process of studying for, but as soon as that's over, I'm getting back to this. I have quite a few stories to write and complete. But since I don't have time for a full length story, I'll stick to something small.

My family is far from politically correct. We're racist for sure, but then again, so is everyone else for that matter. Don't try to argue that. We all have our biases and prejudices, whether we acknowledge them or not. One day, my youngest brother was wearing his shorts, which hung pretty low. They were low enough that you could see his boxers, not intentional of course, but that's not how my dad saw it. My dad has a very strong Indian accent, which he refuses to fix. It can cause all kinds of trouble, like the following.

My father, upon seeing my brother's boxers, became really angry. You could see the anger on his face. He says to my brother, "Are you trying to be black doos?!"
Obviously, we're all a little confused by what he's saying.
"A black what?!"
"A black doos!!"
I still don't understand, but my mother did, based on her sudden laughter.
"Black dude, not black doos!"


Everyone breaks out laughing, even my accidentally funny dad.

Once in a Blue Moon

       There is a reason why my stories are dubbed the Reverse Cinderella Stories. Looking back on this story, I can’t help but smile and smack myself on the head simultaneously. You know what they say: hindsight is a bitch.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I was in the gym late one afternoon. I had just finished my workout and was passing by the stairs, when I saw a guy come up. For a brief moment, our eyes met and he smiled at me. Immediately, a thought popped into my head. For whatever reason, I thought, I am not going to be friends with you or talk to you for that matter. I don’t know if it was my intuition warning me or just me being a bitch. I went over to the bench to gather my stuff and leave. As I was sitting there catching my breathe, I heard a voice ask, “Excuse me, you dropped this.” When I turned, there he was again, the same guy. This time he had my ID in his hand. I had not even realized I had dropped it. Sometimes, looking back I wonder if things would have turned out differently if I hadn’t dropped that card.
“Thank you! I didn’t realize I dropped it,” I said. I gave him a once over. Dark hair, a bit on the shorter side, small eyes, looked a bit older. Just another white guy in my book. Since he looked older, I figured he was either in the law school or med school. My bet was on law school. I noticed that he was wearing a Wake Forest tee shirt so I asked, “Did you go to Wake Forest?” All this information in just about 20 seconds and you wonder why my friends call me the master creeper? Jokingly, of course.
“No, actually I went to Sewanee. It’s up in Tennessee.”
“Oh! One of my friends from high school goes there now.”
“What’s her name?”
“Olivia. I forgot her last name at the moment. It starts with a S. Either way, you wouldn’t forget her if you saw her. She’s like almost 6 feet tall.”
“Yeah . . . nothing comes to mind.”
“So, I’m guessing you go to either the law school or the med school?”
“I’m a first year at the law school.”
We continued to talk. Hell, we even walked out the door together. We stood in the back parking lot talking. Even though it was freezing and I was wearing shorts, the conversation kept me rooted to the spot talking to him, instead of walking back home in the opposite direction. Finally, something hit him.
“Oh wait, I know your friend! Her boyfriend lived with my friend. She’d always be around when I’d go see him.”
The world really can’t be that small, can it?
We parted, went our separate ways. I went back to my place, sat around, and pondered the randomness of it all. I logged onto facebook. Lo and behold, a new friend request. That would be normal, if it weren’t for the fact that I make it my imperative to be on top of facebook privacy settings as soon as they change. My settings were pretty high. You can’t find me unless you’re a friend i.e. typing my full name into facebook doesn’t work. So how then did this stranger, with whom I had no mutual friends, find me? I still have no answer to that question.
Later that night after a quick shower, I was sitting in the University Center with a friend, studying. My accounting class included online homework problems. There were anywhere from 11 to 20 problems. Unfortunately, each question usually came with 20 different parts to it. Luckily, you had an infinite number of tries. That doesn’t help much when you’ve been working on the same two final problems for a good 30 minutes. Frustrated, I decided to take a facebook break. Suddenly, the red facebook notification popped up. It was a message from Wake Forest guy, reading: It was really nice meeting you today. Definitely enjoyed talking with you.
I ask him what he’s up to and vice versa. I tell him about my difficulties with my accounting problem. Guess who took accounting classes his last year of undergrad? How convenient for me! I sent him the problem via facebook and he got different numbers. Seeing as things can get lost in translation on facebook chat, I asked for his number. Note, I was not flirting with him when I asked for it. It was simply a means to an end at the time. I called him and he explained what he did. Getting what I wanted, he only had time to ask how my night was going before I found a way to get off the phone with him. I definitely didn’t want this random guy from the gym getting ideas, but I did leave him a thank you on facebook.
The next day was a Friday, one day away from freedom and just a few hours away from going back home. It was my brother’s confirmation that weekend. We had family and friends showing up for it that Saturday. I sent gym guy a message asking him how he had found me on facebook. I didn’t get the answer I wanted. I refuse to believe it’s simply as easy as typing my first name into facebook, as uncommon as it may be. Meeting him had proved my friend’s theory right, that I don’t bump into normal people. Smart people don’t qualify as normal people according to her and in this case, gym guy was a law student. I told him as much in the message. I’m sure that got a smile out of him. He messaged me back. The conversation went as follows, starting with him and going back and forth:
But normal is boring. I don’t think anyone wants to be normal. Normal is really neutral, meaning there is nothing really that cool or interesting.
I guess strange does lead to some interesting stories
I don’t want to be considered strange however. That just sounds really bad if you call someone strange.
Weird? Quirky? I guess you could just thesaurus a nicer word. 
I would prefer, awesome, legit, possibly even charismatic.
See a normal person in my book would be one of the popular kids, so by definition they would be all those things anyway.
So you assume or believe I am not popular?
I didn’t say that. 
I really need to work on my first impression, definitely not the vibe I want to be giving off.
Personally, I think anyone who becomes friends with me must have a little bit of quirkiness to them. If not for any other reason than like attracts like. 
So we have officially become friends?
Well I guess we would be acquaintances. What else would you call it?
We can be friends.
I’m sooo honored. (hopefully, he can read sarcasm)

      The conversation continued on this chain of light banter, until I realized I was running late for class. I signed off and went about my day. On my way drive home from college, home being my parents’ place, I called a friend of mine who’s good with numbers and statistics. I asked him the probability of meeting a guy in the gym, who went to undergrad with one of my high school friends, lived with her boyfriend, and also just happened have the accounting knowledge I needed. He ball parked a statistic. I wish I could remember it, because the average was pretty small for circumstances. It had the making of a great story.
      The pessimist in me wondered if this story would end as badly as the others. The optimist in me hoped that maybe we stayed friends and remained on good terms and if something more happened, we parted as friends in the end with no ill will on either part. I’m still figuring out which one it was.

To be continued . . .

Bittersweet

    When you asked me if there was still something there, I wonder if you heard the hesitation in my voice before I said, "No." Did you hear the wistfulness overflowing? You laughed and joked around, asking me once more. I said it again, this time without hesitation. And yet . . . why do I smile when I see you calling? Did you ever once ask why I still take your midnight calls?
      In a few weeks I get to see you again. I wonder what that will be like. Will it be the same as always? I see you, I smile, we laugh together. Everything is easy; it always is. I settle into a familiar contentness, only you. You're with someone else. Bad timing. It always was. I was too late and you were too early. I didn't notice, until the moment had passed by. I wonder if we would have stood a chance? Probably not, but there's always that "what if?" I wonder if you know the questions I ask myself now and then.
 
Why do we wish for the things we can never have? Why is it all so complicated and yet so simple? A million and one questions, yet the same answer to each one.

Because we were once and always have been . . . friends.

Not All That Glitters is Gold

   There comes a time in some relationships where you finally give up trying. You don’t stop caring about the person, you just become indifferent to the things they do. There comes a point in time where you dread every phone call, wondering what you’ll fight about this time. You’re worn out, tired, exhausted. You can only try for so long before you want to give up right?
    There’s not really any one person you can blame for this. If you tried, the blame would be on both sides, saying things that hurt the other, twisting the proverbial knife in the heart. Say it once, it’s a mistake. Say it twice, it becomes intentional. Yet, at the end of each fight, you make up. Somewhere along the way, the pain turns into smiles and laughter. But it’s not long before it all falls apart in just a matter of time.
    That relationship finally faded away. Sometimes, I call but it usually never ends well. Not surprising, I guess. In the end, you’re left wondering why it happened in the first place. What did I learn? Why was it ever worth it? If I ever do put that story up, will it be clouded by the pain and sadness that came after? This is not a reverse Cinderella story. Although those never ended well, they didn’t have a darkness to them. Frustration, sure. Annoying? Definitely. But dark? Never.
      In the end, it left a bitter aftertaste in my heart. It makes it harder to trust, to trust that someone won’t break your heart. You see the world just a little bit differently, a little colder. The one saving grace is the friends that stood by me through it all. The friendships that last, the ones that made me laugh again. The friends that pushed me to go out with them and pulled me out of the darkness. Cheers to the friendships that lift us up in dark times, that remind us to smile again, and the ones that teach you how to dance.
               So I end this random gloomy piece with a little quote that I so love:
“This is my wish for you: Comfort on difficult days, smiles when sadness intrudes, rainbows to follow the clouds, laughter to kiss your lips, sunsets to warm your heart, hugs when spirits sag, beauty for your eyes to see, friendships to brighten your being, faith so that you can believe, confidence for when you doubt, courage to know yourself, patience to accept the truth, Love to complete your life.”

We met, we talked, it was epic . . .

            “We met, we talked, it was epic. But the sun came up and reality set it.”

       The last night of freshman year, my friends and I had just finished our last final on Saturday and decided to celebrate. I had finally convinced my friend, Kayla, to go out with me that night. That night, Kayla, George (a friend of hers), and I went out downtown. First stop, a bar called the Rookery which at the time was THE place to go out to. We left a little late so by the time we got there, it was pretty jam-packed. We stood in our little circle by the bar talking. About six feet away I see a relatively attractive guy. Me being me, I give him a once over. While I’m doing that, however, he catches me checking him out.  
All the girls out there, you know what I’m talking about when I say flirting with the eyes. If there was one thing I was trying to avoid, it was that. You make eye contact with a guy, you can get an idea of whether or not he’s interested. Hold eye contact long enough he will come over, which was what I was trying to avoid that night. I must have looked too long because he headed over with his friend.
        “Hi”
“Hi”
“What’s your name?”
. . .
You can imagine the rest of that conversation. Turns out though, his friend is a news broadcaster for a local network. George, at this point, was at the bar trying to get a drink, amid the thirty other people trying to get a drink that night. When he finally got his drink, he saw Kayla and I talking to these two guys. I must look like I needed help. The next thing I know, George has his arm around me and starts talking to the two guys. The two guys got the picture and moved off towards other prey. I felt bad for them.
        Approaching a person of the opposite sex takes quite a bit of courage. For all the guys out there, don’t stop trying! It is better to have tried and failed than never have tried at all. Take it from a girl who still waits for the guy to make a move. One piece of advice though: come up with better pickup lines or smoother ways of approaching a girl! The whole come up from behind and try grinding or the “Hey . . .” gets tiring real quick.
       A little later, we see a friend of ours, Nebila, head over to the bar. Bubbly, charming, a great dancer, and a social butterfly, she looked out of breathe and definitely intoxicated. When she saw us, she bounced right on over. I asked,
“Hey, how’s your night going?”
“Terrible! I came out with the guys and Juan won’t leave me alone. He keeps trying to dance with me. Do me a favor, save me next time!”
      As timing would have it, Juan came over less than a minute after she said that and grabbed her for a dance. Kayla and I looked at each other.
“Wanna be the knights in shining armor tonight?”
“Sure, why not.”
      So we headed towards the dance floor and do the classic “save” i.e. grabbed Nebila and started dancing with her. That pretty much summed up the remainder of our night at the Rookery. At closing time, the bar started shutting down and people milled towards the doors. Even then, you can’t end a night without standing outside talking to people for another ten, fifteen minutes.
         This is the part where my memory turns a bit fuzzy. Somehow, I went from talking to Nebila and Kayla to talking to a guy, Andre. I think and this is a big IF, Nebila introduced me to him. I had seen him multiple times on campus before this and every time, he had this intimidating scowl on his face. Needless to say, I always considered him unapproachable. As we talked, we discovered we had a lot of friends in common. We had been to most of the same parties. At this point, he asked, “How have we not met before?”
“I don’t know. By the way, are you Hispanic?”
“No, I’m half black and half Swedish. You got a problem with that?”
I laugh and reply, “Nope, not at all.”
That was the moment I knew that this would be a rather interesting friendship.
“We’re having a party at back at my house. You’re welcome to come over.”
I turn to look at Kayla, the DD for the night. She shrugged and said, “It’s up to you.”
That became the theme of our friendship, but that’s another couple of stories.
      All I knew that night was I did not want to stop talking to him, so I asked for his address. We headed out and ironically, we were the first to get there. Not going to lie, it felt a little shady in general. The neighborhood was a little run down. As soon as Nebila and my friend John showed up, I felt a little better at ease. Pretty soon, even more people showed up, people I knew. The way the house is set up, it is where you have the road, some steps leading up, the walkway leading up to the steps of the house, porch, and finally, the door. Kayla being tired wanted to leave after a while, so I asked John and Nebila to drop me back home. They agreed and she left.
      There was something in the air that night, something that words can't capture completely. Whatever it was, I don’t think I’ll ever forget it. It felt as though I had gone back six years in time. Growing up, my parents would throw parties at our house in New York. When we were kids, we would sit or stand around outside on the front porch, talking, joking around on those random summer nights. Sometimes, it feels like a lifetime ago. This night, however, felt like one of those Indian summer nights.
      I wished the night wouldn’t end, that we would be transfixed in this little block of time. Yet, nothing ever lasts forever. People eventually began to leave. Andre and I went back inside the house, where he gave me a tour of his place. When we got to his room, we sat down on his couch and talked. That is when I notice he has a wooden rosary hanging on one of the walls. I turn to him, surprised.
“Wait, you’re Catholic?”
“Yup, how’d you know?”
“Well, last time I checked it’s usually only Catholics that have rosaries. Plus, I’m Catholic.”
       This launches a whole conversation on how an Indian girl and her entire family could possibly be Catholic, which lead into a little history splurge on my family’s background. He says, “You know, I have been mistaken for Indian before.”
       Hispanic, mixed, and maybe Egyptian I could I understand, but definitely not Indian. I said as much. Then, he launched into a story. Earlier in undergrad, he became friends with this Indian guy, who presume Andre was Indian. Andre being Andre, never denied nor confirmed this. He just went with it. One day, the guy asked him if he was going to the temple for some religious holiday or another, or something like that. Andre said he wasn’t since he isn’t Hindu but Catholic instead. The guy was surprised. Eventually, the truth comes out. The Indian guy more or less stopped talking to him afterwards. Hearing that story, I got mad on his behalf and told him as much. He laughed. I told him, “Not all of us are like that.”
“This coming from the girl who looked disappointed when I said I wasn’t Hispanic?”
“It’s not my fault you can get mistaken for Hispanic.”
     This launched us into a discussion of all the different things we had been mistaken for. For me, that list included Middle Easter, Hispanic, Indian, and Pakistani. His was pretty close in nature, whereupon I told him the most ridiculous assumption I had heard.
“Someone once told me that I looked Mexican, if it weren’t for the fact that I looked too tall to be Mexican.”
     That got a laugh out of him. Time flew by as we talked on that couch. Eventually, John and Nebila found us, telling me it was time to leave. But, I didn’t want to leave this stranger, this surprisingly charismatic man that I ran into on a random night out. Andre turned to me and asked, “Do you want to leave right now? I can take you home later if you want.”
      Some people may call this foolish and others dangerous, but I trusted him, a guy I had met only a few hours ago. I nodded and turned to John and Nebila, “Is it ok if he takes me home?”
     John simply shrugged. Nebila laughed and said, “Ok but Andre, you better get our girl home safe!” We hugged and said our goodbyes. I watched them leave before turning back to Andre.  He suggested that we move outside, since the porch swing was now available. So, we went outside and continued our talks there.
I told him about my family, my parents, my brothers, and my large extended family. He told me his back-story. His mother was black, while his father was Swedish. They had gotten divorced when he was young. His father moved back to Sweden, remarried, and had a new family. My new friend never really had a relationship with his dad. When he was in elementary school, his mother had a heart attack. It meant growing up for him and having to take care of her instead of the other way around.
       It made me look at him a little differently after hearing that. Not necessarily pity him for the hardships he went through, but rather I admired him for not coming out fucked up, for turning out better than most would expect. They say that what does not kill you only makes you stronger. I guess that was the case for him, especially considering he had gone to a Catholic school growing up. Especially that.
      Our conversation was as random as our meeting and just as sarcastic at times. It was a very discombobulated conversation. Being half Swedish and half black, I was surprised he was only 5”9 and said as much. So how did a guy who should have been 6” plus end up being 5”9? He launched into another story.
When he was younger, the doctor had said he would probably grow to be at least six feet tall. Growing up he had played many sports, soccer being his favorite. It also meant he had started weight lifting rather young. This in turn stunted his growth, leaving him at 5”9.
     Somewhere along the course of that story, I had started snuggling into his shoulder. In my defense, it was a little chilly outside, as chilly as it gets at 4 or  5 a.m. in May. Of course, he noticed and being him, commented on that in the midst of our conversation.
“Look at you trying to leech the warmth out of me!”
      I made a mock cry of protest. Before I could start arguing, he went back inside, got his sweater (or maybe it was a jacket) and threw it over me. Quite the gentleman, a rough version but a gentleman nevertheless.
      We sat there talking for what seemed like forever. We saw the sunrise together and even had a little argument about what constitutes as sunrise. I said it was the moment you saw the sun. He argued it was the minute the darkness lifted. We kept at it for a good ten minutes. The entire time I could not stop smiling. We talked through the night and into the morning. Around 7 a.m. his friends came outside, asking us if we wanted to go get some food. I had to leave in another hour. Checkout time from the dorm was 8:30 a.m. so I asked Andre to drop me back.
     As he dropped me off in front of my building, I turned and gave him a big hug. I couldn’t help but think, it was a hug I didn’t want to leave. I went back to my room, took a nap, woke up a hour later to pack, and left. That was the end of my freshman year and it was a pretty great ending to a pretty amazing year.

     We met, we talked, and it was epic. The sun rose and reality set in. I left for home and he left for Europe. We went our separate ways. But that was never the end of our story.
                                  Reality, it seems, is still the here and now.

Quote of the Day

I still have four unfinished stories on the back burner. Now, I have an addition to the four. I think I'll finish the new addition before I go back to working on the others. In the meantime, here's a short compilation of some of the funnier compliments/comments/conversations I've gotten over the years. Some of these are taken out of context.

"You do have some straight shoulders. You would have been a good Egyptian slave with those shoulders." 

When I told my parents to get a dog after we leave, mom said, "Why would i do that? I already have three at home."

Once while discussing the prospect of setting up a friend with a certain girl . . .
Friend: "Tell her a fair, tall doctor who once dated a princess is interested in her." 

While at a friend's house . . .
Friend's Mom: Do you have a boyfriend?
Me: No . . .
Friend's Mom: What's wrong with the two of you?

"Do I know you cause I'm sure if we met I would have remembered you."
This being a relative I added on facebook (one I hadn't seen in years) who probably was hoping I was a potential prospect. 

On a random note, does anyone else think it's quite painful to read AIM/FB messages/FB chat conversation from when you were younger? Maybe it's me but I wince every time I read a bad spelling or naive/laughable ideas from my younger self. 

Some compliments I've gotten from different guys, made weird/funny by the fact that it was a man saying those things. The out of context rule applies here as well. 
"I like how you do your eyeliner."
"You [your hips] were made to deliver babies."
"You would make adorable babies. You'll have a charming family someday."
"Does she fear God?"
"If you had a kid with a white guy, that baby would probably look like Tiger Wood." There really is no appropriate response for that. 
"Let's see some more pics of women."
"I like your earrings. You always have such nice earrings."
"I like the emo hair to the side look."
"You would make an amazing matriarch. You would make beautiful babies."

Regarding the last one, never discuss kids with a woman who clearly has no intention of having one any time soon. Second, who uses the word matriarch???

A tribute to my parents' marriage

    I hope that I’m not jinxing anything by writing this, but I couldn’t wait all the way til December to write this. This is my tribute to my parents’ marriage, which turns yet another year older on December 21st. I am currently in the midst of planning a surprise wedding anniversary party for them the day after. Due to a short catastrophic crisis, they found out that my brothers and I are planning something. Before that they were completely in the dark. I just hope they don’t realize the scale of what we’re planning.
    Ten years ago if you had told me that one day I would be hoping for a marriage, a relationship as solid and good as theirs, I would tell you that you were batshit crazy. Yes, that is exactly what I would have told you. But there’s something about growing up, having relationships of your own, and learning to understand your parents not as your parents but as people that makes you realize that a great marriage isn’t fireworks and epic storylines. Rather, it lies in the small things.
    The way his arm cradles her shoulder and the way she fits perfectly into his hold, the comfortable silences where they just sit together doing nothing, her absurd humor that no one else gets but him, they way they always come to each other’s defense when one of us starts criticizing. How he would always kiss her before going off to work in the evenings, they way they poke fun at each other, their fierce love for the three lives they brought into this world, and the commitment and love that brought them through more than two decades of a marriage. (they haven’t quite hit the thirty year mark yet).    
     These are the things you only realize when you’re older, the insight and clarity that comes with age. Or, while you’re sitting there writing an anniversary speech for a public speaking class in college. I guess in my case, it’s a little bit of both.
     My parents were not a love marriage in the traditional sense; it was arranged and thank God for that! My brothers and I wouldn’t have existed if it weren’t for that. Two completely opposite people would never have gotten together, if it weren’t for fate.
    If this was high school, she’d be the head cheerleader: funny, cute, beautiful, the perfect social butterfly. He on the other hand would be the complete wallflower: quiet, completely random at times, actually the exact opposite of her really. They say marriages are made in heaven and I’ve spent my entire life watching their marriage to know there must be some truth to it.
    When my dad had his stroke, she spent a year not sleeping right. Every time he skipped a breathe, she woke up and wouldn’t sleep again until he was breathing became normal again. As for him, he wouldn’t even know what clothes to wear in the morning if it isn’t for her. If he has any sense of color coordination, it’s all thanks to her. He’s her rock when anything goes wrong, especially with us three, their troublesome kids.
Together they make the perfect person. Every day I see them together and I know they were meant for one another. I see the love in her eyes in the things that she does for him. Although, he’s not always good at showing it, his love is ever present in the little things he does for her.

“The development of a really good marriage is not a natural process. It is an achievement.”