more of the over-thinking-without-trying thing


conversations with my father
recently, my father and i had ourselves a little talk. whereas for most of my life, my parents have reminded me of how, as a Nepali daughter, I am blessed with my education and worldly experiences and how i should return and contribute to my home country–my father, as of late, has changed his opinion on the matter. now, he says, i am not just a Nepali citizen, i–according to him–am a citizen of the world. he says, the time when Nepal could only be helped by being here has passed. if you find a job somewhere else–he says–go. he says a time will come when we, the global Nepalis, will be called to serve our country, but that time is not now.

i have always and will continue to respect my father and how he has the gift of foresight. now, with his permission and his blessings i have been asking myself–where in the world do i want to go? because going somewhere to live and work for a few years is definitely something i would like to do–in one of my courses i was taught how (until recently) geography played an absolute determining role in the work and life of an individual. but i am not bound to geography. i have been staring at world maps a lot lately…wondering, looking for a place that beckons me.

a few years here, a few years there, a few years elsewhere, until i can come home again–because this really is my home, 25 years later, i know that.

comfortable
unlike most, i crave change. nothing eats darkness into my being than stagnancy. that being said, however, there are something i would like to never change. and when a friend cares enough to share what’s in his heart, i am ripped out of the comfortable where we’ve been for the better part of 16 years, and am thrown into that awful pit where my stomach hurts and i can feet my innards clench…and walls go up. this is a change i do not welcome, a change of heart–or so it appears to me, he says it’s always been there, the same, for him. for some reason, having had the night to think it over, the change of affection almost angers me. almost. to think that i must now find a way of ‘dealing’ and i hate the fact that this is something that will require ‘dealing’. just the word leaves a velcro bitter taste in my mouth. though i am one who always always always wants to know, on occasion i cannot help but think that there is, indeed, a bliss to ignorance. i don’t want things with us to change. i think i wish things that remain unsaid, but i thanked him for his honesty anyways.

second thoughts
there is much that needs to be said about space–mostly, the need for it. the grace that distance can play. but when the difference in time and geography as lessened, there are bits of our recent past that we must face. in choosing to stand face-to-face with the man i had precariously given my heart to–and then consequently asked him to return–there are so many thoughts that go through my head. wondering, doubting, asking, searching–are things the same? have my affections (positive and negative) remained unchanged? it seems, no matter how strong i think i am, no matter the feats of will power i display–the heart is a vile bitch, it won’t let forgive and it won’t let forget easily. there is much to us that remains the same…maybe that’s a good thing, maybe it’s not. but my mind is made, and my heart will learn to adapt again. it always does, regardless, seeing him again wasn’t easy. i’m torn for wanting to start a friendship… that…or never see him again. but i’ve never been one to stay away for too long unless it was asked of me. we’ll get there, eventually. until then, perhaps more space and distance is required. i did not know how to say these things in person–offer me an olive branch of patience please, and while you’re at it, maybe also a twig of forgiveness.

post-holiday slump
the worst part of having a vacation–and one where every day was a blessing–is when it ends. getting over adapting back to home, sleeping off the jet-lag, trying to get back on that old schedule–all of it was easy compared to the sticky sickly feeling of being…dejected.

of coming back to routine, of forcing myself to awake each morning, of trying to will myself to be productive–why do we bother with all of this for? nothing is as it used to be, i can’t help but feel like just another victim of the system. of the constraints of society–be productive! contribute! clock in, clock out, take my tea break, sleep, eat, repeat.

but in between all of it, i am dreaming. trying to create the ideal. the place between being a part of the world and yet living beyond it. a seed grows inside that says, the time for change is coming. i invite it.

(do tell me when to roll out the red carpet please, i’ll have my bags packed, all ready to leave)

passion
the conversation about passion from what was a week ago ( i think) with S keeps coming back…his utter dislike of those who live passion-less. these content, “settling” people that i defended. but i am at fault here, aren’t i? because i know this dark ink spill that grows is just my inability to find passion in the things i do. and i am fortunate enough where i can actively seek happiness, seek purpose; survival is no concern of mine because i am blessed with certain degrees of privilege. where does one find passion? where does one find the desire to persevere? is it learned or is it bred? or is one simply born with it? and if so, was that another item that my birthright missed. will i start looking for answers, or just be stuck on the questions that precede it? i do not want a life without passion, i have no purpose without it.

a case for vegetarianism
those who know me know my appetite for food. the indulgence of flavors and edibles. the joy and pleasure they give me. for here, here is a passion that remains unmatched–the comforts of a kitchen, of a stove, an oven, of a table of culinary concoctions. the simple thrill of smells, the textures, the tastes, the surprises, the subtleties and the spice–all of it. My desperate love for food is, i’ll admit, is the primary reason i couldn’t actually be bothered trying to squeeze myself in size 0 clothes, and the reason i most certainly don’t have an enviable body when naked (otherwise, i have learned to dress to my advantage). but there was a year i went without meat and by denying myself my carnivorous instincts, i wondered if i learned anything.

because in recent weeks, heck, even as soon as recent days, i’ve been noting an aversion of certain things–which is quite unlike me. except for my utmost disdain of capsicums (i won’t eat it even if you pay me), there is little else i won’t explore with oral interest. yet not too long ago, in Singapore, while trying a dish that i ordered after receiving the highest recommendation– i found it a challenge to pick the legs and rip apart the shell to get to the sweet flesh of jumbo shrimp. never before has this been a problem, yet this time, knowing full well the delight of white that lay under the crusty pink–it was a battle of the mind to endure the crackling peel of the delicacy that lay dead on my plate. there were three of them, that i saved (as it is my tendency to save the best for last), and while managing to urge myself to the core of one, little cooked curled legs coming apart and undone in my hands, i had to give up this fight to eat when i saw the eye of what would have been jumbo-shrimp-i-ate-number-two, beady and black gazing at me, looking simply like a dot of misplaced sequence.

and i couldn’t do it. even thinking of it now, the feeling of nausea…and guilt, returns in such vividness. so strong that for my crustacean crime i cannot plead innocence. the milky sick sensation has spread…to the crushing of ants that made an alive line to my over sweetened cup of tea, to the thought of that slice of just about still bleeding red slab of beef, and if i let this thoughts spread…now my disgust has curled into balls of chicken wrapped in steamed dough–i guess the other day was my last plate of momos…?…

i wonder if this inkling is what inspired Margret Atwood to write The Edible Woman, a book i read (and have forgotten) many years ago…but the female lead and i seem to share this (what is for me, new) inability to eat meat. i just pray that this…whatever it is that swelters inside of me, won’t take hold of all food. because then, i will truly be screwed.

i just want sips of as un-special as can be water, there is no harm there.

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