Those who care

Lately too many things have been going wrong. The biggest frustration comes from the constant failed attempts to carry out a successful experiment. But things are far from successful and I’m so tempted to quit, to give up, to walk away. But I can’t help but smile when there are people who step up to help in whatever way they can. It makes this struggle worth it. Some people make all the difference and I’m grateful to have them good people in my life. Sometimes, a small helping gesture is all we need to feel alive and see that glimpse of hope again. Perhaps, we are not as alone as we think we are. There are those who care...isn’t that a wonderful thing?

Memories of San Diego

So I made it to my first ever international conference to present my first ever conference paper. It was kind of a big deal at the time and I didn’t know what to expect at a conference. The biggest hurdle was overcoming nervousness before delivering my talk. The only thing that alleviated my nervousness was contemplating the situation in comparison to jumping off the sky tower (which I did last September). That put things in perspective. I also discovered that I was more willing to jump off a great height for fun (with a harness of course) than appear un-intelligent in front of a mass audience of experts. Then I quickly went on to tell myself that what other people think really does not matter. It was a very interesting dialogue I had with myself on that fateful Tuesday at 3.25pm. Soon after getting on to that podium, 2 minutes or so into the talk, all traces of nervousness disappeared. I think it kind of helped that I was standing on a raised platform looking down on people who were seated. I also realised that ‘fear’ is just a mind made thing and that people are all generally nice and don’t bite. They are there to listen and gather information and not to judge and condemn. Afterward, my theory of people being generally nice was proven correct and I was happy. The following few days felt to me like a weird sort of holiday in which I had to attend lectures and talk to people.

 I was so glad for the presence of my dear colleague-slash-friend, SB who was my lovely companion through that week. The two of us traversed the manicured paths of the San Diego city and shared a lot during that one week.  We found an amazing and beautiful village by the sea called ‘sea port village’. It was a sort of place that I always would love to have access to and it was a place filled with sunshine, brightly coloured shops with various curiosities, kites, Ben and Jerry’s ice creams and lots of Mexican food. There was even an open outdoor food court in the midst of trees and sheltered benches that we had ‘our’ spot closer to where the music played.  So we ate and talked, connected and bonded (as women usually do), while the sea breeze played with our hair and the sun light warmed our faces. In that place, I was happiest.

It was in the city that we found ourselves captured by the shopping malls with inevitably thousand times more variety of things to buy than back home. It was in ‘Nordstrom’ that I discovered what a fascinating thing ‘an eye brow highlighter’ was and how tempting all that variety of cosmetic brands with reasonable prices were. It didn’t help that I had a list of shopping to do for a friend back home, which forced me to sort through various makeup brands. The way we were attracted like two magnets to those stores, I started fearing for my credit card and resolved to be not swayed by the allure of such a product range. Mind you, I am a very conservative person and generally buy only what I need and hardly ever resort to impulse buying. But America managed to seduce me and I spent one whole night thinking about a ‘blusher’ which I tried to convince myself that I did not need. But morning came and I was still talking about ‘the blusher’ after which, SB kindly dragged me back to the store and made me buy it. Such were the good time we had in San Diego.

Another highlight was the scores of amazing people we met and talked with. Generally, everyone we met was friendly and interesting. This included the yellow cab drivers who regularly drove us to the house we rented on State Street. I was amazed by the colourful personalities that we came to cross paths with from various backgrounds. One cab driver was memorably funny. When one night, PL, SB and I got into a cab and asked to be driven to our address, the skinny African looking cab driver agreed and started with some small talk. It went on along the lines of:

Cab driver: Where are you guys from?

SB: We are originally from Germany, Sri Lanka and Canada but we live in New Zealand (this was our standard long answer, the short answer was that we were from New Zealand).

SB: So where are you from?

Cab driver: I’m different, I’m from my mother.

We all broke into laughter at his completely unexpected answer. Then he invited us to guess where he was from, and PL suggested that he was from Africa. Then he prompted further saying that he was from east Africa. Then PL guessed that he might be from Somalia. To that he answered with a serious face: 

“Yes, I’m from Somalia and I’m a pirate!”

At that moment, I decided that this was the funniest cab driver I had ever met.

My first impression of America (I mean Sandiego, but you know) was of awe and distant wonder looking at its beauty with the eyes of a Stanger who did not belong. One of the first things I had written down in my little red book that I carry around was:

“America feels different. It looks like a land of luxury and a lot of man-made beauty. It looks tempting and I wonder if I could ever belong here.”

Leaving that place, I must say I felt somewhat different. I suppose I could live there, except everything is so big and it is easy to get lost in that ‘largeness’ and there is far too much temptation and consumerism that I don’t quite see myself being able to belong. But certainly, it is a lovely city with plenty of Sun, Sea and a whole lot more. And I already know that given the chance, I would once again visit that village by the sea.

Life..

To me feels like a series of days that you fall apart, followed by a serious of days that you slowly learn to pick up the pieces and get used to the aches and pains, until one day you suddenly feel whole again. Then no sooner than you get used to this ‘wholeness’ which lasts a mere a day or two, you find yourself shattered all over again.

To love is to lose

Just now Denzel was stretching out on the carpet and looking back at me in mid-stretch.

That was the exact way Wolfie used to be in a picture of him we had. Every time when thoughts of Wolfie cross my mind, I’m awash with sadness and longing. I wonder where he is now..I wonder whether he managed to stay united with little blue eyed Molly. I hope no one separated them. Memories of those two little kittens who once resided in our garage pierce my heart now and then. I wonder whether they have a loving home to live in. I hope with all my might that they do. I wonder what the new owners must be calling them. One of my favourite sayings goes on to say something like this..”You will never forget how someone made you feel...” I believe that is true.

It is raining again. I was surprised to see sunlight flood our bedroom as I was waking up. I was hoping that the storm had maybe passed despite the weather report. But I’m afraid, it hasn’t. I still miss the pine trees that the neighbour had in his garden that I used to look at while I wrote. One more piece of evidence that supports the theory of “You will never forget how they (person, animal, tree or thing) made you feel”. I guess what we miss in the end are the feelings that were generated. 

My Happy Place #1

These are my attempts to capture (with my little phone-camera) the beauty of a secluded beach that I am determined to revisit over and over again. As I find myself struggling with words, I shall let these pictures describe themselves.

A visit to the past

At last I can hear the silence, the gaps between my thoughts; at last I can  hear my pulse and the incongruent roar of a lawn mower in the distance.  The past few weeks had been a chaotic blur, an eventful holiday that I involuntarily participated in. The best part was visiting Wellington after thirteen years and falling in love with the mountains, once again. Hutt Valley is a beautiful place, each time one looked out of a window of a house or a car, the blue green mountains smiled back at you. The mountains offer a sense of protection or ‘sheltered-ness’ that I cannot explain. Living in a valley is such I suppose. Then there was the raging wind, the blue spotless skies, the Hutt River that flowed across town and a feeling of déjà vu, wherever we went. A lot of things had changed. I could not find the house we lived in as it had been demolished. But the street was more or less the same only made smaller by my grown up eyes. The school was painted a different colour and looked more modern. The library was nearly unrecognizable from the garden entrance we took, but I spotted the birdcage at the back.  I wonder what life would be today if we continued to live there for the past thirteen years. I suppose I would not be who I am today. Who knows whether that’s good or bad?

At 5.30am

The horizon is empty of the beautiful pine trees that the neighbor decided to cut down. I wish they were still standing, so that I could admire their beauty as I always used to do. Though they are no more, I’m happy to have enjoyed their presence for the past two years since we’ve been in this home. Perhaps emptiness of the horizon will soon be forgotten as memories fade and new memories are created with life’s progression.

This morning I did something I always wanted to do. What I always wanted to do was to wake up at dawn and write and enjoy the view from my lounge. This is exactly what I am doing right now and it feels comforting and calmly delightful. Yesterday I had a moment of realisation. I realised that if I never give myself the time I need to do the things that I ‘always wanted to do’; then continuing such a life would be useless.  For the longest time, I’ve felt as if I’m ‘trapped’...and I used to think that ‘life’ had trapped me. Lately I’ve been thinking and decided that life has not trapped me...I had decided to trap and squeeze myself into a life I thought I ‘had’ to live for a never ending list of reasons I could never quite justify. As a result of this, I was forever dissatisfied and almost always woke up in the morning exhausted and depressed about having to face another day. There was this feeling of never being ready to face what will be next. This un-readiness, I thought was due to not having time like now to pick and choose what I really want to do.

Day is slowly breaking and the horizon is beginning to blush with the faintest shade of pink. I’m so glad that I made the effort to wake up at 5am, although it was extremely difficult for me. I think some type of sacrifice is necessary if I’m to give myself the gift of quiet time.  Come to think of it, how we live is a choice. I suppose, realising this and not feeling as if an unforeseen force is controlling your life is what we need to create the life we need. Also, lately I am conscious of the words I keep telling myself such as ‘I have to...’ and ‘I should...’.These ‘shoulds’ and ‘have-tos’ have a terrible affect on me. Hence, I deliberately have started thinking that I do not ‘have’ to do anything. Life is a choice. Everything I do I will choose to do. Let us see how I proceed with my new philosophy. Of course, I may stumble by the time I get to lunch time today and familiar adrenalin will start coursing through my blood as usual. I will feel panicked and helpless. BUT, I will remember this little gift I gave myself today and remind myself again that ‘life is a choice’.