Archive | September, 2013

I am a quiet alien genius. (And I may be a robot too, I’m not sure.)

29 Sep
It would be pretty cool to be Kickpuncher

It would be pretty cool to be Kickpuncher

Stop trying to change me.

I don’t want to party or eat out at a restaurant every weekend. I want to stay home and write, and brown bag my lunch to work. I want to eat raw cucumbers without dressing. And drink water. I enjoy these things.

Is that so wrong?

Why can’t it be acceptable to want to be away from people every now and then, to be away from all the noise?

People call me anti-social a lot (even though I think I’m loads of fun). But what they should be calling me instead is “quiet genius”. And they should understand that geniuses need time to rest so that they can continue being geniuses and awesome, and that’s not going to happen when you’re yapping away about your life and bombarding them with continuous stimuli.

The sound of you tapping your foot the forceful smell of your perfume and shampoo the sight of your loud pink shirt the heat of your breath when you talk the pitch of your voice the way you always hum off key your repetition of the same phrases over and over and over and over and over…

That was a long sentence that was probably hard to read, especially because I cheaped out on the punctuation. You probably had to mentally break. that. down.

How do you think my brain feels when it actually happens to me?

How are quiet geniuses supposed to sort through all the information, all that noise, without a break, without a semi colon? Just leave them alone, at least for a little bit. And don’t hate them or resent them for it. Just be a little aware of yourself so they don’t need to be aware for you, because honestly, they are always aware and it’s exhausting.

And because we need to sort and process this information, a couple things might happen. Firstly, we may exhibit resting bitch face/asshole face. We may also respond to you in mechanical and rational way because that’s just how our brain works. Yes, we can be highly creative and have strong emotional intelligence, but that doesn’t mean we can apply it with you when you’re crying about how you feel fat. We understand it, yes, we feel fat sometimes too, but we deal with it on our own, in our own logical way. We are good at perceiving and understanding, but not so good on the approach for fixing when you can’t fix it yourself.

And sometimes we don’t want to fix it because we’re tired.

And selfish.

At least I am. I want ‘me time’.

And I don’t want to be responsible for making you feel better about yourself. It’s not fair for me, because trying to make you feel better makes me feel worse about myself because I’m bad at this whole ‘connecting-with-people-on-an-emotional-level’ thing. I know it should come natural and it’s what makes us human, but for some of us, it’s really hard to execute convincingly.

So I’d rather stay home and ignore your calls. It’s just easier. And it makes me feel less shitty about myself. Although I might very well be a robot, I do have feelings, and sometimes they are intense and confusing.

Sometimes I feel like my lack of willingness to be social and selfless is going to turn me into a horrible excuse of a person that will never genuinely care for another. And as a result, I should never bear children. In fact, this is a legitimate fear of mine because I can imagine myself telling my five year old, with a straight face, that there’s no reason for him to be afraid of monsters under the bed and that he’s stupid for thinking that monsters exist in the first place.

Then I turn off the light and leave them in the dark and ignore his calls for help.

I’m a cold-hearted, rational bitch.

Reason-For-Sheldon-Cry_o_93515

It pains me to be this way, but at the same time, I don’t want to change. Because it feels like no matter how much I do, it’s not enough. I see changes as huge progress but others only see a person who does not smile every waking minute of her day. They only see someone chooses to live what they presume to be a bland life, skipping the salad dressing like some sort of freak.

And that’s when I go back to the comfort of my solitude, away from your judgment. The judgment you think I can’t see because you’re not aware of how blatant it is. But we went over this already: I’m aware of a lot.

I see you

I see you

So the next time you see me, do me favour, bite your tongue, and don’t tell me to smile. And don’t give me the speech about frowning using more muscles than smiling.

Because I’m fucking exercising.

#brownpeopleproblems

5 Sep

That horrifying moment when your mom is cooking sabji and you realize you left your jacket on the sofa.

nooo

Needing to explain to your non-brown friends why we have buckets in the shower and a small gardening pot next to the toilet.

Accidentally using the wrong language when speaking to someone. That’s so embarrassing, haina?

The complete disregard of Indian moms for your pride and sense of self-worth when they threaten to beat you with a rolling pin in front of your friends.

Bailna

Bailna

Waxing and threading of body and facial hair is a priority. No questions.

Pretending the smell of tharkha is coming from the neighbours’ when you know you’re about to eat some homemade aloo gobi right now.

aloo_gobi2

Buying four bags of milk every week like it’s no biggie.

Oh, your parents don’t like your boyfriend? If my parents knew I had a boyfriend at 12 they would have shipped me to India to live on a farm and milk cows. And then I would have to send them the milk.

Although we are brown, we are not supposed to be brown. Therefore we cannot play outside in the sun too long.

I occasionally need to ask my neighbours for their flyers when we lose ours because without them we wouldn’t be able to go grocery shopping. It’s just not possible if we don’t know what’s on sale.

Slippers are rarely on the floor, they’re in your mom’s hand, ready to beat you.

Childhood stressors and crises include needing to ask to go to a movie, getting a C on a test, and confessing your disinterest in being a doctor.

I couldn’t thoroughly enjoy sitcoms like Saved by the Bell or Boy Meets World because I would need to frantically flip the channel whenever there was a hint of sexuality (and those stupid audience ‘oooOOoos’). And then I’d miss significant parts of the show and be all like, “why are Zack and Slater fighting?!”