It’s Pepsi. It’s ice cold. It’s a special T20 edition, and who pray are the world’s big daddies when it comes to T20?
Will we ever live this down? Ha Ha Ha! No!
So, want some?
(If anyone mentions the million £s bit – you’re officially blinded by greed, therefore no longer my best friend! Your loss.)
Aaaargh! Just when I thought, I’d freed myself up for some quality blogging time i.e. not just ranting and raving about personal bakwaas, but some carefully thought out stuff), I get lumbered with yet more work – at work (obviously) and the extra stuff I take on. Brain is mush…. Urgh!
I think it’s because I’m hot and bothered that I’m noticing the sourpuss-faced village-mentality idiot work colleagues over the lovely, well traveled types. I seriously want to knock someone’s lights out. I usually overlook the former, coolly disregard them and treat them for the trash that they are, because that’s the best treatment for them. I do usually have fun contradicting all that they judge about me. It’s good to keep narrow-minded folk on their toes – the surprised looks on their faces are extremely amusing. But then honestly, I’m glad to have people like that around, they remind you that life’s a bitch, but that I can totally claw this bitch’s eyes out.
Uff! That’s the heat speaking, I have some Pepsi, cooling down in the freezer, need it now.
Anyway, on a nicer note: The weirdo who sits next to me, who started following my tweets, well, I mean, I don’t hate this girl or anything but I just like my privacy. I would like to sneak on at every opportunity I can, but this way, she’s keeping tabs on me. I don’t trust anyone enough for them to kind of ‘monitor’ me in that way. I’m a very private person anyway, I don’t like revealing too much of my personality to others. I think a lot of experiences in life have kind of painfully taught me to be my only best friend. But I’m no sadistic loner either. Just someone a little cautious. I hope someone reading this is able to relate.
The surprising thing is, I read her twitter and discovered what she thinks of me, and I’m touched. Not only that, but have kind of realised why she clings on to me, follows me around and stuff and also why she laughs all day. I’ve just realised she thinks of me as entertainment – I do crack really tacky, cheap jokes, that I personally don’t find funny, but she giggles all day, thinking about them. Psycho alert eh? And I ‘brighten up her day’ and without me she can’t ‘enjoy her working day and things like that. Awww!!
That’s my exact problem, I can never be a bitch! I keep using the word over and over thinking somehow it will awaken the evil bee-atch inside of me, but non – nada! I guess it’s just not in my nature after all. Hmph! Which is why I’ll always attract the victimised, and I can’t turn them away either, because I know all too well what it’s like to be in their shoes.
I could see she’s been a little isolated since she started work here, because she’s a foreigner, like me. She’s an expat of another country, just like I am. I’ve lived with it for five years, and I was stubborn as hell. Was never a coward to like run away from conflict, I kind of stayed to face the music, I wasn’t fierce about it though, neither was I docile and hate the whole – ‘poor me, I’m a victim’, believe it or not, if someone hates me, and I sense it, because I’m a weirdo like that – I respect whatever it is they think of me, as long as it’s not life-threatening. We just can’t please everyone. I can love, hate or feel indifferent towards people. It’s not the end of the world to discover you have haters too. I know when to back away, graciously from such groups and not make an idiot of myself. I generally think I’m a good judge of character and can sense people’s true sentiments against me. Especially haters. Figuring out how someone might actually like you – is extremely tricky.
My little neice has barely turned two and she’s this delicate looking beautiful little thing, but she is a gangster! That’s my name for her. An eight-year old boy tried to poke her the other day, she grabbed hold of him by his hair, and kneed him in the face! Atta girl! She’s done loads of things like that and have been told I was exactly the same (not cute-wise I’m sure, haha - just unnatural strength wise),. My big brother still has the scars to prove it. Maybe that’s why I wasn’t pampered and princessed up as much as my prissy older sister. I also remember all too well when I newly came to England and some big kid used to hit me at playtimes, I was only about 8 or 9 at the time, but I finally grabbed the guy by his neck and wacked his head, repeatedly, into metal railings. Let’s just say no one ever bothered me again at that school.
I think in those five years, I was just determined to just stick it out, just for the sheer principle of it, I didn’t allow them to trample over me, and I’m glad and for that reason too, I did manage to ”earn their respect” and got promoted twice over that time frame. Now they can’t get rid even if they tried, because they can’t find anyone as ‘competent as me’, or so I’ve been told, by the big boss herself. Now is the ideal time to leave, on a good note. But now thanks to recession, I can’t! But I really am sick and I’m tired.
I’m tired of sticking up for myself and others all the time, why can’t I be seen as weak, given special treatment and finally have someone stick up for me, one day?
OK, before I get sacked and all my efforts – of five years – at saving face are wasted, I must get off the internet and start working! We’re not one of those modern, vibrant offices where something like what I’m doing is commonplace, I work with a bunch of old women who adhere to hitler-esque work ethic. If I get caught here, I’m (does cut throat motion) – that!
I’ve missed you and have neglected you for too long.
That won’t be the case now though, since my Twitter is no longer my sacreligious vent off point, I’ll be shifting a lot of it here, again. It’s just one of them things when nosey colleagues end up disciovering you use a certain social network tool (I’m so clumsy and can’t be secretive to save my life) and want in, not realising you use it to kind of bitch about them, yes.
Well not necessarily bitch, more about but saying ‘’someone’s gunna get it, real bad’, that someone who happens to sit next to you 5 days a week, 9 hours a day – whose laugh grates on your nerves, then you twitter about it and next thing, she’s following you.
Or another person, you call a meticulous wench, and guess what? She follows you.
I thought I’d left facebook politics behind, over a year ago.
Uff! Can a girl not escape work??
But I’m glad, as this is home.
If you don’t get what I’m talking about, it’s ok, I’ll try explaining it another time.
As you may have guessed now I do like comparing things. It’s a bad habit, but hey, you guys asked for bakwaas, now here, have some.
There are some things in life that are incomparable and some of those I value deeply. Everything else in-between however, is subjected to my comparing.
About the two cities, I’ve now buzzed around both, thus I deem I qualify in order to make a comparison. So, let’s start shall we?
To be perfectly honest, aside from the language difference, there is hardly any ‘visible difference’ between either city. They share a similar general landscape (buildings), climate and a very similar metro/underground/subway system. There’s a similar cosmopolitan feel and a beautiful blend of people from all over the world. Ok, so the touristy places are distinguished like London’s Big Ben and Buckingham Palace etc and Paris’s Eiffel Tower, Arc De Triomphe, yada yada. Oh, and the cuisine! Of course, food, but even that depends on what kind of food you’re looking to eat, I suppose, if like me and the BFF you’re going to dive on fast food, then that omits any differences in cusine too.
However there are some differences worth noting down:
Men:
It’s a fact, the men in London are gay, most of them are anyway. I’m serious. I’ve visited London about three times now with my female friends and have really made an effort with my appearance each time. Oh, and by the way ‘making an effort’ isn’t necessarily about roping in men – actually honestly, that’s never truly my reason for taking care of my appearance* – but I’m completely treated like I’m invisible in London. I fail to elicit even a blink! Are they blind? Do they even know who I am? How rude. I could just swear they’re all gay!
Men aside however, people in London never make eye contact with you and come across cold and snobbish. There’s generally a very ‘tense’ atmosphere. I suppose it is one of the hubs of the world’s financial activity, maybe that contributes to the busy and ‘tense’ factor.
There’s a famous unspoken rule about the London Underground too and that’s never to make eye contact (let alone speak) with fellow passengers on the tube.
Now, Paris, is the complete opposite. The men (and women) were so open, welcoming and friendly it was touching. It’s so not what I was expecting. I was used to the arctic bitch factor of London. I was literally treated like a princess. All that attention does have its negatives though and for the first time ever I got unprecedented attention from men, me, more than my friend (which she wasn’t very happy about). There’s a certain point where it’s all really flattering (or in my case, embarrassing) but beyond that point it’s just perverted, and there were a few unsavoury ‘incidences’. luckily other people in my vicinity interfered and kind of rescued me. Girls, don’t forget to pack the pepper spray. Even then though, I didn’t feel so threatened by him, I felt I could easily have outsmarted him and ran, but I suppose I should never underestimate these things. But it’s like instinct with some people, with some guys in the past, I’ve only to have recieved so much as a look and I’ve felt so shaken and violated and permanently traumatised.
I think the worst time though was was when I split up from my friend whilst shopping at the Champs Elysees and we agreed to meet a certain shop, I was crossing the road and bumped into two American tourists who then began to follow me calling out ”voules vous couche avec moi”. Like I don’t know what that bloody means? I didn’t say a word, just ignored them like I hadn’t heard them and tried losing myself in the crowds but they followed me around for atleast 20mins, even following me into a shop, where I sought help from the big, burly security guard there. He finally put an end to it. Phew! Just be careful girls. Remember, men in Paris, whether they’re tourists or locals, are quite unashamedly keen on women. When I told the girls at work about the latter incident, they were surprised I hadn’t turned on my heel and yelled: ”Oye, I’m from Manchustuh! And I’ll deck yuh’s!” They would have ran in the other direction quicker than lightning, never to bother me again. Haha! That sounds right actually. Seedy Americans, honestly.
Then there was another thing that happened which was really, really sweet, I’ll blog about that another time though.
Fashion:
Parisians dress very casually and minimalistic. Quite unlike how urban folk dress in England, but one thing’s right though, they may even look boring but Parisians never seem to look tacky. I truly envy them for that.
In England people are generally a bit more expressive when it comes to fashion but at the same time not all of these fashionable folk can carry the look off, on a whole, they risk looking very, very tacky.
It was a gay guy in the Kenzo menswear boutique who I was speaking with who actually instigated this whole London vs Paris debate thing. He was a Frenchman completely enamored by London over Paris, because of the ‘flamboyance’ and ‘E…’ damn, what’s that E word he used… Can’t remember now. Anyway, he’s gay, Londoners are gay too, so of course – that’s his spiritual home.
General attitudes:
Friendly, very warm as I’ve already mentioned. Always willing to help, well in my case anyway. They actually went out of their way to help me out. Like many times when I asked for help with directions they actually walked us halfway to our destination. Sometime they’d approach us themselves if we looked a little lost. Or one teenager, I remember when we asked him for directions and about two blocks down we amost took the wrong turn and he ran to catch up with us, down those two blocks, out of breath, he then proceeded to walk us to the place we wanted to go before turning and going back the way he was originally going. Anything, anywhere, whatever, they helped us out. I’m truly indebted to these people. Wait till you hear the other story about that ’sweet’ incident too. You’d be awestruck. Oh wait, how can I forget about the old owners (brothers) of Cafe Istanbul, a few doors away from our hotel. We ate there every night we were there and sometimes during the day. They really treated us like princesses. They’d be so happy to see us whenever we walked in and then they weeped when we bade them farewell. Sniff! I’m feeling the compulsion to return already.
Then there’s the return of the caring attitude when it comes to protests and things. I heard that Paris holds many a street protest/rally, quite frequently. I was there for roughly 6 days and only got to witness one protest and that was one against the Tamil Tigers. I noticed how strangers off the street no matter who were quite respectful to the cause and either joining in or being pleasant enough to at least enquire about the cause and help themselves to flyers. Everyone just looked so interested, whether it was some European, Asian Oriental, African or Arab, whoever.
One can’t even dream of either the former or latter attitudes being present in the mindset of the Londoners. They simply don’t have any time to spare a thought, apparently.
Accessibility:
As I said in the photos post, everything is just so within reach. In London it’s as if you can only admire things from a distance. It’s all cordoned off and manned by security personnel at certain parameters. Boo!
Whereas in Paris everything’s seemingly just so open and within your reach.
To be fair, at the time when I visited London to do the touristy things like London Eye (it’s so crap!) and River Thames cruise, it was really busy and during the summer at peak time. Despite having pre-booked tickets, we still had to wait about 2hrs to board on each attraction. Those tickets weren’t exactly cheap either. Really didn’t enjoy it.
With Paris it was a relatively low fare and didn’t have to wait as there was hardly a queue to go up the Eiffel Tower (still, we didn’t go, as we opted for a refreshing stroll around Parc du Mars and some ice cream instead. That and the fact that my friend’s scared of heights) and then there was the River Seine cruise which was a low fare and again hardly anybody queuing and it was a really relaxed and stress-free experience. Yippee!
The Pakistani cuisine dilemma:
This was my first time visiting France, in case you were wondering. I recall watching ‘9os TV show Gulls and Guys and the part when Junaid Jamshed (pre-mullah makeover era) visited Paris, there was a Lahore Food Street style place which served Pakistani food. It was my mission to find this place. Thanks to my friend S’s research skill, she found it. It’s called Passage Brady and it was only a 5 minute walk from our hotel in 10th Arandissement. Perfect! But, no make that a BIG BUT, there was no Pakistani food. It was Indian food only. Now there is a difference between these two cusines (and I’m glad to know that French people reportedly know and appreciate the difference). Besides we couldn’t eat there anyway as the meat used wasn’t necessarily halal. I would have been happy with vegetarian but then, maybe I’m still a little narrow minded, as I wasn’t entirely comfortable eating in a place where everywhere my eyes rested was a picture or statue of the Hindu gods. Sorry, but I’m being honest when I say I didn’t feel very comfortable. We left Passage Brady and finally found a Halal eatery run by Muslim Indians from Delhi. The food was a-ok.
You see there’s a reason we were looking specifically for Pakistani food, let’s ignore the bias with my being a Pakistani myself; honestly who can dispute the superior yumminess of Pakistani food? Who? No one! My experience in Saudi Arabia (well mine and a group of Pakistani-food-loving Moroccans experience alike) substantiated the true value of wholesome, authentic Pakistani food.
Be wary though, a lot of Indian eateries in Paris claim to serve ‘Pakistani food’, well they don’t, it’s a rip-off ploy. We tried in vain to find a Pakistani place but ended up eating at Cafe Istanbul anyway (their stuff was gorgeous too and I’m craving it so bad now).
Our prayers were finally answered on that day were shopping at the Champs Elysees when we spotted a tall man dressed in Pakistani attire; a white salwar kameez, a mirrored Balochi style waistcoat and the pagri and all that jazz, holding up a placard reading ”Authentic Pakistanais Cuisine” (ok, so all of it was written in French). Upon approaching him he led us into a mall leading to the restaurant. This time I wasn’t taking any chances and asked the men there (they were all old ‘uncle’ types, ok? No ideas please) – whereabouts they’re originally from, we only took a seat when they replied Lahore. And then, we feasted on cheese filled naan, a fingerlicking, yummy mixed grill, saagh aloo, parathay and mango lassi, yum yum yum YUM! Then when we got the bill at a ridiculous 65 euros (!), we came straight back down to earth!
Oh! We also spoke at length with the uncle jees in Urdu about Pakistani politics and my Mush-loving friend joined in with the waiters as they did some Zardari-bashing, yawn. When they finally shut up I asked them about why it’s so difficult to find Pakistani food in Paris and why there are ‘fake Pakistani eateries’ etc. They replied that in terms of ‘desi food’ Paris is behind England by about a good 15 years. Wow! Britons are very lucky. But in England Pakistani food is marketed as Indian food in most premium restaurants in order to sell. Completely opposite to the situation in Paris really.
So there you go then! Despite the food thing though, there was no real issue really in finding Halal food, there were plenty of Arab, Turk etc places everywhere really.
So, this is a no brainer really; It’s PARIS all the way!
Now these are my very personal experiences, views and I’m sure such experiences variate between individuals.
Here are some more pictures of places I loafed around in the French capital. Apreciez.
Eiffel tower from a distance
Very apt eh? Seeing a giant billboard reading ‘Visit Australia’.
This was my first sight of the tower, just as we got out of the metro station. Can’t believe how excited we were at that point, we hopped, skipped and twirled our way towards the tower. Then we got ripped off mega by some roadside painters who insisted on drawing two ‘beautiful British ladies’ (don’t even ask how they guessed that – or how much they charged).
On closer view (one of those cliche type snaps – sorry Specs)
Gosh! Every picture has a story, I’d rather let you appreciate my amateur but effin’ brilliant photography instead. Stories can come later – I’ll dedicate whole posts to them.
Oh! But let me add, I loved the accessibility in the city, you can go up to things (i.e. the Eiffel tower) and hug them and nothing’s cordoned off or anything. It’s kind of a homely, cosy feeling. Love it.
Champs Elysees & a glimpse of the Arc de Triomphe
Arc de Triomphe
The above was taken whilst standing at the side of the road. I did take one closer up and at a central crossing area to get a better view, but then they look boring, this looks much better, I promise.
Some random statue, against the backdrop of a clear blue sky
This statue was right near our hotel. Sigh! I loved our hotel, we had a lovely adjoining balcony too. Could have spent a week just on that balcony. Not much a view as there was scaffolding up, but those builders had hot model-looks and I did whistle at them once and held up my bottle of Orangina to them in a toast (those orange pulpy bits in Orangina can seriously mess up a girl’s head).
Please don’t laugh, my friend forced me to come here, honest-to-goodness!
I’ll just like to add; this place is seriously, seriously tacky! It’s strictly infants only. Still we managed to have a giggle or two.
A hot air balloon (no snidy jokes about me here please)
Exterior of Mosquee de Paris
The courtyard and prayer hall area is absolutely amazing here, unfortunately didn’t think to take any photos at the time as we were in a flurry about the Jumah congregation, which is very atmospheric by the way.
The masjid’s cafe
This was such a tranquil beautiful place. There were plenty of non-Muslims there too, leisurely soaking in the atmosphere and the sounds of birds chirping in the trees overhead (ok, now I sound like an OAP, maybe I should take up bird watching and stamp collecting).
This place transports you to some place in North Africa though (i.e. Morocco, Algeria or Tunisia) – which is exactly what it was made to emulate. I love all the attention to detail.
Another extension of the cafe, under canopy shade
The a la menthe – the cafe’s speciality
This stuff is yum but still pretty sweet, much more than I’m accustomed to – almost like a tea version of Rooh-e-Afza sans the rose extracts. Seeing this reminds me of this song of the same name, which also featured in the OST of Ocean’s Twelve.
The departures lounge at CDG airport
Au revoir Paris, till next time.
Sigh! That was fun.
P.s. There were much, much more photos than this and also more places we visited, but for privacy reasons I won’t be sharing those with you as those snaps feature me and the bestie quite prominently.
It was always a wish of mine to visit Paris in the springtime, and I did, with my best friend. I really enjoyed it, but will do a detailed post on it and add more photos soon.
Thanks for all the comments folks, will get back to all of you.
I’m aware I’ve lost my blogging touch. Before I had nothing but ‘bakwaas’ to share with you folks and I did so diligently. I’ve since noticed a tremendous change in myself and I am at a crossroads right now. That also means I’ve so much to say but suddenly I don’t know how to say it. I don’t know how to word anything. I promise one thing though and that’s that I won’t give up on this blog just yet.
Psst.. Do you like my photography?
She’s on drugs, right?
Exactly which parts do I dissect here ,when each and every second on this clip is explosive stuff?
Girls: do listen out for the ‘harbooza aur cchuri’ talk by Waqar saahib, very big brotherly.
I know, I know. I’m perfectly aware of how bad things are these days and I will (hopefully, one of these days) stop being such a girl and actually start blogging my thoughts on something a little more substantial.
As in I’ll try my best impressions of a total whiney bloke who simply rants against the institutions and thus think he automatically qualifies as an ‘intellectual’ or something…
(I’m not joking, there is actually a blogger who calls himself ‘an intellectual’ on his blog description. Which, in my books is just as blasphemous as calling oneself ‘attractive’ and/or ‘golden rock-hard’.)
But, enough of that for now. Onto the eye candy I promised.
I love it when my superstar crushes appear in commercials. Some of these may be barrel loads of cheese, but let’s be honest: who cares about content?
I’ll take three of each!- if it means I can get any of these dreamboats in the deal!
First up is French League (Ligue) player Youssouf Hadji in a Morroccan Bank Ad. (Hadji is so underrated a player – when he scores your heart leaps up to your throat – he’s truly that good.)
Takeshi Kaneshiro – the actor in a cheesy but loveable (pun unintentional) Sony Erricsson ad.
And again in an advert for Sony Vaio, that he also composed the music for and directed himself.
Thierry Henry in that classic Renault Clio ad campaign. ”Aye Bobby what’s the French for Va Va Voom?”
And for Pepsi he outsizzles even Claudia Schiffer.
Pharrell Williams for Louis Vuitton’s (garish, tacky, blurgh!) Blason Jewellery.
I also recall a Zidane advert for Adidas back in ‘98 with Fatboy Slim’s ‘Right Here Right Now’ as the background score. Even the memory of it gives me goosebumps.
But then aside from adverts I also enjoy those quirky fan-made videos one can easily find in abundance on youtube;
Desmond of Lost, Johnny Depp and this gorgeous Takeshi Kaneshiro one (yes, him again).
Uh oh! I think I’ve just fallen madly in love with Japanese-meets-Chinese (and a sprinkling of Taiwanese) hybrid actor, one of the biggest stars of the Hong Kong film circuit – Takeshi Kaneshiro.
If they ever made a film version of Tekken, he would make the most perfect Kazuya Mishima. Alas, that is probably unlikely. Even if the film is made at all, it’d probably be made via. Hollywood and Hollywood it seems is still keeping with the age-old nepotism-esque tradition of sticking with their own (white folk) to fit their casting needs, thus painting their faces and things to fit the story’s character requirements. They can be suitably Negro-looking (think old Hollywood), or Persian (Jake f-cking Gyllenhaal? You’ve got to be kidding me!?) and the calamity that is the film adaptation of Dragonball Z. (Oh! It’s just too much! I think I’m going to cry.)
Hands up, anyone else who strongly believes some of Hollywood’s casting directors need to be lined up and shot? Or at least slapped silly?
But now’s not the time to be cynical; it’s time to rejoice at the gorgeousness that is Takeshi. He’s also undoubtedly a pretty fine actor. Dynamic and versatile, he can be rip-roaring hilarious during comedy sequences and awe-inspiring in martial arts sequences but generally he’s known as the obscure misfit who never gets the girl a la Chungking Express and Fallen Angels or as the lovelorn geek who misses his chance in Anna Magdalena.
Can I be your girl Mr Kaneshiro? Oh please, please, I promise I won’t run away with Tony!?
But then how can I isolate the other loves: Johnny Depp, Pharrell Williams, Youssouf Hadji? Surely four different obsessions at the same time is healthy, right?
Setting aside the inundation of soppy, mushy films, love songs and romance literature clouding your judgment for just a moment, see if you can answer this:
Can love between a non-related male and female really exist? If so, can it be overcome so they can go on to resume normal, healthy lives apart without mentally and/or physically disintegrating?
Or is it all a figment of our imagination, believing so strongly in something that was never quite real?
I just found this on some Japanese guy’s blog as I was googling ‘As Tears Go By’ the film (my review of this film to follow this, as per Jenn’s request – hey girl!).
I didn’t note his blog details, so won’t link back. Fine! Call me a thief. It’s just much more unique than other tags and had to give it a try. Here goes.
——————————
Here is what you need to do:
1. Put your MP3 player/ iPod/ itunes library on shuffle.
2. For each question, press the next button to get your answer.
3. YOU MUST WRITE THAT SONG NAME DOWN NO MATTER HOW SILLY IT SOUNDS.
——————————–
HOW WOULD YOU DESCRIBE YOURSELF?
Love changes – Kashif & Marisa Morgan duet.
WHAT DO YOU LIKE IN A GUY/GIRL?
Love in this club – Usher & Beyonce remix. (Goodness me!)
HOW DO YOU FEEL TODAY?
Mahi - Abrar Ul Haq (Whoops! You caught me!)
WHAT IS YOUR LIFE’S PURPOSE?
Clubbin’ – Marques Houston feat. Joe Budden. (No comment.)
WHAT IS YOUR MOTTO?
Mehndi ki raat – Vital Signs. (Que?)
WHAT DO YOUR FRIENDS THINK OF YOU?
Ms. Officer – Lil Wayne feat. Bobby Valentino. (Haha! Good one.)
WHAT DO YOUR PARENTS THINK OF YOU?
Erm, it’s a relaxing Kashmiri folk – string instrumental!?
WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT VERY OFTEN?
Yeh jawani, yeh jawani, yeh jawani – Naseem Begum. (uff! I’m so paindoo.)
(It’s some some old filmi sultry item number. One of my favourite item numbers actually.)
WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THE PERSON YOU LIKE?
Nazar – Aunty Disco Project. (Very apt actually, since I seriously have the hots for the lead singer of this band – oye oye!)
WHAT IS YOUR LIFE STORY?
Precious – Co-VEN. (I f-cking love this, but life story? Eek!)
WHAT DO YOU WANT TO BE WHEN YOU GROW UP?
Ashes and Wine – A Fine Frenzy. (Wait, that doesn’t sound right?)
WHAT DO YOU THINK WHEN YOU SEE THE PERSON YOU LIKE?
Reunion - Rohail Hyatt – KKL Soundtrack. (Waah!)
WHAT WILL YOU DANCE TO AT YOUR WEDDING
Zehr – Azal. (I’m surprisingly not in the least puzzled!)
WHAT WILL THEY PLAY AT YOUR FUNERAL?
Shaaman Paiyan – Coke Studio – Rahat Fateh Ali Khan. (What the..? How morbid.)
WHAT IS YOUR HOBBY/INTEREST??
Together in Electric Dreams – Phil Oakley
WHAT IS YOUR BIGGEST FEAR?
Umeed e Sahar – Laal. (!?)
WHAT IS YOUR BIGGEST SECRET?
I wanna sleep with Common People – Pulp. (Gasp!)
WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR FRIENDS?
Tumhara aur mera naam – Vital Signs.
WHAT WILL YOU POST THIS AS?
Lover turn me on – Kashif. (Who’s an American 80s old-school soul singer by the way.)
I tag all of you, my blogging buds. Let’s do this, it’s fun!
Sometimes you just need to get things out of your system and this blog which I have had running for two years now has proved a good friend for that purpose.
A few of you read a post of mine about a guy called E and his marriage proposal which came at a really bad time, despite my incessant refusal – which is hard enough - he just won’t take no for an answer.
I’ve been pretty assertive and calm with dealing with him and yesterday I just broke down after he called me stubborn and insulted me in a similar tone ‘I’ had used on me 5 years ago.
The indignance of crying in front a guy is too much to bear. If you act tough as nails they think you’re superficial and uncaring (good, so what?). But, if you make the mistake of breaking down they think you’re weak and thus a fragile little girl who clearly can’t think for herself and needs a big macho man to steer her life for her.
Despite trying to use up my quota of tears completely engrossed in tearjerker films so I don’t embarrass myself in public, I go ahead and cry in front of him. Actually I think it was a relief as I didn’t have to try so hard thinking of yet more excuses. He asked me if my refusal was because I was still hung up on my ex-husband (if only), I just nodded silently. Let him think whatever he wants. He just went on to say he’ll give me more time to make up my mind.
Of course I’ve made up my bloody mind! He knows the answer, yet he’s piling on the pressure, piling on the pressure. I can’t think straight and I’m praying I stay true to my own alleged ’stubbornness’ and don’t give in to him.
He’s a handsome enough man, he can find any other girl he wants. It will never be a problem for him, I know.
He’s right about one thing though, I do need to move on.
But what happens if I don’t want to, maybe the prospect of celibacy; becoming a lonely old woman who owns lots of cats and occasionally leaves her house to howl at the moon doesn’t sound so bad.
I can’t live like ‘I’. He’s living a psuedo-existence, one where he simply goes through the motions, he’s nowhere near the guy he used to be. I can’t live that life, I’ve tried and I failed.
That’s another thing, I percieve things I can’t control as my failure. I was watching my sister in law yesterday, struggling to tie my baby nephew’s nappy, as he squiggled about giggling. I know both my little neices were the same at 8 months, they just can’t stay still, and when they used to squiggle about as I’d try to tie their nappy – I’d feel really embarrassed and all flustered if anyone was watching as I’d fear they’d see me as incompetent. Yet my sister in law yesterday made a big fuss about him and had my mum help her hold him down and no one said anything about her being incompetent. Then I wonder why I think like that – I’m such a fool. Maybe it IS ok to ask for help once in a while.
I remember the first time me and a girl who went on to become a friend met, we were at the train station on the induction day of university about 2002 it was. I could tell she was itching to approach me and kept looking my way really insecurely. That kind of stuck with me as my first impression of her, that she was insecure. She is actually, very insecure. But one thing she always says to me is that the first time she saw me she thought I was a girl who really ‘looks after herself’. I actually found that made me sound concieted and selfish. Then I brushed it off as a superficial comment she’d made based on my then ability to groom myself well, yes I can be a little vain and I was very vain back in my student days, ugh! Funny actually, I work in an office now and I walk in looking a complete trainwreck, but as a student I was all pristine and polished.
Anyway after speaking with her again the other day, she brought it up again, and I laughed saying I had barely brushed my hair that morning and she replied, ”not looks-wise idiot, I mean your persona, you’re shy but still, there’s something in the way you come across as a person.”
That was a nice bit of encouragement actually, her judgement may just be questionable but you know what, I feel she’s right I don’t need another person to depend on. I look after myself well enough. I think I’d do really well living a celibate life.
That feels like a massive relief. I can always pretend I was scarred by my ex-husband divorcing me. In honesty I wasn’t at all but anything to save me from the obscurities of;
”When are you going to get married again?”
Never, thank you!
”You’re not going to get any younger you know?”
Oh really? Of course on my next birthday I’ll go from 26 to 21, you psycho!
”You need to move on, the guy you’re so hung up about, he’s no angel you know? He’s probably out there —ing some other girl – because men are bastards like that.”
Yes, now I really do feel the compulsion to marry a bastard, my life depends on it! Thanks Z!
”Why don’t you find a guy online. Have you tried Shaadi.com?”
Uh, no offence to the people who have used this medium but WTF?
I’m so sick and tired of the same old questions, as much as I’m used to hearing them – they feel like a big blow to my stomach everytime.
For all the ladies who are subjected to this kind of ridicule, I feel your pain.
I hate the word ’single’, it tends to come with the affix; ‘and desperately looking’, and besides it’s stigmatised – as if the person has a handicap or something fatally wrong with them, I just hate it.
I am otherwise perfectly content living in this little dream-like bubble and if I can live in it forever I will, I can’t be having the likes of E trying to prick at it and burst it for me.
UPDATE: So sorry for sounding like such a self-pitying wimp.According to my friend I should be counting my lucky stars, but I don’t know from what angle she sees this. This is a lifetime commitment, not just some dare to date a guy for one day or something.
To snap out of it, I called him a bit ago deciding to handle things like a grown up, but instead it turned into a semi-comfortable chat with no real direction. I always get really nervous and anxious when we’re face to face, always ready to run. I calmed myself down before dialing his number and decided to ask him some questions about his ideas of our future together (though not in exactly them words). He’s Palestinian-Arab originally from a place called Haifa, he settled here in the UK with his family almost two decades ago. His ‘plans’ are for us to marry, live in our city and throughout the length of our lives we wait until the people of his beautiful homeland are liberated (exactly how likely is that?). My plans are to resettle in Pakistan, particularly Islamabad within the next few years. Heck, if I don’t even have to remarry, my uncle and aunt have promised me to adopt me, haha – though that’s not ideal – as sweet as they are. My family are split up over this; my dad is going to retire soon and is definitely moving back to Kashmir, and out of us five siblings only me and youngest brother are happy to resettle.
Not that there is anything wrong with England, it’s a great country. I have enjoyed my time here and I’m grateful for all the opportunities that have come my way but from the bottom of my heart I have never belonged here – I may have looked the part but it’s not home.
I was hoping hearing of my plans he’d be a bit put off, but he surprised me by saying; for me, he could give it his best shot. If so, he’d probably be the only Palestinian in Isb. He also went on to joke (that’s a first from him) that our kids will be ”Pakistinians”. Oye hoye, He’s getting a bit ahead of himself there.
But I’ll leave him with them thoughts to mull over for a while. If he’s still happy I may give him some thought, if I feel so inclined.
Oh God, save me from a long marriage of boredom and zero laughter.
Recent Comments