Every whisper/ Of every waking hour I'm/ Choosing my confessions..... Consider this/The hint of the century/ Consider this/The slip that brought me/To my knees failed/What if all these fantasies/Come flailing around/Now I've said too much... That's me in the corner/That's me in the spotlight/Losing my religion....
New Delhi
29 January, 2005
Dear World,
I worry about you sometimes, world. It seems like you’ve completely lost balance. Here I am at 1.16 am on a Friday night, pretty buzzed, just returning from Turquiose Cottage and I look around me and I wonder, world, why you have forgotten me.
Dear, dear world, yesterday I was listening to Deep Inside Of You, which you know was "our" song for me and K and there was this one part where the singer---who sounded like a young man---said, I’m so alive, I’m deep inside of you and I thought to myself, my god, I haven’t felt this way in such a long time. I haven’t felt like I was exploding just being with someone else, I haven’t felt like waking up in the morning and saying YES this is the reason I’m alive, this is the reason I’m out there. It’s like somewhere within me a shutter has gone down and a light has gone out and I don’t know when I’m going to be able to feel that again.
You know what I’m feeling, world, you know I’m not in love with K anymore. But was that it? Was that my one chance to feel and I’ve given that up? That’s really not fair. This empty feeling has got to go.
And what’s with these little mindfucks you keep introducing, huh? What’s with friends feeling like I suck at being their friend, what’s with boys who live across the seas? What’s with that? You’ve screwed with me enough, I really don’t need more confusion going on than I already have.
Maybe I should get religion. Have you heard the Tori Amos version of Losing My Religion? Of course you have, you were around when she sang it. Maybe falling to my knees and praying for a kiss, a smoke, a touch will work. But before that, I appeal to you, world, as all my kind do. Fix this, please take away this empty feeling. You’ve gotten me a nice job, so far, pretty brilliant friends, please, just one more thing. Let me be happy, let me be okay. Let me not feel like I have to wrap my arms around myself in order to keep from falling apart. Let me know what to do, let me feel confident and self assured and always saying the right thing. Help me to make the right decisions, the right choices, stop me from second guessing myself.
It’s a small order, world, and I know you have the power to do this.
Yours,
eM
Tales from urban India
29 January 2005
26 January 2005
File under Miscellaneous
The Return Of The Product Whore
You know your life has been taken over by products when you find yourself blogging about them. But so far, I've been very, very good. Asides from that paean to Dove shower gel, I haven't breathed a word about anything else. But you should know about my gel fetish. It's got so, that when I crash at a friend's house, I might forget to pack a toothbrush but I never forget my gel. Ever since I cut my hair I've been using Nova, usually the storng-hold purple one, once the 'wet look' blue one and this month I'm using the green 'normal hold' one. I go through a jar of gel every month and yes, I know it's really bad for my hair and I will eventually go bald, etc etc, but I'd ratehr eventually go bald than go to work looking like a duck that just been for shock treatment. And the gel smells realllllllly good too.
You Ain't Nothing But A Hound Dog
Speaking of smells, there's been a whole lot of discussion about the smell of sex. Now, I personally have never noticed any particular odour that goes with the act of fornication, except perhaps, if you want to get really technical about it, the smell of two colognes mingling. But apparently there's a certain scent that arises from the act, which quite a few people have told me about. Are other people aware of this scent? Please say no, because otherwise I would be nasally challenged and that's not good.
New Job Update
People keep asking me, "So, how are you liking your new job, etc etc?" and I never quite know what to say. It's a good job, sure, but the work is pretty much the same as it was in the old job, only since I don't have a "beat" yet, I'm doing all sorts of things from fashion shows to Finnish artists. Which is nice, because very day is like a grab bag, you never know who you're going to meet. But it's also not so nice because since you're doing so many different things, you don't have a chance to be familiar with one beat and so you come off looking ignorant a lot of the time. But yes, New Job is great fun, thank you for asking.
The Name Dropper
Some people ask me why I never actively write about the people who read this blog. So this is my acknowledgment. Yes, I know you know me in real life and I know you read my blog. But see, the purpose of anonymity, whatever few shreds I have left, will all fall away from me if I keep making references to you. Just this once however, here are a list of people I know in real life and who read my blog and who are friends of mine. Leela (you picked your name yourself, so you had better recognise it), Devyani (Hello!), Nitya (I don't know whether you read this yet, but if you do, hi), Y'all know Dee (Happy Birthday!), Samit (See, tolja I would mention you), Ash, Shiva and GSB in Mumbai, though I don't know whether she still reads this. If there's anyone else I know in real life who's reading this, please let me know. As for the rest of you, feel honoured. Very honoured.
Egads! That would be wizard!
Ladies and gentlemen, I move that we bring some long-neglected members of the English language out to the forefront. Instead of 'cool' say 'Smashing!'; instead of 'Oh, fuck' say 'Zounds'; instead of 'flirt/prick tease' say 'coquette'. No, seriously, how absolutely smashing would it be to say "Zounds! Foiled again!" It just conjures up so much that "Oh, fuck" can never do. I'm going to. :)
Lines in the defense of smokers
You know, smoking has gotten a lot of bad press. I know, I know, it's harmful and all that, but is that any reason to ostracise smokers? If you prick us, will we not bleed? I happen to like the smell of cigarette smoke, I also think that smoking, if done properly, can look very sexy. And plus, you're lot more likely to die through passive smoking anyway. So yay for smokers! Hah!
Happy Republic Day, people.
21 January 2005
Music, makes the bourgeoise, come together
One of my all time favourite books is Nick Hornby’s 31 Songs. Basically, it’s a collection of essays by the author on 31 songs he loves and the memories associated with them. The reason this book struck such a chord with me is because I do it too! There are so many, many songs, of which just the opening bars remind me instantly of some memory or event.
So, ta-dah, without any further ado/adieu (which is it?) allow me to present songs of my past!
Bittersweet Symphony by the Verve: This song always, but always reminds me of my second boyfriend David. He was this skinny guy, heavily into smoking pot and the Smashing Pumpkins and I thought I was in love with him. How could I not be? He was so incredibly nice to me, even when he cheated on me, that I always forgave him.
At this point, I had one of those ancient modems—19.4 kbp---and it took me several hours to download a song. And Bittersweet Symphony is a pretty large file. So every night as I spoke to him, David would have this song on in the background, over and over again, while I listened and ached with love for him.
Build Me Up Buttercup by the Foundations: This is the song of my college days. This and Get Your Freak On by Missy Elliot. I’d go around singing, Why do you build me up and wait till someone chipped in with build me up for the second voice.
With Get Your Freak On, there’s this part where she goes Holler, except with her strange pronounciation I heard, Hallo and sang that, till someone enlightened me. I still sing Hallo though! :)
Nothing Compares To You by Sinead O’Connor: When we were in our teens we had just one radio station, called Times Fm, which played request shows and English music at night. We were all quite addicted to it, even knowing the request show’s number by heart. Anyway, so one day, my friends and I called in and said, "Hi, we’re Betty, Veronica and Midge and we’d like to dedicate Nothing Compares To You to our boyfriends Archie, Reggie and Moose." (Hey, we were all of thirteen, we thought we were pretty damn cool) The radio jockey got quite a kick out of it, saying, "And this one’s for three lovely ladies with excellent taste in music." Sadly, Times Fm no longer exists.
The Wall by Pink Floyd and My Heart Will Go On by Celine Dion; Okay, yeah, so even I’m wincing clubbing these two songs together. But, when I was in boarding, we were allowed music on Sundays and everyone took advantage of that. One girl had a pretty impressive shoebox-full of tapes and amongst them was The Wall and Sexual Capacity by Color Me Badd. We danced to Sexual Capacity and sang happily angry, "We don’t need noooooo eddy-caytion!" As for My Heart Will Go On, Titanic had just released and Leo DiCaprio was the hottest thing since walkmans.
La Isla Bonita by Madonna: In school, we had this thing called ‘Class Day’ where each batch put up a cultural programme. When it came to our turn, my section decided to do a dance to La Isla Bonita. Now, one thing you should know about me is that I can’t dance. Not one step. I have the worst case of two left feet you have ever seen. So, I didn’t get chosen to dance to Madonna. Instead, I was the one who carried around the tape player and cued it for my friends to shake their booties. I remember sitting in the girls loo right before the performance and bawling my eyes out.. okay this is a sad story.. NEXT!
We Didn’t Start The Fire by Billy Joel, Runaway Train by Soul Asylum, Walk Like An Egyptian by the Bangles, La Bamba by Los Lobos and Mony Mony by someone who I don’t remember: I have these two older cousins—brothers—who are about six or seven years older than me. So when I was about six or seven, these were the songs I grew up with. I remember thinking the songs were really strange. We didn’t start the fire for instance, in my mind, was about a bunch of guys who had burned down someone else’s house and were now trying to escape the blame, La Bamba has some Hindi words (well it kinda does, if you listen carefully!) and oh yeah, Janie’s Got A Gun by Aerosmith, where a girl shoots her father and then runs away. It’s a wonder I wasn’t scarred for life.
I think that’s about all I remember. What are your song memories?
Oh and by the way, whoever's been repeatedly Googling "em meets the parents", you're beginning to scare me. Speak now, or forever hold your peace.
So, ta-dah, without any further ado/adieu (which is it?) allow me to present songs of my past!
Bittersweet Symphony by the Verve: This song always, but always reminds me of my second boyfriend David. He was this skinny guy, heavily into smoking pot and the Smashing Pumpkins and I thought I was in love with him. How could I not be? He was so incredibly nice to me, even when he cheated on me, that I always forgave him.
At this point, I had one of those ancient modems—19.4 kbp---and it took me several hours to download a song. And Bittersweet Symphony is a pretty large file. So every night as I spoke to him, David would have this song on in the background, over and over again, while I listened and ached with love for him.
Build Me Up Buttercup by the Foundations: This is the song of my college days. This and Get Your Freak On by Missy Elliot. I’d go around singing, Why do you build me up and wait till someone chipped in with build me up for the second voice.
With Get Your Freak On, there’s this part where she goes Holler, except with her strange pronounciation I heard, Hallo and sang that, till someone enlightened me. I still sing Hallo though! :)
Nothing Compares To You by Sinead O’Connor: When we were in our teens we had just one radio station, called Times Fm, which played request shows and English music at night. We were all quite addicted to it, even knowing the request show’s number by heart. Anyway, so one day, my friends and I called in and said, "Hi, we’re Betty, Veronica and Midge and we’d like to dedicate Nothing Compares To You to our boyfriends Archie, Reggie and Moose." (Hey, we were all of thirteen, we thought we were pretty damn cool) The radio jockey got quite a kick out of it, saying, "And this one’s for three lovely ladies with excellent taste in music." Sadly, Times Fm no longer exists.
The Wall by Pink Floyd and My Heart Will Go On by Celine Dion; Okay, yeah, so even I’m wincing clubbing these two songs together. But, when I was in boarding, we were allowed music on Sundays and everyone took advantage of that. One girl had a pretty impressive shoebox-full of tapes and amongst them was The Wall and Sexual Capacity by Color Me Badd. We danced to Sexual Capacity and sang happily angry, "We don’t need noooooo eddy-caytion!" As for My Heart Will Go On, Titanic had just released and Leo DiCaprio was the hottest thing since walkmans.
La Isla Bonita by Madonna: In school, we had this thing called ‘Class Day’ where each batch put up a cultural programme. When it came to our turn, my section decided to do a dance to La Isla Bonita. Now, one thing you should know about me is that I can’t dance. Not one step. I have the worst case of two left feet you have ever seen. So, I didn’t get chosen to dance to Madonna. Instead, I was the one who carried around the tape player and cued it for my friends to shake their booties. I remember sitting in the girls loo right before the performance and bawling my eyes out.. okay this is a sad story.. NEXT!
We Didn’t Start The Fire by Billy Joel, Runaway Train by Soul Asylum, Walk Like An Egyptian by the Bangles, La Bamba by Los Lobos and Mony Mony by someone who I don’t remember: I have these two older cousins—brothers—who are about six or seven years older than me. So when I was about six or seven, these were the songs I grew up with. I remember thinking the songs were really strange. We didn’t start the fire for instance, in my mind, was about a bunch of guys who had burned down someone else’s house and were now trying to escape the blame, La Bamba has some Hindi words (well it kinda does, if you listen carefully!) and oh yeah, Janie’s Got A Gun by Aerosmith, where a girl shoots her father and then runs away. It’s a wonder I wasn’t scarred for life.
I think that’s about all I remember. What are your song memories?
Oh and by the way, whoever's been repeatedly Googling "em meets the parents", you're beginning to scare me. Speak now, or forever hold your peace.
20 January 2005
Some of life's mysteries that I've never been able to figure out
1) Why the lane next to me always has traffic moving at the speed of light, but the one I'm in doesn't look like it's going anywhere for the next three hundred thousand years.
2) Why men are so obsessed with breasts. And lesbians.
3) Why some people don't drink. Or smoke. Or have sex.
4) Why exactly my hands smell of a posh men's cologne right now, when I haven't had ANY interaction with the opposite sex for a while. ( Oh wait, I figured out the answer. I was just at TC, and shanking many hands, that's probably it)
5) Why when guys screw around they're called "players" but when women do it, they're "skanks".
6) Why women always want men who they can't have, or who are physically or emotionally unavailable.
7) Why *blush* I like reading Baby Sitter's Club books obsessively, to the point of passion. (But if you know me in real life, you are NOT to mention this)
8) What does 'go with the flow' mean anyway?
9) Why there is no magic answer to all the questions like who am I and what am I doing here.
10) Why there is no magic.
11) Why I have to start at the bottom and work my way up to the top.
12) Why I feel the need to chronicle my life and my inner mental workings to an audience. Am I that self-obssessed? Apparently.
13) Why my friends still like me, even after I practically ignored them for the two-and-a-half years that K and I were together. Why new people still enjoy talking to me, when it's apparent I have nothing of interest to say.
14) Why I'm so full of self-pity and loathing at times, especially after I drink, that I make me sick.
15) Why we, as a human race, need affirmation, that we're good people.
16) Why I confess, compulsively.
2) Why men are so obsessed with breasts. And lesbians.
3) Why some people don't drink. Or smoke. Or have sex.
4) Why exactly my hands smell of a posh men's cologne right now, when I haven't had ANY interaction with the opposite sex for a while. ( Oh wait, I figured out the answer. I was just at TC, and shanking many hands, that's probably it)
5) Why when guys screw around they're called "players" but when women do it, they're "skanks".
6) Why women always want men who they can't have, or who are physically or emotionally unavailable.
7) Why *blush* I like reading Baby Sitter's Club books obsessively, to the point of passion. (But if you know me in real life, you are NOT to mention this)
8) What does 'go with the flow' mean anyway?
9) Why there is no magic answer to all the questions like who am I and what am I doing here.
10) Why there is no magic.
11) Why I have to start at the bottom and work my way up to the top.
12) Why I feel the need to chronicle my life and my inner mental workings to an audience. Am I that self-obssessed? Apparently.
13) Why my friends still like me, even after I practically ignored them for the two-and-a-half years that K and I were together. Why new people still enjoy talking to me, when it's apparent I have nothing of interest to say.
14) Why I'm so full of self-pity and loathing at times, especially after I drink, that I make me sick.
15) Why we, as a human race, need affirmation, that we're good people.
16) Why I confess, compulsively.
17 January 2005
Guess Who's Back?
But I am sooooooooo exhausted, so please, bear with me if you were hoping for a marathon blog entry, because I just don't think I have it in me, after driving for two hours to get home from 12 kilometers away. Aargh.
Also today was the first day at New Job (which I guess is now just Job, which doesn't really need a capital J, now does it?). It was promising, the people are nice, the office is nice, everything is very oraganised, I feel productive because I had an interview with an artist on my first day instead of having to sit around for weeks on end waiting pitifully for someone to throw an assignment my way. But. BUT. The computers are soooooo (again the long 'so'. Feel free to add "a needle pulling thread" at any point). They actually use DOS! For god's sake, DOS? If you were born in the 1980's, do you remember DOS? DOS was when no-one, and I mean, no-one had a PC. One of my family friends owned an antiquated machine, way back when I was about six or seven. Black-and-white, a sort of glorified electric typewriter. The only memorable thing about it was that it had this game called Where In The World Is Carmen Sandiego, all about this chick, Carmen, who was always on mission at some obscure location and you had to solve the geographic clues to figure out where she was. (The capital of Iceland, anyone?)
Anyway, besides the DOS, and besides the fact that only one computer has an internet connection, I think I'll do fine.
On to other news. That thing with the Whippersnapper? Yup, it was a date. :)
But the only thing that hampered this "date" from going in full swing was the fact that I met this other boy before I went to Bombay and well, it was different. I didn't blog about him earlier, because foolishly I gave him the address to this thing and I thought he would read it but he didn't, and now he probably will, but now I have more time to form an opinion (Phew!) Annieway, he studies abroad and we were at opposite ends of the same social circle when we were about 13, but we met recently through other friends at (where else?) Turquoise Cottage. And we hit it off, and to cut a not-so-long story short, we've decided to stay in touch even after he leaves (which is tonight) and see how it goes and whether we can sustain something.
All this overdose of Boy-ness probably means I'm going to have a terribly boring life for a while. I can feel it brewing. The universe is usually not so nice to me.
Also today was the first day at New Job (which I guess is now just Job, which doesn't really need a capital J, now does it?). It was promising, the people are nice, the office is nice, everything is very oraganised, I feel productive because I had an interview with an artist on my first day instead of having to sit around for weeks on end waiting pitifully for someone to throw an assignment my way. But. BUT. The computers are soooooo (again the long 'so'. Feel free to add "a needle pulling thread" at any point). They actually use DOS! For god's sake, DOS? If you were born in the 1980's, do you remember DOS? DOS was when no-one, and I mean, no-one had a PC. One of my family friends owned an antiquated machine, way back when I was about six or seven. Black-and-white, a sort of glorified electric typewriter. The only memorable thing about it was that it had this game called Where In The World Is Carmen Sandiego, all about this chick, Carmen, who was always on mission at some obscure location and you had to solve the geographic clues to figure out where she was. (The capital of Iceland, anyone?)
Anyway, besides the DOS, and besides the fact that only one computer has an internet connection, I think I'll do fine.
On to other news. That thing with the Whippersnapper? Yup, it was a date. :)
But the only thing that hampered this "date" from going in full swing was the fact that I met this other boy before I went to Bombay and well, it was different. I didn't blog about him earlier, because foolishly I gave him the address to this thing and I thought he would read it but he didn't, and now he probably will, but now I have more time to form an opinion (Phew!) Annieway, he studies abroad and we were at opposite ends of the same social circle when we were about 13, but we met recently through other friends at (where else?) Turquoise Cottage. And we hit it off, and to cut a not-so-long story short, we've decided to stay in touch even after he leaves (which is tonight) and see how it goes and whether we can sustain something.
All this overdose of Boy-ness probably means I'm going to have a terribly boring life for a while. I can feel it brewing. The universe is usually not so nice to me.
13 January 2005
Nope, I'm not home yet
But since Pieces is sure she has jaundice (a lot of it going around Mumbai right about now, in fact Bombay Times even carried a story about Kim Sharma's recent bout. "It was horrible. I had no social life," said the petite model.) I have spent the entire day at home, just now bestirring myself from in front of the TV and Creole Calamari (yum) to walk down to the market and find a cyber cafe.
Okay, quick brief, since I'm here and all.; The longer Mumbai trip entry will be done later, I promise.
> Last night I went clubbing to a place called Polly Esther, got very drunk and flirted madly with 19-year-old whippersnapper. Said Whippersnapper is coming by later tonight to take me for a "drive and coffee"! Unless terms have changed very much since I was a teenager, I'm guessing drive and coffee still means someone's hitting on me?
> I haven't really done much shopping. Picked up Dee's birthday prezzie, looked around for a replacement belly ring but no luck. I wanted to visit the Strand bookstore while I was here, but Pieces is ill and I don't think I have what it takes to brave the local trains alone.
> Ooh, went to Prithvi Theatre. But it was , blah, shut. But I did lech at the pretty lanterns that hung all around it, eavesdropped on a rehearsal and sat in the shady courtyard cafeteria, feeling very arty.
> Still haven't ridden on one of those doubledecker buses though.
> I've eaten like a pig---beef steak, sea food, Thai---I feel very, very sluggish right now, and that combating with my ferocious hangover, is just not pretty.
> And the autos have UV lights! Very cool.
Ya, I think that's about it. More on Whippersnapper and my very brief "holiday romance" later!
Okay, quick brief, since I'm here and all.; The longer Mumbai trip entry will be done later, I promise.
> Last night I went clubbing to a place called Polly Esther, got very drunk and flirted madly with 19-year-old whippersnapper. Said Whippersnapper is coming by later tonight to take me for a "drive and coffee"! Unless terms have changed very much since I was a teenager, I'm guessing drive and coffee still means someone's hitting on me?
> I haven't really done much shopping. Picked up Dee's birthday prezzie, looked around for a replacement belly ring but no luck. I wanted to visit the Strand bookstore while I was here, but Pieces is ill and I don't think I have what it takes to brave the local trains alone.
> Ooh, went to Prithvi Theatre. But it was , blah, shut. But I did lech at the pretty lanterns that hung all around it, eavesdropped on a rehearsal and sat in the shady courtyard cafeteria, feeling very arty.
> Still haven't ridden on one of those doubledecker buses though.
> I've eaten like a pig---beef steak, sea food, Thai---I feel very, very sluggish right now, and that combating with my ferocious hangover, is just not pretty.
> And the autos have UV lights! Very cool.
Ya, I think that's about it. More on Whippersnapper and my very brief "holiday romance" later!
6 January 2005
Coz I'm moving on out, moving on up, time to break free, nothing can stop me
I’m! Going! To! Mumbai!
Yup, today’s my last day at the job and what, you ask, am I doing? Simultaneously, cleaning out my desk, dumping four months worth of unreviewed books that have been gathering dust in my drawer on my colleague’ desk (weeping as I opened the new Shawna Singh Baldwin package that arrived all for me but which I had to relinquish); adding my mother’s dental bill to my medical reimbursment form, because, y’know, I’m as strong as an ox and I don’t need no doctors; gloating over the CNN planner that arrived for me today, all new and leather bound and unwritten in; writing a story on the NSD theatre festival which I’ve been working on for quite some time and have now, lessee, 152 words (only 200 words to go before I can legitimately call it a story); collecting business cards and printing out contact lists which I’m very organisedly putting into my new planner (coz it’s leather-bound. With flaps); sending messages to friends to let them know it’s my last day here; wondering whether I should smoke a cigarette even though my throat hurts like a bitch; cease wondering and go smoke a cigarette---multitasking, thy name is woman!
And then, did I mention I’m going to Mumbai? I leave on Saturday and then begins a week of absolute debauchery in the hands of my good friend Pieces. She lives alone there and I foresee much drinking, much partying and maybe much men. Not much blogging though, so you’ll just have to wait for me to return to hear about the trip and the (ohmygod ohmygod) New Job— N capital, J capital
La la la la.
I’m happy.
(written in an entirely different mood, so don't say I didn't warn you)
Yup, today’s my last day at the job and what, you ask, am I doing? Simultaneously, cleaning out my desk, dumping four months worth of unreviewed books that have been gathering dust in my drawer on my colleague’ desk (weeping as I opened the new Shawna Singh Baldwin package that arrived all for me but which I had to relinquish); adding my mother’s dental bill to my medical reimbursment form, because, y’know, I’m as strong as an ox and I don’t need no doctors; gloating over the CNN planner that arrived for me today, all new and leather bound and unwritten in; writing a story on the NSD theatre festival which I’ve been working on for quite some time and have now, lessee, 152 words (only 200 words to go before I can legitimately call it a story); collecting business cards and printing out contact lists which I’m very organisedly putting into my new planner (coz it’s leather-bound. With flaps); sending messages to friends to let them know it’s my last day here; wondering whether I should smoke a cigarette even though my throat hurts like a bitch; cease wondering and go smoke a cigarette---multitasking, thy name is woman!
And then, did I mention I’m going to Mumbai? I leave on Saturday and then begins a week of absolute debauchery in the hands of my good friend Pieces. She lives alone there and I foresee much drinking, much partying and maybe much men. Not much blogging though, so you’ll just have to wait for me to return to hear about the trip and the (ohmygod ohmygod) New Job— N capital, J capital
La la la la.
I’m happy.
(written in an entirely different mood, so don't say I didn't warn you)
The way the waiters know my name,
And when I gesture with an empty glass,
The way they know exactly what to bring.
Meeting, air-kissing the same people,
Talk grows stale, the air is stagnant,
With stilted conversation and smoke plumes,
That drift casually to the ceiling,
Pausing to caress my forehead as I turn
And search the room yearningly,
For someone, anyone, to break out of the crowd,
And act like it makes a difference that I’m living.
I know despite the low cleavage,
Despite the bright smile and the belly-button ring,
Despite the fact that according to me and my mother,
I’m certainly the wonderfull-est person there,
That tonight will merge into all the others,
And that tomorrow, I will still be alone.
4 January 2005
Never Been Kissed
Welcome to The Compulsive Confessor, 2005! There will be more of the same—stories from my past, references to my present, and random entries that don’t seem to fit anywhere, really.
Today’s topic of discussion, and my first post in the new year will focus on kissing. More specifically, the first kiss.
My first kiss, was with this guy who I’ve blogged about before, my first real boyfriend Harsh. It was New Year’s Eve and we had been stuck in a massive traffic jam around 11.45 pm. By 12 we reached the party we were heading for, and walked towards it, amidst sounds of firecrackers and people cheering. Harsh steered me behind a car and hugged me. “Happy New Year,” we both said, and I noticed that his arms didn’t let go, not immediately. For the first time in my life, I was aware of the silence before a kiss, you know what I mean, when there’s a pause in the conversation that can only be filled by his lips on yours. Of course, I jumped into the gap and said, eyes down, “So are you going to kiss me now?” He smiled and nuzzled my cheek, “What do you think?” And I, carried away by my own daring, said boldly, “I think you should.”
That first kiss sucked. My head snapped back, I didn’t really know what to do with my mouth, I knew my hands should be somewhere, so I placed them on his shoulders thereby cutting off circulation to my neck with my elbows. After a while, he stopped and took my hand, smiling smugly. I staggered a little and then said, “So that’s what it’s like.”
“Yup,” he said, still with the smug smile.
On the whole, I was rather glad to get it over with. I was seventeen, a rather late bloomer, since all my friends had been making out steadily since they were fourteen, but I did wish that kiss had been more magical, the way it was in books and movies.
So, a couple of days ago, I took a brief survey amongst my friends. They all laughed initially at the memory but agreed finally that the first kiss was nowhere near what they imagined.
“The guy was gross!” exclaimed one friend while another said, “Yeah, I just didn’t know what to do with my mouth.” One said the memory was so bad she didn’t even want to talk about it. They were memories to make fun of, not to think about with mushy eyes. We pulled on our cigarettes and giggled through the grey smoke.
Did no one have the perfect first kiss? Was it just a myth built up by “young adult” books? If that’s true, it’s kind of sad, really. Like not believing in Santa Claus or the Tooth Fairy anymore.
What was your first kiss like?
Today’s topic of discussion, and my first post in the new year will focus on kissing. More specifically, the first kiss.
My first kiss, was with this guy who I’ve blogged about before, my first real boyfriend Harsh. It was New Year’s Eve and we had been stuck in a massive traffic jam around 11.45 pm. By 12 we reached the party we were heading for, and walked towards it, amidst sounds of firecrackers and people cheering. Harsh steered me behind a car and hugged me. “Happy New Year,” we both said, and I noticed that his arms didn’t let go, not immediately. For the first time in my life, I was aware of the silence before a kiss, you know what I mean, when there’s a pause in the conversation that can only be filled by his lips on yours. Of course, I jumped into the gap and said, eyes down, “So are you going to kiss me now?” He smiled and nuzzled my cheek, “What do you think?” And I, carried away by my own daring, said boldly, “I think you should.”
That first kiss sucked. My head snapped back, I didn’t really know what to do with my mouth, I knew my hands should be somewhere, so I placed them on his shoulders thereby cutting off circulation to my neck with my elbows. After a while, he stopped and took my hand, smiling smugly. I staggered a little and then said, “So that’s what it’s like.”
“Yup,” he said, still with the smug smile.
On the whole, I was rather glad to get it over with. I was seventeen, a rather late bloomer, since all my friends had been making out steadily since they were fourteen, but I did wish that kiss had been more magical, the way it was in books and movies.
So, a couple of days ago, I took a brief survey amongst my friends. They all laughed initially at the memory but agreed finally that the first kiss was nowhere near what they imagined.
“The guy was gross!” exclaimed one friend while another said, “Yeah, I just didn’t know what to do with my mouth.” One said the memory was so bad she didn’t even want to talk about it. They were memories to make fun of, not to think about with mushy eyes. We pulled on our cigarettes and giggled through the grey smoke.
Did no one have the perfect first kiss? Was it just a myth built up by “young adult” books? If that’s true, it’s kind of sad, really. Like not believing in Santa Claus or the Tooth Fairy anymore.
What was your first kiss like?
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