Wish this , wish that
Wish it could have been
Wish it should have been
Wish it wasn't
Wish it were,
Wish this, wish that.
Wish on an eyelash
Or a mail van
Wish on the first star
Or a shooting one
Wish this wish that
Wish you hadn't
Wish he had
Wish this was that
Or then
Wish this, wish that
Wish fairy
Grant a wish
Wish lists
Wishful thinking,
Wish this, wish that
Cross,
your fingers
Find,
a four leaf clover
Throw,
A coin into a wishing well
Make a wish.
Wish this, wish that.
Wish it away,
Wish it true
Wish it were
Wish it could be
Wish this,
Wish that.
Oh, the wishes we wish
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Self, meet self.
Hi you
Me?
Yes, you
And You?
Me?
I am you.
Me?
Yes, you.
I know you?
Sure , you do.
You are?
You.
You are..
me?
I am you,
From, back then
when...
There was fire..
And passion
and desire
and dreams.
Really, Me?
Yes, you.
Back when..
Nothing was,
Not to be achieved.
Mediocrity, not an option
Compromises, not to be made.
This life
truly live it.
Back then...when
The world was for the taking..
The universe was to be unraveled,
Paths to discover
Journeys to be made
Words to be read
The hunger
To know it all
See it all
Do it all
Achieve it all
Overcome it
Fight it
Stand up for it
Be vocal
be strong
proud
Even, vain
never one among the crowd
Always ahead. or above. or away.
To meet, to love,
to learn, to grow
To talk and listen
And then some more.
To live,
And not just.
But , to live
it up....
and large.
A life. One life. This life. Lived.
Me?
Yes, you
That was me?
That was you.
So, hello, me
Hello, you.
What gives?
What's up with you?
Me?
Yes, you
From back then.. when
This is me
It's just not, back then...when.
But, hello you
And hello me
Nice to have met you
Or, really, me.
From back then....when
Stick with me
You,
Well, me.
From back then, when.
I like you.
I like me.
From back then.
I'd like to be you.
I'd like to be me.
From back then when.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Notes to a new mother
"She's only two weeks old and she's constipated"
"I had to hold her legs up, and rub her tummy. She pooped. But it was hard. Shouldn't it be a softer consistency?"
"She doesn't sleep much. I finally had her down at 3 am!!"
" She likes the bottle. It's easier on me too."
"She won't stop crying. I can't figure out why"
"will it be better, in a month or two"
"I miss my old life"
"I feel, kind of sad. And overwhelmed. Is that ok?"
- Of course, it is. Yes of course, it is.
And yes, she will cry, for no reason. And you won't figure it out. And when you don;t it'll get to you. Both, the crying and not being able to figure it out.
And yes , you will feel sad, and tired and overwhelmed.
And yes, it is ok to miss your old life. When you could sleep in. Or not have to wake up in the middle of the night.
And yes, it easier when someone else can feed her with the bottle because you're just tired. And want to lay on the couch and watch mindless TV. And not have to think about the consistency of poo.
And no, you're not being incompetent. Or a bad mother.
You're just being someone who just spent the last nine months being pregnant. Getting bigger. Straining your back. Throwing up. That, and the hormones gone crazy.
Come D-day. 16 hrs of labour. The exhausted pushing, the tear, the baby, the nursing, the sleep deprivation. That, and the hormones gone crazy.
So yes, as happy as you are, that your baby's here and she's healthy and beautiful,and everyone around you is over the moon, you are also tired, sleep deprived, in pain and nursing. With a new baby to take care of. Whose poop doesn't seem right. So, yes, it is ok for you to feel a bit sad and very overwhelmed.
And, no, my dear, you didn't just overnight turn into that super woman who can miraculously sing a baby to sleep. Or calm her down when she's crying. Or know what to do when she's constipated. Or be sunshine mommy all day long.
You didn't turn into all that. You just turned into a mom. Of this little delicate baby, that arrived without a manual. Or a "sleep" button. Or a "stop screaming" one . Or an exchange or return policy!
So yes, it will take time to figure her out. And figure it out. And figure out a whole bunch of other stuff, that, right now you don't feel like you will figure out.
But you will. Because I did. And She did. Because we all did.
Because we do.
"I had to hold her legs up, and rub her tummy. She pooped. But it was hard. Shouldn't it be a softer consistency?"
"She doesn't sleep much. I finally had her down at 3 am!!"
" She likes the bottle. It's easier on me too."
"She won't stop crying. I can't figure out why"
"will it be better, in a month or two"
"I miss my old life"
"I feel, kind of sad. And overwhelmed. Is that ok?"
- Of course, it is. Yes of course, it is.
And yes, she will cry, for no reason. And you won't figure it out. And when you don;t it'll get to you. Both, the crying and not being able to figure it out.
And yes , you will feel sad, and tired and overwhelmed.
And yes, it is ok to miss your old life. When you could sleep in. Or not have to wake up in the middle of the night.
And yes, it easier when someone else can feed her with the bottle because you're just tired. And want to lay on the couch and watch mindless TV. And not have to think about the consistency of poo.
And no, you're not being incompetent. Or a bad mother.
You're just being someone who just spent the last nine months being pregnant. Getting bigger. Straining your back. Throwing up. That, and the hormones gone crazy.
Come D-day. 16 hrs of labour. The exhausted pushing, the tear, the baby, the nursing, the sleep deprivation. That, and the hormones gone crazy.
So yes, as happy as you are, that your baby's here and she's healthy and beautiful,and everyone around you is over the moon, you are also tired, sleep deprived, in pain and nursing. With a new baby to take care of. Whose poop doesn't seem right. So, yes, it is ok for you to feel a bit sad and very overwhelmed.
And, no, my dear, you didn't just overnight turn into that super woman who can miraculously sing a baby to sleep. Or calm her down when she's crying. Or know what to do when she's constipated. Or be sunshine mommy all day long.
You didn't turn into all that. You just turned into a mom. Of this little delicate baby, that arrived without a manual. Or a "sleep" button. Or a "stop screaming" one . Or an exchange or return policy!
So yes, it will take time to figure her out. And figure it out. And figure out a whole bunch of other stuff, that, right now you don't feel like you will figure out.
But you will. Because I did. And She did. Because we all did.
Because we do.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Tick tock tick tock
It's been a while since I've been here! There's been no time or hardly any !
Tick tock tick tock. So much to do..so litle time.Cliched, yet true.
Between the kids and the house and the career and the desire to do so much, read so much, watch so much, meet so many, talk about so much....tick tock tick tock.
Between knowing that to do it all, is to live my life within a completely organized, planned to the tee timetable, which then the bohemian part of me completly disagrees to as being so robotic.
SO I make these little arrangements. The morning rush is the morning rush , yet I sit down with that first cup of tea. Light the incense. Gather my thoughts.
Sit on the red bench at the subway station and read. Let a few trains come and go.
Lunch hour equals an hour at the gym.
A little less cleaning on the weekends. A few extra calls to some friends.
Laundry can wait an extra day. A good film beckons.
And while there's all those bills to be sorted, right now it was just time to sit down and write.
Tick tock tick tock. Now, how do I fit the yoga in?
Tick tock tick tock. So much to do..so litle time.Cliched, yet true.
Between the kids and the house and the career and the desire to do so much, read so much, watch so much, meet so many, talk about so much....tick tock tick tock.
Between knowing that to do it all, is to live my life within a completely organized, planned to the tee timetable, which then the bohemian part of me completly disagrees to as being so robotic.
SO I make these little arrangements. The morning rush is the morning rush , yet I sit down with that first cup of tea. Light the incense. Gather my thoughts.
Sit on the red bench at the subway station and read. Let a few trains come and go.
Lunch hour equals an hour at the gym.
A little less cleaning on the weekends. A few extra calls to some friends.
Laundry can wait an extra day. A good film beckons.
And while there's all those bills to be sorted, right now it was just time to sit down and write.
Tick tock tick tock. Now, how do I fit the yoga in?
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Monologue vs dialogue
"NASA is a conspiracy. They send a man to the moon. Lies, bunch of lies. No, not true. I know. I was hired. Christmas lunch. they came over. I cooked. There was turkey. No, chicken. I don't know. She's lying. All time. It's a conspiracy. All lies. Lunch, not dinner. There was turkey. They all lied. It was Christmas. When they sent the man to the moon. Hypocrisy. Bullshit. I don't like it. Not at all. "
Pause. Long pause. Distressed eyes looking around in panic.
"No. It won't happen . No christmas lunch. they are after me. I know."
Monlogue of a woman. Sitting beside me (a seat away), on the subway.
50 something. Salt and pepper, very disheveled hair. Untidy, unkempt look. Faded baggy denims. An oversized sweatshirt on a hot day. Torn, tattered sneakers. Panic stricken eyes.
She sat there and just talked to herself. Or to an imaginary person, who lives in her head.
I see quite a few like her. On the street. Mostly homeless. or junkies. Walking the street, sitting on the sidewalk, riding the subway. Talking to themselves. Or to some ghosts of their past. Or imaginary people. I will never know. Till I talk to them. Engage in a dialogue
But they only seem to talk to themselves. Engage in monologues.
Pause. Long pause. Distressed eyes looking around in panic.
"No. It won't happen . No christmas lunch. they are after me. I know."
Monlogue of a woman. Sitting beside me (a seat away), on the subway.
50 something. Salt and pepper, very disheveled hair. Untidy, unkempt look. Faded baggy denims. An oversized sweatshirt on a hot day. Torn, tattered sneakers. Panic stricken eyes.
She sat there and just talked to herself. Or to an imaginary person, who lives in her head.
I see quite a few like her. On the street. Mostly homeless. or junkies. Walking the street, sitting on the sidewalk, riding the subway. Talking to themselves. Or to some ghosts of their past. Or imaginary people. I will never know. Till I talk to them. Engage in a dialogue
But they only seem to talk to themselves. Engage in monologues.
Monday, July 6, 2009
Immigrant Tales - I
My first memory of landing at the US airport for the very first time with my visa in hand.
As I stood, very tired , very jetlagged, in a very long line of very tired, very jetlagged people, waiting for my turn to clear immgration, I heard a very loud, very irate voice saying "All US citizens , please step to this side and form a line here. This is for your convenience. All the "rest" , please wait where you are"!.
And there it was. Spelt out, loud, clear and very irrtatedly. The separation . Between those who belonged and those who didn't. Between the coveted US citizenship vs the Visa. Between the Americans and the rest of the world. Between those who had earned the privelege of not having to wait in a tiring line and those who had no other choice but to.
And I knew , in that moment, this was just the start. To more lines, more waiting periods. For a driver's licence. For a work visa. For a citizenship interview.
For that feeling of belonging somewhere.
As I stood, very tired , very jetlagged, in a very long line of very tired, very jetlagged people, waiting for my turn to clear immgration, I heard a very loud, very irate voice saying "All US citizens , please step to this side and form a line here. This is for your convenience. All the "rest" , please wait where you are"!.
And there it was. Spelt out, loud, clear and very irrtatedly. The separation . Between those who belonged and those who didn't. Between the coveted US citizenship vs the Visa. Between the Americans and the rest of the world. Between those who had earned the privelege of not having to wait in a tiring line and those who had no other choice but to.
And I knew , in that moment, this was just the start. To more lines, more waiting periods. For a driver's licence. For a work visa. For a citizenship interview.
For that feeling of belonging somewhere.
Thursday, July 2, 2009
Immigrant tales
Color, not colour. Sidewalk , not pavement. Stroller, not pram. Grade, not class. Street, not road.
I used to shift houses. Now I move.
Neighbors do not come over to borrow a katori of yoghurt. It would be an imposition, not an opportunity to have a conversation.
More Christmas lights. Less Diwali.
Blues, grays, browns as opposed to oranges, lime greens and reds.
Driving on the right, not the left.
Home and " back home".
That feeling of belonging. Yet feeling "in- between".
The journey of an immigrant. I started mine in 1997.
It's been a long one and there's lots to tell.
I used to shift houses. Now I move.
Neighbors do not come over to borrow a katori of yoghurt. It would be an imposition, not an opportunity to have a conversation.
More Christmas lights. Less Diwali.
Blues, grays, browns as opposed to oranges, lime greens and reds.
Driving on the right, not the left.
Home and " back home".
That feeling of belonging. Yet feeling "in- between".
The journey of an immigrant. I started mine in 1997.
It's been a long one and there's lots to tell.
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