The Room of Requirement

My desk looks like a disaster zone. Even for me, it's a new record. It's the Japan of all desks.
I have nothing against cluttered desks (I have something against meaningless slop). My dear yellow-wood is sitting on a fine divide at the moment.
I think it has something to do with the fact that I ransacked my drawers and de-booked my shelves in an effort to re-organise (or rather, organise). Probably a rather bad idea for someone who's experience with putting things in order ranges from a pencil case to a ... all right, just a pencil case.
The thing is, I don't know where to put half the things. The little voice in my head says, just throw the damn things away. Logically, if I haven't missed it till I found it, it's not really essential to my survival (or sanity). But then, I feel like an insensitive bitch when I attempt to crumple it up and chuck it in the can. (Even if I don't read it any more - or even care that it exists - the person who wrote it, cared right? And then there's Karma. What if that person is on real friendly terms with it. And I get a bollocking, with like, knobs on?).
It's at times like this, when I really miss D. I think the real reason I have no idea how to avert a sloppy hell, is because she used to come and spring-clean my room annually. Having a best friend who's OCD tidy has definite perks. I need her superhuman powers of organisation round about...yesterday.
Anyway, I'm now stuck. Lost actually. In a city of novels, stationery, and a whole bunch of other things that I forgot I even possessed (like a dead rose for instance). I'm so tempted to just leave it all there and crawl into my bed, but I'm scared that when I wake up in the morning it will be alive. Or, the thought crosses my mind, an army of little people will magically appear and set everything in order.


I like the second scenario more. Goodnight Dear World.

Was I an arsonist in my previous life?

It’s Thursday. After coming home from school (yes school, where I teach though), I ran the risk of wilting into a mush of laziness by flopping down on my bed, and closing my eyes and pondering the risk of this current generation of 3-6year olds (who’s minds I have the profound and daunting task of helping to shape), being our future leaders. (Not to say our generation is any better – but I haven’t seen anyone my age dig their nose, inspect the booger and find it so tempting that they had to eat it...yet).

I decided thereafter, not to bring my work home with me. It seemed like the logical and sanity-saving thing to do. So I unearthed my stash of chocolate and curled up on the sofa to enjoy Michael Cera in the role of Nick Twisp in Youth in Revolt.

Wonder: Has anyone else noticed his repetitive choice in the roles of hormonally driven teenagers? (Superbad; Nick & Nora’s Infinite Playlist; Juno…Youth in Revolt).

He reminds me of a beanstalk. It’s the truth. A really talented beanstalk – because (and no one can argue with me on this point), he is, talented in the art of delivering his lines with the perfect balance of irony and sincerity. He’s not just mocking the guy in the cashmere crème sweater who’s about to beat him up, he’s mocking his character, he’s mocking you, he’s mocking our whole gosh-damned generation. Whether you love him or hate him, he still seems to be laughing at you.

But anyway, this post isn’t about Cera, it’s about the movie. Put it on your must-see list. True to form of his sex-crazed adolescent roles, Nick Twisp, is obsessed with losing his virginity. Of course, he’s the mousy, sensible guy who’s intelligently witty but at the same time so monumentally boring to the A-lists in his world that no one spends more than 3minutes of their lives talking to him – thus his true social  potential  is never discovered. I say, righteous dude (I watched Finding Nemo again the other day) – I’d rather the guy who was being punched by the guy in the cashmere crème sweater, than the guy in the cashmere crème sweater. So, Nick creates this alter-ego: Francoise.

With the help of Francoise, our wimpy guy morphs into a suave, ciggi-junki, everything-French-loving charmer - whipping out one liners that are enough to buy him a place under the sheets of the girl he turns rebel for. 


Wonder: Does anyone else think that Cera is brilliant to be able to play someone who is ultra cool and bad-ass, while at the same time ridiculous with a ludicrous dress sense? And then at the turn of a head turn back into the uncool albeit intelligent master character?


One of my friends described the flick as wierd, I couldn't agree more. See though, that's what I admire about it. It's so real while being monumentally surreal. It's like Fight Club minus the combined good looks of Brad Pitt and Edward Norton (and the beating-yourself-up). Its full of wit and warped humour, good acting and a non-conforming plot.

Sweaty Palms and the Death of Justin Bieber...

So anyway, there I was, into like the second week of my first year at campus. Still adjusting to this big scary place (little did I know that just 2 weeks down the line I'd be traipsing all over it as if it were the length of my backyard), and I walk into Mtb (the tallest building on our campus), searching for my Tutorial room. There's a girl sitting outside the venue on the stairs, I smile at her uncertainly. It would be safe to say she smiled back - except that isn't entirely appropriate. Her whole face lit up, as if I'd just handed her a million bucks, it lit up like she'd been sitting and waiting for me there all morning and I'd just arrived.

"Excuse me, are you waiting for the English Tut too?" I asked.

"Yes," she said, in that scholarly voice of hers that I later came to realise she adopted when a) meeting new people b) discussing work c) talking to someone over the age of like retardation. It was actually rather disconcerting, because it was so out of sync with that amazing smile that had literally almost shocked me into tongue-tied-dom as I wondered, am I supposed to know her from somewhere???

"Mind if I sit here?" I asked.

"Not at all!" She beamed. And so I plonked myself down on the step below her.

I'll admit, at first I didn't even pronounce her name for fear of mispronouncing it (I'm not sure how I avoided addressing her by it for so long, but it was a good two or three days yet till I ventured to even try). We got to talking and I learnt that she was studying a BA Legal Studies with aspirations to become a lawyer.

We realised too, that there had been Tut work; since neither of us had bothered to do it, we scrambled madly with ten minutes to go, scribbling and scratching and copying each other till it was time to go in. Since we were the only two people who knew each other there we sat down together.

Our Tutor, Sheldon, was so wierd in this really cool way, and cute (in the way baby aliens would be cute I guess), that we immediately bonded over perving over him (only slightly I swear). The real shocker though, was when he asked us to pair up, and Bean grabbed my hand as if I were her only lifeline to like sanity or something and whispered urgently in my ear, "You HAVE to be my partner".

So, after that, we left the Tut, exchanged numbers and she hurriedly called to me as she headed off in the opposite direction, "Call me when you're stuck about this place with nothing to do. Meet up!" Back then I was a naive little jellybaby, so words like 'Meet up' I'm ashamed to admit, seemed ultra cool and other worldly. Secretly, I was mourning the fact that I'd never see her again (in a resigned sort of way) - campus was like that, most of the people you met, you hardly ever bonded with again.

Two days later, there I was sitting on Mtb steps with a whole hour to kill, and I was scrolling through my archaic phone, looking for someone to call up to kill it with...and happened upon the English Tut girls number. What the heck, I thought and hit the green button before I could chicken out.

"Hi! I'll meet you at Mtb in 5minutes!" was her chirpy reply and the call was cut before I'd even processed that Hi's, How Are You's and Hello's had never even been exchanged.

She was there in 5 minutes flat (the first and last time in all the time I'd know her that she was actually, to-the-dot punctual). We hugged (another thing I had to get used to on campus - at school hugging was, well restricted to like...when you hadn't seen each other all December), and she grabbed my hand and tugged me along, chattering all the way. All I gathered (because I was so amazed at her ability to pull me right into her world on our second meeting) when I finally did comprehend that she actually not only wanted to spend time with me, but introduce  me to her other friends, all I managed to croak out was, "My hand is real sweaty, you don't have to hold it".

She stopped, looked me straight in the eye, and said the most wonderful thing in the world, "You're my friend. I don't care if it's sweaty", and smiled. She tightened her grip on my hand, the serious moment smothered by her excited babbling, and pulled me along. I felt her grip on my sweaty palms echoed on my bounding heart. That moment right there, sealed our friendship.

"OMG Dash you HAVE to see this guy, he's so cute!" she greeted me breathlessly outside Mtb. It was many months down the line from our first English Tut, the second semester to be precise, and we'd never been separated since that day. She was gushing about this guy in her Dutch Lecture. She'd told me about him before, and this morning she was insistent that I accompany her and check him out.

The familiar grasp of her hand, comforted me and I breathed in her scent happily as she smiled her heart out and talked in repetitive sentences in barely contained anticipation.

At the time, I thought he looked like a Justin Bieber wannabe (and I told her so), except I sort of liked him, while I sort of detested Bieber. I watched her sneak furtive glances and blush conspicuously next to me. I was half listening to the lecture and half desecrating the sacred Japanese art of origami with my own monstrous creations.

"I need Pritt," I whispered to her, "Ask him for Pritt".

"No," she hissed back.

"Yes!"

The lecturer bore down on me with all the grandeur of an elephant seal. Uh-oh, I thought. Turns out, the topic was about Muslims in the Netherlands, and of course because I was wearing a scarf that day, my thoughts on the matter obviously, well...mattered. I sat there and nodded my head seriously at everything he said, while he beamed down at me from between his tusky beard (I would not have been so enthusiastic in all my head-nodding, if I'd known that he actually wanted me to VOICE my opinions on the matter), "Well Sir," I said respectfully, before launching into gosh-knows what - I honestly can't remember what I said to him, but it seemed to satisfy him, because he waddled away satisfied and certain that every student of his was as engrossed and knowledgeable as I sounded to be (what he didn't know was that I could spin a story at the top of my head to save my skin whenever I needed to).

I did talk to Lin that day, though what I said then too escapes me. Something along the lines of, "It was nice meeting you" I think. (I hope).

In the beginning I was sceptical of Lin (truth be told). I was sitting on the fence of this romance, waiting to see which tide it swept off with. What mattered most was that Bean was happy though. I sent Lin psychotic mental vibes along the lines of, "I sort of approve of you, but you hurt her and I'll punch your heart out" (I'm pretty sure he never picked them up). Lin, I will admit (I seem to be confessing a lot in this post huh), grew on me. And since sitting on the fence is rather painful, I picked a side - but only after he cut off his VO5 flick for her - after that I figured, he'd probably go to the ends of the earth for her.

I saw this picture today, and my heart did this wierd twisted-flip over itself-splutter-type move in my ribcage. THAT guy over there is Lin; THAT'S the guy I was sceptical about; THAT'S the very same one who, in my post "P Sherman 42 Wallabyway Sidney" in April, wiped my snotty nose on his jacket (I'm also thinking eeeew - but see, he's just THAT awesome!) and hugged me till I stopped sobbing like a two year old. And THAT, THAT beautiful girl next to him is my Bean; THAT is the girl who laughs when I laugh, cries when I cry (sometimes even when I can't cry for myself); threatens to F-up anyone who dares even glare at me, and holds my revoltingly sweaty palms no matter how icky they are; Wonderful, smart, blond, popping, simply amazing G of a Bean. 

It's their 1st Anniversary Dear World and Amazingly Loyal Followers, so give them a round of applause please. I love them you see, more than chocolate even, and I wish them only the best of happiness and patience and love in the years to come.

I could kick Rumplestiltskins ass

Honestly, I'm not a fan of fairytales.
They're these obscenely sugar coated lies that parents feed their naive little children (it's the reason, I scheme, for the explosion in recent generations' metabolic tolerance for idiocy).

I mean really,

a) NO ONE has hair that someone else can climb.
b) Mirrors do NOT reply.
c) Not everyone who offers you an apple is an evil witch who is out to poison you.
d) Anyone named Dopey is probably not sleepy, just a junkie.
e) There is no matronly type fairy god mother who appears in a cloud of sparkly stuff to grant you a wish everytime you turn into a sad sloppy snivelling puddle of tears and snot.
f) Kissing a frog does not make it turn into a prince, Freaktards.
g) Prince charming may be as likely to carry you off into the slave trade in like Nigeria (or somewhere) as he is to carry you off into the sunset.

Essentially, what I'm saying is, if you want to join the ranks of the awesome and realistic, you need to ditch Fairytopia PRONTO (like count back to the day you were born pronto).

Eid 2011

Eid this year was, (as usual), highly anticipated and prepared for well (WELL!) in advance. It came and it went: a blur of cacophony, colour and laughter with the food and drinks thrown in for good measure. The house was fit to burst with children and adults, fresh sea-breeze and the aroma of delicious eats. Squeals of delight and excitement from the children, pierced the constant chatter of the adults - on Eid, no one minded whether they ran in or out, up or down, ate a cupcake (or two, or three, or four), or overdosed on chocolates. Lunch time arrived, and the elegantly laid tables squeezed in more than they catered for, the briyani that mum had spent all of the day before cooking to perfection was salivated over, the kola-tonic and lemonade passed from hand to hand, and the jokes rolled out like ribbons as the sumptuous spread and comfortable companionship was enjoyed. After a while, it was time to open presents, and wrappers where ripped apart while fumbling fingers and wide, expectant eyes found surprise and delight in even the smallest packages - it wasn't so much WHAT you got, it was the simple pleasure of giving and receiving.

Sitting there among my family that Eid, I remembered why it was exactly, that despite it all, I loved them.

RetardLove (Friendship): In Dedication to all the Retards in my life :)

You can know thousands of people, but there will only be a handful that manage to make your heartbeats smile.

I’m a big fan of friendship. It’s the one thing that keeps me a float (that and the Hope that somewhere out there is the perfect divine-cupcake

Friendship is the smile at the end of a crappy day. It’s the silence we share walking together. The laughter: uncontrollable, tummy-clutching, rib-wracking, breath-catching laughter over everything and nothing at the same time. It’s the *smack* you get for being retarded, and the hug when you need it most. It’s sharing lunch and bites of chocolate, bargaining for sips of Milo, and digging around in each other’s bag for gum. Friendship is the secrets shared when sitting on a bench, the feel of someone’s palm in yours, the reassuring pat on your shoulder that lets you know you've got back-up. Friendship is the warm-fuzzy-cotton-candy-melted-toffee feeling that runs through your veins when you’re together. The happy bubble that threatens to burst at any given moment. The scramble to copy homework, the encouragement to study when you least feel like it, the Kleenex you wipe your nose with when the world starts chopping its onions in front of you.

Friendship is the cherry on top, the sugar sprinkles and cream to go…Friendship is Us.