Escaping Reality

CORNFLOUR

2012-10-20T03:33:00.000-07:00

Ever since I graduated from college with seventy-two-point-two-five percent marks, I've been watching these cookery shows in this TV channel I really like. I had to attend the traditionally-unheard-of bank coaching classes for three months from July to October for three hours a day for five days a week, but I always got home just in time to catch my favorite-est cookery shows. I loved these shows so much that the best part of attending these coaching classes (after the fast that I was one of the best scorers in my batch) was coming home and settling down to watch the cookery shows with some food of my own. I've always loved cookery shows, right from when I was a kid, though it remains a sad fact that I can't cook to save my life (poor Husband).

There was this one particular show that was hosted by a dumpy-looking professional cook who sometimes told very lame jokes but gave some very handy tips regarding cooking and made some bad-ass food that looked great and used a lot of herbs and pepper and butter and cheese and chicken - my kind of food, to be exact. And the way he presented the stuff that he made was enough to make anyone's mouth water. The way he cut onions and tomatoes and parsley and thyme and coriander and bell peppers and cottage cheese and what not made me want to be a cook, too. I really wanted to try out every single item that he made, but unfortunately, his cooking was very expensive; jalapenos, paprika and most herbs were exotic treasures in my part of the world; butter was abundant, but the same couldn't be said for the very many varieties of cheese that he used - mozzarella, cheddar, Parmesan, buffalo mozzarella and a lot more (only cottage cheese was readily available); fruits like kiwi and dragon fruit were the stuff of legends; and extra-virgin olive oil, though not unavailable and is extraordinarily healthy, was a luxury most of us couldn't afford. So after a few episodes, I was forced to conclude that I would never be able to recreate most of what my favorite professional cook enchanted me almost every single day with. But I didn't give up yet - I logged into the channel's website, and jotted down what I regarded as the easiest recipes.

One of those "easy" recipes was the vegetable chopsuey, a Chinese dish. All I would need was some bell peppers, cornflour, soy sauce, vegetable noodles, oil, water and salt. But it was my first venture with cornflour and I didn't really know what I was doing. Mom had already told me, as I took over the kitchen one night, not to ask her for any help. I sniffed that I wouldn't need any, and got down to me chopsuey. I followed all the instructions down to the last ingredient, and finally, it was time to mix the vegetables with the cornflour and soy sauce. I did everything very carefully and artistically, and poured the whole thing to the bunch of noodles that was stubbornly sticking together despite all the oil that I'd poured in while boiling them. I was actually enjoying doing all the mixing and shifting, until the noodles and veggie mix started to stick together and was turning a murky, dirty brown in color. Refusing to be thwarted, I attacked the noodle blob with even more vigour than before, only to find that my efforts were futile. I spent fifteen more sweaty minutes trying to untangle the noodles from the veggies and make them into something vaguely resembling the images of chopsuey that I had in mind, all thanks to Google's image search, and managed to scrape the surface of that vague image of the original, sexy chopsuey. I took out some paper plates and slapped the sticky, gooey mass onto them for Mom and me. The former, who was ignoring me until now and had her eyes glued to the television set, clambered out of our raggedy bean bag and eyed the noodle-y thing with apprehension, but didn't say anything. I kept my mouth shut and my eyes wide as Mom poked a spoon into the mix , withdrew some of it and stuck it in her mouth and chewed.

"Well...?" I managed.

She nodded slowly with a frown creasing her face. Did that mean it was good? It looked like this, for God's sake:

"It's not bad," Mom said. "It just needs some salt."

"So it's edible?"

Mom shrugged, helping herself to a lot of ketchup.

Emboldened by Mom's bravery and the fact that she'd had quite a few spoonfuls of this icky stuff that I'd made and was still standing (actually she was sitting on one of our rickety, decade-old chairs), I stabbed my share of the thing with my spoon and stuck it into my mouth.

My first thought was that it tasted a lot like the wheat powder that Mom used to make chapatis with, except that this particular wheat powder had a lot of yellow and red bell peppers cooked in soy sauce, onions and garlic. But even the copious amounts of soy sauce that I had added to my cornflour-veggie mix couldn't make the thing taste even remotely salty. So I took after Mom and upturned the bottle of ketchup and found that the blob tasted slightly better, but it wasn't how I'd imagined. I persisted until I was done with about half of my helping, and that's when I had enough. Pushing my plate away and scraping my chair back, I declared that I'd had enough and that Mom (who was gobbling up her second helping of the noodles on the bean bag) could do whatever she wanted with the rest of the blob.

I washed out my mouth to rid myself of the wheat-ish taste that was prickling my tongue, and went online, where Husband was waiting for the results of my very first Chinese dish. I showed him what it looked like, and told him what it tasted like, and all he said was "Hmm." It was then that I decided that I'd experiment with native dishes before venturing into unknown waters.

A few weeks after the chopsuey disaster, I unearthed a recipe for the chicken-pepper fry from the Internet, and tried it out, with very little help from Mom, and I was surprised and pleased when it turned out to taste pretty good. It was just a little bit more lemone-y than I would've liked, but it still tasted great. Maybe Mom still remembered the chopsuey, but she didn't have much of the chicken, but at least Husband said it looked good, and I earned praise from my meanie-sensible-bully brother for actually having stepped inside the kitchen and made edible stuff.

After the success of my chicken-pepper fry (it turned out to be more like a curry-dish, actually, but never mind), I relaxed and stayed away from the kitchen, thinking that I'd earned it. But then came Husband's announcement that he was taking me to him, and that I'd better learn to cook some serious stuff. Most of the stuff that he wanted were ordinary, everyday dishes that were lip-smacking, finger-licking good (go die, KFC, I can manipulate the English language in any sensible way that I want) if made properly, and I knew the theory to making them. So once again, I began stalking the dumpy professional cook and found a few veggie recipes that weren't too hard. Most of them involved a lot of cottage cheese, and since I had nothing against it, I jotted down most of the easy dishes that the website had to offer, only to discover that Husband didn't-frigging-like cottage cheese. Bummer.

I lost my cooking-fighting spirit after that and concentrated on drooling over the dumpy cook's recipes - the ones that didn't involve any cornflour. Unfortunately, most Chinese dishes used it in plenty, and I closed the case.

All I can say is, poor Husband.

Middle of the Desert

2012-09-27T08:14:00.000-07:00

When I first met you, you were just another person who I'd come across.

Then you became my friend.

You became more than a friend.

... You became my life.

But you weren't mine just yet... I had to wait.

Yet, with you, it was like all my dreams came true... All that I'd never had, I found through you.

And when you finally became mine, I had everything.

Like a sunflower basking in the glory of crisp, warm sunlight...

Like a dolphin in the deep blue sea...

Like the laughter of merry children on a fine summer day...

It was like all the good things in the world had come to me.

Then you left... taking with you everything I thought I finally got.

You weren't gone forever... but you punched a hole through my chest with your love.

Now I can't breathe... I can see nothing but you, for you burned your merry image on the inside of my eyelids.

The lingering fragrance of your perfume...

The clothes that you left...

You lips against mine...

Your hand around mine...

Your body together with mine...

Everything reminds me of you.

Everywhere I go, I expect to hear you voice, teasing me... playing with me.

I walk into our room and expect to find you there... but I don't.

I hit my head and come running to you... but remember that you're not there to rub and kiss the throbbing bulge.

I toss over on the bed to hug you in the middle of the night... but find only cold, empty sheets.

No one can hear me screaming... not even you.

The sun has set, the ocean has emptied, and summer has given way to winter...

My world is spinning around, throwing me about like the rag doll that I have become.

I keep expecting your arm to rescue me from the tornado of loneliness... but I grasp at cold, cruel winds of time and fate.

I keep waiting for you...

Trying out my luck with photography

2012-04-05T00:26:00.000-07:00

I've used a Canon Ixus 130 to snap the following pictures... The cam belongs to my fiance and it's all thanks to him :)

This one is called karpoora thulasi... there's a lot of these guys all around my house

This is chethi... sherikkum chethunundu :)

A friend once told me the name of this flower, but I forgot... But I'll definitely remember that there are two and a half flowers in this picture :D

Kozhivalan...

Vettila

I suppose it's nice-looking.

I don't know the name of this leaf, but it's a favorite of mine. According to Japanese (I think) mythology, if you ever find a leaf like this one with FOUR heart-shaped petals, you'll be extremely lucky. Needless to mention, nobody has ever found one; at least, I haven't.

That's my engagement ring <3

My 17th birthday gift from my friend...

I bought these from a clothing store because, even though they're smudged with dirt, I thought the three girls were pretty cute.

Christmas gift from another friend :D

20th birthday gift...

This is the same bangle as above, only captured in better light.

The same bangle that wasn't focused properly by the cam. But it does give out a sort of abstract charm, if you ask me...

Mom's favorite earrings.

Chubby-cheeked mischief-maker :)

"chethi, mandaram thulasi, pichakamaalakal charthi..."

The ants in this picture were all busy and had things to do, quite unlike me, and couldn't spare much time to strike a pose. Oh, well.

Something to die for.

Books and chocolate...

Gone with the wind, just like any other years' resolutions. In fact, my mother commented the other day that my driving has become rash. Really? Because I happen to like driving fast.

Earrings I love <3

My Life from 2009 June to Present Day (or night)

2012-04-04T11:49:00.001-07:00

Mathematics was one subject I never thought I'd hate. Sure, geometry and sets were each a humongous kick in the ass for me, but everything else was fine, really - be it algebra, trigonometry, differentiation or even integration. But let me tell you, I enjoyed English more. There's nothing else that I enjoy more than the English language, which is exactly why I wanted to take up English Literature for my graduation course. But hey, it's kinda like God - or maybe the people all around me - will never let me pursue something that I like and actually turn out to be good at; I never got selected in any college for Eng. Lit., even with ninety-two percent marks in my subject of choice. So, I was forced to take up the noble subject of Mathematics - remember, this was three years ago, back when I still respected and liked Math and practically thought of it as aristocracy - instead of my personal favorite of the English language and literature. Plus, my mom was like, "BSc Mathematics sounds so much better than BA English... and people will be impressed too,". Though I have to admit what Mom said was true, there was this little nagging piece of worry inside me, but I ignored it. Because, at that time, I thought, "How bad can this possibly get? I got seventy-seven percent marks for Math, honestly! That must account for something!" How wrong I was...

YEAR ONE

Semester I:

I didn't have too much trouble deciphering what the teachers taught me about sets and some other crap, but I didn't like Physics or Statistics, the subsidiary subjects for Math students. My main language was English, and the second language was of course Malayalam. Those two were fine, obviously, and the fact that we had a very handsome Malayalam teacher definitely helped ;)

I studied pretty hard for the semester exam that November, but the result didn't turn out to be very good - I didn't get even fifty percent marks for Math (I don't remember how the other four turned out. I was disappointed and saddened, and vowed to work hard in the next semester.

Semester II:

None of the internal exam grades in this semester was very good, but my marks in the semester exam for Math soared - I got about seventy percent marks for this one. Needless to say, I was very pleased with myself.

YEAR TWO

Semester III:

Internal-exam wise, this semester didn't turn out very well, either, but University-exam wise, this one was my best semester out of the five that I have written - I scored seventy-five percent marks for Math alone, and got 75.25% marks overall. I was pretty much outside the ozone layer over this one.

Semester IV:

Of course this one went badly. I scored less than seventy percent marks overall and for Math, too. I was determined to receive an A for Math in the next semester, because, foolishly, I assumed that, because all we'd have to study in the next two semesters would be Math, Math and more Math, I would actually get good marks, when there would be no Physics or Statistics to hold me down. But saying goodbye to studying English was a little hard :(

YEAR THREE

Semester V:

This semester consisted of four papers of Math - Abstract Algebra, Differential Equations, Mathematical Analysis and Fuzzy Mathematics - along with an "open course" that allowed us final year students to take up one subject offered by any other department other than ours. So of course I grabbed hold of the chance and took up the course offered by the English department, "English for Careers". I now realize that it was clearly wishful thinking on my part for assuming I'd do well this semester, because there would be only Math and English to study and I actually liked Math and absolutely loved English. I soon realized that nothing could have been farther from the truth.

I expected English classes to be challenging and thought that it would bring out some potential in me, but unfortunately, "English for Careers" turned out to be something like leisure hours for us. Because I was familiar with more than half of what was being taught there, I bunked just that amount of the classes in that semester along with my friends, hanging around near the Nescafe outlet inside the college (just opposite the English class, I should tell you) and enjoying hot coffee and gossip and swapping information about everything - and when I say EVERYTHING, I mean EVERYTHING. But after the usual 'B' for the first internal exam, I did manage to score the only 'A' in the class for the second internal exam. So it was the most fun I'd ever had in any class in college, except maybe for free hours.

As for my core subject MATHEMATICS... well, lemme put it this way: "a 'T' if you ever saw one". Really, this dialogue from Harry Potter totally describes how Mathematics was for me in my fifth semester of college. I was turning out to be one of the weakest students in the class, getting D's for most of my papers in the internal examinations. And as for the university exams, I blew even the ones that I'd studied hard for. And my percentage? My lowest yet - 65.5%. And as for English, well, I got my usual B, though, apparently, I was the only to have received so - the rest of the English for Careers class all got C's.

That's how the much-awaited fifth semester of college went - I hoped for all the wrong things, and finally got what I deserved.

Semester VI:

Aaah, what to say about this one... it's going on, and is making me hate Mathematics like I have never done before. Pointless subsidiaries of Math - like Real Analysis and Complex Analysis, Linear Algebra and Vector Spaces - are making my life a living Hell. More than once - much, much more than once - I have inwardly cursed myself for taking up Math, and my family for supporting my serious lack of judgement. I constantly wished for a Time-Turner like the one Hermione Granger used in her third year at Hogwarts In the Harry Potter series. But alas, nothing could be done. There was no choice for me, but to tough it for one more semester. And I did. The first internal examination was a disaster - I received every possible grade in the system in every subject (except for the fail grade 'E', thank God), but the second one went fairly well - I didn't attend one exam due to not having studied anything for it, but I got B's for three subjects and 'C' for the one paper that I was sure that I'd fail.

PROJECT TIME!

A week after the second internal examination, chaos reigned - the due date for the project was closing in on us, and most of us weren't even sure of our topic yet. Our four-member group - consisting of four girls, including me - had originally chosen Cryptography and Coding Theory as our project, but swapped it for Topology when we realized how complicated the former was. I had no idea what Topology was all about (and I still don't) - it was a PG level topic, and since I had proved, time and again, that I was no Math whiz, I knew there would be very little I could do to help the other three with research, except maybe for making drafts, because writing was the only thing I could do, literally and otherwise. So they borrowed notes from somebody from the MSc class and made photocopies of the parts that we'd have to do our project on, divided it into four for each of us to write out, and submitted our beta version of basic topology (credits to the conclusion of our project go to this other group that was also doing topology - I took it and modified the sentences). It was approved of by our project guide, and we were given the nod to write out our 30-page spiral-bonded fair copy of topology. Submission took an entire day, as the entire class took over the vast, usually quiet library for the due date and turned it into something along the lines of a discotheque (minus the music) within the matter of a few minutes. Sketch pens, pencils, measuring scales, erasers, pencil cutters and A4 size papers and other bits and pieces covered the tabletops, along with constant outbursts of laughter, squeals and doubts regarding the layout of the project. More than once, the librarian asked us to work silently, but his words fell on deaf ears. By afternoon, most of us had completed our projects - we'd drawn out the margins, written the text, created the cover, rubbed out pencil marks, corrected misspellings and sometimes whole sentences with white ink pen (commonly known as the Whitener, though I have no idea why it's called so - when applied, instead of white, it makes the paper cream in color), listed credits and references, and acknowledged many teachers (though most of them never lifted a finger to help us out on the project) and all our classmates (all of whom helped and supported each other in very many ways). Submitting the various projects was chaotic, as the teachers were all having some some of retreat session (how can retreating be a session?), and were available only during the lunch hour, but we managed to stow the teacher in charge of the project thing with our respective spiral-bound copies on the various subtopics of Mathematics and got the hell out of there, as our final university exam was starting in seven days from the submission of the project.

Then, one week after the project submission, all of us were called in for presenting our projects, group-wise. The four of us divided topology among ourselves; I quickly picked the preliminaries, as that was the only thing I'd studied. When our turn came, we were in the presence of two of my most favorite teachers - the younger one was my favorite, not because he was the best teacher (and he isn't), but because of his friendly nature; and the older one was my favorite, not because he was friendly (and he isn't), but because he was an excellent teacher. We filed in obediently into the room, and I went straight for the white board, and kicked off, expecting a smooth sail. Two minutes into my presentation, I understood - again - why one must never, ever expect anything out of life. Had it been a written examination, I would have scored full marks, but as this one was oral, the two teachers I had a lot of respect for turned out to have a LOT of doubts about what I was trying to convey to them. They started asking all these ridiculous questions - okay, not ridiculous, exactly, but definitely unnecessary - about the prelims. I didn't know the answers to most of their questions, but thankfully, my partners did, and they mimed it out to me from behind the teachers, where the three of them were sitting. But the teachers' doubts became increasingly mathematical in nature, and all of us were finding it hard to answer them. Finally, after about forty-five minutes of torturing me with Math - during which my other classmates peeked through the glass on the door behind the teachers about a hundred times - the teachers let me off, saying that I'd take up the entire day to teach the prelims (no fair! I may not know much about Math, but what do know, I can get it across fairly well. It's not my fault that the two math-headed trolls in front of me were insistent on squishing the nonexistent mathematical sense out of me) and that I was of no particular use. The other three who presented their shares of the project after me weren't tormented as much as I was (maybe because it was past the lunch hour and they wanted to get it over with quickly), but they weren't too much on the safe zone either. In the end, all four of us exited the department, drained and exhausted as though we'd just had bind-blowing sex, but just not feeling as good (not that I know how mind-blowing-sex feels - it's just an expression, because they say that sex is the greatest pleasure in life or whatever it is), me wanting to just get home and scream out in frustration and sadness. Because, well, I'd heard it many times before that I was of no use, but a teacher had never told me so. When one of my favorite teachers voiced - and the other agreed to - what so many others said and what I often felt, well, I just felt like running away from there and never coming back. But as it was easier said than done, I stowed it away in a corner of my mind and let it all out the next morning as I lay alone in bed, crying and hugging a pillow, wishing it would magically turn into this special somebody and hold me tight until the day I died. It's funny, really, how falling in love can make you wish for things you never thought that you'd need.

So that's how things with BSc Mathematics are going until present day, and I have the university exam on Monday for which I have yet to start studying for, along with worrying about getting married in a month, not being able to cook and screwing up everything and my guy coming to his senses where I'm concerned and realizing that I'm just a silly small-town girl and deciding he doesn't want me after all (the odds in this particular case are very slim, though - he really does love me; why else would be put up with all the bullshit that often comes out of my big mouth?). So you could say that April is turning out to be a busy month for me, what with all the marriage preparations to do, shopping to complete, gaining of weight and my aunt and uncle arriving on Monday. Honestly, I didn't know getting married was such a tediously big affair, thanks to never having experienced it - at least, not after some amount of common sense was drilled in to me. And to top it all, the groom isn't even in the country! He's arriving on the 27th of this month, six days prior to the wedding. So, next month, this time, who knows what I'll be doing... :)

Chicken Meatballs in Tomato-Garlic Gravy

2012-03-18T09:53:00.001-07:00

I tried to cook today evening!!! And it didn't turn out to be bad. Maybe I overdid it when it came to adding the salt, but even great minds are known to have made mistakes. I'm posting what I did, so that I will never forget my first ever, ahem, "Chicken" dish. Here it is:

Ingredients:

For the Meatballs:

Venky's Chicken Meatballs pack (frozen) - 1

Oil to fry

For the gravy:

Tomatoes

Garlic

Ginger

Chicken masala

Salt

Water

Recipe:

Heat the oil and fry the chicken meatballs (they look like baby potatoes, if you ask me):

It should look something like this after being fried (I have no idea why and how it got scrunched like a wad of tissue paper, but it tasted damn good):

Cut up the tomatoes, ginger and garlic (use as per requirement). Heat oil and start cooking, like this:

After a while of cooking and stirring (so that it won't stick to the pan - or whatever it is that you use to cook), the tomatoes will get all gooey, and will look as though they've gotten all rotten. Right then and there, smash them up.

That's when you add the water and chicken masala and simmer until the gravy has reached the desired consistency (I like it thick, so I used very little water). And don't forget to add the salt - you can hold out on it in the gravy, because the meatballs will have enough of it. Salt, I mean. Then you can pour it all over you meatballs, and enjoy. Just like I did ;)

You know, my fiance is a foodie, and he prefers mostly traditional stuff. And me? The only dish I can make is green peas masala. I have a picture here...

This one came out pretty well, actually. The saltiness was just right, and the combination of the different masalas were not overwhelming. Not at all. In fact, my mom said that I could have added more of it to masala things up a bit. But it was still pretty good :)

I doubt I'll be entering the kitchen anytime soon now, since I tend to take three-four months break in between each of my adventures in that particular realm. But lemme see... will keep posting if I try out anything worth doing so. Ciao :)

P.S.: The chapatis in the last pic were made by my mom, and while I kinda know the theory of the art of making healthy chapatis, I find that I fail unceremoniously whenever I try to flatten a small ball of wheat, salt and water into something remotely resembling a circle. So I leave that job to mom, hoping that, in the future, my hubby will take care of that particular problem by taking over the chapati region. Hey, it's only fair ;)

Impending Reason for an Untimely Eradication of my Mortality

2012-03-17T09:41:00.001-07:00

One word - heartbreak. Doctors may rule out such purely emotional causes for death, but I think it just might become the reason for my early demise. And nobody can blame me, since nobody can stand this amount of EVERY-FRIGGIN-GOOD thing rolled into one. Well, I certainly can't. It kills me just to look at the eyes... and I totally start hyperventilating when I see the smile. How am I supposed to live with something that makes me asthmatic, and that is just through stationary pieces of paper that bear the images (well, it's just an image file in a PC, really, but still) of subject? Really, there is absolutely no justice in this world. None at all. And that force called God? Yeah, it's good at nothing except making me fell like a humongous FREAK. Thanks, I feel a lot better now.

P.S.: God, that jibe I made at you was written in the heat of the moment (though that thing about feeling like a freak was so NOT). No hard feelings, k? Love you <3

A decade later

2011-11-06T12:16:00.001-08:00

Before you read: This post won't turn out to be a very good one, as I'm not all that great at writing stories with dialogues and stuff. So kindly overlook any mistakes that I am sure to have made... and enjoy the story as best as you can :)

It was a slow Friday day at office. At about 5'o clock, Matt made the final call to Ray to take care of the air conditioner at the Alpha Street restaurant. He rearranged his messy desk artfully, a habit he learned from his wife. Though it hadn't been a busy week, he still looked forward to spending the weekend with his son and wife. The latter was eight months pregnant now, and was spending vast majority of her time playing with their four-year-old son and learning to cook new dishes, as always. Matt was a foodie, and Elena loved feeding him.

Matt said goodbye to his colleagues and set off home by foot, his car being under service. He was turning away from beach road, in the direction of his home, when somebody tapped him on his shoulder from behind. He turned around and found a young man who looked around 30 years old smiling at him.

"Matt Madison?" he said.

"Yes," Matt replied

"I'm Harry Harlan", said the young man, holding out his hand.

"Hello," he said politely, shaking Harry's hand.

"How's your life going?" asked Harry.

"Er, fine, thank you." said Matt. "Do we know each other?"

"You don't know me, but I think you knew my friend. Her name was Susan. Do you remember her?"

Something unpleasant trickled down Matt's insides when he heard that name, followed by a million memories. Of course he remembered her... Susan Pacquin. She was just one of the many women who he did not like to remember, but there was no denying that, after his mother and before his marriage to Elena, she was the one woman whom he had let on into his life. But not anymore. He had realized how wrong he was about her only during a critical period of his life, and he was glad that he did not have to put up with her anymore after that.

Maybe his dislike had shown on his face, because Harry said, "I can see that you remember her,"

"Yes." Matt said stiffly. He had not dreamed that he would have to meet an acquaintance of the girl he was once in love with. If Elena ever found out...

Harry smiled, as though he knew exactly what was going through his mind. "Don't worry, I'm not here to destroy your family or anything,"

"Then why are you here? I don't remember her mentioning having a friend called Harry," he said harshly. Then he added, "Of course, you may have been one of the many things that she didn't let me know about."

"Maybe," Harry sighed. "Will you walk with me for a few minutes?"

Matt was taken aback and rather irritated that a friend of Susan wanted to talk to him. But, out of common courtesy, he did not turn the young man down. "Sure," he said.

Harry smiled, gestured towards Beach Road and started walking in silence. Matt hesitated for a second, and followed him. The sandy shores were bathed in golden sunlight, and a few kids ran here and there, while some others kicked energetically at the surf. Young couples sat in secluded corners, trying to blend in with the rocks. He remembered Susan saying that they would never be able to stay like that, though he never understood why. But it turned out to be true anyway, because of her nature. She was never able to understand him - she was never a comfort for him, and always hurt him, physically and mentally. They were only a few months away from getting married when he broke off their year-long engagement shortly after he was forced to sell his house in Tennessee, and things got worse between them. He did not know where she was now, and he preferred for them to stay that way. He hoped that Harry was not here to break his peaceful life with Elena and Toby.

He was about to open his mouth and ask Harry why he was here, when Harry stopped near a stone bench.

"Please sit down," he said, doing the same.

Matt sat. "Why are you here?" he repeated.

"Relax, Matthew," Harry said, smiling again. "I told you, I'm not here to destroy your perfect life with Elena and Toby. She's pregnant, isn't she? Congratulations."

"How - how do you know all this?" Matt spluttered, stunned.

"Oh, just friendly with the neighbors," Harry replied, shrugging. "You neighbor David Joshua happens to be a very good friend of mine and Susan's. That's how I found you here."

"Hmm," Matt said, uncomfortable. He did not like the thought of having anything to do with Susan living so close to him.

Maybe Harry understood this as well, because he said, "Listen, Matt - I know you have a very bad impression of Susan right now, and you may have have good reason for feeling so. But I want you to know that all those things that you think she was - they're all wrong, because she never was all that. Trust me, I know."

Matt's eyes narrowed. "You don't know anything. Mr Harlan, she tried to feed me some some cock-and-bull story about my family trying to round on me because I was doing financially better back then, and tried to pry me away from them. She never understood me. She never made me happy. She never cared."

Harry smiled yet again, but there was a slight disappointment in his eyes and the way his lips curved. " Matt, that cock-and-bull story she said turned out to be true, didn't it? You family did round on you."

He froze for a second. Harry was right... his family had disinherited him. "Maybe. But - "

"'She never understood'," Harry quoted. "It's true. But she took a very long time to understand people - it's not just you. It's just the way she was. I knew her very well, Matt - so believe me when I say that she loved you more than she's loved anyone else in this world. She cared for you the most. There have been a lot of nights when she cried herself to sleep, thinking about you, before and after you left her. My wife was her best friend, you see," he added in question to Matt's suspicious glance.

"You wife 'was' her best friend? Isn't she still?" he asked, slightly shaken from Harry's words - he realized that he knew they were true. Susan had indeed loved him the most.

Harry sighed. "Do you remember all those times when she said that she wouldn't be able to live without you?" he asked, looking into Matt's eyes.

"Yes," Matt replied hesitantly.

"Those weren't just words, Matt. She'd meant what she said."

"What?"

Harry looked piercingly into his eyes, and then, after a few seconds, it hit him with the force of a speeding truck. His stomach lurched, and his breath blew out in a gust.

"W-what?" he whispered.

Harry looked away from him into the setting sun. "She went into depression after you broke off your engagement with her. Her family put in an enormous effort to help her recover, but it just didn't work. She was drained of all emotion except that of her love for you. Soon she began to lose weight rapidly. Six months in, she weighed just 55 pounds. Nobody knew what to do."

Matt listened in breathless, horror-struck silence as Harry continued.

"We took her everywhere, tried everything - she didn't change. But then, she began talking a little while later. We thought that she was getting over it. And it seemed so - she began eating a little better, did things that she used to do. Then, a year and a half later, just past her 22nd birthday, her mind began to crumble again. But it wasn't as bad as before. She did spend most of the day crying, but she remained somewhat healthy. One night in September - one the eve of the third anniversary of you guys' engagement, actually - she told my wife how great a guy you were. How you loved her and put up with all of her stubbornness and gave her a new life, and made her feel special. She told her how God had given her someone so wonderful, someone she saw as her father, brother, friend and lover, but that she'd destroyed everything. But she still wanted you to be safe and happy, Matt. It's all that she ever wanted." Harry sighed.

Matt was frozen to his seat, his insides having gotten heavier and heavier with each mental picture Harry's words drew for him. While Susan had been withering, he, Matthew, was falling in love with the perfect Elena Watson, his mother's friend's daughter.

"She hoped that you'd fall in love again," Harry continued, looking at Matt again, "she prayed to God daily that you'd find a beautiful girl who could take care of you better than even your mother. And that she would be able to cook, in particular." he added, a sad smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "It was her final prayer that night, too, before she went to bed. I guess she got her wish. But she never woke up again. She died in her sleep that night. She was buried with the engagement ring that you'd put on her finger. She never took it off, not once."

Matt's heart spluttered in response to Harry's final words... " She was buried with the engagement ring that you put on her finger. She never took it off, not once." His breath began to come in great gasps, his eyes tightening.

"Your grief won't do her any good now, Matt. You built her up, and you broke her down. It comes down to you." Harry paused, as Matt's insides seared. "But I won't hate you. You gave her the best times of her life, and also the worst. We're leaving you as you are because Susan loved you beyond anything in this world. It was her wish that you be safe and happy forever. We'll abide by it - no harm will come to you or your family as long as we exist."

Harry stood up and straightened his jacket. Matt couldn't move. "Goodbye, Matthew. You won't see us again. But we'll be around."

With that, Harry walked away from him. Matt stared at his own feet sheathed in Adidas socks and Marks and Spencer leather shoes for a few seconds, then turned his head and gazed after Harry's figure. He had joined a group of people standing at the edge of the beach, near the street. He thought he recognized one of those people - a woman with pale skin and long dark hair resembling Susan. The woman he had once called "aunt" and then "mom", and then stowed away in a dark corner of his mind, along with the memories of the now-dead girl who he loved - Susan's mother.

P.S.:

"You built her up, and you broke her down" was inspired by the lyrics of Kesha's song "Tik Tok" from the album Animal.

2011-09-01T12:34:00.001-07:00

Why can't I do anything right?

Why am I such a failure?

Why do I even exist in this world?

Dreams

2011-07-09T10:34:00.001-07:00

You were far away from homeland, but we still met up by the pier in the evening. We were alone, sitting on an old wooden bench, when a dark mob gathered. And they dragged you away as I watched, helpless in my gut-wrenching pain...

this is a dream i had on 8/9 July 2011... i don't remember the rest of the dream, but i only know that this dream makes my insides feel heavier every time i think about it...

When you're gone

2011-04-13T13:41:00.000-07:00

Why do we have to go through this practically on a daily basis...?
How do I prove to him that there is no question of trust where he is concerned, basically because I trust him more than I trust myself?
Why can't he just believe me?

If my death could prove to hm that I trust him and love him beyond anything, ANYONE in this world, then I wish I'd die the most brutal death in the history of mankind.

And if you still won't believe, well, you tell me what to do, because I have no idea how to please you.

And I still love you. More than ever. These tears are for you.

Lonely road, warm interior... In Love :)

2011-02-26T07:51:00.000-08:00

I don't know if what I did was right or wrong... All I know is that I don't regret it.

What the hell has all this got to do with me...?

2010-12-21T09:19:00.000-08:00

List of things that one can do during a lecture at college:

Stare blankly at the teacher
Irritate friends
Dream about things that are highly unlikely to happen
Analyze the teacher's facial expressions
Snicker for no reason
Try not to fall asleep
Compare the length, shade and texture of everyone's hair (applicable only if you are a back-bencher)
Try to improve handwriting while taking own notes

But my personal favorite is, "Wondering where the hell all these variables came from, and what good they will do me". Honestly, I don't care what the volume of half of a cone with its top portion cut off is. I simply don't.

"The Road Less Taken" - not really

2010-12-04T13:08:00.000-08:00

i don't know which one the right path is.
all i know is that I've chosen one - it may or may not be the right one, but I've chosen it.
excerpt from a conversation (typical):

A: listen 2 me
A: "oh, man"
A: is a term
A: ppl use
B: ok
B: ok
A: wen
B: mathiiiiiiiiiiiiii
A: they r
B is typing...
B: stop pls
A: exasperated
A: or embarassed
A: ok?
B: :((

consider. it makes no sense, yet it's happening.
leaving everything to God now.
Good morning.

Wish I could say these out loud...

2010-11-18T09:17:00.000-08:00

Driving isn't an entirely new experience for me - if riding bicycles at top speed counts, that is, and it probably doesn't. But I always thought that driving would be easy, that you didn't have to think about it, especially if you were driving a two-wheeler. I was indifferent to all those people who could drive, including my dad, who drives a bike himself. But ever since I hit the road on my scooter, well, things have changed. I no longer treat anyone who drives indifferently. In fact, I've begun to see them in a new light - a light heavily tinged with awed respect, the outcome of my near-death experiences on the road.

But my respect is not directed at all the drivers out there; there are definitely some exceptions. I'm not naming names, because I have to go out there on the road tomorrow and a lot of days after that [:P]. But I do say in my mind what I feel when someone breaks the rules of the road... here are some of them:

*for the first time since the purchase of the scooter, the self start works on the first go itself* *mouth drops open* (no words to express, I was extremely surprised)
"Why can't you stay on your side of the road?!"
"Wrong side! The rule 'stick to your left' wasn't written for nothing, you know!"
"Get out of the way, idiot!" *thumb inches towards horn, but the guy in front moves away at the same moment. Feels stupid*
"You could give the signal, you know, if you're gonna turn!" *forgets to give signal at the very next turn* "I'm such a hypocrite..."
"Kid! Wrong side, even though you're riding just a bicycle!"
"Grandpa, don't walk in the middle of the road!" *horns feebly*
"woohoo!" *drives past 40km/hr, slows down to 20 when a crow flies across ahead*
"sh!t" *nearly loses control of scooter due to gutters in the road*
"dammit!!" *buckles and is nearly thrown off as scooter picks a fight with the potholes*
"oh man, everyone saw me nearly fall!" *stares straight ahead to avoid smirks from passers-by*
*stray beetle hits off the glass of helmet* "thank God for these helmets..." *a moment later* *stray hair tickles nose under the glass of helmet. Can't reach under the glass properly* "damn these stupid helmets!"
*phone rings. Presses 'answer' and presses it to ear, forgetting about the helmet that covers up ears* "aw, crap!"
*enters a pothole-covered road* "how do people live in this Godforsaken place...?" (this one's for the politicians).
*sees a fat lady sitting behind a normal-sized guy on a bike* "how does he do that?? I can't even balance properly when my normal-sized mother sits behind me!"
"after me!" *tries to overtake guy riding a cool-looking bike. Fails unceremoniously as he speeds up ahead, glancing back at you*
"back home at last..." *happily honks for mom, only to be thrown out again to complete 700 kms for insurance coverage*
*array of thoughts and events start again as scooter hits the road once again*

Thus goes my adventure with the new scooter. Even though my right wrist hurts a lot after, say, 1.5 hours of non-stop driving, it's still fun - completely worth every moment I spend on it (not that there was anything better to do in the first place [:P]). That's why I'll always cherish my scooter (officially my mom's scooter).

Not really an 'Anime Nerd'... more like a 'Slightly Insane Anime Lover'...

2010-11-04T10:30:00.000-07:00

I was once called an Anime nerd because of my habit of watching, eating, sleeping and breathing InuYasha. When the show stopped airing, my mom was actually relieved. But I can't understand why everyone labels some one who watches Anime as a "nerd". A fan, sure, but a nerd...? I don't think so. These people may may not be able to stop talking about Anime, but that's not their fault. Anime is just addictive. Take InuYasha by Rumiko Takahashi, for instance - it's a fairy tale set in the Feudal Era of Japan, with lots of demons and half-demons and priestesses and reincarnations and Sacred-Everythings, the ever-addictive ramen and, of course, love, with the one of the leading ladies often returning to her own time, ie, the year 1997 (I think), and the leading half-demon InuYasha going forward in time to get her back if she stays in her own time for too long. Yeah, it's "A Lot Like Love", and it is love, though neither of them would 'fess. Admittedly, it's a little cheesy sometimes, but mostly, it's totally entertaining. It's "War and Love", to an extent, and thoroughly enjoyable. And the background score by Kaoru Wada is just amazing - it virtually takes you back to feudal Japan, with the amazing use of flute and other instruments. And the characters - well, they're all too good-looking. For example, if InuYasha is totally cute, his full-demon brother Seshoumaru and the monk(cum pervert to a little extent) Miroku are both sexy [;-)]. And the two-tailed demon cat (Kirara/Kilala) and the little fox demon (Shippo) are absolutely ADORABLE (though the former can be a little scary in her true form).

The Anime not only hosts normal guy-to-girl and girl-to-guy love, but also includes gays - Jakotsu from the Band of Seven claims to have feelings for InuYasha, but just basically wants to kill him (since he is resurrected by the villain Naraku). When he meets our heroes, he actually says, "InuYasha may be cute, but the monk is sexy" (that's when I actually noticed Miroku's sexiness :P).

A character I don't really like in the anime is Kikyo, InuYasha's former girlfriend who was killed by Naraku and who was resurrected by some kind of witch, more than 50 years later. She's the only one standing between InuYasha and Kagome confessing their love for each other. InuYasha can't say anything to Kagome while Kikyo still exists (even as a dead-but-resurrected, clay-and-earth mummy feeding off the souls of dead women), and Kagome can't tell anything to InuYasha because she knows about InuYasha and Kikyo's entwined, complex past. Though it's rather funny at times, it's mostly annoying. But then again, if InuYasha and Kagome got together, there'd be no point in watching the Anime anymore. I mean, the inner conflicts of all our leading characters - including Naraku's feeling for Kikyo buried deep inside Onigumo's heart, and Seshoumaru's transformation from ruthless full-fledged demon to a more humane full-fledged demon because of the human child Rin - it all just adds to the attraction of the story. Also, Sango and her little brother Kohaku's torn-up lives, and Miroku's Wind-Tunnel (Naraku's curse) slowly consuming him adds to the pain in our hearts (the hearts of the anime lovers, anyway :P).

So that's all about my favorite Anime, though it was just a very rough, very vague outline I gave. If you askme, InuYasha is THE best anime out there - of course, that may be because I haven't seen a single episode of Final Fantasy or Fullmetal Alchemist or Naruto or Drangonball and all... but hey, InuYasha makes up for it [;)].

P.S.: All InuYasha rights belong to Rumiko Takahashi and whoever drew this picture...

Love, Unsaid

2010-10-18T09:12:00.000-07:00

His love for her was just like him - undying.

Her every gesture, her every move, her every smile, her every gaze, threatened to bring his dead heart back to life.

Her laughter was music to his indifferent ears, her touch a splash of warm water on his numb skin.

Her tears would cut him open, unseen blood flowing out of his wounds.

Her anger would fill him with a joy incomparable.

Her happiness was pure bliss to him, something no God could grant him with.

The days they spent together were the best in his existence.

She was the blazing sun that lit up his entire life - his horrific past, intricate present and inevitably long future.

Her love was untold, so was his.

What they would share would be beyond either of their kind, beyond the laws of nature...

Perhaps, that was why she belonged to someone else...

Emptiness

2010-10-16T07:20:00.000-07:00

This is something I've been hearing a lot - "do what you love".
But the thing is, I don't know what I love.
But I know one thing.
Right now, I'm doing something I don't have any feelings for.
I truly envy those people who have an aim in life, the people who God appears to have given some sort of mission to accomplish.
But here I am, once again, the lost, lone ranger.
Yes, I have always been alone.
Never been able to relate to anyone properly.
I've never had a friend to whom I can open up.
I've never felt close enough to anyone, to let them into my life.
No, not even my mother, although she is somewhere close.
But no, not even her.
Not a single person, although no one can be perfect.
Even love cheated me, by pretending to be love.
It left me feeling empty, struggling to find myself.
But I still haven't.
I wait for those days to come, days when I'll have paid for all my sins and have a purpose for living.
Until then... I wallow in ignorance.

Why...

2010-10-15T11:15:00.000-07:00

i wish yesterday never happened...

i wish we were the same yesterday as we were on the 13th of October.

i wish we never did what we did...

it hurt us both

and i feel sorry.

i'll never admit it to anyone

but i feel broken and sad, as if someone hit me for no reason...

Breaking the Ice

2010-10-15T08:27:00.000-07:00

Worst Thursday of my existence... 14 October 2010.
Why did the day have to turn out like that?
Everything was going so well... and i had to ruin it all.
Me and my stupid, stupid actions.
I still haven't recovered completely.
But the exam was fine...
I guess that's all that matters for a better future.