<?xml version="1.0" encoding="UTF-8" standalone="no"?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" xmlns:blogger="http://schemas.google.com/blogger/2008" xmlns:gd="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005" xmlns:georss="http://www.georss.org/georss" xmlns:openSearch="http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/" xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2781871311201882060</id><updated>2024-10-04T21:02:55.550-05:00</updated><category term="life"/><category term="family"/><category term="marriage"/><category term="mother"/><category term="complicated love"/><category term="kids"/><category term="sri lanka"/><category term="childhood memories"/><category term="forgiveness"/><category term="calling it quits"/><category term="false pretenses"/><category term="feeling mundane"/><category term="stroke"/><category term="facebook"/><category term="friends"/><category term="mind games"/><category term="new year"/><category term="outgrown friendships"/><category term="trust"/><category term="twisted"/><category term="broken dreams"/><category term="family ethics"/><category term="happiness"/><category term="surprises"/><category term="trapped"/><category term="vows"/><title type="text">In my corner......</title><subtitle type="html">scars remind us where we've been..
but they don't have to dictate 
where we are going...</subtitle><link href="http://puthujjanagirl.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default" rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed" type="application/atom+xml"/><link href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2781871311201882060/posts/default?redirect=false" rel="self" type="application/atom+xml"/><link href="http://puthujjanagirl.blogspot.com/" rel="alternate" type="text/html"/><link href="http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/" rel="hub"/><link href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2781871311201882060/posts/default?start-index=26&amp;max-results=25&amp;redirect=false" rel="next" type="application/atom+xml"/><author><name>Unknown</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image height="16" rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" src="https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" width="16"/></author><generator uri="http://www.blogger.com" version="7.00">Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>47</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>25</openSearch:itemsPerPage><xhtml:meta content="noindex" name="robots" xmlns:xhtml="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"/><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2781871311201882060.post-7297744822430282173</id><published>2011-04-11T11:06:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2011-04-11T11:17:08.682-05:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="feeling mundane"/><title type="text">perception of emotions</title><content type="html">&lt;iframe title="YouTube video player" width="480" height="390" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/17_TtOysQOA" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen&gt;&lt;/iframe&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i needed to listen to this. sending hugs to my sweet friend S who shared it with me.</content><link href="http://puthujjanagirl.blogspot.com/feeds/7297744822430282173/comments/default" rel="replies" title="Post Comments" type="application/atom+xml"/><link href="http://www.blogger.com/comment/fullpage/post/2781871311201882060/7297744822430282173?isPopup=true" rel="replies" title="1 Comments" type="text/html"/><link href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2781871311201882060/posts/default/7297744822430282173" rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml"/><link href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2781871311201882060/posts/default/7297744822430282173" rel="self" type="application/atom+xml"/><link href="http://puthujjanagirl.blogspot.com/2011/04/perception-of-emotions.html" rel="alternate" title="perception of emotions" type="text/html"/><author><name>Unknown</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image height="16" rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" src="https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" width="16"/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" height="72" url="https://img.youtube.com/vi/17_TtOysQOA/default.jpg" width="72"/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2781871311201882060.post-8472837892041355366</id><published>2011-02-26T10:17:00.015-06:00</published><updated>2011-02-26T12:40:37.324-06:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="mother"/><title type="text">things never said..</title><content type="html">&lt;div&gt;I don't know why I don't tell you these things when I talk to you. I take things for granted too easily with you, but you never seem to mind. I know I've never been the conservative or the traditional kind of daughter to you. When I look around I see mothers &amp;amp; daughters going on about their lives together, for a minute I forget what you have instilled in me, I look at them in envy. not in malicious way, but it's a kind of a yearning for what I don't have. I left you to raise a family of my own and built my own priorities. No matter how far you may be, I can feel you around me on good days and bad. It guilt's me so much for not being there with you and for you. But you never say a word or hold grudges. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Growing up I wondered why you always were so willing to settle for the second best in life, putting everyone else in front of you. I never said anything, even when I was old enough to understand. I took the easy way out, thought you wouldn't mind either way. Today I cringe at the thought because it would break my heart if mine ever didn't. Did it ever cross your mind? I couldn't tell because you never give anything away. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;To this day, you are the ONLY person I know who loves me unconditionally. You believe in me even when I don't. You think the world of me and always proud to acknowledge me as a part of you. Your compassion is unparalleled. It amazes me how you do that without even skipping a heartbeat. I'm miles behind learning from you, and I try everyday because you never gave up.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Your love and resilience has carried me through this far. I owe it all to you. As much as I would love to say this in person, I would have to settle for a crappy roaming phone connection tommorow.  I love you &amp;amp; miss you and hope you take some time off to enjoy the day. Happy Birthday Amma!   &lt;/div&gt;</content><link href="http://puthujjanagirl.blogspot.com/feeds/8472837892041355366/comments/default" rel="replies" title="Post Comments" type="application/atom+xml"/><link href="http://www.blogger.com/comment/fullpage/post/2781871311201882060/8472837892041355366?isPopup=true" rel="replies" title="0 Comments" type="text/html"/><link href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2781871311201882060/posts/default/8472837892041355366" rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml"/><link href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2781871311201882060/posts/default/8472837892041355366" rel="self" type="application/atom+xml"/><link href="http://puthujjanagirl.blogspot.com/2011/02/things-never-said.html" rel="alternate" title="things never said.." type="text/html"/><author><name>Unknown</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image height="16" rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" src="https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" width="16"/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2781871311201882060.post-6095648103589043754</id><published>2011-02-22T12:14:00.006-06:00</published><updated>2011-02-22T12:22:38.034-06:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="childhood memories"/><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="complicated love"/><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="family"/><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="life"/><title type="text">landslide</title><content type="html">&lt;iframe title="YouTube video player" height="390" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/ObuBL3_Y_YA" frameborder="0" width="480" allowfullscreen=""&gt;&lt;/iframe&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;stevie nicks might have had meant it to be an abstract song with obvious references thrown in here &amp;amp; there. she wouldn't have known how much it was going to resonate with other people, let alone how many variations would eventually spill out of what it actually conveyed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;that's the beauty of songs you love. you find solace within to help through the times. you allow it to be whatever you want it to be. it's only yours to keep. this is mine.</content><link href="http://puthujjanagirl.blogspot.com/feeds/6095648103589043754/comments/default" rel="replies" title="Post Comments" type="application/atom+xml"/><link href="http://www.blogger.com/comment/fullpage/post/2781871311201882060/6095648103589043754?isPopup=true" rel="replies" title="0 Comments" type="text/html"/><link href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2781871311201882060/posts/default/6095648103589043754" rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml"/><link href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2781871311201882060/posts/default/6095648103589043754" rel="self" type="application/atom+xml"/><link href="http://puthujjanagirl.blogspot.com/2011/02/landslide_22.html" rel="alternate" title="landslide" type="text/html"/><author><name>Unknown</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image height="16" rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" src="https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" width="16"/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" height="72" url="https://img.youtube.com/vi/ObuBL3_Y_YA/default.jpg" width="72"/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2781871311201882060.post-1093538071751412507</id><published>2011-02-21T12:29:00.006-06:00</published><updated>2011-02-21T12:54:25.622-06:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="childhood memories"/><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="family"/><title type="text">it's the small things i miss the most..</title><content type="html">...his voice sounds excited over the phone. he doesn't repeat everything for once but retells me the cricket match, which sri lanka won against canada just days ago. i don't want to spoil the moment and tell him i'd seen it online, so i play along. i like when he gets excited about something. he doesnt hold back, just let his words flow easily. he's always been like that. i remember how we would all watch cricket matches gathered around the tv. just hollering at the same time,running to the bathroom or grabbing a snack in between the short commercial breaks and dashing back just in time before an over is started. and the times how he wouldn't let us jinx our players as if they could hear us through the tv. and the sheer joy in his eyes after a nail biting win. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i miss those days. i miss seeing him in moments like that. what i wouldn't do to just relive those moments...</content><link href="http://puthujjanagirl.blogspot.com/feeds/1093538071751412507/comments/default" rel="replies" title="Post Comments" type="application/atom+xml"/><link href="http://www.blogger.com/comment/fullpage/post/2781871311201882060/1093538071751412507?isPopup=true" rel="replies" title="0 Comments" type="text/html"/><link href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2781871311201882060/posts/default/1093538071751412507" rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml"/><link href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2781871311201882060/posts/default/1093538071751412507" rel="self" type="application/atom+xml"/><link href="http://puthujjanagirl.blogspot.com/2011/02/its-small-things-i-miss-most.html" rel="alternate" title="it's the small things i miss the most.." type="text/html"/><author><name>Unknown</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image height="16" rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" src="https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" width="16"/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2781871311201882060.post-2991909954136978404</id><published>2011-02-14T11:09:00.014-06:00</published><updated>2011-02-14T13:51:44.337-06:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="family"/><title type="text">no gifts,pls</title><content type="html">not a substantial post, just a random one to fill in the gaps.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i have a hard time accepting gifts outside my husband &amp; kids. some might call it arrogant or just too uptight.well, you can't please everyone. may be it's my pet peeve ,if you will. i don't like it when someone makes a big deal with gifts (not wishes)out of what i like, much less my birthday. some people have wish lists they'd like to share with others. i don't like sharing mine. according to my husband's critical analysis, i'm just too much of a control freak to let someone else do something nice for me even for a day. may be there's some truth in it, but that's just me.  &lt;br /&gt;we had some family (his side) over for the holidays last year and it also happened to be right around my birthday as well. we were all just kicking back one night when someone brought up the subject of my birthday &amp; whatnot. to which i quickly followed that up with an idea of just keeping it really simple like going out to dinner and maybe taking all the kids bowling to finish up the night. with the slightest hint of defiance in my voice, i told them not to worry about gifts &amp; all that, because i really don't want anything,please! i can't remember if i put some emphasis on "don't want", but i might have. that didn't sit too well with some,of course. they were his family, so i'm sure my husband expected me to just go along with things for once. it wasn't my intent to offend anyone but i wasn't looking for any material pleasure  rather just get over it &amp; have good time with their company, that's all. i don't see anything wrong with it. anyways, we ended up going out to dinner &amp; bowling and then some. i even survived an uncomfortable brief moment.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;the week after they left, i returned all the gifts to the store and asked for merchandise credit to shop for my kids for the summer.</content><link href="http://puthujjanagirl.blogspot.com/feeds/2991909954136978404/comments/default" rel="replies" title="Post Comments" type="application/atom+xml"/><link href="http://www.blogger.com/comment/fullpage/post/2781871311201882060/2991909954136978404?isPopup=true" rel="replies" title="0 Comments" type="text/html"/><link href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2781871311201882060/posts/default/2991909954136978404" rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml"/><link href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2781871311201882060/posts/default/2991909954136978404" rel="self" type="application/atom+xml"/><link href="http://puthujjanagirl.blogspot.com/2011/02/no-giftspls.html" rel="alternate" title="no gifts,pls" type="text/html"/><author><name>Unknown</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image height="16" rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" src="https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" width="16"/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2781871311201882060.post-4146131814473752890</id><published>2011-02-10T12:48:00.006-06:00</published><updated>2011-02-10T13:45:20.631-06:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="life"/><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="new year"/><title type="text">another year...</title><content type="html">i'm debating if i ought to catch up or just start from right here right now. either way i have had a lot of time to reflect on things. since i've started to work out of home reducing my hours just enough to stay within part time wage, house gets  awfully quiet around this time of the day with no one to barge in on me,giving me plenty of time to do just that.  the battles that had me raging on my head seem to disintegrate little by little. i allow things to roll off my back more easily now,something i have been struggling to do for a long time..&lt;br /&gt;so contrary to all the hype, absolutely no new year resolutions, no goals to achieve, no dreams to manifest, just boldly taking life one day at a time..  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"there are only two ways to live your life. one is as though nothing is a miracle.the other is as though everything is a miracle" Einstein said that.</content><link href="http://puthujjanagirl.blogspot.com/feeds/4146131814473752890/comments/default" rel="replies" title="Post Comments" type="application/atom+xml"/><link href="http://www.blogger.com/comment/fullpage/post/2781871311201882060/4146131814473752890?isPopup=true" rel="replies" title="5 Comments" type="text/html"/><link href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2781871311201882060/posts/default/4146131814473752890" rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml"/><link href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2781871311201882060/posts/default/4146131814473752890" rel="self" type="application/atom+xml"/><link href="http://puthujjanagirl.blogspot.com/2011/02/another-year.html" rel="alternate" title="another year..." type="text/html"/><author><name>Unknown</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image height="16" rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" src="https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" width="16"/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2781871311201882060.post-3445555404444120583</id><published>2010-11-05T10:55:00.010-05:00</published><updated>2010-11-05T12:25:09.948-05:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="family"/><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="life"/><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="mother"/><title type="text">play along</title><content type="html">sometimes the people you care about the most can also bring out the worst in you. case in point,my parents. just when you think things are getting be a little quaint, here they go at it again. they argue over everything. silly things like who gets to watch what's on tv or even who gets to talk to me first when i call can make them go insane. and did i mention the bickering? i can pick up on the resentment in my mother's voice thousand miles away. whatever she does nowadays is never good enough for my father and i'm not sure if she will ever measure up in his eyes period. so the slightest thing can set him off &amp; there's always plenty to whine about. all i can do is listen while they vent. the speaker option helps too.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;since she has tolerated beyond her share of anguish over the years, she doesn't feel the need to go out of her way just to make him happy anymore. from where she's sitting, he hasn't really redeemed himself. he has done pretty outrageous things through the years making us all go down with him. now that i think about it, it's a wonder he didn't land in jail much less getting beaten and lay in a ditch somewhere. as anonymous as i can roam on the periphery of my own blog, i still cant get myself to write about some of the things he's done. not out of respect for him but for her. so as sad it is, i see her point but her timing seems way off. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;the irony is, with him losing his memory in a gradual phase, he doesn't remember all that much. unless you talk to him about something, he may be able to piece some events here &amp; there but not cohesive enough to carry on a conversation. i dont mind repeating myself every 2 minutes or not take it personally when he can't come up with my childrens' names. i know enough to play along not to make him feel offended.after all what good can come out of going over things he doesn't even remember committing? this is what she's up against. she's going up against a shell of a man deemed with a horrible past and who never stood the chance at redemption. now what good can come out of that? not something i want to be in the middle of.</content><link href="http://puthujjanagirl.blogspot.com/feeds/3445555404444120583/comments/default" rel="replies" title="Post Comments" type="application/atom+xml"/><link href="http://www.blogger.com/comment/fullpage/post/2781871311201882060/3445555404444120583?isPopup=true" rel="replies" title="0 Comments" type="text/html"/><link href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2781871311201882060/posts/default/3445555404444120583" rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml"/><link href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2781871311201882060/posts/default/3445555404444120583" rel="self" type="application/atom+xml"/><link href="http://puthujjanagirl.blogspot.com/2010/11/play-along.html" rel="alternate" title="play along" type="text/html"/><author><name>Unknown</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image height="16" rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" src="https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" width="16"/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2781871311201882060.post-3870060760175621064</id><published>2010-10-23T10:11:00.006-05:00</published><updated>2010-11-05T11:58:43.229-05:00</updated><title type="text">what if..</title><content type="html">this isn't a substantial post of any kind..rather just something i've been thinking about. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ask any kid they'll tell you birthdays are fun. may be not so much, if you ask a grown up. i'm on that boat.forget the crap about the older you get the wiser you become. for me the idea of getting older is quite the unsettling kind much less becoming any wiser. would you be around for that many years again? may be i'm being too much of a cynic right now :)</content><link href="http://puthujjanagirl.blogspot.com/feeds/3870060760175621064/comments/default" rel="replies" title="Post Comments" type="application/atom+xml"/><link href="http://www.blogger.com/comment/fullpage/post/2781871311201882060/3870060760175621064?isPopup=true" rel="replies" title="3 Comments" type="text/html"/><link href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2781871311201882060/posts/default/3870060760175621064" rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml"/><link href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2781871311201882060/posts/default/3870060760175621064" rel="self" type="application/atom+xml"/><link href="http://puthujjanagirl.blogspot.com/2010/10/this-isnt-substantial-post-of-any-kind.html" rel="alternate" title="what if.." type="text/html"/><author><name>Unknown</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image height="16" rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" src="https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" width="16"/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2781871311201882060.post-6517062707498031408</id><published>2010-10-18T13:40:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2010-10-18T13:41:17.665-05:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="kids"/><title type="text">the mother in me..</title><content type="html">they've grown up so much. in such a little time. so much so i can't remember how quickly time has flown by like a minute. so many memories flood my mind. as any other mom, i worry. i worry if i've had done enough, i worry if i'm doing enough and i worry if i'd ever do enough. you know the motherly responsibilities. with so many aspirations to stand up to, it's a daunting task to say the least. will i ever be good enough and fill up the mold ? i have no idea. all i can do is to keep on loving them every way possible &amp;amp; more.</content><link href="http://puthujjanagirl.blogspot.com/feeds/6517062707498031408/comments/default" rel="replies" title="Post Comments" type="application/atom+xml"/><link href="http://www.blogger.com/comment/fullpage/post/2781871311201882060/6517062707498031408?isPopup=true" rel="replies" title="0 Comments" type="text/html"/><link href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2781871311201882060/posts/default/6517062707498031408" rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml"/><link href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2781871311201882060/posts/default/6517062707498031408" rel="self" type="application/atom+xml"/><link href="http://puthujjanagirl.blogspot.com/2010/10/mother-in-me_18.html" rel="alternate" title="the mother in me.." type="text/html"/><author><name>Unknown</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image height="16" rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" src="https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" width="16"/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2781871311201882060.post-4167020530780120952</id><published>2010-10-18T13:33:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2010-10-18T13:40:44.119-05:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="kids"/><title type="text">i hope you dance..</title><content type="html">&lt;p&gt;and..this is for them.. it brings tears to my eyes every time..&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="480" height="295"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/RV-Z1YwaOiw?fs=1&amp;amp;hl=en_US"&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/RV-Z1YwaOiw?fs=1&amp;amp;hl=en_US" width="480" height="295" allowscriptaccess="never" allowfullscreen="true" wmode="transparent" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt; &lt;/p&gt;</content><link href="http://puthujjanagirl.blogspot.com/feeds/4167020530780120952/comments/default" rel="replies" title="Post Comments" type="application/atom+xml"/><link href="http://www.blogger.com/comment/fullpage/post/2781871311201882060/4167020530780120952?isPopup=true" rel="replies" title="1 Comments" type="text/html"/><link href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2781871311201882060/posts/default/4167020530780120952" rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml"/><link href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2781871311201882060/posts/default/4167020530780120952" rel="self" type="application/atom+xml"/><link href="http://puthujjanagirl.blogspot.com/2010/10/i-hope-you-dance.html" rel="alternate" title="i hope you dance.." type="text/html"/><author><name>Unknown</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image height="16" rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" src="https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" width="16"/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2781871311201882060.post-3622255374869393538</id><published>2010-10-07T09:28:00.010-05:00</published><updated>2010-11-05T12:00:06.587-05:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="family"/><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="marriage"/><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="mother"/><title type="text">the male ego..</title><content type="html">somewhere in the next few days my mother's taking some time off being couped up with daily chores in the house all day, leaving on a small vacation for a couple of days. she's been looking forward to this for months now and made preparations well ahead of time around the house.so every thing's in place. unbeknownst to me, the situation has stirred some drama in the house. as fragile as he is, my father still wants to run things around the house &amp; doesn't want her to go. the exact reasons are kind of grainy, because he gives a different one every day, he's insinuating about crossing some unseen boundaries. now this cracks me up. ah ..the pathetic male ego! so i had to cut in to diffuse the situation, as usual. the fact that i live thousand miles apart is immaterial, i almost feel like they are in my house fighting in the other room. sometimes i have to play both roles of good &amp; bad cop. not to overwhelm him, i downplayed the whole thing and made him see she needs the break more than anything. reluctantly he muttered something under his breath and i took it as a grunted approval. not that i needed his approval to begin with but i didn't want to hurt his feelings either. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;not being the problem solver anymore is probably hitting him hard now that he's no longer able to get around as he used to. not being able to validate the his value as the caretaker in the relationship is probably eating him up inside too. if only he could see the insecurities in him. looking in from outside, i get all that . but is it fair to the other person? sometimes men get so caught up with their egoism they discount the value &amp; strength of the other person in the relationship/marriage and miss the mark completely. &lt;br /&gt;man..what is it with the male ego? what an interesting breed :)</content><link href="http://puthujjanagirl.blogspot.com/feeds/3622255374869393538/comments/default" rel="replies" title="Post Comments" type="application/atom+xml"/><link href="http://www.blogger.com/comment/fullpage/post/2781871311201882060/3622255374869393538?isPopup=true" rel="replies" title="0 Comments" type="text/html"/><link href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2781871311201882060/posts/default/3622255374869393538" rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml"/><link href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2781871311201882060/posts/default/3622255374869393538" rel="self" type="application/atom+xml"/><link href="http://puthujjanagirl.blogspot.com/2010/10/male-ego.html" rel="alternate" title="the male ego.." type="text/html"/><author><name>Unknown</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image height="16" rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" src="https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" width="16"/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2781871311201882060.post-8755227974755433965</id><published>2010-09-01T11:12:00.020-05:00</published><updated>2010-11-05T13:00:46.178-05:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="complicated love"/><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="life"/><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="marriage"/><title type="text">the other part..</title><content type="html">according to most of our friends &amp; family, how my husband &amp; i met, is something predestined and a great love story in itself. maybe they are just a little prejudiced. we were very young, it was a little before my fifteenth b'day when a mutual friend introduced us at another friends'b'day party (sounds so cliche,but true) . he was only a year and a half older than me. so you do the math. well..at fifteen years old (or 14 if you want to be politically correct), you don't even know who you are much less about real love.but you love feeling butterflies in your stomach and get all giddy and mistake the sensation for love. been there,done that. the charming personality he possessed capable of winning anyone over was an added bonus. somehow he never really impressed me all that much.besides the initial attraction, there wasn't a whole lot to hold on to. as naive as i was then, i figured that much early. does it really matter at 15? you know the answer. &lt;br /&gt;funny how early i started making up excuses for things that doesn't resonate with. looking back i can dissect it into million ways today.but i was only 15 &amp; it wasn't like i was going to get married to him. well, little did i know! we hung out a little bit whenever i could lie and get away from my parents strict supervision radar. benefit movie screenings for school fundraisers, fairs, b'day parties and going shopping with friends were my usual sugarcoated lies. most of them worked,it gave such a rush every time. it was all fun but short lived. about 6 or 7 months into our puppy love, the overseas scholarship he'd been waiting for came through and he left the country within a matter of weeks. as heartbroken as i was, my walls were way up and pretended i was fine. so we were resorted to go out our separate ways &amp; we both moved on. that was the end of our part one. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;the part two didn't start until i was about 20 or so when i heard from him again. he'd just come back &amp; found out where i worked and called me at work one day.sure, it took me by surprise but we had lots of mutual friends by then and one of them could have easily passed on my work number. he then showed up at work the week after. i was working at a large public venue just outside colombo. i was used to running into people i know on a daily basis , so running into him at work was not really a big deal.at least it wasn't to me. he said he came with a friend and we stuck up a brief conversation ,an awkward one to say the least. i was trying to be polite and looking for getaway excuse. what do you say to an ex boyfriend you haven't seen over 5 years? it struck me as odd, too much to be a coincidence, but i brushed it off. i had completely gotten over him and had no idea what was in store for me. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;over the next weeks he picked up the pace and started calling me often. my home number hadn't changed since the last time, and sometimes he'd call me at home as well. he seemed like a completely different person from last time around. for the better, of course. we caught up on the gaps we missed out on,laughed over stuff from our past and made fun of each other. reminiscing sounded fun.we both shared the same sick sense of humor and i eased out on my self developed defenses and let him in. so i decided to give it another go when he'd finally brought up the subject. when people ask me what made it happen the second time around, i say i felt secured &amp; safe with him. and that was the truth. may be it was the comfort of already knowing part of him. like when you know you are safe with someone, you just feel it instinctively. that gut feeling. i think as women we tend to seek security in a relationship and sometimes the actual state of being loved can easily get overlooked. it doesn't seem as important. that's the only way i know how to interpret what led me. coming from a somewhat dysfunctional family (to put it mildly), feeling secured was way more fulfilling than anything.i wanted that sense of security.it all made sense. so what if we don't agree on a few things and he can come off a little controlling or even condescending? or like when he tells me its black when i know its white. so what if we fight over stuff so much when its all done and over with, we don't even remember what we were arguing about in the first place. so what if he makes me feel a little inferior at times? my family history validates it, right? you can look &amp; search until your eyes hurt but we all know there's no perfect relationship out there. every relationship is flawed, it's how you make it work that counts, everything's going to be okay, i kept telling myself. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;to fast forward the story, he met my parents a while later &amp; we got married when i was 23. here we are now, years later. still riding out the storms. seemingly endless at that. when someone tells me how rare to have found your life partner when you were fifteen, i give them an acknowledging smile and thank them politely. when you're married, it is expected. you've got to keep your dirt behind closed doors,under lock and all.   &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;but what i don't tell them is that i met the only love of my life,who i rarely talk about, gave him up during the 5 year lapse between these parts of one &amp; two. my biggest regret to date, which covers my real story - the other part. only if they knew......</content><link href="http://puthujjanagirl.blogspot.com/feeds/8755227974755433965/comments/default" rel="replies" title="Post Comments" type="application/atom+xml"/><link href="http://www.blogger.com/comment/fullpage/post/2781871311201882060/8755227974755433965?isPopup=true" rel="replies" title="6 Comments" type="text/html"/><link href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2781871311201882060/posts/default/8755227974755433965" rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml"/><link href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2781871311201882060/posts/default/8755227974755433965" rel="self" type="application/atom+xml"/><link href="http://puthujjanagirl.blogspot.com/2010/09/other-part.html" rel="alternate" title="the other part.." type="text/html"/><author><name>Unknown</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image height="16" rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" src="https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" width="16"/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2781871311201882060.post-1420468539873851728</id><published>2010-08-27T12:29:00.014-05:00</published><updated>2010-11-05T12:00:53.918-05:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="childhood memories"/><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="family"/><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="forgiveness"/><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="life"/><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="stroke"/><title type="text">forgiven....</title><content type="html">when i was little, there were a lot of things going on in my family that i really didn't understand. no matter how much i would try, i just couldn't wrap my little head around it. sometimes i would ask my sister but being just an year older than me, she was often just as clueless. when i finally became old enough to understand the reality of the situation, i despised everything i found out. i wanted no part of it, just wanted everything to go back to normal like our neighbours around us. not an easy thing to do when you grow up in a small urban town where people like to be in everyone else's business. i remember the stares we would get when we walk up the street to get on the school bus.funny how i could read people just by a casual stare directed at you. something i'm still remarkably good at even now. i digress. more than anything i despised him. i was angry that he didn't care what it would mean to us. why couldn't he be like our friends fathers who were just normal and devoted? but there were a few times i would just soften up &amp; feel bad for him too , because somewhere in the back of head i knew the whole situation was killing him inside and it couldnt be easy to have everyone else judge you. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;over the years i learnt a lot &amp; even have gotten around to forgive him for everything. i don't mean to be heartless when i say this but..although he's sick today, he probably has it easier than any three of us because he can't remember most, if not all of it. he's being showing signs of Alzheimer's, a common form of Dementia which he was diagnosed soon after the stroke. &lt;br /&gt;it's like when you patch up a messy wall with some soothing wallpaper to cover the dirt,but you always know what's behind it but glad that wallpaper is masking it anyway . today i'm worried sick about him. when my cell goes off late at night, my heart jumps every time, fearing the worst.or i would just suddenly wake up middle of the night thinking i heard the phone ring when it hadn't. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;well i guess that's just how life works. as much as you'd like, it doesn't come with a manual. you learn as you go along,picking up pieces. more than anything, i have learnt that when people we love make choices, we don't always understand them. their actions may hurt us but we can go on loving them just the same. it isn't a matter of comprehension. it's forgiveness. it's simply that.</content><link href="http://puthujjanagirl.blogspot.com/feeds/1420468539873851728/comments/default" rel="replies" title="Post Comments" type="application/atom+xml"/><link href="http://www.blogger.com/comment/fullpage/post/2781871311201882060/1420468539873851728?isPopup=true" rel="replies" title="0 Comments" type="text/html"/><link href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2781871311201882060/posts/default/1420468539873851728" rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml"/><link href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2781871311201882060/posts/default/1420468539873851728" rel="self" type="application/atom+xml"/><link href="http://puthujjanagirl.blogspot.com/2010/08/forgivenss.html" rel="alternate" title="forgiven...." type="text/html"/><author><name>Unknown</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image height="16" rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" src="https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" width="16"/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2781871311201882060.post-7685578973034477855</id><published>2010-08-23T12:00:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2010-08-23T12:03:52.015-05:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="complicated love"/><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="life"/><title type="text">half of my heart</title><content type="html">what i'm listening to these days..if you listen carefully you will be able to read between the lines, an amazing song from a guy i'm not too crazy about personally.but the guy's got some real talent in him. gotta give credit.   &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object style="background-image:url(http://i1.ytimg.com/vi/Pm5cQ58rADY/hqdefault.jpg)"  width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/Pm5cQ58rADY?fs=1&amp;amp;hl=en_US"&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/Pm5cQ58rADY?fs=1&amp;amp;hl=en_US" width="425" height="344" allowScriptAccess="never" allowFullScreen="true" wmode="transparent" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;</content><link href="http://puthujjanagirl.blogspot.com/feeds/7685578973034477855/comments/default" rel="replies" title="Post Comments" type="application/atom+xml"/><link href="http://www.blogger.com/comment/fullpage/post/2781871311201882060/7685578973034477855?isPopup=true" rel="replies" title="0 Comments" type="text/html"/><link href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2781871311201882060/posts/default/7685578973034477855" rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml"/><link href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2781871311201882060/posts/default/7685578973034477855" rel="self" type="application/atom+xml"/><link href="http://puthujjanagirl.blogspot.com/2010/08/half-of-my-heart.html" rel="alternate" title="half of my heart" type="text/html"/><author><name>Unknown</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image height="16" rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" src="https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" width="16"/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2781871311201882060.post-3063414331151104660</id><published>2010-08-19T12:04:00.005-05:00</published><updated>2010-08-19T12:16:24.016-05:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="life"/><title type="text">catch 22</title><content type="html">i keep telling myself it's okay to be willing to give up everything you have just so to get something you want so bad. but isnt that a catch 22? the things you are willing to lose are what define you,setting you apart from everyone else. you lose them, you lose yourself. just like a catch 22.</content><link href="http://puthujjanagirl.blogspot.com/feeds/3063414331151104660/comments/default" rel="replies" title="Post Comments" type="application/atom+xml"/><link href="http://www.blogger.com/comment/fullpage/post/2781871311201882060/3063414331151104660?isPopup=true" rel="replies" title="0 Comments" type="text/html"/><link href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2781871311201882060/posts/default/3063414331151104660" rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml"/><link href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2781871311201882060/posts/default/3063414331151104660" rel="self" type="application/atom+xml"/><link href="http://puthujjanagirl.blogspot.com/2010/08/catch-22.html" rel="alternate" title="catch 22" type="text/html"/><author><name>Unknown</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image height="16" rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" src="https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" width="16"/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2781871311201882060.post-5444365189014990821</id><published>2010-08-03T22:06:00.006-05:00</published><updated>2010-11-05T12:11:08.745-05:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="family"/><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="kids"/><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="life"/><title type="text">perceptions</title><content type="html">the perceptions i stood by have always changed from time to time. may be its something that happens inevitably as you grow older.or may be they are just resulting in from the multitude of changes taken place in my life over the years. not all of these changes were asked for.just a  handful of them. to be more specific, most have brought me tears and caused pain. but i seem to have ignored the few grateful ones which have brought me nothing but blissful joy. because i can be such a big time worrier (is that a word? )sometimes i forget to appreciate and celebrate these little joys in my life. as i'm writing this, it sounds so simple. but how did i miss that?</content><link href="http://puthujjanagirl.blogspot.com/feeds/5444365189014990821/comments/default" rel="replies" title="Post Comments" type="application/atom+xml"/><link href="http://www.blogger.com/comment/fullpage/post/2781871311201882060/5444365189014990821?isPopup=true" rel="replies" title="0 Comments" type="text/html"/><link href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2781871311201882060/posts/default/5444365189014990821" rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml"/><link href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2781871311201882060/posts/default/5444365189014990821" rel="self" type="application/atom+xml"/><link href="http://puthujjanagirl.blogspot.com/2010/08/perceptions.html" rel="alternate" title="perceptions" type="text/html"/><author><name>Unknown</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image height="16" rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" src="https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" width="16"/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2781871311201882060.post-5737794014204767659</id><published>2010-08-02T13:05:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2010-08-02T13:43:04.579-05:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="friends"/><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="outgrown friendships"/><title type="text">"A" friend</title><content type="html">&lt;a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFRE5LOFBdKSI4dBTB1zXPK567rcbki9-VCFwQ8aEf-ahf6SyytoH34VU6_3ySnKwWIzbqtwmdqnjlZLItu_Ygi2rC4h0RwYhM0xVyJDAv0uK1wDOqM2HjtYwCzNVQyDgVzBNKXCuIDMIR/s1600/2910585521_84942a7606.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFRE5LOFBdKSI4dBTB1zXPK567rcbki9-VCFwQ8aEf-ahf6SyytoH34VU6_3ySnKwWIzbqtwmdqnjlZLItu_Ygi2rC4h0RwYhM0xVyJDAv0uK1wDOqM2HjtYwCzNVQyDgVzBNKXCuIDMIR/s320/2910585521_84942a7606.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5500884745014403490" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;recently i lost contact with a close friend for reasons beyond my control, which is a another story in itself. she was resorted to move temporarily to the country where she grew up in but promised she would be back by the end of summer. she needed the break. i miss her everyday, she was my confidante and my partner in crime so to speak. so as the days are passing by, I'm beginning to think we are just drifting apart. we try to stay in touch on fb &amp; email but i have seen a gradual change. i cant seem to open up to her anymore. it has probably got to do with me more than on her part, i feel guilty about that.i just have to see where things are with us when she gets back.i want to be able to pick up from where we left off. i don't know why i feel so awkward about the whole thing. why is it something i had been so comfortable with, have suddenly turned so complicated?</content><link href="http://puthujjanagirl.blogspot.com/feeds/5737794014204767659/comments/default" rel="replies" title="Post Comments" type="application/atom+xml"/><link href="http://www.blogger.com/comment/fullpage/post/2781871311201882060/5737794014204767659?isPopup=true" rel="replies" title="0 Comments" type="text/html"/><link href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2781871311201882060/posts/default/5737794014204767659" rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml"/><link href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2781871311201882060/posts/default/5737794014204767659" rel="self" type="application/atom+xml"/><link href="http://puthujjanagirl.blogspot.com/2010/08/friend.html" rel="alternate" title="&quot;A&quot; friend" type="text/html"/><author><name>Unknown</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image height="16" rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" src="https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" width="16"/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" height="72" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFRE5LOFBdKSI4dBTB1zXPK567rcbki9-VCFwQ8aEf-ahf6SyytoH34VU6_3ySnKwWIzbqtwmdqnjlZLItu_Ygi2rC4h0RwYhM0xVyJDAv0uK1wDOqM2HjtYwCzNVQyDgVzBNKXCuIDMIR/s72-c/2910585521_84942a7606.jpg" width="72"/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2781871311201882060.post-3248536495315446115</id><published>2010-07-13T23:30:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2010-07-13T23:37:17.396-05:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="kids"/><title type="text"/><content type="html">my kids &amp;amp; i were watching reba, and this song came on.just couldn't stop listening...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="480" height="385"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/gTCVRIRtr84&amp;amp;hl=en_US&amp;amp;fs=1"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/gTCVRIRtr84&amp;amp;hl=en_US&amp;amp;fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;</content><link href="http://puthujjanagirl.blogspot.com/feeds/3248536495315446115/comments/default" rel="replies" title="Post Comments" type="application/atom+xml"/><link href="http://www.blogger.com/comment/fullpage/post/2781871311201882060/3248536495315446115?isPopup=true" rel="replies" title="0 Comments" type="text/html"/><link href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2781871311201882060/posts/default/3248536495315446115" rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml"/><link href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2781871311201882060/posts/default/3248536495315446115" rel="self" type="application/atom+xml"/><link href="http://puthujjanagirl.blogspot.com/2010/07/my-kids-i-were-watching-reba-and-this.html" rel="alternate" title="" type="text/html"/><author><name>Unknown</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image height="16" rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" src="https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" width="16"/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2781871311201882060.post-5736994152460920429</id><published>2010-06-21T10:38:00.015-05:00</published><updated>2010-06-22T13:42:48.063-05:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="calling it quits"/><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="false pretenses"/><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="life"/><title type="text">behind closed doors..</title><content type="html">&lt;a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglQ-7gfLI5C1mcQCxpeXHhJB6Wb7352s-LeRFRNhYw0C4eLpffnEN1u4akSAjEU_dV6tkN4YZh70_813aqr6kNhH-tHsIK_0dXieyE6HXUkydbhIcy538gKx2E56CYMEAMWcFz4_8f2K2G/s1600/eye.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 205px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglQ-7gfLI5C1mcQCxpeXHhJB6Wb7352s-LeRFRNhYw0C4eLpffnEN1u4akSAjEU_dV6tkN4YZh70_813aqr6kNhH-tHsIK_0dXieyE6HXUkydbhIcy538gKx2E56CYMEAMWcFz4_8f2K2G/s320/eye.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485269979877620402" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;holding back tears&lt;br /&gt;to no avail&lt;br /&gt;they roll down&lt;br /&gt;suppressing sobs&lt;br /&gt;digging deep&lt;br /&gt;spilling onto the pillow&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;in presence of the world &lt;br /&gt;hiding behind &lt;br /&gt;the pretentious smiles&lt;br /&gt;painting the scars of pain &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;behind closed doors&lt;br /&gt;amidst the chaos&lt;br /&gt;seek refuge &lt;br /&gt;into the long night&lt;br /&gt;pain gushing out &lt;br /&gt;like a teary flood</content><link href="http://puthujjanagirl.blogspot.com/feeds/5736994152460920429/comments/default" rel="replies" title="Post Comments" type="application/atom+xml"/><link href="http://www.blogger.com/comment/fullpage/post/2781871311201882060/5736994152460920429?isPopup=true" rel="replies" title="0 Comments" type="text/html"/><link href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2781871311201882060/posts/default/5736994152460920429" rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml"/><link href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2781871311201882060/posts/default/5736994152460920429" rel="self" type="application/atom+xml"/><link href="http://puthujjanagirl.blogspot.com/2010/06/behind-closed-doors.html" rel="alternate" title="behind closed doors.." type="text/html"/><author><name>Unknown</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image height="16" rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" src="https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" width="16"/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" height="72" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglQ-7gfLI5C1mcQCxpeXHhJB6Wb7352s-LeRFRNhYw0C4eLpffnEN1u4akSAjEU_dV6tkN4YZh70_813aqr6kNhH-tHsIK_0dXieyE6HXUkydbhIcy538gKx2E56CYMEAMWcFz4_8f2K2G/s72-c/eye.jpg" width="72"/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2781871311201882060.post-5902441377044532236</id><published>2010-05-27T10:09:00.005-05:00</published><updated>2010-05-27T10:39:39.877-05:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="marriage"/><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="mind games"/><title type="text">relationships in a diagram</title><content type="html">&lt;a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5B4Ygay-vMkuWPHCPrtRXSh2e9VcVwXmmUAxRZaM21nL8hgqt-i0iRXY-PknfsB9IlCOBf6RWZ3FPvhaBNNfpIjpPIxmjh8_eWWev4UmbkladGITYs3obPx3PT_MfuNrtt3MPSMx4YgRJ/s1600/bubble.bmp"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 136px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5B4Ygay-vMkuWPHCPrtRXSh2e9VcVwXmmUAxRZaM21nL8hgqt-i0iRXY-PknfsB9IlCOBf6RWZ3FPvhaBNNfpIjpPIxmjh8_eWWev4UmbkladGITYs3obPx3PT_MfuNrtt3MPSMx4YgRJ/s320/bubble.bmp" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475967459833050642" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i remember studying them in school. while the &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Venn_diagram"&gt;venn diagram &lt;/a&gt;is used here as a simple device to reveal essential aspects of most intimate relationships, i try to think where i'd place mine in it. i keep going from one to the other. what if the two bubbles are completely overlapped? would it define a perfect relationship, metaphorically?</content><link href="http://puthujjanagirl.blogspot.com/feeds/5902441377044532236/comments/default" rel="replies" title="Post Comments" type="application/atom+xml"/><link href="http://www.blogger.com/comment/fullpage/post/2781871311201882060/5902441377044532236?isPopup=true" rel="replies" title="4 Comments" type="text/html"/><link href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2781871311201882060/posts/default/5902441377044532236" rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml"/><link href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2781871311201882060/posts/default/5902441377044532236" rel="self" type="application/atom+xml"/><link href="http://puthujjanagirl.blogspot.com/2010/05/relationships-in-diagram.html" rel="alternate" title="relationships in a diagram" type="text/html"/><author><name>Unknown</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image height="16" rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" src="https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" width="16"/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" height="72" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5B4Ygay-vMkuWPHCPrtRXSh2e9VcVwXmmUAxRZaM21nL8hgqt-i0iRXY-PknfsB9IlCOBf6RWZ3FPvhaBNNfpIjpPIxmjh8_eWWev4UmbkladGITYs3obPx3PT_MfuNrtt3MPSMx4YgRJ/s72-c/bubble.bmp" width="72"/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2781871311201882060.post-6931758734564554830</id><published>2010-05-25T14:23:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2010-06-11T15:12:35.985-05:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="family"/><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="life"/><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="stroke"/><title type="text">chit chat with dad</title><content type="html">&lt;a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9TWXsGTVLP2OtPiDCpqcPlsoSpuEuFK83GCV9vq_loqTco2wiX-HAG8cVsSG5co7w-Y_DaItjz-7Disi2Qeu79L8ZM0IALbR6TmR73b2jDoYzqcvbZB1RvLEowPw2MTbJX8nlYIFLDBXk/s1600/2926900622_4a9ffb126a.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9TWXsGTVLP2OtPiDCpqcPlsoSpuEuFK83GCV9vq_loqTco2wiX-HAG8cVsSG5co7w-Y_DaItjz-7Disi2Qeu79L8ZM0IALbR6TmR73b2jDoYzqcvbZB1RvLEowPw2MTbJX8nlYIFLDBXk/s320/2926900622_4a9ffb126a.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5481611471065936402" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;on most days our phone conversations would turn into something like this.. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;me: so how are you doing? what have you been doing?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i feel a lot better. a lot. i think i'm all okay now. are you coming down soon?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;me:may be by the end of the year. i dont know yet. you still have to take your meds. you know that,right?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;they are taken of, i'm doing a lot better now. when are you coming down again?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;me:i dont know yet, may be at end of the year. i'll let you know okay?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i may start work again soon. did you send my stationary? oh i forgot to ask you..when are you coming down again?  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;me:but amma tells me you still havent used the stuff i sent last time.do you need anything else?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;oh yes, i forgot. ha ha. i forget a little bit. so when are you coming down again? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;sigh :(</content><link href="http://puthujjanagirl.blogspot.com/feeds/6931758734564554830/comments/default" rel="replies" title="Post Comments" type="application/atom+xml"/><link href="http://www.blogger.com/comment/fullpage/post/2781871311201882060/6931758734564554830?isPopup=true" rel="replies" title="0 Comments" type="text/html"/><link href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2781871311201882060/posts/default/6931758734564554830" rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml"/><link href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2781871311201882060/posts/default/6931758734564554830" rel="self" type="application/atom+xml"/><link href="http://puthujjanagirl.blogspot.com/2010/05/chit-chat-with-dad.html" rel="alternate" title="chit chat with dad" type="text/html"/><author><name>Unknown</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image height="16" rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" src="https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" width="16"/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" height="72" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9TWXsGTVLP2OtPiDCpqcPlsoSpuEuFK83GCV9vq_loqTco2wiX-HAG8cVsSG5co7w-Y_DaItjz-7Disi2Qeu79L8ZM0IALbR6TmR73b2jDoYzqcvbZB1RvLEowPw2MTbJX8nlYIFLDBXk/s72-c/2926900622_4a9ffb126a.jpg" width="72"/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2781871311201882060.post-7872313347155959186</id><published>2010-04-01T10:00:00.009-05:00</published><updated>2010-04-01T14:38:24.221-05:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="family"/><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="life"/><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="mother"/><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="trust"/><title type="text">amma</title><content type="html">Last time I spoke with her, I hung up on her. Something I never have done before.Well..may be just once. But I had to. I would have exploded otherwise. I didn't care who was around me, I lost it, completely. I wasn't mad, but I was really hurt. So much. Had I been mad, it would have been so much easier to digest later on ,but when you're hurt by someone you trust got your back, it bites. Is there another feeling worse than that? Don't think so. I didn't realize I was being so emotional &amp; crying my eyes out until my kids started to knock on the door. I was still a mess long after I hung up. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have always been the one to rescue anyone in my family, regardless of how much their actions have hurt me in the past. I was the safety net. I dont know how I eneded up with the thorny title, but I just woke up one day with it like an invisible tat.  I have lost count how many times I've acted on that. But somewhere along our family drama, I (my feelings)get overlooked &amp; taken granted. Probably an unconscious action on her side, but rather a doubtful one on my sister's side. I need her to show me she cares &amp; sympathize with my problems,just as much as my sister's hasty decisions have gotten them in the mess they are in right now.  I can't be the problem solver all the time. Don't I get a break? I would never be older for her love &amp; compassion too. How can she not get that?</content><link href="http://puthujjanagirl.blogspot.com/feeds/7872313347155959186/comments/default" rel="replies" title="Post Comments" type="application/atom+xml"/><link href="http://www.blogger.com/comment/fullpage/post/2781871311201882060/7872313347155959186?isPopup=true" rel="replies" title="0 Comments" type="text/html"/><link href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2781871311201882060/posts/default/7872313347155959186" rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml"/><link href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2781871311201882060/posts/default/7872313347155959186" rel="self" type="application/atom+xml"/><link href="http://puthujjanagirl.blogspot.com/2010/04/amma.html" rel="alternate" title="amma" type="text/html"/><author><name>Unknown</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image height="16" rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" src="https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" width="16"/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2781871311201882060.post-2589207571072159624</id><published>2010-03-03T12:30:00.010-06:00</published><updated>2010-03-03T14:35:36.085-06:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="childhood memories"/><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="family"/><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="sri lanka"/><title type="text">seeing ants....</title><content type="html">..tiptoeing a trail of some uninvited ants under a &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kerosene_lamp"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;kerosene lit lamp &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/a&gt;with my Dad. yes, now that I think back, that has got to be my earliest memory of my childhood. It was just after sun down and my Dad had found the ants crawling into a space in the kitchen and wanted to show us. I was probably around 3 years old, and my sister, barely a year older. I don't think we had electricity (or running water) in that house. Being so small at the time, I don't really remember all the details but it was very small with a built in &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lattice"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;lattice&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/a&gt; front porch. We were just thrilled to see the ants crawling patiently one after the other, and we just couldn't hide our excitement. Were they red or black ants? I wish I'd remembered, not that it matters. As we got closer to the end of ants trail, the flame of the lamp burnt the inside of my sister's arm. She probably winced in pain, the memory is so vague &amp; it's all patchy in my head so I don't remember everything now. She carried the scar well into her teens it would ignite our conversations over the ant story all over again. It was something we always connected without any effort, those moments were hard to come by especially when we were both teenagers.We fought an awful lot :( &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The only surviving pictures taken in that house are neatly stashed away in a family album back home in &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sri_Lanka"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Sri Lanka&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/a&gt;. My mom dressed beautifully in a &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sari"&gt;&lt;b&gt;Saree&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/a&gt; and looking so young &amp; pretty &amp; slim, my dad in pants &amp; a button down shirt and my sister and I dressed in look-alike dresses sitting on the bar in our lattice front porch, with the biggest grins we all could muster. Now it feels like a lifetime ago....</content><link href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kerosene_lamp" length="0" rel="enclosure" type=""/><link href="http://puthujjanagirl.blogspot.com/feeds/2589207571072159624/comments/default" rel="replies" title="Post Comments" type="application/atom+xml"/><link href="http://www.blogger.com/comment/fullpage/post/2781871311201882060/2589207571072159624?isPopup=true" rel="replies" title="0 Comments" type="text/html"/><link href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2781871311201882060/posts/default/2589207571072159624" rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml"/><link href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2781871311201882060/posts/default/2589207571072159624" rel="self" type="application/atom+xml"/><link href="http://puthujjanagirl.blogspot.com/2010/03/seeing-ants.html" rel="alternate" title="seeing ants...." type="text/html"/><author><name>Unknown</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image height="16" rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" src="https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" width="16"/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2781871311201882060.post-5192687273751460766</id><published>2010-03-01T13:11:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2010-03-01T13:11:48.404-06:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="family"/><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="life"/><title type="text">what matters the most?</title><content type="html">this quick post was prompted after a chain email i found in my in box. i ususally ignore emails of that nature but for some reason i'm going against my own rules. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
we spend our lives thinking way too much about the time we have left but we forget to live in the moment,live now. we get so wrapped up with storms in our lives, sometimes it's hard to see things with a real perspective. what matters the most to you? sure, for most people like me, its the loved ones in our lives. well if you haven't any, may be this will ground you to question yourself why. how would you lead a life that puts a great deal of emphasis on what matters? since i can't speak for anyone else, for me it would be making time for what matters. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
making those difficult decisions i have been avoiding in a round-about way and getting rid of ones that doesn't matter.that may not be always easy but it matters. whether we have 6 months or 60 years left, in the blink of an eye everything we think we have time for could be gone. makes sense?</content><link href="http://puthujjanagirl.blogspot.com/feeds/5192687273751460766/comments/default" rel="replies" title="Post Comments" type="application/atom+xml"/><link href="http://www.blogger.com/comment/fullpage/post/2781871311201882060/5192687273751460766?isPopup=true" rel="replies" title="1 Comments" type="text/html"/><link href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2781871311201882060/posts/default/5192687273751460766" rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml"/><link href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2781871311201882060/posts/default/5192687273751460766" rel="self" type="application/atom+xml"/><link href="http://puthujjanagirl.blogspot.com/2010/03/what-matters-most.html" rel="alternate" title="what matters the most?" type="text/html"/><author><name>Unknown</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image height="16" rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" src="https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" width="16"/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2781871311201882060.post-273301173121336570</id><published>2010-02-16T11:43:00.006-06:00</published><updated>2010-03-01T11:42:22.490-06:00</updated><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="family"/><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="forgiveness"/><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="life"/><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="mother"/><title type="text">catch up..</title><content type="html">I haven't gotten around to write much anything in a while. Much of what's already written down here hasn't changed a whole lot despite my best efforts , and so rehashing things didn't seem like a good idea. It also has a tendency to tear down my mental well being, so why go there? &lt;br /&gt;
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Well at least things are getting quieter back home, may be my last trip down there helped. My father seems a little more relaxed and aware. And surprisingly, doesn't act out as much. He still gets into occasional flare ups with my mother,but as the day dwindles he forgets them all on his own. And my mother appreciates these quiet nights. But it's hard not knowing when all this would all go away or if at all. Imagine living with someone like that 24/7? &lt;br /&gt;
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I'm sure this is not what she envisioned for herself when they first got married and even after all these years she still continues to ride it out. Her endurance &amp; unbelievable compassion is such an inspiration. She definitely has set the bar so high, now my kids have given me the chance to attempt to accomplish what my mother does very best, unconditional love. I don't want to fail.</content><link href="http://puthujjanagirl.blogspot.com/feeds/273301173121336570/comments/default" rel="replies" title="Post Comments" type="application/atom+xml"/><link href="http://www.blogger.com/comment/fullpage/post/2781871311201882060/273301173121336570?isPopup=true" rel="replies" title="0 Comments" type="text/html"/><link href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2781871311201882060/posts/default/273301173121336570" rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml"/><link href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2781871311201882060/posts/default/273301173121336570" rel="self" type="application/atom+xml"/><link href="http://puthujjanagirl.blogspot.com/2010/02/catch-up.html" rel="alternate" title="catch up.." type="text/html"/><author><name>Unknown</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image height="16" rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" src="https://img1.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" width="16"/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>