It’s 3 am in the morning and not only can I not fall asleep but I have to pee so badly! Why am I using my energy to tell my readers that I have to pee when I could just go to the washroom you ask? Well, I did. And then I saw a centipede! Holy fuck that blind ugly 100 legged shit runs fast but I saw it hide in the corner so now I have to sit here and pertend like I am the master of my bladder when I’m really not. I can’t believe I drink 3 cups of green tea before bed, well I can. Waking up to pee is my silent alarm clock.
it’s 2:30 am and I can’t fall asleep so I googled “almost 30 and no one has ever fallen in love with me” and the first hit was “I don’t think anyone will fall in love with me romantically”. My life is pathetic. It’s filled with meaningless but amazing kisses, and a broken heart that wont stop loving things it can’t have because it’s such a loser.
My co-worker is expecting. A baby. I had to add the baby part in there just in case you thought she was expecting a penguin or a sack of potatoes or something (because that’s exactly what would have come to my mind had someone not clarified for me. Readers you are welcome). She’s 5 months along and she is the most pretties pregnant womyn I have ever seen. She’s beautiful, radiant, has a petite frame and when you look at her from the back you would never think that she is pregnant but when she turns around, she has this baby bump. It’s just adorable especially when she puts her hands on it.
We work together almost every day and when I’m around her all I want is to be in her position, except only I don’t want the discomfort of carrying a baby, I don’t want the nausea and vomiting, I don’t want the doctor’s visits, I don’t want my favorite foods to disgust me, I don’t want the labour, I don’t want the stretched vagina and most importantly I don’t want an actual baby (I can’t decide what’s worse, the stretched vagina or the actual baby? And since I am asking a question such as this I am clearly not that jealous of her. And I don’t want a baby). So exactly what do I want? I just want the attention she receives because she’s pregnant (which I can’t get by stuffing my blouse with a pillow or something). I completely understand how crazy this sounds but whatever. Anyways.
We work together so we usually spend at least 5 hours a day sitting side by side. One day we were talking about baby names and she said that she wants a baby name that is unique, easy to pronounce and meaningful. She told me that her name means beautiful in Arabic. “My husband loves my name” she added. “It’s a nice name” I replied nodding my head and studying her perfection. My co-worker is the sweetest person I know, seriously. She is a bundle of happiness when she is not pissed off at management or something (and the only person I will ever throw a surprise baby shower for (I did it 2 years ago) and that means that I must like her because I hate showers and that goes for the daily ones required to fulfill personal hygiene. The only thing that makes my the water shower mildly tolerable is Body Shop’s strawberry shower gel which if you have not tried you must). “He loves it” she went on to unable to contain her smile. “He loves to say my name” she added.
I looked at her for a moment and thought. What is in a name? Of course (for all the Shakespeare enthusiasts) a rose by any other name would smell as sweet however a rose by any other name would be a different rose. Names are a meaningless convention given to individuals usually at birth for purposes of identification (because numbering them would be weird and could eventually become a mouthful like imagine referring to someone as one-billion-nine-hundred-thousand-three-hundred-sixty-six), but a person’s name is part of their personality, personhood and identity. Her name means so much to him because it’s her name, it refers to the womyn he is in love with, the only one he adores.
If he reaction to knowing that he loves to say her name is silly giddiness and smiles, I could only imagine how she feels when she hears him say her name.
She’s so lucky.
I really don’t know what to do anymore. I hate customer service. I hate people. I hate helping people.
just about every aspect of it. I hate it. I hate it all. I hope a disease finds me and hangs on to me, doesn’t let me go, consumes me and eventually kills me. This would sound way more romantic if I was talking about love but I’m not. Fuck my meaningLess, stupid, pointless existence. I want to die.
Diwali. Wow. My word processor didn’t underline Diwali in red to suggest that I replace it with similar words that it thought I probably meant to type such as dwell, denial or sidewalk (which only means that the tech world is really embracing diversity in an effort to improve keyboarding productivity and accuracy in high production work settings or in this case struggling to produce but still producing by sitting on a comfortable bed and drinking green tea infused with jasmine inspired by a broken heart and a mind that wont quit).
This year Diwali lands on October 23rd and will be celebrated by over a billion Indians around the world. Hindus will celebrate Diwali. Jains will celebrate the festival of lights to mark the attainment of moksha by Mahavir and the Sikhs will celebrate Bandi Chhor Divas. Diwali is traditionally celebrated by lighting diyas (oil lamps and candles), praying, eating delicious home cooked food and exchanging boxes of assorted Indian sweets, throwing and attending parties (there are a lot of Diwali parties). In essence this is India’s Christmas except only there is no mistletoe because kissing before marriage is forbidden, no eggnog because Indians generally prefer spiced tea or coke and also no wrapping paper because wrapping a present only to unwrap it and throw away paper makes no sense in our culture.
Diwali is less than one week away and it is one of my favourite holidays. It’s one of the most festive and beautiful times of year that is met in Canada with crisp autumn colours, pumpkin spice everything, falling leaves, on and off rain, warm fuzzy socks, red apples and a sharp cold in the air. As a kid I remember Diwali lights illuminating my parents’ home. Our house would be the first to be decorated with Christmas lights on our street. Colourful lights would be strung through and wrapped about our bannister, each step leading up to the main entrance would have a little tea light candle struggling to stay lit against the strong wind. My mom would spend her entire morning cooking and in the evening after sunset we would all sit and recite Rehras Sahib together and light candles. My Grandma always turns on the TV to the Punjabi channel and excitedly shows us the colourful lights they have used to adorn the Golden Temple, pointing at the fireworks which would reflect in the pool of holy water while the Aarti is sung.
I love this day. The colourful and happy celebration of the triumph of good over evil has been hijacked by capitalism and material culture. Diwali has been turned into a commercial holiday where retailers remind people each day that the countdown to Diwali is on and the time to buy presents for the special people on your list is running out. I have largely been unaffected by the need to shop for this day and I must admit that I feel very left out because shopping is now an integral part of Diwali celebrations. Each year I tell myself that next year will be different. Next year I will go out in the spirit of Diwali and get caught up in the hype of buying the perfect present for someone instead of staying at home sorting my unusually large collection of socks. After years of tea light candles I’m waiting for my first Diwali.