day 1

I am doing it. The unthinkable. Attempting what seems like the impossible. I am staying away from chocolate and cookies for the month of August. 31 full days. It’s not going to be easy but I want to see if I am able to resist temptation.

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you know you’re in unrequited love when….

Let’s revisit and old blog post of mine. I posted this on January 25th 2014. It is one my favorites.

I have never been in love. I’ve been in unrequited love many times but not in the kind of love where love is reciprocated. Never the kind of love where I’m one of the two people who are in love with the other at the same space time continuum. I’ve been in the kind of love where I fall first and stay in there waiting for the other to play catch up and love me back. It’s always been this way as far as I can remember.

Unrequited love is the only love I know. It’s a true pain. It hurts. It’s crushing. I hate the feeling of loving someone who doesn’t love me in return. Wanting someone that I can’t have, I wouldn’t wish this upon even my worst enemy. It hurts more than a paper cut, a stove burn and a scraped knee. More than the worst toothache, headache and tummy ache combined. I don’t know what could possibly be worse than feeling this way about someone, loving someone who doesn’t love you. When I hear myself say that I feel this way and knowing that he doesn’t feel the same way about me is humiliating. It’s fucking humiliating. Mortifying; falling in love and being stuck in love with someone who doesn’t share the same sentiments about you.

I try to rationalize my situation academically and think to myself that perhaps this is an ideal kind of love. That maybe an unrequited love is far better than a real love because I am in love with another, have given myself over to another while still in possession of my freedom. I am not confined nor enslaved by this love, I am the master in this relationship. Then it hits me, the truth; I am the slave. Emotionally I am enslaved to this master who is physically no where in my existential space but has this God-like omnipresent power over me. I can’t win. I never win. My heart and my academic mind both lose. I’ll admit. I want to be enslaved by him, I want to master him. I want to enslave him, I want him to master me. I want chocolates, Friday nights playing scrabble, text messages and wonderful exchanges of love letters. I want to mess up his hair, to tie him up and lick maple syrup off every inch of him until he screams because he can’t take it anymore. I want to taste the deliciousness of being wanted and adored.

I want my freedom crushed by his, I want to become his slave. I want his freedom to be crushed by mine and I want to become his master. I want to engage in a struggle to death both physically and emotionally and to resolve the inequality between us slowly and softly and come out with mutual recognition. We’re both self consciousness and conscious of the other. We’ll be two subjects and objects for the other who who will embrace the ties that bind us to our love day and night, night and day. With full knowledge and awareness that we effect the others freedom we’ll be ethically and morally responsible for one another and the world we are situated in. I want to maintain our individuality while occasionally getting lost in the other because it’s nice. I want to create meaning in this meaningless existence so I can bring meaning to the world while wearing socks and eating ice cream topped with colourful sprinkles. I fancy leaving existential isolationism for a while and experiencing intimate inter-subjectivity. Stay in bed for a few moments longer on a Saturday morning and play with his hair while he reads to me one of my favourite books. My academic mind has blended with the desires of my heart or maybe the desires of my heart has mixed with my academic mind. I don’t know, I can’t decipher between the two anymore. I don’t care to. This is what I want.

I’ve always been in the one sided kind of love and have hoped, pined and wished upon many bright twinkling stars in the dark blue midnight sky that it would one day turn into the normal kind of love. The one that everyone experiences, the kind that occurs in my favourite books and movies, the kind of love that artists paint, poets write about and when you have everyone envies. I want the happy love with meaningful and eager kisses and hugs that stop time, where he tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear and remembers the smell of my favourite perfume, with quiet moments in each others company drinking fair trade tea. Not the sad kind. I don’t want the sad kind that makes me cry on my pillow while holding my bear tight, making me wish that I was dead. I want the opposite. I’ve dreamed about this love coming true. Fantasizing about it has consumed me and every time I think that that there is the slightest possibility that it may have come true and I can hear him say my name; my morning alarm goes off and I wake up. I spend the rest of my day wondering what would have happened had I thrown my alarm against the far wall. You know you’re in unrequited when you can’t wait to go to sleep because your dreams are better than reality.

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apple crumbles

I know I’ll never be her because I am me but fuck I wish I was her.

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waiting for the bus

(Some of this blog post is slightly embellished and some of it is very real but still very embellished but still very real)

Today was my first day back to work after being on “vacation” for 12 days. I put vacation in quotations because it wasn’t exactly a vacation for me but it was for my parents. I worked 10 hours a day for 12 days straight while my parents went away to California and took a trip down memory lane. I was in a good mood this morning despite having my regular routine broken. I no longer had a car to get to work, I didn’t visit the Gurdwara and I didn’t walk into the coffee shop for my morning tea (that I take with 2 creams no sugar, just as a side note). I had to take the bus today, pack my lunch and leave the house an hour early. To accomplish all of this I had to wake up two hours before the time I would leave the house.

I picked up a free newspaper from a stand before I crossed the street to occupy myself and bring myself up to date on local affairs (and read my horoscope). Also because I didn’t want to stare at my blackberry bright and early reading today’s news because I didn’t want to look like the girl who is probably not reading the news but uploading a new selfie on facebook and scrolling down a timeline updating herself with everything she missed while asleep (I update myself first thing when I wake up while in bed, just as a side note). Nope, not me. So I pretentiously began to read my free newspaper.

When I got to my stop where I would transfer to get my second bus I got a text message. An unexpected text rather. My mind lit up seeing his name appear on my screen. But why was he texting me at this time of day? He was away on a course in Europe. “Sup?” he asked. (Yes, he said “sup.” I pretended that I didn’t notice that and told him that I was just waiting for the bus) We texted back and forth, I asked him about Europe. He told me that he’ll be back in a few days. “I can’t stop thinking of you Kiran.” I couldn’t believe the words on my screen. You can’t say that to me anymore! I thought to myself despite being ecstatic that he was thinking about me. I texted him asking him the time in Europe and put my my phone away.

I started to admire these freshly planted yellow flowers outside the church I was standing behind, thinking how the flowers resembled those in a garden I visited in India. When I turned around to face, careful not to be distracted by the pretty flowers and miss the bus my phone rang. His name appeared on my phone and although I was happy, was slightly nervous to answer. His voice sounded sexier on the phone than in person, maybe because we weren’t streets but countries apart. “I want you Kiran” he said mispronouncing my name. “But you can’t have me remember?” I snapped. “REMEMBER?” I emphasized. “I wish I wasn’t in Europe right now” he said. “Really?” I egged him on. I knew it was morally wrong to ask but I couldn’t help but wonder what else was on his mind. “What would you be doing here?” I questioned and then he went into detail. Mmmmmm my mind began to wander as his fantasy got the better of me until my conscience pulled me back into the reality that was my body standing waiting for the bus to get to work. The reality that he has other commitments.

Don’t stop him! pleaded my imagination but my moral judgement wasn’t having any more of this. Perhaps you’re forgetting that this isn’t right, you can’t do this!” I reminded him. “I know” he said “I know exactly what we’re going to do when I’m back”.

Why was I reminding him of his reality? Why did I care? Why would I distract his attention which was solely focused on me? He was in a different country, a different time zone. Whatever happens in Europe can stay in Europe said my imagination as it interrupted my moral compass which was telling me to wrap up the call. But what about me? I exist in Canada. Quick Kiran! What would Aristotle do?

“When do you come home?”

“I’ll call you” he replied.

P.S. Aristotle was a man before he was a philosopher.

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low on myself high on you

that’s it.

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this morning at 6am

When do you get the time to blog so much? he asked. I usually write as I drink my green tea and get ready for bed. It’s when I feel the most relaxed and comfortable to come face-to-face with my thoughts and myself. People are judging you by your blogs. He said. People judge me regardless I replied. Everyday. They judge me on my looks, the clothes I choose to wear and what I say. I’m not concerned. I don’t care. I am comfortable with who I am. You need to reinvent yourself he said. I am not Madonna I replied. This is a stage, I am an actor but I’m playing myself. I’m a multifaceted creatures living in a dualism. Trying to make sense of my physical and non physical elements that make up my being. A being that feels alienated and lonely and trapped in her body by her body and facticity. Coming to terms that I am finite and am heading towards an inevitable death and ageing is a process that I cannot stop, I cannot pause, I can only cover up with makeup and creams and slow it down with fruits enriched with antioxidents (like blueberries!). I observe. I think too much, I feel to much, I want so much! I analyze everything and I am overwhelmed by my freedom so much so that I crawl into queitism. I let time to take me places that I don’t want to be. I am in and out of my body every minute. A subject and object, my biggest cheerleader and my worst critic. I transcend and fall back to immanence. I fly and only have myself to fall back on. I am responsible for myself and you.  I’ve had my heart broken. I have been used. I have felt personal success. I’ve felt incredible highs and the harshest of lows. I know failure. I feel disappointment. I feel big. I feel small. I know happiness. I am aware that it is fleeting. I feel like I am wandering. I’m a walking contradiction. There are many elements to me (like there is to every one of us) but when I’m faced with my computer screen and my mind reflects on my body’s engagement to the world today, my fingers begin to type my thoughts and it becomes my blog post that you read. The themes are reoccurring. I miss India, I am heartbroken and I feel that I am beyond repair. Unrequited love seems to be my favorite. I am broken incapable of being fixed. I fantasize Karan Johar reading my blogs and turning them into a movie. I want to be adored. I need attention. I want attention. I also want to be left alone! But this is not all of me. This is the me that I am exploring on a stage that is wordpress. The me that I want to work on through writing. These are boring re-occurring themes that I apologize for continuing to explore when I could dive into other aspects of my life but perhaps I don’t want to share them with you. Does that mean that when you write about me it is boring? Absolutely not I replied. You make me want to write I thought, you’re inspiring but I didn’t tell him. (He is, he does what he wants). People don’t see what you see when you look in the mirror he said. OK, no more, you’re making me feel bad I replied. It was 6 am in the morning. We are more than what we appear to be. When I look at myself in the mirror I see a stranger. I sometimes think shes pretty and most of the time don’t want to look at her because I hate her. I want to look like HER. When I step out of my room the world seems to want to look at me and smile. To them I meet the physical criteria of beauty. They look, they wonder, they ask, they imagine, they touch, they lick, they’re aroused, they leave. For me Aesthetics is only a subject in which I got a B+ But I like the way you express he went on to say. You don’t have to like my blog, I replied.

He is a dear friend.

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this morning



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