it will be

Love will always the greatest mystery to me. How it feels to love, be recognized as the one loving and, be loved in return. I don’t know if the mystery will ever be solved, or if I’ll ever feel any of those things. I still have hope and Google to help me understand how love could feel.

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It was freezing and I wish I could say something cliche like, because I was with him I felt warm or he was my sweater or something but that wasn’t the case. There we were together on the most romantic day of the year after more than a month of resisting the temptation to contact him (and I’d like to assume he was doing the same to me)…..god damn my stupid job, I can’t finish this right now because I have work tomorrow. I hope I get robbed at gun point.

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I’ve got fantasies. Licking maple syrup off your body, magically waking up and being able to cook without ever having taken lessons or having practised (and always having all the ingredients present in the kitchen to be able to make whatever it is that I fancy that moment, because I suspect that there is nothing worse than knowing how to cook and not having all the ingredients to be able to do it), waking up to a neat and tidy room, walking into my room one day filled with red balloons, ordering breakfast in a 5 star hotel and eating it wearing nothing but a cozy white bath robe like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman, eating carbs, cheese and chocolates without gaining weight, getting a proper job where my brain activity isn’t reduced to that of a pea where I look good all the time because I work with only men (because I hate working with womyn) and don’t deal with the stupid (and smelly) public (which has shaken my faith in the entire public education system), becoming so famous that I have to use a fake name to check into hotels, having food appear before me by just staring at a picture of it real hard on my phone, being a daily double answer on Jeopardy, walking into a bar where I am greeted by my first name and then being asked “will you have the usual?” (where I will occasionally throw them off by ordering something new and then we all laugh at my spontaneity), making a difference on a big scale in the world (I haven’t figured out what I want to do but it will secure my name in herstory and give me many invitations to be a guest speaker schools), and getting a surprise email. I usually dislike unexpected anythings because they are exactly that, a surprise (and there is no way of preparing for it especially if the surprise it not in your favour) and there is always that possibility that the email could arrive at the worst possible time but in my fantasy there is no wrong time. Anytime is a perfect time even if it’s at the most dreaded time like at 12:30am in the morning when I am ten minutes into pleasuring myself.

After 3 minutes of fantasizing about him kissing my neck while he takes his time playing with my long brown hair as he tells me in his sexy voice how intoxicatingly nice I smell (and how he wants to change shampoo brands just so he can smell like me every single day), he works his way slowly down to my breasts with his mouth and then trails down further bringing his tongue to my tummy and coating me with goosebumps, he playfully bites me as I clench his thick brown hair between my fingers in disbelief that what I thought was unrequited love turned out to be the opposite! I picture him lying beside me softly saying my name and whispering endless sweet-nothings into my ear (making up for the 7 years I’ve heard absolutely nothing but the sound of my nose whistling while I sleep) where he suggests we play a game of Scrabble (with a great big dictionary by our side to verify if all the words I kick his mind’s ass in making so that he can make sure they are not made-up and a pot of green tea). After 2 minute of fantasizing about how fierce and smart I am going to look when I go up to the podium to reject my nobel peace prize for the blogger-of-the-year award and then become an expandable Wikipedia page and Twitter verified Tweeter (which will cause other verified people to begin following me like Shah Rukh Khan’s daughter, Sunny Leone, Prime Minister Stephen Harper, Richard Dawkins and Malala) and spending 3 minutes wondering the so many people hate Crocs, where Carmen Sandiago could be at this hour and 2 minutes debating whether I want to turn Monday into questionable-pizza-Tuesday or leave Tuesday as questionable-pizza-Tuesday because I don’t know what to take for lunch….and just like a sneeze the tingling intensifies into my 10 minute of self induced pleasure caused only by thinking about him. I naturally arch my back and contract my muscles. My toes curl as if they are trying to hold a paint brush to illustrate in abstract composition my body’s experience on the canvas that is my bed. My right foot running up and down my comforter as I clench my pillow tight unconscious (but I guess now that I am blogging about it I am conscious) of how my body still reacts to thinking about him dipping his fingers in me, holding my hand with the other, gently kissing my inner thigh and telling me with his silence that he has all night to wait for me even if that means he’ll have to skip breakfast (because that is a good estimate). And then it begins, my run to the finish line. The tingling of the sneeze about to take completion and achoo, I await for euphoria to take over my body where I can melt into a puddle of satisfaction. I await for my out of body satisfaction to be complete and to feel like a pig who has no idea that Plato’s writing exists when “ping!” my Blackberry chimes and I’ve got mail. This interruption would easily irritate me because there comes an age (in a female’s life) where you feel that you are going to run out of orgasms and right now I think it’s 29.

“Dear Kiran” it would read “you have just been nominated for the prestigious WordPress blogger of the year award by your fellow bloggers and readers!” Bringing me to a complete shock and probably the blow my mind has been waiting for. I would get up and turn on my computer wanting to see the email on a full screen and then text all my friends and tweet in excitement.

This is my ultimate fantasy. Actually it is more like the beginning of my ultimate fantasy, my entire fantasy has three parts. First, after replying to the email with the obligatory “thank you for the wonderful news (that I have been waiting my entire life on WordPress to read), it’s an honour to be nominated amongst the sea of wonderful writers and thinkers that inspire me to write at night and pressing send, the second part of my fantasy is to go shopping to find the perfect acceptance speech outfit. I realize that in an online honour there might not be a physical ceremony where Margaret Atwood presents me with my fancy trophy (when I win, not if I win because in my fantasy I am the winner) in the shape of a book and it might just be a telephone conversation but I’ll need to look good either way (because my level of self worth depends on it, sadly I could not accept a prestigious award over the phone if I felt that I didn’t look good). After gracefully accepting my award online and thanking almost everyone in my life for their lack of support, cynicism and criticism towards everything that I hold important and also thanking all the people who have read my blog and commented because they feel like they could relate to the musings of a 29 year old who feels sometimes like a 92 (for bladder reasons) and has yet to experience the life of a normal 16 year old, the last stage of my fantasy can take place. The last part of my ultimate fantasy is that I become a trending topic on Twitter because of my new WordPress celebrity status (which I am nothing more 25% flattered and 75% humbled by and on another scale believed 100% that I would one day receive before the age of 30). Print media does not have to write about me (but that doesn’t matter really because print is a dying source but they eventually will catch on and when they do I will have a two sentence blurb on the cover of Vogue which reads “from banking to blogging, how Kiran wrote her mind into the hearts of online readers” which features Taylor Swift followed by a 2 page spread on pages 14 and 15 about me) but every online media source will now have heard my name and people will flock to my blog to read what the fuss is about this girl with glasses, googling me to a point where I might be responsible (but not in the illegal charger-her kind of way) for breaking the internet and multiple (yes no just one!) publishers will contact me for a book deal (worth so much that I will finally be able to afford purchasing both a night and day cream and occasional taxi rides). My popularity could mean only one thing. All of my unrequited loves will know that I have made it! Some of them who know about my blog and (secretly) follow it will want to read it even more and those who don’t know I have an online celebrity existence will want to know about it. Googling my name to see what just happened overnight (but it was really took years). My blog will now be a saved website on their internet browser or saved in their browser history on their computer. These guys will read my entries with enthusiasm wondering which post is about them while their girlfriends are fast asleep. I will be in their phones! (which I am sure I already am). Hidden from their mediocre (whatever, this is my fantasy and it’s probably true) girlfriends who at this point want nothing but babies and are pressuring them to ruin their lives forever (dude babies are permanent shit man and they don’t look like they are worth it). I will finally be back in their heads where I belong. I will be the blogging Punjabi equivalent to Taylor Swift and my blog Tempted? Then take a bite will be 1989.

I am a loner, an observer of the natural and social world, an analyzer of information that I gather from my sensory perception and I could be non of these things if my childhood wasn’t so fucked up that I was made to make a comfortable home inside my head. When I say that I live inside my head I mean that I feel that I have always stood outside of the social and political reality despite being simultaneously embedded in it. Although I am a body that is physically present in my environment, I spend most of my time quietly viewing the world around me and picking up the nuances and complications of social relations that I see and analyze their implications instead of participating in them (perhaps that really means that my life is one big thought experiment). I have been introspecting and doubting my existence ever since I was a little child and the only good thing to come out of this is the development of my intuitive nature, my Masters in Philosophy (which I believe will cash out) and this blog. This blog has been my outlet to express what I see, what I feel and go through as an embodied female and brilliant thinker who happens to be wasting her time dealing with stupid people who do not understand elementary math and make poor financial decisions and or life decisions (or really smart ones rather, when they are able to prove to the government that they qualify for welfare or disability support despite being able bodied and more than physically fit to work) in exchange for money. I work at the bank, I am not proud of it, I don’t think anybody should. It sucks. Never trust a banker. Since I am the one writing my blog I have no way of objectively seeing myself without concluding based on the first three sentences of any one of my entries that I need to stand up and give myself a hug. Whatever. There is no such thing as objectivity anyway. Living in my head has been a contributing factor to my romantic outlook on life which has been the topic of many of my posts. While other womyn who have always actively participated in their existence get wooed in real life, I watch romantic comedies hoping that one day my life will be like a movie. I’m just a girl staring at a computer screen hoping that one day a tall, dark and handsome guy with great hands, who is smart, clever, witty and who likes to play Scrabble comes up to me at a Second Cup and tells me that he wishes he were the cup in my hand.

I have received positive feedback on my blog mainly from strangers on the internet and a few people in my offline life who I am comfortable enough in sharing my online existence with. I really had no understanding of how my blog reads to someone who is not me. I remember leaving work one day, the sun was out but there was a lot off snow on the ground, I walked to my car and turned it on to give it a warm up before I drove off. To kill some time I looked at my Blackberry and found 3 or 4 messages from a reader, someone who had recently stumbled upon my blog and wrote replies to my posts which made my life. He wrote: “It been only an hour since I’ve discovered you on the internet and I was hooked to your blog and tweets, it’ll be difficult for me to sleep if I don’t write something here”. In another message to me he wrote “I truly wish we have a book from you some time soon.” Another reply of his was: “no matter how cynical you might seem, you are an optimist at the core of your heart, at least that’s what I feel, you have a romanticism towards life which is very healthy, the problem is the fact that people who understand you would agree with you mostly and people who love you (family) might just toss you as an impractical person wasting life on issues which might make no sense to them.” Abhishek and me would exchange emails and messages back and forth despite living in two very opposite time zones. He understood me like very few people do online or in real life to a point where I didn’t have to explain myself and encouraged me to turn one of my blog posts into a script, to possibly turn into a mini movie, an idea that I could never envision from reading my post. Others have told me that I am a very simple and relatable blogger and that I draw them in with my ability to paint vivid pictures which transports them into my space. Some have told me that they don’t want my posts to end. A special friend of mine told me that she binge reads my posts and that my blog is something you’d want to read when sitting on your favorite chair with a cup of hot chocolate in your hand. And a very special blogger (whose work I highly admire and someone I aspire to write like who is sweet as apple pie) told me that he likes my blogging style and wants longer blog posts from me where I develop and explore my thoughts a bit more. I had one reader from New Zealand who practically went through all my posts and told me that she likes my candid and honest posts written in a diary style. My good friend David who also has a very popular and successful blog (whose writing and thoughts I also admire) told me that there are a few things I do well on my blog. “You are great at bringing people into your mind and sharing the uniqueness of how you see things. You sound like no one else and this is a core strength. You’re a thinker. You write well”. My friend Kris (one of the few in person friends I have shared my blog with) has been incredibly supportive of my blog, reading it up and suggesting that I quit the bank and pursue writing full time. If you’re wondering why I remember every good thing that has been said about my blog it is because I have gone more than half my life never having received compliments so when I receive them (which is rare) I usually write it down or repeat it in my head at least 10 times so that I never forget it.

I don’t know where I am going with this blog or where I will end up with it but I have a lot of things to say and posts on the way. I am grateful for those who take the time out of their lives to read my thoughts and I hope from the bottom of my heart that you never relate to some of the things that I write about.

(this is my fortune cookie from February 11th and a few days later and it came at the most perfect time)


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valentine’s day

More cupcakes!


except only I didn’t bake these myself. I went to the grocery store to pick up pizza and couldnt help myself from picking these up too. I love grocery stores this time of year because everything is splashed with pink and red and there are teddy bears and heart shaped balloons everywhere. But the best part of Valentine’s Day is the day-after-Valentine’s day when Valentine’s Day chocolate is 50% off.

The universe listened. Only slightly. “Happy Valentine’s day” he said as we began to drive off, stopping the car unexpectedly to kiss me. Despite knowing full well how bad we are for one another (friendship gone wrong because apparently I be so hot that he can’t help it and he be so yummy I can’t help it either) I couldn’t resist, his lips are so perfect and soft. I buried my nose into his coat, “you like the cologne?” he asked. “mmm” I replied thinking to myself how much I missed this familiar scent. There’s no point going through with this post because tonight was great, not perfect (like the kind of fuzzy sock wearing, scrabble playing, lick-maple-syrup-off-him-perfect but it was great).

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I love Valentine’s Day

Because it gives me a reason to bake.

IMG_20150212_220213Blue Valentine♡


I appointed myself as the head of the party planning committee at work which gives me some pleasure given that I work at the bank and hate every minute of it. I organized a Valentine’s Day-Day where everyone was instructed to wear red and bring in food and it was a success. I can’t cook so I baked a frozen tray of Mac and Cheese which was a creamy and gooey delight! And I baked these cupcakes yesterday and they were a hit!

I really love this day. Despite my cynical outlook on the world it is impossible for me to hate this day because I am grateful to live in a country where celebrating love with chocolates and candies and good food isn’t a crime punishable by imprisonment or even death like it is in other twisted parts of the world. Even if I have never celebrated this day with a love because all of my love is unrequited, I have never stayed away from the commercialized holiday and I am proud of that just like I am for never having had a facebook account and not using WhatsAp.


Candy hearts.

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My little sister, the smartest and brightest and mature 22 year old that I know experienced her first rejection. Choti just recently graduated university with a B.A. In Kinesiology and had applied to 6 post grad programs of which she was just informed she was rejected by 1. She cried. When I phoned her from work she told me the news, she explained how the reason that she was not accepted was because she did not pass an “aptitude” test. Which I understand helps weed people out but what a dumb way to measure competency. Anyways. I came home and tried to cheer her up. “I just want to get into the school in British Columbia!” she said “and find a job until September”. 2 hours later she received a call from an airline that she applied to and a call from medical office she applied to. Later that evening I suggested we get some cake to celebrate her rejection. “What the hell?” was said. I told her that she’s going to face a lot of rejection in the world (that I wish I could shield her from) and that this one will seem small in comparison. So instead of crying over it when we know she has yet to hear from 5 more universities let’s use her rejection letter as an excuse to eat cake!

At 9pm at night we drove to our local grocery store and picked up a Nutella cheesecake. When the young cashier asked us what we were celebrating I told her that my sister was rejected from a post grad program. She looks at my sister and smiles with her braces, “I hope your life gets better soon!” Choti laughed. “Thank you” she replied.

Rejection never tasted so good.



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Memories are just retreats, we turn to them to restore our shattered selves and come to reality a little more broken.

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