Freelance

Time.

Time does wonderful things. I’ve done a lot of healing these past few months. And yes misery loves company so at times when I’m venting I always have an ear or two to listen to me and my problems (miniscule ones at that!). But when it comes to my triumphs, I’m almost embarrassed to talk about them. Or ashamed even. I feel like no one wants to hear about it. I guess it’s almost the same way I feel about venting. Sometimes I have no one to turn to for them. There’s only so much people care about. And I understand that. 

But since it’s just me, myself, and I,  I’d like to talk about how far I’ve come today. This is the first time ever that I’ve felt this way. Over this year with _____, I’ve really healed and grown from it. And I’ve noticed it. Not to say there still isn’t progress to be made from the both of us, there is. But I still think I’ve come a long way. 

Trust.  One of the biggest things that I’ve gained from being with him. I definitely trust him a lot more than I used to. I don’t feel as insecure and scared that he’ll leave me. I don’t linger on to every word he says. I don’t put his replies on a ticking time bomb anymore. He’s proven to me time and time again that he’s not going to hurt me in the way I think he will. The way everyone else I was with did. He can’t guarantee us being together forever of course. I can understand that. But it doesn’t matter to me anymore. He gives me what I need now. And he makes me feel like its not forced because he seems to want it too. He calls me. He spends time with me. He messages me everyday. And I love it. I love the effort. I love that he’s just as committed as I am. 

We broke up a few months back. But even still we made no effort whatsoever to get over each other. Rather, we continued doing what we did best without the title. And it seemed to help at times. It would get confusing at times as well, it was a double edged sword. Ambiguity seemed to resolve some issues while also creating new ones. 

We got back together after the Kendrick concert in July. We’ve been pretty good ever since. We told each other that we loved each other very much. Despite everything that happened we still wanted to be together. And that meant a lot to me. I don’t know if he’ll ever understand that, or if he feels the way I do about it. But what I do know is I’ve finally been letting some walls down. I’ve started to get more comfortable. Less tense. Less defensive. I’m trying to be less sensitive but that’s a work in progress. And I feel like he’s learned to work around it. I’ve also learned not to pry too much if I know I’m not going to like what I’ll hear. 

Whatever we’ve been doing its been working. He loves me and isn’t afraid to show it. He’s finally started to open up more too I’ve noticed. He’s more affectionate. Less cold. And I know it’s not natural for him to do so but I love that he’s trying. He’s being genuine and I feel it. And I love the feeling. 

We’ve had the opportunity to really catch up and spend time together. Almost every single day since my mom went on vacation for a week. And then his parents right after. It was a beautiful thing. I know my sister didn’t like it all too much but all I know is those two weeks really helped me see that I really could live with a guy like him.

I guess that’s what I like most about this blog. I can say whatever I want. No matter how embarrassing or cringeworthy it is to say ouy loud. It feels good to let all these mushy romantic feelings out. I mean I’m cringing as I write them. But I’m also relieved that they’re out there now. Out in the open. Officially been said. 

I think about living with him all the time. And all I can think about is how happy we’d be together. We’d probably starve to death half the time but we would be happy. 

His thoughts on opportunity costs along with a conversation I had with another friend had me thinking though. I have always wanted to move out and live alone or with my boyfriend for a while. But would it be worth it? Would saving up for a down payment on a house be better? Would renting a condo in Toronto possibly have its opportunity cost at stake? The answer is absolutely. If I’m not thinking long term I could be putting myself in a financial mess. But can I just be living with my mom until then? I’m not so sure. I know she’s lonely but I need my independence and privacy too. If I get a good job perhaps I can handle that cost and manage to still save up for a down payment on a house while living on my own. I’d just have to wait and see.

That’s all for now. Only time will tell.

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Freelance

Wise Advice.

Advice from a friend that I was with today, something she told me almost exactly the same as something _____ would tell me. 

No one is perfect. You will never find someone who’s perfectly compatible with you. What matters is finding someone who’s willing to work with you despite the differences you have with each other. Respecting those differences and still wanting to work things out. You could fight with them everyday but so long as they truly care about you and are willing to do anything for you, those fights will pass. 

And she’s right. And so is he. They both are. And hearing it again from a person I’m not having sex with (ha ha) makes it easier for me to reflect on. Because I can see that now. I can see well and clear that more often than not, despite all my flaws, he still wants to hang out with me. And that means a lot to me. 

And I’m learning. And I will continue to grow and change to be a better person for myself and for my relationships with others. 

Note to self:

  1. Figure out what I want.
  2. Be more vocal about what I want.
  3. Don’t be afraid to take risks for what I want 
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Freelance

Everything

How I’ve been feeling, put more beautifully than I could ever do.

Virtual Vomit

It’s so strange

After everything that had went through my head

After everything I thought and said

It’s so strange

I look at you

or even just when I’m thinking of you

I feel like you don’t know me

or it’s a different me

The me that only shows when I’m with you

And there’s this huge lump in my heart or chest or…

I don’t know where exactly

but it’s been bugging me to crawl out

I can feel it in my throat now

And I need to take it out and give it to you somehow

It’s the urge to tell you everything and anything

The urge let go and come clean

The urge to want you to know every little piece of me

Why is that?

Isn’t that strange?

I guess it’s always been me to want people to know the whole story

No misunderstanding

Just equally…

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Freelance

Different. 

Something my neighbor called me today. Something I find both a compliment and a form of alienation. I love being told I’m different. Who doesn’t want to be different from the crowd? To stick out. To be noticed as someone that isn’t like everyone else. 

In a way, whenever you get to know someone they’re always different from what you’d expect. They’re always different once you hear their story. They’re different when you spend more time with them. Of course its easy to say I’m different. 

I never know for sure if people just say things like that to everyone, or if they actually mean it. And if they do mean it, what does it mean? How am I different from anyone else? 

It seems so lonely at times to know that I’m “different” but time and time again I’d rather be different than anything else.

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Growth, Perspectives

Guilt.

I’m so frustrated right now that I could gauge my eyes out. I’m burning with anger, and it might also be a touch of hunger. I’m sad. I’m annoyed. I want to cry from how many negative emotions I’m feeling but most of all I feel guilt. The worst feeling of all. The kind that makes my stomach churn acid into something sickly. Makes my lungs feel heavy. I hate it.

I try to laugh it off, I try not to care so much because otherwise I’d be sad all the fucking time. It’s so fucking annoying. I’m not a bad person. I have to keep telling myself that. But I keep feeling like I am. I’ve hurt my mom. Not intentionally hurt her. I haven’t hit her, I don’t abuse her, we don’t fight, I don’t swear at her, I don’t even raise my voice at her. So what did I do?

She found out something an Indian mother never wants to know. That their unwed daughter isn’t a virgin, and smokes pot.

GOOOOOODDDDDDDD HELP US ALL! IT’S THE END OF THE FUCKING WORLD. HER VIRGINITY IS UP IN THE AIR SOMEWHERE. IT’S LOST! IT’S GONE! IT’S FUCKING NEVER COMING BACK! SHE’S NOW THE HOUSEHOLD SLUT! SHE’S A DISGRACE TO THE COMMUNITY! SHE’S NOT THE WOMAN I RAISED HER TO BE! SHE’S A GREAT FUCKING DISAPPOINTMENT! WHO WILL MARRY HER NOW? WILL SHE MARRY THE ONE WHO FUCKED HER? WAS IT A BLACK GUY? IT’S PROBABLY A BLACK GUY. WHO FUCKED HER NO ONE KNOWS. WHERE DOES SHE GO LATE AT NIGHT? WHO KNOWS! PROBABLY SLUTS AROUND WITH HER LEGS WIDE OPEN AS SHE SMOKES GANJA ALL NIGHT LONG. FUCKING BITCH.

^ what my mom thinks of me in a nutshell. No exaggerations. And what can I do? How can I prove to her that despite those things, I’m still capable of doing many other things, the world hasn’t crashed down, I’m still in one piece, and! Believe it or not, I’m not a slut!

And what rattles my brain to no end is the fact that the only way I can get her to stop feeling this way is to succumb to her very old fashioned Indian traditions. And I’m sorry. I’m just not that person. I’m not insulting anyone that follows these traditions. In a way, I envy them. I wish I could just follow the path that my mom wanted me to lead. I wish I could just take every word she said as the only thing on Earth that is as true as the Laws of Physics.  But I can’t, and as offensive as it sounds, I find a lot of the traditions sexist, unfair, out dated, and not relevant to the country I’m living in right now.

There’s a fine line to this of course. Losing my mother’s culture. And that probably hurts her a lot. I’ve become what you could say as westernized. But I wouldn’t consider myself completely westernized at all. In fact, there’s a lot of culture I do embrace, there’s a lot I appreciate, and there’s a lot I’m willing to learn about it. But for a culture to tie me down as a housewife who tends to her husband the rest of her waking life is just not in my cards.

I don’t completely agree with everything in Western culture, there’s a lot I don’t agree with, and so I don’t follow that either. I honestly just do whatever feels right to me. I mix and match things I’ve learned along the way. If a Muslim person taught me something from the Qur’an that made sense to me, became something I agreed with, valued, and therefore started to follow. Have I lost my culture? My Indian roots? No. If a Christian person shared a passage from The Bible to me, and I also agreed with the lessons, and I liked what it had to say. Does that make me a Christian? No. If I read a book on Buddhism and valued the philosophies taught in that book and decided that I wanted to try to live my life according to those ideals, have I stopped being a Sikh? No.

At the end of the day there is a lot of overlap with religions and cultures all over the world, and why should I limit myself to any one thing? It doesn’t make sense to me. I don’t even know at the state of my relationship with my mom if I can even say I love her. And I feel guilty about that because I know I should love her. A child should love their mother. Especially with everything she’s done for my sister and I. She raised us on her own, and she never makes us forget it. Constantly guilting us if we don’t do things her way because she’s all alone and works day and night seven days a week. I have her whole sob story memorized, the same old story. She’s like a broken record. Just plays back the same old things over and over again. Never progressing, never moving on. Just focussing on the same old things and confines herself into a toxic environment that she tries to pull my sister and I in.

I got out of that whirlpool years ago. 10 years ago to be exact. I was 14 years old when I decided that the path my mom was taking was not one I was going to be happy with. I’m not saying everything she has ever taught me was wrong. She is the reason I am who I am today. She helped mold me, in her own way. Not necessarily a positive supportive motherly type of way, but in a way where she became someone I never wanted to be and tried to be someone else instead.

But even saying that is not entirely true. Because I also simultaneously wanted to be just as well-liked as her. Everywhere she goes she touches peoples lives. She makes them smile, she makes them happy. She brings them joy. She helps people. I do the same thing. Or I at least strive to. I think I’ve mastered it now, I’m just as charismatic as my mom if not more. Everyone that meets her instantly loves her, they treat her like an old friend. But her and I get used very easily because of how nice we are. We take people in like family, we trust them. And sometimes people take advantage of that. I also picked that up from her, and the only difference is, I can still change. I can still recover and try not to make those same mistakes.

I’ve learned from her mistakes. From the way she chose to raise my sister and I, to the financial mistakes she’s made, to even the way she gets used by some people. I’ve learned to stand up for myself and know my worth in the workforce. I grew some balls somehow and did it. I can’t completely credit my dad for that, but he’s been my rock in the background always supporting me and actually taking the time to get to know me and talk to me during my adolescence. He may not have been physically around, but without him I’d go crazy. I can say for sure I love my dad.

And that too makes me feel guilty. How can I love someone who abandoned our family? How can I love someone that made my mom suffer? How can I love someone that broke my mom’s heart? How can I love someone who wasn’t around when I needed them the most? How can I love him when I had a mother who fed me, paid the bills, put a roof over our heads, tried to do everything she could every single day for us. How could I love him and not her?

I’m tearing up now because this is tearing me apart. I feel so sad that I feel this way about my mom. It’s confusing cause I am fully aware of what she does for me and my sister. I know the sacrifices she’s made for us, and yet I feel no need whatsoever to mend things with her or even try to do things for her. I’m selfish. I’m a selfish bitch and I’m not a good person at all. How can people like me when I’m so mean to my own blood? How can I have friends when I treat my family like shit? Why does anyone like me at all? It’s all a facade. How can I be this way with my mom and another way with others? I’m stone cold to her.

I can’t talk to her. I clam up. We barely communicate. I don’t want to speak to her, I don’t like spending time with her – it always ends up in a fight eventually. I just don’t want to do it anymore I’m tired of it. I’m tired of the up’s and down’s. The only times we’re good is if I’m “compliant” to her rules.

Rules:

  1. Go to work. Come home. Never leave the house till it’s time to go to work again.
  2. Don’t go out late at night. Come home by 10pm. Any later than that and you’re a slut
  3. Don’t drink. Don’t smoke
  4. Do housework.
  5. Don’t talk on the phone unless you want to be eavesdropped on
  6. Never have sex before marriage
  7. Don’t date
  8. Don’t have a boyfriend who’s not Punjabi
  9. Marry a nice Punjabi guy
  10. Take care of your mother

When I write them down, they’re pretty straight forward. Not complicated. Not asking for much.

There are many things about those rules I agree with. I’m not a heavy drinker, never have been. I don’t smoke cigarettes they’re disgusting. I do smoke weed yes, but the minute I buy myself a vape, that will change. Yes I should pitch in and do housework. We all live there, we’re all a team. We gotta maintain the house together. I completely agree. Taking care of my mother: that’s a hard one. Mostly because of the time’s we’re in and how incapable she is of having any sort of self motivation.

The problem of “taking care of my mother” is that she expects us to do everything for her! Create a schedule for her to exercise, but not only that, we have to be there and exercise with her! It doesn’t sound so bad cause you gotta spend time with your mom right? But everyone’s schedules in the house is different. We work on different schedules it’s hard to coordinate. Somedays I’m tired, other days she is.

And now as I’m writing this, I can see myself being a whiny little bitch. How much effort does it take to spend a little time with someone that does so much for you? Even just watching one of her stupid Indian saga shows, or helping her exercise? I just have a complete lack of effort with her. I don’t spend even a single day of the week with her, my time gets consumed with everything else.

I go to work, I want to read, I want to be on my phone, I want to go out explore and enjoy my youth, I want to be with my favourite person, I want to exercise on my own time, I want to try new things, I want to watch different shows, I want to live in another country.

I have so many things that I want to do for myself that I get caught up in it and forget that I have a place to come home to everyday because of my mom. She irritates the hell out of me. She makes no sense sometimes when it comes to her cultural ideals. But she’s trying. And I don’t try at all.

I think my guilty conscious has been feeling this way because of it. Writing it down has really helped me see how stupid all of this is. All this anger and frustration over something so frivolous. Would all of this even matter anymore when she’s gone? No. I need to be with her while she’s alive. I don’t know how. I don’t know what I’m going to do. But I have to try somehow. I just don’t know when. Maybe I’ll come home an evening or two a week and spend some time with her. Just to let her know I’m still her daughter. I gotta fit it in my calendar. I only have one mom. And I can’t waste it.

Here’s to trying to lift that weight off my chest.

The last thing in my life that I need to make right before I’m truly on set to becoming a better person.

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Memories, Personal

Sunday at the Beach

It’s confusing. I try not think about it too much because sometimes thinking about it makes me dizzy. I go in circles and circles trying to figure out what’s going on, and eventually, I get tired of it and just enjoy it instead. I don’t want to understand it anymore, or try to think about what he’s thinking about, or what he wants from me, or what his intentions are, or why he does what he does, I can’t keep asking, and I can’t keep thinking, I just have to remind myself to enjoy it for what it is.

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