Work life

Someday, I think I will have to have the two-sentence-convo with one of my employers - 'You're fired.' 'You can't fire me because I quit.'. His sense of integrity is somewhat higher than his wife (another employer of mine), however, it hasn't quite reached the standard of 'nice' human beings. They run a tutoring centre, yet, the main thing they care about is the apparent satisfaction of the parents. They could not care less about the well-being of the students as long as the parents do not utter a word. These tiny minded people seriously need to get out and experience the world a little more. They need to see that not everything in life is paid for with those colourful plastic stuff.

Having said that, I do quite love the colourful plastic stuff I get at the end of the week. Although, I need to revisit my list of wanted possessions or experiences, otherwise, I feel like I am saving up for nothing. I wish I was one of those people who indefinitely save, and when a calamity strikes, digs into their large pocket without a worry. Or those who save up for something that they want to do in five years time. I struggle to save for something I would like to do in five months! Here's a tip for bad savers: Do NOT use your bank account unless necessary. Every time I have some extra money in my bank, it seems to disappear within the next few days. The best method of saving in our family is to put the money in an envelope and give it to ma. She is an extremely disciplined person, so we can be quite sure our money is safe; and the simple act of putting it in the envelope myself gives my mind some peace and satisfaction.

Since I started tutoring a lot, there is a few changes that I noticed within myself. In certain situations, I can be very sure of what I want. I think this developed because children need definite answers - if I don't tell them what I want, they won't know. And because I have a position of authority, they are mostly willing to accept whatever demand I have. When I see the results of their work, it makes me a little more confident in asking for what exactly I need them to do. For example, after teaching fractions to a few kids, I have worked out exactly which approach to take, what to teach them first and what their level should be. Once you do that, the rest of the job is pretty easy. They look at you with awe - how can you know so much? :)

When teaching children, the best thing to do, I find, is to have complete confidence in yourself. Only then, are you qualified to assure them that they are able to have confidence in themselves, they can try doing whatever it is they do and that they will definitely succeed (eventually). If you don't know something, say, 'I don't know', with complete confidence, and smile. This actually goes for slightly older kids too, because, at the end of the day, you are the teacher. Of course, along with that, there needs to be honesty, humour, love and warmth. But without giving that vibe of confidence (even if you don't feel it), none of that really ties in together when teaching children.

However, the same logic does not really work in real life - not to the extent that it does in the classroom. It may come off as condescending, or controlling. The trick is to leave work at work and leave personal life wherever it lives. I am yet to master the trick.

Someday, I need to privatise this blog. Any future employers would take one look at my flaws, and run for their lives.

Cleverly done

How many times must a man look up before he can see the sky?

This morning, as I made a cup of coffee (quite elaborately, with my new frother), my mother gave me a mixed look of extreme love and a little sadness, and said, 'I worry about you. You don't take life seriously at all.'. That made me laugh and love her a little more. However, as I thought about it later (over the coffee), I realised she is right. I have these sudden bursts of energy when I feel like I want to accomplish great things in life and I dive right into it. A few days (or hours, or minutes) pass by and I lose half of my interest. I need a specific and a definite direction to my life.

I am experiencing a very beautiful set of moments now. Through my netted window, I can see the swaying yellowing leaves of the tree with bright red flowers. Through the yellowing leaves, I can see bits and pieces of the blue sky. The soundtrack to this moment is an acoustic cover of Bob Dylan's Blowin' in the Wind. This song is one of the soundtracks of Forrest Gump, and surprising yet true, I haven't seen the movie yet. However, I plan to do so in the next holidays, in a sleepover, with a box of chocolate. The way I see it, yes, I need to take life a little more seriously, but why take it too seriously? There will be plenty of time later to pay the bills, work because I have to, cook because there's no one else to do so, be responsible for more people than just myself. Not just later - from next week - uni is going to start again and I will be up to my neck with studies, teaching, people, 8-to-8 schedule etc etc etc. But, right now, I can just look at those yellow leaves and imagine the smell of sunlight without a worry. Alhamdulillah.

My sister told me something a very long time ago. Every person sees you through a window. It is often up to you to decide how wide you want to open those windows. Your family, or the closest people to you, the people who see you the most - have the biggest, clearest windows. Everyone else just looks on through tiny spaces. For example, some of my friends think I am extremely active, doing useful things all the time, I think logically and my life is almost perfect. Some other friends think I am sluggish, I waste a lot of time, I can get quite emotional and they thank God for not living my life. However, it is extremely hard to choose which friend to open your window wide for. One of my best friends just told me something the other day, something that she didn't tell me for a very long time, because she was afraid of how I would take it and what I would do with what I hear. Of course, the fact that she told me, pulled us together closer, but, it could have gone wrong. Moral of the story: Take care when opening windows. A dagger might fly through.

'Yes, how many years can a mountain exist
Before it's washed to the sea?
Yes, how many years can some people exist
Before they are allowed to be free?
Yes, how many times can a man turn his head
Pretending he just doesn't see?
The answer my friend is blowin' in the wind,
The answer is blowin' in the wind.'

Frothing, parenting, teenaging and mistaking

I only mentioned it in my last post, but did not elaborate. However, I think it is something that is worth elaborating on - my frother. It is as amazing as it sounds - it froths! Currently, I am trying to work out how to maximise the froth. The most amazing thing is, it costs only $2.99. A small, cheap cappuccino (only to be found at universities because the coffee makers know how broke most of us are) costs $2.80 and it only lasts about ten minutes, twenty if I am concentrating extremely hard. This frother will (iA) be with me for a very long time, if not forever. :)

I taught my first high school classes yesterday at the coaching centre - science for years seven to ten. The year eights didn't turn up at all, and there was two, three and four people in each of the other classes. Nevertheless, it was nerve-wrecking when I was walking up to the centre because I am well and truly aware of how high school kids tear up and munch on new teachers. One of the other teachers informed me of some dreaded students, none of whom were there today, thank God! I am not exactly sure if they will call me back because this is the time slot that I was rejected from, for my Hijab. Interesting fact: my manager's son is in the year ten class. I don't think he is as racist as his mother, but I could see some alienation in his eyes at the beginning. I hope he does not grow up to be like her.

Being a parent is such a huge responsibility, in not just providing for the children physically, but also being there for mental support. Just the other day, I found out that three of the people I went to high school with has already become mothers. I am not quite sure how many more are there. When I hear about these people, I wonder how they do it. It is one thing to take care of yourself, and it is a completely different thing to take care of another person almost constantly. You have to be a constant role model, there is no break, no 'switching-off' period. Any little thing you do can potentially be picked up by the tiny person and followed. When they see racism in you, they have a chance of growing up to be the next Pauline Hanson. When they see unhealthy habits, they might increase those statistics about obesity in your nation. When they see confusion, they may turn towards depression. At the same time, you can't fake it, because, if they see dishonesty, there is a great chance that they will turn against everything you want to stand for.

I have been extremely lucky. I was born to a mother who knows how to be almost perfect, someone who knows how to have almost no flaws. She was a conscientious mother right from out childhood. Although I did not undergo the restrictions that my older siblings went through (they were not allowed to touch the remote control or open the fridge without permission - this made perfect sense in their context, even though people nowadays will probably shudder at the thought), I did live a pretty protected childhood. I was reminiscing such things with my primary school best friend LS the other day. She still remembers how my mother talked to my teachers to take me out of certain sex education classes, because, at eleven, those probably would have corrupted my mind, rather than cleaning it. She made sure I prayed duhr at school, made sure that the teachers knew my prayer times when I went to camp and even told the teacher that I cannot take part in camp disco in year five. I didn't end up going to year six camp, and now that I think about it, I think it was good. My mothers kept me protected for as long as she could. Yes, that meant that I never knew that certain parts of the world existed. It meant coping with being bullied in for about a year and not knowing what my friends mean when they refer to certain analogies for the next few years. However, it meant that my mother did a terrific job and I actually had a healthy, happy childhood before those teenage years.

I think my parents tried to exercise similar controls when I was a teenager too. They tried their best and I cannot thank them enough for doing so; and in fact, I really don't know what the best way of handling teenagers are. One of the seven types of people who will be under the shade of Allah's throne on the Day of Judgement will be a 'youth who grew up in the worship of Allah'. And when I look back to those years, I can completely understand the wisdom of this hadith. Being a teenager and growing up in a society full of fitnah is extremely difficult. I think its because when you are a kid, your world is pretty limited. You only see yourself and what is immediately around you. When you are an adult, your world expands a lot and you can put things into perspective. However, in that middle time, when your world is in the process of expanding, you go through an extremely confusing state. You realise that happiness is not just about getting that red balloon or snuggling up to your mum when she comes back from work. You realise that people are not satisfied with just a handmade birthday card. You start to realise that the world is in fact big and often pretty bad, and you are not quite sure if you should join them in their ways, or stick to what you are taught.You start to make your own decisions about things you shouldn't, because your society tells you that you can, even though you are not equipped with the intellect or knowledge to do so.

So, when I see friends or friends of friends beating themselves up over their bad choices, going through depression, leaving home forever, turning to alcohol and sex, being afraid of all men because of one certain incident or turning to suicide because they think there is no way out, I really don't know what to say. It takes a really strong person to hold a person together, a person who tends towards such things. And after such a thing happens, it takes really strong people to survive it. I am extremely grateful that my parents never let me make mistakes that I would regret for the rest of my life. Yes, I did make mistakes, and a lot of them too. But, I am thankful that (hopefully) they all taught me something new and that I did not take any drastic measures to escape the pains of the mistake. I hope lesser and lesser people in the world experience such measures.

P.S: I started off with talking about my frother and I honestly have no idea how I ended up in such a morbid topic. Apologies for ruining whatever part of the day you are in, however, I do hope that you use the take-home message from this the next time you come across a troubled teen. :)

Freedom

Freedom feels like smelling those eight fresh roses that your best friend gave you on your birthday. Freedom feels like walking in the lightest of rain - being touched by it, but not becoming wet. Freedom feels like tasting that first sip of water after a long day when you've forgotten to take your water bottle. Freedom feels like watching the ocean break its waves on enormous stones. Freedom feels like listening to a baby's heartbeat while she is still in her mother's womb.

Freedom is giving your thoughts some place to breathe. Freedom is turning over a new leaf. Freedom is quitting looking for signs and creating different ones yourself. Freedom is when you can finally wrap your past in thick wrapping paper and store it away forever. Freedom is when you realise that the future has many possibilities, and you are the sole human owner of it.

But its raining, raining in my heart

The holidays have flown by so far and I know for a fact that the rest of it will do the same. There is something to do, some sort of an event, every single day. I was looking forward to this week because I thought that I could finally spend some time just with myself, sorting out my thoughts, cleaning up my act. However, due to a lot of procrastination on my part and a little lack of co-operation from the rest of the world, I have not been able to. When your brain is suffocating, your thoughts have no place to breathe, and they get agitated. They push your negative emotions to their ends and drive them overboard. A small matter can attract a huge outburst of anger, making the situation much uglier than it should have gotten. Then the situation just gets awkward.

Its drizzling ever so softly outside my window. The rain drops are making perfect forty five degree angles with the window sill (correction: I just took a photo, and they actually are more scattered than it looks from this perspective). I am listening to a Tagore song that I first heard a few days ago, and have been trying to remember yesterday. Yesterday, we went out as a family after a very long time. It was raining then too, and we were trying to remember rain songs, and after failing after a while, just any nice songs that we know. We went to a beautiful place and just relaxed for a while.

I got a frother yesterday. This morning's coffee actually had froth on top, like coffee at a coffee shop. Now I am sleepy. I do realise that this blog often (nearly always) becomes something like Rebecca Black's Friday. However, when I have nothing to say and feel as brain-clogged as I feel right now, recounting events is what I do. Apologies.

However, I shall leave you with one of my favourite songs. I have loved this song ever since I listened to it carefully and figured out what most of the words mean. It would be a perfect proposal song, or the song for a marriage anniversary when an old couple decide to rekindle their love. However, I do not like the video that this person made for it. It would have been much better with bangla letters and possibly a bit more effects. I found a better video, but it wasn't sung by Srikanto, and I did not like the way it was sung. It also had an english translation, but I did not like that either. So, I attempted to translate the song myself. Gave up halfway, as usual.

I suppose I can tell him,
On a day like this -
In such pouring rain,
I suppose I can open up my heart.
Under the heavy clouds,
As the raindrops fall
In the windless darkness;
I suppose I can tell him.

The words that are only for his ears
Will pass my lips, breaking the silence.
With him across the table,
We will reminisce shared sadnesses
As the rain pours down endlessly.

Not another soul would exist,
Our realities would disappear,
The clutters of life will become lies;
We will speak through our eyes
of the words of our hearts.

Follow up

I was going through my blog and I found this:

http://lamzblog.blogspot.com/2005/11/you-are-13-years-old-hey-its-close.html#comments

So I went to the source of my knowledge and did a quiz of similar sort. Back then, I was fourteen and a half.

Here is my result now:

http://www.blogthings.com/whatagequiz/results/?result=20

I turned 20 exactly two weeks ago. Am I that typical? :|

As it turns out, five minutes later I do a quiz similar to the second quiz in that old post.

Here is my result:

http://www.blogthings.com/whatgenderisyourbrainquiz/results/?result=73

In the last 5.5 years, I have increased in femaleness by 3%. :)

One of those rants

I had brunch with my best friend from primary school at a chocolate restaurant a few days ago. At times, I found myself wondering why she still wants to keep in touch. Her intellectual capabilities are obviously much higher than mine, we have grown to grow up in completely different contexts and we are looking for different things out of our lives. Yet, the whole day turned out to be great. We reminisced about the past, laughed about our childhood crushes (well, just mine - she was a practical kid who didn't waste time daydreaming about and analysing actions and words of random boys, although she did agree to analyse my crushes with me; come to think of it - I still don't know if she ever had a crush on anyone yet!) and talked about the present and the future. Yet, a lot of the times, I felt that we failed to understand each other because we were not on the same page with things. This is something that did not bother us much because our connection was that we were best friends when we were eleven, and we both understand that we will never return to that time.

I think I might have broken the trust of one of my best friends without even realising it at the time. Then I did it again, and I might have done it the third time. How does one girl make up to another girl? I have no idea. It is harder to deal with this because I am not quite sure if my apologies were real enough or if I have even done something wrong. I will not get to see her for over a week, and I not sure how things will be afterwards. She is one of the absolute best friends I have ever had, and it would a shame to lose her. I think I vaguely understand her cautiousness though. She has felt betrayed by some of her closest people about a certain issue, and she will not let it happen to herself again. I wish she would just talk to herself completely honestly and figure out what she wants first, then just come clean completely. 

Another friend is possibly very annoyed with me too. Her issues are much bigger than anything I have ever faced (or wish to face in the future). Even though I thought I could help when we first started talking, I realised I cannot deal with it. (Dejavu, L?)

I guess the problem with both of the situations above is that I do not know myself very well. If I did, I would be exactly sure of my capabilities and intentions and make it clear to others too. I guess 'I am unwritten, can't read my mind, I'm undefined. I'm just beginning, the pen's in my hand, ending unplanned.' Ah Natasha Beddingfield. She says she 'threw some chords together, needs some help, some inspiration, but its not coming easily'. As if!

The amusing thing about a lot of us is that we obsess about the future, yet, we do not even know if it will come. We worry about what is to come, we dream about the possibilities, we calculate the implications of the decisions we made or were made for us in the past. Yet, we do not even know if they will pay off.

I watched one and a half romantic comedies in the recent past - He's Not That Into You and High Fidelity. I gave up after watching half of High Fidelity, although, I did like one quote from the very beginning: 'What came first, the music or the misery? People worry about kids playing with guns, or watching violent videos, that some sort of culture of violence will take them over. Nobody worries about kids listening to thousands, literally thousands of songs about heartbreak, rejection, pain, misery and loss. Did I listen to pop music because I was miserable? Or was I miserable because I listened to pop music?'

And yes, I do feel a tad miserable today. And I wrote a pop song. FG gave me eight very fresh roses on the 11th. Eleven days have gone and they have become droopy. Though they smell quite horrible (must chuck soon), they have this certain saddening beauty to them. I wrote a pop song (slash poem, whatever you want to make of it) after coming up with the first two lines about these flowers.  I also have a tune in my head, but unfortunately (or fortunately) the out-of-tune tune will not see daylight and be heard by public ears.

The roses have dried

They are drooping to the floor

My eyes have cried

Some of my heart tore.

I waited for that knock

I waited for your call

No one  came by

And I began to fall.

Do you remember

The days of our laughter

Do you remember

Days of perfection

Do you remember

That morning after

The way your heart lay on mine

We noticed every sign.

Those days are gone

Not looking through

Rose tinted glass any more

There were new dawns

New ways we washed up on

Different sea shores.

Yet, our memories are there

Pieces of happiness stored somewhere

Do you remember

That morning after

The way your heart lay on mine

We noticed every sign.

Illusive

You yearn to breathe in their scent, your fingers grapple to touch, you listen intently for any of their signs. They make your heart beat faster. They put a smile on your face. They force you to close your eyes and enjoy their view through your mind. 

Yet, you feel cautious. How many times does one linger near fire after being burnt, regardless of its warmth and vividness? 

Beautiful words bear no meaning beyond what they appear to be. They are not real, nor do they depict reality. There is no way of testing their honesty. No way of knowing if what appears to be innocent is indeed it.

Baking

My mother is now on holidays from her work. However, being the superwoman that she is, she does not usually take 'holidays'. She has been constantly working around the the house - preparing amazing meals for us every night, cleaning the house, organising cupboards, supervising reconstruction of the backyard and every other possible thing that needs to be done. In one of these endeavours, she discovered that we had a little under a kilo of dates hidden in our pantry. Food that should have been used a long time ago.

Therefore, the duty fell upon me to use my famous sticky date pudding recipe to further rescue the fruits. (PC readers: The recipe is not 'mine', I got it from here.) Every time I bake something, or cook something, or try to create anything for that matter, it is always an adventure. I never really know how the end result with turn out - disastrous or heavenly. So far, the best method that I found to control the unpredictability is to make dua for the sake of the people who would consume it. The best method of stuffing it up is to get smug about my abilities.

Last Eid, the only time that my friend Ana (now the proud owner of Des'ree Daily Desserts) visited my house, I had a sudden urge to bake some sticky date pudding. While I prepared everything with immense enthusiasm the day before, I realised that we didn't have any self-raising flour at home. The old trick to overcome that is to mix plain flour with baking soda. I figured I knew everything there is to know about baking and I just chucked a whole lot of baking soda along with the measured flour. I thought it would give it 'extra rise'. That was also the first time that we used the oven in our new house (its fan forced, so we need to make the temperature 20-30 degrees lower than it is said in recipes; but we didn't know that). I mixed all the ingredients, shoved it into the oven, and checked on it about half an hour later.

They had a rather tragic ending. The puddings burnt to blackness (looked quite good though, looked like chocolate) and retained no shape whatsoever. I also happened to be fasting during that time, so, it was not until much later that I realised how horrible it turned out. My mother suggested that I ball them up into little round things, so that their current shape would not matter. It took me hours to do so, and when I finally finished putting the last piece into a plastic box, it seemed to weigh like a rock. I should've probably guessed the enormity of my stupidity right then. I didn't.  

SB was the first one to taste it during Iftaar. At that time he was concentrating on getting accustomed to different taste of certain food from other cultures, so when he popped one ball of pudding in his mouth, he said something like 'interesting'. So the rest of us decided to try some too. It tasted like a mixture of dry coffee, cement and possibly some other unimaginable things.

So this time, when I mixed three recipes worth of dates with the rest of the ingredients in a bowl that was nearly not big enough for it, I felt truly helpless. It was supposed to feed 20 people (according to the recipe), and I really could not bear watching another part of my confidence droop to nothingness. So, I made dua so that it turns out well for the sake of the people who would have to eat it. 

I had some with my coffee this morning. It actually did taste quite divine (and it does not look too bad either)! Such is the power of prayer, peeps. 

Shomoresh

Just finished reading yet another depressing novel written by Shomoresh Mojumdar. Of the books I have read, most of them have been about a person (or people) who have been some sort of a victim by another deceptive fellow human being (or beings). This one was about a middle aged man who derives sexual pleasure from violent attacks on women. He basically starts off by being extremely romantic and a perfect gentleman, who also happened to start a business to help the middle-class population. Everything was going well for a few months - the couple were engaged, the business was flourishing - everyone was happy. However, at about the tenth last page, his forshadowing (real) character became clear to her and the rest of the people. Having said that, the novel was unpleasant right from the beginning. Every single character had some sort of a moral issue, and most of them were victims of others' moral problems too.

SM's novels are of those that you cannot put down once you have started reading them. Yet, you cannot enjoy it completely because it describes situations so corrupt that you almost lose hope in humanity. The occasional sweetness that you come across every now and then gives the impression that all the problems have disappeared, yet, when the twists and turns get worse, it feels like that is all there is - bleakness.

Time to read something uplifting.

Girls and the Goodbye Round

Goodbyes are very awkward, as NCho pointed out the other day. It was raining, I was wearing a long dress (as usual, it needed to be shortened, therefore I was holding it up (un)gracefully) and both of my hands were occupied with things. We were standing under open sky and talking to FG and her group of four or five friends for about five minutes. It took us five extra minutes just to say goodbye, because it involved hugs, see-you-laters, take-cares, lets-meet-up-sometime-soons, byes and more hugs. Since the cycle of goodbye returned back to the hug, a danger of beginning another round of goodbyes arises. Which in turn became awkward. Which NCho just had to point out to me a few minutes later, and thus, I have been noticing it ever since. Today, HS introduced me to her friend P. And an hour later, when class ended and I was departing from them, the whole round of goodbyes started again. This is especially long when there are a group of girls who are all equally close friends, thus, all of whom deserve the whole round. (Thankfully, P happened to be a guy, and so, escaped with just a nice-to-meet-you, see-you-later and bye.)

And since I have watched too many episodes of HIMYM, I seem to want to label every theory of mine. Therefore, I dub the above as falling under the theory of The Goodbye Round. 'Tis truly a dangerous phenomena when there about ten girls. Its more of a dangerous situation when there are ten girls and one guy, the latter of whom is forced to just smile awkwardly while the others share those moments of (pseudo?) happiness. 

The other interesting thing is that we (ie: girls) tend to be more affectionate towards each other, even if we are completely and utterly straight. We use a lot more hugs and kisses, and express our love with varying words (depending on how bored and creative we feel.) (P.S: This goes out to one of my favourite girls who always expresses her love in elaborate ways - miss Worshipper. :P Although... I am not quite sure if she will come across this any time soon...)

I have my psychology midsem tomorrow. Maybe I should do a bit of studying instead of applying intuition and coming up with (amazing) theories. 

P.S: It is only the 14th and I have already posted nine times. The addiction of recounting what-happened-today must be returning to these fingers. :(

Arts and Annoyances

I am sitting in one of the most beautiful places at uni. It has a little fountain, many trees filled with absolutely green leaves, some with pink or red flowers; and it is surrounded by one of the oldest buildings at uni on all four sides. There are brown park benches here and there, with a silver sign on each: 'NO SMOKING. VENTILATION AIR INTAKE IN THIS AREA.' Ironically, as soon as I read the sign, I smelt smoke. Looking around, I found a man smoking away (slightly guiltily?). I think I frowned at him frequently enough - he stubbed his cigarette and left after a while. There's a nice breeze blowing now. I am listening to a not-so-famous band playing a song called 'niyom bhangar gan' (direct translation: rule breaking song). It has some really nice imageries. The first few lines can be translated to something like this:
Clouds are travelling to the land of the ocean,
Ocean waves are travelling to your place,
I say, damn this rain!
...
Okay this is not working. I shall paste the actual words:


মেঘেরা চলেছে সাগরের দেশে,
ঢেউয়েরা চলেছে তোমার ঘর,
আমি বলেছি, ধুৎছাঁই বৃষ্টি!
সূর্য্য আকাশকে করেছে আজ পর

পিকাসোর ছবি, লোরকার কবিতায়
আজ কিসের যেন ছন্দপতন,
এই বাড়ি, এই গাছ - কিছু থেমে নেই আজ
রাস্তা বইছে নদীর মতন।

If you cannot read the above, yes, you are missing out. This just made me realise yet again that one language can never substitute for another. I really have to start learning that language that I have been wanting to learn soon!

There are flower petals scattered around this brown bench.. Totally missing my camera.

I have made a new start on self-discipline. For possibly the billionth time. Amongst other things, I have decided to spend no more than ten minutes on Facebook everyday. Since it has only been three days since I made this decision, I am not yet quite sure about how I am going... however, I would like to think I am being great at being a 'grown-up'. :P

So, the day that I turned twenty went something like this: wake up, do some things that I cannot even remember any more,  rush around the house while A&SB get ready to leave for a week, lunch, mop most of the floor downstairs because the tiles-guy left dust everywhere (it has been three days and my entire body is still hurting!), eat, sleep.

The gifts that I received were all very nice surprises! I think the fact that I keep reiterating my love of surprises helped. :D
- An album filled with 'my-type' songs
- I found out that the core price of my laptop will be paid for my my brother and sister, as suggested by my lovely mother! She initially suggested it to be paid for by one of my siblings, while the other gives me something else. I was quite surprised, and extremely grateful! (even though I think it didn't show in my face... they looked a little confused.)
- Two beautiful photos were dedicated to me on facebook, one by FG, who now definitely knows what my favourite flower is; and the other by CJ - the amazing photographer friend of FG. :)
- Countless wall posts...
- Last, but certainly not the least: Eight beautiful roses from FG, along with a heartfelt card that I read many times and smiled every time (the first time was while walking, I had to make sure I didn't bump into people while I walked with roses and a card, with a silly smile on my face. Funny that the first time that happened was from a female best friend! :P)

The roses were so amazingly beautiful that I was very sorry that I had to wait for about six hours before I could put them in water. Even after two days, they still seem quite fresh. Although, that night, I did not think it would last too long, so I took a photo, even though the lighting was horrible and my night photos usually turn out equally horrible. Even though I have manual options in my camera, I never really use them (unless I am experimenting). This time, I used the 'aparture control' option, manually focussed it, resting the camera on the table (my hands shake beyond belief). And this is how it turned out:

I have already shared this photo in many places. I am that excited about taking a decent photo. (Yes, if you must, that gives you the license to call me sad...)

I am reading this book by Shomoresh Mojumder. I love his books because of their details, the way he creates his characters. However, after every book, I feel extremely depressed. They are like drugs that you can't stop taking half way through, even though you know that they will not end well.

Some guy came and gave me a book on Jesus then asked for a coin for printing costs. He crossed a long distance to get to me, and he did not do so to any other people sitting around. I have my headphones visibly on and I have a frown on my face that says 'I don't feel like talking to people today.' He asked if I read much, I said yes, he said, what, I said, dunno. *go away sign*. He said 'shukria, do you understand hindi'. 'no'. 'dhonnobad? where are you from?' And then he went on talking for the next five minutes about how he came from Bangladesh too but his accent is different from mine because he came a little later than I did and etc etc etc. I think he realised that he isn't really helping and left after a while. I think the same guy gave me a free CD (in exchange for coins for publishing cost, obviously) for something. I never ended up listening to it...

And I have another smoker somewhere nearby. I do not understand what part of the current Government initiatives on smoke packets aren't getting them off smoking. Idiots.

Anyway, that is all.

An old song and an old photo

Let everything I do
Be for You.

My smiles,
The beats of my heart,
Footsteps,
Every new start.
Eyelashes
Crawling down my cheek
with tears,
The light that my eyes seek.
Every word that breaks the silent night,
The rays of hope that keeps me alive,
Let them keep shining bright.

Every moment, every glance, every breath.
'Till I knock on the door of my death;
Let them be
For You.

Precious

Precious, a photo by LamZity on Flickr.

Short story long

Ideally, today was supposed to be one of the most productive days of my life. I had the whole house nearly to myself for nearly most of the day, I have tonnes of cleaning to do, I have tonnes of studying to do, I am at a stage where I have began to realistically plan for my activities, I currently am not suffering from an extremely low or extremely inflated self-esteem, I have my laptop and I began the day with a cup of coffee. Yet, it turned out to  be quite the opposite. My long list of to-do's are left uncrossed (apart from one of two tasks...), my eyes are still heavy with sleep (and I'm beginning to think its psychological), I am sipping on yet another cup of coffee and wondering why my day seems circular.

One of the only goods that came out of today is that I am beginning to feel annoyed by both How I Met Your Mother and Little Mosque in the Prairie. After a certain point, people really need to learn to stop. HIMYM Season 1 was amazing - cute, innocent, funny, relaxing - the package, season 2 continued to uphold it, season 3 was addictive enough, season 4 was hard to finish and now that I am a few episodes into season 5, I really do feel like it is an utter waste of time. Thirty-year-olds making lame jokes and acting silly is only funny the first few times.

The other nice thing that happened was that I got a call from my employers. The ones that rejected me for one of their jobs due to my hijab called to ask me to fill in the spot for the regular teacher who got employed instead of me. (For the beginning of the story, refer to this.) Currently, I am teaching primary school students and helping them with possibly everything they need help with. That other position was for a high school science teacher, for which apparently I do qualify, but for which my looks does not suit the parents' choices. So about a month ago, they decided to employ someone who is not suited to teach science (the fact which the employer admitted herself!), but met the criteria of looking 'appropriate' for the parents. I failed to understand this logic (still do), but I smiled sweetly anyway. In the long run, they lose. :P

As I have dreadingly hoped many times before, I hope none of my employers ever set foot in this sanctuary of mine where I may have bagged them out once or twice (or many times...). But, in my defence, I have never mentioned any names. ;)

So, just as you are beginning to re-realise how immature I am, let me remind you, I am stepping out of my teen years in a few hours. Let me cherish these last few moments of the years that start with an one. OfcourseIrealisethatthecomingyearwillbeexactlythesameaslastyearthewaylastyearwasthesameastheyearbeforeandtheyearbeforeandtheyearbeforeandsoonandsoforth.

Recently, I have began to reconnect with my friends from my first high school. We had a group of seven people who somehow managed to adopt each other into a family. Smru was daddy; Risa was mummy; NJ, DS and DJ were the sisters; Arsh was the brother; and I happened to be the family pet - a hamster. (We eventually agreed that I used to be a human before, but Smru turned me into a hamster during one of her science experiments). We had 'complications' in the family, the nature of which shall remain a secret from blogland. Lets just say, Smru played the role of a guy very well in our little group. (Disclaimer: Smru is a female, who has become way more feminine in the last three years.) So the other day, I discovered that Arsh is doing the same degree as me! We both hated our previous degree and thus became first years again. I bumped into DJ at the bus stop, who also happened to change her degree. I was close to Smru and Risa last year anyway, and this year hasn't changed many things. NJ and DS are the only people that I do not see very much, although I do keep tabs on them. Anyway, the rest of us (especially Arsh and I) often reminisce about those days. We used to rule our own worlds back then. I'm trying to organise a lunch to catch up with each others lives, but everyone is so busy that it seems absolutely impossible to get all seven of us under one roof at one time.

I was looking for a post from that time, and I came across this. Although this did not involve any of the people mentioned above, I perfectly remember that time. Emu, this shall come back and haunt you from time to time. :P

So yes, long story short: the past was glorious. We were innocent dreamers who thought they could touch the sky the moment they wanted to. And then something happened in the next four years and bam! Turning twenty tomorrow! I miss being sixteen. :(

But, not to worry, the future could be glorious too, only if I want it to be. ;)

--

P.s: Pick out the made-up-word in the post. :P

A moment of happiness

When I finished my class at 10 today, I had the same feeling as I did after the first set of exams of year 12. My last exam was extension 2 maths, a few hours after which we were flying to BD. On the way back, I had this feeling of absolute happiness – top-of-the-world feeling. I felt as if every single thing on the entire planet was at its most beautiful state and I was lucky enough to experience it.

I had that exact same feeling today. And sure enough, a little after 12.30 pm, I welcomed home the newest member of my life – my red Dell Inspiron Mini 10.

ps: I’m posting from ‘My Blog’ in Windows Live Writer. Never used it before, but hopefully it’ll work.

just a nice song

I currently am not in love nor can I stand any mushiness amongst my friends or strangers. Yet, I loved this song as soon as I heard it. It is indeed very mushy, and at a certain level, it is very cliched. But I think I love the imagery that it begins with. It also sounds like the tune of a few of my songs, especially this one:

You took my heart and broke it into pieces,
You analysed hard and wrote a huge thesis,
You took your heart and cut it in half to see
If you can find any broken piece of me.
When you found that none existed,
Did your eyes get a little bit misted?
...

But yeah, their song is better, of course. Mine sort of goes downhill after those six lines. The parts I love are bolded. :)

Also - I do realise that my song is about a break-up with this one is about something completely opposite. Meh.

My head is stuck in the clouds

She begs me to come down
Says "Boy quit foolin' around"
I told her "I love the view from up here
Warm sun and wind in my ear
We'll watch the world from above
As it turns to the rhythm of love"
We may only have tonight
But till the morning sun you're mine all mine
Play the Music low and sway to the rhythm of love
My heart beats like a drum
A guitar string to the strum
A beautiful song to be sung
She's got blue eyes deep like the sea
That roll back when she's laughing at me
She rises up like the tide
The moment her lips meet mine
We may only have tonight
But till the morning sun you're mine all mine
Play the Music low and sway to the rhythm of love
When the moon is low
We can dance in slow motion
And all your tears will subside
All your tears will dry

Ba-ba ba-ba ba-ba baba
Da da-da dum da-da dum
Ba-ba ba-ba ba-ba ba-ba
Da da-da dum da-da dum

And long after I've gone
You'll still be humming along
And I will keep you in my mind
The way you make love so fine
We may only have tonight
But till the morning sun you're mine all mine
Play the music low and sway to the rhythm of love.

3/4, morning

The windows are open,
I feel the cool breeze touching me -
Touching my heart.
I send out a smile,
Smile for those
who are living this art.

I know the world is full of bloodshed;
Tiny stomachs that need to be fed;
Young souls passing on each day,
Even before they had a chance to play
In the field of life.

I know the world is full of bleakness -
It has lost a lot of its sweetness.
Just another face in the street now cause unspeakable crimes,
I know we are creeping towards the darkest of times.

Yet, I send out a smile
that'll jump over the vile
and reach out to a child
who's yet to see
how humanity
is ripping up the art
that's filling her tiny heart.

Its not even 10 AM

Complaints (skippable): I woke up at 2-something-AM in excruciating pain and extremely cold feet. I was literally wide awake and knew that I would be unable to go back to sleep for a very long time. I made myself a cup of coffee and sat down to summarise physiology. At 6-something-AM, I realised I had not done much, even though it had been about four hours. If my annoyance level was moderately high when I woke up, at this point, it shot to the roof. The train ride was okay, apart from the fact that I was half-asleep-half-awake the whole time, and felt worse than I felt before it. The store that usually gives a discount didn't give me a discount today on the pack of gum. There was an annoyingly and awkwardly mushy couple right infront of me in the bus line. On my hurry to get away from them and silently praying so that I do not have to sit behind them, I lost my brand-new-unopened pack of gum. I had to wait in line for about ten minutes or so for my coffee and another pack of gum. Then, I came and sat in my computer lab where I have been having my psych tutorials for the past few weeks. A few minutes later, I realised that my tute is not in here, and I do not have a chance in getting in now, because they are doing hypnotosis today, which must be complete uninterupted. I missed the most interesting class of this semester.

On a brighter note (or two): I love the poetic lyrics and soothing yet catchy tunes of Cat Stevens/Yusuf Islam. My laptop is now on its way to Australia. The expected date of its arrival is now the eighth of april. :)