'Cause Pigs can Fly

My grandmother and I never had an easy or loving relationship. There was always some kind of tension between us, ever since I was small. And as a result, I don’t have many memories with her. I remember going to her house before heading for an elocution class in the area. I remember a few yellow rice lunches at the house that was later sold and demolished. One of my clearest, earliest memories of her is from a few years ago. I was standing outside their house (the one they moved to later on), waiting for my aunt to come to the gate so I could give her something. My grandmother, returning from someplace, stepped out of a three-wheeler. I gave her whatever it was that I had made for them. She turned to go inside the house, but turned back to me and said: “I thought you hated me.” People will tell you to not talk ill of the dead. My grandmother is now dead so I guess I should talk about more pleasant memories. But I don’t think those who are alive should have to make up pleasant memori

Something I really miss about life is my ability to be by myself. In my 20s (which sounds ridiculous to say, because I was in my 20s just last year), I would spend hours by myself at cafes and restaurants and pubs, eating, drinking, reading, writing, people watching. It wasn't like I was good company. Not particularly liking yourself makes it a bit uncomfortable to spend long stretches of time all alone, with no one to talk to except for the occasional server. And yet, I really liked these hours I had to myself. I liked the sense of just being. Not having to prepare for a conversation. Not having to wait for someone. Not having to be some version of myself. However, somewhere along the way, things changed, and I stopped spending time with myself. Recently, I was to meet some friends and had some time to kill. And so, I went to the place we were to meet and got some reading time in. I had around two hours to myself, and the server made a comment on how my friends were late. I told h

You know, it used to really piss me off when people said things like "you should choose happiness." It seems ridiculous that I would wallow in bloody unhappiness when I could just easily choose to be happy. I couldn't wake up in the morning and choose how to feel, now could I? But now I'm realising that maybe it's not about that daily choice, but about choosing happiness in the face of certain situations. You look at whatever has happened in your life and ask yourself how you want to feel in life... not about the situation itself, not about how certain things or people made you feel, but about what you want in life. You can choose to be unhappy, hurt, angry, whatever. And sometimes, those feelings right all those wrongs. People realise that they fucked up. That they made you feel like shit. But sometimes they don't. They think that you are being unreasonable. You are expecting too much. You are imagining shit. And in such situations, it's sometimes easier

You know, I've spent the past few days/weeks feeling hurt and angry, but also ashamed that I care so much about these things and about people who don't care about me. It felt rather embarrassing to be asking myself why these people didn't care about me. It felt like I had failed somehow. I hadn't been kind enough. I hadn't been nice. Or good. Or friendly. I had failed. But it's not enough to be any of these things, isn't it? Sometimes, people just don't care. And that's okay. Because there are people who are nice to me but whom I don't really care too much about. So if I can do this to others, why was I so bothered when others did it to me? Anyway, while dealing with this hurt and anger and shame, I also felt a sense of guilt. A voice in my head would say: "But what about the people who do care?" And it's true. My hurt over people who didn't care seemed to do a disservice to those who care and love and make me feel like I'm

This morning, I tweeted something about two thoughts that have been making me feel all sorts of things lately. One is the fact that Aiya seems to have decided to live abroad, which is fine, but here’s the thing. Children aren’t obligated to take care of their parents. I know this. However, we didn’t grow up in a family where our parents are chucked in a retirement/elders’ home (not that there’s anything wrong with this, but it just isn’t what our family does). I don’t want this for my parents – unless, of course, they choose it for themselves. So with Aiya gone, and my parents having no other children, their care falls on me. Now I don’t mind it, but I’m rather useless and so in the case of an emergency, I feel like I will be of little use to them. I’m worried that I won’t be a good enough daughter, that I won’t be able to take care of them the way they should be. And I’m kind of scared about having to take care of them by myself. Now, people can point out and say that my parents

I’ve been thinking a lot about the survival of friendships and why some last longer than others. Friendships sometimes feel stifling to me, like the other’s presence shrinks your lungs, while at other times, friendships feel like all the good things: freedom, love, joy, kindness, effortlessness. That kind of friendship, the easy kind, is something I have been blessed to have in life. Remember that moment in Fleabag, when the Hot Priest talks about how scary love is, making it something we don’t want to do alone? Well, love is scary, but I’d also like to point this out: “The world as we know it mostly focuses on how hard love is – all suffering and sacrifice and so on – but no one really speaks about how easy love is when you get it right. Because love is easy when you get it right, when you are given it right.” This was how the ‘Slices of Life by Marianne David’ column began in The Daily Morning last month, and this is something Marianne and I had spoken about before the column mad