'Cause Pigs can Fly

I was just thinking about how you are never ready for a wave of depression. You never know when to expect it. You never know how to handle it. And then I realised that it's been almost 10 years since my first and only attempt at actually doing something about my mental health. I don't know if that attempt was a success. Covid and a few other things complicated matters and I let go of the thought of seeking help. Professional help. I did consider it a few times since, so maybe I haven't given up hope completely, but knowing me, it's quite unlikely. And of course, I don't even have it that bad. My brain behaves for the most part. And when it doesn't, I either get moody and cry in my room or get a bit drunk and behave a bit recklessly. It's mostly okay. The recklessness isn't too bad. It's never something I regret. But you know, I'm in my 30s now. I think it's fair to ask that the universe let me be. That I'm allowed to just exist; go about ...

This morning, while checking Instagram on my way to the train station, I saw a video from a Josh Thomas standup show where he talks about how we keep comparing ourselves to the coolest people and the prettiest people, making them the standard. “Have you guys ever been on a bus?” he asks the audience, and they laugh. “That’s the standard. That’s who we are trying to beat. It’s not that hard,” he jokes. Now, the joke itself is a bit… well, I love Josh Thomas but what are we saying here? That people who take the bus aren’t cool or pretty or better than us? But that’s a whole other discussion. I saw this post in the morning and I thought about it for a moment but then I had to pay my tuk driver and buy my train ticket and walk to the correct platform and take a train to work. Work kept me busy and I lost track of time and almost missed my evening train. It was pulling into the station just as I was heading into the station and while I was buying my ticket, the railway officer asked ...

Having decided to make waffles for dinner, I found myself remembering the waffle iron we had at home when I was a kid. It was a beige and brown and made waffles shaped like a flower, each individual 'piece' a heart. I loved (and still love) slathering butter on one and enjoying the deliciousness of a waffle and the pools of golden melted butter. Understandably, this waffle iron is no longer in use. The current one gives us two rectangles at a time. The pockets in the waffle are bigger, which means they hold more butter. Yum! While making waffles for dinner, I noticed that the handle of our waffle iron had a crack in it, making it difficult to lock shut. It still did its job, but would need to be replaced soon. I told Amma that our waffle iron was entering its final few uses and she said it is quite old now. "No, it's not," I said, "Athamma got it for us." "Which means it's ten years... at least," Amma said. Ten years being the number of yea...