Flirtmonster

I was shopping recently in bontang and I was trying to return an inverter back(wrong voltage), but I was not making any headway because while I was talking in english(sadly the only foriegn language I'm profecient in) the salesgirl was talking in bahasa Indonesia, of which I know odd phrases like salamat pagi, terima kasih, nasi goreng etc, but nothing conversational ...
So, finally exasperated , I told her in my best pig english "Me no speak Indonesian !"
She said smilingly "Me speak english very little "

Drat !

Then I asked for the manager, who luckily spoke some english.

Then as I spoke to the manager , he translated back to her.

Great !

Then I realised that I hadn't even seen her face properly.
So I did.
She was short, fair, dense curly hair and had a defiant but small moustache[unlike the one Ms.J sports !:)) ] which looked very cute on her.
She reminded me of a cousin back home, so I told her.
I told her how Indian she looked, how beautiful she was ,how she could easily be in the movie business,how she had a great aura(it was a rare shade of gold,conical and swirling lazily over her head), how cute her nose was,etc etc...
                 I realised that even when I didn't know her name nor spoke the same language, I was talking to her and making her smile , all the time with the manager was translating.
 In short I was flirting !
Shamelessly !
GAAAH ! I've become a Flirtmonster ! Help me ! Somebody Stop me !

I blame it all on testosterone.

 I'm on a new diet called testosterone diet.It's the only way I can safely increase my body weight , increase my muscle mass as opposed to increasing my  body fat.
It includes plenty nuts (no, not those kind!) , dry fruits and legumes (sadly making me flatulent !) and free weight exercises like dead lifts , squats and pushups and stuff and abstinence.This is supposed to increase my natural testosterone levels .

The effects are that my appetite has expanded beyond measure. Before I was constantly dozing. Now I have enough energy for daily workouts and strict work schedules. With the additional  testosterone , I  feel better to recover from life's curveballs, more persistant, more alive. With the testosterone, I feel more energy.

Testosterone, oddly enough, is a chemical closely related to cholesterol. It was first isolated by a Dutch scientist in 1935 from mice testicles and successfully synthesized by the German biologist Adolf Butenandt. Although testosterone is often thought of as the definition of maleness, both men and women produce it. Men produce it in their testicles; women produce it in their ovaries and adrenal glands. The male body converts some testosterone to estradiol, a female hormone, and the female body has receptors for testosterone, just as the male body does. That's why women who want to change their sex(why would you want to be a man ?) are injected with testosterone and develop male characteristics, like deeper voices, facial hair and even baldness. The central biological difference between adult men and women, then, is not that men have testosterone and women don't. It's that men produce much, much more of it than women do. An average woman has 40 to 60 nanograms of testosterone in a deciliter of blood plasma. An average man has 300 to 1,000 nanograms per deciliter.

Testosterone's effects start early -- really early. At conception, every embryo is female and unless hormonally altered will remain so. You need testosterone to turn a fetus with a Y chromosome into a real boy, to masculinize his brain and body. Men experience a flood of testosterone twice in their lives: in the womb about six weeks after conception and at puberty. The first fetal burst primes the brain and the body, endowing male fetuses with the instinctual knowledge of how to respond to later testosterone surges. The second, more familiar adolescent rush -- squeaky voices, facial hair and all -- completes the process.

The effect of testosterone is systemic. It engenders both the brain and the body. Apart from the obvious genital distinction, other differences between men's and women's bodies reflect this: body hair, the ratio of muscle to fat, upper-body strength and so on. But testosterone leads to behavioral differences as well. Since it is unethical to experiment with human embryos by altering hormonal balances, much of the evidence for this idea is based on research conducted on animals. A Stanford research group, for example, as reported in Deborah Blum's book "Sex on the Brain," injected newborn female rats with testosterone. Not only did the female rats develop penises from their clitorises, but they also appeared fully aware of how to use them.

But do not confuse testosterone with Popeye's spinach.Testosterone levels will rise when the situation warrants it. Survival is the priority." So in cases of danger, of war, the testosterone levels increase. When in a strip club or viewing a porno website, testosterone levels also rise. Men with higher testosterone achieve psychological dominance, have high self esteem, and move through the world with natural confidence.Testosterone is clearly correlated in both men and women with psychological dominance, confident physicality and high self-esteem. In most combative, competitive environments, especially physical ones, the person with the most testosterone wins. Put any two men in a room together and the one with more testosterone will tend to dominate the interaction.

The relatively new science of evolutionary psychology offers perhaps the best explanation for why that's not the case in humans. For neo-Darwinians, the aggressive and sexual aspects of testosterone are related to the division of labor among hunter-gatherers in our ancient but formative evolutionary past. This division -- men in general hunted, women in general gathered -- favored differing levels of testosterone. Women need some testosterone -- for self-defense, occasional risk-taking, strength -- but not as much as men. Men use it to increase their potential to defeat rivals, respond to physical threats in strange environments, maximize their physical attractiveness, prompt them to spread their genes as widely as possible and defend their home if necessary.

But the problem with testoserone is that it makes me horny...So horny that I begin to shamelessly flirt with any woman.So if I'm not flirting with you , and you dont have a dick , then I'm repelled by you , you possibly are the ugliest thing I've evr seen on this side of the galaxy (I've travelled a lot ) , or have a personality defect that makes me puke my guts out...

                             But testosterone makes everyone horny, not just me .If there's one substance that ultimately makes it possible to get turned on in the first place, testosterone is probably it. "When testosterone is gone, says UCLA's Berman, for whatever reason — aging, medication — men experience erection and libido problems." Restore the testosterone, and you usually fix those problems.The study, published in 2000 in the New England Journal of Medicine, reported that many of the women who, like Washington, were on real testosterone had more sexual fantasies and more sex and masturbated more than they had before. But so, albeit to a lesser extent, did women who wore patches with no testosterone at all. For women suffering from lost libido, the placebo effect was almost as strong as that of the hormone. In short, the mere belief that the treatment would rekindle sexual desire was often enough to turn up the heat.

Here's the thing though.Natural testosterone is the best.Artificial testosterone boosts are unhealthy and dangerous and have long term damage to your system.So Dont go on injecting shit or pop shitty pills in your system for the sake of a quick fix or vanity.It is simply not worth it.
Oh yeah , and remember , testosterone makes you horny.So be careful and responsible.

p.s.
                 Well I'm trying rein in myself these days, by having some constructive and achievable goals..I've started lifting weights.
My body weight is 68 kg, so now I can be officially called a 150 lb weakling.
I started benching and doing heavy squats.I began with (ok dont laugh) 20 kg weights and now I have gone up to 50 kgs(110 lb) .My  next goal is to lift my own body weight , which is to bench press 150 lb.
Wish me luck.

 

Attachment: GF APPLICATION.pdf

Professional ProblemSolver !

Something that will solve all your problems , well atleast in the office !

Attachment: Problem solving flow chart.rtf

Books I'd like to read .

The Conscious Universe: The Scientific Truth of Psychic
Phenomena by Dean Radin, Ph.D.
It seems to me that one of the most important discoveries of our time
has gone basically unnoticed. Dean Radin has managed to pull it all
together into one book, and still it’s been ignored by society at large. A t
the time The Conscious Universe was published, Radin was the director
of the Consciousness Research Laboratory at the University of
Nevada, Las Vegas. As such, he led one of the three most important
parapsychology programs in academia (Princeton and the University
of Edinburgh house the other two). He has also done parapsychological
research for corporations and the US government. Radin’s message
is this: Psi phenomena have been scientifically proven to exist.
Addressing each aspect of psi separately, he shows that decades’
worth of controlled, replicable scientific experiments have yielded
positive, significant results for telepathy, perception at a distance,
perception through time, mind-matter interaction, mental interactions
with living organisms, and field consciousness (which is basically
mind-matter interaction on a large scale). For each phenomenon,
he carefully shows how the experiments have been constantly
redesigned, often ingeniously, to control for confounding factors and
otherwise make them as rigorous and unassailable as possible. He
then reviews the meta-analyses and performs his own meta-analyanalyses
on these experiments, boiling all the results from thousands and
thousands of trials down to the bottom line.
For example, to analyze the results of people trying to mentally influence
a random number generator, Radin crunched the results of
832 studies performed over almost 30 years. He found that for the
controls (i.e. people who weren’t trying to influence the numbers),
the results were right at the chance level of 50 percent. But when
people tried to influence the numbers, the numbers did indeed
change. So much so, in fact, that the odds of those results happening
by chance are more than a trillion to one.
S i m i l a r l y, Radin crunched the numbers from 148 experiments in which
people tried to influence the toss of dice. These experiments were
done over a 50-year period and involved more than 2,500 people trying
to influence 2.6 million dice throws. Overall, the dice throws in the
control group matched chance (specifically, 50.02 percent). However,
among people trying to influence the dice, the hit rate was 51.2 per cent. As Radin says, “This does not look like much, but statistically it
results in odds against chance of more than a billion to one.”
Radin also addresses and refutes the criticisms that have been leveled
against the experiments and meta-analyses, including charges
of selective reporting. He goes on to discuss some theoretical
aspects of psi phenomena and what all this implies for biology, psychology,
medicine, business, and other areas. Interestingly, he looks
at all the corporate research that’s being directed toward parapsychology.
Such giants as Sony, Bell Labs, AT&T, and the gambling
industry have poured money into it, not to mention the research of
governmental entities, including the CIA, FBI, the US military, the
British Army, and Japan’s Science and Technology Agency.
Q u o t e: “The evidence for these basic phenomena is so well established
that most psi researchers today no longer conduct ‘proof-orie
n t e d ’ experiments. Instead, they focus largely on ‘process-oriente
d ’ questions like, What influences psi performance? and How
does it work?” [p 6]
Quote: “Honorton and Ferrari surveyed the English-language scientific
literature to retrieve all experiments reporting forced-choice precognition
tests. They found 309 studies, reported in 113 articles published
from 1935 to 1987, and contributed by sixty-two different
investigators. The database consisted of nearly two million individual
trials by more than fifty thousand subjects. The methods used in
these studies ranged from the use of ESP cards to fully automated,
computer-generated, randomly presented symbols...“The combined result of the 309 studies produced odds against
chance of 1025 to one—that is, ten million billion billion to one. This
eliminated chance as a viable explanation.... Further analyses
showed that twenty-three of the sixty-two investigators (37 percent)
had reported successful studies, so the overall results were not due
to one or two wildly successful experiments. In other words, the precognition
effect had been successfully replicated across many different
experimenters.” [p 114]
HarperSanFrancisco (HarperCollins) • 1997 • 366 pp • hardcover •
$25 • ISBN 0-06-251502-0 • <www.harpercollins.com>

 

Who Stole Feminism?: How Women Have Betrayed Women
by Christina Hoff Sommers
Almost all attacks against feminism, not surprisingly, come from the
right. But Christina Hoff Sommers is herself a feminist, which
makes her a spy in the house of estrogen. Sommers draws some
crucial distinctions within feminism, though. The feminists of the
1800s and early 1900s were the admirable “classically liberal feminists,”
who based their ideas on the principles of the Enlightenment
and fought to get women the rights men took for granted. The New
feminists, or “gender feminists,” as Sommers calls them, are “divisive,”
“gynocentric,” and “chronically offended.” They don’t think of
women and men as equal members of the human race working for
the same goals; rather, women are a constantly attacked, suppressed
class who must be hostile to the brutal, selfish patriarchal
system that victimizes them.
Although several chapters show how intolerant the gender feminists
are and how they’ve taken over academia to the detriment of all
other viewpoints, the book’s most powerful parts are the ones that
utterly destroy the supposed facts that are touted by mainstream
feminism. In fact, Sommers opens the book by immediately showing
one claim to be outright false. The statistic that 150,000 women and
girls die of anorexia each year in the US has become accepted wisdom
after being trumpeted by Gloria Steinem, Naomi Wolf, and Ann
Landers, among others. Sommers decided to do what none of them
did—actually check the facts behind this “hidden holocaust” against
females. She finally traced it back to the American Anorexia and
Bulimia Association. She personally talked to the group’s president,
who flatly said that they had been misquoted. The statistic came
from a newsletter they published in 1985 which said that 150,000 to
200,000 females suffer from the disorder. Government stats show
that, in reality, around 100 females die each year from anorexia. Of
course even one death from self-starvation is upsetting, but something
that causes 100 deaths annually is hardly comparable to
something that cause 150,000 deaths annually.
From there, Sommers plows through the other commonly-quoted
“facts” and “figures” that mainstream feminism uses. She eviscerates
the two heavily-flawed, hard-to-find studies that are the source
for the idea that girls have their self-esteem crushed at school.
Among the other things she reveals regarding the claims of feminism:
Domestic abuse of pregnant women is not responsible for
more birth defects than all other causes combined; Super Bowl
Sunday is not “the biggest day of the year for violence against
women;” the phrase “rule of thumb” did not originate because of an
English law that allowed men to beat their wives with a stick no bigger
around than their thumb; the claim that one of four women will
be raped is undoubtedly way too high; the idea of a “backlash” (as
espoused by Susan Faludi and Naomi Wolf) is unfounded; and 40
percent of women do not suffer from severe depression.
Sommers looks at the claims of domestic abuse, noting that the
guesstimates range from the Department of Justice’s figure of
626,000 women (married and single) per year to 18 million married women per year (cited by the National Coalition Against Domestic
Violence). Furthermore, few outlets are willing to relay the fact that
women are physically abusive (in minor and major ways) towards
their partners at a rate equal to men. And when it comes to rates of psychological abuse against women, some statistics include heated
exchanges between couples. (For more of Sommers’ work, be sure
to read her second book, The War Against Boys: How Misguided
Feminism Is Harming Our Young Men (Simon & Schuster, 2000).)
Quote: “The Wellesley study [on self-esteem] gives lots of attention
to how girls are behind in math and science, though the math and
science test differentials are small compared to large differentials
favoring girls in reading and writing....
“Almost twice as many girls as boys participate in student government,
band and orchestra, and drama or service clubs. More girls
work on the school newspapers and yearbooks. More are members
of honor and service societies. Boys far outnumber girls in sports,
but that gap is narrowing each year.” Boys are also more likely to cut
classes, not do homework, and drop out of high school. Although
girls are more likely to attempt suicide, boys are equally more likely
to actually kill themselves. [pp 160-1]
Q u o t e: “Recently several male students at Vassar were falsely
accused of date rape. After their innocence was established, the
assistant dean of students, Catherine Comins, said of their ordeal:
‘They have a lot of pain, but it is not a pain that I would have necessarily
spared them. I think it ideally initiates a process of self-exploration.
“How do I see women?” “If I did not violate her, could I have?”
“Do I have the potential to do to her what they say I did?” These are
good questions.’ Dean Comins clearly feels justified in trumping the
common law principle ‘presumed innocent until proven guilty’ by a
new feminist principle, ‘guilty even if proven innocent.’” [p 44]
Touchstone (Simon & Schuster) • 1994 • 320 pp • softcover • $13 •
ISBN 0-684-80156-6 • <www.simonandschuster.com>

Simple Plan - When I'm Gone Music Video

When Im Gone

Guitar Setup: Capo on 3rd fret

Verse: ( For the verse just strum downward.You will have to hold and release the chords.
you get what i mean.If you don't do it , I suppose it still sounds good.)
Em
I look around me
C
But all I seem to see
G
Is people going nowhere
Am
Expecting sympathy
Em
It’s like we’re going through the motions
C
Of the scripted destiny
G
Tell me where’s our inspiration
Am
If life wont wait
I guess it’s up to me

Chorus: C G Em D (strum downward thrice for each chord.)
Whoahh
No we’re not gonna waste another moment in this town
Whoahh
We wont come back, the world its calling out
Whoahh
Leave the past in the past gonna find the future
C
And misery loves company
Am
Well so long
B5 (power chord)5th string
You’ll miss me when I’m gone
Em C Am B x 2 ( Strum downward twice for each chord)
You’re gonna miss me when I’m gone

Verse 2: Play the chords like in verse 1
Procrastination running circles in my head
While you sit there contemplating you’ll wind up left for dead (left for dead)
Life is what happens
While you’re busy making your excuses
Another day, another casualty
But that won’t happen to me

Chorus: (play the same chords)
Whoahh
No we’re not gonna waste another moment in this town
Whoahh
We wont come back, the world its calling out

Whoahh
Leave the past in the past gonna find the future
And misery loves company
Well so long
You’ll miss me when I’m gone
You’re gonna miss me when I’m gone
You’re gonna miss me when I’m gone
Em
When I’m gone


Let’s go…!
Em
Won’t look back
C
When I say goodbye
G
We’re gonna leave this world behind me
D
Gonna take what’s mine tonight
Em
‘cause every wasted day
C
Becomes a wasted chance
G
You’re gonna wake up feeling sorry
Am
‘cause life won’t wait
I guess it’s up to you

Chorus: Play the same chords
Whoahh
No we’re not gonna waste another moment in this town
Whoahh
We wont come back, the world its calling out
Whoahh
Leave the past in the past gonna find the future
And misery loves company
Well so long
Em C Am B x 4
You’ll miss me when I’m gone
You’re gonna miss me when I’m gone
You’re gonna miss me when I’m gone
You’re gonna miss me when I’m gone
You’re gonna miss me when I’m gone

Kappe Chronicles

Once upon a time there existed in the small city of mangalore ,a group of friends :Kappe the frog, Pendulum,Gunny Sack,Madfartingcow,Madhubala,Mashi the buffalo,Alien rich guy(from mars), Alien Bully (from jupiter),and the unintended twins.
        I was one of the unintended twins.
We were unintended twins because we were born of two different sets of parents , on different days and were in no way genetically similar.
But after a quick glance anyone would  almost always asked the much hated question ...

"Hey , Are you both twins? "
No...

NO...

NOOOOOOOOOOO !

                       But this is not the story of the unintended twins nor it is of the Pendulum who was also Gadha the ass, or Gunny Sack a timid introvert who went on to become the greatest seducer of the world or Madfartingcow who was mad about Madhuri Dixit , or Madhubala who always tailed madfartingcow or Mashi the buffalo(so many ruminants !) or the interplanetary rivalry between aliens or the non-sexual S/M relationship between the other unintended twin and the Alien Rich Guy(from mars)

                                          This is, as requested , a story about Kappe the frog.Kappe the frog was my friend, neighbour and classmate.Kappe was the middle child with two brothers , one older and one younger.I met Kappe recently.He is still the same, slightly taller , but otherwise the same.Cancer had claimed his mother a year ago, and that was all I knew about him.

                          I  must add that this is not a story about  Boofsie, who thought the word 'Boofsie' was the ultimate swear word , but never realized that what he was repeating over and over again was a corruption of the word 'Boobs', which could mean either a certain variety of birds, or a couple of idiots or the usual breasts.Alas, unfortunately his efforts to popularise it as the de facto swear word got him his nick name "Boofsie"
                               I must add that Boofsie had an unhealthy male body builder fixation.When not talking about lats and pecs and triceps and biceps , he would draw extremely muscular men and drool over them.Boofsie sat next to me.I was terrified of him.But fortunately he believed that brahmins(a priestly class caste)  like me had the power to curse and make those curses come true.So I was safe due to a superstition.
                                                         This is not the story of Moojikaas,or Threepenny who was Boofsie's friend, who would just before lunch time stick a spoon up his crotch and then sniff it languorously, while inviting us to join .
Urrrk!...I just lost my appetite.Moojikaas kept his distance from me because he too believed in my ability to inflict curses.In a way it is strange for people to believe that I have psychic abilities, or that I have had an out of body experience.It ain't true fellas ! I'm just making  monkeys out of ya !

Some other day I'll tell you about the splendid fights between Kappe the frog and Pregnant boy, who got his moniker in grade six after he went on saying that he was 3 months pregnant and had a cat in his stomach.
That was just an excuse.
In reality he was just  fat and had a spare gut tyre.

Pregnant Boy got another moniker which was really popular-Hipgenda -a mythical chimera , formed due to the unholy union of a hippo and a Genda or a Rhino.This nickname was also becase of his corpulent body.
                              These verbal sparring duels went on for hours and we would egg each of them, and the help them come up with creative yet obscene insults that each would deliver and outdo each other.The verbal duels kept us  entertained for hours , during free periods ,lunch hours and toilet breaks.

                                            There are simply too many stories to be told.Kappe and the building episode, Kappe and the bunking, Kappe comes up with BBC,The song of Neskappe to name a few.
                                                                   Memories are strange in that way.As I take a look around, back into the past, I find that everything is illuminated, an ethereal luminescence affects everything I see.Things are clear and fuzzy at the same time.Its clear to me now that Boofsie would become gay later in life(unverified) or that Alien Rich Guy got his pleasure from repeatedly rejecting friendship offers from my unintended twin the same way my unintended twin got his pleasure from begging Alien Rich Guy for a morsel of his friendship.It was definitely S/M but in a non-sexual way, but it is hard for me to remember my own nickname-was it Tricky Vicky, or WeakAss, or pickass ?

When does a story really end or Where does a a story end ?Does it end with the protagonist living happily ever after , or does it end with his eventual death , or simply when there is nothing more left to say?
I think the story ends when the chronicler gives up, because without the storyteller there is no story.So as a chronicler , it is my duty to inform you that memories are fallible.So are men(and women).

Intangibles areo fragile things that are as strong as their creators and have that strange malleable quality with which one can marginalize events that he deems not so important or embellish ones that he likes, or to bend events with sheer will and recreate  past.
                           Thus Kappe chronicles exist solely in the hearts and minds of the chroniclers of past,and are in every sense fallible and prone to error.This is my disclaimer , my narrative exigency because events may or may not have occured in the same way I remember them.

So let us end this chronicle with the Birth of a Kappe or  frog.
Kappe the frog , who is now a med rep among other things was my neighbour and my friend.

It was on an endless summer,when we were playing cricket till dusk ,that Kappe the frog was born.I remember the precise moment as though it happened yesterday.(so cliched don't you think ?)
The bowler lobbed a lazy ball up to a very determined batsman.
The batsman attacked hungrily and lofted the ball high above into the now dying sun.
Kappe who was not yet Kappe , stood underneath , anticipating the parabolic path of the ball as it accelerated towards the earth.
Kappe who was not yet Kappe , in total concentration, had cupped his palms like a yawning reptile and at the same time kept his mouth open as if he could catch it in his mouth instead of his hands.
The ball accelerated downwards at a rate of 9.8 metres per second squared not knowing that it had a major role to play in the history of making of a Kappe who was not yet Kappe.
Plop fell the ball into Kappe's who was not yet Kappe's hands, and as he caught it , his wide open mouth shut as if he had caught the ball in his mouth and his fingers curled around the ball, securing it , and the batsman left the field cursing the jubilant Kappe who was not yet Kappe.
His teammates congratulated him and they celebrated as the smell of sweat,mud and victory was in  the air.

All this was marred by a single voice.
It said "Shit ! he looked like a Kappe, like a frog when he caught that ball"

Thus Kappe the frog was born.

Running Away

I am being rowed through Paradise on a river of Hell:
Exquisite ghost, it is night.
The paddle is a heart;it breaks the porcelain waves...
I'm everything you lost.You won't forgive me.
My memory keeps getting in the way of your history.
There is nothing to forgive.You won't forgive me.
I hid my pain even from myself; I revealed my pain
only to myself.
There is everything to forgive.You can't forgive me.
if only somehow you could have been mine,
what would not have been possible in the world?
                                         -Agha Shahid Ali
                                              The Country without a Post Office

I used to wonder.
If only somehow you could be mine.
And then you were .
And then I woke up.
And ran.

You deserve an explanation.

This is me running away.


It is said that the world is in a state of chaos.Every action has a consequence, and no one really understands the far reaching effects of the cumulative actions of your past.The mother-of-all-butterfly-effect that screws you up,maybe just a step away !

My parents were always different.
In a country dominated by parents yearning for male heirs , mine always wanted daughters.
So it was expectedly ironical that their only child was male.
Growing up I always was jealous when my cousins were showered lavishly with presents and gifts and love I thought I deserved more.

Mom had a very cute way of making her wish come true.
Till the age of three I was said to have worn only frocks and skirts with long pony tails with ribbons.There is an album full of incriminating photographs of my crossdressing past that are reserved for special occasions (especially when guests come home).Even my toys were cuddly teddy bears and coy dolls wearing garish pink gowns,having lustrous blonde hair and perfectly thick eyelashes.
One of my earliest memories is of my doll singing 'London Bridge is falling down' and another teddy bear with huge inky black marble eyes that went like THIS when thumped on the back.
'Mama'

Mom always told me I'd make a cute girl, but only if I'd let her snip my shamey off ,she'd say pointing down below .I used to get scared, and sometimes cry , but years later I realized it was her way of joking , just like the time she took away my nose and kept it with her.
Of course she also had to play 'Disown Your Daughter'.It was a part of their proud tradition, a game she claims that her mother played with her and her grandmother with her mother .
But not having a daughter did not dampen her spirits.
I would do just fine.

The game went something like this:
One fine day your mother would look you in the eye and say that it was time to reveal a secret.
Yes.You are not our child.
Yes.You were adopted.
Yes.You were abandoned.
Yes.We still love you, but its more like pity.
Yes.You are all alone in this world.

Wash, rinse & repeat as often as required.

With years of fine tuning ,the game was honed so well that it cut you down to size with a butcher's precision while bludgeoning your self worth with the blunt efficiency of a sledgehammer.
Don't blame the game, blame the players, willing and unwilling.

Wash, rinse & repeat as often as required.Does wonders to the self !

Years later mom would confess that she was never ready for motherhood.At eighteen she wasn't mature enough, patient enough or strong enough.
No , when she confesed she wasn't asking for my forgiveness nor was she trying to make amends as she remains forever feeling guilty, hoping her corrosive guilt will absolve her of her past wrongdoings, imagined and real, and someday she'll be able to forgive herself.
To be a parent is to be guilty in some way or the other,so much so that the feeling is inescapable .
But guilt is a wasteful emotion, much like revenge, I tell her.It drains you of your lifeblood.
So let go.Let Go.
The past is over and the future isn't written yet.
All we have are the sands of the present, and that too is slipping between our fingers.
Let Go .

Am I making mountains out of molehills ? Is this is what made me who I am ?

All these years I've been burdened with a false notion of intelligence.
But I must confess.
No matter what others say, I was never intelligent.Good grades never mean intelligence, at least not to me.It simply meant that I could remember a lot of things and regurgitate in back in a way it didn't look like vomit.
My good grades never meant much to me.
What I had going for me was the ability to look at things differently, which I loved,and yes, I read a lot and hardly spoke,but that was not intelligence.It was plain eccentricity.I'm a weirdo from another planet, as friends and relatives called me.

All you intelligent people out there, remember this:Intelligence is not conscience. Intelligence is not virtue. Intelligence is not character. Intelligence is not morality. Oh intellectuals, who find yourselves so brilliant that you think you ought to outshine all stars, you do not notice your own contradictions. It is impossible to debate with intellectuals such as you because, with you, one can come to no truths. You are the living contradictions.

I'm glad people no longer think that I'm so intelligent these days. These days I'm the smart kid that made a dumb move and ruined his life.I'm the smart kid that could have made it easily anywhere, but chose the road to hell.Glad to fail in your eyes, people.
Even the road to hell is paved with good intentions, or so I've heard.
But my intentions were to escape.
That was me running away.

And this is me running away.

You deserve an answer, but instead find me running away and relenting to explain my actions.
So I'll try to give you what you deserve.
This is me running away,far away from everyone and everything else.
This is me asking you to leave me alone, let me be be myself.
This is me , unmovable,unchangable,sad to see that your efforts
were doomed from the start.
This is a self imposed isolation.
I'm lonely by choice , not by circumstance.
I chose this route because nobody follows you on the road to hell.

I see the world too clearly.It is not filled with shades of grey.It is I who gets to fill it with colours and I'm in no mood to paint the town red.

So this is me running away.
Far away from a colourful yet drab world that has nothing to do with me nor I anything with it.

You owe me nothing , and I owe you my sanity, my humanity,and my everything else.
I don't deserve you , nor do you deserve the pain and misery that is mine to give.

I'm not playing hard to get.I'm not pushing you away.
I'm simply pushing you to forget me
and to believe in a lie that we were never meant to be.
It would be a lie if I told you that I don't love you.But I'm a better liar than a lover.
I love you more than the entire world itself, but at the same time I don't want you to love me.
Makes sense? No?
Not to me either.
Can you ever forgive me ?I fantasize you telling me 'There is nothing to forgive.There is everything to forgive '
But You won't forgive me.

All this I confess so that you know.You may never understand , but at least I'll know that You know.

This is me running away, for you want to change me into someone I'm not.
I know who I am , what I am, why I am and accept myself - an imperfect , flawed and tortured soul, content with mediocrity , floating hopelessly in the sea of life.

In the end ,I need a favour.
I need you to pass on my message to the rest of the world, so that they know what to expect when they come knocking by.
This is me running away, crawling under a rock , and staying there forever.
Adios.
 

Attachment: Dont Blame your parents.doc
Attachment: Dont Blame your parents.doc