I have written about pretty much aspect of my life and its passions: fictions, photography, programming & movies but I haven’t written about how I spend most of my free time: playing games. To be honest, I never considered playing games an important part of my character. I would rage at losing while playing Rocket League, get annoyed when making the highway interchange at Cities Skylines. They were just things I did to kill time.
Stardew Valley, in the last month, made me realize I am just as passionate with gaming as with writing or any other hobbies.
Stardew Valley has made me go ‘Aww!’ over its cute animals, ‘Damn’ over the lost crops when (ingame) season changed & exclaim ‘YAY!’ when I got a goal completed. This game is an super addicting gem of a game that I have played it until 3am at times.
Information about the game
Stardew Valley is a role-playing game developed by just one guy: Eric ‘ConcernedApe’ Barone with support from his partner. The sheer work needed to create this game, let alone polish it to its current product is jaw-dropping.
Before starting the game you have to create a character. This character is your manifestation into the game. You have a grandfather in the game who leaves you a letter before the game starts, telling you you will know when the time is right to open the game. Flash-forward, you are a part of a nameless corporate entity and you hate your current life. Opening the letter, you realize that your grandfather has left you a farm in Stardew Valley.
You move into your grandfather’s farm in Stardew Valley. What you do in that farm is entirely on you. You could sleep all day, you could work from dusk to dawn. You could socialize with everyone in town. You could be a hermit and refuse to leave your farm.
What I really love
Halfway through the first (game time) month, I have the option to adopt a stray pet: either a cat or dog. I can name the pet. In my latest save game, I have a cat named Odin, after the cat I was catsitting for a year. I miss Odin. In the game, I can pet Odin everyday.
I can farm plants. And the animations on the game are such that everytime I harvest a crop, my character would stand facing the camera with the crop held up high with pride. Same with any new fish caught or a new item foraged. The character would hold everything high that he has obtained. It is the tiny things that makes me love it more.
I can also have farm animals in the game. Cows, pigs, chickens, rabbits, sheep, goats. I can pet them all. When I buy a youngling for my farm, my first interaction with the character has a pop-up box with has something along the lines: Youngling is shy but curious about the new surrounding. It is the tiny things.
The game has an official wiki page too. I keep reading it to see how to finish the quests and I know that is cheating. But I can see what all I have to look forward to. I know I could have a monster flatmate who is just adorable. I know I can pretty much start a family in the game if I want to. I know I can read books, participate in festivals and even visit the spa. It is the tiny things again.
I found out Stardew Valley has an Android version too and I am trying to convince my mom to get it on her phone too. She loved Farmvile.
Why I love Stardew Valley
You can do anything you want to do in the game. Therefore, Stardew Valley asks you what you wanna do. What are your priorities in life: people, work satisfaction or money. And it allows you to have more than one answer. I have been trying to create a nicely organized but efficient farm where I can make heaps of money and yet still have the satisfaction of perfect arrangement.
I haven’t tried it yet but one day in the future I am sure I would try to completely customize my character’s appearance. Go with someone who looks completely opposite to what I am.
Lastly, I love this game because I know things will work out.
It is so relaxing to have a manual for a life, to know the answers to all questions and a strategy for all quests. I can open the wiki everytime I am stuck and then just follow the instructions. My character will overcome obstacles as I know how to overcome the obstacles. He will earn money, he will get a bigger house and a pet that loves him.
My character will be happy.
It is the tiny thing that I can make sure someone’s life is sorted makes me never stop playing this game.
If you have a desktop or any device, you should definitely get this game.
I have never read Louisa May Alcott‘s 1869 novel Little Women. The first time I heard of Little Women was on This American Life’s episode #680. I did not know there had been 6 adaptations of the book but I knew of Greta Gerwig through her movie ‘LadyBird’. It took a wonderful recommendation from FilmJoy on YouTube for me to put Little Women (2019) on my list and watch it.
A fascinating aspect about the movie was how modern its ideology is. I expected a lot more stigma around women working and not marrying but the movie doesn’t put those things as barriers. It doesn’t present stigma of an independent women as an obstacle, it embraces it as if it is something that has always been a part of women’s lives.
The hardship that the March sisters face is not the society but life itself.
There is a certain joy about watching a movie so well crafted. I felt it when watching Parasite although for the complete opposite reasons. This movie made me live with the March family, laugh with them and grieve with them. It made me proud of Jo and what she had achieved despite everything. It made me happy for Amy & Meg for their marriages. I mourned for Beth like Jo & Marmee did.
The March family become my neighbours or an extension to my family. The March’s lives were mundane and I could see my life reflected in them.
I have thrown tamper tantrums because my brother didn’t bring me along when he hung out with his friends. There are times when I was happy for my name to be mispronounced or given a new name because I wanted to fit in. When we were young, my dad would be working out of the state so it would be an event when he would visit. He would routinely call at a specific time. I have ventured out of my home to accomplish something and support my family just like Jo has. I am sure my brother feels the same.
The characters are people who could be me or someone who I know. I have met people who are basically Jo or Beth and I will always cherish the time I spent with them. And at the same time, just like every character in this story grew up and grew apart, so did the people in my life.
It is a life story. No wonder this movie has been remade 7 times in its history.
The last 10 mins of this movie. Jo is in the attic. Bereft of her youngest sister, and her hope for a normal life. She finds her life not being anywhere close to what she imagined what it would be. What does she do?
What can you do if you are in her place?
You write your own story.
You put it down page by page, break it down piece by piece and rebuild. Editing, rewriting everything. You think about your story, you sleep with your story, eat with your story.
It doesn’t matter if you have to change the end of your story even though you don’t agree with it.
You make compromises.
Because it is not about the end of the story. It was never about the end of the story.
It will, and always be about the whole book that you can clutch in your hands.
After all of the hardship, the pain, the LIFE of it all, you did what you intended to do.
One thing I missed severely during Covid-19 Lockdown was petting cats and dogs. Now, I get to pet them again.
I took this photo as he was running left and right in glee and I am amazed this came out this good.
Note: This post is a little bit technical and if I write any follow-ups to this, they will get more technical. I will try to make this as simple as I possibly.
Also note: The Bot is not yet complete
Paid version of WordPress offers the ability to install plugins. I am a free version user of WordPress & I suspect I will always remain a free user.
The one feature that I would like to have in the free version is the ability to re-share my old posts on a social media network and maybe even repost it on my blog. I sometimes feel like my old posts are just gathering dust in the archives and I would like to air them out from time to time. I did spend a lot of time trying to perfect them and if not for them, I wouldn’t still be writing.
There are number of plugins which can be used to re-share old posts automatically on a blog. But I can’t install plugins. Therefore, I decided to write a bot that would run on my machine which would do this for me.
I am aware of how much a nuisance bots are on social media these days. I am aware that I want to, I could find something which suits my needs. But I also want to write this thing myself. For the last three years, all I have applications written has been for a paycheck and nothing important for myself.
The idea for this bot is about 1-2 years old. It was around the time that I was frantic about the view count of my blog. I no longer care about the numbers. So in a way, this bot is pretty much useless for me.
Here is a rough framework of this app:
- The app would read the list of blog posts from a file and extract the following from each post: Title, Link, Description, Category and two tags.
- I would create a database of posts from the above information.
- I would start at the oldest and move up the ladder sharing posts.
At the inception, I was learning C++ and I wanted to write a C++ bot. I tried to, but between my inept knowledge and lack of design I couldn’t get started properly.
The second time I tried to do this, I was learning Java & Android. So I figured it won’t be too difficult to run an Android app on my phone and it will automatically share posts without any prompt. Again, I didn’t know Android/Java well enough to do this.
To summarize, I had two issues:
- I don’t know the language well enough.
- I do not have the algorithm for this bot.
C has been the language I am most familiar with. I am a C programmer with 3+ years experience. Plus, I am C mentor to students on Exercism. I could remove one of the two issues by just using C and working out the chunks of the algorithm. This way if I want an Android app later I have a blueprint of how the bot should structured.
Getting a list of my posts:
If you enter your WordPress URL and add /feed at the end of it, you will receive a RSS file. RSS file for WordPress will only give me 150 posts & I know about RSS feeds are just XML files. It is not the complete blog history that I would like to have but it s good enough.
C, unlike Java, does not come with its own XML libraries. So my first job was to figure out what can I use to read the RSS file.
LibXML2 came in the picture. It is OpenSource and available natively in Ubuntu. With a few commands I had it installed. My experience with it is not great. It does everything you want it to, but it still feels clunky to use. But I stuck with it and I was able to get it working.
Next I needed to actually download the RSS file from WordPress. LibCurl was perfect for his. Working with LibCurl was the easiest experience ever. I am hoping that in the future, I would somehow call Twitter APIs with Curl too. I am not even sure it is possible.
I am currently trying to build up a stable database with the list of posts that I can extract. I don’t know how I am going to post things on Twitter/Reddit or any other media yet.
Check it out on GitHub.
Something I wrote all the way back in 2014
He had given up. Defeated, he leaned his head back in his bathtub.
His last completed screenplay was two years old. Two years. He had dry spells before but this was his driest yet. It was not as if he didn’t have ideas, they just weren’t good enough.
The ideas were nowhere close to his previous screenplays. His three previous screenplays were successful blockbusters, the last one earning him a national award. Fame came on the heels of the award as he became highly sought after.
As he laid in the tub, he realized he had peaked in his career. He would never make anything as good as what he did two years ago. Nothing was every going to good enough.
He tried things to get his brain working again. He got drunk, a little in the beginning and then a lot. He was almost hooked onto drugs until a…
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It is difficult to sum up a multi season TV series. NBC’s The Good Place has the following (cheesy) synopsis on IMDB:
Four people and their otherworldly frienemy struggle in the afterlife to define what it means to be good.– IMDB
Here is my take:
The Good Place was a brilliantly made show which tried to answer complex ethical questions about how to do the morally right thing. It also tried to illustrate how muddy the concept of good and bad is in our world for most people. The show followed six characters’ (Eleanor, Tahani, Chidi, Jason, Janet & Micheal) transformation into better versions of themselves.
Also, The Good Place was about Death.
The first scene of the show was Micheal welcoming Eleanor into The Good Place. In the last episode, Eleanor welcomed Micheal to live like a human. This entire conversation between Micheal & Eleanor is poignant:
Eleanor: You won’t really know what is going to happen to you.
Micheal: That is what makes it special. I won’t exactly know what is going to happen after I die. Nothing more human than that.
It is hard to talk about the series finale without mentioning the penultimate episode. When the characters are finally into The Good Place they discover it was not what it seemed. The episode featured a rendition of ancient Greek philosopher Hypatia, who revealed that everyone in the Good Place has become a “happiness zombie”; an eternity of perfection leads to boredom.
Too much of anything is bad.
So the concept of an end to existence is introduced. Characters who have been in The Good Place can choose to end their own existence. Not out of circumstances, or age but by choice. The souls themselves can decide when they are satisfied with everything they have done.
They can decide when to not just be.
I always want to know what happens after the end of the movie/books/TV show. The series finale gave me those answers. It was immensely satisfying to have answers for my curiosity.
And what answers they are.
I got to see them happy. I got to see them retired and fulfilling their desires. I got to see them make amends with their family. No more obstacles, no more world shattering news or villains. The characters lived.
I was ecstatic as I watched Tahani, Chidi, Jason and Eleanor just be themselves. Jason mastered every video game. Tahani mastered everything she wanted to do and also reconciled with her family. Chidi finished every book and ended up picking up Dan Brown’s books. Eleanor got to help the few people who needed help.
I enjoyed all four seasons of this show. I liked their banter, I liked how light this show was with such a cumbersome theme. I enjoyed the showrunners referencing real life scenarios. I loved how the show reiterated the same message over and over again: everyone can be redeemed.
However, I believe the series finale was special. I watched the fifty minute emotional & tear-jerking farewell episode in awe. It was reassuring about the biggest fears in our lives: death. It was courageous as it asked us to live our lives morally despite those fears. I will be re-watching the show years from now just to watch this finale again.
Until then, take it sleazy.
When this post would be published, NZ would have been under lockdown for a month. I have been working from home from my bed for the last 3 weeks.
It is surprising to think that we are still in the 4th month of the year as this year feels so long.
I went to India in February and attended my friends wedding. I am happy for them. Traveling at the time when Covid-19 restrictions were being put up was scary. Luckily I traveled without any difficulties.
The first or second case in NZ was reported on the flight two days after my return flight to NZ.
India has also moved into lockdown. My mom thought she had symptoms for Covid-19 but false alarm it was just her tonsils acting up. My brother is also working from home. I don’t know how their lives look like right now as this might be the longest period of time where all 3 members are home at all times. Wish them luck.
I had pains in my back jaw which I thought was wisdom tooth but was a TMJ injury. I am fine now after some exercises.
I found out that I have a sinus in my lower back that I need a surgery to remove. I am going to have my first surgery. Or I was supposed to prior to the lockdown. Now, my surgery is indefinitely deferred.
I joked to my colleagues that my body just decided to start breaking down after I turned 26.
I moved houses the time when lockdown started. I am much more happy in my new house than I was in my old house after my ex-flatmate friend E moved out.
I like working from home. I like staying at home all day and playing games, watching movies. I am also afraid that I am not making productive use of the time I have but I am trying to.
But at the end, I am scared. Scared about what the future would look like in 3-6 months. I have zero hopes of staying in NZ anymore as Immigration has shut its offices because of lockdown and my residency visa won’t be processed.
In the last year, Bung Joon-ho’s Parasite is a movie that I keep coming back to. Parasite might be the best economic class disparity movie I have ever seen. It is so tightly packed because of its absolute perfect direction and story that it is an absolute joy watching it and when the movie is over, it makes you really think about the world we live in.
There are better people than me who have talked about the movie. Here are three of my favorite YouTubers talking about this movie.
While these YouTubers speak about the technical details of the movie, I would like to discuss the thoughts that this movie provokes. In no way are my thoughts well defined, and I will hardly be talking about the movie. But I will be talking about what parallels I draw from the movie.
Prior to watching Parasite, I had only seen this directors’ one movie: SnowPiercer. That movie was pretty straightforward (literally) and on the nose. After watching Parasite, I could see Snowpiercer in a different light. I saw it as Namgoong Minsoo did: a prison and the people in it hoping that reaching the front of the train would fix their problems.
There was no fixing a system that was inherently designed to divide people in classes with no permeability between them. Best way is to break it and start anew.
She is nice because she is rich.
I keep thinking about this line. In our day to day lives, we see so many news articles of rich people acting greedy. They hoard money, they evade taxes and they interfere in policies via proxies. But there is no denying the fact that when rich people speak, we listen. Baring a few exceptions, based on what we see, no one will say rich people aren’t nice.
People from an effluent class give money to charities, have fundraisers etc (I am assuming. I have never been to one). I suspect that Philanthropy wouldn’t exist without a massive wealth inequality.
I remember my undergraduate college. Meeting other students who came in from West Bombay. They were nice. Warm? No, I felt distant from them. But nice? Yes.
I wonder now if they were nice because if they are rich or because they were nice because their effluence allowed them to learn social niceties. Maybe that is the same thing.
I am going to assume that anyone aged 20-30 year old are aware of renting houses. I am also going to assume that most of us are aware of how difficult and expensive it would be for us to own a house.
I have been renting for the last 4 years. My parents were renting up until I was in 4th grade. They finally took a home loan and paid it back over 10 years. I remember the day my mom made the final payment and the sigh of relief on their faces.
In my first year in Auckland, I went for a house party in a friend’s (family) house and they had a pool. I envied him and thought whether I would ever live in this area.
My parents are trying to arrange a marriage for my older brother. This is something Indian families do: arranged marriages. A prospective marriage fell through when the bride’s side looked at our house and turned us down stating: ‘Our house is too small.’
The house my parents saved all their lives to buy is now too small.
Do I fit in here?
This is the question I always asked myself in my first one and a half year of undergraduate. This is the question I asked myself in the first two years in Auckland.
This is the question I asked myself when I went to my friends wedding.
I believe I will always ask this question whenever I walk into a room and see, visibly see, that I dealing with people above my economic class.
This is going to be our in-laws house.
There is this trope in Bollywood movies. The main character is a rough but honorable lower economic class guy. His eventual love interest is usually the daughter of a wealthy industrialist. The movies end eventually with the main character marrying into the wealthy family.
This scene in Parasite made me think of all those Bollywood movies selling the same dream that the son from Parasite is dreaming. The same illusion that Bollywood has been selling as far back as my parents generation.
The biggest thing about this movie that I absolutely loved is that all members of the Kim family are really good at what they do. They take advantage of their positions yes. But also, they are each really good at everything they do.
They cleaned a party, got rid of all of their opposition in 20 mins and also served Park family dinner. The dad knew how to drive and he had really good turning skills(I am jealous). Daughter had amazing photoshop and acting skills.
This movie goes out of its way to show that poor people aren’t lazy, they are just not given enough opportunities.
The last scene of the movie is the son looking at us. I choose to believe that we are thinking the same thing. He will never be able to break the glass ceiling of economic divide. He might push against it. Might see through the gaps of that ceiling, might eventually move out of his subbasement house.
But he will never be able to afford Park’s house.
He will always be running after one monetary goal and then another, never finding something that suffices.
It is not his fault really. This is the system that he lives in. This is the system that we live in.
We are, by our circumstances, always chasing after a unattainable dream of a life of luxury, of a life where we are rewarded by our hard work.
PS: This photo was taken in Feb 2020, long before NZ issued Covid-19 level 4 alerts and a national emergency.
People age. Everything grows old. I can see myself aging.
I wish someone had told me how quickly everyone around me would age. I wish someone had told me before I moved to Auckland when I come back, I would notice the wrinkles more.
Everyone who I looked up to while growing up has aged visibly. In the last 4 years, at least four of my uncles & one great-aunt have passed.
This month I visited mothers’ elder brother in his house. His mother (my grandmother) passed at least five years ago. His younger brother passed away in 2018.
I choked up while speaking to him. He has lost a lot of weight. Most furnishings in his house have been sold off. He looked lost and defeated. He was alone. He is being dogged by everyone for some kind of will. He has nothing except a few material possessions left.
I knew that this might be the last time I see him. I also know that I won’t be there when he passes. I hope I am wrong.
Whenever I video-call my mom & dad, their age is more visible. My dad just had a cataract operation done. My mom refuses to get her eye checked up, avoiding conversations about her health altogether. Jimmy is 10 years old now: the lower age expectancy for dogs of his breed. I can see that he is losing his sight.
I stayed at a friends house one weekend as it was late and next morning I met his parents. His dad was recovering from a heart attack. There was a massive stack of medicine on the table.
I don’t know what to do about this. Even though I have been noticing these things for a while, I still don’t know what to do. What else can I do but notice everyone that I grew up under withering away. I remembered something that both my parents say about watching their parents age.
“We hope that we don’t go out like them.”
See last year’s post here.
It has been four years since I moved to Auckland.
I have been blogging for six years now.
I have been posting on my blog on my blog over the last year in a pattern of one post every two weeks. I am really proud of myself. After six years of blogging, I have finally found my rhythm. There have been a few times that I posted something that I threw together at the last moment. There have been posts on which I worked on over a month.
Thank you to everyone who has read or better yet commented over my posts.
The following are a sequence of events which may or may not conclude by the time this post is published ( 30th January 2020 ).
August or September 2019: My flatmate E tells me she wants to move
September – November 2019: I stress myself thinking about having to move. Later E suggests that we can move together to a new place. I like the idea and we look for places.
December 2019: E sends me TradeMe listings for places which I reject as they don’t suit me. Eventually we realize that we are not going to be able to move together. We discuss our options. I love our current place, so I want to stay. The only way I can do that is if I buy the house furniture from E. She is willing to sell it off.
5th Jan: I book tickets for my flight to the Homeland. I will be heading out in the first week of February.
11th January 2020: E gives her 21 days notice to the landlords. We make the assumption that we can easily replace her on the contract.
Our landlords usually are prompt in their responses but this time, we don’t hear back from them.
E advertises her room on Facebook Marketplace. A potential flatmate H looks at her room. He is cool.
12th January: H brings his partner around to view the flat. I guess he really liked it. E texts the landlords and inform them that there is a couple who are interested.
13th January 2020: Landlords finally reply. They don’t like the fact that E has tried to find a replacement. They would like to meet anybody who wants to rent the room.
E & I want the couple to move in. However, the couple work in hospitality, and the landlord don’t want to rent to hospitality workers as they work unusual shifts. The landlord wants to make sure that they are ‘professional’ and work full time.
They are chefs and usually finish work by 4pm, we tell the landlords. The landlords are willing to meet.
14th January 2020: Some other folks come to view the room. S came to look at the house but her deal was her partner would be staying half a week. I was skeptical of this as I knew it would only be a matter of time before the partner moves in full time. I didn’t like her much and after viewing she said she doesn’t want the room.
Our landlords, H and his partner M agree to meet. At this point I am panicking as I don’t trust anyone. I start looking into other rooms for myself to move into in case the couple & landlords don’t agree.
I inform the landlords that I would like to get new flatmates sorted quick as I won’t be staying in the house for most of the February.
15th January 2020: I view a house close by. It is in shambles, barely worth the amount they were charging. But I don’t turn it down. If I get desperate and I need to move out soon, I would pick any.
16 Jan: The couple and landlords meet. I sit back and let them talk. They like each other.
17th Jan: Landlords want them to move in. E & I rejoice.
However, the couple don’t respond for a day. I start getting twitchy again. Landlord calls me to make sure that the couple still want to move in. I don’t have an answer.
18th Jan: Couple finally respond yes they are willing to move in.
20 Jan: E still hasn’t decided when she wants to move out. The landlords ask me to confirm her move out date and the couple’s move in date. I do and I realize that the couple want to move in by 27th whereas E wants to leave by 31st.
My rent is reduced as the couple will be paying a higher share. E starts packing her bags. I don’t let myself relax as I realize that I now own all of the house furniture and until the couple sign the contract, something could still go wrong.
23th Jan: E & I sign off on our old bond. E will be submitting the bond refund form.
25 Jan: I meet the cat owner. She is nice and I make it clear that during Feb she would have to take the cats to the cattery as I can’t take care of them.
27th Jan: I start cleaning E’s stuff. I expected it to be easy. Turns out she had so much stuff that I cleaned 80% of the pantry. My opinion of her changed as I realized she is probably the laziest person I know.
26th Jan: E moves out. She leaves a bunch of perishables behind. I should have made her clean her stuff.
For example: she had unopened coffee which expired in 2017.
Most of the things were expired. I manage to clean out most of the things.
The couple visit. We finally sign the new contract & bond. I have a pizza and coke to celebrate (closest & cheapest things to buy).
29th Jan: The couple move in. I’m not at home when they move in. I’m finally relieved.
I have written about the new things I am learning. Now, as time goes on I am finding myself struggling to keep myself motivated with those things. I am easy to distract, most things don’t hold my attention. My slump has impacted me the most at work.
For about 2 to 3 months, I have been distracted at work. There are days when I would sit in front of my laptop and I would just… not feel like doing anything. I would sigh in disappointment, unable to focus. I would kill time with YouTube, Facebook or any other site where I could scroll.
At the end of the day as I am heading for home I would make a resolution to focus at my work the next day. However, unless I had a looming deadline, I would not be able to focus.
I wondered how did I get to be this guy who now doesn’t want to work.
I struggled with getting up in the morning every since school. I am definitely not a morning person, especially on weekdays. I am usually late to work and that is fine because I would cover my hours by staying late.
Now, I mildly resent myself in the morning for going to work. I would stay in bed until 8:30 for my 9am start of work. I would wake up but keep scrolling on my phone to kill time.
On introspection, I realized that some part of me blames the visa delays for a nonchalant work drive. After all, it still seems like working in NZ will be a temporary thing and then I would be forced to move and start again.
However, it is not the main reason. I don’t spend every working hour fretting over my visa.
Have I burned out? Is it possible for a 26 year old me to burnout after just 3 years of work? If I consider this, I am aghast. How did I burnout when my parents & my brother has been working for years without any complain. I vehemently refuse this possibility.
Does my work not excite me anymore? This is more probable. I have been working for 3 years and I feel like I have learned enough. I know I have not mastered everything but that doesn’t drive me. I don’t crave perfection in my knowledge. I have been mentoring on other learning developers on Exercism.
But I am also learning Android. There is so much to learn that it is daunting. By all accounts I should be excited about this. I think I am. But is it enough for me to be excited for work?
I remember hearing someone make a racist comment about immigrants: Immigrants are lazy. Immigrants are here to earn easy money.
On workdays when I barely worked, I would walk home shaming myself with that line. I am the walking example of that stereotype.
I wish I knew what is happening to me. I don’t.
I know that this work has been good so far. I know that I am limiting my distractions to the minimum. I also have a trip to the homeland coming up, and I am looking forward to that.
I am trying to get the joy back while working.
Each Toy Story movies is unique as each presents a metaphor for different age milestone. First Toy Story dealt with teens/early twenties or college years. Toy Story 2 dealt with Woody undergoing a midlife crisis and questioning his life’s purpose. Toy Story 3 dealt with the idea of retirement and the prospect of death. Toy Story 4 deals with life after retirement. A new beginning. I figured this idea should merit this post as it is going to be published on the 1st Jan 2020.
I saw Toy Story 3 before I watched its prequels. I was aware of the first two movies because of the complementary toy given on every McDonald’s ‘Happy Meal’. I used to have/I may still have a Woody from one such Happy Meal.
I was prepared to go for Toy Story 4 in the cinemas this year but for some reason I never did. I ended up watching the first three Toy Story-ies at home first and then watched the latest movie.
The conversation around Toy Story 4 online was lackluster. I knew that the latest movie won’t live upto its expectations. Toy Story 3 is and will forever be one of my favorite movies. Toy Story 3 made me cry twice: the incinerator scene and then the final playtime scene.
I didn’t think Toy Story 4 was a special movie until the climax when Woody said goodbye to the other toys on top of the carousal. Seeing these characters: many of whom have been there since the first movie at their swansong just broke me. I sobbed, I felt as I was saying goodbye to these characters again after ToyStory 3 itself was a goodbye.
Back to the idea that this movie deals with post retirement.
The bulk of the story follows Woody: the character who now has to retire from ‘Andy’s Toy’ to a toy just kept in the cupboard and is hardly played with. Woody is almost everything I can imagine an old almost retiree being:
He is stubborn. He refuses to accept that a kid can start preschool without their toy. He refuses to believe that his days of being a favorite are over.
He is reluctant to change his lifestyle. In another words, he is someone who doesn’t know what he is after he finishes working. This whole movie he is chasing the idea that he has to be there for someone without considering that it is time to be there for himself.
Also, Woody is someone whose experience makes him an old sage. Every toy yearns to have what Woody has had in his whole life. Every toy wants to know what it feels like to be someone’s toy.
Lastly, before he does go on to live his own adventure, I believe he chooses to make sure that he helps out as many toys as possible.
I think the end credits scene where he spends the entire time cheating the system and handing out all toys is a perfect example of him passing the torch.
An awesome video by NerdWriter on the animation technique:
It took Woody a lifetime to live for himself. I hope that you walk onto new year with some of Woody’s enthusiasm and determination. I hope you try something new. Live for yourself after spending a long time living for others.
Happy new Year!
I walk to work everyday. This is something I took on Monday as I was intrigued as well as amused by it.
Grief is a hard thing to describe and write about. It is, I think, comparatively easy to write about when grief is thick like morning fog or when it leaves a strong taste in the mouth. It, when coupled with depression, gets harder to describe as most often when there is no feeling.
It is the absence of any feeling, a vacuum which exists where the grief should be, and this vacuum is hard to discern.
This brings me to Sigrid Nunez’s The Friend. Reading the description of the book prior to requesting it from the library, I knew that this book won’t be an easy read.
When a woman unexpectedly loses her lifelong best friend and mentor, she finds herself burdened with the unwanted dog he has left behind. Her own battle against grief is intensified by the mute suffering of the dog, a huge Great Dane traumatized by the inexplicable disappearance of its master, and by the threat of eviction: dogs are prohibited in her apartment building.
While others worry that grief has made her a victim of magical thinking, the woman refuses to be separated from the dog except for brief periods of time. Isolated from the rest of the world, increasingly obsessed with the dog’s care, determined to read its mind and fathom its heart, she comes dangerously close to unraveling. But while troubles abound, rich and surprising rewards lie in store for both of them.
Elegiac and searching, The Friend is both a meditation on loss and a celebration of human-canine devotion.– Official Description on Sigrid Nunez’s website
We get no names in the book. We get characteristics of the people around the main character. But from the main character very little introspection. We get little indication as to which race the characters belong to, how old they are. They are given a perfunctory glance, as if the protagonist can’t seem to notice them.
The protagonist is someone who is grieving but her grief is not put into words. The character shares her feelings almost halfway through the book, months after the death of her lifelong friend. We don’t get the friend’s name either.
The only name we get in the book is of the Great Dane: Apollo. Apollo is almost exactly like our main character. Alone. Abandoned by friend’s suicide. Grieving but unable to form words to speak about it.
The first feelings the main characters show are of protectiveness. A kinship to Apollo. An attachment, a bit obsessively of Apollo. She herself says that Apollo is almost a surrogate to the friend she just lost. She is a surrogate to the pet-parent Apollo lost.
Apollo is everything a dog shouldn’t be. He is old, hardly wiggles his tail when the main character comes home. Uninterested in any other dog or person. Apollo sleeps on the bed everyday, not giving an inch for our main character.
Apollo is also a Great Dane, and the character is told they don’t live long. Apollo shows awareness of the fact that he won’t live long.
The main character readies herself for his death. And she does that, she gets to terms with the suicide of her friend.
There is a chapter close to the end of the book. I think it is the most important one. As she finally deals with the loss of the friend, even if it was in a dream.
As I finished the book, I almost wanted to throw the book away because I misunderstood the end. I kept rereading it, I read a bunch of reviews to see if anyone else came at the same conclusion. It was only after rereading it the second day that I understood what happens.
The end was not heart-wrenching, neither was it delusional as I thought it was.
It was accepting. She accepted things. She tried to treasure what she had. Apollo, arthritis aside, was a dog again. Both healing, but not completely healed.
There are two Lake Rotoiti in New Zealand. One in North Island and other in the South.
I visited the one in the north.
(A man and a woman are sitting in front of each other on a stage as the audience looks on and a couple of cameras pan across the stage. A massive sign behind the two people on stage says: 30Mins. The show goes on air and the audience starts applauding, the camera zooms in on the two people.)
Mayoral Candidate Williamson: (Putting down his glass of water, looking focussed) Hello Melissa. Thank you for having me.
Interviewer Melissa: (Seated opposite Williamson, holding a stack of cards) It is my pleasure to have you on this show. I am sure that I speak for myself, the people at home and the people joined us here live today in the studio that we have been looking forward to hearing from you.
W: (Smiles a bit nervously)That is nice. I would imagine that there will be a lot of tough questions waiting for me then.
M: (Chuckles)Yes. However, let’s get the formalities out of the way first then shall we? If you could speak to the camera and introduce yourself to the people who have never heard of you?
W: (Looks at the camera, clears his throat)My name is John Williamson, and I am currently running for the Mayor of this blessed city you all call home. I have been the district attorney of this city before, elected by all you diligent citizens, and I would like to be the mayor to deal with the problems that have been festering in this city for so long.
M: (Immediately pouncing) By problems, you mean the Caped Crusader right?
W: (Without missing a beat himself) Yes, one of the promised changes in my campaign is to finally apprehend the vigilante, the Caped Crusader.
M: Why do you think that he needs to be captured? I mean he has done a lot of good in the city.
W: (Nonplussed) Has he though? Think about in the last few years the amount of people put in jeopardy because some madman thinks it will be fun to toy with the Crusader. The property damage, the blatant disregard for the law, the numerous felonies committed all in the name of justice. I don’t believe anyone should be above the law, whether they think they are doing something good or not.
M: (Tilting her head to the left, the side where her earphone is sitting in) But he has helped put so many criminals behind bars. I, and a lot of citizens in this city, feel safer at night knowing that there is someone looking out for them.
W: How do we know if they are criminals? Are we supposed to believe a masked man’s judgement? If you or me beat a person to an inch of their life and tell them to confess to a crime so that the beating stops, will that person not confess? That is not justice, that is torture.
M: (Opens her mouth but stops as there is a collective gasp from the audience.) No one is denying that his methods are not unlawful….
W: (Cuts in this time) But you and everyone else is happy to feel safe if it means that someone else can be tortured in the streets?
M: (Struck speechless, the audience members start whispering amongst themselves. She turns to the camera) We will pick up this conversation right after the commercial break.
(The camera pans away from the stage as the show goes on commercial. W and M look at each other, W nods at M feeling awkward. The show comes back on air)
M: (Waiting for the audience to stop their applause) Hello everyone, I am your host Melissa Gordan and I am joined here by the controversial mayoral candidate John Williamson.
W: (Nods at the camera and the audience as the audience claps).
M: (Looking back at W) So, before the break we were discussing your perspective on the Caped Crusader. However, if you don’t mind, I would like to talk about your personal life.
W: (Slightly perplexed)Um, yes sure. What would you like to know?
M: (Smiling) You went to school in the city’s own St Mary’s School for Boys right?
W: (Nodding) Yes, I did. I still remember that school, the color of the walls. Sister McDonald teaching us Science before the break and after the break teaching us Bible Studies.
M: (Laughing now) That must have been very confusing time. Plus, Catholic schools are known for their discipline and we can see the result of that right here. (Laughs for the camera)
W: (Blushing now, looks at his feet) Ah you are too kind. I was a kid back then, I was not always so disciplined and focussed as I am now.
M: (Head tilts to left) Yes, was that around the time when you met Tony Kingsley?
W: (Head snaps up) Tony? Um what has that got to do with this?
M: Ah. So for the audience who are not aware, Tony along with the Kingsley family were recently arrested in a RICO case.
W: (Purses lips) I did not know that.
M: (Gives a sympathetic smile) Then you also must have not been aware that the Caped Crusader has been instrumental in their arrest.
W: (Leans back in his chair, frowning) I see.
M: The police has been trying to arrest the crime family for years now, and every time they get close, they lost their progress. It was due to the Caped Crusader that the police were able to uncover the evidence.
W: Tell me M, (looks at the earpiece), have they been proven guilty yet?
M: (Tilts her head even more) The trial is still ongoing.
W: (Expecting this answer) So they have not, despite some hard evidence that the family was involved in illegal activity.
M: (Shifts in the seat) I am not involved in covering that case for our network, but I am happy to get that information for you.
W: (Waves his hand) No need. Cause I will tell you what will happen: eventually the district attorney will have to present this crucial evidence to the court. And he will have to state how the police got that evidence.
M: (Impatiently) Yes that is how the court works.
W: (Leans forward) The judge throws that evidence out of the court as the Caped Crusader is not the hand of the law. He obtained that evidence, most likely through torture.
W: So tell me Melissa, what is the point of having that evidence if it blows our case against supposed crime families?
M: (Tilts her head again) I would like to discuss your familiarity with Tony Kingsley Mr Williamson. How well did you know him?
W: (Shakes his head) The Caped Crusader has arranged himself such that no one can question what he does, we just have to put our faith that he is doing the right thing.
M: Is it true that you and he have met shortly before he was arrested?
W: The Caped Cru…? No I did not meet Tony, I mean Mr Kingsley. I have not seen him in a long time.
M: During your tenure as a District Attorney, did you not have any contact with Kingsley crime family?
W: I had hundreds of cases. The allegations against the Kingsley family have not been proven in court yet, so you can’t call them a crime family.
M: (Looking smug)
W: (Licks lips, goes to pick up his glass of water).
M: (Looking at the camera)I think this would be a great time for a commercial break. We will be back soon.
(The show cuts to a commercial break. W asks for another glass of water, M stands up and walks around, her hand pressed against her left ear. W looks deep in thought. The camera announces show is back on in 10. M sits back and takes a sip of water herself, cameraman signs 3, 2, 1. Show is back on air. Audience members start clapping on queue).
M: (Looking at the camera and smiling) Hello everyone and welcome back to this exciting episode of 30Mins. My guest is Mayoral Candidate John Williamson.
W: (Smiles at M) Thank you.
M: (Looks at W) I would like to continue talking about you and Tony, and by extension the Kingsley family.
W: (Nodding) I would be happy to talk about that too, but I would also like to talk about your obsession with the Caped Crusader.
M: (Frowning) Obsession?(Tilts her head towards the left) Anyway, I would like to know when did you last meet Tony?
W: I don’t remember when I last met Tony. I could have met him in a courtroom long ago, but like I said, I had too many cases to remember anyone. If you would like to refresh my memory?
M: (Opens her mouth) Yes….
W: (Continues as if M hadn’t spoken at all) Anyway, the Caped Crusader. If you agree with his methods, his blatant disregard for our constitution, I would like to think it is not because you think his is doing something good. I believe that you support him because you can sit back and let him clean up the streets while you can interview people like me who are actually trying to bring about a change.
M: (Clearly uncomfortable with the attack) I don’t think you are making any sense. Back to Tony, according to our records you met him a couple weeks ago. It was an official meeting in your office, just a week prior to his and the Kingsley family’s arrest. (Tilts her head again) As a district attorney you would be aware of his impending arrest would you be not?
W: Your acceptance with what the Crusader does means that you don’t have to stand up to bring a change. Police can sit back and not do their jobs because a masked man will hunt down people committing crimes in the street.
M: It was not after Kingsley crime family’s arrest that you announced a run for the mayor.
W: Again, they are not a crime family. Back to the Crusader, I sometimes wonder how could one man afford his gadgets, his technology. Either, ironically, he has stolen all of it or he is someone who has access to a lot of money himself. I wonder how much good he could do if he donates that money instead of trying to take it on himself to (air-quotes)clean the streets….
The screen is turned off. In the monitors reflection, the Caped Crusader looks at his own stony face.
I have lived in Auckland for the last three and a half years. I love this city, and by extension this country. I have explored the city: found new places, food cuisines and occasionally new people. However, in the last year, Immigration New Zealand announced a flurry of changes which on paper looks like an attempt to push me out.
About two months ago, Immigration NZ announced a the discontinuation of six temporary work visas. The six visas are going to be replaced by a since temporary work visa. Furthermore, this visa can only be applied by the company which is hiring the migrant. The details are hazy at the moment and the change will roll in 2021. Furthermore, the hiring company needs to be accredited by the Government and should explain why an migrant is being hired and not a NZ citizen.
Pessimistically, no company will want to jump through any of the hoops that Immigration is imposing itself on it. Even if a company is willing to put itself through the torment of Immigration and its processing times, who will stop the company from exploiting the migrant.
Optimistically, things might not be dire as they seem to be, in fact could turn out to be better with these changes. But I am not sure, these changes seem targeted.
Last month, Immigration also announced the Parent Visas are going to be allowed once again, however the applicants children need to earn at $100000 per year. It is even by Immigration’s own estimate that this will make about 80% of applicants ineligible.
Recently, I was invited back to AUT as an alumni for a networking session with currently enrolled students. I met a lot of International students who asked me the same kind of questions I asked everyone when I was a student: How difficult it is to get a job? Are people nice here?
I couldn’t bring myself to tell them that things were easier when I graduated, Immigration NZ didn’t seem to be bent on pushing us out. We had a lot more options, a little bit more freedom than what you might have.
I couldn’t tell them that ‘Hey! Things are going to be harder for you.’
I understand the reasoning behind these changes. Part of it could be chalked up to pure xenophobia. Part of it to ensure that the citizens receive enough opportunities. The remaining parts could be fulfilling election campaign promises.
It is my empathy of Immigration’s motives that infuriates me. I wish that I was just single minded to blame the Government and therefore Immigration for making my life even more hard than it is already. I am still waiting to hear back from Immigration for my residency visa and I have applied ten months ago.
I wish that this was an overt (non-violent) racism that I could just ignore and move on. What am I supposed to do about policy changes in country that I have very little civil rights? Even if I had any civil right, would I have made any difference?
I wonder what is going to happen eventually. Will this place that I love so much turn hostile to the point that I couldn’t live here anymore? Or was it always like this and it is only now that I am discovering its anti-immigrant stance akin to how I discover a new food alley in the city? I don’t know.
I needed to post something this week, but I didn’t have anything ready. So I decided to Reblog something that I wrote years ago.
My first blog.
Mind any who is reading i have never wrote any thing like a blog before.
I just read a blog by a blogger Ephemeral Optimism before I wrote mine. Though his blog was very interesting about opinions, I couldn’t help but relate to his username.
A few days ago I was just ecstatic. I was practically dancing anywhere, hugging random people. All because I scored great grades in my exams(yes I am a nerd).
Now I am back to being normal. And mind you I am not saying normal is bad, but by comparison it is really sad. So much hard work, so much time and sweat and I become elated for a few hours only?
That is the thing which intrigues me. And I could probably imagine things further down the line in my life. Why are good or great things so ephemeral?
And being normal…
View original post 464 more words
When I applied for New Zealand residency visa in December, I had a plan.
- Apply : December 2018
- Wait the estimated time of processing: 6 months, i.e until June-July 2019.
- It will possibly get delayed, let’s say by half the estimated time so 3 months of buffer time, i.e September 2019.
Usually, for visas I am pretty tense. My past experience with visa applications always had it roadblocks. My plan calmed me down and I almost forgot that I had applied for a visa in the last 9 months. After all, all I had to do was wait 6 to 9 months and then hopefully I would have an answer: either my visa would be approved or it would not.
This is how my plan has progressed:
- Apply: December 2018 ( check )
- Waiting….. ( September 2019 ).
My application has been sitting in the queue for the past 9 months. It has not been reviewed. A case officer has not been assigned. All I could do is wait. Check my email everyday to see if there is any update. Prepare to apply for another work visa because I need to stay in New Zealand.
I am not the only one who has been waiting a long time. A bunch of Radio New Zealand articles have been talking about Immigration New Zealand’s slow work for a while.
From my understanding, this has something to do with which party is in power and their promise at the time of election to cut down immigration numbers. They have successfully done that by slowing down the whole process. If I was not stuck in the middle of this, I would have applauded their method for its simplicity.
But I am. I hate this waiting game.
Eight months ago, I moved houses to rent with a friend. My flatmate, E, happens to be cat sitting two sibling cats: Osiris and Odin. Come November, the two cats will move back in with their owner. I consider myself lucky: I have lived with cats in Auckland and a dog in Mumbai.
This made me wonder, between dogs and cats which is my ideal pet?
So in this essay I will compare my life with the two animals and their characteristics.
Also, this post is based solely on my experiences. All of the points listed in this post are subjective and nothing is set in stone. You are welcome to disagree with me.
I would be comparing the two cats: Odin and Osiris with my dog Jimmy. Jimmy is about 10 years old now, and I have not lived with him for the last three years. So, I will be comparing the younger version of Jimmy with the cats.
Side-note, currently in Mumbai, my mom has adopted another dog Snowy. She is vastly different from Jimmy but I have not spent a large amount of time with her, I will not try to compare her. Snowy is adorable though.
There is probably no contest between Jimmy and the cats on who is better at expressing their happiness. Jimmy had a habit of running around (when he was younger), jumping and wagging his tail whenever someone comes home.
He had this habit of standing on his back legs and grabbing something from my hand, run back and sit on the couch or bed opposite the door. He would wait there, wagging his tail for me to come and take my stuff back and pet him. I always loved that routine.
Just seeing his picture makes me happy. My brother and I brought him home. We fed him, watched him grow from an adorable puppy to a grumpy old dog.
I never knew the cats when they were young, didn’t have a lot of memories with them. However, I knew I was a cat person before I moved in with E.
The cats are lovely. They are tiny, their skulls smaller than my palm, weighing about two kilos. The first time they sat on my lap, I was astonished. Now, I write this post with Odin sitting on my left arm.
The cats rub their bodies against my shin. They headbutt, purr and meow. Their presence induces a more calm energy. They wait by the door as I unlock the door and scatter as I enter the house. Then they strut back towards me as I call them, stretch and lay on the floor just beyond my reach. I have to go towards them and pet them.
Jimmy loved to stand on his hind legs and look out of the window down at the world beyond. He would bark when he would see another dog, howl when he would identify one of the family walking away from him. Odin sits at the front door window, curious about the world beyond the door even though he can go out anytime he want to via the cat door.
Osiris just like to sleep. As close to me or E as possible. He would jump on the bed, slide his way into the duvet and just cuddle with me. He would place his head into my armpit, the inner side of my elbow, against my throat or just curl against my chest and fall asleep. Every day, at around 7am he would come into my bed and cuddle. I am always glad he does that.
Jimmy was never a dog who loved cuddles. He would be happily asleep against my brother but not with anyone else. He would gladly take everyone else’s bed and fall asleep but he preferred to have his own space.
There is this popular Instagram post telling the difference the spots where one can scratch the cat and the dog.
It is mostly accurate but not completely.
Jimmy loves head scratches & neck scratches. He would stretch his neck when I found that perfect spot when scratching him. He enjoys belly rubs but its the neck that he enjoys most. Additionally, while being Jimmy, he would start scratching in the air with his hind legs. It is hilarious.
Osiris and Odin: they love scratches. They will headbutt me, meow loudly and sit on my chest as I work on my laptop to get me to give them scratches. As I scratch them, they purr.
I have never heard cats purr this loud before, they sound like a car engine on idle. When they sit on my chest and purr, I can feel the intensity.
Jimmy got increasingly picky he grew older. He would only eat meat and anything which tasted like meat. Food had to be prepared specially so that he could smell chicken. If he doesn’t like it, he wouldn’t eat it. He would walk away from the food bowl with a look of disappointment.
The cats aren’t picky eaters. They need their dry food bowl full at all times. They need their wet food to be served at a fixed time otherwise they will start meowing at me to remind me.
Jimmy never liked being washed. He hated it, would slump every time I would try to get him into the bathroom. He would whimper and bark whenever I cleaned him up.
The cats on the other hand, they don’t have to ever be washed. They clean themselves. E only has to brush them. They hate it. They whine, sometimes hiss at her but since she is holding them by the nape of their necks, they can’t do anything. After E is done, there is handful of fur collected and disposed off.
Jimmy has to be walked regularly. We never got him trained enough to let him off the leash: partly because we were always afraid that he would get run over. Living in India, we had seen enough dogs be run over that we could never risk it with Jimmy.
I can let the cats out of the house. If we don’t, they just use the cat door. Usually I would find them lounging on our porch or underneath my bird feeder staring at all the sparrows.
I (usually E) just have to clean out their litter box whenever they use.
Jimmy. Hands down.
He has chewed my jeans, home furniture, wires, TV remotes, LAN cables, a mobile phone and a couple of jandals/slippers. And every time I would tell him no, he would find something else to chew.
As the years went on, his incidences decreased as well.
Cats on the other hand, just want to sit on my lap. Press all of the keys on my laptop. Play with the power cable.
Jimmy is definitely more work. But his ability to express joy on meeting me is unparalleled.
The warmth from cuddling Osiris and a purring Odin is unparalleled.
Jimmy required long walks and heaps of play time. Cats are easy, perfect pets for someone renting houses.
However, after Novemeber, I am sure I am going to miss Osiris and Odin, just as I miss Jimmy.
I think this comic sums up this post perfectly:
Image Credits: Scholastic
Art is political. Ergo, books are also political.
I have seen a lot of argument online about how authors shouldn’t try to shove in their own political opinions into books. I don’t think that is possible, as writing bares one’s soul onto paper. An author is bound to throw in their political ideas.
Books are not weighed down by political ideologies, but when done correctly, are enhanced by them.
I have started enjoying books which deal with ideologies. It makes the story tangible, almost like a fabric that can be touched, like a discernible flavor. I cherish books possessing similarities with our world.
J.K. Rowling’s Harry Potter franchise ( 7 books, 8 movies and more ) are an example.
Why Harry Potter matters to me?
I first read Harry Potter about 7 years ago. At the time, I had just started reading novels. I owe a lot to J.K. Rowling’s Harry Potter books because they paved the way for me to find my favorite genre: fantasy novels. I remember being in awe with the concept of magic in the books do. I didn’t pay attention to the minute details and webs that J.K. Rowling had spun in those 7 books.
7 years later, today, I have changed a lot. My views have changed. I know a few things on structuring a story. Movies & books have a more lasting effect on me as I pick subtleties easier.
I read the 7 Harry Potter books again to see if I still like them. My intention was to understand the framework with which Rowling had written the story, to learn how to create a world like she had.
I did not do that. I can’t tell you where are the plot points in the book or what exactly is the story arc of the characters. Because 10 pages into the first book, Harry Potter and Philosopher’s Stone, I was hooked on to the story of a 11 year old boy walking into Hogwarts.
I noticed the onset of PTSD in Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. I noticed the miracle by which Harry was different than his arch-nemesis Voldemort. I noticed how real the deaths in Harry Potter were: sudden & unexpected. A single line to describe a character’s death, a single incantation.
There are more important things that the story itself. I started noticing things relevant to our own world.
Always the innocent are the first victims, so it has been for ages past, so it is now.– J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter And the Philosopher’s Stone
The Wizarding World:
I can speculate on how much of the world J.K. Rowling created with Harry Potter was directly influenced from the real world from the hundreds of interviews and articles written on it.
Since its inception, the world Harry Potter inhabits has became an entity of its own, with tons of fan-fiction, followers and content creators. Thus, differences between Rowling’s intended allegories and unintended real-life parallels are hard to pick for me.
To explain unintended real-life parallels: In Hot Fuzz, there is a scene in which the town Chief Inspector says ‘Make Sheffield Great Again’. At the time of movie’s release, this line was probably intended to be funny. Now, this line is no longer funny.
In the books, all 7 of them, three children have to consistently stand against a fascist regime which kills anyone who opposes them. The fight is mostly in the shadows, away from the majority of the population that it could affect, until one day a fascist regime is asking its denizens to present its proof of blood worth.
In book 5, Harry Potter and Order of Phoenix, Dumbledore’s Army decide to train themselves because the powers that be, Ministry of Magic, vehemently denied Voldemort is back because they were afraid of losing power. They discredited Harry Potter, launched political propoganda against him to slander & discredit him.
Over the last year in Auckland, I have seen school children marching down Queen Street to protest inadequate action on Climate Change by the people in power. Greta Thurnberg is a major voice in climate change.
It is not hard to find articles denouncing Climate change in general, but the amount of attempts to discredit Greta are bubbling just beneath the surface.
Again last year, survivors from Stoneman Dougman school shooting became such strong voices for gun control in America.
These kids were subjected to massive amounts of ridicule, death threats by not just people in power but also everyone who thought that their ‘rights’ were under attack.
Malala Yousafzai was shot in 2012 by Taliban because she raised her voice, protested.
I am not saying one thing inspired the other. I am just drawing parallels.
Then there is the entire Dumbledore subplot of book 7, in which a fascist government backed media continuously tries to throw dirt on a dead man just to distract the world from the very real threat of Voldemort.
If you read news these days, its hard not to see media being used/using to distract from the relevant news. The examples are endless, leaving us exhausted but ultimately forgetting the bigger issues in life. Lookup Amazon Rainforest fire ( how it is crucial in tackling climate change ) which was burning for at least 15 days before it broke the news.
The Racism within the world:
The books deal with vehement racism between ones who are born in a wizarding family and ones not. It also draws an line between wizards and non-wizards to the point where there is a term for non-wizards ( Muggle ).
This separation between sections of human beings who are & who are not wizards existed way before Voldemort came to be, it has always been a part of the world Harry Potter inhabits to the point where wizards getting close to non-wizards are looked down on.
Arthur Weasley is looked down by everyone, including at times his wife and children, because he wants to study human technology. It seems like the wizarding world is so proud that it refuses to even acknowledge the possibility that their methods are outdated.
I can’t and neither am I going to judge who was more advanced. ( They are fictional book after all ).
But this xenophobia, albeit benign in most cases, is echoed through the fabric of the entire Wizarding world.
This benign xenophobia served as the groundwork for people like Voldemort to garner followers.
After all, it is fairly obvious from the books, that Death Eaters were emboldened only because Voldemort was more powerful than anyone else in the wizarding world. Otherwise, they were law abiding citizens ( mostly ).
Do I need to talk about the real world examples of such a relationship between a fascist man in power and his supporters?
Furthermore. the lack of any social changes since the founding of Hogwarts ( Slytherin vs other houses ) made sure that every person sitting in the Slytherin table exposed to ideas of blood purity and impunity.
Why was nothing done to challenge ideas like that?
How many times have we heard, ‘this is just the way it is’ without actually asking why?
How many times have we looked down on another bunch of people without actually asking why?
Nobody is perfect. These books exemplify that. Not even Harry Potter. He, who of all people should know what it feels like being detested in his own house, has very little empathy for elves.
The Harry Potter books themselves are not perfect. After all, J.K. Rowling keeps appending changes to the story years after the books have been released.
Regardless, the Harry Pottrer books, its characters and the ways with J.K Rowling talks about the wrongness of our world by illustrating an unjust world is mind blowing.
I hope that the next time I read these books again, I get to pick up something more.
A couple of weeks ago I went to Karangahake Gorge, two hours west of Auckland. These are some of my favorite images from the day.
It was a beautiful day, bright sunny skies and lush green mountains. However, after editing, I liked the photos best when they were monochrome.
I will upload most of the photos from that day in another post in the distant future.
First time I woke up after the surgery, my vision was blurry. I could still hear raging fire around me, but I didn’t feel any heat. I didn’t think too much about it.
The second time I woke up, I felt better. I looked around my bed to look for burned objects, but everything was spotless. My chest stitches where I had undergone a bypass surgery were tingling. I decided that I had imagined the heat from last time.
The third time I woke up, I felt scratches on my back. My calves were screaming in agony. I could tell that they were bruised. I got out of bed worried I wouldn’t be able to walk. I walked fine. There were no bruises on my calves. But they hurt like someone very strong had grabbed onto them and didn’t let go.
I recalled my dream, one where I was being dragged into a burning fire. Nails biting into my back and powerful hands gripping my calves. I shook my head, dismissing the similarities as medically induced hallucinations. The alternative was too scary.
My doctor checked on me that day. He smiled to see me recovering well. I asked him if sensation of scratches and bruises after the surgery was a side effect. He assured me this was the morphine surging through my body. I didn’t believe him, I felt that something may have gone wrong in my surgery. They did something to me.
The day of my discharge as I walked past all of the families in the waiting room, I saw my reflection in the glass windows. I screamed and backed away.
I saw myself, bloodied & battered. My hair had been pulled out, my face had been partially burned and my chest had missing skin. I could see my chest muscles pulsing, every heartbeat sending shockwaves through me. After I couldn’t take it anymore, I looked beyond me.
There was the fiery pit from my nightmare, one that I was being dragged into. There were humanoid shapes moving in front of the pit stabbing the fire. Someone walked close to me, I could hear their footsteps.
The figure had a full foot on me, leathery skin resembling burned rubber. It came next to me and leered at me…
I looked away from the glass instantly. I couldn’t take it anymore. My doctor stood in the place of that thing. He smiled back me, placing a hand on my shoulder reassuringly. But I could see the gleam in his eyes.
‘Mister, are you okay?’ he asked me.
I didn’t say anything. My mouth was dry and my knees had locked up.
‘Sir if there is an issue, I can assure you that you can always come back. We will have you back.’
It was then that I noticed that his eyes were red.
Recently, I brought a bunch of mobile camera lenses. One of those lens was a macro lens, which allowed me to take photographs of objects 1-2 cm away from my phone. Here are some of the good ones results.
I also created an account on EyeEm, an social media/marketplace to sell some of my photos. Of course, these images are also edited as I have started taking photos in RAW format.
In the last six months or possibly more, I have had nightmares with one recurring theme: exams. These nightmares have a similar narrative: I am about to give my exams when something goes wrong. It is my fault.
- I haven’t studied enough.
- I have failed even before I start my exams.
- I arrive in an exam center in Mumbai for an exam supposed to take place in Auckland.
- I am three hours late for a two hour long exam.
The nightmares end by jolting me awake in the morning. Minutes pass. I remember with relief that I don’t have to give exams anymore. I am not learning to give exams anymore. I wonder why I keep having these kinds of nightmares though.
I was always one of the smartest in my class. I would not hate giving exams, I would be prepared and focused. Motivated and ready to tackle my next challenge. They were the cause of some fond memories from my school & college days.
- The last day at my third grade school when my dad and my best friends dad tallied our scores.
- Solving of my older brother’s math problems with ease while he looked on.
- Walking on the stage to get awards in my school 7th and 8th grade.
- My undergraduate years where I explained electronics to my classmates.
Yes, all memories had an audience. Someone to recognize my brilliance. Also, these memories were of a period at which I was great at whatever I was doing.
I was booksmart. Exams & learning was something I was always great at. Thinking back, it might have been the only thing I was good at, in that particular time period.
It might have been my whole identity.
Part of being a developer is constantly learning new programming languages and principles. I am currently trying to learn Android development.
Some days I am good. Most days, I struggle. I read stuff but my brain just doesn’t connect. The ease with which I used to learn things is gone, replaced by irritation & confusion.
I don’t not as intelligent as I used to be. My brain doesn’t have juice anymore.
I feel like I had the potential but it has wilted away.
I wonder how could this happen.
Is it age? Cause that is preposterous, I am only 25.
Or Am I just lazy?
I remember listening to a podcast in which a line was spoken. I am paraphrasing
‘I feel like I have to keep learning something new.’Unknown Podcast
I don’t remember which podcast I heard it or how long ago. I just related to what was said.
One of few new things I discovered an affinity towards now is economics. I read a book a while ago on the American Electric Grid system. I read a book about handling finances and I also listen to Planet Money podcast. All of which have introduced me to an area that I have never given much thought to.
I am learning new languages, both computer and spoken language. I am trying my hand on writing more, giving serious thought (so far) on a novella. I have even started learning techniques on photo editing.
I feel like I am doing more than enough. Everywhere.
Yet, without exams at the end of a term, I wonder what exactly am I learning for?
My roommate Emi is catsitting two siblings cats at the moment. This is Odin.
Note: This is in no way or form a book review. I am writing a high fantasy book series that I enjoyed.
Sam Sykes is an author who I follow on Twitter and have grown to appreciate his online humour. I kept seeing his book ‘City Stained Red’ on his feed and I ordered it from the library and subsequently read all three of the books in ‘Bring Down Heaven’ series: City Stained Red, The Mortal Tally & God’s Last Breath.
The books follow 5 adventurers/mercenaries and their stories: Lenk the default leader, Kataria a Shict ( species resembling elves ), Denous one with the past, Asper the priestess of Healing God, Dreadeleon a wizard and Gareth the Rhoga ( a lizard-humanoid species ). Apologies if I didn’t get their names right. In addition, the book introduces a ton of characters of which the most important of which are Mocca a man in white Lenk meets in the beginning.
I enjoy books which have multiple characters like these. It is an impressive feat to juggle so many different characters and to do them satisfactorily. This is a massive story, each book in the series spanning about 600 pages with the last book having a length of exactly 666 pages.
This book also deals heavily with the questions about faith, Gods who never answer and humanity’s need to have a being up in the sky. It also features heaps of exciting battles sequences and the city which despite being destroyed to the fullest always seem to have someone selling curry.
Pretty much everything I could ever like all together.
NOTE 2: Significant spoilers follow.
Each of the character has a different story.
- Gareath starts by being disgusted by humanity and his only tolerance is because of Lenk and others. Once the band disbands ( like the beetles ), Gareath has no checks on his anger.
His story continues by raging against the city and ends with him realizing that he may have won the battle but there are just too many humans to actually defeat. Humans have created a system where every species has no choice but to follow their footsteps and eventually end up under their boot.
- Kataria already knew what Gareath knows. Her story revolves around where does she belong and what does she want. It is a pretty succinct description I would say.
Also, she tries for two books to prevent shicts from starting a war with humans but she fails.
- Dreadealeon is a boy and his story deals with him fighting against everyone who thinks he is a boy. He uses his power haphazardly endangering and killing without any second thought. Only does when he have too much power right at the cusp of death he grows mature.
- Denous is someone who regrets his past, pretty much haunted by his actions. He wants to redeem himself but as the violence increases he is drawn back to his old habits and eventually makes the same action again hoping that just like last time, his actions will create enough chaos for his side to prevail. It doesn’t and the last thing he sees is his own past haunting him again.
Until he is jerked back to haunt the living.
- Asper is someone who just doesn’t give up. Ever. Every time she fails, she picks herself up again. And again. And again. She does whatever she can, she hoodwinks and beguiles to save people because she actually believes in her life’s purpose as a priest.
The best story in this series is between Lenk and Mocca. Of course, at end of book 1 it is revealed that Mocca is a manifestation of the God-King Khoth-Kapira from Hell.
This is why the story is so interesting.
An atheist continuously converses with a entity prayed to by thousands of followers. A God-King/Demon & a mortal.
Throughout the series, individuals are seen to be praying to a God that never answers but they keep doing it anyway. Lenk, a sellsword, doesn’t pray to anyone.
He doesn’t pray even when he finds out that his blood contains blood of a long-dead God. Mocca/Koth-Kapira could talk to anyone but he chooses to engage with Lenk.
Their discussions revolve around Lenk’s inability to stop fighting. Lenk has been fighting for as long as he can remember & his only desire is to stop fighting in the start of the series. The series begins with him sneaking into the city to get paid and retire. And it is at the gates where he meets Mocca.
- Lenk lands in the middle of a gang-war.
- Then he inevitably started a civil war between two armies in the city.
- Then he was part of a ambush in outside the city.
As far as Lenk sees, fighting follows him everywhere. He can’t stop. Lenk desperately wants someone else to take control of his life.
Mocca convinces Lenk the only way Lenk & everyone in this world might stop fighting would be if someone Godly ( Mocca ) can guide them all.
Of course, none of this is really possible. Lenk didn’t start the gang-war, he was just at the wrong place at the wrong time. It is revealed that the civil war would have started anyway, the armies were already skirmishing in the city. The ambush outside the city had nothing to do with him, he was again at the wrong place at the wrong time.
Lenk believes Mocca can stop everything. He was desperate for a life without any need to pick up the sword.
‘In their desperation, they turned to a man they don’t fully understand.’Alfred, Dark Knight 2008
Mocca can stop the wars, the enmity among all species. Mocca can take control. By literally controlling everyone.
EVERY SINGLE SPECIES.
There is more to this story that I am not getting into for example, Mocca could have easily killed Lenk whenever he wanted.
My best guess is Mocca desperately wanted someone to understand him. Mocca was as desperate as Lenk to win someone’s support.
Looking back, it was obvious that the series would end right where it began: a conversation between Lenk and now the dying Mocca.
The end is pretty great. Everyone gets what they always wanted. It is not what they thought it might be but they get it anyway. They all go their separate ways.
As I was writing this post, I realized that the series have a precursor trilogy that I may read someday too.
Two months ago, I had my first solo driving trip. I had just acquired a new license and I wanted to celebrate. I drove to Hamilton for Balloons over Waikato’s Zuru Glow night . In hindsight, it is amusing that I drove to the same city I went three years ago when I had just moved to New Zealand.
I wanted to attend Balloons over Waikato ever since I first heard about it. As I was thinking of where to drive, I saw the event again in my feed. I wanted to see these massive balloons float over us ground, slowly becoming dots of light against the night sky.
The balloons never left the ground. They were inflated as the day turned to dusk. Bursts of fire bellowing & heating the air trapped underneath a seemingly thin layer of cloth made the balloons swell and look gorgeous.
There was a Darth Vader face mask Hot-air Balloon. I think it was their main attraction as they used Darth Vader’s voice to announce the beginning of the Zuru Glow Night show. There animal shaped balloons and simple balloons too. The brighter the color of the balloon, the better they looked in the night.
Fire from the balloons was enough to brighten the entire event ground. In addition, they installed pyro and as music blasted from the speakers, pyro bursts out fountains of fire in sync with the music. They closed the show with spectacular laser light show.
There were some really great things about the trip. I realized how tiring driving can be and it is totally not how it is depicted. I loved visiting an old style carnival. While driving back, I got to enjoy driving on straight roads with no traffic.
The best thing about the event, aside from obviously the Glow show was the public transport. No stay with me on this one.
Hamilton & the event organizers did a great job. There were free buses from different areas of the city to the event location. You can take the same bus back for free. The services kept running until all of the people had left the grounds. A bus every minute.
It also speaks volumes about the number of people attending that it took me about 3 podcast episodes ( ~ 1 hour ) to board a bus. I didn’t mind, it surely beat driving back.
Also, when I left, we would still see heaps of cars still stuck in traffic as we whooshed past them. The organizers ( city council? ) had cordoned off the flush medium of the road to be a bus lane for that day. Another good call.
Will I go again? Absolutely.
Inspired by: RadioLab episode Bliss. Just listen to the first ~10 mins of it and smile.
She didn’t want to look at her scores. She knew she was going to pass her exams. But she didn’t want to look at her scores and be… disappointed.
She has studied hard, everyone has always said she could score at the top of the class if she tried hard enough. She did try hard, every time. And every single time she came up short.
She should be happy with her scores, but she isn’t. Her friends are happier after scraping through the exams. But she was chasing a grade that she hasn’t achieved yet. And nothing below it would ever be sufficient.
She studied in the library to distract herself from everyone else looking at their scores. She had her phone turned off so that no one would message her. She would wait until the school is almost deserted to look at her scores.
She realized, she can’t try to explain it to her friends why her grades aren’t good enough. She doesn’t want to put up a happy face for others.
The day passed excruciatingly. She was restless, her legs fidgeting and her eyes darting to her turned off phone. She was almost there.
It was one hour before the decided time but she goes for it anyway. There are some students in the school but she walks past them in a hurry.
Scoreboard. Her name is alphabetically in the middle.
‘WOOOOOOOO!!!!!!’ she shouts raising her hands in the air and jumps. She whoops some more, throws her bag off and turns her phone on.
‘WOOOOOO!!!!’ she screams again. She doesn’t realize but she is grinning ear to ear. Someone behind her claps.
She typed in her phone.
‘I GOT IT!!!!!’.
This time, all of her friends join in her excitement.
I was standing outside my room, a pizza box in my hand as I tried to call my AirBnB host after midnight. No answer. I was locked out.
I was in Hamilton, it was my first solo trip after getting my license. ( I will post about my trip soon. ) The drive was great, the event in Hamilton was great as well.
That day, I had late lunch & I thought I would be able to skip dinner. After I reached my ( AirBnB ) home, just before midnight, I realized I was hungry. So I locked my room, kept the room key in my jacket and went to pick up a pizza that I just ordered.
I picked up the pizza, got back home and was about to open my door when I checked my jacket. I checked it again. Nothing.
I checked under my seat in my car. Nothing.
I went back to the pizza place. Nothing.
I texted my host to see if he had a spare key. No response.
I tried to see if my room’s windows can be opened from outside. Nope.
I was panicking at this point. I wasn’t hungry anymore. Realization hit me like a brick:
‘I am in a different city, I don’t know anybody and I can’t legally drive back home because my license has restrictions. I would have to sleep on couch. Hopefully no one else at the house makes a big deal out of it. ‘
There was nothing I could do.
When I partially finished my pizza, I realized I could do something.
I could pick the lock.
I knew I cannot cause any damage to the room or the lock. I can’t make noise either. There were other people in the house who were sleeping and it would make me feel even worse if I woke them up after midnight.
I sat in the lounge near the makeshift kitchen. I had access to some cutlery. I Googled
how to pick a lock and a site suggested using a butter knife.
There was a few knifes I could use. I had hope now. I abandoned my lackluster pizza and picked up the knives. The site said that try to insert the tip of the knife into the keyslot. Turn it just as you would turn the key.
First knife didn’t work. It was just to thick for the keyslot.
Second one went in the slot but I couldn’t turn it. I guess it wasn’t deep enough.
Third time’s the charm I guess. The lock clicked open and I was in my room.
I was euphoric. I didn’t have to spend my night crawled on an uncomfortable couch, cold and tired. I wasn’t tired anymore, I could have stayed up all night if I wanted just from the rush of successfully unlocking the door.
I did eventually sleep, after finishing my book ( Jurassic Park ) and my pizza. My solo trip was great. I had plenty of things to talk about but every time someone asked me about my trip, I began with how I was locked out.
‘This worked at home’
I looked inside the hat puzzled, ignoring my audience of impatient 8 year olds. There was supposed to be a deck full of Queen of Hearts in there. But, it was empty. I cocked my head sideways, frowning. How did this not work? I had enchanted the hat with all of the right ingredients, I tested the spell once before the show.
‘What is in your hat?’ the 9 year old birthday boy, Adam demanded to know. I snapped back into character and smiled. Yes, I was on stage and this wasn’t a time to be confused. I had to amaze my audience and so I would have to pull a finale from my ass.
Speaking of pulling something…
‘Well, I promised you a Queen didn’t I? But do you know what is better than a Queeeeennnn?’ I urged them to guess.
‘A Mercedes Benz’
The kids kept shouting answers that were far beyond my ability to conjure. I had to stop them before they exhaust themselves too much. I mumbled a word under my breath and cast my spell.
‘A RABBIT!!’ I shouted as I pulled one out of the hat. The children exclaimed and started clapping. Luckily, they never realized that my spell hadn’t worked.
‘…, I don’t know what went wrong. I apologize for the mess up.’ I explained to the host of the party. Mac Andrews was a middle aged hedge fund broker who was on his 4th beer at his son’s 9th birthday party.
Yes, I was counting. The more they drank, less there would be left for me. I looked over Mac’s shoulder and I could see a whole table arrayed with beer bottles. Parents of other children were near the table like vultures using me as an excuse to get away from their children.
‘Adam loved your show. So did the other parents, they said you were amazing for a woman. After you finished, he said to me he wanted to be real magician like you.’ He took a long sip of his beer.
I smiled despite what he had said. I inspired someone to take up arcane arts?
‘So I am wondering where I can buy materials for the tricks you performed.’
‘Tricks?’ I asked, my attention snapping back at him.
‘Yeah tricks. Like how did you change color of that deck of cards? Or how was the bunny hidden in your hat?’
I glared at him.
‘I am happy to pay extra if needed.’ He quickly added.
I don’t want to remember what I did after that. I am sure Mac won’t remember anything from the night either.
I got out of the shower and dried myself. Looking at my reflection in the mirror, I asked myself if I have it in me to actually be a mage. It won’t be the first time I have changed careers. It won’t be the only time I changed something either. I snapped my fingers and my shoulder length hair changed its color from orange to blue.
I changed my hair frequently. I kept moving houses, without any forwarding addresses so that my ex boyfriends can’t find me. Now, as I am finally trying my best to stick to magic, I kept making mistakes.
I heard the floorboard squeaking.
No one has the key to my apartment. I quickly fasten the bathrobe around me and grabbed the burning candle currently permeating my bathroom with fragrance. I remind myself to not to set this apartment on fire.
As I walked out, I saw an old woman looking up at my library. It took me a long time to collect all of those books; although none of them in particular is really unique, but the combination of them all would be.
‘Last time someone broke into my apartment, I set them on fire.’ I threaten. I don’t know who the woman was, but I figured that fire threatens everyone. Yes, every ONE.
‘Catherine’, the woman spoke in a reverberating, almost like a cat purring, voice ‘Your library is amazing.’
‘Thank you?’ I replied confused. ‘However, checkouts will require you to get a library card.’
She laughed and turned around. My eyes went wild in recognition. She looked young, younger than me and I was barely 30.
She was also really dangerous. So I spoke a word for fire in a language long dead and my candle’s tiny spec of a flame raged into an inferno.
For a second.
I looked at her again. She smiled.
‘Well, this should’ve worked at home.
I attended a magic show recently and I realized that in a world where we constantly believe that magic is just trickery and slight of hand, a real mage could fit in perfectly.
I also know that a similar book series has been written, in fact it is one of my favorites: Dresden Files by Jim Butcher. I also tried to imagine spell casting a lot like software development: full of mistakes and confusion. 🙂
Also, after watching the original Blade Runner and then consequently watching this one, I am only going to talk about Blade Runner 2049. Also, this is not a review.
I watched this movie partially when I was India but I couldn’t immerse myself in it. The second time I watched it, I was able to. I kept the lights off, kept the volume high as I sat on my couch immersing myself in this exploration about what it means to be human.
There is something stunning to watch a life unfold in slow deliberate steps, to watch a character walking through life and then at the end making life work for him.
Yes, I loved the character of K. A guy/replicant who is hated ( racism? ) for who he is, working to hunt his own kind. I watched this lonely guy, whose only real relationship is with another non-human AI, go through a severe life shattering existential crisis.
K went from being someone who was sure of WHO HE IS, to someone who fought against evidence of what he thought HE ACTUALLY IS and just when he was about to accept his fate, that identity is again taken from him.
Through the course of the movie, I watched the character slowly lose his entire life: his work is compromised, his ( AI? ) girlfriend dies in front of him and his sense of identity dies twice. At the end, he accepted he is and does what he thinks he should do.
And for me, that is a really great story. That is a really great character.
For me, that is a inherently human character.
I am sure I am not the only one who came to this conclusion while watching this movie. I think I needed two viewings to draw these inferences from the movie.
A while back, I posted something about watching a lot of video essays on YouTube. The linked essay is one of them and I particularly love this channel as it makes me see something that I haven’t seen before or realize WHY I like a movie so much.
‘You’ll tell mum?’ Samir asked crestfallen.
When he was 8, he broke the tele. He looked at me distraught and asked me the same thing.
Now, I can’t even look at him anymore. He has lost weight. My eyes trying to find my brother in the shell he has wasted into. I wondered why did he relapsed this time.
I looked out of the car window, the day was beautiful. The type of day I would be spending soaking the sun on a beach somewhere. But I was outside a rehab.
“I should tell her, she has been texting me since last night.” I finally mumbled. I should have been angry, but all I felt was tiredness.
When I saw him two years ago, we fought. He stormed off into the night but eventually he settled into our mum’s garage. From the corner of my eye, I could see him nodding his head. He was high.
“You sure I need to go there? I would be okay, I won’t take anymore.” he uttered sullenly as he gazed upon the doors which would be his home for the next couple of months.
“You know you do. They can help you, I…” I choked up.
He got out of the car for what seemed like eternity, the silence hanging between us like a carcass. I watched him talk to the receptionist.
I sat in my car, hoping he wouldn’t come running out. I hoped this would be our last visit.
I receive another text.
‘Have you found him?’. Mum.
I never told mum how the tele broke.
‘He’s fine. He would be living with me for a while.’
I wrote this for Brilliant Flash Fiction’s Concealment prompt last year. It didn’t make the cut but after listening to ‘This American Life’s’ episode on Dopey I revisited it. I tried to modify to what the episode was about, how I felt while listening it.
The library is a magical place. From time to time, I find truly remarkable books. Recently, I read Jessie Greengrass’s
I am glad I did. This book made me felt… understood.
It didn’t offer any revelation about my nature or my circumstances. Neither did it try to offer any solution to the things it spoke about. It just … presented them.
I am hooked from the first page of the titular short story. I am bracing myself to confront an emotion that I have felt before and now, I am reading what I have felt.
The regret and the anger at one own’s actions. The character’s realization of the consequences at their own irreversible actions.
The sense of being lost in a world one shouldn’t feel lost in.
The daydreaming one does when their own reality is just okay.
The rationalization one makes when looking back at some of the choices one made.
There is more to the book that I can write here or talk about. Neither do I feel like I have the adequate comprehension to present it.
I knew from each story that the character was lonely in a way.
The stories in the book depicted a different shade of loneliness. I was able to relate to the characters because they are feeling something that I have felt before in my life.
I have felt their anger and regret.
I have felt lost.
I have daydreamt.
I have rationalized.
I wonder why this book of all of the things in my life made me want to open wordpress again. Late last year I realized that I didn’t have anything to write about anymore.
What do I do with a personal blog when
there is nothing interesting in my personal life personal life doesn’t offer anything to write about?
I guess I will write about books and movies that made me feel something, that keep me thinking long after they are finished. I will write about the YouTube channels that help me understand why I love certain movies more than others. Hopefully, I will write a short story or two too.
Three years. Five years.
I have been living in Auckland for the last three years. I am not a guy to celebrate anniversaries but somehow this feels momentous to me
My blog is five years old now. Five. If my blog was a kid they would probably be in school now. I am proud of this too, even though I feel guilty of not being able to maintain it or sustain it with enough traffic over the years.
So yeah, this is the post. That’s it
Last weekend, I was walking through Ponsonby, Auckland to meet a group of hikers. This morning was special, it was particularly foggy. I could hardly see more than a few meters in front of me even though the sun had risen half hour ago.
I took this photo after sunrise around 8:30 am. Sunlight imbued the entire street with an orange glow.
People are always shocked when I tell them that I don’t know how to drive. It is almost unimaginable for people to live in Auckland and not drive everywhere. There are a lot of cars in this city. I have to explain it to them that I don’t need it right now as I work very close and in Mumbai, everyone relied on public transport.
I got my learner’s license about 8 months ago. I have been meaning to start learning to drive but I was in no hurry to do it. I don’t know why I finally took that seriously a month ago. Probably because I wanted to learn something new.
I don’t have a car. I can’t drive without supervision on a learner’s license and I can’t pass my license test without knowing how to drive. The NZ Transport Agency recommends a total of 120 hours of driving experience before going through a driving exam. This feels like a Catch 22.
I had to ask, like formally, my friends to teach me driving. This weekend, after three hours of cumulative practice in the parking lot, we took to the road.
It is tough to understand how big the car is and how far to the left it stretches ( we have the steering wheel on the right ). It is impossible to instinctively know how to reverse. I have to collect my thoughts, strategize before reversing. And I still got it wrong.
Luckily, I didn’t harm the car or anyone else. My friends were pretty supportive and allowed me to take my time. I might have another session with them in their car before buying my car for practice.
Who knows, I might actually enjoy this. Cause I really want to drive on the road with this song.
I don’t like that question. I hate asking or being asked the question, “How’s it going?” It is a terrible conversation starter.
I get it, meeting and talking to new people is pretty hard. Talking with acquaintances is even harder. So, it wouldn’t be a surprise that it is pretty common conversation starter. Almost everyone uses it. There are a couple of problems with that questions, as innocuous as it appears to be.
Firstly, it expects a tale. Not a story, but a tale like Lord of the Rings. It expects a tale worthy of your time and as well as the asker’s. At least that is how I feel about it.
Every time I am asked that question, I scratch my head to find the most amazing thing that has happened in the last couple of weeks. And every story that comes to my mind seems to be quiver in front of that question. There is no easy answer ( more on that later ).
Secondly, it seems almost disinterested in normal mundane things. The Everyday cannot be answer to that question.
I like mundane, I love normality. I would love to go on an adventure as much as the next guy but I don’t do it as an escape. I would go because I wanna go ( whole other bag of worms ). I would go because after a while I would crave for the normal again.
Thirdly, no one knows how to answer that question. No one. Everyone says things like ‘It is going good’, ‘Average’, or sometimes when people feel a little gregarious ‘Not too bad and not too good’.
After that, everyone just stand there idly thinking of something to say. The very fact that this conversation starter doesn’t even start a conversation seems preposterous to be.
Alright, rant over.
What to do after this question is asked? Or is asked to you?
I completely overlooked the fact that my blog is 4 years old. I should have made a big deal of it considering how quickly my passions oscillate. I am astonished that I haven’t let my blog die.
For the past 4 years, I kept writing without any theme in mind. I wrote about my life, some short stories and lately photo challenge posts. I enjoyed writing. I relished the feedback I received from friends in my real life and the ones I made through WordPress.
The 4 years weren’t smooth sailing, there were times I thought about stopping. I would always come back though, usually with an urge to get my thoughts on paper.
In January, I took my blog seriously again. I had a few goals:
- Write every week.
- Generate the minimum traffic everyday.
- Comments, likes don’t matter even though they are always appreciated.
I knew that I would always have one viewer on my blog ( Hi Mummy! 🙂 ). But attracting people everyday to my blog was hard. Writing every week is also hard. So far, I have a few irregularities but mostly I have been successful. I won’t admit it was easy, there was a month long gap where I didn’t post anything. But I have to go on since the year’s not over.
For #2, I found two easy ways to get people on my blog: Community Pool and Photo Challenges from Daily Post. However, last week I found out that Daily Post will stop publishing new challenges and hosting pools.
Now, I have to figure out a way to keep my blog alive and post something at least weekly. I can do the latter. I do have enough ideas and content in my head to keep going. My life is exciting enough for me to do that.
I have no idea how to generate traffic. I ought to figure it out someday.
In the months since I started, I realized a few things. I don’t write for the benefit of others. My blog probably never was. It’s mine.
A glorified journal for me to log my important memories and experiences. It was for posting photos I am proud of, for posting short stories I enjoyed writing ( I haven’t done that in a while ).
So this is what this blog is about now: me. It is my attempt to keep something good in my life going. Welcome.
This post has been long overdue. I first thought about writing it when I was sitting in a bar with some of my friends. Half of us are non-native English speakers. I asked them, ‘which language do you think in?’
I wish the answers they gave me were revealing. They weren’t, all of them thought about it and then shrugged ignorance. No one knew.
I remember reaching in Auckland two years ago. I remember my first conversations. I would pause before speaking because I would get my languages mixed up. Even though I am a competent multilingual, I couldn’t think of the words. I had to translate every sentence I was going to utter from Hindi to English.
I don’t remember the time when I stopped thinking in Hindi. I wish I did so that I could give a definite answer it took for me to leave my language behind. One day when I was biking home and I was thinking of which route to take when it hit me, my thoughts were articulated in English.
When I was studying for undergraduate degree or when I started working in India, I met new people. On the basis of languages, I could categorize two types: ones who would mostly speak in English and others would communicate in Hindi. I also learned that it didn’t matter as eventually everyone who could, would revert to Hindi.
It was natural, almost instinctual amongst us. Sentences would get a motley of words from both languages; idioms roughly translated and laughed at.
It didn’t matter if I couldn’t get my message across in English, I had the safety net of just doubling down to Hindi just like my peers.
In Auckland, there are numerous times when I have to re-frame my sentences because what I said was incoherent. It wasn’t particularly because of our lingo differences, I always found it difficult to form sentences on the go while speaking. Writing, on the other hand, came naturally.
There were also numerous times when I didn’t understand what other Kiwis are saying. Sometimes they would say ‘Cheers’ as thank you and other times they would exclaim ‘Sweet As!’ to express their approval. I still don’t get the second one.
I had to relearn the programming jargon so that I could use it when I am working, or explaining my code to someone.
I am not an accurate representation of every non-native speaker or everyone has the same issues. I don’t face the same issues all the time either. There have been occasions when I was perfect and then some bad days when I would stammer and lisp my way through a conversation. Probably has something to do with my level of confidence on that particular day.
I have a lot of free time in my hands these days. My friends with whom I would spend most of my weekends are gone, and I wonder what to do with them. Sometimes I think it would be a great thing to learn a new language. I ask myself, do I need to learn a new language?
Is it even useful anymore?
Then I go to an Asian supermarket and listen to people speak their language and realize: yeah it is. I really want to eavesdrop on other people’s conversations.
It was one of my first months in Auckland. I was returning home and I was sitting in the back of the bus. A group of three people were talking loudly near me and I could hear everything they said. They were talking about bacon.
‘You never have to use oil when making bacon because there is enough fat in the bacon’ one of them said. I made bacon for the first time a couple of days later.
I also looked over to the speaker and saw that he was also Indian, possibly a Kiwi national by his accent & fluency. One day, I thought.
Looking back on the different things I have done, people I have met, I know that the one day has long been crossed. English is no longer a second language, a means to illustrate my education ( India ) or a barrier ( New Zealand ).
Image Credits: Photo by mali maeder on Pexels.com
I have always enjoyed taking photos and a while back seriously considered buying a DSLR or a mirrorless camera. The only problem with such a purchase is the camera isn’t as compact as I wanted it to be. I ended up buying the new OnePlus 5T. I am not going to review the phone, it is pretty fantastic and it gives me some features a normal phone camera doesn’t. The result:
I have been taking heaps of photos in the last couple of days. Last Saturday, I purposely woke up at 6am in the morning, something I don’t do on a weekday, to try and take pictures of the sun rising over Auckland’s skyline. It was a really good day and now I am constantly spending a couple of seconds be fore taking any photo. The biggest surprise for me was when I was able to take a night sky photograph just outside my home in the middle of the city.
Fair to say that I will be taking part in heaps of photo challenges from now onwards and my instagram will be constantly updated. Hell I even started signing my photos because I wanted my name out there!
Last Saturday, I woke up at 6am to try photograph the sunrise from Point Chevalier in Auckland. The sunrise was spectacular but this photo became my favorite. Hundreds, if not thousands of dewdrops.
I had to point my camera at something or someone that puts a smile on our face. Well, Zoey does that. She usually finds me when I am coming, she runs towards me: her feet clapping on the sidewalk and stops a meter away so that I have to get close to her to pet her.
* Note: This post is more than a week late
* Also, all people in this post are mentioned by their initials
This was my fourth farewell in the last couple of weeks. I joked with P the other day, I am losing my friends. Some friends are leaving because they don’t have a visa and others like E because she wants to travel.
With every goodbye I utter, I expect myself to grow indifferent and apathetic and yet I haven’t. Every farewell is different but each bring about a emotion in me. This scares me. I realize that I am more attached to my friends that I thought I was.
‘I am going to miss you,’ I say as I hug E goodbye after the farewell, ‘it is unusual for me to be so comfortable around people. I am going to miss that.’
‘Of course, we are really cool people’ E jokes. Obviously, someone has to discharge the emotion in the room with humor.
Last Saturday was E’s farewell. I met her around my first hackathon and then we became friends as we started hosting a meetup along with P and A. Our group became larger as the weeks passed on by and I was glad for that. It didn’t change the group dynamics on the contrary it made hanging out even more fun. It was no surprise that Saturday night was amazing.
Somehow a stupid song ‘Ken Lee’ became the anthem of the night, sung repeatedly. The night became truly extraordinary after the clock struck 10pm, guitars and keyboards were brought out.
We demanded performances as if we had never heard songs before. The hits rolled out: Can’t Live without You by Mariah Carey, Winds of Change by Scorpio, Africa by Toto, Girls Just Wanna Have Fun by Cyndi Lauper, Better Half of Me by Dash Burlin and more. We sang without really being drunk, our mood imitating the ambiance one can find in a Karaoke bar. We were happy. We were laughing and we were singing.
We were sitting down. J mentioned a conversation between her and E about our group. The crux of it was that E has become sort of a mother for the group: she would bring food for meetups, she would organize and plans for all of us to get together: sometimes movie nights at her group.
‘It is true,’ I say, ‘E is sort of the planner/mom of the group. We will not have any plans or things to do in the next couple of weeks.’
I remember my brain taking a snapshot of the room. My brain does that from time to time, ensuring that I would never forget something really important. It is as if time slows down and I observe everything in utmost clarity as I did on Saturday night.
E is playing her guitar, R is playing his keyboard, Ir is holding her phone to read the lyrics of the song as we all sing along in a massive out of tune chorus. I feel a grin on my face and at that time I kind of regret that P and A had left the party early. I also know that it would be a while before we would get together like this again. I also know that I will try to capture the essence of the party into this post and will ultimately fail.
There was a house cat at the party. He would be the center of attraction as soon as he walked in the room. As Enzo was being petted by multiple hands, P mentioned about humans being petted.
The joke was simple: will it be weird if we are walking down the road and random people stop us to give our heads a nice pat.
I might actually like that.
It was a great night. It was one of those times in which the sum of emotions is hard to describe. I was happy to be a part of the family that I had formed, sad because I knew that it might not go back to normal for a while, amazed because I didn’t know that my friends are so talented and… I don’t know what else. It is difficult to dissect my feelings about the night.
This is not my favorite, but it certainly is this black Labrador’s favorite place: standing on top of the garage. I have seen him/her so many evenings while coming home but the Lab’s too far away to catch the name or pet.
I met Rohit two years ago after I started my Masters. Today, he leaves New Zealand as I wait for my visa to come through. Through the past week, I have been thinking about how today might play out. What will we say to each other? Will I feel guilty about things working out for me ( visa abiding ) and not working out for him?
I have been plagued with another question too. Will I even feel anything? After all, Rohit and I were never really close. We never spoke about our hobbies or our families. We didn’t talk nor did we ever bond in our struggles. We just hung out, cooking burgers and drinking beers. I would spend most of my university days in his house. Then in the last year, some of our mutual friends moved in with him and I would visit them on the weekends. We would play Call of Duty on his PlayStation, we would cook pasta or Thai or just get fish and chips because we lost track of time. It was always easy.
He, his roommates and I spent the day doing the things we have always done. We hung out. Played Call of Duty, made stupid jokes. Went to a park for dinner where we barbequed burgers.
After I hugged him goodbye and waited for my bus, I stood there thinking how normal the day was. If it was not his last day in the country, it might have been any other Sunday.
It was so easy to just walk into his place, just drop by on the weekend without an iota of plan. And now, there will not be another weekend for a while like that.
I wondered if this how adult friendships feel like.
This photo was from a walk I did in Duder Regional Park.
I would rather be near the sea, and on a perfect day like this, the shore looks amazing.
A year ago, when I had just met a new hiking group, I heard about Tongariro Alpine Crossing. I met people who were going to attempt the crossing with the group and I wanted to join her. I love hiking/walking and it would have been a great opportunity. But I didn’t. For the last year, I have been looking for a chance to try the crossing. I would tell everyone whenever the topic came up. Finally, some of friends decided to do it.
This is not a road trip post and neither is this a hiking blog, so I am going to spare those details. I will tell you this: Tongariro Alpine Crossing was one of the toughest walks I have done. No one ever told me that it would be this hard.
When others mentioned above had completed their crossing, the weather was pretty bad. My trip had two things going for me.
One: When we got to our starting carpark, the weather was picture perfect: blue skies with one or two clouds.
Two: I was given a DSLR camera. My friend had an old one and he was more than happy to let me use it ( he used his GoPro ). The entire crossing, I had the DSLR hanging on my chest, bouncing off my tummy.
The walk was easy until a certain point, I guess one fourth of the way in. Then we started ascending: first on spiraling staircase with many false finishes and then on the slope of Mount Tongariro. The staircase path raised my hopes so many times as I could see plateaus where people were resting & I would think: almost there. But I would be wrong cause there would be another staircase, and then another and then another and then another. After a while I stopped hoping.
The steep uphill walk of Mount Tongariro was the toughest, I kept stopping every minute. I kept asking my friends whose idea was to do this walk and they would tell me it was mine.
The last 6km of Tongariro Alpine Crossing felt like 30km. We kept walking, heading downhill steadily stressing our knees. I didn’t take one picture during that part, I was too tired to care. The 20km Tongariro Alpine Crossing sure felt like 50km long at certain points.
Once we finished and I was on the shuttle back to our lodge, I took a deep breath. I had done it, I had finally crossed Tongariro. A year of anticipation, nine hours of leg punishing walk and some three hundred pictures.
There were some great, breath taking moments. Some pictures I took instantly became my favorite. I saw Mount Ngauruhoe ( Mount Doom from Lord Of The Rings franchise ), I could see snow-clad Mount Ruapehu. In the distance I could see Mount Taranaki ( The Snow Mountain as I call it, where I saw with snow for the first time last September ). I saw the famous Emerald Pools, I could see smoke billowing out of the hills.
I don’t think I will do this walk again, but I know that if I will have the feeling with me. Every staircase will seem puny as compared to Devils Staircase. Every uphill will be simpler with respect to Mount Tongariro. As my friends were making the joke as we were getting back to Auckland, ‘We did Tongariro, we can do anything now.’
Last week ( another long overdue post ), I had the pleasure of watching Pop-Up Globe‘s iteration of Shakespeare’s Midsummer Night’s Dream. Having never watched any Shakespeare’s plays, I was in for a treat.
Featuring an all male cast, the play revolves around the events of a marriage, couple of fairies and two couples. Because the play was being performed in Auckland, it had been modified so as to include Maori myths. Two parts of the play was in Maori. I didn’t get most of what was being said during the time but I understood the gist of what was happening by the expressions and gestures of the actors.
Being performed in Victorian/Shakespearean English, it was hard to understand at times. Our seats ( through luck ) were just beside the stage and the actors delivered their lines facing sideways from us. Not everything was lost though as the last part of the play featured the actors sitting just outside our booth and wisecracking.
Filled with enough present time cultural references, Midsummer Night’s Dream was hilarious. It made me hoot and cheer, made me laugh till my belly ache and clap along with the song at the end.
As the show came to an end, I suddenly remembered my time back in my third year of Bachelors degree when I had performed in a play. I remembered the adrenaline rush just before we began, the pride from the laughs that we gathered from the audience, the cultural references that we had shoehorned in according to where we were performing.
I missed those days acutely as I left the theater. I clapped furiously as the play ended, standing up as I had an small clue regarding the effort in building that play. The rehearsals, the arguments, the pseudo-family born by the end.
I realized that I will always love theater because of my experience. I also realized that one day I might even jump to act on stage again. But for now, I am going to clap and hoot for every performance that I might see.
PS: If you are in Auckland this summer, definitely go for any of Pop-Up Globe’s plays. They were amazing.
PS: Post is not sponsored by anyone
I was out on a hike at Duder Regional Park, East Auckland. The place was great for oceanic/peninsular pictures. Here is one of them.
I walked with 60 people who were behind me. This peninsula is one of the Pā (a fortified site) in the region. As we sat for lunch, most people sat under the shades. I explored and found that the acoustics of the region creates a perfect barrier and I enjoyed some perfect silence even being five feet away from 60 hikers.
My birthday was in November. Yes, this post is extremely late.
When I was a child, I had the habit of counting the number of days to my birthday. I would literally start the day following my birthday and count the number of days till my next. I loved it. I received presents. Mom would cook lots of my favorite food. I would cut blow the candle and cut my cake as everyone started singing ‘Happy Birthday’.
As years went on, birthdays changed: it became the day of no consequence. I could literally sleep all day long and no one could say anything to me. I would not do any homework, would try to take a holiday so that I could avoid school. My excuse: it was my birthday.
On the opposite side of the spectrum is my dad. He would hardly celebrate his birthday. He would go to work and come back, always telling me that he can’t take a holiday because it was his birthday. I never understood that. He would say ‘Kya celebrate karna?’ ( What’s there to celebrate? ).
In the recent years, my birthdays changed. During my bachelor’s, my birthday would coincide with the hardest exam. My college mates would greet me quickly and go back to studying. I wanted to study just like them, my birthday wasn’t important enough.
Sometime during those years, I changed my Facebook’s privacy and permanently hid my birthday. I didn’t know why then, I know why now. I don’t want people who I have never spoken to in years, people who could hardly be called acquaintance message me on my birthday to wish me. I never liked Facebook’s insistent notifications reminding me of others’ birthdays. I always thought Facebook’s birthday calendar system was too robotic, devoid of any feelings or emotions.
I don’t remember what I did last year for my birthday. I was probably in bed because I was still sad over what had happened. This year, I went to work. I completed my hours, made a software release, not mentioning my birthday to my colleagues. I made the day as ordinary as possible.
I did that because it is an ordinary day. I was born 24 years ago on a November day was special. For me, it doesn’t make all the subsequent Novembers special anymore even though the young me thought otherwise.As I was walking home, I remembered my dad’s words: ‘Kya celebrate karna?’ ( Now what’s there to celebrate? ).
If I was a character in a show or book, I think I would call this change a character development.
I took this photo a long time ago as I was walking to work with my Huawei Y5 phone camera. Spring time meant a lot of flowers and this one was great, a perfect flower growth. Check out Daily Post for the prompt.
I expect things to always get worse. I have always greeted new year’s with trepidation because I expect life to get harder. 2017 was a year where I always expected the other foot to fall. But now as I look back on the year, surprisingly it was relaxing.
Sure, now that I recall, first quarter of the year was stressful because my visa kept getting delayed. I also moved twice in a month. But also, I was finally able to get a job in my sector. After which it was pretty much smooth sailing for me.
I went home to India after a year and a half, gave my family a present surprise at 3 am. Met most the friends that mattered.
I also saw snow for the very first time and also discovered that I am scared of cliffs. That fear didn’t stop me from going on more adventurous bushwalks though.
Jumped off waterfalls and was mesmerized by Glowworms in Raglan which I could say was the highlight of the year. Jeez, even thinking about it makes me wanna go back and I will probably do that again someday.
Lastly, I got one of my essays published in a book. An actual paperback all thanks to Zee! I spoke in front of people and told them about my piece. I couldn’t have wanted a better first piece and it made me take my writing seriously again.
And now we are here, at the end of 2017, a year which could have been a whole lot worse but wasn’t. So this post is not about how scary the next year will be ( of course it will be scary ), I am trying to sound grateful to 2017.
I sincerely hope that your next year is great! Happy New Year everyone!
Well I co-host the meetup but that’s perfectly fine.
I was just an attendee of the meetup till about 3 weeks ago. One time, the regular hosts couldn’t make it and they asked everyone if someone would like to host it, I said sure why not? I mean how hard can it be?
Next thing I know, I am part of their inner circle, attending their planning sessions and what not.
House of Code used to be called FreeCodeCamp Auckland. It is a technical meetup which was aimed at mostly beginners and newbies but the hosts decided to grow it. Now, they ( we? ) are planning on building this fully fledged web app ( Techincal Language: React app ) and I am one of them.
As to how hard can it be? Not so much. It involves lots of explaining and talking but I can do that when I have something to talk about. Plus, I am talking to people who have a similar interest which is always a nice icebreaker.
There is one thing that I noticed in the last few meetups where I was the host. Usually, at these events I have a partial knowledge of what is happening. I don’t know who is talking about what or who knows what.
As I hosted the meetup, I realized that I knew everything that was happening. Who is good at the language we are going to be using, who is enthusiastic and who is trying to steal our idea.
Of course, I may be wrong about them but usually this just makes the entire meetup really exciting. I always have something to do, someone to talk to, something to talk about.
Plus, all of the hosts are going for Star Wars: Last Jedi midnight show so I would say that I trust every one of them.
This is not my first NaNoWriMo. It is my third attempt, and the only time I succeeded in finishing my story was the very first year. I liked the story at the time, but if I read my words now I realize little in terms of a story. Last year I had no idea what to write so I wrote barely 2k words before I gave up.
This year I had a great idea, I loved the idea so much that I woke up from a dream, made a note of the idea and slept back again. The dream is vaguely fresh in my head.
I knew early on that I might not be able to keep up with the daily goal. I knew that I wouldn’t be able to finish my story this month. When I sit down and write the words do pour out but I hardly have time to write daily. I would rather read a book, which I wholeheartedly do.
According to the site, I am supposed to have 25k words down by today. I have about 6 to 7k words down yet. In fact, I am only through to the first three chapters of my supposed story.
There has been one good thing though: I know that if I have to keep writing, all I need is a half hour sprint. I was able to maintain a daily half hour sprint a month ago and I am sure I can do it again. I might just finish this story eventually so I couldn’t ask for anything more.
Living in New Zealand, I have had the privilege of meeting a lot of people from different countries. The biggest advantage of meeting people is that most of them are/were traveling the world. The disadvantage of meeting people is that most of them are/were travelers.
I remember a Belgian guy from the first group of travelers I had met. He started calling me ‘Mayo’ and the name has stuck since. He showed me his passport, it was full of immigration stamps from different countries. I was fascinated by his passport and since then my first question to any traveler is to see their passport.
Recently I met a woman who has been on all of the 6 continents and plans to set foot on Antarctica at the end of the year. We were on our way to Raglan with two others, both of them had traveled a bit.
Sitting in the car with them, we ( they ) spoke about their trips. The adventures they have been on and the different cultures they have seen. It was entertaining to listen to them recall their great moments and the highs of their years past. All of them were 6-7 years older than me.
Mumbai is big and everyone knows that. I have lived there all my life prior to moving to Auckland and even then I haven’t seen everything. There are areas I have never been to, suburbs I have no clue where they are located. I don’t even know all of the suburbs in my hometown.
Auckland is similar. It is not huge but most of the areas are unknown. I haven’t seen everything, I don’t know all of the beaches. I don’t know the best bars or the perfect restaurants, haven’t hiked all of the hills.
“Where do you wanna go?”
“Nowhere” I replied, “I don’t wanna travel”
The fact that I haven’t actually been everywhere in Auckland is half an answer. It is not crucial but it is the easiest one to say offhand.
It took me a long time to get adjusted to this place ( moving houses multiple times didn’t improve the situation either ). It took a long time to build something resembling a life here and I don’t see why I would wanna leave anything behind.
I like the stability. I like the familiarity that the city offers ( Auckland/Mumbai ), the sense of being home. Traveling in itself is not a significant reason for me to leave my life behind. I don’t wanna live my life off a backpack even though I like minimalism. I don’t wanna be on the road for months at a time even though I don’t mind weekend getaways. I don’t wanna be at the mercy of the strangers that I encounter even though I have read enough tales strangers’ kindness. I don’t wanna talk about the feeling of loneliness or knowing the fact that most of the people you will ever meet traveling, you might never see again.
In today’s age, when everyone travels the world in their gap year or being on the road is associated with maturity, making my point is hard.
It is easy to find something new and exciting when the city is new. It takes time to find something exciting amidst familiar settings. I just think the latter lasts longer.
This last Sunday was Z.R.Southcombe’s “Ramble On” book launch and I was a part of it. I read an excerpt of my piece. I loved the entire event, it was simple and full of lovely people.
Before arriving at the venue, I had to decide what part of my piece I was going to read. I knew the essence of my piece but I wanted to reread it to find the one part where I start smiling because of the memories it brings back. I reread my piece and I smiled throughout.
I could read my pieces on my blog all the time ( but I don’t because I don’t think they are good ) but it is a completely different feeling to read my words from a book. I could see paragraphs which could have been better, or the locations described better and it wasn’t perfect but it did what it wanted it to do: make me smile. I loved my essay and I knew exactly what I was gonna read.
“Ramble On” was launched in Auckland City Library. According to me, city libraries is the best building in Auckland filled with three floors of books. Zee had invited all of the contributors and other authors for the launch. She had arranged for free goodies, spot prizes ( I won ), face painting ( I didn’t wanna do it ), children’s activities. Library organizers had arranged for refreshments so that guests mingled before and after the event.
I didn’t know there were so many things that went into a book launch. I was shocked by the amount of preparations Zee had done for Ramble on and awed by her efforts. I met Zee for the first time after Twitter and email correspondence. Before I could thank her for letting me be a part of her book, she thanked me for contributing and she insisted that I helped her out.
Thank you again to the wonderful @mayurwadhwanid , @explorergrace , and Anya Forest, who spoke so well at the launch! Also a HUGE thanks to @Auckland_Libs , especially Tessa, who went above and beyond to make the day run well. *hugs* pic.twitter.com/p3BTMaLj1O
— ZR Southcombe (Zee) (@zrsouthcombe) October 16, 2017
I met other contributors too. There was one man who was a highlight in the entire event. He called everyone else a ‘Hobbit’. He was huge and broad so I felt like a hobbit in front of him too. He was one of those guys who you meet and you know he is a great guy. He was basically a real-life Hagrid. He invited me to lunch sometime and his wife later told me that he really meant it. He would love to host lunch.
The other thing was really significant about the day was that I was asked to sign copies of “Ramble On”. I looked at the people asking me to sign their copies confused because I didn’t expect it. I was getting my name published for the very first time so how would I know what to write on their copies. What does an author do when they sign copies?
I wanted to tell them that it is just an essay and it is not a big deal. They should probably get their copies signed from Zee because it is her book. They didn’t listen and I caved in. I signed at the end of my essay, hardly writing anything.
When Zee called me up to speak about my piece, I was scared and excited. I cracked a few jokes and everyone laughed. I was funny! I read while paraphrasing small excerpts from my piece where I described my first hike.
Everyone enjoyed it. They all told me that they could relate to the essay, especially the part where I said that I would rather walk in the lead because it was easier than talking to people. I guess most writers fit the stereotypes of being socially awkward.
There it was, my very first book launch. I narrated the entire thing to my friend and I was so excited, I am still excited. It was absolutely perfect.
Buy Ramble On here.
This last weekend I was in Raglan, a small cute little town along the west coast of New Zealand. I did a lot of things that I have never done before. I jumped off waterfalls, walked in a forest in the dark ( and made new friends? ). It was a great weekend. I had the privilege of seeing glowworms.
Yes, it was a privilege.
We were canyoning along a stream, stream’s name I never bothered to ask. I knew I was gonna see glowworms as that is what we went for. The glowworms just blew my mind.
I have to just close my eyes to see them again. The river was dark, the sky a shadow of light and the trees silhouettes against the faint sky. The trees’ branches swayed and leaves made rustling sounds as the wind flowed. The sound of water splashing against the rocks. Just behind some of the shrubs and weeds I would see a shining dot. Just a dot, no different that a star on a clear night.
A star that was a few inches away from me.
With focus, I saw more glowworms. It isn’t exactly apparent to know if what I was seeing were glowworms or a reflection of our head beams but soon I could see the difference in the colors. I grinning from ear to ear at the beauty around me. I would frequently tell everyone to shut off their head beams so I could look at the glowworms. I slowed them as I kept stopping to checkout the glowworms.
Of course I didn’t really need to slow down and turn off my head beam. I could also shine a red light that allowed me to see glowworms but I didn’t know that. Our guide, Anne, told us about glowworms and how they actually shine lights. It is a long story and you could read about it here.
The story is not beautiful and in fact it is carnivorous. Regardless, the glowworms’ beauty didn’t diminish in my eyes. We were at the last leg of our trip, it was pitch black now and we had shut off our head beams completely. There was no light, the moon was hiding behind clouds promising rain. We were the only 5 people in the stream. But we weren’t really alone. We were sitting down on the rocks in the stream. Our guide poured us some cinnamon tea which we shared, the beverage being the only source of warmth around us; it made me aware of how tired and cold I was. Our guide said that the last part was like a scene out of Avator.
Avator had a scene out of our world.
There were eels and there were snails in the stream. These snails secreted a glowing chemical so the water also glowed in patches. And the glowworms, oh the glowworms were surrounding us, in their hundreds, nay, in their thousands all around us.
They were in scattered without any apparent pattern but their randomness gave birth to multitudes of connections. In those last 5 minutes of story time in the stream, with the thousands of glowworms, not only was I not alone but I could see that I was not alone.
Yes! My essay on hiking is published in a book. I can see my name in a list of contributors, can see my bio at the end of the book. My essay takes 4 pages among the last chapters.
Nothing could have been better.
How Did I get here?
I follow Zee Southcombe on Twitter. A couple of months ago she asked me if I would like to be a contributor in her new book. Of course I had to say yes.
However, writing the piece wasn’t easy. I had no inspiration, no recent hikes’ memories to pull apart & prod to see how what hiking felt like. I had to go for a good hike to write this. I had a month to to write a 1000 page piece and an urgency to write it but no feelings behind it.
It had to be perfect, I kept telling myself. It had to be, because it would be the first time my name would be in a book. I have been published in a research journal and I have written ~250 posts on the web but this one is special. It had to be perfect.
On Anzac day, 25th April, I went for another hike. Rangitoto Island formed my association with Got To Get Out group and I took that night slowly going over the entire hike. What I liked, what I didn’t and which instances opened the memory banks in my head. My old hikes were fresh again and I finished the piece.
I know a few writers who proofread it and encouraged me. They were really happy about it and Zee loved it too!
Yes, there were grammar mistakes, lots of them ( Feel free to point them out in the comments ). But that doesn’t matter anymore cause my piece is in the book. I can say I am published now.
I received the book last night and I haven’t really gotten over my joy to read other pieces or even look at other contributors’ bios. Next Sunday, October 15th, the book’s launch takes place in Auckland city Library. I do plan on reading a small sample from my piece. Not a lot of people know that my piece got published. A few friends. My family doesn’t know either, I kept it from them as a surprise.
Lastly, thank you Zee for the opportunity. I am so excited about the launch!
Book Launch Event: https://goo.gl/95p9cy
There is a bar near my house, Flight 605. I go there occassionally because they have host music gigs on Sunday. I have watched ( & heard? ) great Folk music there. Every single artisit had something unique in their gigs, Barrow Brass Band had songs 20min long, Sophie Mashlan played great guitar, Phil Edwards Band had lyrics with which I could completely relate to. One of the artists was Fables.
Last weekend, she hosted a house gig along with three other bands/artists: Albi from Albi and the Wolves, The Goth and the Pixie and Victoria Vigensar. Since I have never been to a house gig like that before, I was really looking forward to it. That Friday night turned out to be one of the best nights I have had.
The show was in the lounge and was full of people. I noticed a couple of other things too. I could guess that only artists lived there. The lounge had canvasses and paints in one side while the stage area was surrounded by amplifiers and instrument cases. The walls were adorned by posters of previous gigs they had attended; so many posters that I wondered what would happen if they ever go out for more: will they tear down those posters or will start on a new room? I never asked them that. The lights were dimmed and stage was brightened by three or four lights of different colors which obscured the artists faces.
I met a few people as I got in. I had only heard Fables perform before so everyone was new. I guess I had the impression that the artists wouldn’t be mingling around because when the performances started I was amused by the fact that I was just speaking to the person.
Albi & the Wolves’ Albi was the first to perform. He was great, he set the mood for the night. He was funny when he wasn’t performing and would stop to laugh whenever someone cracked a joke. He told us about the marketing trick of 3 plugin or endorsements during his gig and kept reminding other artists to do the same cracking the audience up. I sang along to his songs ( I don’t remember the lyrics anymore, just the feeling ) tapped my foot at the beats that he set. He was so excited about his performance that a couple of times that he bounced on the stool and afterwards when I was talking to him he said I should come watch the band perform with another jump. Performing to him is such an innocent joy that I couldn’t stop myself from smiling at him, glad that I spoke with him.
The Goth and The Pixie were dressed as named. He was goth and she was the pixie. When I sat down to watch Albi I thought of them as just another person in the audience and it was only after I saw Pixie take out her violin to play along (more on this later) I realized that they were gonna have a gig. The guy, or the Goth I should say was full of one-liners which made their gig more entertaining. They even had a small spoken word poetry embedded inside one of their songs. She told us about her time in a different city and she was suggested that she could write a song about some people and she did. Inspiration can come from anywhere.
I knew some of Fables’ songs. She is active Facebook and because of her I came to know about the house show. It was one of the few times that Facebook proved to be useful. She is a different person when she sings as compared to when she talks, not drastically different but just enough to think that two are different people. Her songs are great and as I was writing this I found a few videos of her performances. But between her songs she talks about stuff, everyday stuff that it’s like a conversation between two friends.
Victoria was the first person that I met that night and she was the second person to perform. She doesn’t hold her punches back in her songs, singing about the big issues. I remember two of her songs distinctly well: one was about Syrian refugees and baby Alan, the other was regarding homeless people. There is such emotion in her voice that carries the message through to the heart. During one of her songs, Pixie from Goth and Pixie started playing her violin with them and it was just so beautiful to watch them all perform.
There is no easy way to conclude this piece. I don’t even think that title does the gig justice but I couldn’t think of a better one. I should have written this piece about a week ago but I was busy and out of writing practice. There is no point to this post right now other than to talk about the fantastic people I met and saw. Maybe introduce some of you to good music.
I lodged my first (minor) complain yesterday evening & I feel conflicted about it.
I was on my bike as I was heading down Sandringham road. As far as I know, I didn’t do anything illegal or stupid. I had a bag high-visibility cover on, I was riding in the bus lane (I am allowed to, it was the BUS LANE and not the BUS ONLY lane), I didn’t need to turn on my bike lights cause it was only 5 pm. I was not riding in the middle and others had space to overtake me.
Suddenly, there was this big bus next to me, less than an arm’s width away (I think so). It would have sped up to overtake me if not for someone ahead on the bus stop signaling the driver to stop.
All of this happened in less than a second. I was scared but I didn’t panic and so I didn’t loose my balance. I am really proud of the fact that I kept my cool.
I rode on, glancing back continuously to see if the bus is still on my heels (wheels?). I got on to the next bus stop and stopped there, no longer scared but angry. I expect every car driver to be reckless and stupid around cyclist but not public bus drivers. I expect them to follow the rules, especially the one which mandates that a space of 1.5 m needs to be there between the car/bus and the cyclist when you pass them. As the bus came closer I took a photo of the bus license plate and left.
I should have confronted the driver. Tried to be polite about the fact that he almost ran me to the curb. I didn’t do that for some reason I can’t make out.
I contacted Auckland Transport on Twitter and sent them the photo of the bus and told them what happened and where. They gave me a case number of my complain.
Half hour after this, I calmed down and thought about what I did.
I wasn’t hurt so maybe I shouldn’t have complained?
I may have been wrong and I could have probably been riding in the BUS ONLY lane so it could have been my fault? Maybe the bus driver helped me out?
The bus driver was doing his job and I just complained against him. He must have a family and did I just cost him? He was just doing his job. How would I feel if someone at my work complained about me? Or my clients decided that they want another developer to work with them? I know I would be devastated.
What if I am just another whiny coward who got spooked by a bus and just recklessly complained about it like a millennial?
Even if I had every right to complain and he was the one who was wrong, why the hell do I feel so awful about it?
We had approximately 48 hours to use open data and create a hack (web app/ mobile app). This was never going to be easy considering:
- I don’t know data science
- I didn’t have a team when I registered
By Friday evening I was in a team of 6 people. Three developers including me, and three non developers.
A: Choosing a Project
This was the hardest part. It took us 8 hours during the hackathon to decide. The biggest mistake that we did was we assumed that data would be available (more on that later). My team started talking about the issues we were dealing with: transport, immigration (due to the changes proposed), housing prices etc. One of us dropped a bombshell and said let’s make a game. Suddenly I didn’t care about dealing with problems: I wanted to make the game.
I always wanted to make games but I don’t know much about it. Plus, I don’t have a clearer picture of where I wanna go with the game development so I haven’t tried it yet.
Our idea was simple: You start the game about 15 years prior. You start buying houses and earn money and in 15 years time you should have certain amount of money to win. Brilliant (and typically the premise of every tycoon game) idea. We knew it worked. To implement it we needed open data of house prices in the city/country.
We don’t have to work on the data at all. We just had to use it as stepping points. All of us loved the idea and even before we found the idea we started working out the mechanics of the game.
Turns out Auckland has no housing data of any kind. Sure we could find data related to renting or number of people in the city but house prices? Nope. This is an important point because there is a house price bubble in the city: housing prices are going up.
On Saturday afternoon we dropped the idea. I wanted to make that game but without data it wouldn’t be eligible in the hackathon. We had another brainstorm and finally settled on looking at the employment statistics.
B: Our App
His idea was to look at how industries are distributed and how many people are depended on it. This way we can tell predict which economies are vulnerable to decline in that particular industry. We planned on using a heatmap to show all the districts with varying colors depending on the distribution.
We found the data fairly easily. We needed three components: a heat map, piechart for further distribution and lastly a slider so that we can see all fifteen years. We used C3 charts and Here API for creating the heatmap and pie chart (FYI: use C3, they are super easy and look amazing). I worked mostly on the layout and the slider.
Here is the finished product presentation and you can try it out here.
I haven’t seen this much work done in such a short amount of time except in university when the assignment is due. Neither one of us were willing to settle for anything less than what we had envisioned.
My friend also wanted to come but didn’t because he didn’t know coding. What he didn’t know was coding was only 50% of the work and the easier bit. We had to make a video on our project and the skills required for that is rare. All of us occasionally gave feedback to one another, encouraged one another. I ate all the food because someone has to.
There is something amazing about working straight for 36 hours. Sure I was tired, I still am a little bit. But if I was doing everything alone in my time, I would probably take couple of weeks for this, if I didn’t give up on this in the middle by frustration.
I didn’t know this would be a shock. After all, I hardly listen to Linkin Park anymore. I ‘outgrew’ their songs as I tell everyone. I have moved on to songs where the singers isn’t shouting or the guitar sounds don’t hurt my ears. Yet when I opened Facebook today, I saw a lot of my friends posting ‘RIP Chester’ and I was shook.
I started listening to their songs again, all of them. ‘Numb’, ‘In the End’, ‘Leave out all the Rest’, ‘Breaking the Habit’, ‘Castle of Glass’ and kept going discovering songs I haven’t listened anymore. Their new single ‘Talking to Myself’ was released just hours before his suicide ( I am not going to say demise. He committed suicide, there is no way I can soften it it up).
His voice sounds different now, I hear his voice with a new clarity now and I get a bigger shock now. How did I never see this coming?!
Linkin Park introduced me to Western rock music. I was in school and at home, we had cable channel which played songs on demand. My brother and I would wait to hear songs that were popular at the time. We enjoyed Backstreet Boys and Nelly Furtado because the lyrics were understandable, the music groovy. I was young, my command on English wasn’t that strong.
We heard ‘In the End’ the very first time. We loved it. My mom definitely didn’t cause she told us to change the channel. After a while she stopped telling us to change the channel when she realized that we loved the songs.
I could only articulate the chorus. It didn’t matter much to us, we were hooked. It was only a matter of time that we were glued to the channel and we heard more of Linkin Park’s songs. VH1 started running in India and we heard more of Linkin Park’s songs. They were really popular in India, anyone who heard any Western music knew them. They were many hardcore fans who had heard every song.
Navin and I were headbanging to ‘Faint’, watching their ‘Breaking the Habit’ video in cause of anime video, we loved ‘By Myself’ because the video was a montage of Dragon Ball Z and I felt really bad for the lead actress in their ‘Numb’ music video. I was too young to understand what their music was.
A couple of years later, when my brother was in College/High School he and his friends formed a band. They would sit in our house because it was 5 min away from their college and listen to songs. At that point we were deep into rock music, we would listen to Metallica’s “One”, Foo Fighters “Pretender” and so much more. My brother had burned an entire CD full of rock music and he would turn it on all the time.
Linkin Park songs made their way into the CD even then. One of the friends was a hardcore fan. He spoke in length about the band members but I don’t recall him talking about their song’s meaning. I guess it was something that no one really spoke about but left it to interpretation. We should have. Around the time, they had released a new album which wasn’t all that popular but still good. One of their songs ‘Shadow of the Day’ was completely different from all of their previous songs.
Navin’s friend Rajesh commented on the song and I paraphrase: It sounds so peaceful, you can listen to it and fall asleep but when you listen to the lyrics you realize that it is the completely opposite of that. It has been 8 years or more since. The memories have suddenly been surfaced from their long sleep in my brain since I read about Chester’s suicide this morning.
I still have some of their songs. I am no longer oblivious to their meaning. When I listen to their songs, I am teleported to my old home sitting in front of the tele and watching their videos. I realize that even back in the 2000s, they sang about mental issues and yet were mainstream artists. I don’t think that happens anymore.
I have read people talking about Tupac, Chris Cornell, Alan Rickman, Prince, Micheal Jackson’s death but I never really UNDERSTOOD what they meant. I do now. It is not a good place. He sang about his issues and I never heard that.
I could quote their songs, I am listening to their songs now and I could use ALL of them to tell you what I feel like now. It isn’t fair that I riding nostalgia and guilt listening to their music, when Chester is no more with us. It isn’t fair I realized the meaning behind his lyrics and the strength of his voice ONLY after he killed himself.
(My weekend was not hard except this bit. Considering how much fun I had writing last week’s post, I wanted to continue this. I might write an entire post about my New Plymouth trip later)
‘Is it hard?’ someone in the van asked. A guy, let’s call him C had done it before with his partner L said ‘You need good upper body strength to do it. L did it!’
Well, if L was able to do it, I thought how hard can it be?
My fear of cliffs and shear drops was forgotten. See a while back, while walking along the coastal hills in Piha in West Auckland, I found that I am scared of heights. I can do it but I would rather not stand close to the edge and look down at the abrupt chasm. I can walk on any height as long as I don’t have to look down at a cliff.
Paritutu Rock is hardly 100 ms, located at the edge of New Plymouth over looking the ocean. Hikes take the stairs halfway and then reach the peak rock climbing. The climb isn’t vertical so you can use just your feet while getting to the top.
I went on all fours. And I made the mistake of looking down halfway through. I bit down a scream because I was at a cliff looking down at the embrace of harbor rocks. I swear they were arranged hands spread apart.
I knew coming down would be harder. For the residents of the city, the hike would/should be a weekly exercise. I saw a family descending with their 6 year old daughter while I was standing at the same edge with A. It was sobering moment, cause I was really tempted to go back down.
I was right about one thing: coming down was harder and scarier. If I slipped, I would tumble down on hard rocks all the way, if I don’t fall off a cliff. My left knee (I guess the ice skating issue) had to bother me while descending too. Great!
I took my time. I didn’t care that children were climbing a million times more gracefully than I was. I squatted to keep balance, used my hands for grips slowly covered ground (or rocks?). My eyes were wide open and I don’t think I was blinking them anymore. I told (pleaded?) others behind me, ‘Don’t rush me’.
The only solace descending was I could the carpark getting closer. I knew I wasn’t just going around in circles. I took more time than my group and they were waiting for me at the carpark.I reached the stairs but didn’t stop till I reached my group. K asked me ‘How’s it?’, my face must have shown my fears. I blew out some air while nodding and sat down, allowing my fear to take over.
‘How hard can it be?’ I thought and had a small laugh. I realized that my week could have been completely different, I could have been walking around snow clad Mt Taranaki. The cliff on Taranaki would have been so much scarier.
Of course, it was worth it. The view from the top of the rock was splendid-breathtaking-astonishing and my vocabulary can’t cover it. As I got the summit, to the left, I could see the New Plymouth arrayed systematically like legos. I could see Mt Taranaki in the distance beyond the city, staunch and inviting in its white attire. Clouds obscured the peak from time to time, testing the patience of the group’s photographers H and D. The view on the opposite side was even better.
I was standing on the edge of the world. If I started sailing straight from there I might not encounter any land till Africa. Edge of the World with nothing but blue sky shading the ocean with a darker hue, the sky and ocean seemed to be going a long way and finally meeting at the horizons. I could hear seagulls, I could see the waves crashing on the shore.
Now, if I do that again, I will not be afraid. I could do it when I was scared, I could do it again. In fact, I am looking forward to the next trip and I am hoping that someone invites me for the hike to Mt Taranaki soon.
After all, how hard can that be?
Weekend, Credits: D
If you are going to try something you have never tried before, a person is bound to tell you ‘How hard can it be?’. That person might think that they are encouraging. It is either that or they want to watch you fail so bad that they can send your fail video to FailArmy. My advice to you: punch that person in the face.
How hard can it be? Extremely hard.
Now my advice backfires on me. I am usually the one who says ‘How hard can it be?’, mostly to encourage myself. Maybe I am overconfident too. Afterwards I regret it because my body hurts and if I could glare at myself, I would glare myself to smoldering bits.
Today, I decided that I wanted to go ice skating. I have never even roller skated so I should have been aware of my imminent regret. Instead, I thought how hard can it be. Plus, there was a free event for beginners and who isn’t ready for free stuff.
Boy, oh boy I was wrong.
Firstly, it feels different just standing in balancing with the entire sole of the feet and balancing on a metal skate. How was I standing? I wasn’t standing, my legs were dancing and my body’s momentum pulled me forwards. It was like I had new feet and I had skipped the tutorial on using them (I think I did that). My left ankle decided to shake disturbing my balance and I would flail my arms in the air trying to catch balance (it didn’t work). I would fall to the ground and then began the embarrassing process of standing up.
I fell four times throughout. First time I fell, I was trying to skate at the outer edge. A beginner behind me patiently waited as I tried to stand up again. Second time I fell was about half hour later, by then I was getting confident again because I wasn’t using the boundary for support.
‘I will never learn how to do this if I keep taking support of the wall’ were the exact words in my mind before I fell on my ass. I fell again a few minutes later and after the last time I was done.
Every time I fell, I told myself I can do it. The problem was I didn’t know what I was doing. After the last time, my legs were sore and I had no energy left in me to try again.I was miserable, cold and my ankles hurt. I slipped a lot of time and every time I did, I noticed a pain in my left knee. I think I was bending my knee along the wrong axis and at last I realized that if I kept doing this I might hurt myself.
And I wanna continue doing stupid things so I don’t wanna hurt myself. Nope!
Others around me kept giving me advice. ‘Bend your knees’, ‘right leg forward, angle it and then left leg forward’, ‘1-2-1-2-1’ and so on. I just couldn’t do it properly. I never went beyond the first 1-2 sequence because I would loose my balance there.
There is a positive side to this though. Firstly, and this should be obvious to the dumb, I wouldn’t have tried if I had thought this is going to be really hard. I would probably prepared myself a little if I had thought that way, but the technology isn’t advanced enough for me to Google skating simulation.
Next, do you know the sensation you get after swimming? You are walking on land but still feel like you floating in the water. Nothing has ever come close to that feeling. Today after I was done and walked to my bus stop I felt like I was on ice again. I felt I was gonna slip and fall on my ass again. I loved that sensation.
Third, I thought back and realized how many things have I tried by thinking ‘How hard can it be?’ and I failed miserably. I am not ashamed of the fact that I failed, I find it funny though. I am going tramping next weekend I told my roommate, ‘how hard can it be’ today. Yay!
Lastly, I got an idea to write this post. I know ~4 people read this blog, one of whom is my mother (Hi Mom!!!) so yeah! I think I am back.
When I was a kid, my father used to work in Kolhapur 8 hour train ride away. He used to come once every month and usually on a Friday as it was the day when he had off. Before my birthday, on 8th November we didn’t receive any phone call from him. I think I was worried as he would call everyday at a fixed time. My mom wasn’t worried and that should have given me the hint. Next day on my birthday my dad surprised me by coming home in the middle of the week. The memory is still blurry but I remember getting really happy and my dad’s belly laugh.
I am doing the same thing now.
My manager/company CEO Warren told me a month ago about the company Christmas break. Other than the 5 public holidays, the company doesn’t shell out a 3 week break like every other company. The first thing that came to my mind was I can go home now.
I acted on the impulse without thinking much and within two hours I had booked my flights. I rapidlyy fire messages to all my friends in India telling I am coming home. I was two seconds shy of posting it on Facebook as I realized that my parents would see it. My trip is a surprise for them, it is exactly as I have always pictured my first trip home would be.
I would ring the bell in the morning and my mom would gasp when I say hi. My dad would probably be eating his breakfast and ready for work. My brother would be too sleepy to bother but I know he would be really happy as well. My dog, Jimmy would be the one who is visibly the happiest.
I won’t be landing in the morning but I still expect a similar reaction. If anyone ever tells you a month is not long then introduce them to me.
More than a year ago, prior to me getting an admitted to AUT or getting a visa, I was having dinner with my dad and brother. We were talking about my future and how I was innocently saying that doing Masters’ would be easy or something like that. He was always reluctant with the idea and I always thought it was because of the money involved. He admitted his reason that night.
He said that he was worried that I will leave them and eventually forget about them. I blame Baghban movie for that kind of thinking. His statement was the equivalent of a sucker punch to my gut. Suffice to say that night was a very emotional night for us. My brother wasn’t much emotional though, he was laughing about it eventually.
I did my best over the last 15 months to not forget about them. His sentence would always be in my head.
“How long have you been here for?” a friend asked me.
“15 months” I replied. I didn’t like rounding off the number or saying more than a year.
“That’s not very long”
“It feels longer”
I have never lived without my family. As a kid, my parents used to scare me that if I didn’t behave they would send me off to boarding school. I think every parent used that line to, sigh, get their children in line.
If I had I would have some experience with living with myself. I would have some taste of the freedom. I would have known how to cook better and how to deal with my finances better.
Today, I don’t have to answer to anyone about where I am going or when I will be back. I can come back at 6pm after work or I can come back at 2am after a party. I could eat whatever I want and I can even sleep hungry. I can keep a stack of clothes on my rooms’ chair instead of hanging them on hooks.
This freedom brings along with itself loneliness. Regardless of when I come home, my room will be quiet. There will not be my angry sulking dad or my chattering mom. There is no dog wagging his tail at the door for me.
I am by no means saying one life is better than the other. Neither am I saying I wanna go back forever. I could enjoy my life as much as I want here and at the same time miss the life that I had back in India.
I can be happy with my life in Auckland and still long for my life back.
For the next three weeks I intend to enjoy my home, my mom’s cooked food. I intend to enjoy meeting old friends and share a laugh or two. I missed them all.
‘If I don’t pray before the cross I get punished’ my friend explained how his school in Delhi worked. He was in an Catholic school about 10 years ago.
The last time I stepped inside a school was when my mom was working in a school and I had to pick up the house keys. For now, I am no longer living in India but that can change.
The thing that astonished me the most was I never even thought about the way education system in India is so ingrained with religions. It was so normal for me that I never had this kind of conversation with anyone back in India.
My school in India started with morning (Hindu) prayer and national anthem, lectures and classes, closing (Hindu) prayer and then disburse. If you are one of the majority student in the school, this will seem completely normal to you as well.
It was normal to not talk about religions in school, common to not have an opinion in school. Nobody liked the prayers but we did it anyway because we were told to.
We never asked which religion’s prayer are we singing and why?
I never asked that question back in school, college and in university. It was normal to pray in my school. Singing the national anthem is not religious and patriotic so I never had any problem with it.
I think (I am not completely sure) I am Hindu. It makes sense for me back then and now today to pray a Hindu prayer. I can do a Christian prayer too and for me, both of them spell out the same message.
It wouldn’t make sense for a Christian or a Muslim child to pray an Hindu prayer. India is a dense multireligous jungle of a country and if I may paraphrase my friend’s description ‘India had every possible religion’.
Each religion will have its own prayers, traditions and customs. Each of the religious customs have always been seeped into the culture of the practitioners.
If the child of such a culture goes to study in a school of a completely different culture, the result of such a conflict would be severe.
For example, my friend. He is an atheist, for him praying is nonsensical. I can imagine him in a catholic school trying to resist praying sessions, Bible reading sessions and during Carols.
Reflecting back on my school days, I don’t remember having many Christian or Muslim classmates. Almost everyone was Hindu and a majority of us couldn’t be bothered praying unless exams were due.
No one, in my memory asked about why only Hindu prayers and none other. My friend’s school insisted on enforcing Christianity on its pupils.
For me and him, in our 20s, thinking back on it is pretty easy. He says that schools should NOT have any religious influence. He does have a point: teach physics and civil rights at school. Leave the religions at homes and temples, mosques and churches.
Democracy is not about enforcement of religion. It is certainly not what the Indian pledge says : “India is a secular country”
The question now is: What can be done? And more importantly, how many parents, grandparents think about religion when securing admissions?
Because I remember my school friends. We did not care about prayers. We may have cared if we had a choice on prayer.
Life has been tough recently. I am stressed ( because of my visa delay) and really fed up with my incessant problems. I said to my mom the other day on the phone: ‘I never get anything done smoothly in my life!’
Yesterday I met a friend who is almost my elder sister by now. I expected myself to just whine about how miserable my life is and how all I have are problems. She started talking about her new job and I shut up. As she spoke, I was too scared to even breathe.
My friend started working in an hospital in South Auckland as an physiotherapist (I guess). Now, if you have lived in Auckland for a while then you will know that South Auckland is considered as the troubled neighborhood. Emphasis on considered as.
She told me that on her third day working there, she was in the wrong place at the wrong time. She became responsible for taking care of a two month old premature baby. The baby’s mom asked my friend to look after the baby while she went outside. My friend couldn’t stay longer than 30 minutes and told the mum the same.
My friend ended up holding the baby for more than 3 hours. The mother came back after 5 days. My friend did not know that the mother was troubled. The mother was not allowed to leave the hospital and neither was she supposed to leave the ward. There was a communication lapse in the hospital. My friend had to take care of a baby because of it, scared that now she will lose her job and at the same time she would have aided a mother abandon a child.
My friend has been working in the hospital for 3 weeks now. She loves children. On her honeymoon, when other couples are busy taking great photos and enjoying, she and her husband volunteered in a slum area in Philipines. They raised money using Facebook to help those children. As she spoke about her job, how she interacts with children and how much she loves them, I knew that she has found her calling in the hospital.
She spoke about meeting children of abuse in the hospital. How children who are supposed to be delighted to meet their parents were too anxious to be around them.
A abused child who hadn’t had a bath since November because of his hydrophobia recently had a bath.
Mothers who would abuse loudly in the hospital and spit at nurses and create a mess.
Fathers who would abandon their new born in the hospital because they did not want them.
She told me about her day as by the end of it, she was tired physically, mentally and emotionally.
“There are small surprises wrapped inside a mass of mess”
I was scared as I heard her speak. I had my hands on my mouth because I was appalled.
Back to the mother and the premature baby. The hospital authorities have seen these incidents before. They said ‘This is pretty normal here’.
THIS IS NOT NORMAL! IT CAN’T BE NORMAL!
They spoke with my friend, convinced her that none of this was her fault even though anyone in her place would really think that all of this was their fault.
When the mother came back, she took the child away without any fuss or any communication. She did not give any kind of explanation as to why she was missing for five days. I don’t know much about the social services in Auckland, I am not sure about what will the repercussions of the mum’s actions but my friends couldn’t do anything. They could only send their report on the incident to social services.
My problems were my own. My mistakes will only affect me directly. My friend’s work takes a toll on her and affects a lot of people. The families in the hospital, her own mental state, her colleagues and then the social services jobs.
As she finished her stories, I said I have the easiest job in the whole world. In terms of stress and the consequences, I still have it pretty easy. In all, I probably shouldn’t complain anymore.
We haven’t had coffee in a while. Mostly because I wouldn’t have much to talk about. Sorry about that. I have not had the chance to talk to you about your life either.
If we have met before, you would know that in my life things have a tendency to going wrong in a second. I never see them coming and when the bad things happen, they are overwhelming. Include all the worse possible feelings here.
This week things changed as well. However, they didn’t get worse (in the beginning). After working as an intern for 5 and half weeks, I got a job offer from the company I have been interning at.
I moved into a new house. I hated my previous house, primarily the head tenant and now the new house is perfect. It is everything I wanted and more.
If we are having coffee, I would tell you that in the scheme of things this is unreal. Good news never comes easy and it certainly doesn’t come in packages. I am ecstatic about it all but I am still having trouble with accepting it.
What if something else goes wrong? I can’t see what can go wrong now and it scares me.
Today things went wrong. I never saw it coming as my new house owner told me that she will need me to move out in 3 weeks time. I just moved in the house and now I have to look for something perfect again.
At this point, I am thinking why does this keep happening to me? I remember Murphy’s Law (Something that can happen, will happen) and I realize yeah things always can go wrong. I am also thinking that because the only commonality between these unforeseen changes is me: maybe there is something fundamentally wrong with me.
Maybe I cause the bad things to happen.
I am frustrated, angry and if we are having coffee, then at this instant I would probably throw the coffee cup at the wall.
In other unemotional news, this week while biking to work I fell over. In hindsight I am happy that I was not on the main street and there were no other cars there. Still I am pretty banged up and sore. Before you ask, it was my fault. I took a turn at a very high speed.
I had help from someone living nearby and I hoping to run into her again so that I can properly thank her. I have not met her again, even though I tried to.
And with that, my week is pretty much summed up. Now it is your turn, how are things going? Tell me everything.
I was talking to my friend past Friday. I was trying to start a PS3 console and it wouldn’t start so I called him. While talking I mentioned that I am trying out ‘Batman: Arkham City’ game even though I have no clue what to do in it. It is at that moment he pretty much summed up my entire life.
‘You never know what you are doing, you just do it.’
I had a great laugh at that and true enough it is what I mostly do. I felt good to hear him say it.
I finally moved into a new house. I love it there and it more that what I was hoping for. There are so many empty shelves in my room and will probably remain empty. I like less stuff and clutter.
Sunday is when I moved to a new house. Afterwards, I went to play Holi in Radha-Krishna (ISKCON) temple in the outskirts of Auckland with a friend of mine and neither of us knew what was going to happen there. We just went and pretty much had one of the best parties without drinking. Surprise surprise.
The same night though, my way of living life turned on me. Later that night there was another party (I never say no, another way I live) and I went there as well. Like Holi, I didn’t know what to do here as well. I couldn’t have fun here.
I spent sometime being around with a bunch of guys that I know but not really friends with and eventually I withdrew. I didn’t talk much and eventually I was alone on a table with a pack of playing cards contemplating my choice of coming here.
I was the weird guy at the party who was trying to build a house of cards rather than talk to people and have a good time.
‘That is probably the worst thing I have ever done at a party’ I messaged another friend.
My irritating habit of being socially awkward has bothered me for as long as I can remember. I was never as weird as to build a house of cards though.
Last year I went to a girl’s 21st birthday and eventually I was sitting in the corner with a glass of water in my hand while everyone was chatting and having a good time. I just couldn’t do it, get up and maybe get into a conversation.
There is never any better way to explain what I feel at such situations because I actually don’t feel anything.
I know if I am invited then I will be going to any social function. I am always hoping that my experience will be better than the last time. Going is not just about missing out or not being able to say no.
I go because I want to go. It will be fun are my thoughts as I am deciding whether or not to go.
It is about being normal. It is about trying and trying again cause the only other option is to give up and let it all go.
I guess I do know what I am doing.
(My plan was not to write stream of continued stories but now with the help of daily prompt, I am going to try writing them. First story in the series: Glitter)
‘Firde!!!’ the Slurred Cat screamed.
‘Wait what did he scream? Did he say fire?’ Maddy asked.
Before One Eyed Solomon could reply, they heard the gush of fire. If you have never heard fire being sprayed like water from a water hose; it sounds exactly like water. No one can actually make a differentiation between the two unless they see the spray is either fire or water.
Maddy looked and found that from the base of the cave, a stream of fire was being poured out. Only…
‘Is it just me or that fire is too small?’
‘How can fire be small Maddy?’
Solomon looked as well. None of the two were in any immediate danger of being fired upon as they were on the opposite direction and quite far from the cave.
‘Yes you are write. It is almost like that fire is coming from a small mouth.’
‘Small jaw sir. It is a reptile.’
‘Shut up Maddy. Think about what we are going to do next?’
The spray of fire stopped abruptly as it had appeared. Screams from the burned victims could be heard now. The two men had their eyes glued to the entrance of the cave and they were waiting to see what would happen.
‘Is ith gone?’ Slurred Cat asked standing directly behind them.
‘I don’th know.’ Maddy said and immediately received a glower from Solomon.
They got their answer soon as the dragon came out of the cave. The dragon was green scaled and small almost the size of a human when crawling. It was definitely a infant still.
‘So the dragon inside gave birth to a small dragon. Are you sure you want the gold inside which is slick with dragon fluids?’ Maddy asked.
‘Shut up. You have not heard the story have you? Three dragons together captured the cave. They killed almost every man and woman inside.No dragon was birthed inside.’
The dragon was still outside the cave when an arrow was fired on it. The arrow hit the skull of dragon and bounced off as if it was a pebble. The dragon was looking towards the direction where the arrow was fired from.
Another arrow. The result was the same, it bounced off the scales as if a pebble. It did irritate the dragon though.
‘What are they doing?’
Everyone who had bow and arrow was firing arrows now and little good it did to the dragon until one unfortunate shot hit the dragon on the eye. The dragon howled in agony and …. it’s scream was not terrifying.
The scream was a child’s inarticulate scream: full of agony. It breathed fire in all directions burning arrows and heating stones before bolting back in. There was a silence in the night as if time was scared to move. It had to broken by Maddy
‘Now what sir?’
‘These guys run. We wait for the dragon’s revenge. Maddy they are coming out soon.’
Thank you for reading
(Unintentional continuation of Glitter fiction piece I wrote yesterday)
‘What are we doing sir?’
‘We are waiting Maddy.’ One Eyed Solomon grumbled. No one knows why his name is One Eyed as he has both of his eyes.
‘We are hiding aren’t we sir?’ Maddy said.
‘No, we are waiting. We are looking for an opportunity to go in.’ Solomon explained to his long time friend and biggest critic. Wiseass.
‘Sir, the three dragons are inside. What do you expect to do with the said opportunity?’
‘Why Maddy, steal the gold!’ Solomon said with a glint of greed in his eyes.
‘The three dragons breathe fire sir!’
‘We breathe oxygen and they burn oxygen. We are somewhat alike than you think Maddy. Plus, I am going to steal the gold and not try to ask them not to breathe fire. ‘
‘Aye. I’m sure that is what the 20 soldiers outside the cave did. It clearly didn’t work out well for them. ‘
Solomon couldn’t say anything to that. He has seen the bodies with his own eyes, or the one eye he still had working. 20 or so soldiers’ bodies were burned beyond recognition and some bones had fused together. It was an estimate that they were just human bodies and no animals were mixed together with them. When those three dragons had ventured out unexpectedly, the soldiers were not ready.
No one will be ready for one dragon and those poor soldiers were facing three. Their last moments would be filled with smell of shit, piss and intense heat.
‘Yeah you are correct. I need gold Maddy. I can’t go back to being a fisherman. The dragons burned my boat, they boiled the lake water. Did you know that fishes were cooked in the lake because of the heat. Sure there are enough fishes for everyone now, but it will not last. I am collecting gold for the damage they have caused.’
‘The dragons will not see it that way.’
‘They will never know when I am in and out’
‘That is what she said’
Solomon looked at his friend and saw him trying to hold on to his maniacal laughter. Once Maddy started laughing, he laughed like a madman.Maddy succeeded for a second but looking at Solomon’s lips curl he burst into loud laughter. Solomon couldn’t stop himself and started laughing with his friend.
In their laughter, they gave away their hideout position to the other groups arrayed around the cave mouth. They never noticed the dragon’s head looming out of the cave either.
‘I wanna go out Dad!’
‘Out? Did you say OUT?’ Dad screamed back at his son.
‘Yes dad. I am bored here, there is nothing to do. We are living on heaps of gold which is really uncomfortable to sleep over. I have not seen the sun or the moon in over 3 years.’
‘What are you talking about? We have been here only for 3 months.’ Dad said and then looked elsewhere. He turned back to face his son ‘Anyway you know there are people waiting outside so that they can kill us.’
‘Humans are small. We can kill them.Killing most of them is how we got inside right?’
Dad looked thoughtful, contemplating his son’s logic as that is how he got the bed of gold. He arrived like summer’s heatwave, scorching the fields outside the mountain. He would have had a difficult time to kill everyone if he had come alone but he didn’t. He brought his family with him.
Humans might be able to withstand and rally together to fight one of his kind, but against three they would have to run like babies. He looked towards where his mate slept. She looked so peaceful sleeping there that he had urge to go to her. She wouldn’t like that though, after all between the two of them: she was more ferocious.
His son though, he was the perfect mixture between his reptilian methods and his mate’s hot anger. However, his temperament was marred by the lack of patience and for the last couple of days he kept bothering for different things to do.
‘Alright, what do you plan on doing once you go outside?’
‘Fly! I don’t even know if I can fly anymore. I think I am just too fat to fly now. I also want to scare the sheep. I want to set lands and trees on fire. I want to make new friends.’
‘You know right that your friends will the first one to try and kill you?’
‘Yes I know that.’
He waited for his son to say something more but clearly his son had nothing more to add. He looked carefully at his son then: the glitter of the gold lying all around them shined on his jaw. His son looked…sad.
He got up, and shook off the gold coins off his scales. He can always find another cave filled with gold. But first he needed to entertain his son around and that is what he was gonna do.
‘I am taking our son outside. Do you wanna come with us?’ He asked his mate and braced himself for her attack. She did not like being awakened from her somber.
‘You are an idiot. You will not be able to care for him so I will have to come along with you. ‘ his mate grumbled. She wouldn’t have liked if he went to her but for her son she would let go of her sleep and he would let go of his bed of gold.
The three dragons went outside that night, flying and kissing the moon. Then they set the night sky aflame.
Friday night was not just a party for some of my friends. It was a night to honor a good friend of theirs who sadly passed away.
Early this week, I saw a friend’s post on facebook remembering his friend, Jérémy, a young university student. Jérémy had passed away tragically with cardiac arrest. I was in shock, cause Jérémy was young, very young for cardiac arrest, too young for dying.
I never knew Jérémy.
Jérémy’s funeral was on Thursday. Friday night, two of my friends invited me out. These two were from a different circle of friends from the one mentioned above. I didn’t know that they had been to Jérémy’s funeral. As I got into their car, they handed me a bottle of liquor, asking me to sip in the memory of their friend.
I sipped and said To Jérémy. There was a seconds’ silence where I was afraid that I had said something I shouldn’t have. Then the conversation resumed.
The entire night, regardless of how great the pub music was, a tight sadness gripped the two and rightly so. I tried to imagine what they must be feeling like and I hoped they were alright. I asked how are they holding up and they said they are okay. Everyone always says they are okay, even when they probably aren’t.
They told me tales about Jérémy. They were talking about how great Jeremy was with his studies, how he was the first one to always finish up all the assignments and the preparations for the exams. How he was meticulously preparing for the triathlon. One of them suddenly got overwhelmed when talking about Jérémy.
They both shared a small laugh on how Jérémy was always ready to go out with them on Friday night.
‘If I call Jérémy now, he would be like let’s go.’
Then we toasted the third time in his name.
I couldn’t bring myself to ask how they were feeling anymore. They were grieving so I let them do it the way they wanted to. I tried to stand in their shoes and think about losing any of my friend.
How the friend’s contact will turn to a meaningless number where no one would answer or even worse turn into a hurtful reminder. I thought about the difference between ‘Somebody I don’t talk to anymore’ and ‘Somebody I can’t talk to anymore’.
I didn’t know Jérémy. But from what everyone said about him, I would have enjoyed his company.
To Jérémy, Gone too soon.
‘How is my baby?’ I ask the doctor. He looks like he is going to say something but then he stops. He looks away from me for a second while I wait for his face to show any sign of trouble. He is old, definitely more than 150 years old as his silicon skin has developed wrinkles. His hair is starting to gray and his irises are dissolving into his eye substrate.
He looks at me again and says ‘Lucy should be fine. Her operation was not without consequences but she made it through. As you may know, consciousness implantation is hardly done on 8 year old kids. The brain is just not strong enough to sustain the imaging.’
He pauses expecting more questions from me. I don’t want to ask questions, I want to stand up and shout at him to tell me how is my daughter. I couldn’t do that though, this man is trying to save my daughter. I grab on to the seat posts and squeeze to control my anger. I hope he does not notice my white knuckles.
‘She is still under medication, so we do not know how will she be when she wakes up. Her medication should wear off in the next two hours.’ he finishes.
I take a deep breath. Lucy is alive and sleeping for now. Nothing has happened to her, and when she wakes up she should be completely okay. A lot of people have done consciousness implantation, they always turn out okay.
I turned out okay and my implantation was 50 years ago! Surely the technology has advanced enough for Lucy to be completely fine. She should be able to live a long life, her new body should be able to take care of her mind.
No more trembling limbs or seizures.
I thank him and go out of his office to call my relatives and friends. Most of them went home during the implantation surgery, even though it was only 6 hours long. Those were the longest 6 hours of my life.
Now I have to wait another two.
I spend the entire time calling people and lastly I call up my parents to inform them. They had been living for nearly 200 years now and yet they still have trouble using holograms. They always know how to make me smile with their simplicity.
Two hours later, Lucy gingerly wakes up. The heart rate and other body signals were being displayed on the wall screen behind her, the sound of her heart beat smooth and healthy cause if it wasn’t then there would be alerts.
She looks at me and smiles. I smile back, hope surging through my heart. I pick up her hand to hold her and say I am here sweety everything is going to be just fine.
I am the first person to notice her hand tremble.
Thank you for reading!
PS: I got an internship recently, and this is how I feel everyday.
Credits: The Mighty
What are you doing?
I am trying to understand this code.
You have to admit it is way beyond your comprehension.
No I got this.
You will screw up. They will know you are a fraud.
Shut up! You worked your ass off for this and damn it I am not going to let you quit now. Come on now, move!
Oh, this is gonna end well.
My mind is constantly working. When I am reading, my mind is concocting the next military fantasy novel, when I am coding my mind is trying to create ideas for the next big application. My mind does not deal with small issues.
Go Big or Go Home.
I sometimes hear my mind speak in a voice not very distant from my own, but it has a certain sense of arrogance that I can never manifest in mine. My mind wants perfection, it craves success and lastly, it wants that high of achievement.
I push myself to get it: constantly for almost everything. I have met people who say that it is tiring and they get burnout at the end of the day. I am lucky enough to not experience that so far. My mind is also smart enough to know when to stop trying.
Alas, it doesn’t know when to stop talking.
Oh shit! I screwed up.
No you did not, relax.
What have I done in my program: it completely crashes everything.
It is okay. Take a deep breath, you got this.
No I don’t. I should never have come here.
You are trying. That is all one can ever do, if it works or not is not in your hand.
Yeah I guess I can try.
It gets weird at times though. It is like I have the devil (he is not evil, mostly) and an angel sitting on my shoulders. One tells me to be the master of everything, to push above and beyond I have ever gone before. He tells me not to take shit from anyone ever, to keep chasing that perfection. It doesn’t give me the option of failure.
The other: it catches me when I fall, which is very often. It supports me, allows me to watch lots of dog videos when I am feeling down and slowly gets me back on track. It tells me it is okay to fail.
My internship has made the two voices extra loud. I am scared. Seriously scared about what will happen if I can’t do this.
You will not fail, you can’t.
I am struggling to understand how to code at the level of 4 year experienced coders. I have no idea how well I am doing.
It is okay, you are trying your best.
I am not afraid of asking for help, in fact that is what an internship is all about. Learning new things, working your way through challenges.Everyone is helpful at work, they never say no to helping out. They are also funny which is a bonus. I am just afraid of asking for too much help which can make them think I am not cut out for working at their level.
No you are!
I am afraid of being proved incapable. I am afraid of finishing my internship and realizing that maybe I wasn’t smart enough for all of this. I am afraid that my brain, which was once the my strongest asset, is no longer any asset.
If this does not work out then something else. You can manage things bro!
‘Metal forging is a craft, a skill that one in every 100 men have. Sure, anyone can heat up metal but how to mold it into a sword or an armor: that is a skill. When to cool a metal and how much to beat it, these things can be only done by instincts. You have the knack for this kind of craft. So promise me Pete that the only time you pick up a sword or a hammer is to deliver it. Battle is better off for others.’
Pete remembered that particular conversation with his grandpa. He could never forget it, he has trouble remembering his grandpa’s face at times but that conversation was easy to recall. It shaped his life.
He deeply breathed, trying to steady his speeding heartbeat. He was scared. He has never stepped out on a battlefield before and now the battle was outside. His brothers, the soldiers with whom he has grown up were getting slaughtered outside and he could hear women screaming. Houses were aflame, horses were running wild and the world sounded like it was about to end.
Maybe it was.
He looked at around his armory: he had a hammer, his favorite, a sword and some knives. Enough to fight with, enough to die with it. He knew a little about fighting but he was prepared: he threw his sword into the flame to heat it up. Nothing burned more than seared flesh and he was going to use the heat. His hammer had a long shaft which would be perfect for swinging and gave him reach. Knives would be perfect for arm to arm combat.
He could hear some men standing outside his hut and swords clashing. He was not sure but he could hear someone cursing in his native tongue. There was a squeal and the swords stopped ringing. One final curse in his native tongue and someone fell down.
Pete ran outside his hands on the heated sword with his hammer on his back. In a second he had swung his sword and had cleanly decapitated a soldier. The heated metal had sealed the wound so no blood came pulsating out. Maybe it was the lack of blood that gave him an advantage as no one turned towards him until too late.
He cut off another soldier’s sword hand, sealing the wound. He turned his attention towards to the other soldiers standing around him: three more, four if you count the maimed soldier. He screamed a battle cry his friends had thought him a while ago, his voice eerily strong.
The soldiers were ready and were able to deflect his swings with ease. However, the sword’s heat threw them backward. He was bigger than all three of them, so he swung again this time putting his full weight on the swing. It worked as the soldier made the mistake of blocking the swing rather than deflecting it. Both the swords were thrust into the soldier’s chest and locking them together. Pete tried to pry loose his sword but to no avail. He had two more to kill for now but he couldn’t do it.
One soldier was at arm’s reach so he did just that, he grabbed the soldier’s neck and squeezed while he kicked the other. With only one soldier to focus on he grabbed his knife and thrust it in the soldier’s eye socket.
With one soldier and one maimed soldier left, he grabbed his hammer.
He could see another group of soldiers in the distance, they had noticed him as well. No matter, he will get to them soon enough. He swung his hammer low and blew the maimed soldier’s knee out. He kept the momentum of the swing and turned around to aim the hammer on the soldier’s head.
It was just like beating a metal into shape. Only this time blood came out.
More soldiers, none of them had any long range weapon. They would die soon. That day, the village was Pete’s forge. All the soldiers were infantry it was a while before any archers made contact with Pete. By the time they did, at least 50 were smashed and the hammer was glistening with blood.
An arrow through Pete’s heart put him down.
“Do you know who this man is?” Counselor Michaels asked the witness. It was a very important question as it will either make or break the case. However, the witness couldn’t have been more unreliable.
Joe Monley was a two time convicted felon, one for B&E and the other for manslaughter. He has been clean for ten years now but there is always a shred of doubt when putting people like Joe on the stand.
Plus, a couple of days ago newspapers have discovered that Joe had an alcohol addiction. Alcoholics Anonymous was supposed to be well, anonymous. This revelation had put Joe’s testimony into jeopardy and Michaels would have removed him from the stand if he had any other witness.
No one else in the bar had seen the kidnapping of the waitress. No one in an entire bar.
The counselor waited for Monley to answer, his hands behind his back holding a pencil. He was tensed and was flexing the pencil. If Joe did not answer anytime soon then he would snap the pencil.
“Yes I do” Joe answered. Michaels eased off the pencil and continued on the prepared set of questions. Michaels plan was initially focus on the kidnapping but in light of recent events, he had to make some changes.
He had to provoke his client that day and he would never forgive himself. After Joe had answered all of the prepared questions perfectly, it was time for Michaels to take the rug from underneath the defense. He was sure that the defense would questions Joe’s testimony considering his Alcoholic Anonymous membership.
“How long have you been going to AA meetings Mr Monley?”
Joe’s head snapped into attention, his eyes narrowing. This was a low blow and even the defense was not completely prepared for this.
“Three years. I have been sober for the last two years”
“Then what were you doing in the bar?” Michaels asked.
After the papers leaked details of Joe’s AA membership, Michaels had asked Joe the same question and Joe stormed off. Now he could not storm off the courtyard.
“I was meeting somebody. I am sponsoring somebody and he had relapsed. I was there to take him home and take care of him.”
Michaels could have continued, but he stopped. He had already crossed a line with these questions but if he asked who Joe was sponsoring then it would be more…dirty.
He thanked the witness and the Judge concluding his line of questions.
Joe had done what was expected of him: recognize the kidnapper.
What is smell but a trap?
Scented flower buds attract
Killing bees and insects
Unscented buds die hungry.
I have no idea why I tried this, but if you want to give feedback please feel free to do so. I would like to know what you think: even if you say this is crap! Thanks
‘You are pregnant!’ the monitor displayed with tiny GIFs of babies crawling sprawled across the screen like confetti. The screen thought it was a celebration.
Tessa did not want to celebrate though. A baby meant work, lots of hard work and who does that these days. Amongst her sisters, only one had a baby and till this day she says that it were one of the most excruciating experiences of her life. The same sister also says that it was a memorable moment for her.
Why would anyone want to remember pain?! Everyone else, like normal people would rather skip the pain and enjoy the perks.
Tessa asked the screen ‘What do I do now?’
Moni, the AI which controlled her house responded gave her a few options. She decided that she would have to meet with a doctor once to discuss some options. She doesn’t want to be burdened by the pain.
‘I am pregnant’ she told her friends, Ali and Javier. They both looked at each other, trying to guess who the father is. It was common these days to have children with your friends as who would like to go outside and try to find a mate. It is a long and painful process.
Alcohol helps with the pain but it gives immense hangover. Technology has advanced and there are some great hangover remedies, but the stronger the remedies became people drank even more.
After about 30 seconds of staring at one another in silence, both of them raised their glasses and clicked them. They were not toasting to their ‘success’ but they wanted to get rid of the elephant in the room without actually talking about the elephant in the room.
Tessa did not want any part of this discussion so she stared around at the bar. The bar tried to emulate the feel of 1960s and it looked remarkably similar. There was some kind of RF signal in the air which made all the guests sway to the Jazz music being played the bar AI.
‘What do we do now?’ Javier asked.
She almost choked on her drink. She had only told them about the baby but she did not tell them that neither of them was the father. She told them now.
They sat silently again for a couple of seconds and both of them ordered lots of Tequila shots. Biologically, she shouldn’t drink. But she drank anyway cause Moni had already copied her embryo’s genetic makeup.
Tomorrow, her doctor would already know what her baby would look like.
‘You want SurroMother?’ the doctor asked again for confirmation.
Tessa looked at the artificially generated face of her yet-to-be born son. He would look good when he grows up.
He just won’t grow up in her womb. No pain.
‘Yes’ she confirmed.
The night after her appointment with her doctor Tessa did not feel like staying at home. She went out again, this time not calling her friends and drank the bar dry. She met another guy and went with him. She just hoped there would not be another baby this time.
I couldn’t place replacement anywhere in the post.
Nothing bad can ever come here. Last night’s events were not oversight, but they were a result of complacency. How else can three vampires just waltz into Wolf town?
Wolf town is the holy land for all kinds of wolfs all over the world. Werewolves, direwolves, siberian wolves and so on. Sometimes even Huskies are welcome here because predators have hearts too. Huskies are nothing but little lost children of wolves were they not?
It was considered common knowledge that no wolf will ever have to fight for his or her life here in Wolf Town. They can yap and howl all night long with their mates and bros but not get killed. Vampires and ghouls respected this knowledge and wolves territories. They emulated Wolf town a couple of centuries ago and created their own towns.
The names of their towns were alluding as compared to the simple Wolf town. Vampires called their home Bloodhaven and ghouls just called it Brains. Zombies tried to sue ghouls over the town name but no court wanted to have a huge racial dispute on its hand.
Zombies could not settle this the old fashion way, after all attack on one town will lead to an overall attack on all homes. Eventually Zombies called their home “Grrr!” as it was easy for them to say it.
“Where will you go now mate?”
The vampires were left on poles exposed to sunlight. They withered and squealed against the sunlight but eventually all of them died. Sunlight gave vampires the most excruciating deaths and after last night’s atrocity they deserved it. But the old wolves of the pack were wary of such a public execution.
“Let’s kill them quietly and then feast on them!”
“They have no blood inside them! Feast on old festered organs?!”
“Well we can always bury them and wait for them to turn to bones!”
“Bones?!” the Husky exclaimed.
Others saw their child and were ashamed. One by one they howled and the Husky joined their howls. The elders were proud of the Husky’s howl though.
The vampired walked towards Wolf town’s square and faced the decayed bodies of the three dead. Wolves all over the town had heard of the new fang in town but he kept waving a white flag as a sign of surrender.
He also had a couple of balls which distracted everyone: elder and young pups.
“You should stop throwing those balls.”
“Your kind is so easy to distract”
“But we don’t attack unless offended”
“True. I would like offer my kinds’ sincerest apologies.”
“The vampires almost killed three wolves and ate one pup”
“And you killed them. Vengeance is dish best served cold”
“Your kind is cold already, they need to lighten up”
The vampire looked down at the old wolf standing next to his hip for a few seconds before laughing aloud. He kept laughing as more wolf heads tilted seeing his strange reaction. He stopped eventually.
“I offer truce. These deaths were apt, and my kind could not have given them a better punishment. As for compensation, we are ready to offer heaps of tennis balls, bones and half of our prey for a month. Let your mouths feast on succulent human flesh so that you will not have to hunt.”
The elder wolf waited and thought about the offer hoping there was no oversight. But wolf are after all parents of Huskies, they trusted very easily.
Thank you so much for reading. Comment below to let me know what you thought about it.