I'm going home tomorrow for 3-weeks after 18 months of living in Madrid. I should be on an emotional high but for the last 3-4 days, I've been an emotional wreck. I don't understand why and that's just adding to feeling low.
I've been crying over nothing. Snapping at people for no reason. Getting upset at people for no reason. I've been quiet and kept to myself. I've had a perpetual headache and no appetite.
I've always considered myself a strong person, but today I'm ashamed of feeling so weak and fragile without being able to think why. The feeling seems invalid because I can't find the root. I just want to crawl into a warm shell. I'm not okay. I feel this ridiculous need of wanting to be taken care of. But nothing has happened! My life is the same!
Perhaps all my trapped emotions over the last year are now flowing out at once. Perhaps I'm subconsciously stressed about going home, about talking about my life, about talking about my future, about confronting how I feel about Dubai when I get there, about confronting how I feel about Madrid from outside it. About all the uncertainties in my life, about all the instabilities in my life.
But how can a short trip home after a long period of time trigger such a strange and strong feeling of being overwhelmed? I really don't get it.
I hope to find that warm shell on my parent's couch.
Showing posts with label Rant Because I Can. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Rant Because I Can. Show all posts
Tuesday, June 03, 2008
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
Spooky Post
Two of my best friends who send me post and gifts EVERY month are Sanitas (my medical insurance) and Bancaja (my bank).
Also, since I've started writing for so many blogs, I often get emails from writers/publishers who would like to send me books (for free!) to enjoy (and of course review -- but that's my call). I send them my details and within a week I normally get a package.
Receiving expected post is great. Receiving unexpected post is AWESOME! (hint hint to all those people I religiously send postcards to). Except when it comes from a company you don't know.
Yesterday a book called "A Voyage Long And Strange'' by Tony Horwitz came knocking at my door. First I was ecstatic to receive a package; I opened it excitedly to see it was a book, I then impatiently opened the letter to see who it was from and was more annoyed than happy to see that it was from Henry Holt and Company in New York.
It's a good publishing house, the author is well known, and the book looks interesting -- BUT HOW DID THEY GET MY DETAILS? In Spain!?
I guess I shouldn't be surprised. My life is an open book. Google me and you can trace me back to my school days. However, I don't remember making my postal address in Spain public. I suppose my details were sold and I can't help but feel so vulnerable: people I don't know in NY, know exactly where I live in Spain and are sending me stuff to my doorstep.
On a positive note, it's a travel book not a free subscription to porn so I'm not too worried. Also, the book will hit the market on April 29 this year, so I'm one of the privileged lot to get my hands on it. That's pretty cool.
Also, since I've started writing for so many blogs, I often get emails from writers/publishers who would like to send me books (for free!) to enjoy (and of course review -- but that's my call). I send them my details and within a week I normally get a package.
Receiving expected post is great. Receiving unexpected post is AWESOME! (hint hint to all those people I religiously send postcards to). Except when it comes from a company you don't know.
Yesterday a book called "A Voyage Long And Strange'' by Tony Horwitz came knocking at my door. First I was ecstatic to receive a package; I opened it excitedly to see it was a book, I then impatiently opened the letter to see who it was from and was more annoyed than happy to see that it was from Henry Holt and Company in New York.
It's a good publishing house, the author is well known, and the book looks interesting -- BUT HOW DID THEY GET MY DETAILS? In Spain!?
I guess I shouldn't be surprised. My life is an open book. Google me and you can trace me back to my school days. However, I don't remember making my postal address in Spain public. I suppose my details were sold and I can't help but feel so vulnerable: people I don't know in NY, know exactly where I live in Spain and are sending me stuff to my doorstep.
On a positive note, it's a travel book not a free subscription to porn so I'm not too worried. Also, the book will hit the market on April 29 this year, so I'm one of the privileged lot to get my hands on it. That's pretty cool.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Frivolous Cravings
The plan for 2008 was to notch-up the content of my blog. I have a few readers who I bombard with my mindless rants, so I thought it's high time I write on topics of more consequence.
The more I think of that, the more frivolous posts come to my mind, many of which I have been avoiding. With the million things I need to get my mind into, a blog with regular earth-shattering content does not seem likely -- so in the mean time I will continue with the meaningless points I regularly bring to this blog.
I'm embarrassed to say that the two things that I have not been able to get my mind off these days is Cherry Ripe and Bisto Gravy. Not hunger in Africa nor the state of street children India, but a chocolate and meat gravy have been occupying my thoughts.
For those of you who don't know what Cherry Ripe is: it's the world's best dark, cherry, coconut, and rum filled chocolate. Actually, it doesn't have rum, but the cherries are so fermented and their mixture with dark chocolate give it a strong taste of alcohol. Rumour has it that if you eat a bar and take a breath test, it will come positive for alcohol. Seriously! It used to be my staple breakfast when I lived in Australia; it is, sadly, not sold outside the country. I had an Ozzie friend in Dubai who would annually bring me back a dozen extra-large bars of Cherry Ripe. Pure, cheap, joy. Sigh.
Another craving that began in winter is for Bisto gravy. Yes, instant, chemical-filled, brown powder that when mixed with hot water turns into thick, delicious gravy. In the UK and in Dubai, our cabinet always had Bisto gravy. Other than with steak, vegetables and mash potatoes, I would eat it with the chicken from my mum's Vindaloo, rice, bread, and noodles. I LOVE Bisto gravy and am shocked that it is not available in Madrid.
When I go to Dubai this time, I will bring back Bisto gravy. Cherry Ripe *deep sigh* I'm just gonna have to live without. Life is tough, eh?
The more I think of that, the more frivolous posts come to my mind, many of which I have been avoiding. With the million things I need to get my mind into, a blog with regular earth-shattering content does not seem likely -- so in the mean time I will continue with the meaningless points I regularly bring to this blog.
I'm embarrassed to say that the two things that I have not been able to get my mind off these days is Cherry Ripe and Bisto Gravy. Not hunger in Africa nor the state of street children India, but a chocolate and meat gravy have been occupying my thoughts.
For those of you who don't know what Cherry Ripe is: it's the world's best dark, cherry, coconut, and rum filled chocolate. Actually, it doesn't have rum, but the cherries are so fermented and their mixture with dark chocolate give it a strong taste of alcohol. Rumour has it that if you eat a bar and take a breath test, it will come positive for alcohol. Seriously! It used to be my staple breakfast when I lived in Australia; it is, sadly, not sold outside the country. I had an Ozzie friend in Dubai who would annually bring me back a dozen extra-large bars of Cherry Ripe. Pure, cheap, joy. Sigh.
Another craving that began in winter is for Bisto gravy. Yes, instant, chemical-filled, brown powder that when mixed with hot water turns into thick, delicious gravy. In the UK and in Dubai, our cabinet always had Bisto gravy. Other than with steak, vegetables and mash potatoes, I would eat it with the chicken from my mum's Vindaloo, rice, bread, and noodles. I LOVE Bisto gravy and am shocked that it is not available in Madrid.
When I go to Dubai this time, I will bring back Bisto gravy. Cherry Ripe *deep sigh* I'm just gonna have to live without. Life is tough, eh?
Monday, February 11, 2008
Stop. We don't like it. Really.
Why do guys think that making kiss and hug sounds over the phone is better or more effective than saying "kisses", "besitos" or "big hug"? And whatever happened to a simple old-fashion BYE!?
I find it a complete turn-off, not to mention repulsive, when I hear a "muah" on the other end of the line. It doesn't sound natural, nor does it sound normal, nor do you make those sounds when you actually kiss someone on greeting them so why it's necessary over the phone is completely beyond me. (No it's not creative, nor is it original). Writing it is acceptable, but sounds over the phone...BIG NO NO.
Hugs over the phone are worse. OMG I used to have a friend (big on hugs, obviously) who would call me every morning and "sound me" a hug over the phone.
What does a hug over the phone sound like? I don't even know what a hug sounds like in person but this friend's imagination made it sound like the sound you make when you wake up in the morning and do a long cat stretch; this he would fill with words describing how I must imagine him coming out through the phone to give me a hug.
Yes, he was a bit mad. Yes, he did it with much love and affection (which I truly, truly appreciated), but yes, it was the most annoying thing EVER. Of course, I could never say that to him so I accepted it as part of a routine I had to deal with every morning.
So yeah, if you do any of these things, trust me, people on the other end unless they tell you that they love you doing that, THEY REALLY DON'T LIKE IT, and DEFINITELY DON'T think it's attractive, so just stop!
I find it a complete turn-off, not to mention repulsive, when I hear a "muah" on the other end of the line. It doesn't sound natural, nor does it sound normal, nor do you make those sounds when you actually kiss someone on greeting them so why it's necessary over the phone is completely beyond me. (No it's not creative, nor is it original). Writing it is acceptable, but sounds over the phone...BIG NO NO.
Hugs over the phone are worse. OMG I used to have a friend (big on hugs, obviously) who would call me every morning and "sound me" a hug over the phone.
What does a hug over the phone sound like? I don't even know what a hug sounds like in person but this friend's imagination made it sound like the sound you make when you wake up in the morning and do a long cat stretch; this he would fill with words describing how I must imagine him coming out through the phone to give me a hug.
Yes, he was a bit mad. Yes, he did it with much love and affection (which I truly, truly appreciated), but yes, it was the most annoying thing EVER. Of course, I could never say that to him so I accepted it as part of a routine I had to deal with every morning.
So yeah, if you do any of these things, trust me, people on the other end unless they tell you that they love you doing that, THEY REALLY DON'T LIKE IT, and DEFINITELY DON'T think it's attractive, so just stop!
Saturday, January 12, 2008
That time of the month
I find it absolutely vile that we women have to go through drudging bouts of physical pain and emotional vulnerability for a few days EVERY month.
I hate the person that I turn into pre-menstruation. I am numb, neutral-bordering-cold, volatile, and suffer from 'I-hate-the-world' syndrome.
Very few people have the misfortune of seeing me these few days every month. It's awfully difficult but absolutely mandatory not act on your bitchy whims when you are with people who don't know you well; you are fully aware that they will not understand and their friendship means something to you so you have to suck it in, take a deep breath and do whatever else you need to, to assure that they will never see this beastly side of you.
Being far away from people you love is also advisable come this monthly massacre as they are the first ones you lash out at remorselessly. My parents (especially my father) and my brother are those who have really born the brunt of my absolute callous and often violently dramatic behaviour, come this time of the month. They know the symptoms so well that they can distinguish my general intolerance and anger from menstrual intolerance and anger, and have developed the amazing skill of making me laugh when I am at the brink of an emotional explosion. Mum, dad, Anish, how I love you for that. I cannot think of anyone else I can have an outbreak like that with, who will give me a hug rather than delete me from their life.
They are 7000-thousand miles away from me right now, and I'm sure they don't miss these monthly bouts of mine.
I always wondered why men and women couldn't share this time of the month. What did women do to deserve scheduled hormonal imbalance and bleeding from their private parts!? It's so unnecessary and unjust, all so that we can have babies. Shouldn't we be able to choose? If we don't want babies, we should not have to deal with the agitation and suffering of menstruation.
On the plus side, sometimes (actually, very few times) I think that menstruation is a great excuse to justifiably rant, vent, stomp your feet, cry, howl, get it all out and be excused for it because -- oh...she's pre-menstrual.
No. Bad argument. I hate this aspect of being a woman.
I hate the person that I turn into pre-menstruation. I am numb, neutral-bordering-cold, volatile, and suffer from 'I-hate-the-world' syndrome.
Very few people have the misfortune of seeing me these few days every month. It's awfully difficult but absolutely mandatory not act on your bitchy whims when you are with people who don't know you well; you are fully aware that they will not understand and their friendship means something to you so you have to suck it in, take a deep breath and do whatever else you need to, to assure that they will never see this beastly side of you.
Being far away from people you love is also advisable come this monthly massacre as they are the first ones you lash out at remorselessly. My parents (especially my father) and my brother are those who have really born the brunt of my absolute callous and often violently dramatic behaviour, come this time of the month. They know the symptoms so well that they can distinguish my general intolerance and anger from menstrual intolerance and anger, and have developed the amazing skill of making me laugh when I am at the brink of an emotional explosion. Mum, dad, Anish, how I love you for that. I cannot think of anyone else I can have an outbreak like that with, who will give me a hug rather than delete me from their life.
They are 7000-thousand miles away from me right now, and I'm sure they don't miss these monthly bouts of mine.
I always wondered why men and women couldn't share this time of the month. What did women do to deserve scheduled hormonal imbalance and bleeding from their private parts!? It's so unnecessary and unjust, all so that we can have babies. Shouldn't we be able to choose? If we don't want babies, we should not have to deal with the agitation and suffering of menstruation.
On the plus side, sometimes (actually, very few times) I think that menstruation is a great excuse to justifiably rant, vent, stomp your feet, cry, howl, get it all out and be excused for it because -- oh...she's pre-menstrual.
No. Bad argument. I hate this aspect of being a woman.
Thursday, November 22, 2007
Harta
"Andas sola?"
(estamos bailando)
"Si" le dije. (normalmente miento por que siempre conozco por lo menos 5 personas cuando voy a bailar, ayer no vi nadie y era poco difícil a mentir)
"Tengo coche, te llevo a casa luego si quieres"
Que no! no te conozco de nada, porque voy a sentar en tu coche a las 4 de la mañana!?
Llevo bailando casi cinco años, y aun no he encontrado un grupo/persona con quien consistamente puedo quedar a ir a bailar.
Con respeto de los chicos: algunos quieren llevarte a casa a...sabéis por que...y si no te interesa, ellos no les interesa a ir a bailar contigo. Y los grupos -- si no sales con ellos fuera de pista de baile, se alejan u ofenden, y no te llaman cuando salen.
Los chicas guapas que bailan bien, 99% tienen pareja de baile con quien salgan, o novio -- y normalmente es difícil conocerlas. Yo como no bailo profesionalmente, y tengo mala suerte con chicos con quien salgo -- no estoy en este 99%.
*sigh* y sigo yendo sola.
Ahora hace un frió que te cagas y es muy dificil animarte ir a bailar a la una de la mañana cuando vas sola. Y ahi tienes que contestar este mierda pregunta te chicos ascerosos "andas sola?"
Es una putada.
(estamos bailando)
"Si" le dije. (normalmente miento por que siempre conozco por lo menos 5 personas cuando voy a bailar, ayer no vi nadie y era poco difícil a mentir)
"Tengo coche, te llevo a casa luego si quieres"
Que no! no te conozco de nada, porque voy a sentar en tu coche a las 4 de la mañana!?
Llevo bailando casi cinco años, y aun no he encontrado un grupo/persona con quien consistamente puedo quedar a ir a bailar.
Con respeto de los chicos: algunos quieren llevarte a casa a...sabéis por que...y si no te interesa, ellos no les interesa a ir a bailar contigo. Y los grupos -- si no sales con ellos fuera de pista de baile, se alejan u ofenden, y no te llaman cuando salen.
Los chicas guapas que bailan bien, 99% tienen pareja de baile con quien salgan, o novio -- y normalmente es difícil conocerlas. Yo como no bailo profesionalmente, y tengo mala suerte con chicos con quien salgo -- no estoy en este 99%.
*sigh* y sigo yendo sola.
Ahora hace un frió que te cagas y es muy dificil animarte ir a bailar a la una de la mañana cuando vas sola. Y ahi tienes que contestar este mierda pregunta te chicos ascerosos "andas sola?"
Es una putada.
Thursday, September 13, 2007
Cold Chicken and Computers
Cold grilled chicken (which actually tastes great by the way), coffee, Chinese food, Doritos, Cookie Crunch, coffee, diet Coke (which I only drink because I think normal Coke is way too sweet), beer, Martini rojo (which if you still haven't tried, you're a loser of the first degree), coffee, Chinese food, Doritos, Cookie Crunch, coffee, diet Coke...has been my staple diet over the last week or so.
I officially establish this as my never-filling-therefore-keep-eating writing diet that has shockingly served to be very productive. I have been writing heaps this last week, so come time to write my blog unless I have cold chicken left, it's not happening. I think it's the size of the cold chicken and it's utter feel good deliciousness has helped me stay glued to my computer until I finish the whole animal.
The ends justify the means. I still weigh the same so it's all good.
(Thought this was an important detail of my life that you'd like to know.)
I officially establish this as my never-filling-therefore-keep-eating writing diet that has shockingly served to be very productive. I have been writing heaps this last week, so come time to write my blog unless I have cold chicken left, it's not happening. I think it's the size of the cold chicken and it's utter feel good deliciousness has helped me stay glued to my computer until I finish the whole animal.
The ends justify the means. I still weigh the same so it's all good.
(Thought this was an important detail of my life that you'd like to know.)
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