NORMALITY

I envy “abnormal” people. They are lucky, having the ability to laugh everything off, or probably just at everything.


“Normal” people struggle with every itty-bitty details of life. From what to wear for work, which shoes go with the bag and should I blow dry or not (now you realize that I am a woman)?

Everything is a challenge from going up four flights of stairs (yes, the lift broke down again) only to find a throng of people trying to squeeze in that itty-bitty door of the thing that gets you to work and ah! - the sticky sweet smell of sweat and sticky-something-else odour of the person next to you and the strong cheap perfume of the lady who forced herself in a size 8 when she actually is a size 10. At last, you reach your destination. But as always, you have to wait for ages for the lifts to come down (actually, lift - as today, all the other’s broke down and only one is working.) and try to be in front of everybody when the doors open without them actually noticing that you are cutting in (Shame! Shame! Shame!).

A little bit of a sigh of relief when you reach your office door, but remembered that you left your desk in a clutter because you were already brain dead by 5:30 yesterday. Just an itty-bitty fix here and there and it looks a little less cluttered (only a little, but works for you!) Ah… finally -- the chair actually feels good after all that work out! But, don’t celebrate yet because your mailbox has actually 300 unread e-mails, and all of them marked either, URGENT!, ASAP!, TOP URGENT!, SUPER URGENT!. Well, at least you don’t have one that says URGENT ABOVE ALL MARKED URGENT, ASAP, TOP URGENT! or SUPER URGENT! Every possible disaster, memo, and bad news churn in your head as your index fingers hovers over your mouse to open it… Sweat dots your upper lip and your tummy feels weird and you start to look weird and by this time the “Jaws” musical score is very real. What the heck, open it and get it done and over with.. open the next one and do the same and the next, and the next and the next…

At 5:29 you don’t notice that you have to go home by now because you have been brain dead already thirty minutes ago.. and yet you witness a miracle as your mind tells you to wake up at 5:30 and tells you to go home. You leave your desk a clutter again, and as usual none of the lifts work, so you take the service elevator, another struggle through the itty-bitty door of the thing that - this time, brings you home. And then, thank God, you take stairs going DOWN.

You fall asleep before you know it, waking up in your work clothes not remembering how you got home and struggle with which shoes match the bag….

THIRTY

A step towards thirty and I felt that I am amidst uncertainty in my life. It has been bugging me for the longest time and I have asked myself countless times whether there is more to… THIS… Call it retrospection or pre-midlife crisis but I feel its fangs biting into my soul.

I sat on my bed for the longest time when I should already be preparing for work. But I just couldn’t get my legs to support me and I couldn’t bring myself to the bathroom for a shower… instead I sat in the darkness, seeing myself from the outside, looking in trying to determine whether I am missing something.

I have been misdirected. I was looking in the wrong direction. I was searching for the wrong purpose.

Lying beside me is the reason for it all, the reason for my new lease on life. Turbulent as it may have been, we have learned to ride the waves and the calm shore is a short distance away.

What I have is more than enough. It only isn’t enough when you want more. And sadly, I wanted more for whatever reason – I do not know. This want was eating me up replacing my simple joy to sadness, frustration and anger.

I now have people around me who truly care for me, who have been there all along. I am a part of them as much as they are a part of me.

The family I had then is still a part of me and in some ways STILL my family. I am eternally grateful for their understanding and acceptance and the new friendship that has formed after one has been severed.

Everything is falling in it’s place, the pieces fit together.. and somehow, though it my not be the perfect and immaculate happiness I was searching for, I now know I have found me.

BEING A WOMAN...

The pain of being a woman is killing me.

Being a woman means you have to look decent when you have coffee on your patio – brush your hair, have decent clothes or else you’d scare every kid that passes by your house with your hurricane-torn-do, rumpled and crumpled and hopefully not inside out pj’s and bloodshot eyes!

Being a woman means having to make yourself up every morning, careful to draw your eyebrows with precision, making sure that each arch is geometrically identical!

Being a woman means smiling through your melting make up, praying that it does not leave any colorful streaks on your face while lining up to get a ride.

Being a woman means you have to be color coordinated, the prints of your top should compliment your skirt or pants or at least they match, or your purse or bag should match the color of your shoes.

Being a woman means you have to take several trips to the bathroom, making sure your ass does not touch the toilet seat, and flushing the toilet with your foot. But some toilets have the flush button on top of the water tank making it really difficult to flush with your feet.

Being a woman means checking and rechecking how you look on a full length mirror and if you only have the pocket-sized ones, it should be at a certain angle to enable you to see your reflection. Just imagine if you only have a compact mirror and you would have to twist your body in one direction and actually twist your neck to be able to look in the opposite direction while holding it!

Being a woman means you check your reflection on anything that actually shows your reflection, shop windows (this usually entails crashing onto oncoming human traffic), car windows (you usually miss the go sign for pedestrians when you do this), elevator mirrors (it’s quite hard to check your reflection if the elevator is packed and you may also miss your floor) and any freaking shiny surface!

Being a woman means you have to have a bag inside a bag that has all your make up. Your bag is actually a container for anything and everything: wallet, medicines, a brush or comb, set of keys, cell phone, sometimes two, an i-pod, perfume, pictures for Identification cards (just in case you need them), one or two pens, an umbrella.. etc.. etc... Good thing they make mini versions of everything or else every woman will be lugging a suit case to work!

Being a woman means you cannot pig out – well at least for some. I pig out. (secretly… hehe) You actually order a salad for lunch BUT you buy a tall mocha frappe which is half whipped cream!

Being a woman means you have to endure walking on four-inch stilettos to a meeting and try not to show how you would very much like to take off the damn stilettos and walk barefoot!

Being a woman means you cannot go straight to bed and sleep, you have to wash your face, wipe your make up off -- only to put gazillion tons of cream on it again and hope to wake up beautiful.

Good thing it’s a Saturday today (no work! Yey!) and I can look like shit all day.