Chronic onychophagia

It's been a month since I've stopped biting my nails. I bought this bitter liquid to put on my nails. I thought I was on to top of it. I looked and my well-kept nails and thought that's it. This is how I am from now on. Fool. It was but stage 1 of breaking an addiction. Over the last few days I've been consumed by a longing to bite my nails. Its a disgusting habit I know. But I can hardly bear it. There they are, gleaming, hard and manicured on the ends of my fingers. But at every moment of stress I look at them longingly. In terror I paint my nails with the bitter stuff every hour or so. Everything about me is probably bitter as hell. My lips are bitter. The bitter taste even lingers on my tongue.

But I am not an animal. I will conquer. I wonder if people find it as hard to quit smoking.

Schoolgirls, style and substance

R has gone to India and will not be back for 3 weeks. I'm feeling gloompy.

Other reasons to feel gloompy: A's moving out. House won't feel the same. I hope everything is okay with him.

Reasons to feel happy: Someone told me they read something I wrote and found it extremely readable. Am chuffed. Everyone else has just fallen asleep over my stuff...

Am going to Cambodia in July. To see Angkor Wat and do some good at the same time. I wonder, since when have I become so guilty about my own existence and comfort levels...

I had to go search for a suitcase for R today. I found zilch, but its started off my love for suitcases again. I want to buy a beautiful suitcase in an earthy shade with gleaming fittings and sturdy wheels. Sigh.

More important things now. The other day I was walking back from the bus stop and there was this other person. We seemed to be heading to the same place. This person was tall, extremely muscular with short shaggy hair. I couldn't see the face and I assumed it was a boy of about16. The face came into view and I was taken aback, it was a girl. But what an amazon! I was struck with admiration. Not a conventional girl at all. Every inch of her was brawn but she was so tall, lithe and unabashed. Her face was fresh and young and she looked beautiful to me. I was so proud of her. How many girls think beyond the slim and dainty. I know I didn't at that age. This was a new way to do things altogether. I hope when she finishes school and goes on to higher studies and a career eventually she won't be pressurised to take on more conventional looks but the chances are slim. She'll probably go on a diet, slick up her hair and the young animal will be gone.
I have a colleague at work who half ashamedly showed me her old passport photograph with a "Look how stupid I looked then." She looked pale but her lips were full blooded, her hair black and virgin. Now she's too tanned, her hair over processed and sophistication hasn't quite set in over her clumsy manners. Don't get me wrong. I'm not an advocate of the schoolgirl look. Most schoolgirls are too gauche, naive and ignorant to get my vote. I just wish those lucky few who have it from that age would know better and keep some of it instead of going on the too-well-travelled road.

This does not apply to me. I used to be horrible as a school girl and so I don't fit into this scheme. I needed to change my style quite badly from school. Thank God for adulthood. This does not mean I've quite arrived yet. I feel like groaning at myself sometimes at my taste. It's an afterthought kind of groan. The kind of groan when you realise too late to change. It really needs to become second nature. I don't have the time to obsess over clothing. Style should not replace substance.

Speaking of substance. A young relative (YR) of mine is doing well. He is where some years ago I'd have wanted to be too. But now (no sour grapes jokes please, we're serious), I feel rather relieved I'm out of that. I am getting to do the things I really want to. I doubt I'd have done all of this had I gone that way. I was not cut out for that. I don't regret my degree, it gives me a little authority over scientific matters and helps me understand a lot of new things happening in the field. That's good. I am still as avidly curious about scientific things as before. But I'm more interested in doing things for communities, people, ecosystems, in dabbling with books, poetry and art. We have to do what we're best at. I think this is what I'm cut out for. My YR in contrast is now growing more limited in mind and manners. I admit to feeling some amount of glee, but a much of this line of thought is completely free from emotion. If they sat down and gloated about his achievements, I could sincerely congratulate them in their good fortune and not think more. So long as they let me alone. T is not so lucky. She's stuck with them and has to listen to a lot of it.
T has a lot of substance. I'm glad she's enjoying her line so much. With as much drive she is capable of, I think she will do very well. I remember her early passions for ecology and helping people. I think in her current line of work, at some time in her life, or another, she will be in a very good position to do something. She does not think of glory, she does her duty steadfastly and honestly. I'm very proud of her.

Kalevala

I'm reading the Kalevala at last. I've been told to look out for Väinämöinen and Kullervo.

(looking out)

Telempath Found

Behold the power of Google. For a long while I've been dreamily remembering a book I read when I was in school. It was about a post epidemic world where all humans had a heightened sense of smell. I remembered the other plot details, but no names. So I searched for " sense of smell science fiction". And on page 2, results 11-20; result 19 read:

Spider Robinson: Books
Variable Star will delight the fans of the greatest science fiction ..... and he possesses--like everyone else--a sense of smell 1000 times better than a ...

The book is Telempath. I had read the short story version of it "By Any Other Name"

Diamonds are for-evah, but not for me

Was reading about commitment and how outdated the engagement ring is and I completely agree. When I get down to committing something, I want something unusual and grand. Perhaps I could sponsor an orang-utan? Feed a hundred orphans for a year? All this was very interesting so I sat down and made a list of gifts that would really mean something to me. Most were from Udavum Karangal and WWF to be honest. So, throw back your diamonds, take back your silly circlets of gold. I want my happiness to be shared.

Some small part of me sighs. I love pretty things. I've never had a diamond. But where does it end? How big does this gem have to be? How much will it cost someone? Is it merely absolute or does it have to be bigger than other people's? And will I wear it when the smug cattiness of the gift has worn off?

Nopes. Not for me. Now if only this will get done. I mean to be so good, only I am so ennui-ed out.

Clownetta

I've got a career all worked out. I'm going to be a diplomatic rodeo clown. That doesn't mean I'll be a politically correct clown distracing irate bulls. What I mean is that I'd make a good tense situation defuser. Yesterday two people were disagreeing and it threatened to spill over. The air was thick with stubbornness and silly words.I played the fool, joked around and got smiles out from them. Situation was resolved, though uneasily. I think I may have to do the routine a few more times before everyone settles down.

Look at me go, bee-bap-a-bo

How does one do the most good with one's little resources?

Watched the movie "born into brothels" day before yesterday. I watched it and was deeply disturbed. I went home vowing to myself that I'd do something. But when I was reading through my background research, I realised that there are far worse places. There are clinics and schools available to the children there. The Shonagachi red light area has only a 5% incident of HIV as compared to an 80% in the Mumbai red light areas. So if the depiction of children of Shonagachi moved me, what kind of conditions do these others live in? Also, there has been a large charitable outpouring following this movie. My paltry money is of no use here.

What I want to do is to find out how I can help the women of other areas. It's a charitable snobbery, maybe. But I'd like to give my money where it's wanted most. Yes, my help would be cool too, but I don't have training, background or the time.

Joy to the Whorled

Note to self: Proofread and spellcheck.

There are no deadlines with you. What's the hurry? So when I call my favourite author Tokien sans l, we have a problem.

Books, books

Dear Sir,

I have read this week and last the following books.

Sandition
diary of a nobody,
Lord of Light,
Half a dozen girls
On the firing Line
Cliges
Grace Harlow
The scarlet Lion

Regards,
Ipshita

More boring honesty

We're being compromised, bloggy dearest. I feel that your seclusion cannot be taken for granted anymore. Yet I'm growing fiercely fond of saying what I like to you. On the whole I am a rather harmless person and if I really wanted to, I think I could couch anything acidic in more bland terms, though it might leave any unlooked for readers a little curious. We shall not give in, bloggy. We shall be honest till the end.

Praveena Devarajan Maam passed away on June the 8th. I was very troubled yesterday. She was so good, funny, smart, full of life. That guy who ran her down. I can't help hating him with all my heart. P.D. ma'am encouraged me in my first leanings towards animal welfare. She encouraged me to help the dogs in my viciinity, turning my careless love for them into something deeper. And now she's gone. If afterlife there is, I hope she finds youth and many many things to discover there.

I sat and gave a thought to all my old teachers. Mallika ma'am my first dearheart teacher in PSBB. She was so quietly supportive of us and so clear in her teaching. Mrs Vijay Sudha in her slightly flighty ways. Mrs Padmini Balasubramaniam and her quick sharp voice. G.V. and her slow pondering ways. Lara Ma'am who was so encouraging to me. Rukmini ma'am. Gigo and her quick mathematical brain.

People come and go. I wish they'd stay.

As A. is leaving for HK, Rand S had to find a replacement housemate who came to view yesterday. I am sceptical, but I am also very judgemental. So let the guy have a chance. Of course I'm sure he was puzzled at how I fit in. I also think he wrote me off. But what was I supposed to do? Effervesce and enthuse around him? Hah.

Bloggy, am I so devoid of conversation? I found myself making the same points as I wrote in you yesterday to someone later. I was so cross with myself for it. I've said it once. Do I really need feedback and have to say it again?

Was asking Rajesh the other day who he'd say was my favourite author. He replied Tolstoy. I was thinking of Tokien really, but when he said Tolstoy, I was torn. It's a tie. Leo Tolstoy, everyone. A brilliant man. He gave up all his riches, died at a stationmaster's house, was buried in a peasant's grave. I am fiercely proud of him. I am proud he did this in the face of bitter opposition from his family from whom he was alienated because of his principles. He was beloved of the common people. I cannot bear to think he will ever be forgotten. I love him and honour him more than I can express. War and peace is one of my two most favourite books. He meant it to be beyond a novel and you can see why. My favourite character is either Prince Andrei or Kutuzov depeding on my mood.

But for the sense of sheer magic, for the chills of cold like a dappled woodland shadow, I can't give anyone the title but Tolkien. It's like walking in the light of a candle but hearing echoes of a cavern whose walls are sightless. I jealously preserve my memories of the first read. First reads should be bottled up and played back often. Thats the measure of a book really. The seconds may give you insights, but the magic is not often the same.

So the verdict? Its still a tie, gentlemen.

All that blah blah

I seem to hate exaggerated hyperbole extremely. Everytime someone comes up to me and starts telling me about some amazing fact I doubt it when it seems unreasonable. Oh, I grant you, my doubt is proved wrong at times, but other times.. well I'll put it to you and you decide.

Incident 1:
Someone told me that the first musical ever staged was the POTO. I was sceptical and wondered if they were thinking of Andrew Lloyd Weber and perhaps considering his musical the first in the line of a new era (though that's pushing it also). They insisted and insisted. I went back and checked it over. The Beggars opera was a well known long running hit in mid 19th century whereas Leroux only wrote the POTO in 1909. Case proven. Bullshit

Incident 2:
Someone who saw the statue of David was extolling the virtues of Michelangelo. Now, I have an extremely healthy respect for Michelangelo (referred to as M. henceforth) and all the other original renaissance men. However his story was too large to swallow. He said the human body has 200-300 names muscles (Wrong, to start with, there are over 600 named skeletal muscles), however Michelangelo had depicted 800+ as he included even those unnamed. Well, I dunno. It seemed too many, even then. You'd end up with the youthful David looking like Arnie. Not all muscles have definition. Anyway, You read about it, think about it and decide. Get a muscle chart and start comparing. There are sites on the web which give you a 360 degree look at David.
And its well known he deliberately left out a muscle between the spine and the right shoulder blade. He said he did because of an imperfection in the marble. This whole discussion is pointless anyway. The sculpture is beautiful as art, not as an lesson in anatomy. The proportions are slightly off, his hands and head are larger. He had a point to make, maybe. What this point is, well, its up to you when you see it.
Anyway, bullshit.

Other stories

We've got a new flat. All of our frantic searches have ended peaceably. Okay, so we didn't search for very long. But no one can call our searches non-frantic. So we got this place. The house itself is nothing special and just about meets our basic requirements. It's a three bedroom hdb with appliances and air conditioning and decent furnishing. But bloggy, the location, the location. There you have it. It's in one of the hdb blocks across raffles hotel. We're on the 20th floor looking out over the esplanade-city hall area. The wind is wow. The whole thing is wunnerful.
Me likes.

One reservation though, bloggy. I love this area. The clean glass and greenery of the library are one of my favourite places in the world. I am going to cheapen it by living there. Hmm. Sad.

I want a good book. I was so incredibly jealous of A this last week. He's been reading Lord of Light. Do you remember what it was like to read it for the first time? I love Zelazny. He's not dead. Noone could be when they wrote like him. Gunslinging poetry. Am I going to find a book that does that for me again? Or am I just grown blase. I'm reading too carefully. Or, if I think pessimistically, I've read most of the good stuff and those which remain are camouflaged under the ordinary and bad. There's a lot wrong with that view though, for
a)Sometimes I want to read something ordinary
b)Sometime I want to read something bad
c)I haven't read enough to exhaust the set of books (I use the word set mathematically.


Most likely whats happened is that I've been confined to my pool for far too long and I've fouled it by staying too long here. I am both bored and exhausted by my current tastes. Time to move on. Only, bloggy, you can't force the moving on. So I'm going to gently urge myself to try the other authors I've avoided because I don't feel highbrow enough at the moment.

I am a bad kid. I haven't written here forever. But I've been so busy filling up your sister blog. I want to remember everything of that holy trip forever. But there's actual writing from the time dated there. I had taken a long a little notebook. I thought I ought to be honest in it at least, no matter where else I'm not honest.
So here I'm going to transcribe that into this. So at least you know me.

"Went for night safari in the boat. Woke up many peacefully slumbering denizens of the forest. I have to sayit was so beautiful. The moon was so full and huge in the sky, the stars were out and a mist was softly rolling in. The water was completely still except where our boats rumbled in. The bright beams from the boat lamps sent out long rays. It was unbelieveably beautiful. Kingfishers slept wideyed on low branches over the water, herons prowled with angry red eyes and monkeys slept in the high branches, their forms more visible in the dark against the shining sky than with the boat lights.

All of this is serving to make me more introverted and quiet. I often get the feeling people are not very fond of me. But thats in my gloomy moods. And I admit I can be quite forbidding.

The morning was fabulous too. I mean the afternoon really for we didn't get to here till then. the jungle fanned out in every direction.

Sad to say that though this trip is about the flora and fauna I have the urge to sit back and stare at how beautiful everything is. And it is.. It's impossible to decsribe. This trip, instead of making me forget myself, is making me remember who I am and what I am really about as a human being. As a human, my heart leaps at green things, longs for running water, dislikes the cold wet rain when I am out in it for too long, rejoices at the snugness when the rain is pattering overhead. Pattering? I should have said drumming! Loud, louder, louder! The thrumming drumming leaping rythms of rain.

In other news I am slightly held up digestive-wise, hungry, a little amorous. I am an animal in fact! I didn't bathe tonight. I am driven by my digestion and sex drive. Its the humid head and cicada song. Singapore will seem quieter and I suspect in the quiet I'll find my soul again to moderate my passions.

If I was more innocent, I'd talk to you about finding God in the wilderness. But I'd be wrong. There is no peace and quiet here. Life is much much more brutal here. God I find amongst men, amongst symbols of our solidity. God is not here.

Tomorrow we're off on another river safari. I'll be very very upset if there are nto crocodiles. God's a croc, sometimes."

Don't think me blasphemous. I am who I am. We saw 4 crocs the next morning.

I'm lying in a room staring at my pictures again and again reliving my last few days. I can't remember when I was last so happy. I want every memory to live forever. I am in a fever and I cant have enough of it. Hungry, I am hungry. What's the use of a city and the few measly trees. When you've been surrounded by trees the height of a six or seven storey building. What use is a stream or a pond to me? I have seen the crocodile infested waters. I have smelt the clean air. I have sweated clean under the hot sun. I have walked in the dark damp undergrowth beneath enormous canopies.

Do you remember that moonlit night? The cold damp mist slowly rolling in over the lake. The clear sky and the silver moonlight. The water was so still. What am I doing here?

I swear to you diary. I am changed. I am changed. Its more than my current fever. As I grow older, the epochs grow more far spaced, but this is one. Fool that I am to think I was happy at the library or in bintan. That was a shadow of this. Like that day when we emerged from the hot sweating undergrowth to emerge on the high bank over the river to sunlight, cold breeze and that startling blue sky; like that, I am somewhere else now.