Ronery

I am so ronery.

It's all a by product of sitting in my eyrie and watching the wind and rain blither about me all weekend, I'm sure. But it doesn't take it away from me, that I'm feeling ronery. Sar and I stayed up talking till late yesterday night. Then when I lay down to sleep, I couldn't sleep. A thousand things were on my mind, simple questions had such complicated answers that I wouldn't let them go half way, as much as I tried.

Example of things on me mind
1) Saranya's friend is being pressurised to marry. Her boyfriend isn't ready to commit yet. He's 25. He's being touted as scum for not consenting to even agree to marry in the future. But my sympathies were with him. And what is this undue importance on marriage. It does not complete one. The sooner our parents and elders realise this, the better (my parents excepted because they've been darling on the issue, bless them). But others. I can't help but take up the war cry. All those women and the stupid biological clock issue. As if there aren't enough children in this world.

2) I'm supposed to write on what is most important to me and why. This little thing has precipitated such a crisis in my life, you wouldn't believe. At every moment, I'm second guessing myself, watching myself slyly through half averted eyes, hoping to catch me give myself away as to what really is important. So I was really putting myself through the wringer, trying to combine brutal honesty with being succint

3)follow that flute. I have a longing to play on my flute. My hand has been sprained slightly for the last week, so I haven't been able to try. But last night, what with the weather, I just wanted to play odd warbling tunes on my silver sweetheart. I do love my flute. It deserves a lot better than me.

4)Timmy came to mind yesterday. These dogs of my life will leave me insane if I keep remembering and missing them. They were worth it during my times with them.

I was so tired and alone thinking away, I was afraid the sun would rise before I could sleep. As it so often happens, I was asleep and I don't know when it happened.

Agatha Christie

Finished reading her autobiography. It was a really good read. It starts off a little insipid, but it grew better as the chapters progressed. The things she did, the people she met, her relationships are all detailed, but the best part was hearing her voice through it all. Its one thing to read her books, quite another to listen to her tell you things. She emerged as a charming, shrewd woman who enjoyed herself. There is surprisingly little conceit or arrogance in her words and she never seems to take herself seriously.
It was good really. However, some things are not addressed, her disappearance in 1926 is glossed over, her second husband's infidelities are not mentioned. She's entitled to her privacy, I guess. I can imagine it all anyway, these are small gaps that one can fill in. Her disappearance is easy to fill in and I imagine she tolerated Max Mallowan's infidelities, she was really so much older than him, she must have been wiser and more mature. They seemed to have a good understanding and seemed to have stayed friends at least to her death.
She says she was ready for death, in her epilogue, written in her final illness. I almost understand that. Hers was a full life.

Everyone knows it's windy

Woke up this morning to really stormy winds. The curtains were horizontal with the force of the wind, things were flying everywhere. When I got up to look outside, the wind hit me. It was such a shock feeling the slap and shove of the force. I got the window closed with some effort, arranged the room. The high whistle of the wind was replaced by a howling as it whipped around the house. I went outside to take a look. It was splendid. A storm was brewing, clouds dark as sin and up here on the 20th floors, the wind was really ripping.
Really, I felt like Dorothy in Kansas. Pity, its raining now, so the wind has fallen. I do love my house.

Indignities

Arrrrrgh.
And you know what I mean.
(writhing)

A Life

I read Maupassant's 'A Life' yesterday. It was supposed to be a part of the reading balance, must keep to high-brow a while after all that SW trash. The thing is, I expected to do it as a duty. Instead, it was wonderful.

It follows the life of a girl, Jeanne and her expectations from it. Her illusions fade and she becomes more and more cynical of life. Her eventual marriage is a farce and everyone she loves seems to become tarred. Through it all she still seeks to bestow her love on something. The book ends with her looking down upon her granddaughter and another character says "Happy things come in their own time."

How did he do it? How did he put himself so well under the skin of a woman like her? It was real. His characters are changeful, diversion-seeking and layered. I disliked almost every one of them as people, but that's me, I don't like people. And in spite of my disliking everyone and shaking my head over all of them, I loved the book. I'm thinking of it all the time.
It makes me think. Relationships are sacred and fragile. Good ones are rare. And life just is. Illusions are one's own fault. Sometimes one has to take the shit.

There's a point to all this moralising, Bloggy. I tend to think that happiness happens. I think you have to make happiness happen and take every little bit of it you can find because it is not the usual fare.

Anyway, the blah ends there. Great book. A little disturbing, but full points for realism and naturalistic portrayal of men and women. Guy, you had me from the go..

Cambodia

Now that I vented angst in my earlier post, here are some nice little piclets of my Cambodia trip. These aren't my photos, hence I am in them . These are just the touristy photographs. As soon as I can, shall upload some of the school pictures I took. Zem are good.

Clueless

Sexism, I can't escape it. Being female I have to speak about it sometime.

Yet what I want to speak out about is not about sexism inflicted on us by men but by other women. It is easy, almost comfortable to start viewing oneself as a woman deserving of privileges and comforts because of the notions of the kind of company one keeps. It becomes right, suddenly, to accept luxury. But as I've believed and always will believe, if I accept this, I am giving up some part of my freedom. I will then owe some part of this to someone else. Whereas what someone else owes me will be an intangible, difficult to argue and to secure in times of need.

I am not going to retire early and live off any possible husband's earning. I am going to split my bills fairly. I am not going to whine about presents. I am not going to expect anything. In return I will have my freedom. At a whim I will leave to see and do all that I need to before I eventually die. As afraid as I am of dying, I am more afraid of not doing everything I ought while I live. How could I do that with the trapping of luxury which are not rightfully mine? I'll be fine so long as I don't suddenly start expecting anything from anyone.

I often imagine a really equal society. An equal society is one where a daughter of mine will not have to hear people dismiss her moods as PMS, her ideas as fanciful, her tastes as girlish. She will have to do a bit to earn it, sure. But rationality and sensibility are not unfairly denied one sex or the other. She can do it.

Sometimes people say women are not ambitious. Hm. Some men want to earn more as a proof of superiority. They want to achieve great things on their respective ladders. My ladder isn't a corporate one. My ladder wasn't decided by my hormones. You could say my ladder was decided when I was one and was forever bringing stray puppies and toads home. I'm ambitious in my own way. I want to think I will eventually change other peoples lives.

What bothers me most is the mathematics and the common perception women are not good at it. I am not bad at mathematics. I am even good at it. But I know I'm not brilliant at it. No flashy insights, no blinding realisations, no look-and-I-already-know-the-answer. I got really good marks in school and in university. But because of not being in the top percentile I feel like a failure to women. I was cribbing to Shivani who said "Ha, I'm really good at maths." Abashed, and not really feeling up to matching up grades and stuff (infantile, that would be) I admitted defeat. But how I'd love to be brilliant in maths. I fall short of Rajesh by a bit. I say it's due to impatience and sloppiness. He'll just smile smugly at you.

Why am I so competitive.? What do I have to prove? I was so smug myself with my stupid sudoku time (of 10:38 minutes at the Evil level of difficulty; , ugh ), I have to hold on to some dignity here. I am not stupid, I don't have to prove anything to anyone. Why am I so insecure in my own abilities? Its there in everything except my actual work. I am over-competitive in games, crosswords, scrabble, writing, art. Every tiny thing I do, I hate to be judged inferior. I won't let myself be a slur on anything I represent.

I haven't a clue. It's like I am fighting what I imagine are other people's perceptions of me. I haven't a clue what I'm trying to do.