Sunday, March 26, 2006
The Feminist Movement
I read another article in the NYTs today about how with an increase in female applicants to colleges, girls inevatibly have to be better than before to get in, while to maintain some element of gender balance a less brilliant guy may make it in instead of the outstanding girl!! So, by improving our chances to go to school and pushing ourselves we now get screwed and boys, yet again, do less and get more! What is going on here? Why are we always losing out - have we not thought the movement out enough? And what is the movement anymore? Young girls having unprotected sex and dressing at age 10 like they're 18? Women and men who can't cook or women (and men) who won't cook so their kids grow up on diets of McDonalds (or for a real meal, Outback)? Two-parent working families, struggling to make ends meet and with no time to be with their kids? Women who spend all their money on botox, lipo, face-lifts, dangerous boob jobs? An increase in young women smoking so they remain thin? Motherhood as a 3 day event (in, out, out)where the #1 thing is to exercise while pregnant and post pregnancy so that you never look like you had a child in the first place! What happenned? I know my mum didn't fight for this and I don't want any part of it! I've lost out both ways - within the phrase "I can be everything" is the dirty secret - "I wil have to be everything". Women still do more than 80% of the housework but now also work long hours outside the home, rear children, being super-moms, and must continue to look around the age of 22 at the most! On top of this, security of marriage and stability has gone. Enough, enough...what is wrong with us...how do we end up with the raw deal without fail!
Thursday, March 23, 2006
Shout out to the boy
So, I spoke to the boy just now and he's going to read my blog! Wow! Feel all embarrassed, like we're on a first date or something. Hee hee. This is the thing about long distance relationships - the one's where you were once together in the same place -- you get by but only by supressing your real feelings. If I was to open myself up totally, I'd be hard pressed to keep breathing without him. But, to survive apart, I close that part of myself off - I just shut it and put it away. So this way, I continue living my life but not fully. When the intern was here, we talked about this, this living your life in segments. My segments are spread all over the world and the whole me is really present only in cyber-space, floating around like Mike TV in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.
Here is the other thing, the boy is off camping and my un-American cityness always kicks in regarding camping. I worry he will be killed or kidnapped. I worry some redneck will run him off the road and today, I thought about all that (just so I'm prepared), and my heart started to break. That is when I realised, I'd put my heart away while in Brussels. But, my heart knows what it feels like to crack - I learnt in last year with the boy. I remember the tremors and the cracks through the heart. For this reason, I will probably move to AA or even Chicago (no, no, there must be a god out there) and love them both. Because I'll be with the boy. Sounds corny I know. And I wish the bastard would come here. But I can't have it all. I can't, can I?
On another note, looked up cinnamon peeler on google image and found some cool photos of a dance troupe imagining the poem to dance. Then found a photo of a real cinnamon peeler and now can't enjoy the poem the same way again. Actually, the poem is one of my favourites. I've always maintained the Sri Lankans are a sexy bunch (PKG, the cricket team, MIA, PKG's sister, Ondaatje himself etc.) Of course, I'd like to add the Tamils are a sexy bunch (hey hey). I think it must be the dusky looks, good, strong, white teeth, and sinewy bodies. And lovely healthy hair. Its all that coconut oil.
Ok, here is one part:
"what good is it
to be the lime burner's daughter
left with no trace
as if not spoken to in the act of love
as if wounded without the pleasure of a scar."
As if wounded without the pleasure of scar...my broken but mended heart.
God, the boy will probably forget to read this and remember over the weekend and read it while correcting papers and puke. That's ok - we all have to know what we are marrying into.
This weekend is a work weekend. sigh. I want to go out alone saturday to see a movie, maybe a dinner alone, a drink at the Canadian bar (though the owner's gf will probably talk to me all night and i won't get to be alone). I want to see if I can stil go out alone - I seem to always be with people and have lost the ability to be on my own -except for sitting in my bedroom. B is off this weekend for her annual grrrrl alone weekend. Wow! I actually want the apt empty of roommate #1. I want to be in my own place...should i have sucked up the extra money and got my own place!AAAh, such thoughts are pointless.
Ok, time to go to sleep (and think of the cinnamon peeler - who is very like the boy -- the beach boy collecting coconuts). Hmmm...that links back to my small restaurant on the beach in Goa, cooking fish, having a guitar player in to entertain the guests, home cooked fresh food in a clean and pleasant surrounding. And here I am, all those dreams later in Brussels. This is age, because now, I can't ever even imagine that actually taking place - I've given up on that dream. Instead, I've replaced it with ambition and intellect. What a loss!
Here is the other thing, the boy is off camping and my un-American cityness always kicks in regarding camping. I worry he will be killed or kidnapped. I worry some redneck will run him off the road and today, I thought about all that (just so I'm prepared), and my heart started to break. That is when I realised, I'd put my heart away while in Brussels. But, my heart knows what it feels like to crack - I learnt in last year with the boy. I remember the tremors and the cracks through the heart. For this reason, I will probably move to AA or even Chicago (no, no, there must be a god out there) and love them both. Because I'll be with the boy. Sounds corny I know. And I wish the bastard would come here. But I can't have it all. I can't, can I?
On another note, looked up cinnamon peeler on google image and found some cool photos of a dance troupe imagining the poem to dance. Then found a photo of a real cinnamon peeler and now can't enjoy the poem the same way again. Actually, the poem is one of my favourites. I've always maintained the Sri Lankans are a sexy bunch (PKG, the cricket team, MIA, PKG's sister, Ondaatje himself etc.) Of course, I'd like to add the Tamils are a sexy bunch (hey hey). I think it must be the dusky looks, good, strong, white teeth, and sinewy bodies. And lovely healthy hair. Its all that coconut oil.
Ok, here is one part:
"what good is it
to be the lime burner's daughter
left with no trace
as if not spoken to in the act of love
as if wounded without the pleasure of a scar."
As if wounded without the pleasure of scar...my broken but mended heart.
God, the boy will probably forget to read this and remember over the weekend and read it while correcting papers and puke. That's ok - we all have to know what we are marrying into.
This weekend is a work weekend. sigh. I want to go out alone saturday to see a movie, maybe a dinner alone, a drink at the Canadian bar (though the owner's gf will probably talk to me all night and i won't get to be alone). I want to see if I can stil go out alone - I seem to always be with people and have lost the ability to be on my own -except for sitting in my bedroom. B is off this weekend for her annual grrrrl alone weekend. Wow! I actually want the apt empty of roommate #1. I want to be in my own place...should i have sucked up the extra money and got my own place!AAAh, such thoughts are pointless.
Ok, time to go to sleep (and think of the cinnamon peeler - who is very like the boy -- the beach boy collecting coconuts). Hmmm...that links back to my small restaurant on the beach in Goa, cooking fish, having a guitar player in to entertain the guests, home cooked fresh food in a clean and pleasant surrounding. And here I am, all those dreams later in Brussels. This is age, because now, I can't ever even imagine that actually taking place - I've given up on that dream. Instead, I've replaced it with ambition and intellect. What a loss!
Wednesday, March 22, 2006
Feeling like a teenager
So, work is horrendously busy and intense - but lovely. Real migration policy and project development work. It all ends next week but then I have to attend the big S.Caucus debacle meeting - it is all handled by my office partner S, but it still involved my nerves and constant tummy turmoil. Looking forward to it all in a slightly sick way. This is the low-down kiddies; last week was chockablock with going out. So bad that I just wanted to curl up in bed and watch SATC. So, decided this week would be “stay at home” week and now, WED, having stayed at home Mon, Tues and Wed - I'm going STIR CRAZY!! Wok me baby! Sorry, I badly pun at such times. No fun, but plenty of pun. ha ha.
I can't really complain, I went to Londres for the weekend on the Super Bro’s tab and it was really ABFAB! Saw lots of old friends and new cousins. Felt at one moment I was back in NYC - nothing had changed on meeting the lovely old roommie and his wife/my friend. Realised that old friends mean something - we have moments captured on mental film that no one else has access too. Like mum in the grocery store buying beers, like putting up our Xmas trees, like rooftop parties, keg stands, bad punch, sitting on the couch chit chatting on a Sunday morning, walking past the drug motel, calling the fire station, the old lady on the stoop, the other awful roommies, the one I got for life, and, and much much more. Had a bizarre back to school moment as well. Sigh - how many Fridas have there been since that point - back at Tenby Mansions and heading out to St. John's Wood or down to Leicester Square with Mr. PKG, standing outside my window or on my doorstep for one last kiss? Very old school, road trip back down memory land sort of thing. Lovely, lovely, lovely - and all done with the bro.
Realised the other day, I have very few total ‘secret’ secrets. You know, most of the stuff that enters into my life I share with one person at least -- mum, the boy, the bro, the girls, etc etc. Very little is kept only to myself. I'm not secretive by nature and keeping a secret, when I have one, is f*ing hard. While I wouldn't necessarily share it with just anyone, I usually tell people who share secrets with me that they should expect me to tell the boy. Had to promise to roommie #2 (the cool one) that I wouldn't tell the boy about our detailed sex talk as she would get embarrassed (though really, we didn't delve into what we do with our boyz to such a horrifying level). I've discussed worse:-) But, I realise that I never create my own secrets - that is until >>>>>>>>>>>
Baby, I feel like a teenager. This is the truth - I'm about one month or less off from being 31, but I don't feel like it. Yes, I've learned to say NO more easily and that I don't have to be loved by all, (or learning the above), and how to say ciao and walk away. But, deep down, I'm still 16 -- walking into the Trocadero and feeling energised by people and music. Fact is, I like a fun life - drinking, dancing, dressing up and dreaming (4 Ds). I like cool new lipsticks, seeing friends for dinner, a cute boy across the room, a lovely die-for dress or pair of shoes in the shop window, a fabulous movie or some amazing song coming out loud and clear at the gym or a car stereo. I like dreaming of my future - and possible other selves - something that becomes harder and harder the older you get. And for this reason, this deep down love of being young, having potential to reinvent myself and redraw my life, I love and respect Madonna. There you have it - the crux of this whole piece. Hung Up has me hung up and has (SECRETLY) inspired me to go to the gym. There it really is - the secret. Sigh, ok – there it is – spilled into cyber-space; Ms. Richie, reborn into her blue jeans and farah fawcett hair has me going back to the gym. Sigh. I'm off to bed now.
oooh and james blunt:-) Do love James!!
I can't really complain, I went to Londres for the weekend on the Super Bro’s tab and it was really ABFAB! Saw lots of old friends and new cousins. Felt at one moment I was back in NYC - nothing had changed on meeting the lovely old roommie and his wife/my friend. Realised that old friends mean something - we have moments captured on mental film that no one else has access too. Like mum in the grocery store buying beers, like putting up our Xmas trees, like rooftop parties, keg stands, bad punch, sitting on the couch chit chatting on a Sunday morning, walking past the drug motel, calling the fire station, the old lady on the stoop, the other awful roommies, the one I got for life, and, and much much more. Had a bizarre back to school moment as well. Sigh - how many Fridas have there been since that point - back at Tenby Mansions and heading out to St. John's Wood or down to Leicester Square with Mr. PKG, standing outside my window or on my doorstep for one last kiss? Very old school, road trip back down memory land sort of thing. Lovely, lovely, lovely - and all done with the bro.
Realised the other day, I have very few total ‘secret’ secrets. You know, most of the stuff that enters into my life I share with one person at least -- mum, the boy, the bro, the girls, etc etc. Very little is kept only to myself. I'm not secretive by nature and keeping a secret, when I have one, is f*ing hard. While I wouldn't necessarily share it with just anyone, I usually tell people who share secrets with me that they should expect me to tell the boy. Had to promise to roommie #2 (the cool one) that I wouldn't tell the boy about our detailed sex talk as she would get embarrassed (though really, we didn't delve into what we do with our boyz to such a horrifying level). I've discussed worse:-) But, I realise that I never create my own secrets - that is until >>>>>>>>>>>
Baby, I feel like a teenager. This is the truth - I'm about one month or less off from being 31, but I don't feel like it. Yes, I've learned to say NO more easily and that I don't have to be loved by all, (or learning the above), and how to say ciao and walk away. But, deep down, I'm still 16 -- walking into the Trocadero and feeling energised by people and music. Fact is, I like a fun life - drinking, dancing, dressing up and dreaming (4 Ds). I like cool new lipsticks, seeing friends for dinner, a cute boy across the room, a lovely die-for dress or pair of shoes in the shop window, a fabulous movie or some amazing song coming out loud and clear at the gym or a car stereo. I like dreaming of my future - and possible other selves - something that becomes harder and harder the older you get. And for this reason, this deep down love of being young, having potential to reinvent myself and redraw my life, I love and respect Madonna. There you have it - the crux of this whole piece. Hung Up has me hung up and has (SECRETLY) inspired me to go to the gym. There it really is - the secret. Sigh, ok – there it is – spilled into cyber-space; Ms. Richie, reborn into her blue jeans and farah fawcett hair has me going back to the gym. Sigh. I'm off to bed now.
oooh and james blunt:-) Do love James!!
Thursday, February 16, 2006
America, oh America
So, recent days have seen some real progress at work in terms of a new cycle of learning and growing. I'm working on some hard core Asia stuff now and dealing with political and well as policy and project based issues. Love it. But, wait up, work isn't supposed to be going so well that it hurts to leave! And here lies the whole bloody problem: I'm 30 and I've been brought up to believe that making something of myself (read successful job/career) is damn important. Parallel to this, is my own need to have a loving (read successfull) relationship and honestly, the unwritten expectation of society that I get married/settled. What I'm trying now is to get the best of both worlds - but to get one (love/the boy) I'll have to move (back) to the US. To keep the other, I probably will have to stay here in Brussels.
Look, in terms of what I do (migration), I'm in one of few places that people would give their left and maybe even right, arm for. And I'm going to give it away. That goes against what I've been openly told my whole life. But of course, in addition, the undercurrent of discussion, in my life, in my girlfriends' lives, etc is that true happiness is being with someone wonderful (and this message is not limited to the heterosexual chickies out there - it really is sold and applied to all women). AAAGH!!!
On top of all this is one fact I have to face - I really like my life here. I love my friends, I like who I am (confident, funny, open, balanced, nice, sane), I enjoy myself here fully. But I miss the boy and if I stayed would move to a better apt/without the flatmates. So, I could stay and change the boy and the apt. But I love the boy and want him too! waaah! why can't the sucker move here!! It is easy to change apt., but not the boy. And, deep down I can't help but think, is my life here so lovely because I don't have to deal with stupid (non) romance issues because of the very existence of the boy (far away)? By his presence in my life, I can focus on other stuff and enjoy myself and not care about dating, dates, love, sex and a future partner. If I compare my sitch to the truly single here - I do have the best of all worlds. The truly single in this city are a depressed lot - it is not easy to meet guys (ok, unless you want the boys in the gym).
Basically, I have to deal with leaving and the reality is, that on leaving, contrary to what I tell others, I will miss this damp, rainy, squishy, illogical, twisty city. There, I said it!
And worse, oh god, it gets worse...I'll be moving back to the US. America, oh America, the land of the free...I forget how Americans (both types - the intellectual and the mid-western) fucking annoy the shit out of me (sorry, bad language is needed)! I mean really get my goat either through their conservatism or their constant rebellions or their capitalism, isolationism, lack of awareness, and most of all, their apathy!!! I can't stand the apathy!
And my friends here are spunky, political, international, and vibrant. Can I repeat that there? I have wonderful friends in the US - but except for some rare gems (shout out to the girls in NY, bex, queen yasmeen etc) most are not American. And I have mixed feelings about the boy's friends (who are ALL American). What has got me on this rant? Well, I clicked through to my highschool web site - because of brown english muffin's blog and saw the photos of past people from ASL and all my annoyances with Americans came flooding back.
On a scale of 1 to 10, where 1 is shit and 10 is wow(!), I realise that me, myself and I, is an 8 on the European continent (I love where I am and who I am and therefore am better/nicer etc), a 6-8 in Canada (medium and plodding a bit), a solid fabulous 9 in the UK (love em and love myself) and a real below 5 in the US. Maybe NY is different - but in NY I'm a bitch. I am.
Can I really then go back there for 5 to 6 years? More and more, as time draws near to Aug, I realise that if I don't have to play the contract game again, I'd like to stay for 2-3 months more. I'd also like to possibly work with the org in the US. And I would consider in 2 years of being in the States, looking to be away from the US (and sadly the boy) again for a year.
Hence the blog name -- the cinnamon peeler's wife in the poem (orig title) is passionate, in lust/love but also independent. Their is strength to the speaker (the cinnamon peeler) and to the woman/wife to be. By going back, I can't forget this me, the me who is 30, an adult, independent, fun, sexy, open, friendly and courageous. But that will be hard - almost forgot it in India and really missed Belgian ME, while I was in Goa. How can I not be Belgian ME in India or anywhere else? How can I export Belgian ME everywhere else? And why should locale have an effect on me to such an extent??????
Ok - one is the boys. I like the boys here, the boys like me, I feel sexier (even if nothing is ever done - its just the ambience). --- External validation
2. heels heels heels - structured clothing with bright colours, bit o' crazy style mixed with classic --- Exoticisation of me.
3. Understanding how it all works --- instincts functioning well here.
sigh... can't write more ...now just navel gazing. Basically, it is all in the attitude and my attitude is better in Europe. So, I have to break down the roots to this good attitude and transplant them elsewhere.
good night nowt!
Look, in terms of what I do (migration), I'm in one of few places that people would give their left and maybe even right, arm for. And I'm going to give it away. That goes against what I've been openly told my whole life. But of course, in addition, the undercurrent of discussion, in my life, in my girlfriends' lives, etc is that true happiness is being with someone wonderful (and this message is not limited to the heterosexual chickies out there - it really is sold and applied to all women). AAAGH!!!
On top of all this is one fact I have to face - I really like my life here. I love my friends, I like who I am (confident, funny, open, balanced, nice, sane), I enjoy myself here fully. But I miss the boy and if I stayed would move to a better apt/without the flatmates. So, I could stay and change the boy and the apt. But I love the boy and want him too! waaah! why can't the sucker move here!! It is easy to change apt., but not the boy. And, deep down I can't help but think, is my life here so lovely because I don't have to deal with stupid (non) romance issues because of the very existence of the boy (far away)? By his presence in my life, I can focus on other stuff and enjoy myself and not care about dating, dates, love, sex and a future partner. If I compare my sitch to the truly single here - I do have the best of all worlds. The truly single in this city are a depressed lot - it is not easy to meet guys (ok, unless you want the boys in the gym).
Basically, I have to deal with leaving and the reality is, that on leaving, contrary to what I tell others, I will miss this damp, rainy, squishy, illogical, twisty city. There, I said it!
And worse, oh god, it gets worse...I'll be moving back to the US. America, oh America, the land of the free...I forget how Americans (both types - the intellectual and the mid-western) fucking annoy the shit out of me (sorry, bad language is needed)! I mean really get my goat either through their conservatism or their constant rebellions or their capitalism, isolationism, lack of awareness, and most of all, their apathy!!! I can't stand the apathy!
And my friends here are spunky, political, international, and vibrant. Can I repeat that there? I have wonderful friends in the US - but except for some rare gems (shout out to the girls in NY, bex, queen yasmeen etc) most are not American. And I have mixed feelings about the boy's friends (who are ALL American). What has got me on this rant? Well, I clicked through to my highschool web site - because of brown english muffin's blog and saw the photos of past people from ASL and all my annoyances with Americans came flooding back.
On a scale of 1 to 10, where 1 is shit and 10 is wow(!), I realise that me, myself and I, is an 8 on the European continent (I love where I am and who I am and therefore am better/nicer etc), a 6-8 in Canada (medium and plodding a bit), a solid fabulous 9 in the UK (love em and love myself) and a real below 5 in the US. Maybe NY is different - but in NY I'm a bitch. I am.
Can I really then go back there for 5 to 6 years? More and more, as time draws near to Aug, I realise that if I don't have to play the contract game again, I'd like to stay for 2-3 months more. I'd also like to possibly work with the org in the US. And I would consider in 2 years of being in the States, looking to be away from the US (and sadly the boy) again for a year.
Hence the blog name -- the cinnamon peeler's wife in the poem (orig title) is passionate, in lust/love but also independent. Their is strength to the speaker (the cinnamon peeler) and to the woman/wife to be. By going back, I can't forget this me, the me who is 30, an adult, independent, fun, sexy, open, friendly and courageous. But that will be hard - almost forgot it in India and really missed Belgian ME, while I was in Goa. How can I not be Belgian ME in India or anywhere else? How can I export Belgian ME everywhere else? And why should locale have an effect on me to such an extent??????
Ok - one is the boys. I like the boys here, the boys like me, I feel sexier (even if nothing is ever done - its just the ambience). --- External validation
2. heels heels heels - structured clothing with bright colours, bit o' crazy style mixed with classic --- Exoticisation of me.
3. Understanding how it all works --- instincts functioning well here.
sigh... can't write more ...now just navel gazing. Basically, it is all in the attitude and my attitude is better in Europe. So, I have to break down the roots to this good attitude and transplant them elsewhere.
good night nowt!
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