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Saturday, 31 January 2015
Generic Compliments
Monday, 26 January 2015
Lover of Losers
My family and I watch a lot of television. By television, I mean soap operas. And we get very involved with the characters. Their pain becomes our pain. My mother fell half in love with Dr. Gregory House while watching the show. Now everyone loves the central characters, don't they? So do I. But I feel sorry for the ones nobody likes. They're the good guys-but they generally aren't good looking. They're the plucky sidekicks. The guys who completely blend into a crowd. The guys you rarely remember. They are, for the lack of a better word, losers. I'm sorry about how mean that sounds. And I'm a self-proclaimed "lover of losers".
Somebody has to like them. Somebody has to root for them. If someone always roots for the underdog or for the obviously stronger candidate, who's going to cheer for the little guy who's too afraid to open his mouth? The could-be underdog? How are we ever going to get him out of the shadows? Everybody needs somebody other than themselves to believe in them. Big breaks only come to those who have had a chance to demonstrate their potential.
So, this is a trait that I am mocked endlessly for. All in good faith, of course. I think I do it because I could very easily have been one of those guys. I could very easily have done my very best to blend in, to be a face in the crowd. Sometimes I think I'm still capable of it. Its easy. Its easy to not try. But what all of us need to realise is that we owe it to ourselves. We owe it to ourselves to be our best possible versions. We owe it to the ones who dared to take a chance on us when no one else would. So, in those 'reject' characters, I see a glimpse of myself. A glimpse of what could have been, of what could be. It serves as a reminder. A reminder that, there are a lot of unheard voices out there, just dying to shout out. And I root for them in the hope that one day they shall find the courage to speak up.
Sincerely, A Friend
So, this isn't me but a friend of mine and at my request, she wrote this. I hope you think she's as brilliant as I do-
I'm going to let you in on a secret:
There's no 100/100.
promise me you wouldn't throw it around like it wasn't something you already knew; and wanted to chafe at me for repeating what a hundred other people told you (over and over again).
I'll tell you why.
Because despite all the knowing, despite being the best ultracrepidarian you know there is, you strive for 100/100.
Remember the downcast eyes when your teacher told you she's cutting a few marks off for no logical reason apart from the simple truth that was supposedly universal: There's no 100/100.
Remember the one zit that kept coming back, no matter how hard you tried making it go?
Remember the relationship (yeah, stop thinking the term relationship only refers to that boy who looked at you in all the seriousness that his fifteen years on Earth taught him, and told you he wants to spend the rest of his life with you. I'm actually laughing) that didn't work? Remember your tears?
It's a farce. It's all a farce.
There's no 100/100.
We're the 99s who try everything in our power to get that one extra point.
And will continue to do so for the rest of our lives, if we don't take good care.
Saturday, 24 January 2015
Wouldn't It Be Loverly?
People call me a Grammar Nazi. That's probably because they haven't met my mother. This afternoon, my darling mom proclaimed, that when she reads my posts, although she enjoys it, she feels the immense need to edit my grammar. I write as I think. So, sometimes my English isn't going to be perfect and flawless. My mom is my own personal Henry Higgins and I'm her Eliza Doolittle-without the 18-inch waist, of course.
My mother detests it. And maybe its hereditary, but so do I. Call me snooty, but I really can't help it. When I hear incorrect English, I'm overwhelmed by the urge to correct the person and then hit them over the head. God, I'm intolerant. Sometimes I wonder why I have friends at all.
Coincidentally, I'm taking a phonetics class this semester and so, one day a week, I'm sitting in front of the computer and making short and long vowel sounds. And that just gives me the 'Eliza Doolittle feeling' even more! I'm this close to bursting into song and exclaiming, "wouldn't it be loverly?!" If only I had the looks, it would be picture perfect.
Sorry for the randomness of this post. I just felt guilty about not updating for so long.
Sunday, 11 January 2015
#JeSuisCharlie
Listening to the news these days leaves you feeling depressed. Everyday, a new attack. Everyday, a fresh story more gut wrenching than the previous. The recent attacks in Paris led to a rally today which many of our world leaders attended. A reaction to the attack on the people who worked at the Charlie Hebdo magazine, which is basically anti-establishment and had satirised Prophet Muhammed, among many other religious leaders and politicians. It was an attack on free speech. How dare anyone encroach on someone else's right to an opinion. Sure, maybe the cartoons were in 'bad taste' as my mom tactfully put it; but then, so are the infinite write-ups and paparazzi photos that invade the privacy of the famous. That doesn't mean we retaliate with violence. We retaliate with our voices.
We have the right to offend. We have the right to be offended. We have the right to express our beliefs without having to worry about death threats and actual attacks. And when it comes to religion, how can one's faith be shaken by reading an article or seeing a caricature showing an ugly truth? Being devout doesn't mean being a sycophant. Blindly believing whatever you're told is naivety. And just as you have the right to defend your faith, you also have the right to see that its not perfect. All religions have their ugly sides. Fanaticism is present in all of them. But we have to be willing to recognise that. I was watching a debate on free speech with my mother. One of the panelists said that freedom of speech should exist, but in a controlled form. This caused one of the female panelists, a stand-up comedian, to say, "Controlled freedom is like being slightly pregnant". The idea is ridiculous. You either have complete freedom or you don't. And why shouldn't we have the right to speak our minds? We were endowed with them to use them-to think, to evaluate. Not to mechanically listen and accept whatever we are told.
Don't be afraid of voicing an opinion. Its an intrinsic right. And frankly, its insane that we are hesitant to use it. If these terrorists aren't afraid to pick up their guns and shoot more than a hundred children in Pakistan, cartoonists at their workplace, innocent shoppers buying their groceries, and countless other heart wrenching and blood-boiling crimes, why should be be afraid and be denied our right to speak up? Every single time we hesitate to speak up for what we think is right, we're no better than the person we hesitated to speak up against. I'll sign off with this French statement by the philosopher, Descartes - Je pense donc je suis. It means, " I think, therefore I am".
My interpretation of it is that we were blessed with the ability to think, to understand, to draw conclusions, to look at the whole picture. And when we don't take advantage of that, what are we really?