My Voice

The day my voice died,

I didn't notice it, but I must have wanted it
Really badly since my mouth
Got me into to trouble all the time. 

You see- silence was a virtue.
So I embraced the virtuous life,
I remained without a voice for a long time,

And I wanted everyone to celebrate my sacrifice.

But no one cared,
Beyond attaching labels
And pegging me,
In their mental space.

And so I became Fat and Indian,
I was the girl who Loved Wine, who Reads a lot,
I was Boring, Pedantic and sometimes invisible.
I thought the labels made me fit in.

But I was mostly fat and or sad.
Everyone seemed obsessed with that.
I was okay with it though,
I just assumed I was easygoing that way.

Until one too many rejections,
One too many assumptions,
And one too many hurts,
Made my silence start to grate.

Why should I be mute,
In the face of self-imposed restrictions
Why should I be mute,
For every body else’s acceptance

So I opened my mouth and
I started to talk again,
And hoarse as my voice sounded,
It was the sweetest sound I ever heard.

Now, I will not stand by silent,
While you judge me erroneously.
You see, I have my voice back,
And I will say my piece.

I am not fat, and I am not thankful,
That people deign to love me "despite the way I look".
I am a magnificent, strong, and powerful woman,
And don't you forget it.

Naysayers and Gossip Mongers,

You have 5 counts,
To get the hell away

Before my fist meets your face. 

The sacrifice days are over.

~deviousDiv

The Epiphany

When I was 16, I had a crush on my grandparents' neighbours'  son. He ticked all the boxes. He was very smart, and from my community. He rode a motor bike that may or may not have been a Harley. He also had a sneering way of talking that made my heart beat faster. He spoke french, and went to university in Europe.  When I was 17, he was unimaginably cool, and I thought he had the most awesome bad boy appeal.

I met this paragon of manly virtue again this week. He has done well for himself I am happy to report. But I was unmoved. In fact, I noticed quite a lot of other things. Like how he enjoyed putting down the women in his life (yes he treats his mother like shit), how he used snide commentary and name calling to 'keep women in their place' (he pulled that with my mother), and how he thinks women are intellectually and physically weaker than him- and then look shocked when proven otherwise (he tried to win an arguement with me LOL). He struck me as very immature, and blind to the world around him because he was convinced of his own superiority.

What the hell was I thinking when I was 16? 

I also had an epiphany this weekend. I realized that I subconsciously always held this guy up to be the perfect example of what my ideal 'matchmade groom' should be like. I've always fallen for men like this even outside the matchmaking circuit. While I was 16, and a dumbass- it was excusable. But when I was older and burnt once I should have learnt. But here I am 28 years old with countless broken hearts under my belt, and only realizing this now.

I really am slow on the uptake sometimes. >_<

With so much of value placed on a woman's role as caretaker for a family in my community, a single woman is considered a personal shame for parents. And so when my parents set me up with various men, it struck me that I almost always risked my heart for this chauvinistic type of man, waiting for him to make up his mind, and then getting my heart broken and my soul ripped apart when he lands upon a flimsy reason to break things off usually via an insipid one line email or SMS just to prove his superiority over me after we get into an inevitable disagreement. And because these sample cases are such wits, and therefore viewed as perfect, I am often blamed and attacked by my family because I failed to be a "real woman".

So while I beat myself up for not being malleable, shiny, fair, smiling, warm-hearted, beautiful and intelligent enough, and while I felt like the most insignificant piece of carbon matter and struggled to retain some sanity and psychological stability, I continued to cling on to a 16 year old's notion of a perfect man.

Really Div- Really?

Sometimes, it takes a wake up call from a dick like this- to remind you that its time to grow up, and move ahead. Going forward, I'm rewriting my subconscious recognition of a potential mate, from asshole to nice man- you know, one who actually has a heart. I think I've run after enough shitheads for one lifetime.

I was glad to let that one go. One more load off my chest, and one more step up the ladder to regain my self, and my power. 2013 is shaping up to be an interesting year.

Thought for the Day- Life is Beautiful

I saw this on the interwebs some time ago. 

"I spent my young adult years postponing many of the small things that I knew would make me happy ... I was fortunate enough to realize that I would never have the time unless I made the time. And then the rest of my life began."

It resonated.

I think it resonated because I for as far back as I remember, I always found pleasure in the small things. Of course as a child, we all do. I mean, most of us would have been happy with a ball, two sticks and our imagination. Or just dancing in the rain singing a silly song.  Most of us grow out of this child-like phase. However, with me, I think severe social isolation as a child and teenager never really allowed me to grow out of this phase.

In hindsight- I am thankful- for that childishness, as it was the only thing that kept me sane. I went to Cedar Girls School, and I loved the school. My school and I, we had our own secret world, which I regularly escaped into to survive the bullying, the bitching, the back-biting etc.  

I loved the misty mornings that used to coat the fields in a layer of white cashmere, and that odd plume of white smoke that used to curl out of Mount Vernon every evening.  I loved the shadows on the field cast by the the military aircraft flying overhead. I remember chasing after a few in the vain attempt to grab it. Alas- I never ran fast enough. 

I loved that corner behind the school canteen where I could eat my packed lunch in peace, on the floor and crossed legged, the way I would eat at home. I felt safe there. I loved that tree behind the tennis courts, which had the perfectly comfortable root protrusion to perch my bum on and read my novel of the day. 

I loved that old gardener who used to pluck rose apples from the bush behind the 1-7 classroom and give it to me on the sly. There was that one time, we even fed the graveyard monkeys on the sly. 

I loved my favorite nook in the library (it had 6 cobwebs, I counted) and the librarian who always had a kind word (and tissue for the days I needed it) for me. I loved the benches in front of the school's little hydroponic farm experiment, because it for some reason always felt 2 degrees cooler than everywhere else. It was where I studied for my O Level Physics.

The thing is, I had forgotten how to do that in the years that followed. Maybe because I wasn't so isolated anymore. Or maybe working inside a cold grey office with people waiting to back-stab you around every corner isn't necessarily something to find beauty in.

I'm glad to say I rediscovered my childlike love for the small things and actions I used to love before- and I have no plans for letting it go again. I now make it a point to sit beside a window at work- and spend a couple of minutes looking outside. The view isn't astounding, but the waxing and waning of the traffic jams on the AYE, and the slow grind of the giraffe like cranes in the port are  nevertheless a reminder that life is pulsing, leaping and jumping outside.

I wake up early in the morning just to see the sun rising, because in those 10 minutes when the sun comes up, it dapples everything with a sheen of pink and golden light so for a brief moment, I can imagine I am in a land where the roads are paved with gold and diamonds.

And walking in the rain. There truly is no pleasure more beautiful. And with those words, I shall conclude because I just spotted a rainstorm, and my feet are itching for a walk.

Life, dear readers, can be truly beautiful if you made the time to see and do the small silly things you always thought about, but never did. 

~Div

Nope- you're not Entitled.

I've always had a soft corner for the people who live a bit differently than everyone else. Probably because I am one of them. You know us, the folk whose definition of normal is quite different from the mainstream. The ones who spend most of their time explaining themselves to the 'normal' folk who feel entitled to explanations, and feel entitled to judge.

Their favorite refrain, "I just want to understand". That 'desire' makes them feel entitled to an explanation.

But I know better. These are the people who cannot begin to imagine the magic of my life, or the tremendous depths within me which I am content to keep hidden from them.  And yet those that have bathed in convention and privilege feel that they are entitled to your answers, you explanations to satisfy their curiosity on their schedule and welcome their rebuke and morbid curiosity.

Well here's the thing, they're not entitled to anything.

I'm learning to walk away from such discussions the moment I see the warning signs. Like when a neighbor commented, "When are you getting married, do you have a boyfriend?" after spending half an hour talking about her daughter's 4 weddings. Or the friend who said "Wow you're working out but it takes time to see some difference." And the other one who queried, "Wow you've never gone clubbing before?"

I suppose they were expecting some kind of reciprocal comment to confirm or deny their hypothesis. I just gave them a blank stare and I may have given a distracted hum. It was more effective in shutting them up than talking their ears off after all. I've just stopped caring if they think I'm “difficult” or “a bitch” or just perpetrating stereotypes about “my kind of people.”  (Whoever they are).

Let them talk.

I mean seriously. I don't have the kind of time to waste on meaningless small talk and discussions that make everyone feel awkward. I would much rather spend that time speaking to people with ideas that make me catch my breath, people who are genuine in their concern and affection, and people who don't have the time or resources to judge.

So I'm putting it out here in the open. No one is entitled to any explanations from me. If they ask, from now on, I'm just going to let then stew. For once, they don’t get to understand everything.  Why should I keep defending myself, and keep making silly proclamations about living my life by my rules to these people? Really its my life, and none of their damn business. And that's my last word on it.

If they persist, well there's a reason why we throw away toxic things.


~deviousDiv

The Crazy Old Man in the Taxi Queue

Yesterday, a mad old man in a taxi queue called me an “Indian Bitch” and asked me to “go back to my country”.

He was upset because I was waiting at the back of a line for a cab yesterday when I got lucky, and got a taxi who was changing shift and headed towards where I live. No one in the line ahead wanted the cab, including the mad old man..

So I took it.

But apparently- one cantankerous old sod didn't like it and decided to air his opinion in public. He proceeded to yell, "Hey Indian Bitch, these things may be okay in your country but you are in Singapore now".

Did he expect me to give up the cab like a silly martyr and wait in queue? Since when did being a Singaporean also mean having no common sense? And if I look Indian- you assume I am from India? Racist, Narrow Minded Bugger. Singapore isn't China the last time I checked.

So I leaned out of the cab and yelled back, "Hallo Chee Bye- I'm Singaporean."


The taxi uncle, who was vastly entertained swept out of that taxi stand with a flourish, and cheekily opened with, “Wah Girl you very garang eh. I like garang girls. Too bad I so old- otherwise I go dating with you”.

It was a good ice-breaker. I quipped back, “Aiya uncle, you xiao or what?”

We both burst out laughing. After that wonderful opening, we spent the rest of my drive home trading stories about growing up in a kinder, gentler and more colour-blind Singapore.

What can I say, I love taxi uncles, they make your life just a little bit better. And as long as they're around, I have hope for this country.

~deviousDiv

4 Lessons for 2012.

Its been a while. But I can't help it, the year was running by too fast, and I could barely keep up! This year has been one of tremendous transition for me. I've lost friends, gained friends, re-evaluated my life and priorities, made big decisions, I fell in love, had my heart broken and that cathartic experience taught me  to forgive, to let go, and at the end of this exhausting journey, I'm left with the general feeling that my life is on a better and more positive path than it was in January 2012.

Now that's a lot don't you think?

So its time for the inventory. To stare down the mistakes I've made and to catalog the things I've learnt. And here's what I figured out:

1. Sometimes you just have to let those pesky emotions in.

It took me a long time, but I finally figured that putting a wall between your intellect and your emotions is quite idiotic. I'm not sure when it happened, but one morning I woke up with the realization that my emotions are not like memories. It was like a switch had been flicked on in my head.

After all, you can forget certain events, but emotions have a habit of resurfacing- usually at inconvenient moments. And the more you suppress them, the more you will end up doing something spectacularly stupid, like eating a triple scoop chocolate laden ice-cream sundae for every day of the week because you were craving sugar. Or bursting into tears while running on the treadmill (and getting half the gym rushing to your side thinking you busted something).

In case you were wondering- the bursting into tears at the gym thing actually happened to me in November. My dignity took a big hit, but I felt cleansed at the end of it.

Emotions aren't things you can throw under the rug. And when you give them credence, and let them out the normal way, it feels better. Like a release. This year, I finally found the courage to roll up my sleeves, and deal with them. I let myself get angry, I let myself cry, and I let myself laugh with unbridled joy. It felt liberating.

2. Assign Credit where's it due, and the same applies to Blame.

I'm hardly perfect, and I'll be the first to admit it. But this year, I was finally able to look back at my past, and the bad experiences, of being bullied in school or at work and having friendships go sour. I always felt awkwardly a step behind everyone else for much of my life since my early teens. I think its because I always believed, in my heart of hearts, that it was all my fault.

This year, I finally came to accept that it wasn't entirely my fault. I wasn't a terrible friend, or a horrible student, or a worthless employee. I wasn't the sole wrong-doer in that relationship to merit the kind of treatment I was given by the people who hurt me.  

It helped me to forgive myself, forgive the ones who hurt me (in my own head of course), and finally, forgive the circumstances.

And that act of forgiveness opened my eyes to the fact that those 'horrible' times weren't all bad, and there were moments and people who made it worthwhile. Happiness at best, is a state of mind, made up of fleeting moments of joy we can dwell on. Its about how we choose to spin the narrative of our lives. And with new eyes, I was able to accept that there is nothing I really want to change about my past because it made me a better, stronger and kinder person today.

3. You can lean on the ones you love.

This year, I thought I'd found that significant other. It didn't work out of course, but then shit happens. What I discovered in the interim, are those family and friends who loved me through those times when I got mean, when I got pathetic and sat in bed reading depressing Russian novels about women who fell in love with inappropriate men, and cried over trashy Hindi movies, the birds at the window, and pretty much everything else.

You know the kind- they'd send you WhatsApp messages from New York at 5AM to see if you're okay, or text you on G-Talk at work so you can vent. They'd hug you and tell you you deserve better and they'd open up and talk about their heartbreaks and foibles so you don't feel so fucking alone in this world.

I think its because they see us differently. They see the good, bad, perfection, flaws, beauty, ugliness, pristine-ness and damage. And they bring objectivity to our lives when its needed the most, and they can see the forest for the trees. They'll tell you things about you that you never realized and they'll help you reach an important stage in your healing.

I was told to have standards in men, to stop trusting and giving my heart away so easily, and to stop thinking that the bottom feeders are my lot in life. I was told to be happy, to think I deserve better and just be happy. 

I finally listened, and learnt my lesson. Yes I know its 3 years after they told me but hey I not exactly the fastest learner when it came to important life lessons.

4. You can be totally uncool.

Yes. I have no problem now telling people that the Will-I-Am and Britney collaboration Scream and Shout is one of the best pop songs ever written. I proudly sing along to Bon Jovi, and Muse making up lyrics as I go along, and there are days when all I want to hear is Nina Simone's alto warbling about sinning men.

I read novels with stupid titles, and I read heavy tomes on history. I dress like a cross between a goth hippie and Christina Hendricks, and like scarves and candy colored bags.

And yes, I like to bake. I like to cook, and I like to do it in my free time, which include Friday nights and Public Holidays.

I just see myself as cool and that's the end of it. If you want to accept it, fine, if you don't and want to call me ditzy, its fine too. I think being 'cool' is a lot like being 'decent'- its just a state of mind.

But if I was honest, I just can't be arsed to convince people I am 'cool' or whatever arbitrary thing I needed to do to get folk to 'accept' me. I just head off, deal with my curfews and my crazy family, I sip my dry martinis and do things to keep me sane. I think the real story here is that I now accept myself for who I am, I think I'm pretty awesome. I think that's all I need for now. ;)

And that's it. The four big lessons I learnt for 2012. And while the year ran by and had its highs and lows, I'm looking forward to 2013. I think its going to be pretty awesome.

So I'll see you next year, which by my reckoning, is just a little over 12 hours away. ;)

I Just Exist

You bark orders and call me lazy,
I get to it, and I just exist,
You tell me I'm getting uglier day-by-day,
I put on a frozen smile and I just exist.
You tell me I'm getting too old,
I pretend not to hear you and I just exist.

You tell me I'm fundamentally flawed.
You tell me I'm too smart,
You tell me I'm too stupid,
You tell me I'm a liar,
You tell me I'm too honest,
You tell me I talk too little,
You tell me I talk too much,
You tell me I will never live up to your ever-changing ideals.
And I just exist.

But I don't want to just exist anymore.
Now I want to live.

Now I want to tell you,
I am not Lazy,
I am not Ugly,
I am not Old,
I am not Flawed,
I am not Stupid,
I am Amazing,
I am Myself,

Human beings my loves,
Are Fundamentally Flawed.
Including yourselves.

And you are fucking lucky,
To have me as your daughter,
Flaws and all.

~deviousDiv

Am I FOREIGN?

Since my attempts at starting a new religion and becoming a new age messiah have fallen flat on its virtual arse, the time has come for me to move on to other pursuits. SO I shall move on to things that I do best.

Whining about things that annoy the hell out of me every now and then.

At lunch today, an erstwhile lift commuter asked me if I was born in Singapore. When I answered 'no I was born in India', I was asked if I was Indian. When I said "No I'm Singaporean", I was met with a puzzled stare.

Oh for god's sake, you live in a bloody cosmopolitan country. Haven't you heard of people changing citizenship? Although to be very frank, it could have been the look you bestow upon an unwanted 'foreign talent'.

I've never quite thought of myself like that you know, as 'foreign talent'.

After all, I'm hardly Ms. Talent, and I most definitely see myself as 'local'. I imagine that 12 years in the Singapore school system singing Majulah Singapura every morning can have an impact on the way you define yourself. The thing is, intellectually, I know that I'm an immigrant. But I don't remember actually coming to Singapore, since I was one year old at that time.

But Summer vacations in India and my many roots in India in the form of family, grandparents and other sanctimonious friends of the family also mean that I do feel quite Indian too. Is it normal to feel an attachment to two countries? Or three in the future, if I moved into another country?

And more importantly, where do I fit in?

I'm a racial minority in a country full of chinese people.

I'm a body minority in a country full of thin people.

I'm an origin minority in a country full of citizens born in Singapore.

All I need for the list to be complete is to be a sexual minority.

I wonder how a nation full of people like me would be like- a bunch of fat immigrants who feel an alien sense of loyalty towards this nation we migrated to.

Now hang on a minute... that sounds an awful lot like the USA.

*rushes off to pack bags*

~ deviousDiv

Indian Stretchable Time

Perhaps we ought to invest in one of these for those friends
who can never keep up an appointment. ;) 

10 years ago, my family was invited to a dinner party. The hostess informed everyone that the she was starting at 7PM. My super punctual family showed up at 7.15PM, and my parents even had an apology ready. We rang the bell and no one was there. After standing outside the door for about 10 minutes, ringing the bells like loons we headed back feeling rather foolish, and ordered pizza for dinner.

At about 9.30PM, we got a call from the rather irate party organiser- demanding to know where we were. My mother said she thought the party was cancelled because we'd come at 7.15PM, waited and gone back. The woman apparently commented, "Ya but when I said 7, I meant 8.30PM.".

My dad rolled his eyes, and then turned to me and my brother and proceeded to tell us about "IST" or "Indian Stretchable Time" and the horrors of being late.

I think almost every Indian I know is familiar with the concept of "IST". Its a crime even I have been guilty of on a couple of occasions due to extenuating circumstances (it was in India, and I got stuck in a traffic jam caused by a stray cow that decided to take a one hour nap in the middle of the road). I love how our culture believes that time stretches on forever, and how we are tolerant and flexible enough to accept delays on the part of others.

But we Indians have elevated late coming to an art form, and make it a point to show up an hour to two hours late at every single event, taking advantage of our cultural tolerance towards late-coming. And the worst offenders do not even bother to apologise to those who were waiting for them.

Is it the Singaporean part of me that thinks that waiting for those who have been tardy with time is to insult others who have taken the trouble to be punctual?

I mean- even if I am 5 minutes beyond the expected arrival time, I will feel guilty, harassed and stressed, and will be making a flurry of calls on my mobile phone to to the people I'm meeting, going as far as insisting that they need not wait to start their meal or program.

I wonder if people were compelled to be more punctual during the pre-mobile days, but I confess-- the parties I have attended back in those days were as filled with chronic late-coming as the parties I attend now.

And then of course, there are those geniuses who refuse to pick up their telephones, respond to text messages or emails despite several entreaties, especially when they owe us things. I deal with this on a daily basis- since India is one of the regions in my remit. It makes me want to pull my hair out in frustration sometimes.

My favourite offender is that one friend we all have, who would have kept us waiting for for half an hour. We will all get a flurry of texts saying "I'll be there in 2 minutes". Eventually, we will see this person an hour after those messages were sent. I remember one memorable occasion where a tardy friend sent me an irate "Stop texting me, I told you 15 minutes ago that I'll be there in 2 minutes".

Errr.

Maybe the problem is mine. I grew up with the view that Time is the most precious commodity, because I was always on a tight timetable in school juggling studies, tuition and extra curricular activities. Late coming was the worst crime you could commit in school- and it got you a day long detention standing outside the Principal's office with a sign around your neck calling you a "Late coming Moron" or something equally pithy. And it dosen't end there- once school is over, 'detention' was spending the afternoon scrubbing the boy's toilet with a worn out toothbrush and a cap full of JIF cleaner.

This detention/public shaming combo is an experience that has traumatized many of us Singaporeans which is why nobody really turns up late for an appointment or delays on deliverables. We consider time as sacred, because we've been conditioned to believe that. Maybe we need therapy.

But whatever the case is with us- the facts are as they are. Late coming is still a disease that needs to be eradicated, and I say its time we called for a social ban on Indian Stretchable Time. The worst offenders ought to be made to stand outside the party venue with the sign from my old school discipline master- "I'm a late-coming fool". And as part of the party entertainment, they should be asked to clean the men's bathroom with a toothbrush and a cap full of detergent, while we send the occasional drunk in there to take a leak- preferably all over them.

That would teach them, especially those over-dressed aunties who love to show up 2 hours late to make a 'grand' entry.

~deviousDiv

Emotional Blackmail

Have you ever felt backed into a corner?  I have and its not a pleasant feeling. And I feel this every single time  some random guy's family starts to put pressure on mine to get me to marry their precious son. In all the cases I've been forced to deal with so far- these chaps really aren't worth it (the latest one has a construction job for fuck's sake), and even my family knows it. So I can't understand why my parents persist on  choosing these men over my interests. Their refrains has always been "What will their family think?". 

On one hand they keep insisting they're not forcing me, but then they proceed to lay on the emotional blackmail and guilt card, they refuse to listen to my reasons dismissing them as flaky and stupid, and by their actions they dismiss me as something completely insignificant, while valuing a complete stranger just because he is a goddamned man.

There's an old song with the lines, "Agla Janam Mohe Bitiya Na Kijo"-- "Don't allow me to be born a daughter in my next birth". The first time I heard it, my inner feminist scoffed. But now- its an emotion I can get behind. Despite having strong women in the family- my own parents seem to treat me no better than chattel.

I've never felt more helpless. It just hurts so much that to be constantly called stupid, selfish and not a 'prize catch' and it gets harder and harder to keep a flippant face amidst all this drama. At the end of the day, I sink deeper and deeper into a pit trying to keep my parents happy and my head glued together because there is no way I can win. Short of walking out with my bags, I don't know what to do. 

Ok so maybe I do know what to do and it involves moving far away. And believe me it is in the works- as something that needs planning before it actually happens. I just hope in the interim I stay sane.

The spleen ventage helps.

~deviousDiv