Itches before Smooches: Art of (sad) Life

Well, before I even start, I must say what I’ve been saying to people who’ve met me more than a month ago. If you’ve read my previous blogs, you know how much my anxiety involves the health of my parents. So, my dad is recovering from a severe health issue. And already jumped in his regular life while healing (and it’s a heck lot of pressure). That has made my anxiety and fears stronger. Sleep has totally eluded me and focusing on my duties have become harder since now I have more things to fear and actually some of the things I used to “fear” have happened for real. My mouth is dry most of the time whenever I can sense dad is having a hard time and I have hardly anything to do with resolving it. Though he let me run his business for a few days when he was in hospital and a week or two after the surgery. But as a dynamic person he is, he took it over and working at least 5-7 hours a day.

Though it is hard for me to talk about dad’s health issue because it cracks me up. He suffered from it mostly because he was mistreated in his own business by his associates. Anyway, as I have done this “hard part”, it’s safe to tell you, I am in a even worse mental health position right now. I stress out more, I still have no mental health counselling facilities, and more of the scary stuff are bottling up. And channels to let these fears go are shrinking with time.

But (literally) some channels are too mythical to shrink. This is Mythical is one such channel. Along with GMM, GMMore, and Rhett & Link’s “main” channel (believe me, we still watch this, last Friday my friends and I were in a fb confo and someone shared a meme, which reminded one of us the Are you gonna eat that song, and we all went through the old Rhett & Link rabbit hole).

Today, especially was (and still is) a scary day for me, since dad had some important business stuff being executed and it took almost midnight. The whole day, at work I was worried, almost blotted as the ink-blotting papers. I repeatedly listened to the Mortal Kombat soundtrack while working on the websites to be tested, contents to be written, and menstrual pains to be felt.

I think these days I worry more than dad does, I guess I just try to worry his part along with mine, even knowing that one cannot do another person’s worrying. I wish it could be done that way though.

Enough “sidetracking”, I know. If this was bowling, the ball wouldn’t even be in the gutter. It’d be rolling on the alley floor.

The point is, the stress was a little easier on me since it’s Sunday. And Sunday means “Ear Biscuiiiiiiiiiiits” (Neh, not quite like the old mail song (Just FYI, new Ear Biscuits are available every Monday everywhere podcasts are found, this is the full video version of previous week’s Ear Biscuits)).

When dad switched off his phone, handed it to me and finally went to bed, I was finally a little “relaxed”. And started watching last week’s Ear Biscuits (yayy!). Boy today’s topic was fun. (Last week’s was cool too! Girling Up sounds like the book I think I could use when I was “growing up” and I’m sure you’ll know why as you keep on reading this blog (given I finish it and articulate it properly)).

Today they talked about “first kiss”. If you’re a mythical beast, you already know about this. And I think you go and watch it and not have it soiled with my sloppy discussions. Sure they tweeted and made fayboo posts about sharing our first kiss experiences. And I tweeted back, I’m yet to have one and I’m oddly compulsive about making a Drew Barrymore reference, I guess she starred and  produced the movie “Never Been Kissed”.

I decided to blawwg about that podcast because I felt like ranting. Not that I feel “bad” for not being in a relationship or having a smoochie everrr, even though I’m in mid 20s. But I felt like the world should know why have I “never been kissed”. Hey, everyone is allowed to be a little narcissistic.

To be honest, even though I live in a “conservative” country and community, “first kisses”, though tabooed, but aren’t “rare”. When I was in 6th or 7th grade, all the “popular girls” in our class had boyfriends. Oh, I studied in a co-ed military school. But the boys and girls studied together from grades 1-5 and then 11 and 12. From 6th to 10th grade, girls went to school in morning shift and boys in afternoon shift.

So, yes, like 30% of the girls in the class were the “popular ones”,  50% were the “normal girls”, who’d have whispering conversations about the girls with boyfriends and sharing their “fantasies” (or “expectations”) of their Mr. Perfects, 10% were in-between the “popular” girls, and the “normal” girls. 5% were into only sports and NOTHING ELSE. My friends filled up the rest 4%, who were nerds and only cared for either Age of Empires or Simone de Beauvoir, and unanimously obsessed with Harry Potter. We even had a Hogwarts professor name assigned to most of our teachers. Yes, we had an Umbridge (dang, she still teaches there -_- (She’s the drill teacher and would never take girls on field for “modesty issues”, if that doesn’t sound like Umbridge, I don’t know what does)), several Snapes, a McGonagall, and a Professor Binns (no joke, many girls slept through the classes).

Oh yes, and there was me. The literal oddball. I was NOT “popular” but everyone knew me. Like literally everyone. Younger students would call me “Robin Hood” because I would straightened out the bullying kids for them, older students knew me because I was that kid who would be in backstage, helping out with the props for every events, teachers knew me because I was a responsive kid, and awfully regular (even though my grades were only “normal”). Also, before 6th grade, most of my friends were dudes. Which probably makes me more of an oddball. Like you know how the “societal segregation” work among kids, like the girls find boys “gross” and boys find girls “girly”.

I never knew what that was like. I grew up with brothers (cousins), my only sibling was a boy, most of my friends before school were dudes too. It was only normal. And unlike most parents in our “conservative culture”, my parents were never against me befriending boys either. I grew up around my uncles and aunts who had their fair share of healthy friendships with opposite genders and it was never awkward to me.

Well it wasn’t awkward to me because I used to think I was one of them. Actually I hoped something wrong happened to me and I’ll turn into a boy when I grow up. I’m not lying, I hoped that so hard. And when I read Tom Sawyer, I “hoped” that to happen with all my willpower (clearly that wasn’t enough). Especially when Tom’s wish of to be dead for a while and then being resurrected again like Lazarus came true, I thought mine will as well.

So, the 4 years old me used to think, someday this wrong will be corrected and I’ll be a dude like my friends. Now if you think, I was the poster “tomboy” girls they show in romantic comedy movies, with baggy jeans, crew cuts and grease on face, you’ll be mistaken. Sure, I’d have a crew cut, and would always be hanging out with boys, playing soccer or cricket and coming back home with a hot temper for stepping in cow-dung. But I would always be wearing frilly feminine dresses. My parents wanted to raise a strong, independent, intelligent FEMININE girl (I feel sorry for them).

So, boys were nothing to fantasize for me. And I developed what I thought was “my kind of thing to do”. Which was fancying a girl. Who was my friend’s cousin (boy she came back in my life later, and I was the one running away from her on tow, that’s a whole different (academic) story! (The crush is crushed and burned)). It happened in 5th grade, when my friends would talk about which girl they think are cute and they’re going to date in 6th grade. Well, I never said it out loud, homophobia is legal here, and even though I hoped to be a dude, I knew enough that others won’t believe it unless it happened, therefore I kept the lady of my fancy a secret.

Guess what? In 5th grade, a dude in my class (friend of my then bff) started acting strange towards me. And boy I hate creepy and gnawy dudes. I didn’t hesitate a moment to let him know he was acting creepy when he said he wants to “establish friendship” with me.

This feels strange to write about him right now, because he left this world (may Almighty have peace upon his soul). He’s gone too early. But those were our literally young days, and now I understand, he had a whole different “hope situation” planned in his head, just like I did.

So, in 7th grade, when I finally had my period (yes, in tropical countries period and menopause come early), I realized my hopes were TARNISHED. And this dude decided to “ask me out” on my first day of period. Bad timing bro.

Of course I lashed out on him. With things like “how immature it is for a 7th grader to ask a classmate out and clearly I am not interested in stuff like that”, well stuff that an “adult” would tell us. Boy! He didn’t expect that from me. I think I embarrassed him, because he came with his friends (who were NOT my friends) and they were finding his “situation” funny. I felt sorry for him at least a few years later.

So, I essentially battled with the sadness of not being a dude and having the life I wanted that only a boy could live in the society we lived. So, when my friends were slowly becoming “normal”, the “popular” girls were getting their first dates and first kisses and talking about those, I was more into Age of Empire, re watching The Matrix twice a day, fantasizing myself in fictional situations in books I loved (mostly Tom Sawyer), and having Harry Potter themed nightmares. Also, most of my friends had older siblings and they’d have all the insights and tips on studies, which were fairly recent, since I only got those from my mom and even though she was trained as a teacher were not as recent as theirs. Which developed an inferiority complex in me. I focused on that too. I had zero time for fancying dudes. Seriously.

When I finally found a male celebrity “cute” enough, he came out. I still love and appreciate this incredible Westlife vocalist. But the irony was interesting.

So, one of my Potter loving female friends got their boyfriend in 11th grade, she went to a different school though by then. Two of my friends developed platonic crush on their tutor who taught at a private academic aid that they attended, and another friend of mine got rejected by her classmate in a physics tutorial I think.

AND I WAS THERE, LOOKING FOR THE “Other me”, LIKE ORHAN PAMUK (the Literature Nobel Laureate 2006) MENTIONED IN HIS ADDRESS, THE “ANOTHER ORHAN” (excerpt from his then latest book Istanbul, a chapter named “My Father’s Briefcase” I think). I was literally looking for the another me, and also spent a lot of time daydreaming about the “what ifs” when I wasn’t studying.

I think “I missed the beat” there.

I opened up to having “cis crushes” when I started college, like “celebrity crushes”.


Bigger irony is, this dude was classmate of that dude who asked me out in 7th grade. And we all went to same college, I studied Computer Engineering and they studied Electrical Engineering.

Boy those agonizing days! That dude and I became friends later. He’s a happy married guy now. It’s awkward for me, but meh. That’s my secret, I’m always awkward (and I make Hulk proud!).

I was supposed to talk about why I haven’t had my much tabooed first kiss yet, right?

I think it’s because I was never “interested” or “driven” enough to approach. And never strongly felt the needs. Maybe the horrors that gnaw in my flesh have more of my attention, so I don’t care much about these “fluttery” stuff. I really don’t feel romantic most of the time. It does not happen to me without external triggers like a good romantic ballad or a moving piece of art/literature. And the effect never sticks for long. My bro friends said, I’m in a limbo.


No hope for kisses for me eh? That’s sad because I don’t end up in the surprise party every South Asian youth fears called “arranged marriage”. I think I’m ready for dropping my wards a little.


Does Hershey’s Kisses count?


We Don’t Help Ourselves/Nobody’s Gonna Help Us

UPDATE: I saw the PIRATED version of that book I mentioned first, it costed 200 units of our local currency and the Original version cost 1500 after bargaining. Still wondering why people prefer pirated stuff?

Today I’m here to rant about normalization of piracy and consumer rights fragile AF where I live (birthright much?)!

A book (to be sold in South Asian countries) for 600 Indian currency will be at least 2000 our currency. But 1 INR is equal to 1.25 of our currency. Yes. The book should cost like 750, and let’s just add 350 of our currency for “shipping cost” bs. It should be like 1100. But what the guacamole! If we buy that book in our country, it’s going to be almost double the bloody price!

And it’s same for the textbooks! Like most of my engineering textbooks are either published by McGraw Hill or Pearson. And they’ve got low price South Asian editions, like the Stein, Rivest and Cormen’s Introduction to Algorithms south Asian edition cost 450 INR. In our currency, the original South Asian copies should not cost more than 850 of our currency. But, the irony is, NOT ONLY THE ORIGINAL (South Asian edition) COPIES ARE HARD TO FIND! They are bloody overpriced! like 1600 to 2000 of our currency! What happens is, some bookstores (that sell engineering textbooks) obtain a few original copies, make photocopy of those books (horrid ones (and sometimes pages go missing)) and sell those in like 500-600 of our local currency (I’m referencing to Cormen’s book for price standard). They defend their deed saying, “We make engineering books more affordable! Not all students can afford to spend 800-1000 per book”. But the amount of money spent on photocopying from the original copies in uni library, to cross check what the heck is written in those poorly photocopied book is TOO DAMN HIGH! In the end, it costs if not more, then at least as much as what the original books would cost if they were available (in the MRP mentioned in books). Yes, we complete our higher study using piracy. Because our hands are tied. I spent a heck lot of time in thrift stores by the side of streets, browsing for old original copies of textbooks. Sometimes I got lucky. But most of the time, I wasn’t lucky enough and had to bear with those pirated photocopies. I’m not claiming myself a saint. But when it comes the creative people I appreciate and support, I always try to buy their intellectual efforts for what price they put for it. AND THAT INCLUDES THE INCREDIBLE PEOPLE WHO WROTE MY TEXTBOOKS.

And I guess since piracy (when it comes to textbooks) is normalized, we don’t have really strong stance when our consumer rights of getting to purchase premium contents (especially in Google platform (Apple trumped Google in this one. Schorry Google, I love you a lot, and still an android user, but you could not help us in this case, but Apple did.)) is in question.


I mean we literally live under a bloody rock!

Last year I screamed like a fvcking baby for being called a drool by one of my favorite yootoobers, because he thought I wanted their premium content FOR FREE when I asked “HOW PEOPLE LIVING IN THE COUNTRIES WHERE NEITHER YOUTUBE RED NOT GOOGLE PLAY STORE PURCHASES ARE FEASIBLE CAN ACCESS THEIR YOUTUBE RED SHOW?”


No vlogbrothers are going to ask our government to let us purchase Kedi. No Vesauce would come up with logical reasoning for us to purchase Mind Field. No Rhett and Link are going to raise their voice to change the reality that WE CANNOT BUY BUDDY SYSTEM BECAUSE WE ARE BORN IN ONE SUCH COUNTRY.

Because they’ve got like 100 countries covered. They’ll purchase their content and the revenue will be enough for them I guess. And in the end, if not all, then these stuff are significantly about money. And why would they even care.



I know, many of you would say, “Bugger off you filthy cunt! people of your country cannot even afford proper meals three times a day! And here you are trying to access “first world stuff”, okay, if you got enough money to purchase those contents and cannot because there’s no way to do so, WHY DON’T YOU DONATE THAT MONEY TO FEED AN UNDERFED!”


But my voice won’t do shit. I cannot do things like this on my own. And there’s another problem. MOST PEOPLE WOULD PREFER “accessing pirated versions” and this kinda is how shits work here. And that is why probably they have shut off legal ways to purchase contents. Because, it’s “unnecessary”. Or maybe there are more to it. Like foreign policy and other shizzle.

And since people around us have unofficial “encouragement” regarding pirated contents, they don’t really bother “standing up” for their consumer rights.

So, I guess I’m a lone wolf here.

A very tired omega one.

So, here’s to my failure. This time as a consumer.

But warmest wishes laced with Felix Felicis to Rhett and Link for Buddy System season 2.

P.S.: I am not going to watch this season either. I will have to cross border and be needing an international credit card to get hold of your content. Wait, I guess it’s more complected than that! Would you do that? If you were back in your old life as engineers? Would you risk legal complications to purchase contents from your favorite content creators? Wood you?

Perils of being a closeted attention seeker/Notice me Senpai!!!

Are you someone who normally don’t like attention from people (both in real & digital life) and there are times you crave to be noticed (by certain people(mostly who don’t really know you))? Then we need to meet, hug, and talk.

I mostly hate attention. It freaks me out. But there are times I would go beyond my ethical and moral limits to communicate with people, especially who are not interested in communicating with me. Just like I am feeling right now.

Generally I tweet some of the people (mostly youtubers, artists, and writers) I am huge fan of when I’m feeling like this. And repeatedly check my tweet analytics for a hint if anyone clicked on my tweet or not. It sounds lame and pathetic but that’s what I do.

However, today, to alleviate the pain of this feeling and the subsequent action, I am going to try to figure out WHY ON EARTH I DO THIS! I guess I found something out, while I was writing the previous paragraph and thought would write about that here, but I forgot what it was. I’ll write that down when I remember.

The first logical thing I can think of (w/r to me, not necessarily relevant to others) is, I’m totally not in peace with myself. I mean I am not satisfied with whatever achievement I have, I should have done more (and actually do some coding and not write this bloody blog and crave attention from people who don’t know me). This directly affects my amorous disposition. I’m somewhat incapable of feeling “luuuurv”. I’m often not attracted to people, like most of my peers are. Because mostly I HATE MYSELF TOO MUCH TO LIKE ANYONE ELSE! But sometimes I find tiny specks of reasons to be happy for myself, I allow to love myself a little. In those teensy moments I believe I have reasons to be appreciated, reasons to be attracted to others and have a sudden surge of hope that others (people I appreciate) would find some reason to appreciate my existence as well. Which is totally a stupid thing to think, but I do think that.

The other thing I was thinking, I crave attention when I don’t find interest in doing ANYTHING. ANYTHING includes stuff like reading fanfics, binge watching youtube videos and talking to friends on fayboo. I didn’t even dare including the things I NEED TO DO. Like prepping for GRE, doing some warm ups on HackerRank and so forth. I think I feel so low that I am daft enough for begging some attention from people who have no reason to give me any.

Yup! I remembered! Impostor complex! I often feel like I’m not just a minuscule being who isn’t achieving enough, also whatever shit I’ve seemingly “achieved” I don’t deserve those. To run away from those thoughts I also try to do other “impossible” and stupid things like asking for attention from people who don’t have any reason for giving that. I know it’s bloody pathetic. But if you’re familiar with my blogs, or with patience have read this far, know I totally am. I’m due to pray and workout and SLEEP. And this is what I am doing. If that’s not pathetic I don’t know what is!


What if, this blog was another passive-aggressive plea to the senpai people for noticing me?
Maybe it is!
Maybe I am the evil catdogmousehooman whom the world is afraid of.


Working out my way to nowhere…

Working out is the newest thing I have taken up and about to ruin for myself. Like all the other “seasonal” obsessions I have. Painting, writing, vlogging (and of course blogging)- you name it. HAAH!

Well, I asked for a pantsuit when dad went to China (yes, that’s what I do, like a baby human, ask for things to bring whenever my old man goes abroad) and he got me one, which is kinda not my size. And he spent a fortune on those.

So I decided to “get back to shape”, because pantsuits are quite important to me. And I am not a person who compromises with food. So, the option left was getting my fat, lazy ass on the spinning cycle.

I know, like every other constructive initiatives I take, someday I’m probably going to give this one up as well, even that Steven Pressfield book did not help much.


However, working out supposed to do some adrenaline boost and make me happier and positive. Haven’t been bitten by the positive-ness but yet. I’m feeling more like the Amazing Adrenalini Brother Xian, who thinks he’s the coolest one but gets hurt the worst in the end.

Well, since I know how I am going to mess this shizzle up, now I finally can relax doing something. Working out on spinning cycle is kinda becoming a highlight of my day so far.

The thing I enjoy most about working out, is the crazy conversations I have with myself, and the creative ideas I think about. Of course I find those total bullshit the moment I stop cycling, but while on motion, those ideas seem rather great. I feel like I am going to be some great scriptwriter, novelist, heck! a great programmer (because I feel like I can learn any programming language, even the ones I cannot bring myself to learning/assimilate with when I’m not in “motion”).

Yes, I am a crazy ass moron. A crazy ass moron who is yet to learn functional programming. Who is yet to get back to a friend and tell them that I chickened out when you asked me if I do functional programming or not and I didn’t reply. And my spinning cycle time assured me that I can do that too. I can read those documentations, have enough patience to watch those tutorials AND ACTUALLY THINK FOR A CHANGE!

Yes, I’m already milking on my happy time on the cycle. Surely I’ll give up soon. But at least I managed to document that I will do that. Do I get a YAYY?


(Of course I do, it’s my fucking blog for fuck’s sake!)

Y me nuu blog?

Even I hate the title. And that is why it is the title I chose (or maybe the title chose me, because memes.)

Well, I don’t blog because for a while people around me aren’t vocally threatening my existence as the person I am (for a change (I made it through a family dinner without being bruised by shits that come out of their mouth (thanks to those dry plain naans and kebab like chicken cubes- they were having a hard time chewing those beauties))).

I don’t blog because I’m tired, lazy and spending too much time in fayboo for a change.

I don’t blog because I’m a useless piece of shit.

I don’t blog because I’m more obsessed with twitter than I ever was before (nope, that’s a lie, I’m always obsessed with twitter).

I don’t blog because I’m watching too many foreign language movies these days.

I don’t blog because I don’t blog.

I don’t blog and I am not vlogging for more than a month now.

I don’t blog because I’m a serial procrastinator. I procrastinate because I enjoy it. I procrastinate because my inner resistance is even more afraid than it ever was after reading a few chapters of Steven Pressfield’s The War of Art.

I don’t blog anymore.

And I don’t like it.

So, here I am blogging about not blogging and maybe I won’t be back unless my butt is under fire for some reason. But hey, I always enjoy when I blog. It is my favorite form of ranting. Yes, even more than vlogging. I love to articulate my rants this way. Makes me feel good. Better than the Gorillaz song.

Or maybe I’m gonna write another blog tonight and then will wait for my ass to be on fire.


Of (self) Love and other Demons: V Day Edition

So, it’s St. Valentine’s Day. A well SEO-ed blog could get me some audience I could preach my rants to (for a certain limited period of course). But what do I know about love?

Well, my current life has made the notion of “romantic love” some kind of “lesser mortal enemy” of mine. I think I have already ranted about how much my “well wishing”, “tough love” giving family members (especially the XX chromosome holder ones (in other words, FEMALES)) are trying to make me “settle down” and by that they mean marrying me off to some dude so I can live “happily ever after” (Fuck them (Not the dude, those ladies. They deserve all my rages for the abusive ways they choose to assert their opinions.)), the ways people around me are trying to control my life are devastating me in such a bad way that I am becoming more depressed and less productive each day (Yayy! I’ve started ranting and it isn’t even the second fucking paragraph!).

So, they are like, “We’re all in if you have a romantic interest! We’re no old fashioned conservative people.”

Sure, they aren’t. Why would they be? Emotionally torturing a woman in her mid twenties is totally not an old fashioned conservative thing to do. It is a rather great practice.

Sometimes I wish I could transfigure them all into bulls and hunt them like they do in Mithraism and bathe in their blood. That sounds graphic, but the emotional torture does its own pretty magic.

So, “finding romantic love” has become the only way to avoid a “forced marriage”. Ain’t life beautiful?

And when I think about the fact that they will cut me down into pieces if they knew the truth, it gets worse. I cannot even voice the truth here in fear of life. So, romantic love is a totally lost game for me right now.

And I am hardly someone who can relate to that. That makes me want to write about another kind of love. Self love anyone?

Well, I’m not saying that I don’t receive some love. Actually I do, and I am very grateful for that! Every time I opened up about my problems in public internet space, I have always received love and moral support from strangers whom I will probably never meet (even in social networks), I have received words of support and encouragement from people I look up to. Environment activists, musicians, my favorite authors and most importantly my friends. And occasionally and very rarely (it sounds rather ungrateful, but they need to take the blame for not understanding me even when I tried to communicate and they were adamant to rather hold on to the words and criticisms of “other people” around them) my parents. And also from my little brother. This dude is too young to understand my woes, but he is always there for me.

A human being (even the deranged ones like me) needs some love (no matter how hard I try to deny it) to survive. Not necessarily it has to come from a “romantic interest”. But some love is necessary. Even Voldemort had a strange variety of love, his love for power (well, yes, I know it’s unhealthy in so many levels, but a love is a love). And yes, I ship him with Bellatrix (even though it’s one sided 😛 ). And most importantly, even Voldy the Moldy  loved himself.

And so should I. I believe along with the love I receive from my friends, family and strangers – this self love that I’ve got for myself was (is) critical for my survival. I love myself. And it is so important, and I confess, it is a hard thing to do.

Especially if you are the person you never wanted to be. I never wanted to be a mess I am right now. According to the plan I had for myself when I enrolled in engineering bachelors, I should be doing my PhD right now and at this moment would be crying like a baby while working on my PhD materials and not writing this blog. But clearly I failed myself. And I hate myself for being such a stupid. I was defeated in the first round of “adulthood”!

But still, in the end of the day, I feel like I still have reasons to love myself. I still have something good inside me. A fire. An intention to rise from the ashes and do something productive and even if not like Barry Allen, then slowly working on the mistakes and achieving my goals past deadline.

Hey, this is my life! My ultimate deadlines to fulfill my jobs is the day when I am truly dead. I better cut myself some slacks and give a chance.

I better love myself. Like Hozier sang in Arsonist’s Lullaby. I should not kill the fire inside me. It’s important.

And no matter how hard it is for me to accept my mistakes, if I believe there is some good inside me. I must love myself. Because I deserve it.

So, here’s to love. All kinds of love. The couples, the families, the siblings, the strangers, the icons and idols, the pets and the nature – let’s celebrate the awesomeness of love with all of them. Even if some of them refuse to love you for who you are (well of course as long as you are not harming anyone by “being yourself”),  let’s ignore their negativity and assimilate with the positive vibes the rest to diversify the wounds.

Well, this blog was really incoherent (ain’t that my style?). However, the bottom line is. Never stop loving yourself for the person you are. You might want to change yourself for better, when you truly feel like it. Either way, keep on loving yourself for who you are right now and the good things about yourself for the person who you were in past. Because charity begins at home. And you are your first home.

This one is for love. All kinds of it!

Parting Words (or are they?)

I must be really desperate to blog like this. I was getting ready for work, but I just could NOT.

The overwhelming urge of “not existing” is making me confused. I am angry, sad and perplexed. I just want to stop existing right now. I am so mad!

Granted that I have limitations. Granted that I am a huge procrastinator and deserve nothing good. But you must know, I am not okay. I cannot bring myself to do things because I am so winded up and I honestly don’t know how to unwind myself.

I probably deserve stuff like these. I probably deserve hurtful “tough love” from my parents the moment I wake up (late, because I cannot sleep at night). I probably don’t deserve a positive environment that will help me to have believe in myself and not think of impending failure before trying something big and drastic. I probably don’t deserve any of those.

So what can I do? I think I can do a heck lot of things other than crying like a water fountain and blogging about it. But that is what I am doing right now. Even penning down a suicide note would be more productive. Because I feel very strongly to kill myself.

I might as well kill myself, if I cannot defend my rights, if I cannot defend my dignity and if I cannot work hard enough to achieve things  that I want to achieve. Because if I can’t DO WHAT I WANT TO DO, I MIGHT AS WELL NOT EXIST. And being emotionally shattered and all the mental health issues are NO EXCUSES. I was not born with such privileges. Mental healthcare is NOT something that I was ever entitled to. Most women from my country are not. They are achieving what they want. And I am lagging behind. I better stop existing.

I’m not sad because nobody hears my voice. I have accepted that a long ago that my voice does not deserve to be heard. BUT I CANNOT ACCEPT THE FACT THAT I DID NOTHING FRUITFUL TO CHANGE IT.

I concede.

I’m going to work. But I don’t hope to come back. I don’t hope to accomplish my goals. I don’t hope to exist.

I could not do the things I wanted to do.

I could do nothing.

I am a failure. And I will take the blame with me.


Metal, Mental Illness and Me: The Good, Bad and Ugly of My Existence

I’m not Canadian, I don’t know if it makes sense but in the spirit of , I have a few things to address.

Well if you know me from my previous blogs, you already know that I am a female of mid 20’s from the backwaters of Bangladesh – where mental illness is a worse taboo than it is in the west. Families treat mental illnesses as “excuses” to avoid responsibilities, and sometimes worse, they think that the therapists/doctors are not good enough and will make it worse so they just won’t let the people suffering to seek help. And yes, my family, a fairly educated (both my parents have graduate degrees from top universities of this country) family littered with doctors, engineers, professors and bureaucrats – have the above said dispositions regarding mental health treatment.

I struggled with lots of mental health issues since puberty. I told my parents about it, they ignored it. Complained that I was reading too much stuff “outside my curriculum” and using these newfound knowledge as an excuse for studying the academic stuff less. When I had a serious breakdown (well it’s like dry heaving of mental breakdown, even I could not let myself go all the way and let others know how horrified I was) right after the first two years of high school (we have a serious public exam after 10th grade), my parents were even more convinced that I was “acting”. They were tired of it and gave up on me (yes, again I’m sounding like that whining, ungrateful git of an offspring I do most of the time), saying I’m tarnishing my own future. My relatives have always been sarcastic towards me since I was a child. Because I was far from a submissive child who liked to please others. I had my own set of values since I was very young and it wasn’t something anybody I knew liked. So I was mocked and laughed at for my interest in art. I was discouraged and scorned sometimes for reading “too much” and not being like the other eight years old girls who were really fascinated about the new frilly dress everyone is talking about. I was seriously threatened for wanting to wear pants instead of dresses (like it has changed any better).

In a nutshell, the more I was growing up, the more resentment I accumulated towards my “relatives”. And as I could do nothing about it or release the resentment in any form, I started avoiding them the best I could. I started making myself scarce from them. Now let me tell you one thing, it is really hard to do that in the close knit South Asian families. Especially for females. So, since the end of the high school to this bloody moment, I am the black sheep of the family who is not just an ungrateful and imprudent git, but also someone who wants to avoid all the responsibility by acting like she got some mental illness.

Actually it’s past that part, now they finally admit I have mental illness and it happened because I distanced myself from my family to whom I should have opened up and talked about my problems (if you already have forgotten what happened when I talked about it, then start reading from the beginning).

And since I am a female in mid to late twenties, now they want me to break my hymen and reproduce vehemently. So they are going above and beyond to convince me to present myself to the suitors and get “hitched”. Which is adding another level of painful anxiety to my already questionable mental health situation, because I have very little plan for conjugal life right now and I am very sensitive regarding it. And they are trying to give heavy doses of “tough love” by repeatedly pestering me with this notion. The other Saturday I almost grazed myself with a kitchen knife, I was so mad, when my mother’s brother’s wife (in other word, an aunt of mine) a relatively “progressive minded” eye surgeon, was telling me to give a “nice and sweet photo of mine” because she found a prospective groom for me who lives in Canada and since I want to go abroad for studying, this is a win win situation for me. It was insulting to me in many levels.

Firstly I was very upset for such objectification and felt insulted. Secondly, my relatives, especially female relatives (including my mother) was accusing for being such an ungrateful daughter who is neglecting one of the most important duties of her life to her parents (which is getting raped by a man I barely knew and making the process legal, in other words marriage forced by family, if not using direct muscle forces but poisonous emotional blackmails). Also, they were upsetting me further using my father’s age and how he is always upset that I don’t want to get “hitched”. And if you must know how much I care for my old man, you can take a peek. I am always way to wary for my father’s well being and they use it as a trump card to convince me to do things I would never agree otherwise. Would you believe if I told you that I am crying like a hedgehog (I don’t know if hedgehogs cry or not) while writing this part?

I live in constant fear of failure, which keeps me away from focusing on things I want to do better. I am always too anxious to do something that I actually try and in the end I mess up. I know how much I need some professional help. But I cannot seek it. Because even if I have a job and a degree, I cannot live on my own. Even if I know I have the abilities to do many things, I can’t because I lose motivation and perspective.


Yes. Metal (the music genre) was a source of comfort for me since I graduated from high school. Judas Priest gave me strength. Manowar absorbed my rage. Kalmah gave me perspective. And Megadeth reassured me that I belong.

Yes. Along with books, and a few close friends to confide in, metal has been the most important part of my survival (well so far I have managed). The music absorbed my pains.

Well, I think, while I ranted and whined, I did not focus on what happened to me (yes, this is how I lose focus). I’m trying to illustrate a few.

Many a night, I get scares. All in a sudden I’m dead scared by a premonition of something unpleasant happening to my family (my parents and baby brother) and this eats me inside out. Well it gets worse now. Often I get these unpleasant thoughts while I’m working or even in my evening MBA classes.

I have developed severe trust issues and extreme sensitivities towards my relatives. I feel genuinely vulnerable around them and when I talk about it to them they make it even more miserable for me. I was unable to eat anything for almost 24 hours after that phone call my aunt made and when my mom accused me for being ungrateful.

I also get depressed pretty easily for not getting to accomplish my goals. I cannot put myself together and start trying again with renewed spirit because every time I attempt to start over the previous strings of recent failures hit me like a bus. So I’m in an infinite loop of failure and depression right now. No breaking conditions yet (Until I listen to this (it absorbs some of the darkness)) 😥

I have become the shell of a person I was before. Yes, I take responsibility of letting this happen to me. But even felons get a chance. I surely deserve some professional help. I know my parents are still here for me. And I hope they will understand my struggles, if not today, then sometimes soon. At least I am hoping so. I am hoping really hard that they would finally understand why I cannot stand the other people around me. They would finally understand that I am not making excuses to escape responsibilities.

And I am more than just grateful to the few friends I have who have always been by my side and have listened to laments like this all the time. They give me hope and courage that I am going to survive this. To all the YouTube channels that distract me from these abominable things (gotta write a separate blog to express my gratefulness for these channels again). And also metal music.

Though I am again out of context, I want to appreciate metal once more.

If this was the story of that famous movie, then metal is the good, my mental struggles is the bad and I am the ugly. The movie is still going on. Though I still think I haven’t appreciated how much metal music works as the balm to alleviate the pain I suffer often due to these struggles, I can say one thing, it keeps the ember of hope inside me, the aspirations inside me aflame. Metal is my steppingstone. It reassures me that there are people who also talk about the crises I believe exist, there are people, who, through their music and words, are there to give me the offline moral support I need to get through.

Metal assures that I am not alone, along with my friends.

What more can I ask for from a music genre?

That’s all I’ve got for . Even though I’m not a Canadian, I decided to talk. I decided to open up. Because that’s all I can do. I’m sorry if I grossed you out.

Marching from my tiny room: Almost a day later!

The Women’s march movement strikes a chord of my soul. And since people from all seven continents (yes, including Antarctica) have participated in it, I thought there is a chance for me to speak my mind as well. Actually I wanted to vlog about this, but that would be hell of a messy and out of context boring video. So here you go.

I strongly believe (though it might just be my assumption), as human beings, our common goals for participating to this movement is making sure that we, both men and women, have the right to exercise our authority over our body and soul and to speak our mind and get paid for our work equally regardless our gender, race, color and religion.

Well, I believe this protest is against the common evil figure, the real agents of discrimination, who are always finding one way or another to rob these rights off from us. They are really creative, sometimes they are offending us right in our faces (e.g.: In KSA, they won’t let females drive cars or how they will charge women for not covering their head in public, the pay gap in countries around the world and what not) and sometimes they are really subtle, they cajole us into believing the faux complements they pay to give up our rights and mess with our choices (“Oh, you are a rather organized woman! You will do way better in desk and leave the field duties to us messy men!” (of course that would result in a smaller figure in paycheck than the “messy men”)).

These Trumps, Jawahiris and Saudi Monarchs are just a few faces. They will come and go. But the notion remained unchanged. As human beings, regardless our gender (yes, that is a remainder I always want to mention), our common enemy is the notion and not just the people who are carrying it.

Well, Trump LITERALLY is not my president, I don’t live in KSA, I am free to drive if I have a driver’s license, thankfully IS haven’t occupied our country – i) but are my rights as a human being is exercised?
ii) Do we get equal pay?
iii) Are we free from the objectification of women?
iv) Are we not judged for the outfits we choose?
v) Are all of us accepted to our families, society and country for our orientations?
vi) Are we not judged for the choices we make regarding our lives even if they are not “common” in our societal practice?
vii) Are we not harassed in our workplace anymore?

In case you are wondering, the answer is still NO. A huge, red, block letter no. Make that a 20 feet by 15 feet sign.

Let’s get a little personal here (actually a lot personal), I come from a middle class, Muslim, South Asian family. College education and employment are considered imperative for both male and female members in our family. From the surface, it can be easily assumed that a very peaceful equality exists (well, comparing to lot other families around, it is an advancement). But I can assure you it is not the same. Being “different” from “socially acceptable standards” is penalized with insults, threats and interventions. Having different opinions regarding life is considered as ungratefulness towards the parents, speaking own mind (well, if it contradicts the “tradition”, even if does not harm anyone) is almost a sin. So, the life of a woman in mid 20’s in families like mine, is really a challenge.

The other day, friend shared a screenshot of her facebook chat log with another friend. My friend was lamenting how weak and naive she feels for all the familial and societal pressure and not being able to do much (she is a chemical engineer, working in a rather good organization) about it and her friend replied, “You wake up every morning as a 20 something, girl from a South Asian Muslim family, you are by default strong”.

I know this is getting ultra personal, but I assert what my friend’s friend said. We are stronger by default. The crass treatment we receive from our society, family and culture has toughened us up. But even this cannot save our lives. Literally. We are still being assaulted, abused, murdered – every single day. Thanks to these evil forces.

I am NOT going to speak ill of the religion of my family (and also mine), but the cultural practice of it has changed dramatically in last decade. This might sound a bit off track since I am talking about women’s right here, but believe me, it makes sense in the end.

Well, the “hijab”, that piece of cloth covering a woman’s head has hardly been a part of our culture. I remember, when we were young, Hijab was a foreign concept to us, we would only see women in “hijab” in Iranian movies, when those were shown to our national television sometimes. Well, some women in our country would wear burqa, the long loose robe (usually black), and separate hooded veil for head, which could be tied using a ribbon down the chin. And generally women with strong religious belief (if not choosing to wear burqa) would cover their hair with the drape of their saree or that piece of cloth they wear over their chest (Orna/Dopatta) along with Kameez ( a long dress, usually with slits in two sides) and Salwar (trousers).

Until of course, around 9/11 (see, US reference). Well, that’s too specific. Well, let’s say, since the end of 90s. Since then the “hijab” scarves slowly made their way in our general culture. If you’re wondering, this is middle eastern influence, you’re wrong. The influence flew here from “progressive western countries”. I have seen many women from US, Canada and UK introducing these headscarves to the women around us. My mom had like a stack of headscarves as gift from many family friends of ours who live in UK. In school when I was younger I would see at most ten girls among  the hundred and fifty seniors wearing headscarves/burqa. When I was in sixth grade only four girls would wear headscarves and only one of them wore burqa. And it stayed almost the same till we were seniors. But now things have changed dramatically. The percentage of hijab wearing girls has increased really fast. The other day, I was passing by a military ran school (I went to one as well), I was startled to see that all the girls in front of the gate were tucked in hijab. I almost thought their uniform has changed, then I noticed one girl who wasn’t wearing hijab.

At this point, if you think I have started an anti hijab rant in the name of articulating women’s right, I only have myself to blame. I think I tend to express my opinions in such way that it easily misleads people into making different conclusions. Sorry about that. But believe me, it has nothing to do with anti hijab rant. I am NOT AGAINST HIJAB. I am against the way it was injected into our culture.

I have seen girls and women around me taking refuge in hijab when they were disappointed, horrified or threatened. My aunt, a then college lecturer (now a PhD student, living abroad), started wearing hijab when she broke up with her boyfriend. A friend of mine started wearing it when she was going through a very bad academic and family situations, another aunt started it when she miscarried her first child. Because they could not get moral support from the people around them. They were blamed for the mistakes (!!) they made and therefore they thought if they start wearing hijab, this would be the start of a new chapter of their lives, they would be forgiven for their wrongdoings (!!) and start over. Do notice that, I have only taken examples from the people I know, I have seen them suffering through their dark times, I know their stories. Though I tried to offer my support (which I did), but the societal expectations marred their hopes. My cousin, a medical student wears burqa since she was 11. Because that is the only defense mechanism she thought would work on the catcallers and her parents, both doctors, did nothing to change that. Again, I am saying, I AM NOT AGAINST WEARING HIJAB! I am against the reasons why girls are choosing hijab now. I am against the idea that girls are taking up hijab to be accepted socially. Which is weird because this “hijab accelerates social acceptance” is a very new thing, like the H1N1/09 virus! And people of our culture were easily gullible to it because it had a hint of religious acceptance in it.

And this is my point, I am not going to debate whether the religions are against the rights of women, I am against the social practice of using religion as a weapon to confound women into giving up their rights.

You might question, what is the connection between a mere piece of cloth on head and the women’s right? Isn’t women’s right (and in broader sense human rights) is all about having the authority of choosing whatever people (in this case, women) decide to do with their body and mind?

You have every right to ask those questions. And I have an answer for you.  It is not about a mere piece of cloth. This mere piece of cloth is a litmus paper that showed how distant and less than supportive people are to the women in general that once they found a piece of cloth would make them more socially acceptable, they took it up. I don’t think religious submission has much to do with it, because women have always been draping their saree or orna/dopatta to cover their head when they felt such strong spiritual submission to the higher power.

Fine, this is a cultural shift, but how is it violating women’s right?

Very legitimate question. Well, since women are indirectly forced to take up something, even if no direct law (like there is in KSA) is enforced, how is that not violation of right? Let’s say there are 100 women in this country who wear Hijab and 99 of them do it willingly due to their spiritual submission to higher power and only one does it to be accepted socially, to be supported and comforted for being a human being in distress. Even then it is a violation of right to me. Though she is choosing to do this, but she did not have to. We don’t need to “customize” people to let them have our support. As long as any human being is not offending or harming another person, there is reason to “customize” them to accept them among us, no matter how different they are from us. I believe  this Women’s march agrees with this notion.

I think I spent too much time talking about a recent trend in our country. I am again sorry about that. I could have focused on how females are being discriminated from the day their parents are getting the ultra-sonography report (and if they don’t get any, then since the day they are born), I could have focused on how teachers often discouraging girls, classmates making fun of the girls if they are doing better than them, saying teachers are going easy on them for they’re girls, how the other females around them are also pulling their legs when any girl wants to attempt anything beyond the social standards set from them, how their families would not support their endeavors and dreams if they are not conventional, how they are under-valued at work, how they are abused each and every day in more than one ways.


We have so much to do, to fight for. As a South Asian female of mid 20s, these are the things I demand from the people around us:

  1. To be inclusive of people different from them, to be inclusive of opinions different from theirs. AS LONG AS IT IS NOT HARMING ANY HARMLESS PEOPLE.
  2. Regardless of gender, letting people decide whatever they want to do with their body and how they legally want to live their lives.
  3. Shed the stereotyping notions. The “good girl”, “bad girl”, “macho man”, “lesser man” and “wuss” are not our thing to decide. As long as they are not harming other people or shoving their opinion in other individual’s throats, a human should not be judged based on how they lead their life.
  4. (If my words regarding hijab did not do the thing, then this might lure all the radical terrorists to my head ) Leave LGBTQ people alone! If you’re not a member of LGBTQ community, then it is none of your headache what they are doing with their lives (well, unless they are harming you (you can (and you should) seek legal support if that is the case)), even if according to your belief, they are sinning, they will answer for it, it is none of your business anyway. In all seriousness, as a pious human being, you must have better things to do with your precious life.
  5. Stop having cranial expectations from people based on their gender and demographic. Stop expecting women to be weak at science and math and men to be weak at literature and communication! It’s 2017! For heaven’s sake! STOP!
  6. Get accustomed to be proven wrong. Anybody can be at fault, stop irrational rantings when you are proven wrong. It’s okay to be proven wrong. (See, that is why we need to be inclusive, imaging if you were wrong and to seek forgiveness or comfort you’d have to “dress up”, how would you feel then?)
  7. Equal paycheck. Not based on gender or race, we want paychecks based on our performance and work ethic.
  8. Let fathers be a part of the children’s life. Yes, this might sound weird, but this is the truth. Still now, almost at the end of second decade of this millennial, fathers are still not expected to be actively involved in rearing a child. Many men are breaking the mold, but the road is not smooth for them either. I once talked about how important their inclusion is to the life of their children.
  9. Stop ridiculing mental illness as trivial matters (believe it or not, this issue is very much tied to women’s rights, if not anywhere else, then at least where I live (having mental illness is already a taboo, seeking help for it is even more difficult, especially for women, families would not let them seek professional help as they think their reputation is on the line if a girl in the family has mental illness.))
  10. Stop objectifying human beings, especially women! And having “standards” for them.

As a living human being of 21st century, as a person with utmost respect for all the religions, races and regions of the earth, as a woman, a daughter, a sister (and a girl-brother) and a friend – I want these demands of mine to be heard. I strongly believe these are the demands of a lot of people around us. I believe in protests as much as I believe in level headed discussions. Let’s not leave anyone behind, let’s not discard people because they are different, let’s reason and include people even if they are different from us as long as they are not offending us. LET’S PENALIZE THOSE WHO ARE OFFENSIVE TO THE HARMLESS PEOPLE AND OTHER LIVING BEINGS NO MATTER HOW CLOSELY TIED TO US OR SIMILAR TO US. Let’s establish trust in diversity once again, let people know that, we will  welcome people even if they are different but we will not tolerate their misconducts if they offend the harmless people taking them for granted, considering inclusiveness as a weakness of ours.



Let’s make the world inclusive (again? (or maybe for the first time? (I’m not sure, didn’t get much chance to study the world history))).

An Open Letter to My Dearest Mother/My Precious Uterus

Dear Mom,

I know you are not reading this, and you never will. Because you don’t even know that I blog, because it scares the shit out of you after all those blogger killings happening in our beloved country.

But that’s the basis of it all.

Are you worried about me mom? Think before you answer. Are you worried about ME? Or it’s just MY UTERUS?

If I showed you this writing, you will scoff away and say how could I be so irrational and ungrateful! How such horrific ideas got in my mind!

You have the answers to these all. And the answers come from the question I asked.

If you were honest, the answer should have been NO.

You don’t love me. You never did. But you love my uterus. You love me as your “daughter” because I carry a uterus, the baby making device. Sounds gross and inappropriate?

Then tell me, why do you and your husband (my beloved father) and the rest of your immaculate relatives constantly force me to focus on and eventually commit to things that I don’t want to, IN THE NAME OF FERTILITY, IT THE NAME OF THE “PRODUCTIVITY” OF MY UTERUS? Since I was born, you loved me because I will someday fulfill your dream of becoming someone like you who will use their uterus and give birth to another human being and at the same time be a great provider to that human being, its family and have a successful career “on the side”. Yes, that is what you thought, you might want to disagree and say “I only wanted the best for you and still do.”


Your love for me was conditional. Just like your mother’s love for you was. And her mothers for her. You are “trained” to love your daughters for that certain organ they have, not for the person they are. Because if you did, then you would not be constantly angry, sad and frustrated with me for the decision of not participating in the “baby making” race. For not wanting to be a part of the marital rituals and whatsoever.

Those ideas shock you, scare you. Because those do not go with the “plans” you had for me. The plan of being a breeder, a producer of human life.

I am not saying that procreation is bad. It is a wonderful thing! But not all the wonderful things are for everyone. No matter how much you agree with that part, according to you this “wonderful thing” should be for everyone. Because, otherwise, according to you, my life has no purpose. Otherwise, I will become a sad cat lady in ten years and will be a burden to everyone. I will become someone everyone will want to avoid and will have no time for.


Because you are willing to make it so. You are only willing to love and support me if I  have a husband and a baby in the “given time”. You are only willing to stand by me and have my back if I’m married, with children. Only then you and your beloved family is willing to “include” me. Otherwise, you vow to make me feel miserable, you will want to make me feel that “I was wrong” even if when I wasn’t. You will want to implant seeds of guilt, frustration and loneliness. You will support an environment that will be harsh and unappreciative and coax me to isolate myself and then you will rub it on my face that how my “bad decision” has got me here. ALL OF THESE BECAUSE I CHOSE NOT TO PROCREATE.


So, no matter how you want to argue, how you want to remind me of the sleepless nights you have spent when I was ill, how much money you have invested in my education, it was never for me. It was for my uterus. You just wanted a “better future” for the carrier of the uterus that you gave birth to.

I am sorry if this hurts, infuriates or irritates you. But I have no other logical explanation for your never ending irritation with my life choices. Your mask of “tolerance” during my presence often drops and I can see you simply wish I was someone else. But I cannot be someone else.

I wish I was never born.

Long live South Asian patriarchy! Long live procreation! Long live hypocritic aunts with PhD, who loathe women in 20’s with no husband and children!

I invite you all to tie me up to stakes and burn me the way your beloved ancestors would do.

Even I don’t want this life!


The good for nothing uterus bearer/The girl you call your daughter