With a heavy heart and an open mind, I bid farewell to blogging. It had to be done sooner or later. I decided to switch to hard copy journal entries because more than writing, I enjoy seeing words and feelings on paper. I also felt that blogging all of a sudden turned into something I did for other people and not really for myself. I filter ou certain thoughts or have to explain something in detail and it's all a bit tooo tedious. I have however, loved my blog journey. I met so many cool people (you know who you are!) and I've definitely gotten closer to others. But unfortunately, I am not a tech person to begin with, and along with my crazy hectic life, there's no space for editing my thoughts. However, I will keep in touch with all you crazy bloggers and keep commenting on my favorite posts. Thanks for all the comments and love so far! With that I bid thee adieu!

I love farmers markets! Everything is fresh, organic and sooo healthy. Since I live in podunk, the farmers market comes to town about four times a year and I attended one this past weekend. Everything was so cheap! Not only that, the fruits are sweeter than sugar and the milk creamier than...well...cream. And the best part? The seafood! I heart open fish markets times a hundred. I spend no less than two hours at the Fulton Fish market every time I visit NYC and it's the highlight of my trip. Some of you are totally raising your eyebrows at this post right now. I can't help I love produce! :)

So I buy my fresh produce and come home to pouring rain, which to me is the perfect day. As I sat munching my fruits I realized that I had just spent a fun six hours by myself. To me, this is some sort of a revelation because I have never really thought about it. Some people can't stand being alone and have to be surrounded by people whereas some people are homebodies who would rather be alone. I'm somewhat in the middle. I love being surrounded by people I love but I've realized that I can have just as much fun with myself. I think this is a good thing because often (especially after coming out of a relationship or enduring trauma) we rely on others support and companionship and have to sort of weened out of it. Solitude at that point is an unfathomable thing and it leaves you to your thoughts, which in some people's opinion can't be good. As I did my shopping today I sorted through my thoughts (and talked to myself a little. Don't you do it too?) and thoroughly enjoyed it. It makes me feel somewhat 'grown-up.' I feel that I can handle my thoughts and deal with what comes my way logically by myself without having to rely on a man.

Okay this is kind of big for me because though I am very confident about my own decisions, I feel that sometimes people's opinion has a big influence on me. Not to say that I always try to please people, but I feel that if I don't oblige I may come off as big headed or opinionated. This lack of control, rather wishy-washy control makes me susceptible to being walked all over; especially in a relationship with a man. So for me, spending time with myself and actually enjoying it is a big deal. Hopefully I don't get tired of myself soon. :)

Yes, I am back! In fact I hadn’t really gone anywhere per se, but work has taken me to a whole new level and free time to me is like heaven, which I use, to catch up on much needed sleeeep! I promise to keep up the frequency of my blogging, but you know, I have to say how special I feel when people tell me they can’t wait to read my next post. I heart you people. :)

This summer has been crazy busy for me. I’ve wanted to do so many things but I can’t seem to find the time for it. I intended to go to DC (my future home for the next semester, and maybe longer) and stay with a fellow sweetheart blogger, but unfortunately my crappy work won’t give me off and frankly I need the money. I tried to unwind at the beach a few weekends back and even then I had random thoughts floating through my head, which didn’t completely let me relax. Now that I think about it, that’s a weird tendency I have. Whether it’s during yoga, meditation, or even prayer, I can’t completely rid my mind of thoughts. I always have nebulous thoughts running though my head even at the most random of moments.

The sucky part of working a lot is that I also live in a really small city. It’s one thing working a lot and living in NYC where you can go for drinks afterwards or even walking around by yourself. Here in NC, especially where I live, post working hours = going to the local bar that is infested with jobless men and pretentious high school kids and walking around town is out of the question unless you want to show off a bullet mark that you got during a routine drive-by. So I’m left to reading (which I love anyway!) and cooking/eating, healthy most of time but not always. I’m experimenting with all kinds of recipes and I really want an opportunity for someone to be my lab rat. I’m also trying to work out (keyword: trying) and shape up for my upcoming trip to California. So far so good; I don’t think I’ll be sporting a six-pack but that’s all right. I also tried…dating.

Ahh, this is such a slippery slope for me. It’s not like I don’t get dates, I get plenty but whaddaya call em, standards? Yeah…I perhaps have too many of those. But I have to say that I try to be open because when you meet the right person, all those standards fly out of the window and then you just seem like a hypocrite for preaching and vowing to date by these standards. I have so many friends who swear that they will only date a doctor or lawyer, but then meet a really cute marketing consultant and all of a sudden they are blinded by love (lust?).

But I digress. I was reading Arch's post the other day which was about her adventures in NYC and coming across the tendencies of many new york city women dating older men. I continue questioning this phenomenon throughout my free time because frankly I live it. I know that this is a widely accepted notion in the north; however here in the south, people aren’t very accepting of it, including my parents. Of course they won’t sneer at you openly but you can pretty much tell. My parents are an awesome blend of both traditional Hindu culture and liberal American thinking. I’ve been allowed to openly date whom I please (as long as he’s Indian, but come on—they’re Indian too!) but I doubt they would object if I brought home an American as long as he treated me well, of course. They don’t however understand my attraction to older men. Maybe I should be clear. When I say ‘older men’ I mean between the ages of 25-28. Maybe 29 or 30 depending on the circumstances, but generally I wouldn’t.

Even as a kid, I never really understood why a dichotomy was considered between ages. When a person introduces him/herself and states his age, which could be considerably greater than mine, I don’t think “hmm, now should I befriend this person even though he was born during the Nixon era and I during the Bush?” I befriend a person based on compatibility, intellect, and easy going-ness among other things. To me, age is something that I may or even may not look at. I think that people deserve the benefit of the doubt that they have the capability to carry on a sound conversation with me regardless of age. Various circumstances in people’s lives could ensure early maturity. Also women mature faster than men, so a woman of my age could possibly more mature than a man of the same age.

This goes for dating too. Like I stated to my friend, I’m stuck in a dating limbo. The men I’m attracted to are wary of my age, yet (most) of the men that I ‘should’ be dating who are closer to my age either don’t seem to have anything worthy to say. This combined with my preposterous pickiness ensures that I will be single for a long time. Don’t get me wrong, I love being single. I think that though I am at an age that searches for ‘the college sweetheart you hope to marry’ but I am in no rush for that. I feel very secure about my independence, but I also think that there should be a balance between one’s professional/school life and their personal love life. Right now for me, there is no balance.

I once was interested in a guy who after months of cooing and dropping hints finally took me on a date. During the conversation, I asked him why it had taken him so long to ask me out to which he replied, “Well, I have to say that I really wanted to take you out but one thing, your age, got in the way.” He said that it wouldn’t have made a difference if I was 21 and he was 27, but it seems weird if I’m 19 (almost 20) and he’s 25. That doesn’t even make sense to me! He claimed that when he first met me, my personality struck him as of that a 23 year old, but my stating I was 19 led him to shock and he was unsure of what people would think. Surely enough, I made sure there was no second date but the thought still bothers me.

We see older man-younger women relationships throughout pop culture. Mr. Big and Carrie from SATC, Richard and Monica from Friends, Scarlett Johannson and Bill Murray in Lost in Translation, etc. Of course things like a timeline for marriage, kids, etc. are foreseen tribulations that come up for discussion, but hey, I’m not thinking about that right now. Maybe that’s part of the problem? I have tried explaining to my parents numerous times about this tendency of mine and they’ve pretty much given up. My point is, does age really matter? I believe it does to an extent, but is an age difference less than 10 years a reason for concern? Isn’t conversation, intellect, and maturity parameters by which a person’s date-ability/friend-ability should be determined?

I have gone on dates with two men in New York City, both American and both 25 who overlooked the fact that I was 19. And of course, you clearly have to be able to distinguish between the creeps and the normal people (or those who remotely seem like it). However when I was interested in older Indian men, it all of a sudden seems that age is a huge deal. What would our parents/friends say? At this point I was boggled. I’m sorry, are they obligated to state an opinion on this? Okay, maybe they’re obligated to state an opinion, but are you obligated to comply? And how much of a difference really exists between a five-six year age gap? The one thing though that sends me ticking is people referring to me as a ‘minor.’ I’m a minor, but at least I know the difference between “you’re” and “your.”

My first post back and I’ve written a story. It may sound like it but I’m not upset or even perturbed. I’m more baffled and looking for a explanation at why age matters so much to people. People of all ages can be cool, come on you know that! Don’t discriminate. :D

I'm a weird sleeper. First of all, I'm like a bear. A five-foot nine inch, 120 pound bear. I don't care where I'm sleeping, my legs are all over the place and I love to sleep on my stomach with my legs over either a person or a pillow. Men seem to hate this however. Or maybe it's the fact that I kick in my sleep. Or the fact that I have long, drawn out conversations at 3 am. Yes. I am a horrible sleeping partner. I pity the man who marries and has to share a bed with me for the rest of his life.

I also have really bizzare dreams. I know dreams are some kind of metaphor for, god knows what, but no really, I have bizzare and morbid dreams. And not only that, whenever I do dream I'm always half awake so if it's a dream about me getting shot or something I know it's a dream and try to wake myself up, but I can't and I feel the pain. I sometimes wonder if I need to talk to someone about this. I also can never remember what I feel after I feel it. Lately I've been having dreams about terrorists. It must be the effect of staying up and watching Inside 911 on the National Geographic channel three months ago. Damnit! Anyway, in each of my dreams I'm travelling someplace and all of a sudden these shootouts start to occur. Everyone in the dream (sans the terrorists) are people I know and I see them getting trying to run and getting shot down. I'm the only one who somehow manages to remain calm and find a spot to hide until the terrorists are gone and then the dream is over. Last night, it was something like that only my sister was with me. As soon as the terrorists started shooting, I hid my sister under my burkha (the covers that muslim women wear), and god knows why I was wearing one since I'm a hindu, and hide in the car. I get on top of my sister and protect her while the people outside are shooting. It somewhat led me to think that I'm not as much of an asshole to her as I think I am. I shall explain.

I am hardly the epitome of a 'cool' sister. My younger sister is around 5 years younger than me and we're the opposite ends of the spectrum personality wise. She's the good grade getter, mommy's girl who doesn't lie, and at her age I was always the one who rebelled against authority, and got good grades, but definitely lived the way I wanted to. Hence, we never got along because I always made her do things for me she never wanted to do. At this point in my life, I'm in college and away, which ironically brought us a bit closer, but I wouldn't say that we share secrets or that I tell her about any personal aspect of my life. But even when I was in high school, we had physical fights and I always swore that having a younger sister was some kind of a sugar coated curse that god had thrown at me. She's cool now, but entering a stage of life I just exited. Even though I would love to show her how to shave her legs, or talk about how to get guys, I cringe everytime I do. I don't have that sisterly gene in me that I should. I'm so comfortable with everyone, even strangers as opposed to my own sister. It's not even like we fight. Honestly, I don't myself understand what the problem is. I simply feel awkward having a conversation with my only sister. Oy. I think I would be a better younger sister than I am an older one.

How did I manage to go from dreams to being a horrible sister?

I don't know why I'm writing this out for everyone to read, but I feel like I have no more reservations about it. Not after reading this. Sexually, India is a unique place. Ancient India was liberal and celebrated sexual creativity, a la The Kamasutra. Then, society decided that sex was taboo and the topic became very subdued. As I child, I remember growing up and never ever engaging in a conversation about sex or even safe sex for that matter. It was left up to each child to figure it out for themselves, and if they didn’t, they would find out the night of their wedding. However, today Indian media portrays sex everywhere; almost like society is making up for all those years of being sexually repressed. Television and movies have no reservations against the cast stripping down and filming intimate scenes. Celebrities promote western fashion where everything is shorter, tighter, and cleavage. Families cannot restrict their children from being influenced and they condone sexual freedom. A few years back it used to be that children depended much more on the parents but the recent wave of employment has made the youth much more independent and freethinking. Honestly, this hide and seek method of talking about sex just doesn’t cut it. People are confused! Girls engage in promiscuity for it is the new hot thing, yet they cannot deal with the pressures of pregnancy and perhaps even their depreciating familial reputation, which leads them to commit suicide. Of course, men get away clean handed so there is no question of debate there. Safe sex is not widely practiced and men, well, that’s what the topic of my blog is today. Indian men can get sex wherever they damn well please. If the girl is willing, then it’s their lucky day. But “consensual sex” is words that do not exist in the vocabulary of most men in rural and alarmingly urban Indian men. They get confused about the fact that girls must agree before sex and deal with the repercussions of post coital consequences.

For those who have grown up in India, especially the big cities, walk around in the city by oneself at a young age is no big thing. However, that day I was walking with my mother and baby sister. It was in the late evening and shops were closing down, but it was not dark by any means. Streetlights illuminated every corner of the city and there were people everywhere. You were as safe as you could be. We were walking on a bridge and down the stairs of it. My mom held my sister in her arms as she was tired and walked ahead of me and told me to hurry up. I must have been playing around and jumping on the stairs when a man ran into me. I thought it must have been honest mistake but within those 20 seconds of running into me and apologizing, I felt him fondle my breasts. I was short, but I was well endowed as a pre-pubescent kid. My mom hadn’t seen me and I didn’t think much of it but ran to catch up to her. We walked over the railway tracks and on to the secluded street and my mom asked me to stand right behind her and hold her purse. As I was walking along the edge of the road, there was a car parked. I saw the same man who had fondled me minutes ago walking up the street. I panicked and thought he had come back to do something to my mom. Before I knew it, he squeezed between the car and me and within the few seconds, this time he fingered me through my skirt. Again, my mom was bound by my baby sister and didn’t notice this but I turned around to get a good look at the guy who then turned around and smiled at me. I smiled back not knowing what else to do. When I got home I panicked. I had to be pregnant. How else does one get pregnant? What would I do now? Do I tell someone? Would anyone be able to tell if I hid it? I was bombarded with questions and I couldn’t sleep for days. Finally I told my mom what had happened. She listened and told me to tell her if it ever happened again explaining that I cannot get pregnant just because of that. I was eleven.

Few weeks later, I went to catch the newest blockbuster Hollywood release, Titanic. My mother placed my sister between herself and me and I sat next to what looked like two college boys. I had worn my new shorts that were white with red stripes and felt very “American.” During the sex scene, I kept feeling the boy’s hand next to me creeping into the pocket of my shorts. Nothing happened, because I kept squirming and I would feel his hand taken aback. My mom then made me switch seats with my sister for some odd reason despite my opposition. Finally she gave in and sat in the spot where I was being felt up. When she realized what was going on, because the idiot decided that he could play the game with a female adult, she picked us up and we left. We never spoke about it again and I wonder if she even remembers it.

After reading Priya's story, I realized that it took immense guts for her to come out with that and talk about it and I commend her for it. There are many priests in India who use their status and holiness to extract sexual favors from young girls everyday. Though society will protect these horrific people for the fear of tainting the name of Hinduism, they will not let talk to their children about safe sex. We put religious figures up on a pedestal and refuse to admit that something is wrong with the picture. We also let religion get in the way of letting us deciding what is right and wrong. Perhaps we even use religion as a crutch for blind faith. Whatever it is, as long as Indian society admits that it is built on some faulty and pretentious foundations, it is reason enough to begin resurrecting a more liberal method of thinking. Krops Priya! :)

Funny enough I read this while browsing e-newspapers today:

http://www.dnaindia.com/report.asp?newsid=1098190

I've been away for a while on an undergraduate research colloquim where blogging was impossible, but comment checking between conferences was highly needed to keep me sane. I took, for some odd reason perhaps to prove to myself something, 26 credit hours of classes this past semester. It was pure, unadulterated hell. I will never ever do it again. But I'm ahead now, so it's fine. I also passed out with a 4.0 which was reason enough to throw back a few this past weekend. I also got awesome news. I had applied for numerous internships in NYC for the summer with plans to sublet, but I hate competition. Okay okay, I thrive on it but due the the fact that I'm an underclassman, I got rejected. I've decided to slog away my summer at a law firm doing research and citing for overpaid attorneys that underpay me. Ha.

I did however, score a highly competitve internship in Washington D.C for the fall of 2007. I'm going to be working with either internal communications at the White House or working with a non-profit organization known as My Sister's Place which is a safe haven for battered and abused women. I will be relocating to D.C for the fall semester and I'm totally psyched about it. I've been stuck in bumfuck North Carolina for the past four years and I'm so ready to leave. Don't get me wrong, North Carolina is beautiful, but geriatric. I am also a curse to the south. Literally, I despise everything about it. The small towns, the slow life, the accent, the food however, is fabulous as are the people. At this point in my life though I belong in a walkable city where the nearest bar is a block down and the closest library is within walking distance. After I got the internship, my parents also told me that they were relocating to D.C. because my dad got a job there! I decided it was a sign and I'm transferring schools. Georgetown and American are great universities and I'm considerng them both and doing my research at this point. I'm so ready to move on to this great point in my life.

I am a calculated risk taker. I weigh every aspect of my life and make sure that it is fully considered before I make a decision. I decided to wikipedia D.C. since I've been there only a handful times and don't really remember it. Then something alarming caught my eye. In the 90's, D.C. was known as th murder capital of the USA! I'm going to be staying in a relatively safe area of DC but still, this is freaky. Maybe I should explain why this scares me. This is very, very unusual to me and I don't know why or when I got to the point where I started thinking this way. I'm like deathly scared of death. Yeah who isn't. But I'm abnormally scared of it. I don't take chances and make decisions based on if I can get hurt or not. It's not like I'm scared of the pain or anything, it's the idea of not existing anymore. There's nothing in the world that scares me more than that. I have no phobias or anything except this. I fear for my family, friends, myself, even strangers. I pressure my mom to get tested for breast cancer, freak out about drinking and driving, always make sure I eat right and exercise right, almost like I control everything that I can physically control, then of course fate has it's hand. The thought of living in a city where there is so many homicides simply freaks me out. This isn't going to stop me from moving, but it does make me extra cautionary when going out alone etc. I hate that taking such a big step for me is going to be bound with so many fears.

Apart from all the depressing stuff, I'm looking so forward to making my transition into city life. I love farmers markets, and fresh seafood shops, and outdoor events, book clubs, running teams, and museum seminars and I can't wait to soak all that in. The best part? I'm 3-4 hours away from the most awesome place in the world, NYC baby!! Rest assured I will be taking monthly trips to the Mecca. If anyone has any advice about D.C or any hepful info. please please help me out. And all of your drop me a line if you're ever in DC! And if you're not in DC, visit! :)

I've sit here and try to think about what I want to write. I'm coming up with...nothing. Then again it's almost 2am Eastern Time. I should be sleeping but waywards thoughts fill my noggin and are bugging me to come figure them out, yet I have nothing to blog about. Maybe tomorrow. I do in fact have some news.

Most people on the blog know who I am. I mean my name, some have me on their social networking profiles as a friend, but I wonder if anyone really cares enough to read my blog, be offended and then come and shoot me. I wish I could write about stuff that I really, truly want to voice. It could sound racist to some and people could disagree with it (did I say I was always out to please?) and the fear of that stops me. This is contradictory to my statement on not always wanting to please. So if I really, truly wrote about societal issues that bugged me and I wanted to take part in changing, would it be bad?