Senile

You know that scene in a movie when the girl has invited the guy up to her apartment and they’re both acting all casual while the coffee is being made and then the guy casually puts on some music and they flirtatiously start slow dancing and you’ve watched this scene over and over again various other times before and you know how it goes? And usually you love this scene in the movie and this scene is the reason you search for lists of romantic comedies that came out in a certain year and download them and sit back and watch one. I was watching one of those on tv just now. And I got up off that couch. And I walked away.

Senile. Someone called me that recently. So I thought about it. And looked it up. What I usually do when in doubt. And thought about it some more.

It’s just that people get married. And have kids. And the kids grow up. And they get married or move away. And there you are, on your own, old, having done what your parents did before you and maybe a bit more, and you realize that after all that, you’re just going to die, and you have nothing much to do except hang around and wait for it. Sure you’ve had good times and sure you may even have done some things to change the world and perhaps make it in some way a better place for those inhabiting it. But so what. All those others are going to die too. At some point. What’s the point?

And what about feelings? Those feelings you don’t want to contaminate by trying to put into words like you did before. All those moments that make life worth living even if it just ends in death. What about that heart that’s beating inside of your chest even as you read this right now? That lump of odd-shaped flesh that’s pumping blood in there like your life depends on it. That chunk of flesh you rarely think about in that way. Nor think about at all.

No one’s special. We think we’re different, but really, we just look different. No one wants to be hated, no one thinks trust is not important. Basically all of us are in a constant where we try to match ourselves up to the stereotype of the perfect man or the perfect woman. And we all think we are pretty much there. And what we think, we are. Which brings it down to the fact that no one is special. We all are.

I read a nice article today about how to not give a fuck what others think. I think you should read it too if you have some time to spare: http://thenextweb.com/lifehacks/2014/01/27/stop-giving-f-people-think/#!uaVI5

And we don’t always do, do we, have time to spare. And most times it’s a good thing. Coz when you do, you stop, look around, and wonder what all this is all about anyway.

 

Mom… Dad… I’m green :|

I didn’t know I was. And now that I know and have accepted it, I’m not sure how others will take it. There is a thrill in it. It makes me happy. Sort of a forbidden pleasure. But I don’t know if I will be accepted out there. I don’t know if they will judge me. I’m wondering if it should matter…

Never accompany your friends when they go shopping if you don’t intend to buy anything. Mine wanted to buy a handbag, bought two, and didn’t stop me when I went and bought myself a bright green one which is really not the black sensible but nice can-wear-with-everything bag that I would have wanted to buy had I actually wanted to buy a bag, which of course I didn’t.

I am now the vaguely happy owner of a bright emerald greenish handbag which I will be carrying to office, as well as, other public places.

And I’m not sure how I feel about it. And I know it’s not because of what I actually think about it but because of what I think the world in general will think about it. This then, is what it must feel like to be gay. I know. I don’t know why it took me so long to make the connection.

I know that what I should have actually bought is a black bag. If I make the right choice no one’s going to give it a second (eyebrows raised) glance and I could fit right into the crowd. Merge, weave-in, not upset anybody. No one’s going to put their lives on hold for a few minutes to stop and point fingers at me. There would not even be a question of being accepted.

I also know that if I could have gone one step ahead and bought a beige or grayish bag. Without a bat of an eyelash and just a sling of the bag I would have been elevated to an envied echelon of taste and when people did turn to give a second (eyebrows raised) look, it would be one of unspoken respect. In their heads they would be bowing down to pay homage to my beige bag. I know it. No one’s going to question me. The bag commands authority, and even if it was an ugly eyesore, the bag commands respect.

But what will become of my bright green bag? 

The thing is, I’m not exactly that arty type of person that can wear coloured headbands, or a bright beaded waistcoat or a mix and match of bright swatches of colour and get away with it. Thus the concern.

So what if it looks different from the rest and stands out from the crowd. I like it. Why should it matter to anyone that it’s bright and that it’s loud and that I can’t match it with all my clothes nor my shoes or my belts. Why should anyone have the right to an opinion about it in the first place? If it’s not going to impair their eyesight or give them a sexually-transmitted disease in any way, why should it matter to them? To each their own business surely?

I’m standing up for my green bag even before carrying it because I know that it’s going to have a hard time out there. And it’s not fair.

People Are going to ask me why I bought a green bag. “I like green” for an answer will not satisfy them. It will not compute. “But you can’t carry it with everything” they will say. “Watch me do it” as an answer is going to come off as rude. “I don’t like it, it’s ugly” they will say. “Then it’s a good thing you won’t be the one carrying it so it really shouldn’t bother you” as an answer will probably come off as rude as well.

I like green. And if I don’t have a problem with it, it shouldn’t be anyone else’s problem.

I think I’ve always liked green. Even through my blue phase, orange phase, and turquoise phase. And this is not the first time I’ve gone all out with green. *Remembers being inside a chunky jewellery story and reaching out to touch an emerald green huge plastic beaded necklace with some emerald green crotchet work on some of the beads; and falling in love instantly* The necklace was not accepted too well by society as well, except by a few discerning eyes.

Why am I getting defensive about my new green bag even before it crosses the cruel, judgy eye of the public? Because it’s not fair.

The bag deserves a chance. A chance at finding out who it is. Everyone does. The bag deserves a chance at maybe discovering that it likes itself the way it is. If I really wanted a black or beige bag maybe I would have bought a black or beige bag. I bought a green.

I’m proud and green. Remind me again how that’s anyone else’s business?

Note: The bag’s going public tomorrow. Woe be to anyone who feels it their business to tender un-sought-after disapproval. No I am not a lesbian. I just bought a bright green bag and think that it’s nobody’s business if someone is gay. One purchase, one thought; two things. Carry on.