primordial personas.

presently, i have moments of being so tightly wound i will either burst into tears or ignite into flames with your sweet glance of so how are you doing?. some of you have witnessed this already. for those of you who haven't, i apologize in advance.

in india, unplugging from our surroundings was necessary for anna and myself - but there were limited avenues available for mental escape. there was no eat,pray,love-ing it up in lucknow. sitting in silence in an ashram for 10 days may have been in the cards, but we were given the wrong deck. attending together, anna and i wouldn't have lasted 10 minutes anyway. with no money and no options, we unintentionally created our own way of taking a much needed mental-pause.

i wish i could tell you we found enlightenment by studying local indian cuisine, or painting the burnt sienna indian sunsets, or studying kundalini yoga with the yogi Bahjan himself. colossal fail on our part. sorry. all of those marvelous things seemed too complicated, too much energy and not enough escape. we are simple gals, southern raised, and we were probably too far gone to even care.

we chose to share a coke ya'll.

hey, a coke was about all we could get away with. it was economical, didn't draw too much attention, and didnt make us sick. it was our go-to upper, and quickly became our unspoken ritual. the fffftz!! of it opening. the cool carbonation. the primordial swig. the first one, the best one.

your eyes closed....the animals whispered....my body odor dissipated..........it was glorious. it was cold, it was sugar, it was fizzy, it was my high fructose security blanket.

screw 10 days of silence. with the brief primordial 10 second swig: stars were born, babies were conceived, your tax return doubled, and croissant was made of rolled oats and honey. everything but tunnel vision dried up and blew away. its' initial injection granted you your wish. the first taste was the best taste... spearing through all my ish and providing me with what i required. a friggin' moment to just be.

i had forgotten about this ritual until my recent trip home to hendersonville, tennessee. (lucknow and hendersonville are similar in the fact that they both molded my character, and were incredibly hot and smelly places to live...)

there are certain idiosyncrasies of the south which only make sense to those who have lived it. i had 2 hrs to kill at the memphis airport - just enough time for the smell of bacon wafting from gate B11 through X13 to fully permeate my clothes. in a daze, the restaurant hostess had to ask me twice if i wanted smoking or non. for a brief minute the plane ride had transported me back in time to memories of a former life. bacon and cigarettes was the smell of my next door neighbor Ida the grandmother. she used to give me mini story books about fairy tales. the waiter of the non smoking section called me sugar, and i ordered one egg scrambled with a side of hash browns since everything else involved gravy, ham, atherosclerosis, and my mother's warning. i paid attention when i saw a girl reading a novel as she waited for her flight. looked a little closer and realized the title of her book read The Last Song. what's better than a miley and bacon cigarette sandwich? being delayed an extra hour so i could watch a 60 year old woman named Missy talk about the wild time her and her 70 year old boyfriend were going to have while on vacay in mexico. she wore a spaghetti strapped midrift complete with a Southern Comfort logo...her white hooters shorts and tennis shoes were extra credit points. it was good and right to be home.

the older you get, the more you for-get. or maybe that's just my mother's experience. you become recycled in with rain and work and the city and your public transportation. and then one day, your good friend devon gundry decides marry a gorgeous woman by the name of golriz (one of THE loveliest human beings)...and you board a plane wearing your roomy dark washed jeans, sunglasses and a coffee headache. physically, i look the same as i did when i was 16. even though i have lived in seattle for 10 years (yikes), i like to think of myself as someone who hasn't changed...much. still the simple southern girl who enjoys her grits.

hendersonville is where i was raised -it's where they grew me. where i learned to pluck my eyebrows and was told to act like a lady. im still trying figure that second part out. as a teenager i wasn't schooled in personal style or sustainable architecture or even world geography. we may have 'forgotten' to cover african history, but i did know trinity city housed the great Jan Crouch. i also learned you should apply a wet wad of tobacco for a bee sting. oh, and the most important: The holy cracker barrel is where God brunches on sundays. he sits outside in the rocking chairs playing checkers with jesus. the prophet playoff is the 2nd sunday of every month.

no it wasn't new york, or la. it was better.

waffle house in lieu of starbucks. pintos and cheese was our old reliable for 75 cents in couch change. a night at the park was a good place for the perfect story. high school friends were honest with the best of intentions, they looked you in the eye and loved you, and trusted me to do the same for them. our friendships weren't based off of money or what someone wanted from me. they were based on the stuff they were supposed to be based on - connectivity, mutual respect, and a lot of laughter. even though i was a bahai - and even though many prayed for my salvation- they still love(d) me. and i still love them.

but if you want to know about my life before high school...what groomed me, who i answer(ed) to, who i am indebted to forever...look no further than my bahai community of the south. these are my mothers and my fathers. my sisters and bothers. these are the ones that took care of me, that loved me, that baby-sat me, took care of max and i when we were sick, fed me, clothed me, reprimanded me, and created the makings of my identity. it does take a village to raise a child, and when i see the incredible children this village has raised - i can only pray to find such a place to raise my own. sorry, i should say... it takes a village and one baby-sitter. 10-13 children is quite the load, and assembly meetings are once a month.

i have traveled, i have visited, i have experienced community in all forms. however i can honestly say, the others don't come close in comparison. i know you aren't supposed to say things like that - but it's true. and, yes, it's a pride thing - so i'm going to save you some time and let you know the search is off. it is imperative to understand the genius of my community is not simply as a result of one person or family in particular. it is a complicated tangled puzzle of mothers and fathers and aunts and uncles and children and grandchildren all fitted together perfectly. all artists and entertainers in one way or another, regardless of how much it was discouraged. if you drank the water, you were in. even if you left, or returned, or were a late settler, you know exactly what i am talking about. the wedding allowed for the birth of a phenomenal experience. for the first time in a long time, every piece was in place.

it was this blessed catalyst which enabled me to soak in my bahai community in its truest form. at it's finest. i was gifted the experience of watching the fruits of determined parents, love, companionship, humor, and genius in all forms - and was reminded of its breathtaking mastery to heal and nurture those who are swept away within it - whether it be for 5 days, 3 hours, or 15 minutes. i fell head over heals in love again with every.single.one.of them. even the ones that have continued on to watch over us.

i was surrounded by radiating love. pure and simple. and for the first time in a long time, i found myself in a safe place. a place where people love me for me, the person before all the life happened to her. the first friends. the best friends. my walls came down, i could unwind, and for a brief moment my heart could beat without restriction.

i'm eternally grateful for all of it. bacon smell included.

there are many things...

....which have happened.

i just didn't feel they were blog worthy.

well, i take that back. here are the updates:

Cuz the monkeys weren't enough.

With no real change in our health (read: we aren't dead yet) - we were jonesing for a because my life isn't ridiculous enough fix. Yes yes, the hair is still falling etc....and although that may be exciting news to some of you - i am kind of over it. bald, and over it.

Because we are creative educated type women, we have taken to hunting the cockroaches hooking up on my bathroom floor at night. The little buggers hide inside the floor drains, and when its dark and quiet, the residents of drain no. 1 venture out to slut it up with the loose ladies of drain no. 2. That is, until I caught on. I hadn't yet done anything about the nightly party in my bathroom - im terrified of cockroaches. And these ones are big fat juicy suckers. I once peeked out from behind the wall and watched one struggling to smush itself back into one of the tiny drain holes - its ass wriggling around in the air - until it succeeded and returned to roachland below. disgusting. angry at being scared to enter my own bathroom after 8pm - i made the decision to overcome my enabling nature of cockroach city, and implemented a plan.

i will kill every last one of them.

The slaughter occurs while babies sleep. We whisper "Shhhhhhhhhh, we are hunting cockroaches..." and then tiptoe in the dark...slowly...calculated...and then SPLAT!! They ooze fear. you would too.






don't be too jealous.

The blogging fast is also in part to work picking up. quiet moments at home are spent napping off sweaty days- instead of writing about them. Just when i was convinced life was becoming normal and boring, I looked down at the back of my hand and noticed a rash forming. little raised clustered red bumps forming a long line, traveling throughout the web of my fingers.

there is no use lying to myself. this is no typical bug bite. i have scabies. of course. because i didn't feel unattractive enough. no adventure would be complete without the one skin rash that carries the weight of the world screaming 'you are dirty'. i feel like some character out of the Grapes of Wrath. "Elizabeth, bring me the lie - gonna scrub yew down. haven't had a scrubbin' since paw lost the harvest." I know this is a bit dramatic. and i know lie is for lice. and i know im not in cali or a sharecropper. but i am allowed to say it. scabies depresses.

I probably picked it up from some kid in a school, or in a village, or some friendly dog. Scabies is everywhere - everyone gets it - its no big deal. right? There is dirt and mites and bacteria - what do you want? yeah, I WANT TO NOT HAVE SCABIES.

To kill this mite crawling around under my skin - laying its little baby mite spawn - i have been applying Neem Oil. i am also scalding my hand each night with boiling water in hopes to seal the fate the damn things. its a difficult balance. purposefully burning the shit out of my hand, while making sure the temperature isn't hot enough to result in a skin graph. I thought i would give the Neem Oil and boiling water a couple days to see if there was any improvement. sorry sucker no go. it is still spreading. Neem Oil (dark brownish in color) smells a little something like.....dirty fermented ass...on a hot summer day.



it is actually kind of amusing. while i am dealing with my own oil issues- anna has hers. in her effort to do everything short of a scalp transplant to prevent the big head shave, she has taken to using Parachute Therapie hair fall solution - a hair growth treatment used by the local ladies who have had their olfactory glads removed. Anna religiously oils here hair every third night and then washes it the next morning. When she first started the treatment, i would sit in bed at midnight and wonder why i could suddenly smell the trash pile rotting outside. got a little closer, and realized it was her. Honeybucket eau de toilet, literally. one month in, it isn't working. but at least our night smells compliment each other. if you have a sensitive gag reflex (or you don't like friends who smell like shit) we are not your kind of people. you will throw up, and probably get scabies as well. athena and anna both have started itching.

tomorrow i plan on getting some 'real' medicine, the kind with western chemicals in it.

(we smell like the train toilet. mom are you ready?)
(yes the brown blob is what you think it is)

uptight americans need not apply.

Deepmala's son (i call him Beta meaning 'son') has been coming over more frequently. He is the most adorable 3 year old, full of curiosity, silliness and little boy attitude. clear gender differences are strongly defined at an early age (like any culture). The preference of boys over girls is no secret. Beta will run jump, get into trouble, demand pani tanda (cold water) from his mom - and get into a whole bunch of mischievous trouble. When Deempala is finished cooking, he will sit at the table and eat with us - slurping his dhal with one hand - munching on roti with the other. His sister (Gudia) sits quietly and smiles, does what she is told, much more under control. both are very sweet children. very intrigued by us ladies, our computers, our strange lives. We watch a lot of Tom and Jerry on youtube.

Beta is just a little younger than my nephew Devin in Seattle. And like my nephew, i am constantly overwhelmed with the fear that the child is going to hurt/kill himself and i could have done something to prevent it. Devin jumping on a trampoline gives me a heart attack. I was half terrified half overjoyed when rode his bike without training wheels. i had to hold my breath. i have nightmares of him poking his eye out as he furiously plays the drums (he is a drummer boy). i am a worrier. i blew on his food to make sure it won't burn him, gave him plastic spoons to play with, and sat with him with a whistle around my neck during his bubble baths - making sure he stayed above the water at all times. My poor poor children will be bubble wrapped until their 18th birthday. Can't you insert some sort of chip underneath the skin to act as a tracking device?

So you can imagine my shock when helping mommy time in the kitchen turned into a mantra meditation exercise for elizabeth to calm herself. i did end up storming into Anna's room to express my fear and concern. she of course calmed me by recalling the story of when she lived in africa, her mother would send her outside with some matches and a tin can to learn how to make her own fire. le sigh. I am so american.

(cutie pie has two knives, just in case one doesn't do the job)

Officialness

Just in case you haven't figured it out already, it is official.

Anna and I have officially lost it.

Over the course of this past month, probably since Mr. Paul wouldmakeagreathusband Javid got us into the Taj for a breaky, we have become painfully pathetically delusionally hopelessly incoherently inappropriately immature.

Yes, we were pretty stupid before. I know. but we are light years ahead now. we laugh uncontrollably when coworkers try to talk seriously. we poke each other under the table at restaurants. we dance around to motown - imitating our mothers' dancing ability and creating the conversation they would have if they ever each other at a club. we have taken to ordering coke, nachos, AND popcorn at the movies. we walk around at home in our underwear- giving the neighbors a show and tell- in our hotbox of an apartment. we have attained the retched energy of 6 year old girls at a princess party, who snorted a couple pixy stix in the back, and then proceeded to have their way with the jumping thing.

I don't know if it's because we now only have 1.5 months left of this lucknow business - and the bright clorox bleached light at the end of the tunnel makes us giddy with hope. Maybe it was the Taj followed by our second trip to Delhi to see Jeevy last weekend which sent us over the edge (more about that later). I don't know. It could be the fact i am becoming uglier and she is becoming balder minute by minute. Its probably the lethal high from the Larabars and Extra peppermint chewing gum my mom sent in her care package. Whatever it is, we cannot control ourselves any longer. we have lost our minds completely.

Here are the most eminent clues as of late:

Star Trek.

Breaking News, Anna is a fan of Star Treck TNG. Im not joking around. This is a woman who has tutored me in Ruhi Book 6 during college, we have sunbathed together at Greenlake and just barely escaped getting our asses kicked by a heard of obese chicanos. she has cleaned up my puke. Even though I have known her for 7 years, she has just recently decided to reveal this deep dark gem.

One morning we were sitting at the kitchen table smelling ourselves in silence. she looked over at me and spoke, "You know, sometimes when I am working in the office, I want to turn to you and say 'Make it So' like Jean-Luc Picard in Star Trek..." (enter hand gesture and FRENCH accent on the John Luke Piccard).

..........everyone holds their breath and waits...... ...... ... . . .

I was so embarrassed by this blurtation of honesty - and hilarity of the situation - i literally began to cry for everyone involved.

So now that she was out of the battlestar galactica closet, we had to go see Star Trek the movie when it came to Lucknow. I had never watched Star Trek in my life, I was too busy with Little House on the Prairie - but i am a loyal friend - so we went. good movie, but i understood nothing due to the fact Anna was blabbing on and on in Vulcan the entire time. And in true Vulcan fashion, anna mind melded me right then and there in front of the gods, aunty and uncle across the isle, and Jean Luc...fascinating.

And like any inappropriate joke, or extreme accent, or catchy idiotsyncracy, i was immediately hooked from that moment on. it is possible we have taken it too far though. i should have known there was going to be a problem when Amit (coworker) caught us mind melding each other randomly throughout the last half of the movie. or in the rickshaw ride home. or at the office. or on skype with seattle. or in the middle of the night. or on facebook.

if you don't watch out, i will mind meld you.

Dr. K Chaudhry.

Dr. K Chaudhry is the mommas milk that sees us through this endeavor. He is the ringleader of our rickshaw wallah riding, mango eating, kurta sweating circus. If you don't know who this man is, you haven't spent enough time talking to us. I am quite the fan. She is quite the junkie.

In a perfect world, Anna and I would show up at his house in Delhi (we have done our research), introduce ourselves as fans from America, and he would invite us in to sit on his couch in the background as he records his grammy worthy performances of Metalica, Michael Jackson, Celine Dion, and Avril Lavigne. The good Dr. got his start on youtube after he auditioned for some talent tv show in india- but was rejected for lack of ability. He decided to prove to the officials and the world that he was in fact talented - and 700 songs later - we never miss a new upload. He has become quite pleased with himself, confident in his prowess (as can be seen here), and even commemorated the death of our dear Michael Jackson. Dear sweet watermelon eating man.

We laugh, we cry, we religiously imitate. At night as india gets its beauty rest, his warble of a mating call can be heard four cows down, three trash piles over. He has become one of our constants throughout all of this. no disappointments.

Hair.

Vanity has officially flown out the window here. Our fate has been officially sealed. It has dried up along with the cow shit i stepped in today. been removed along with my desire to eat anything with the words palak or paneer in the title. I have mentioned in several blogs how Anna has lost 1/3 of her hair. Well, i am happy to report that her hair still is falling out at the same rapid rate - a pace so intense, it would make a woolly mammoth nervous. Anna has become incredibly obsessive about her follicular regeneration - which she rightfully should be. Please don't inquire about it. Please don't give her your opinion. Please don't offer any thoughtful tips. She will regurgitate every sleepless night medical blog she has read, every webMD self help cure she tried, every guru she has prayed to. Its a sensitive topic. We have in fact had a couple real arguments about it which have lead to me being wildly insensitive and her crying. The only non-rejectable reassurance i have managed to offer is: if she actually goes bald, i will shave my head and wear large earrings along with her.

I shouldn't have said anything. My hair got jealous of all the attention her hair was receiving - so it has started falling out as well. It is not as noticeable as anna (yet), but it is definitely happening. My bouffant has become mouse-ish and ordinary. I really took noticed on the train ride to Delhi last week. In an effort to relax, I took my hair down in the ac car, began to stretch out, and there in my hand was a clump. Anna informed me the average person sheds 50 - 100 hairs day. I ran my fingers through it again. oops. another clump. Just for fun, i began counting the individual strands. 10 minutes later I reached 100 and stopped.

I should mention Athena's hair was lonely too, and went on strike as well. What is stranger than seeing a white lady, chinese lady, and mexican lady in a cycle rickshaw? Seeing a bald white lady, chinese lady, and mexican lady in a cycle rickshaw. I'll make sure to cut out the newspaper article for you.

Hair is a woman's crown and glory? After this experience i would say so. After us being so sick, it is the only physical feature i have left empowering me to feel attractive. and now that this is pretty much gone, we have lost hope. and lost our minds along with it. my pretty is an endangered species, 200 a day and counting. anna no longer does activities which would put stress on the tresses. no more getting a hwbd (hair wash blow dry), no more running at the gym, no more letting it be to fly around in the rickshaw. she won't even stand in front of the ac for fear it will be blown off. I wait for the day she comes home from work, walks through the door, reaches up and grabs a hold firmly, and removes her hat of hair. "Here hold this, i gotta pee."

On a typical saturday night, you can find Anna and I in our underwear - in 100 degree heat- frantically chasing after the rat sized hair tufts foxtrotting across the kitchen floor to the tune of the ceiling fans. we lay in bed and feel the strands take their last breath and let go. falling in the food. clogging the drains. onto the keyboard. tickling you as you sleep. You can actually see it floating through the air if the light is right. Sometimes when she is on the computer she notices a big chunk clinging to her shirt. She reverently cups it in her hands, says a silent prayer, and lets it fall. all three of us american morons fearing the inevitable. greeting the nightmare receding hairline each morning with a hopeful smile. saying 'up yours' as we stare it down before we go to bed each night. Poor Deepmala has been sweeping and sweeping. The more that falls, the more we tell her to clean. Denial denial denial.

The other evening anna and i were frustrated, balding, and overheated due to a power outage. Lying in bed with just the light from the laptop. Anna bargaining with God - for the 5th time that week - to please turn the electricity back on (this is a common occurrence when the power goes out, and so far we have found that we get a better response if she does the talking). We glanced in each other's direction, and for the first time recognized what had actually happened to us. It was the epiphany of the year. We had done it. It was all over. We had peaked.

Some girls peak in middle school, some in high school, some when they go away to college and start waxing their goatee and wearing cute scrunchy brown boots. Unfortunately this wasn't our fate. We had peaked in hair ball city India. Not out with friends dancing, or on a beach with our husbands, or at the park - being one of those ridiculous women who looks even sexier after a couple of kids. We had peaked in cowtown. I was on the toilet and she was checking for lice in the mirror when we should have been out photographing our 6 month window of opportunity. i could smell it. we had become the most disgusting, sickly, smelly, bony, unattractive women on the planet. We just had to say it out loud to fully commemorate the momentous occasion. I of course went first.

"Honey, you look like shit." loving smile.
Gaping silent laughter "Honey so do you!"

we laughed as if our life depended on it. how ugly we had become. wiping the sweat from my upper lip trying to make its way into the crease of my mouth, she went fishing for a couple more strands and was actually surprised at the 50 she caught in one go. and for the next 20 minutes, and laughed until we about threw up.





Who is with us for a good head shave?

El Miedo

Lately I have been reviewing life experiences, focusing on different parts of my character - and looking at how each part is a direct result from personal tests and adventures.

For example:

Experience: Being the sister of a younger brother and daughter of a single mother.
I Learned: I am the goddess of multitasking. i am stupidly funny. I know what you need, even before you do. Also, i have an unhealthy (but happy) relationship with this stuff.

Experience: Going to college.
I Learned: I am a lot smarter than I give myself credit for, and actually enjoy learning. I am stupidly funny. Don't trust people (young and old) who appear to have it all perfectly together. 9 times out of 10 they have no idea what the hell they are doing - just like you. I am a great bullshitter. I should have been an art major.

Experience: Getting Married.
So far I have Learned: I am better at giving than receiving love. I am a chronic worrier. Boundaries are healthy. Listening is much more effective than talking at times. I am my mother. i am homebody. mom did a good job raising me. I am a hard worker. i am stupidly funny.

So, throughout this short experiment God likes to call my life, I have recognized some basic things about elizabeth. At the ripe old age of 27.75 I can actually list some of the things which make me tick- what i need from you- what i don't need from you. This list will probably change as early as next month, but please know this is quite a feat, since I remember not so long ago being completely clueless when it came to knowing myself. embarrassingly clueless. This is not to say i am any less clueless now, and its also not to say I have it all 'figured out'...oh we are definitely not saying that. no ma'am. Like, i am not completely sure what i want to do with with my life - but i definitely am closer to knowing what i DON'T want to do. and that is a great feeling. It just feels good being able to know yourself, even if its just a little bit.

One thing on my list, I am a firm believer that all things (good and bad) happen for a reason. All life's trials and messes are there just to make me a more colorful person. A more complete, capable, and 'with it' human. well, maybe not 'with it' and capable - but definitely colorful.

Im not saying i don't loathe these experiences. Stupid obstacles and detours roughing up my little path. Some annoying pebbles in my shoe, some boulders I dodge, and some are effin landmines i unfortunately can't escape. Some obstacles I can see from a mile away, but then there are others that sneak up, and knock the wind out of me. Everyone has their own personal landmines and pebbles. Everyone loves a : A what the hell was that moment, or some i have just been shot in the face experience. On one level, how you handle them reminds you of your growth and progression as a person. And on other levels, it just plain sucks ass. For me, its difficult to not dwell too much on the sucking ass part.

So yeah, the reason behind this post.

I am currently in the process of working through an annoying pebble that has been a constant companion for me, and has been since i can remember. Fortunately (or unfortunately) this trip to India has brought it up to the surface. Maybe its the fact that i don't have a television, maybe its the fact im going to be 28, or maybe im just getting tired of me.

its Fear. So much fear i fear.

I know people have different quantities of fear. But for me, i somehow must have gotten a really good dose of it along the way and i haven't been able to shake it, dilute it, unload it, or whatever it.

I am not referring to the basic normal fear stuff (which i have in abundance as well):

* i want to put a permanent helmet on my 3 year old nephew
* driving on the freeway in general is scary as all hell
* the fear of drying a bread knife and cutting off all your fingers
* fear that my loved ones won't make the right choices for themselves
* fearing people who come over will look behind the shower curtain

Im talking about the self sabotage fear. the type that prevents you from living your full potential - that halts your growth by not allowing the development of your given talents. the type that has the ability to alter your future peace. the real fear we should be fearful of.

Bluntly put, i fear expressing myself....shocking i know. but understand I don't mean VERBAL forms of self expression. i think i have the verbal part covered thanks, we are currently working on pulling that back a little. or a lot. Im talking about not talking. Writing, painting, tweezing, singing, photography, interpretive dance, whistling. whatever. Oh my God how i love these things, how they inspire.....But one would think, if i loved them, if they feed my soul, if they were a part of my identity - then WHY am i so PAINFULLY shy and incapable when it comes to doing them!? Sing a solo- diarrheaville . Write something to read out loud -no way jose. Paint me a picture - i have to file my paper piles. I feel judged before i start. All my ideas are moronic. I am suddenly 4 years old. Self criticism becomes my best friend. defeated.

The sick justification is the fear. Do it well, or don't do it at all. The sense that for it to be worth doing, it must be of a certain quality, and im not capable of delivering such quality. Thus, nothing happens. Maybe this comes from growing up in such a creative hot spring filled with brilliant artists. The critical nature of my family? The brilliant could afford to be critical...they were....well, brilliant. Maybe its my self esteem. Maybe i haven't learned to get over myself and other people. Anyway. I can finally say, I am slowly getting over the fear. Like i said before, all things happen for a reason. Thanks to my bff mother india. (here's a good video to explain what bffs do together).

I experience a lot of 'normal fear' here. A language I don't understand. A culture that seems a bit wacky at times. A lot of men staring at you, taking pictures of you, laughing at you (unfortunately its all about male frustration. im not even going to lie). Doing wrong more than doing right. Getting yourself in potentially unsafe situations (translation: it was unsafe. i admit it). You look like an idiot, you feel like an idiot. I fear the known, the unknown, the possibility of god knows what. So to deal, I have developed a tough exterior. i know i have always been snarky and sassy, but I do things in india i would never do back at home. I yell at random strangers, i am off putting on purpose just to intimidate. Sometimes i feel i have to be mean - to be forceful. Let people know I am not to be taken advantage of, let people know even though i am a foreign woman - i demand respect. or at least, some personal space ("I'm sorry, i can SMELL yall looking at me, can you please BACK THE FUCK OFF!" is what screams through my head. in case you were wondering). I have learned that if i allow the fear to consume me, i don't get a lot accomplished, so i will be 'assertive' - its a fair trade. its a good lesson.

The action of forcing myself to act fearless in my daily routine, has managed to spill over into my personal life. I began asking myself: if i can stare down a man - a complete stranger - and make him leave anna alone, if i can take an overnight train by myself - if i can attempt to learn hindi and have my coworkers laugh in my face, if i can yell and scream in broad daylight at the guys who pull over on the side of the road in their car to harass us....well then i should be able to write down my random thoughts and actually invite people to read them. i should be courageous enough to paint. and i should take pictures of whatever the hell i want. i should be able to lighten up .

And surprisingly....it is going pretty well.

This blog has actually been a big part of that. consider it an exercise in getting over myself. i enjoy writing it, i am arguably consistent, i get what i need out of the process, and even though it freaks me out - i can send it 'out there' as i close my eyes and hit the 'publish post' button. done. it does a good job of informing the family what is going on- as well as reminding me of why i am here. Painting is also going well for many of the same reasons. Its easy to be inspired in india. The more i do it, the less frustrated i become - not just with painting- but with the other messes i deal with. The only problem i have had is I am attempting to do a cow series, but lately everytime i go to take a picture of a cow - it charges me. i figure if i get gored it will make for an even better story. I have come to terms with the fact that the action of doing is the important thing - not necessarily the end result. I consider it my new meditation, which really works out because i don't fall asleep as often. im taking it as a good sign. moments of calm, quiet, and contemplation are a good thing. alliteration is also quite nice.