Paint Me Red

As I sipped my sangria, stretching every last drop in efforts to delay leaving, it became painfully clear that it was inescapable. We were going. And it was final. No exit routes without looking like a total party pooper. I steadied myself on the chair, struggled to erase any expression coming thru and forged excitement. Still, I could feel my fingers slowly becoming numb, my heart racing ahead of any thought, and my feet clamping to the floor.

See, I'm a closet party hater.


Let me explain. I party fairly often, yet I don't quite like the the prospect of losing control during a drunken stupor, I fear mingling, and honest to GOD, I can give William Hung a race for his mega celebrity with my dance moves. So, after we arrived, I did the next rational thing, Dash style. I flooded my raging nerves with more than a couple of glasses of whisky and contented myself watching friends dance from my little corner. Just the usual, in my party diary. Everybody was having a whale of a time except for me. And just like that, that was IT. I decided to have fun, no matter what. Plus, the alcohol kicked in.:) I wanted in on everything.

Oh, I danced like no other night. Hung beating moves included. I was completely sloshed. Absolute anarchy staged a coup in my mind. I waved my inhibitions away. I smiled at perfect strangers for the first time. I smoked a full cigarette. I laughed so hard, my heart hurt. I blurted out so much rubbish, I have undoubtedly incriminated myself in every negative situation; past, present and future.


Still, the morning after arrived. You might be inclined to think I was ready to hang myself from a ceiling fan but the total opposite happened. I am convinced thoroughly that I will do it again. In a heartbeat. Repeat performance absolutely mandatory. Because, despite the less than desirable consequences, it was exhilarating. I was living. I could sense life. I could smell it, feel it and touch it. I can remember it. I lived for that couple of hours. It was friggin' FANTASTIC.

Note to Readers

Hey guys,

I would really appreciate it if you could leave a comment , opinion or anything you have to share, really, at the end of these posts. I love hearing from you and would like to know what you think as well! Cheers!

Are You Smarter than a 2 Week Newbie?

Believe it or not, I'm down-to-the-bone tired from a yoga class I participated in 2 hours ago. Yes, you read me right. It is not the morning after. Its not even half a day after. It is now officially 2 hours after class. How is this even possible? My body is either screaming out in pain after years of inactiveness or it is burning so much fat so fast, every part of my body is aching. I'm preferring to believe the latter. I am completely aware there isn't an ounce of logic aboard this train of thought but hey, I am completely content with the delusion. Still, Im pretty excited about the class and so decided to impart some not so useful pieces of advice from the vastly experienced (2 weeks, baby! ) for the perfectly uninitiated candidate. And for those who need a laugh.


Wear an extraordinarily tight top or get tops which reach up to your neck. I am not joking. My fantasies dictated I wore uber cool yoga outfits meant for size zeros that emphasised every sexy curve and hid every patch of cellulite. So I went shopping. I had an excuse. I spent $600 on the outfits and attended my very first class last week. As I thrashed about trying to strike a pose, I realised my low cut top was exposing my front torso and my boobs were hanging out in plain view for public perusal. And some people perused. No kidding. I returned everything I bought and mumbled something about the outfits not fitting my purpose to the salesgirl.


Bottle up gallons of water.And pack 2 towels. For a seemingly low impact exercise, I was sweating a bucket . I was dripping off areas I thought werent humanly possible. Also, heres the true tip. The first towel is to wipe all that sweat off, the second towel, however, is the tool to fast track and appear like an expert without suffering a ridiculous outfit. Oh, come on, stop rolling your eyes. They ALL do it.


Next, roll out your mat at the front of the class. I hate to admit this, but I am a teachers pet. And I am in denial about this. I completely took advantage of the newbie privileges and positioned myself right in front of the instructor last week. I learnt a fair bit. This week, to appear non-teachers pet-ish, I rolled out my mat in the middle and towards the window. Honestly, as genuine as my efforts were to completely focus, I was completely distracted by the yummy aroma wafting through from the Chinese restaurant across the street. Although, second confession, I still had a wicked time guessing the dish of the minute whilst I was supposedly meditating;);)


And finally, do not try bend in any direction that you're not comfortable with. Even though I was attending the beginners class, there were some pretty complex pretzel like positions we were required to writhe into. To cut a long story short, I nearly sprained my foot. Lesson learnt. Lesson passed on.:):)


So there you have it, people. My two weeks worth of very handy tips for anyone who will listen/read. So are any of you proud owners of interesting yoga/exercise stories or tips? Do share!

Bluffs, Beliefs and Brilliance

I still remember myself at 8 years of age, sitting down on my red carpet, wide-eyed and filled with awe. I remember the incessant whirling of the ceiling fan and I remember the greyness of the afternoon. Most of all, I remember the man who was sitting in front of me dressed in white-both shirt and pants. A stark contrast to his gleaming dark skin and betel-juice stained lips. He was falling asleep after the hearty lunch. Still, I hung on every word. See, he was the astrologer.


All it would take is one firm clutch at my palm, a few 'hmmmms' and 'ahhhhs' and my destiny would be revealed. I was afraid , strangely, at that age, that he was going to reveal horrible things. That I would be the least wealthy amongst my siblings. That I would achieve the worst grades. That my 'career' would consist of me trudging along at work as the office clerk and would have to pack bread and butter sandwiches for lunch to work every day. That I would bear more kids than I could handle. That when they grew up and were more interested in their own families. That I would die of cancer. Alone. I was sure of it. I could see it in his eyes. I clutched my stomach trying desperately to silence the knotting inside.


Demented kid, I know.


But it didn't happen. He didn't prophesise my worst fears. Instead, he said I would be the most sensitive child. He said I would be the one who cared. He said I would hate school but would thrive later on in university. He said I would make enough money to keep myself happy. He said I was going to be all right. And finally, he said I was going to become a politician. A politician. In my mind, politics was exclusive to the royal family. No really. Come on, I was eight. That's when I decided to believe.


I was determined to become the best politician ever. So, I started reading. I read everything I could get my hands on. Enid Blyton. Little house on the prairie. Jane Eyre. The hunting habits of African desert animals.The complete works of Beatrix Potter. Archie comics.The autobiography of the Dalai Lama. The dictionary. I wanted to know everything. I was about to change lives, after all. I also watched the nightly news. Religiously. 8 o'clock and there I was again, cross legged on my red carpet hanging on to every word of the newscaster. My first living idol was Benazir Bhuto. I would dress like her. Complete with the shades and 4 inch high heels. I was on my way. I started doing better in school. I stopped hiding behind my mother's knees whenever I met new people. I entered a story-telling competition at school. I came in third. And when a kid in school told me that my success was merely because the teachers loved my prodigious older sibling, I shoved her so hard ,she fell back first into a drain. She sprained her arm. I got into so much trouble. But I was proud of myself. Because for the first time, I DID NOT believe her. I knew I told ONE HELL OF A STORY at that competition.


You would think that incident changed my life. It did not. Not in 19 years. You see, in that 19 years lots of things happened. Naturally.Good and bad. I made friends, I lost friends. I did well in exams, I failed exams. I went on fad diets. I loved. I made a fool of myself in many instances. I gave to charity. On the whole, life happened. For some bizarre reason, I took in all the bad and it all piled up. All Yin, no Yang. I became a pessimist yet convinced myself and others that I was in essence a realist. I rubbished my achievements. I took my lessons as personal failings. Negativity buried me.


And then I hit my bottom. I might get into that some other day, or I might not. We will see. Anyway, the bottom was not a very nice place. Lots of carbs but no validation whatsoever. So, I decided to do things differently. My personal systemic change. Complete overhaul.


Mentally, I started saying nice things to myself. I told myself that I was an achiever. I told myself I was kind. I told myself I was destined for blessings. And today, for the first time in 5 years, I lost a couple of pounds. I did not crave food in the middle of the night on some nights (yay!!). When I didn't exercise 2 days last week, I was okay. I actually laughed.


And in the process, I learnt that it is not important what (mis)/fortunes await you. It does not matter that you carry that extra weight. It is just fat after all. A chemical make up. It does not matter if you fail an exam. It does not matter if you accidentally wore the same dress to the same event 2 years in a row. And if there were photographers. What does matter, is YOU. The way you treat yourself. Your mantra every morning when you stare/gaze at your reflection at the mirror. I want to be that kid won that story-telling competition. I want to be that kid who believed. I want to be ME.

Epilogue

Today, I am making a choice. A choice to dream. A choice to live. A choice to live out my dreams. Because I deserve it. Because I am worthy. Because I need this. Because I refuse to sink.


Journeys, destinations, and epiphonies require the bare, stripped down naked truth. No embellishments, no jades, and no extra sprinkles on the top. So I will tell the truth.



There are both positive and negative truths I need to face up to. Positive first. I am kind. I am beautiful both inside and out. I care. I love people. I am smart. I am funny. I am fiercely loyal. Now, the negatives. I am overweight.I am 5' 2" in height and now weighing 80kgs. My excess weight is threatening to banning me from life. Next one. I am unemployed for now. I need a job so i can live out my dreams. Third, I need to learn to love myself . I need to accept me. Strengths, weaknesses and dreams. All of it.



So today, I am deciding to walk. Walk around the lake for half an hour. I will try. My absolute hardest. Tonight, I will not beat myself up if I discover shock at my unfit body. Tonight I will be at peace.