Who Am I?

I am in my last semester of Masters, and for this semester I have taken electives that I, for once, am enjoying studying and participating in. One of the electives is Teaching English Internationally. Based on the course title, I assumed, it would equip me with skills to teach English in an international setting. It is anything but. The unit delves into the migrant experiences and how language is a major but not oft seen concept in the current era of globalisation.

A little background info about me. I was born and brought up in The United Arab of Emirates till the age of 16. My family and I then moved to Australia where we have been settled for the past 8 years. So, in a sense, my identity is an amalgamation of Indo-Arab-Aussie. I have married an Indian guy who hadn’t travelled outside India until our honeymoon in Europe. Whenever I travelled to India, it was only to my relative’s place. My husband, on the other hand, has travelled all over India. My husband and I come from different states in India. In India, each state might as well be its own country. My husband and I speak completely different languages, have different cultural backgrounds etc. Since I have always lived overseas, our upbringings are also vastly different.

I had never realised the importance of identity until I got married.  I might look Indian, but my upbringing has never been because of “log kya kahenge?”. I was raised along with my two brothers but except for the fact that I should be back home by sundown, I never felt that I was limited in opportunities and freedom of expression. My in-laws are great people, but I was expected to behave like the Indian daughter-in-law. They never limited my movements, but I was expected to wake up at the beck of dawn. The food and language, albeit minor issues, were still issues. I am expected to learn a language even if the rest of Assam is fluent in a language I speak, Urdu/Hindi. Which came as a shock to me. No one can learn a language overnight. I felt like an outcast in a foreign land with a language that was alien to me. It’s not just Assam apparently. If an Assamese went to any other state of India, they would be expected to learn the language. And yes, I assume in a professional setting, that would do. But in a home setting, I would assume people would speak in a language that was understandable to all present. No? Just my family? Right.

My parents raised us in a way that wasn’t apparent in efforts but seeing families in India and their upbringing highlights the different way my parents instilled their values in us. It was never forced upon us and yet we grew up following their way. They taught us the principle of empathy. They showed us the beauty of Islam through their practice. The ideals of our Prophet for the whole of mankind and humanity was something we strived upon. My parents raised us to inculcate the good values of any culture, community or country and to disown the not so good ones. We were never patriotic to any country but I feel close to the Indians, Arabs and Aussies. They are not perfect but they can’t be stereotyped. And I, most certainly, do not fit into any stereotype. I am my own person with my own values. And I will not conform to anyone else’s expectations of how an Indian should be.

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Blessed

It has been a month since my birthday and I was recalling how I was finishing up a last minute assignment the night before. I had a long day at university and I rushed home to get on with my assignment. I finished it up at 11:45 and was ready to pass out on bed. I am glad I called before I did but I am quite sure even if I hadn’t, you would have called at midnight. Because you had remembered it was my birthday when I had forgotten.

I was sleepy azz and wished you good night but you wouldn’t let me hang up. You kept talking when all I could respond with was hmmm and yeah. You pleaded to stay awake for 4 more minutes which confused my already sleep-deprived brain. Normally you put me to sleep but not that night. When I asked why, you blabbered with what you had been up to the whole day and when 4 minutes had passed, you suddenly wished happy birthday which woke me nice and proper. Well, also the fact that my phone pinged with notification at the same time, opened my shut eyes and when I rubbed my eyes to respond to you and my phone, I realised that you had sent me a poem. A heartfelt, beautiful and thoughtful poem that not only had you carved from your own thinking, but you had written so elegantly and beautifully. All this was too much for me to handle. The rush of emotions that came from within resulted in tears of happiness and I started weeping in joy. For I felt truly special. And cherished. And although you are miles away, I felt as if you were right next to me. How I wish you were, so you could see my giddy smile and excited heart. For even though, we both have grown old to celebrate birthdays, the gesture made me feel like a child again.

And this is why I say alhumdulillah, I am so lucky to have you.

Shake it Off

So recently a friend of mine got the honour of becoming Australian. She invited me to attend the Citizenship ceremony which I dutifully did, given that she didn’t have family here and hence no one to capture the auspicious moment. My friend along with 50 other people took the oath and pledge and sang to the national anthem. After the whole process got over, the mayor stood up to hand certificates to the newbies and click photos.

I was in the audience observing the excitement rippling among people. Some Indian dudes even rocked up in formal attire with business suits and ties and broad smiles.Indian aunties rocking up Eid and Diwali outfits the whole chammak challo. I am not calling against anyone but it was embarrassing watching all this. India is a stable country. No wars going on as in Syria and other countries. Yes, we are still counted as a third world country but alhumdulillah we are up in the game, technology,financial stability and safety wise. And yet it felt like the room was filled with refugees who were desperate to shed their identity and any links to motherland to be embraced and accepted by the warmhearted and welcoming country.

Anyway the main issue that I wanted to address was this : Australians and when I say that I mean non-Muslim white people, have understood and realised that hijabis equal to no-shaking hands.They are gracious enough to accept and respect the view without taking offense.They know that us hijabis cannot shake hands with a non-mehram male and cannot show the beauty of our hair to non-mehram male. Heaps of other stuff too but the focus today is : not shaking hands. So the mayor is handing out certificates and shaking hands offering congratulations. Next up is a hijabi. Hands get extended. Not the mayor’s. The hijabi’s. That’s right. This hijabi forgot she is a hijabi. People were not only throwing away nationalities but also religion lol. The mayor is confused. This goes against the hijabi code ethic that he has been taught. He had seen her and had dropped his hands to his sides. But she has the palm outstretched. Awkward moment passes by. Actually many moments pass by. He finally gives in and shakes her hand clearly confused as heck.

The funny thing was this hijabi wasn’t even the excited kind.She was calm and collected and assumed she was embracing the Australian culture wholly by this small act. Dear sister, I get it you are frickin excited that you became an Australian. But please shower that excitement on your fathers and brothers and sons aka your mehrams remember? Shake their hands million times over, ain’t no issue. Australians are already confused about Islam as it is. You are not doing anything to clear the confusion. I have a graduation ceremony to attend in December. If hijabis like you stomp up on podiums and shake the mayor’s, the university president’s hands, it is just going to get more difficult for me when I go up there and refuse to shake hand due to “religious reasons”. I ain’t no preacher. I just want a simple life for me.And a simpler life for the poor mayors and principles and other male hand shakers whose views on Islam is distorted due to conflicting attitudes we hijabis give.

***Images and gif courtesy of Google.

Cousins Take Control

I am the only girl in my family. Fortunately. I don’t need to share my things and more importantly my bed. I always used to yearn for a sister as my two bros are busy being boys, talking non-stop about cars and video games and other boring boy chatter. I do my girly chat with mum who makes it up for the absence of my sister by patiently listening to my blabber of the day but its just not the same. Often I can hear my brothers in their room talking late at night while I lay in my bed silently in my room, unable to sleep and wishing I had someone to talk to as well till I fell asleep. That changed recently.

So my aunt and uncle recently went to Hajj (The Islamic pilgrimage to the Holy Place of Makkah). They left behind their 3 kids (the cousins I was talking about in my last post). 2 girls (now aged 12 and 9) and a boy (aged 5).All of a sudden the house that was once masked with silence of adults quitely working on computers and laptops was now enveloped in the giggling and hysterical laughter of little kids. While I am enjoying playing ludo and watching animated movies and discussing latest teenage trends (who else hates Justin Bieber’s new haircut?), the noise and shrieky shrill piercing cry that emanates when I cut my cousins at Ludo is something my eardrums is getting adjusted to.

Another thing that I am getting adjusted to is the presence of a living being or rather living beings in my bed. You might have seen those sleeping positions : the foetus, the starfish etc. that tells what personality you are based on your sleeping position.

I think the people who made that chart forgot to add the kicker, the hoarder and the pusher. I am the foetus. My cousins, on the other hand, not only create ruckus when they are awake and running around but even when they are asleep. The youngest kid, the boy, is hoarder. He likes to hoard onto the bed space. This leaves little space for me to curl into my position. The eldest is the pusher. Normally she is known to be the silent sleeper but I guess change in sleeping environment tends to mutanise your sleeping ability because she tends to push me out of the bed with her outstretched legs.Lastly, the evil (and the cutest) out of the three is the middle one : the kicker.Known to kick her feet around while asleep. She probably dreams of playing soccer or Beckham tutoring her to kick hard because skinny as she is, her kicks pack quite a punch. Its a good thing I have late afternoon classes as I can compensate for sleepless nights by sleeping in.

In conclusion, they have made me realise what a blessing a lack of sister in my life can be. And although I love them to bits and life seems louder with their presence, peace and quite at the end of the night is what I am starting to pine for.Even my queen size bed would agree.

***Images courtesy of Google.

He won’t bite. He will just maul you to death.

So WordPress does this weird thing where you save a draft and it schedules it to post and you schedule a post to be posted on Saturday and it just publishes it which is what happened with this one.I quickly removed it but it was too late and people who got my new post in subscription feed emailed me to ask where the new post was.So I quickly finished it up and am posting the would-be Saturday post today.Enough of my blabber.Enjoy.

This post is inspired by Sulphurman’s post on dogs.Go check it out as his posts will have you nostalgic for the hassle and dazzle of Indian streets and golgappes,chaats and the cows that form a makeshift round-a-bout where ever they chose to sit in the middle of streets.

Although my fair share of experiences with dogs have been little than what most people can go on for hours about, there are two incidents that stick in my mind. For dog-lovers and dog-owners who are reading this : I DO NOT let me repeat DO NOT hate dogs. Ever since Simba came into my family, I have mutual love for all animals. Animals that don’t seem to jump up to your shoulders to sniff and bare their canines (pun unintended).Even so, my fear for animals have decreased considerably. In fact I go all mushy when I see kittens or baby goats and had the opportunity to pet the latter while on my visit to India last year.

Onlookers came to know that I didn’t live there, that I was an NRI, born and brought up abroad, because who really looks adoringly at the goats chewing loudly, minding their own business?

India, with its already booming human population, can also easily account for the highest dog population, given the amount of stray dogs barking at every corner or howling at night throughout suburbs and cities. One dog starts howling, the whole pack imitates and pretty soon the next street dogs and then the whole town is filled with collective moaning of dogs. It was some thing I got used to while falling asleep and so, when I returned to Australia, the sheer silence of nothingness kept me awake for hours at end.

Once I was out to shop with my mum and we were stuck in the traffic. In bustling India, being stuck in traffic is awesome because there is never a dull moment. You get to hear verbal abuses of drivers “Chal bey, dekh ke nahi chalta (Oii move!!Fool can’t see where he is walking)”, the afore-mentioned cows walking ahead ever-so slightly at a snail pace, swishing tails in the process and looking at you in mock innocence and incomprehensibility when you honk the horn at them to hurry up. Then a driver gets out of his car to smack the cow’s behind. Meanwhile you hear a baby crying and turn your head in the direction to see where it is coming from. Aaah little kids running through the dirt, one fallen onto the gravel, crying,holding up his bruised knee. Anyway so I saw this stray dog minding his own business, when a 25 year old something guy, just kicks it in the face. The dog howls in surprise and pain and receives another kick. My heart lurches at this assault and I wish to get out of the auto and run to this sadistic guy and kick him the face but I can’t and I don’t. To this day, I wish I did. So yeah, I don’t hate dogs, I just fear them. Something that white Australians don’t get. What they do get is offended if I see a dog and run in the opposite direction. They would rather I scream at the sight of their 6 month old baby than shriek at the sight of their munchkin boo Lady Diana.

Incident 1 : I had gone to my neighbour’s house with my 3 year old cousin and was waiting outside after knocking the door. The door opened ever so slightly and a black daschund-size dog whizzed past my legs onto my baby cousin prancing in delight.Dog prancing not my cousin.My cousin was running around my legs in circle crying and shrieking asking me to pick him up, the dog chasing him and I am frozen in terror screaming my head off. The aunty doesn’t know what to do so she calls her teenage son who bribes the dog with treats. Dog leaves, I pick my cousin up and we dart out of there forgetting the purpose for which we had gone to their place. To this day, I avoid any sort of contact with the next door neighbour.

Incident 2 : It was a nice sunny day and I had taken my 3 cousins (aged 10,7 and 3) to the park. I was pushing the 3 year old on the swing and the 10 year old was pushing her 7 year old sister and we were laughing and chatting away when a door nearby park opens and a huge dog (what is with all these huge dogs? why not a chihuahua?) comes rushing.

All of us start screaming. In reflex action, I forget my cousins and rush for my dear life (Hey, don’t judge. It was a do or die situation). The dog runs after me and I am screaming and crying and running circles in the park, the dog chasing me in joyful barks with its tongue lolling around its chin and my cousins screaming out my name like a jinn had possessed them. The owner is calling out the dog’s name but the dog is busy enjoying my squeals of terror to listen to its master. Like in any horror movie, I trip and the dog is over me and I close my eyes because it’s all over.The owner yanks away the dog and mutters an apology but he is clearly insulted at my offensive behaviour. I don’t know what he was expecting : for me to bow down to his dog or what? Naah man ain’t gonna apologise for your hyper canine mate.

Dogs and desis do not gel.Well 95% don’t. Apparently Pakistanis are up in the game with most of my friends adopting furry poodles but for Indians and Bangladeshis :  well the hatred is as much and as real as for each other.

***Images and gifs courtesy of Google.

In Search of Perfection

I am a perfectionist. I love organizing and keeping everything in place. I clean out my cupboards every month, re-arrange my clothes and stack it properly. I need to have a pencil,sharpener, ruler, a red pen, a black pen, a blue pen and a highlighter in my pencil case at all times. I need to have matching hijabs for every abaya and matching jewellery and shoes for every dress, matching dupatta for every shalwaar kameez, mind you not a shade lighter or darker but the exact same which seems to irk my family and relatives as it creates a hassle when shopping in India.

I am a procrastinator. I submit my assignments the exact time its due and not a minute before. I watch all YouTube videos in my subscription feed and then watch recommendations, hop onto Instagram then Twitter and finally Facebook. Once I am done stalking and watching what everyone else is upto, I check my emails and then finally decide to get to the report that is due in 6 hours. Type the title, name and student number. Mind drifts and fingers shift to WordPress to read blog posts or to write one of my own.

So how does perfectionism and procrastination work mutually? According to a research conducted recently, perfectionism leads to procrastination. But if I am perfect, I wouldn’t procrastinate now would I? It is in the quest of perfection that we tend to procrastinate. We like to furnish and refurbish that essay to the point that words literally gleam out of the paper. We like to gain full marks for that test we have to study for and so we put off the hardcore studying to a later time when we can concentrate and give it all we got. We relax/procrastinate so we can get our mind in to the zone.

And hence I am writing this post instead of writing my reports that are due tomorrow. I have already done one (well almost) but the other giant report that has been sitting on my desk for the past one month worth 20% of my total grade is scaring me. I have to tackle it sooner or later (by sooner I mean now and by later I mean today).No matter what I do, the report is constantly at the back of my head reminding me of my future GPA, terrorizing me and not letting me sleep in peace the way an Indian nagging wife nags her husband the moment he steps into home after a long day at the office.

There is this tactic that I use when I start getting overwhelmed. I start imagining the peaceful tranquil moments I shall have once I am done. The joyful heart thrumming and humming within my body, the cerebellum and cerebrum of my brain partying away and the nerves that started to get tense when the lecturer handed in the assignment until the moment I handed it in,  finally unwinding and praising the Lord for the stress that I had put it in. That really works. I get motivated and bust out books and research articles and peruse through journals. I am in the zone. I start pumping information into my report like a scientist pumping chemicals into machine and arrive at such brilliant conclusions that would leave my lecturer proud. I start imagining my lecturer’s reaction and the moment he hands out my report to me with a smile so huge I can see which tooth he got root canal done. Even better, he calls me to the front of the class and announces what an asset I am to his class while telling the rest of the meh average class to reproduce the results of the brilliance that I am.

DIIINNGGG!!! Ooooh I got a notification on my phone breaking my reverie. I shall be right back 😛

*** Images from Google

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Point of appointments??

Recently my mum diagnosed me of the Sleeping Beauty syndrome.I would go to sleep early (well early for me is 12 am) and I would be unconscious till 1 pm except on uni days. Mum would try waking me up but I would be snoozing away in Fairy Land.And even when I woke up, I would feel lethargic all day, yawning in between conversations. For a young girl who only had to attend university 2 days a week, this behavior was slightly getting to my desi mum and hence she decided to book an appointment with the doctor to confirm her doubts.

The appointment was booked at 11:10 on a Tuesday. I was the one who had to make the call. The receptionist asked me all my details, medical history and booked in my appointment for “10 to 11”. I hate such terminologies : quarter to 1, quarter past 3 and all that. I mean why can’t you simply say 11:10 or 12:45 or 3:15. Why complicate it? The world is complicated as it is without people making it even more complicated. After I put the phone down, mum asked me what time did I get and I said 10 to 11. I swear the receptionist DID say 10 to 11 ok. But since my tone was a bit flustered, (I always get nervous when I am talking to a receptionist, or any stranger for that matter), mum decided to double check and called the receptionist the next day before driving me into the clinic. The receptionist says the appointment is booked at 11:10 not 10 to 11. ARRGGHHH!! I mean I know its just like 20 minutes difference but it made me sound like such an idiot.

We reached the clinic at exact time 11:10, the time my appointment IS, the time I am supposed to see the doctor but no, the receptionist smiles and asks me to take a seat. Which I dutifully do. After 10 minutes, mum says she shall go to the nearby Coles and have a look and asks me to call her once I am done. Mum goes, I watch the lounge TV for a couple of minutes, then start browsing my phone going through social media : Twitter,Facebook, etc.30 whole minutes pass and I suddenly realize that I was so engrossed that I might have missed my call. So I go to the receptionist and ask whether my name was called. She looks at her register and says no with a smile. That sickeningly sweet smile.I return to my seat. At 11:50, I hear my name being called out and I jump so quickly that everyone looks at me. The doctor was really sweet and she told me that my tiredness might be due to anemia.I would have to come the next day for a blood test after 8 hours of fasting. Oh joy.

Dear hospital staff, what is the point of appointments if you are just going to waste 40 minutes of my life? The doctor didn’t even apologize for calling me in late which they totally should do. I mean if you and your friend plan to meet up at a set time and one of you arrives late, don’t you apologize? Doctors aren’t even late to clinics. They are IN the clinics, in their cubicles probably playing Solitaire on their computer which is why every patient is waiting out in the lounge for 40 to 50 whole minutes. My younger brother Mikaeel had an ear pain and booked an appointment last week for 8:50 pm and got called in 9:50 p.m. OUTRAGEOUS!!! One time this patient came 10 minutes late for the appointment and the receptionist was like “You are late for your appointment. We shall have to reschedule”. Like whaaaat? If she came in early, the doctor would be late and she would be sitting in the lounge anyway. Might as well spend it in the car amongst traffic.

The whole doctor patient interaction takes about 10 minutes max, the patient leaves, doctors fill in report which takes 10 minutes and then what? Just because we are not emergency patients does not mean you can take your own sweet time. My mum reckons its a gimmick so that the clinics are jam-packed with people in the waiting lounge which shows how popular the clinic is or how good the doctors are for people to be flocking into the clinic. If that is true, then dear hospital staff, if I have a problem or I am writhing in pain, I won’t care about a clinic’s popularity. In fact I shall go to a clinic with fewer people so I can get attended to faster. Let me know what the reason is. It better be a good medical,scientifically proven valid reason because wasting 40 minutes of my life is not funny. Booking in appointments and calling in an hour late is not funny.Your receptionists who smile and say please take a seat when I arrive at time and who get confused between 10 to 11 and 11:10 are not funny.Most importantly the programs you show on TV in the waiting lounge are not funny. No, but seriously, you people should clean up on your act.

Sincerely yours,

A severely tired,mentally exhausted,physically frustrated, angry patient.

Sale Frenzy

Target at Hoppers Crossing recently relocated to the Pacific Werribee and as part of its moving, it had a three day 75% off sale. I had always heard of people going crazy at Black Friday sales in America.There have been incidents of people getting trampled to death by the throngs of crowd just pounding into the stores like the stampede in Lion King.

Fortunately,we don’t have boxing day sales here in Australia. Why did I say fortunately? Read on.

Sale started Monday , the day I go to mentor kids at the Werribee Secondary College for 2 hours. My aunt called up my mum to inform her of the sale. Mum dropped me off at school and headed to Target to check out the buzz. I called up mum to ask her to pick me up after my mentorship training got over and mum said that she couldn’t pick me up as she was stuck in line to the counter and that she might not be able to come out even after an hour. So I called my aunt and she picked me up and dropped me at Target and wooooow!! I was just speechless. It was a whole new shopping experience I can tell you that. The store was practically empty but the employers would just bring out new stuff and people would rush to it like a pack of hyenas would attack a baby deer. Their eyes were as ravenous as a hungry lion and their hands as outstretched as a little child who had just seen their favourite toy at store.There was a huge line that started from the cashier snaking all the way around to the whole store ending at the entrance. My mum didn’t exaggerate when she said it was a kilometre long line. After a few minutes,I was able to locate my mum. Having secured the trolley, we decided to check out other stuff as well. Mum saw these bed sheets and decided to check whether it was for single, double, king or queen size and poof it was gone. Some one had snatched it right out of her hands!!! People were wild I tell you. You couldn’t differentiate between people and animals, such was the environment and the atmosphere. It almost seemed like everyone had lost their senses and were lusting after the discounted items. The funny thing was that most of these items were stuff people didn’t even need. Allow me to elaborate : So I am a size 7 and when I was checking for shoes my size, there were none to be found. Only the gigantic size 9s or the tiniest size 6s could be seen all over the shelves. I spotted these beautiful black heels in size 7 in some aunty’s hand and no, I wasn’t going to grab it out of her hand. Thankfully I hadn’t transformed into the mindless zombie who had forgotten all etiquettes. The aunty was busy trying to squeeze her foot into the heel.

It almost pained me to observe the whole thing and I was almost tempted to tell her that there was no Prince Charming who would come and rescue her if her shoe fit in the glass slipper, I mean black stiletto heels. After 5 minutes of torturing the feet and the heels, she finally gave up. I was almost delighted and had started fantasising of the heels in my hands until she exclaimed “Ehhh I shall give it to my sister. I can’t miss such a good deal”. ARRRGHHHHHH!!!

Mum and I were waiting in the line for a good hour, observing the whole craziness and pandemonium taking place. All of a sudden, we heard a lady groan in agitation and looked back to check what had happened. Apparently these group of Indian ladies had taken a friend of theirs under their wing. Understandably, the white lady behind would be upset. Having to wait in line for hours and then have someone jump the queue is not at all acceptable. But the newcomer wouldn’t and didn’t budge. After a while, a hijabi approached us and was about to ask if she could join us when the very same lady that had escorted her friend, started shouting at the top of her lungs accusing her of queue jumping and breaking the line and threatening to complain to the management. The hijabi lady looked around helplessly for a few seconds and then jumped out of the line, stashed away the clothes on a nearby rack and left. I was appalled and shocked at the attitude of the Indian aunty behind me. Her hypocritical nature had left me speechless. I wasn’t able to question her and I wish I had because it really should be one size fits all (You can tell I really really wanted those heels lol).

By the time, we left the store it was 3:30 in the afternoon. Mum had spent 6 hours and I, 2 and that was enough time for us to start questioning the world we live in. If a sale on materialistic items had ignited such passion and antagonistic feelings in humans, then we aren’t leaving a very good example for the generations to come.

***All images and gif via Google Images

Tutti Frutti Frozen Yoghurt (Review)

So today is officially my one month anniversary of blogging. I am not that type of person who would be excited and bragging about anniversaries, or that I have 31 followers ,or that I reached a total of 205 likes on all my blog posts so far or the fact that my best number of views in a day was 32 on my blog (oops, I guess I just did hehe). Nope, I would rather be excited that I was able to keep my promise of blogging consistently 5 days a week for a month alhumdulillah(Still deciding which 2 days to blog on from now on. For now its Saturday and Sunday.)And so I decided to treat myself with a bit of froyo.

I had heard of the concept of frozen yoghurt by the girly YouTubers who make DIY videos and get ready with me’s and morning and night routines on their channel. They were raving about cookie dough frozen yoghurt. And so when Tutti Frutti opened up at Pacific Werribee (Werribee Plaza back then), I was the first one in line to try it out. And may I say it was the best thing ever especially with toppings. It has the sweetness and coldness of ice cream and health factor of yoghurt. Of course, my froyo doesn’t seem too healthy after I add choc-biscuits and wafer and all that jazz.

Tutti Frutti has various flavours of frozen yoghurts and they keep introducing new flavours. My all time favourite is chocolate and cookie n cream.

The best part about it though are the assortment of toppings. I am a huge pearl fan.

When you bite into a pearl, the sweet juice shoots into the back of your mouth directly into the esophagus (food pump/canal).  Normally it works best with fruit flavoured froyos such as mango,blueberry and strawberry just because the pearls are fruit flavoured too but I have to have pearls in any froyo I choose. It IS the best.

Also for those who are concerned with the pearls being halal or not, just ask the staff and they will tell you. In my case, the person behind the counter took out the tub from the shelf and handed it over to me for me to peruse through the ingredients and fortunately, the pearls were of vegetarian origin.

Pros :

• Taste yummy
• Various flavours
• Assortment of yummy toppings to choose from

• Colourful spoons

• Vegetarian pearls

Cons:

• Pay by weight so if you load up on toppings like I do, you end up paying more.

All in all, the best dessert. Suitable for weight-watchers, and fun and yumm for kids.

I shall be right there for you when you fall……….laughing so harrrddd

There are some friends with whom you instantly connect and share all your laughs and sorrows and life’s every moment and with whom you become really close with and later can’t seem to recall how you met and became friends in the first place. Then there are others who just land in your life at the right moment and right time and with whom you wouldn’t have thought of getting close to but you do and you actually do remember how you two met. Beatriz fell in the latter category. Fell being the imperative word as that is what my funny and georgeous friend seems to do : fall.

I met Beatriz as I was rushing to Nutrition Principals lecture. As I rushed to open the door, I noticed a girl beside me and gave her way to enter before me. She said thanks with a wide smile & enquired whether I was heading to Nutrition lecture as well. Upon getting a positive nod, her smile grew even wider and we started chatting away by asking about each other. Over the course of next weeks, we both came to know about each other’s families (she is Brazilian),likes and preferences. She is my only friend who has had the honour of getting to know about my blog. Beatriz is such a sweet soul that she not only reads it regularly and gives me feedback but has also told about my blog to her friends in Brazil. Readers from Brazil, thank you for your support.

Anyway today’s topic is falling. No, not the autumn fall but the physical act of smashing to the ground. Last week when I met up with Beatriz, she wasn’t able to speak. She was choking on her words and gasping for air. No, she wasn’t dying. She had fallen while climbing the stairs, and was laughing so hard tears were streaming down her face as she recounted to me her epic failure of the basic etiquette of the climb. And even though, I hadn’t had the chance to actually observe the glorious moment in action, Beatriz was laughing so hard and she drew such a great visualisation, that I was rolled up on the floor, doubling with laughter. We two were like a bunch of lunatics, laughing loud and hard and were drawing stares from everyone present in the library. It was later when we packed our bags and headed to our tutorial that Beatriz was kind enough to enact the whole fall in action as we climbed up the stairs.She had fallen just as Jennifer Lawrence had (gif down below) except Jennifer Lawrence fell in front of the whole world and Beatriz had fallen in front of her whole class. So engrossed was I in observing Beatriz that I didn’t realise and tripped over my own dress, in almost the exact same fashion as Beatriz had.The howls of laughter that erupted from both of us at my fall was too much to behold.

I guess it was fall season all around the world. Sarah Hyland tripped while walking to the stage at the Teen Choice Awards.

Oh and then last week, I was walking from university to station to catch the train. I was wearing my new ankle boots and was strutting my strut among the crowd of city people which included girls in business suits and pony tails and 6 inch heels. Mine wasn’t 6 inch. Probably 2 inch. So I wouldn’t trip right? 6 inch Elizabeth would right? Apparently some slippery pamphlety flyer was beneath me and my boots sorta slipped and gave way and my foot went above my knee and my head jerked back , wait I shall include a gif so you can feel like you were there when it happened.

Yeah yeah laugh away!! I was so embarassed that I could feel my face getting red. I didn’t look anywhere, just straight ahead and resumed by my strut like the above cute penguin.(I hope I looked just as cute). Serious question : why do we find it funny when someone slips,trips,falls? Is it because of that sudden clumsy motion of a person’s hands flailing around,legs flying in different directions? That person could injure himself/herself, sometimes resulting in death OKAY?? DON’T LAUGH. That person has already damaged his self-esteem. No need to add insult to the injury.I can still hear your muffled laughter btw.

This post is dedicated to Beatriz. That exchange student from Brazil who made my Fridays less tiresome and more funnysome. You are a sweet and kind friend. Your fall inspired this post so thank you.

***Image and gifs via Google Image