Breaking stereotypes

Indians are a minority in the Western World. Scratch that, I meant Indian representation is low in the Western world. There are certain stigmas and stereotypes associated with us Indians that I would like to clarify doesn’t work for all of us. We are all not the same. So why generalize? Below are a few points that I would like my fellow white people to read and grasp. Also, not all Indians worship cows and not all Indians have the accent and we all don’t do the head shake bob thing.

• I am an Indian but I can’t tolerate spicy food. My eyes, nose and ears get red. There is waterworks everywhere.
• I am an Indian and I hate bangles. They always make sure you are aware of their presence at the most inopportune moments and somehow literally feel like a load lifted by my hands.
• I am an Indian and I can survive without eating curry. Really, I can.Pasta over paneer.
• I am an Indian and a Muslim (shocker, I know).
• I am an Indian and can converse in,read, write and understand fluent Urdu.
• I am an Indian and I don’t speak Hindu (fyi Hinduism is a religion and Hindi is the national language so technically no Indian you will meet will speak Hindu and yes I do speak Hindi).
• I am an Indian and I wear an abaya instead of sari. So yeah I don’t “look” like the typical Indian.
• I am an Indian and don’t like wearing gold.
• I am an Indian but do not know how to dance Bollywood.
• I am an Indian but I don’t watch Bollywood movies.
• I am an Indian and no Shahrukh Khan is not my neighbour. Neither is Shahid Kapoor nor Salman Khan nor any other celebrity.
• I am an Indian and I don’t hate Pakistanis.
• I am an Indian and will not get forcefully married to my cousin. I guess I shall be conforming to the stereotype of an arranged marriage but neither will it be forced nor will it be with my cousin.
• I am an Indian and I live in a nuclear family.
• I am an Indian and I am not a cricket lover.
• I am an Indian and I am not an IT professional. And neither am I a doctor.
• I am an Indian and my degree is not fake.
• I am an Indian and I am not cheap/stingy. I don’t dine at restaurants because of halal issue not because I am a miser.

Yes, such Indians do exist.And yes, there are Indians who eat spicy food and can’t survive without curry. Point is : there are all types of Indians.And all are cool and awesome.

Advertisement

Blogger Recognition Award

So I got nominated by the beautiful Tazzie Dee for the Blogger Recognition Award. Thank you Tazzie.Her blogs are all on beauty and lifestyle so go check it out to look beautiful and fashionable and stuff.Also she knows how to rock a purple lipstick.

Without further ado, the rules of the award :

1. Write a post explaining why you started blogging along with a few tips.
2. Nominate some of your fellow bloggers.
3. Comment on their blogs to let them know you’ve nominated them.

This award is fantastic as it is so handy to learn about the inside workings of blogging. I have been reading other people’s responses and am learning something new each time.

The reason I started to blog was I felt I needed to do something productive in life. My brothers are my biggest support system. They believed I wrote well enough to write a novel but I just needed to fine tune my thoughts and hence the idea to blog was born. With my parent’s permission, I started this anonymous blog as a way to vent out against the injustices of desi society and the feelings of confusion that a Muslim desi kid has to endure living in the western society.

My tips :

• This blog is your baby. At least I feel mine is. I feed it with my feelings and rant about what I have gone through. And you take care of your baby, so take care of your blog. Do not neglect it. Write something, anything. Post once in a while. But please don’t take a hiatus. Or else it will be like those diaries that you wrote when you were in teens. Abandoned.
• Do not compare your writing to others. You might see bloggers spewing great poetry, others capturing great photos and you may feel your posts are not that high up. Always remember : You are not meh. You do you. Yes, if you feel the need to improve, by all means do. But you shouldn’t be pressured to do so.
• If you feel like you are stuck in a rut, take a break away from blogging. I know it contradicts my first point, but I said break, not a 6 month vacation. By freeing your mind of any blogging obligations, you never know when inspiration can hit you. And when it does hit you, grab whatever you have close by : phone, pen, paper and write a few words or the title to your post to complete it later. I am usually on tram or train when I get these blogging revelations and I open the Notes section on my phone and type a little bit to be completed later. Sometimes you read someone’s post and get inspired. Grab the opportunity and give credits to that person.
• Always remember it should never be about likes. You might write one awesome post but no one reads it or likes it and then you might write one ok post and it bubbles over with comments. So never measure your writing prowess by the number of stars.
• Last but not the least, blogging should be a passion. Not a chore. Enjoy it.

The rule states I nominate some of my fellow bloggers but Imma nominate you all because tips and hacks are helpful azz.Even if you are not an award person type, I want you leave your blogging tips for me. Thanks in advance.

Until next time

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.

On a Serious Note

Eid Mubarak!! Hope you had a great time. I know I am late on the Eid wishing but I was busy on Eid day with guests pouring in all day and the next day I had uni from 8 to 8 so sowwie. Better late than never right?

This Eid was bittersweet given the tragedy that occurred at Mina. My aunt and uncle are at Hajj this year so of course we were anxious to contact them and they are alhumdulillah safe. But of course those martyred at Mina would be someone’s aunts and uncles, someone’s mums and dads. I can’t bear to imagine the feelings of loss those families faced when they heard of their beloved ones passing away and the realisation dawned that they wouldn’t be waiting at the airport to welcome them back with joyous faces.

I guess Eid this year had that effect on everyone. As I logged onto WordPress to read posts on my feed,  people were sharing their feelings of sadness and loss.I tend to avoid thinking about such feelings. I am that girl who will always look cheerful no matter what. Tejas’s post on his cat, Ershad’s post on death,and revels’s thoughtful post on trust made me realise how happy occasions can be marred with feelings of sadness.Death is certain. Death is inevitable.The impact of death is a mental smack. Getting a smack on the face hurts but only for a little while. The pain subsides. But a smack on the heart, you know that feeling where you are feeling numb, your brain feels like it has frozen, because you can’t process anything. The Earth is still rotating, people are still going to office, kids are still getting herded off to school, everyone is laughing,socializing but for you it’s like everything is in slow motion. You are not part of the real world. You are not hungry, you feel no emotions. Just numb. A smack on the heart. And the heart stops beating. No emotions.

I remember the time when someone messaged my dad on Facebook to inform him the death of his friend. A close family friend that had been there from the start when we lived in Dubai.Our families were real close. My dad’s phone popped up with the message’s notification and since the phone was close by, I picked it up to hand it over to my dad. I glanced over and read the message and froze in my tracks. I couldn’t believe it. All day at uni I was remembering the family memories of when that uncle and his family with lovely daughters used to come over. Uncle was a jovial man who had diabetes. His condition had become so serious that the toes of his right leg had to be amputated and he had become blind in his later years. Even so, he was the most cheerful optimistic man who greeted you with utmost warmth when you met him.

My mum was a chemistry teacher at a secondary school in Dubai. When I was 10 years old, her school took the school kids to an island for excursion. It was a 2 day trip so the supervising teachers were allowed to take their children along. And so my brothers and I went along mum to Seer Baniyas island. The trip went amazingly well and everyone was having a great time. While returning, one of the school kids decided to get a bit naughty and ran along, diving head first into the open sea. His friends rushed along with him. Mum and other teachers started calling out for them to come back. And return they did. Except the one. The first one. The pioneer. The mastermind. Everyone started shouting his name to tell him that his prank was not funny, he better show himself up. Little did we all know, he had sunk to the bottom. He had swum to an area where the sand sloped off and as he stood up to breathe in air, his feet gave way and he was lying at the bottom. The outside world was shaking their head, imagining the prankster to show up at any time. As minutes passed away, comments on the idiocy turned to panic and frenzy and the male teachers started diving in. After what seemed like hours, a pearly white body glistening with water and frothing in foam, suddenly appeared from beneath the sea. A helicopter suddenly came in view and the school boy was put in a stretcher and flown over to the nearest hospital. The mood in the bus was eerily quite, everyone muttering and mumbling prayers amid sniffles and tears. After a while, one of the teachers got up and gave a speech that I didn’t understand. But all the girls and teachers started crying audibly. My stomach lurched as I anticipated the news but I still had to know. So I turned to this girl, who was another teacher’s daughter and who I had befriended during the trip, to ask what had happened. The prankster had fooled us. He hadn’t gone to swim, he had gone to die. The anger was great, the anguish even greater. He was my mum’s favourite student.He was a bright and obedient student. Only this time he didn’t obey. And it cost us all. His mum couldn’t bear the shock and slipped into coma. And to this day, we avoid going to beaches. The school disbanded excursions for years.

Time does heal.It has been 12 years since but every time we remember that trip, a pain shoots on the inside.The memory is always there even if it is muffled by the chaos of life.

***Image via 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

---

Help me procrastinate.Follow on ze social media accounts below.

Email : aaliyah_zahra@hotmail.com

Instagram : @aaliyah_zahra

Twitter : @Aaliyahsblogs

Facebook : Aaliyah Zahra

Tumblr : @aaliyahzahra

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.

Fangirl Loses Her Fan Moment

Fangirls are in. Obsessing over a celebrity/books/movies is cool. I hadn’t realised that I was turning into the stereotypical obsessive girl who is fancrazy over a celeb until recently. Who has heard of Lilly Singh, aka Superwoman on Youtube? Put yo hands up in support. Oh wait, I can’t see you. Let me know in the comments below then. And if you don’t know who this awesomesauce chick is you most definitely live under a rock because she has 6 million subscribers on Youtube and if you are not among those 6 million, you better re-evaluate your life.

So Superwoman is in Australia at the moment. Sydney specifically which is a total bummer as I live in Melbourne. She is here to attend the YouTube fanfest along with other Youtubers such as Bethany Mota,Jenna Marbles,Lauren Curtis among many others.Superwoman is an all-rounder entertainer which basically means she does rants, collabs, skits (I love her parents especially her dad Manjeet, sorry Lilly I love you too but Manjeet is extra special and extra funny) and songs. She also vlogs which I watch dutifully especially since she is in Sydney so I need to monitor her movements in case she announces that she might be popping into Melbourne. What I didn’t realise is that she uploads her vlogs a day late.

I have late classes on Wednesdays and I leave home at 12 p.m to attend my 1:30 lecture. I was still in bed at 10:30 am when my phone buzzed. I picked up the phone to check who was texting and one my friends had texted that Superwoman was at Southern Cross Station a.k.a the very station I get off at for university a.k.a SUPERWOMAN WAS IN MELBOURNE!!! I lost it.

She hadn’t announced in her vlogs or even teeny tiny hinted about it (the vlog in which she said she would be coming over was uploaded after she had come and gone).Now even if I got ready in a supersonic speed and reached Southern Cross (an hour away from my home) I wouldn’t be able to meet her and I was soooo mad. I don’t know if I have the right to be mad at Superwoman. But I was mad. At myself. Soo many emotions. I had the chance to meet Superwoman and I lost it. I was the hysterical fangirl. I was a fangirl. I had morphed into those fangirls and I hadn’t even known and you know what? I am not ashamed.

   
 At least I was able to stand at the same spot as her. Above photo is mine and below is Superwoman’s taken from her fb.

***Feature image and gifs courtesy of Google Image

The Yes Girl

I haven’t watched Jim Carrey’s Yes Man but my friend was telling me it was about this guy who says no to everything and then goes to this seminar thing where he is told that in order to truly live life, he should start saying yes. So he does that, he starts saying yes to each and every opportunity and his life changes for the better. Sorry for the spoiler but the movie is quite old I believe and those of you who would have wanted to watch it would have already done so and those like me who haven’t, well, if you’re reading this, it’s too late (geddit? Drake reference?)

I am the opposite of Jim Carrey’s character. I can’t say no. I am the actual yes girl. And I hate that. It has gotten so bad that now when I say no to a plan or a suggestion, people look at me surprised, they can’t fathom the fact that my mouth actually formed into an O and produced the no sound when they are accustomed to me saying yes. And while everyone is blinking their eyes,still unable to comprehend, I get all flustered and reply “Ok yeah, let’s do it.” So, in the end, I end up acquiescing to whatever’s up.

It’s not that I am getting forced or people drag me. It’s the fact that I feel I am getting forced into doing something. And I often question why I can never say no. Is it because I am a people pleaser? Or is it because I am a don’t want to offend people-er? I like to believe that I am the latter. I care way too much for people’s feelings. And no, I am not complaining. I wouldn’t want to hurt anyone intentionally or not. But I have realized you can’t really please everyone.And even if you try, you don’t end up pleasing yourself. Which comes back to what I am trying to put across : Saying yes to every one and everything, even if you don’t want to doesn’t make you happy. But saying no sounds stuck-up and selfish.

For as long as I remember, my friends would come up with something, like going somewhere or working together in a group project and suggesting an idea, and while I would try to explain why it wasn’t such a good idea or something to improve to get better grades, they would just override it and continue doing what they liked. And it left me with feelings of anguish and helplessness because hey, I am getting graded for the assignment as well and I know that your idea is not good,so shut up and listen to mine but majority rules and damn it, the majority’s opinion suck!!!

It’s too late for me to start being the no girl and personally saying no to everything will lead to a boring life, so no, don’t say no. But say no once in a while. I am trying my best to practice but it is not working out as I would like to. I wish I was strong enough to say no. I wish I was strong enough to not care for others and care for myself once in a while. For now, I know the very first trait I shall be inculcating in the future generations : the ability to say no.

***Image and gif via Google Images

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