Dear 24-Year-Old Samaa,

Hello, 'tis I, from the past. I am here to put things in perspective for you with my teenage, know-it-all attitude. Listen to my words of carefree advice:

1. I don't know what this "#YOLO" business is, but I hear it's all the rage in the future. It sounds hella annoying, but use it as a philosophy, not to ignore responsibility, per se, but to grab each moment by the horns and realize that once it's gone, you will never get it back. I would know, I'm from the past.
2. Speaking of which, don't let anything from your past keep you from your future. I had to build a damn time machine just to talk to you, but once I get back to 2006, I will really be nothing more than a figment of your imagination, which you future people call "memories." A memory does not have the power to harm you today and it certainly cannot predict what's going to happen to you tomorrow or the next day. So learn to let go.
3. I have yet to experience a romantic relationship of any kind, so I really do believe in all my wide-eyed naivety that a fairytale romance is possible. You should believe the same even though you have experienced heartbreak. I can see you are scared of getting hurt again, but take it from me, it's a lot more exciting when you love each guy like he's the first and will be the last.
4. I have severe self-esteem issues, but you, my friend, are lovely. Don't underestimate yourself. I'm glad you are what I grow into :).
5. I drive my parents crazy, but I also give them plenty of hugs, so cut me some slack. I also openly express my love for them to the point of being a nuisance. Please continue this tradition.
6. I'm too young to worry about the future! And so are you, for that matter. In fact, the age at which you should start worrying is: never. You can definitely dream of a better future, but worrying is totally futile, if you ask me. I have more important things to focus on - like this boring calculus homework, kill me!!
7. I don't brush my hair because I would rather have the extra ten minutes of sleep. I really don't care what people think of me, and as long as I am clean and don't smell, what does my HAIR have to do with how I am as a student, friend, daughter, etc.? (Yes, I do believe you just got owned by your past self.)

That is all. See you in eight years.

Love,
16-Year-Old Samaa

Dear 16-Year-Old Samaa,

Hello, 'tis I, from the future. I am here to save you many gallons of tears and subsequent dehydration. Listen to my words of wisdom:

1. If you think high school is hard, prepare to poo your pants when you get to university. Don't worry, you will make it through, but you'll wish for lightning to strike your institution and burn it down several times a year. Anyway, my point being, do your best right now and don't let stress eat away at you. There are bigger and better things out there, which you will get to in good time. Enjoy the ride.
2. That being said, quit thinking that you can get away with everything because you are intelligent. Please stop procrastinating, assuming you'll do well regardless. I am still suffering the consequences of your well-engrained habit.
   Also, I see how you treat your parents like you know more than them. Shame on you.
3. In fact, your parents will continue to make you feel stupid when you scoff at their advice, only to find out later that they were correct on every count. This will happen throughout your existence.
4. Popularity is hardly fulfilling. Be grateful that you have a few friends, but your bond with them runs strong and deep.
5. Eight years from now, you will still not know what the heck the future holds or what to do with your life, but just take it one day at a time.
6. You will never stop being a hopeless romantic, and your heart will get smashed multiple times because you are such a sucker for all that mushy crap. It's okay, all your failed romantic encounters will shape you into a fine human being, if I do say so myself. Stay strong and know the right man for you will treat you well. In the meantime, being single is pretty legit. Keep your standards high and be proud of your independence.
7. Lastly, please brush your hair. I know the extra sleep is tempting, but at least tie it up in a ponytail or something?!

That is all. See you in eight years.

Love,

Samaa

Confessions of an Indo-Canadian

I mentioned in one of earlier my posts that ethnicity doesn't - or rather, shouldn't - matter when first meeting people. Well, call me a big, fat hypocrite, because today I am going to tell you all about being a strange, mutant hybrid of two cultures and its influence on my sanity.

As background, I am genetically 100% organic Indian, my parents both born and raised in the overwhelming phenomenon that is the city of Mumbai. I am a first-generation Canadian, having come to this fine nation when I was five years old. For most of my childhood, I was totally fresh-off-the-boat (a fob, as we racist people like to say) and hardly integrated into Canadian culture. I surrounded myself with Bollywood everything, and I am so grateful to my country for being perfectly accepting and supportive of my unnecessarily Indian behaviours: I recall having a birthday party where I danced to several Hindi songs in front of all my Caucasian classmates and fourth-grade teacher. They politely clapped their hands and nodded their heads, but even my ten-year-old brain could tell that they didn't know what on God's green earth I was doing. Good times.

Anyway, as I grew older, I delved into local pop culture and was whitewashed (racism) into a happy medium of eastern and western influences.

I am lucky to have a good blend of friends from all over the demographic map, but sometimes I wonder who the heck I am supposed to marry. My parents are very lax on the subject; I'm pretty sure I could wed a bag of marbles and they'd be fine with it. Well, my dad likes to sing old, depressing Hindi songs at random, inappropriate times, so I'm sure he'd appreciate a son-in-law who could join in on his late-night karaoke sessions. My mom, on the other hand, thinks I should spread my wings and marry someone exotic, a.k.a. a pure, well-mannered Canadian. My perfect solution to such conundrums is to do absolutely nothing and leave it to divine intervention. I'm totally proactive like that.

Clearly, I have a "#blessed" life if my biggest problem is deciding which of many options is right for me (note: this does not imply I have a line-up of men waiting to be screened... I'm all alone, with no one here besiiiiiiiide meeeeee).

Alright, I think I successfully managed to humblebrag my way through this post (humblebrag: to sneakily discuss how perfect life is with the pretense of suffering from an identity crisis), muahahaha.

Sayonara, y'all.

Kitchen Tales

Hello,

Today I cooked a meal for my parents. It was my very first time puttering around the kitchen solely to feed my old folks. Usually, I am a giant freeloader and just wait for my mom to get hungry and cook for all of us in the process of satiating herself. Today, I decided to pull up my socks and take control of all things culinary.

It took me four hours to cook a three-course meal. In good news, it is a Saturday so I can afford to work at my leisure. Also in good news, I expended so much energy double-checking my cookbook at a rate of nine times per minute, that I worked up a hearty appetite by the time the food was ready.

My tummy is making strange, rumbling noises, though. The fish I had is probably merrily swimming its way through my GI tract. I have a feeling, both literal and figurative, that gas will be coming out of my orifices soon. (Yes, men, I am this sexy.)

*Awkward transition.*

Once upon a time, I was cutting green chillies for my mother and I, the fool that I am, decided that my itchy eye was worth rubbing halfway through chopping spicy peppers from hell. Well, as you can imagine, I thought I was going to go blind, and I actually dunked my eyeball in a glass of milk. Yes. I filled a glass with my dairy saviour and stuck my eye into it. It was the only way to save my cornea, I tell you. Maybe I absorbed some calcium in the process?

That is all for now. Hardly a Pulitzer-prize-winning post, but I am too busy digesting marine creatures to think of anything poignant to write.

Good evening to you.

Failure to Launch

One of the main objectives of this blog is for you, the reader, to learn from my idiotic mistakes. And trust me, any wisdom I have acquired is from all my experiences being inconceivably stupid.

I am lazy beyond belief. Any indication otherwise is one giant, guileful façade. If I have an energy-packed day (e.g. dancing, socializing), I legitimately take the following day off to recuperate and nap in the fetal position for an ungodly number of hours. A colleague of mine once said I have a less-than-robust constitution, a.k.a., "you are weak and feeble." Alas, I tend to agree.

However, this is mostly of my own doing. I am quite skilled at not taking care of myself. If I didn't have my dear mother forcing proper meals down my throat, I would probably be living on an IV drip by now. I am so bad at meeting my daily nutrition requirements. No, this doesn't mean that I starve myself or that I'm getting ready for bikini season; I just cannot motivate myself to make a proper meal when I can eat a granola bar or devour an entire bag of premade popcorn instead. Perhaps this is something many singletons face: if you're the only mouth that has to be fed, why bother with the intricacies of a recipe that makes twelve servings?

Such a philosophy has, unfortunately, led to the demise of my properly-functioning immune system. I woke up in the middle of the night with a sore throat from Satan's toy box. Usually, I would begin my journey into illness by cursing the entire microbial world for being a pain in the tonsils, but this time, I hung my head in shame as I admitted I had brought this upon myself with my poor eating habits. I have not taken care of myself and this is the lesson I need to learn.

If you think I am being quite dramatic about a measly sore throat, let me tell you how much I dislike being sick. A lot. And a sore throat? Gurl, that ridiculousness HURTS. As far as I'm concerned, germs are the greatest evil masterminds to roam the face of the Earth. (If something delicious falls on the floor, though, I will still eat it... #YOLO).

Anyway, learn from my failure to be a grown up that it is so important to take care of yourself. No matter how much success you achieve in every area of life, without good health, it is truly pointless.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go have some premade popcorn for lunch.

P.S. YES, I wash my hands. Excessively. Hence why they resemble elephant hide instead of soft, velvety epidermis. Thank you.

Granny Sammy Says

I grew up with the sound of dial-up ringing in my ears and memories of contemplating life during the ten minutes it took for a single webpage to load on my computer screen. That wasn't even that long ago, and it is mind-boggling to consider how far technology has advanced.

When I reached high school, Facebook was gaining momentum; although at that age, it was mostly a race to see who could have the most "friends" (heavy emphasis on the quotation marks, a.k.a. literary sarcasm). And since then, there has been a slew of social media applications geared towards connecting people. Texting/SMS is also the main go-to nowadays.

Awesome (no quotation marks = sincerity). Connecting with old friends over long distances is sweet as pie, as is using the far-reaching marketing power of these systems.

As someone very picky with her socialization tactics, however, I have my reservations for the following reasons:

1. Commitment: Remember (or go ask your parents about) having nothing but a landline to make plans with friends? You would dial their home phone number, which you knew by heart and could rattle off in record time, and the simple question of whether your friend was able and willing to hang out would be finalized in one swift response: yes or no. Then, unless he/she had some serious guts to call back at a later time and withdraw participation, it was pretty much set in stone that you and your respective mates would be meeting at so-and-so place at such-and-such time. There wasn't as much leniency as there is today with the convenience of text to decide that you feel too lazy or unenthusiastic about the pending get together. Today, it's just so easy to type out within 140 characters that you're running late or that you'd rather stay home in your PJs. The response, "maybe," is all too prevalent. (And yes, I myself am guilty of such behaviour.)
2. Interaction and communication skills: I have witnessed with my own two vision-corrected eyeballs the effect of giving children smartphones. I was working in an office, and a family of six came in. The kids were told to take a seat while their parents filled out boring paperwork. The entire forty minutes the adults were doing their thing, each of the four children had their eyes glued to their respective phones. Not once did they look up to confirm that their fellow housemates were still alive and breathing. They were completely oblivious to their surroundings, which happened to be incredibly scenic, and their eyes were glazed over, their faces motionless, like they had lost the ability to express. This is not healthy, people.
   Why only children? I remember taking a friend out for her birthday and the entire time, she texted her boyfriend, occasionally looking up from her phone to say sorry for her lack of attention. Apology not accepted. It was rude, humiliating, and I would have loved nothing more than to just leave her to text away on her own. That is not how to treat someone who has taken the time and effort to come see you in person. In fact, I think basic etiquette should be to keep your phone out of sight, out of mind as a sign of respect.
3. Effort and thoughtfulness: I really like Facebook, I do, almost to the point of obsession. It has become a reflex to check what's happening on my news feed every time I use my phone. But when it comes to special occasion announcements, dear Lord. Before I begin my third tirade, I would like to thank Facebook for at least notifying us forgetful ones of our friends' birthdays. Your reminder system is legit, I have zero problems with it. The actual act of wishing someone a happy birthday or congratulations, however, turns me into a raging rhino because about half of the senseless, cookie-cutter greetings you get are from people who really wouldn't give two hoots about your special day if it wasn't for the nagging reminder on the side of their screen. People who have forgotten you even exist all of a sudden write gushing, flowery sentiments as if you're the one who taught them the meaning of life. I guess something is better than nothing, but I do not tolerate insincerity so it gets my goat. I feel like it's a cop-out for putting in the effort to wish someone properly, either with a phone call or by meeting them in person to give a hug of congratulations. If you are known for being a minimalistic person in general, then go for the wall post. If you care about someone, please go above and beyond to make that special someone actually feel special.

That is all. I love my iPhone with all my heart; I would probably give it my kidney if required, but there is a time and place for these things and having been burned myself by the overuse of technology, I had the urge to write this post. I don't even think I'm being dramatic or overemotional. We should all demand a certain standard of respect and commitment from the people in our lives. Because we're worth it. L'Oreal Paris agrees.