I'm a Homo sapien! You?

Oh hihihi,

You know how sometimes you attend a party where you don't really know anyone, so spend most of the night introducing yourself until your tongue is numb? I don't know what that feels like, I stay home, but my point is, oftentimes the small talk veers off into, "So, where are you from?"

"Pickering?" is my usual reply (when meeting strangers not at a party), my voice going high at the end to intone that I have no confidence in my answer. This is to prepare for my companion's predictable follow-up.

"No, I mean where are you from? What is your background?"
"Oh, well, I have a PhD in procrastination and I also enjoy poutine --"

"No, Goddammit, I mean what is your ethnicity?"

At that point, no matter what I say, I never get a second date.

Okay, seriously, I find it odd when people ask that question, but not because it's unreasonable. On the contrary, any similarity allows for instant connection. At my university, I've seen many students happy to meet those of the same background, running towards each other in slow motion to unite in romantic embraces. And then all these different ethnic groups travel in little herds for the rest of their time at school, happy to be among their own kind (and the Most Patronizing Writer award goes to...).

I just think it's weird because, being a visible minority myself, I have never made use of my Indian radar. My strongest and longest friendships are with those of completely different races and cultural backgrounds. Throughout our formative years and innumerable moments together, never even in jest did we ponder our differences in skin colour or cultural activities, even though in hindsight, it was obvious we were quite exotic to each other. Not until I reached university and noticed blatant racial and cultural segregation did it hit me that it must be easier to make friends with people of similar ethnicity. I now realize that my childhood friends unintentionally embraced my own cultural nuances without batting an eye, and we saw each other as nothing but fellow human beings.

I'm sure our friendship was facilitated by other, more substantial commonalities, but I've known these wonderful people for over a decade and it blows my mind that to this day, we see past all the facets of our ancestry straight into each others' hearts. We bond because of the words we speak, the ideas we have, and the new memories we form each time we meet.

Like I said before, there is absolutely nothing wrong with having a foundation of shared culture, language, etc., to start off a relationship, but what if we were drawn to people because of deeper characteristics that we all share?

Let's just be friends because we are all human.
...I probably won't come to your parties, though. Juss' sayin'.

Take a Chill Pill

Does anybody ever actually relax when you tell them that? It's like poking someone in the eye and telling them to see clearly [now the rain is gone!].

I am writing this primarily to avoid studying, but also because I realize that my writing often gets heavy in delivering insightful commentary. As such, it is important to stop being a self-righteous know-it-all and talk about some airy fairy things every once in a while. I mean, I wouldn't want your head to explode with too much of my twenty-four-year-old wisdom. Leave some things to the really old people, shall we?

Here is a list of things that are not of any use at all:

1. Today, one of my ten fingernails is shorter than the others. This is because I was cutting onions yesterday and, possessing the culinary skills of a vacuum cleaner, I managed to slice off the tip of my fingernail. I then trimmed the rest of the damage off with nail clippers, but was too lazy to do the same to all the other nails.
2. Speaking of being an amateur, I literally sob every time I cut red onions. My poor vulnerable eyeballs are exposed to that onion-y chemical of doom and it feels like I am going to burn my retinas into oblivion. There are tears and ample amounts of snot running down my face after a single onion, and I beg the vegetable gods for mercy.
3. My cat is shedding fur thanks to the changing weather, and now I am quite positive my entire GI tract is lined with his hair. This is a result of cuddling him for excessive amounts of time (which, to him, probably feels like some sick, twisted form of abuse; he likes his freedom) and consequently, his hair enters all my facial orifices only to end up in God knows which organ of my body. I am constantly picking his fur off my face. I don't even care, I just love hugging the life out of him (wait, what?).
4. My parents love my cat more than they love me. I am not even upset, because it is impossible to love anyone or anything more than my cat. I suspect he has some feline hypnotic powers that can charm even the most resistant.
5. I am a crazy cat lady (under hypnosis).
6. I have two very fancy-looking vodka bottles that I use as water bottles because they hold a good amount of liquid and they are just plain nice to look at with their artistic forms sitting on my end table. However, they consequently make me seem like a bedside alcoholic. Especially because the way I drink water is to chug until my stomach starts cramping in horror. I just can't remember to keep sipping at a normal pace over the course of the day, so I end up compensating with Olympian chug-a-thons.

That is all for now.

Congratulations, You're Beautiful!

Where does the time go, am I right?!

Dove's latest ad campaign on the RB-X beauty patch has triggered quite the hot debate, and of course, it is time for me to add my two cents.

At a stretch, I can appreciate Dove's emphasis on natural beauty. However, at the end of the day, it is a marketing ploy intended to win the favour of your average, insecure woman... who now feels Dove understands her and shall therefore shell over her hard-earned cash to buy their skin-rejuvenating foaming cleanser. Oh well, at least the execs at Buy My Shiznit HQ are catering to the non-supermodel demographic.

Before you call me a big bully, let me establish myself as an even bigger bully by saying that I am not just against Dove, but pretty much the entire beauty industry in general. Whether by presenting you with a plain, sullen laywoman to seem more down-to-earth, or else by showing off a bedazzled bombshell (no fault of the models themselves), these companies want women of the Earth to believe that being "beautiful" is the epitome of success.

Well, what about being intelligent? Friendly? Compassionate? Can you live a successful and fulfilling life with those qualities independent of how you look? Could a young girl who is considered to be ugly go on to make a scientific discovery that changes the course of mankind, or heal people of their emotional afflictions simply by her words and actions? Would she not then be successful, even if she was deemed to have the sexual appeal of a rusty nail?

Yes to all of the above. Our society is obsessed with physical beauty. If we were as obsessed with enhancing the lives of our fellow living creatures (my cat included), then God knows our planet would be in the finest condition since its inception.

Okay, I love my makeup and facial scrub. I enjoy being pretty. But unless I am feeling up to the task, I do not need flawless skin and curled eyelashes to feel fulfilled. My appearance will not leave one ounce of a legacy after I die. My body is a piece of art that will disintegrate when I am gone, and trying to make myself a permanent fixture is a waste of my skills and talents. We all have beautiful minds that can truly change the world when we accept the impermanence of our looks.

So, let's not perpetuate that everyone (men included) needs to be beautiful to be successful. There are so many more adjectives to describe the amazing you. Let's use them, shall we? (SMART, FUNNY, BOMBDIGGITY, etc. etc.)

P.S. I do not mean to put down those who enjoy looking their best and enhancing what their mama gave them with the use of skin products and cosmetics. I just mean to say that it should be enjoyable, kind of like a hobby, something that doesn't consume you. Thank you.

Springing Forward

I can now finally wake up in the mornings without cursing my existence, for temperatures have risen along with the Sun, and I don't have to worry about cold toilet seats and that incredibly difficult decision to step out of a warm shower into the cold air bubble that is the rest of my abode - SPRING IS HERE!

Most associate spring with new beginnings, growth, the ground smelling like manure after festering under snow piles for six months, etc. This year also happens to mark my venture into the real world after I finish my undergraduate studies at the end of the month; which, as of now, entails a lot of uncertainty.

My parents want me to have a well-paying, high-status job, my friends want me to have any sort of job at all so that I can go out for drinks without counting pennies (or should I say nickels... Canada has entered a new age, my friends), and my acquaintances don't care because they have better things to worry about. Amidst all that, I have to figure out who is right - get a job that looks good in a matrimony ad, or get a job, period. But most important of all, I want to figure out what I think is right for me.

My mother and father dearest have this horrible habit of always being right, which has caused me much anguish during my teenage years. Their years of wisdom compel them to give me career advice that I would be foolish not to heed. And yet, the heart does not work with reason, and I cannot help but feel that I was not put on this planet only to make other people happy. I want to do something that makes me feel alive, that makes me feel like the work I do will leave a legacy behind for all of humanity to treasure; that I will be an inspiration well after I am dead and gone. I mean, if I love what I do, won't I automatically be successful and make others proud and happy?

To be honest, I do not have the faintest idea what my calling is (something with trees?!?!), but I am fortunate to be surrounded by people who are following their passions with no regard to the paycheque that follows. They do what they do simply because they love it and it makes them happy. It inspires me to find that one thing that lights my fire, because that is what I am meant to contribute to the world in this lifetime.

I am reading Harmonic Wealth by James Ray Arthur (2008; Hyperion, New York), and he tells a story (pg. 126) of an old man (your Average Joe) who dies and goes to heaven. He meets God and says, "What a mess down there, why didn't you send someone to fix it?"

God replies, "I did. I sent you." (My young, tender heart feels all the feels.)

So, are you doing what you were put on this planet to do?

A Note from the Editor

I am the editor.

My father happened to read my blog post entitled Maggot Chocolate?!? and expressed his disdain at my statement that, and I quote, "he'll eat anything."

What I meant to say is that as long as it is edible and accepted by society at large, he will eat it. He is NOT a tasteless diner by any means, but he is far less picky than I am. For example, I do not eat grapes unless they are cold (i.e. refrigerated) and crispy. If they are soft, that is a giant no-go and I throw them out as starving children in various parts of the world shake their heads at me with pursed lips and glaring eyes. My dad, however, does not mind eating soft grapes as long as they are not rotten, obviously.

SO. I apologize if I gave my readers the impression that my father eats maggoty chocolate. He would never eat maggots, but I do profess that if he was a contestant on Survivor, he would win the jackpot prize because he is brave, adventurous and has taught me that one should never turn anything down without at least trying it once. He also likes coconut and fried fish.

End.

Long Overdue

Hello, world. I have finally emerged from my cave of academia to type out this entry. Thank goodness for the "thesaurus" function in MS Word: four essays later, my brain has been drained of all expanded vocabulary. But don't worry, this post will be 100% organic Samaa.

I am all for shamelessly writing about bodily functions (I think it is becoming somewhat of a trademark for me... 'tis the end of my intellect as we know it), and here I offer a list of things that should continue to be done in private as they are today, but should also be less taboo. This list is PG-rated, unless you are squeamish and/or proper with highly refined table manners, in which case, I do believe there are tea and crumpets in the next room.

1. Picking noses: Yes, it is gross to witness, but I'm pretty sure every child does this as their go-to method for nostril cleaning, and I think kids have it right. Just take a deep breath (if your sinuses will let you) and admit that there is no better way to get the debris out of your nose. I obviously reach for a tissue when my blocked airways call, but it is so frustrating having remnants left over and nine Kleenexes later, I am counting down the minutes until I can get into the shower and use the proper "tools." There is so much oxygen just waiting to be inhaled. When alone, don't be ashamed to use what God gave you.
2. Pooping in public washrooms: For hygiene reasons alone, this can be stressful, but sometimes you gotta go when you gotta go, and having to be super self-conscious if someone else is in a neighbouring stall, or washing their hands, or combing their eyelashes, is the final straw. Yes, world, everyone poops, including women (shocker). Being of the female persuasion, I often wish I was a fruit fly that could poop freely without fear of judgement. I don't know if guys have this issue with their fellow stall-mates, but I fear that if my end-products dare make a noise, I shall be condemned to Loserville by my peers for the rest of my life. I know I'm waging psychological warfare on myself, but can we all agree to not judge the various noises we hear when we are in the bathroom? Poo happens.
3. Hiccuping: Unless your loud, drunken hiccup interrupts the launch of a spaceship, I don't think hiccups should be embarrassing. I've seen enough people blush and guiltily excuse themselves for something that isn't smelly, messy, or even voluntary. Your diaphragm appreciates your concern, but it will keep on going regardless of how you feel. So unlike that air bubble trapped in your throat, just go with the flow.
4. Smiling at strangers: Okay, I'm getting off the body talk train before I lose all my readers. Years of working in customer service have brainwashed me into smiling at whomever I cross paths with. However, I find that younger people (ages preteen to twenty-I-know-everything-five) tend not to smile back and, on the contrary, look at you like your sinister face is a portal to the underworld. I've seen people recoil in fear as if I'm about to mug them, or else look at me like I have real nerve trying to be friendly with someone of their high caliber. I have no ill intentions... unless you blatantly disregard my toothy grin. Then somebody gonna get a hurt real bad.

I hope you agree that we need to slow down on the judgement. I think if animals had the capacity for human language, they would tell us how silly we are for confining ourselves while they poop freely in open grass. Although I do agree we should all go potty in enclosures, we should also accept that we, too, are animals (with iPhones!) and there is absolutely nothing wrong with that.

I shall write with words that incur more pleasant imagery next time. Thank you for sticking around... like my boogers.

Rotting Garbage is Amazing

Ask my parents and they will tell you I am Mt. Vesuvius when it comes to angry outbursts. Unfortunately for them, I am only like this at home because, hey, they're my parents, they will forgive me forever! Right?

However, to ease their suffering, I have figured out a solution to make the nasty feelings go away.
Contrary to popular belief, venting anger just makes you angrier by activating the anger/aggression centres of your brain - PSYCHOLOGY, woohoo! Of course, it's equally unhealthy to suppress it, but stewing in it is just as bad. So, I have come up with a handy dandy technique that will make you go from a raging fire to a calm quagmire (...this is why I don't write song lyrics).

Whenever I am mad at something or someone or all of humanity, I will first bask in it for a while so it doesn't manifest into some kind of intense craving for Cheez Whiz (seriously, what is that stuff made of?!). Then, I start listing everything I like about my object of hatred. I force myself to appreciate that motherchucker like it is my last lease on life. I don't even care if my reasoning is hardly valid - like how I enjoy the never-ending cold and ice (welcome to Canada) because it motivates my cat to snuggle with me and mooch off my body heat. And I like the pouring rain because I get a free car wash; plus, if it's warm enough outside, I can reenact scenes from all my favourite romantic movies, i.e. I dance with my invisible "air" boyfriend.

It's surprising how quickly my anger dissipates. Appreciation of all things, annoying or otherwise, is a force to reckon with!

Before I sign off:

My blogging application is kind enough to let me stalk my reading audience by listing which countries you all are from. I just want to thank every single person out there for reading what I write. I am quite biased towards you non-Canadians because, in my head, I imagine I am making someone smile many miles away. However, no matter where you're from, you externally validate me and I LOVE it. Thank you!