Snap

At this point, I’m not sure what it’ll take…

I wake up some mornings and feel amazing.
I gaze into the mirror and I feel beautiful. And put together. And just so normal.
I feel smart. Lucky. Unstoppable.

But then the sun sets…
And the fighting starts.
And the tears fall.
And my heart races. My body clenches. My head pounds.
And the shouting gets louder.
And I just feel so helpless. So lonely. So torn.

I anxiously await the new day.
Praying that I wake up smiling.

Ode to My Mother

Dear mom,

If I could, I would take back all the mean things I've ever said to you.
I would have never argued with you. Or raised my voice. Or made you cry.
I would have listened to all your advice, because in the end, you were always right anyway.

If I could, I would make all your dreams come true.
I would get you the house you've always wanted--
A beautiful ranch home. Resting on a white sandy beach. With big windows that allowed all the sun to shine in .
There would be a giant kitchen with marble counter tops. And an endless pool. And a wooden deck so you could watch the sunrise every morning.
Ashwin would cook us gourmet meals.
And I would bake us fresh banana nut muffins. You would always eat the bottom of the muffin cause you knew the top was my favorite..
We would share bottles of cab from your perfectly stocked wine rack. And watch horrible movies that Ashwin picked out.
We would have the best holidays there...

For 20 years, you've stood by my side.
You've tucked me in every night. Sang me lullabies. Rubbed my back. And massaged my feet.
You've taught me how to ride a bike. Braid my hair. And tie me shoes.
Because of you,
I know right from wrong.
I know how to make sacrifices. And I know when to say "no."
Because of you,
I know what it's like to be loved and accepted.
Because of you,
I know that I'll be more than just okay...

Happy Thursday.

I think everyone should partake in a random act of kindness today.

Buy a stranger a cup of coffee at starbucks.
Help someone carry groceries to his or her car.
Bake cookies for your neighbors.
Hell, even hold the door open for someone.


I promise, it'll feel real good.

A Field Guide to Water Lilies

It’s as if they have their own armor. Their own shield to protect them from the brutal attacks of the natural world. A waxy layer of skin that stands between their vulnerable souls and the dangers of reality.

The rain fires like sharp torpedoes, repeatedly pounding against her delicate limbs. The rain is malicious. The rain is persistent. It continues to bombard her fragile frame, but despite repeated attempts, it fails to kill her.

The droplets begin to accumulate, gradually weighing her down.
Her body is heavy. Her body is weak. She longs for sunshine. For clear skies and a gentle breeze. She yearns for warmth. For comfort. For ease.

She is hurting.
She has been fighting for so long, under the constant attack of mother nature’s soldiers.
It’s as if the world is against her.

She wants so badly to give up. To rest. But she seems to carry on. To stay strong.

She is resilient.


And then she realizes, that with a slight shake, she is able to disperse of the droplets. She continues shaking, and with each turn, the poison glides right off her body.
The weight is lifted off her shoulders. She is light again.

The sun emerges from the gloomy sky. Once again, she has survived.

Panic.

I had been standing at the counter well over 15 minutes vacillating among the plethora of fresh bagels. Cinnamon raisin, poppyseed, honey whole wheat, asiago, and chocolate chip were all screaming my name. “Pick me! Pick me!” They all presented themselves so perfectly. How was I to choose?
“Arthi, just pick one. We’ve been here way too long. You’re going to miss your flight.”
My mom anxiously fiddled with her Blackberry eager to get back to work.
“I don’t know which one I want. You decide for me.”
I don’t know how I got to this point. To this level of frustration. It had become such a hassle, such a headache, to make such simple decisions.
“I’m not choosing for you. Pick a bagel now.”
Her firm voice surprised me. Her patience for me was quickly deteriorating. It was now or never.
“I’ll just take the plain one.”

I had conquered Panera and it was now time to return to Phoenix. With melancholy eyes, I dragged a tired body, a heavy duffel bag, and a plain bagel on board a tiny Southwest plane. As I shuffled down the aisle, frustration began to fester within my mind. Window seat or Aisle seat?
I had always preferred Southwest airlines to the others. The friendly staff, the good deals, and the complementary beverages won me over effortlessly. The open seating, however, configured the state of pure chaos.
The “what ifs?” began to fire. What if I sit by the window and have to get up too many times? But what if I sit by the isle and get too sleepy? I like being able to rest my head against the window.
The line quickly grew behind me. I could sense the irritation of the other passengers.
I had to choose now.
I quickly glanced over the remaining seats and narrowed in on a quiet window seat. I settled in, took a deep breathe, and closed my eyes.
I was suddenly awakened by the shriek of a young boy. A mom and her son had cornered me in. I was done for.


I should have picked the aisle...

A Cup of Comfort

My restlessness builds as the clock approaches noon. My heavy eyelids are battling gravity. I’m fighting to stay awake.
My professor’s voice fades in and out. Depression. Anxiety. Schizophrenia. I just can’t listen anymore.
My stomach churns as I enviously watch my classmate devoir a candy bar. I’m starving.
I’ve been up since 4am. I’ve already managed to run 7 miles, fill up my gas tank, finish an essay, and wash my hair. And I just want some tea.

“I DON’T WANT TO BE IN THIS CAR ANYMORE.” We had been driving for days.
Actually, it had only been five hours. I couldn’t handle being crammed in the backseat of a tiny eclipse any longer. We were making our way back to Baltimore from Manhattan. The traffic was vicious. My legs were throbbing. And I couldn’t bear to listen to my brother’s pounding speakers vibrating within my head. I want to get out of here. I want my couch. I want warm clothes and silence. And I just want some tea.

I just miss her so much sometimes. We used to go on spring break together every year. We would pick a new island or anywhere warm for that matter and just take off. We would lye on the beach. Soak up the sun. Forget about life.
We used to go to quaint restaurants and order a single appetizer to share. We would never order real meals because we didn’t want to fill up. We always had to get dessert. Anything with ice cream, caramel, chocolate, and two spoons.
I wish Baltimore wasn’t so far away. I wish I could see her whenever I wanted. I wish I could start off every morning with her. Just me and my mom, and our cups of tea.

If Only

If it were up to me, I would have a dog
A big, furry dog
One that would sit on the couch with me
One that would go running with me
One that would love me unconditionally
And most importantly
One that would never shed

If it were up to me, there would be no such thing as bills, or grades, or deadlines, or anything that gave me anxiety
Anxiety wouldn’t even exist in Webster’s
I could work for my own enjoyment
I could go to school to deepen my thoughts
I could take my time and enjoy simplicity

If it were up to me, I would bake brownies for the rest of my life
I would move to coast
Or closer to the mountains
I would open up a bakery and create the most decadent desserts known to man
I would be featured on the Food Network, maybe even offered my own show
I would make people so happy

If it were up to me, it would never be too hot or too cold
It would rain at just the right times
And everyone would get to experience “a white Christmas”

If it were up to me, families would stay together
Friends would never forget
And loneliness would never be understood

If only it were up to me…

Liberation

I know this blog is meant for class.

But I feel the need to use it for my personal expression as well...

I'm scheduled to work at 10:15 a.m. tomorrow.
And I just turned off my alarm.

After being mistreated, unappreciated, and belittled... I decided to quit my job.


It feels right.

"Three Voices"

It’s 3 a.m.
The world is at rest.
The moonlight beams into my room through a tiny crack in the blinds.
My mind is racing.
Overflowing with anxiety.
So many questions. So many concerns. Yet I can’t seem to pinpoint just one.
My body is tense.
I try to breathe.
Instead, I choke on tears of frustration.
I need to slow down. And disengage from these obtrusive words.
The voices in my head are battling one another for attention.
I want them to stop. Let me rest.

I’m just so tired.

It’s 5 a.m.
My aching feet are begging for mercy as I force them to continue pounding on the belt of a sturdy treadmill.
Mile after mile, their cries become louder. More indicative of pain.
The voices interfere with the music of my headphones until they once again overwhelm my thoughts.
“Stop running. Stop working. Stop hurting me. Just let me rest.”
I keep pushing.

I’m still so tired.

It’s 11 p.m.
I sit in silence.
I reminisce on another long day.
Thoughts of tomorrow creep into mind without invitation.
They’re tormenting me.
My anxiety festers.
My body grows tense.
My heart begins pounding. Louder. Louder.
I need someone here.
I need someone to help me relax. To calm me down. And show me how to breathe.
I need to get out of here. Out of this apartment. Out of this state.
I need to break away from this monotonous routine.

Because I’m just so tired.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

#1
It was frigid outside. My bare legs were covered in goosebumps as I paraded through Manhattan wearing a slinky dress and delicate heels. I barely noticed the shivers running throughout my body. It must have been the vodka.
It was the night after Christmas and my family and I were headed to an authentic Cuban restaurant nestled perfectly within the city. We were invited in by an enticing live band, the potent aroma of Cuban cigars, and some seriously sexy waiters. We clumsily danced the night away.
I reached for my camera, in attempts to capture those precious moments. Instead, I knocked over two Mojitos and a Bud Light.

It was that night where I had witnessed my first drowning.
I helplessly watched my beloved cell phone suffocate in a sea of alcohol.

#2
I arose to the sound of a pure silence. It had been weeks since my last day off and I finally had the opportunity to give rest to myself as well as my alarm clock. The sun was slowly beginning to rise. I took a moment to gaze out the window and appreciate the stillness of my environment. I set out on a long jog to commence my day of freedom. I read my favorite trash magazines. I washed my hair. I shaved my legs. I painted my nails. I baked muffins. I even vacuumed. I dedicated those precious hours to bettering my emotional stability.

The night, however, arrived quickly. My glorious day had come to an end. I began preparing for my return to reality. I plugged in my laptop. I checked my work schedule. I got my books together.
I waited as long as I could until I had no other choice. I finally turned on my cell phone.

RING RING RING!
“What’s up?”
“Is everything okay?!?!?”
“Yah, why?”
“I’ve been calling you all day! And your phones been off. And I texted you. And you didnt text me back. And I even sent you a message on Facebook! I thought you were dead. Or mad at me!”

And back to reality…

#3
An unknown number.
Should I answer? Or should I ignore it? Maybe it’s that guy I met last week. Or maybe I won that BMW I saw at the mall. Or maybe it’s the director of the internship I’m trying to get.
I should answer the phone.
But what if it’s my boss. What if he wants me to come into work tonight. Or what if it is really that guy I met last week. Do I really want to talk to him now? I don’t think I liked him that much.
Maybe I’ll just let it go to voicemail.
But what if it’s really important? What if it’s someone who really needs me? What if something happened to my mom? Or my brother? Or someone else I love?

Panic takes over.

I have to answer that phone.

“Hello?”
“Hey, Todd?”


Wrong number...

"Sitting, Waiting, Wishing"

The sun is slowly setting in this Arizona sky. The sky is always so pretty here. Especially the sunrises. I love waking up early.

The traffic is steadily dissipating as rush hour comes to an end. I’m sure people can’t wait to get home to their families after a long day at work. They’ll probably have a nice dinner together. And talk about everything that happened that day. They’ll be laughing and smiling and savoring the moments they share with one another.
I miss my family.

A little girl is playing on the sidewalk. She has pink chalk in her tiny hand. She delicately draws a flower. Or at least I think it’s a flower.

I used to love playing with chalk. I used to love playing in general. Kids are so easily amused and I’m so envious of them for being so carefree.

I remember the days when I could sit on a swing all day long and be perfectly content. We would go to the same park everyday and challenge each other to see who could fly higher. I always felt like I won, even though I never got the highest.

I see a plane gliding through the clouds. Leaving Arizona. Gradually getting higher and higher until it just vanishes. I love planes. And I love airports. I always wonder where people are going. And whose waiting for them. I always wish someone would be waiting for me.

I love the feeling you get when you’re so close to your destination. You’re anxious and excited and nervous and relaxed all at the same time.

I can’t wait to get out of here.

Wasted Away Again in Margaritaville

It was another monotonous afternoon of serving chicken lettuce wraps and egg rolls. The dining room was gradually emptying as the masses of satisfied customers waddled out the doors. The clock nearly struck 4 o’clock as we anxiously awaited the arrival of the night shift. I cashed out my last table. Ripped off my apron. And bolted for the exit. Freedom at last.

“Arthi! Wait up!”

I panicked. I glanced behind me hoping that the voice was not associated with management or anyone that had the authority to make me stay longer.

Fortunately, it was just Chris. His charming smile and his laid-back vibe seemed to relax me a little bit. I let him catch up.

“Damn girl! What’s the hurry? Hot date tonight?”
“Ha, no. I just really had to get out of there today. Too many picky women. Too many screaming children. Too many assholes. And not enough tipping. If you’re gonna treat me like garbage… at least pay up at the end.”
“I feel ya. Well, hopefully tomorrows a better shift. In the meantime, how bout we go grab some margaritas at juan’s? My treat!”

Who am I to turn down a margarita? Especially a free one.

We made ourselves comfortable on the patio of Juan Jaimez, an upbeat bar just down the street from Chang’s. The sun shined bright and warmed our aching bodies. The sound of rush hour traffic filled the air and the aroma of savory tacos brought on some serious hunger pangs. I leaned back in my chair. Closed my eyes. And with that first sip of Juan’s classic, refreshing margarita, I let myself go…

The sun felt so good soaking into my bare skin. I drifted in and out of sleep with the sound of gentle waves playing in the background. The air was still with a cool breeze that seemed to present itself at just the right moments. My heartbeat was steady. My breathing was easy. I didn’t have a care in the world. Oh Mexico. Don’t let me let you go.

“Arthi? Arthi? ARTHI!”
“Oh my bad.” I shuttered.
“That margarita musta hit the spot, eh?

I guess you could say that…

Diary of a House Plant

We lived a beautiful life together for over eighteen years. And then the movers forgot to put me in their truck.

I came all the way to Arizona from a cozy suburb in Michigan, and instead of going with her to Baltimore, I got left behind. But I know she was sad. And I know she wanted to take me with her, but I was just too big to fit on a plane. My silk leaves surely would have been crushed by the low ceiling.

I heard her on the phone one evening.
“Please take my plant! I can’t give it away. It’s been with our family forever. It’s like one of my own children!
“Mom, I don’t want your stupid silk plant. It’ll be so out of place in my apartment.”
Click.

Where am I going?

My anxiety grew as her days in Arizona began to conclude. And then the phone rang again. And I all heard was…
“Oh you have no idea how happy that makes me! I really wanted to give this plant to someone I love and I promise it’ll look so nice in your apartment! Thank you so much for not making me give her away!”

Oh God, where am I going?

I now reside in the corner of a clean one-bedroom apartment with her daughter. It’s pretty lonely here. There’s no dog. There’s no noise . There’s barely any sunlight. She comes and goes frequently, and often sticks around only to have a cup of tea.

I wish I were in Baltimore with her mother. And her dog. I wish she loved me as much as her mom loves me. I wish she wasn’t gone so much and I wish she kept the lights on at night. I wish she bought more furniture so I didn’t feel so alone. I wish she turned the heat on and I wish she watched better shows on television instead of those stupid reality shows.

At least it always smells nice in here…

Not Quite the Fairytale.

I had envisioned a beautiful wedding. With lots of people. And bright enticing colors. The aroma of exotic spices would have filled the air as people graciously loaded up their fresh banana leaves with rich chutneys and steaming dosas. The old grandmothers would all be sitting together. Gossiping. How many children will she have? How will she learn to cook? Where will she set up her puja room? Little kids would be running around. Laughing. Playing. Unaware that soon enough they would be the ones playing bride and groom.
I had envisioned her wearing the most stunning sari. A fiery red layer of silk would have draped across her body accentuating her perfect figure. Her jet-black hair would have been neatly tied in a long braid dangling past her lower back, with crisp white jasmine flowers intricately woven in. Her arms and feet would have been elegantly decorated with henna designs, and her eyes would have sparkled just like those diamonds in her ears.
I had envisioned the wedding of my parents. Their relationship was so full of passion. And love. And affection. They were so deviant of the typical Indian couple. Their story reminded me of a fairytale. Or so I envisioned…
And then I remember hearing the real story. A quick prayer. A crammed temple. A faded sari. Not a family member in sight. My parents married against the blessing of society. They were of different classes and of different worlds. But they believed in themselves. In each other. And in their love. And I suppose that’s where I came into the picture?

Be Kind. Make up your Mind.

“I need you to listen very carefully. You may even want to write this down.”
She speaks to me as if I were seven-years-old. I quickly grab a pen out of my apron while smiling innocently. “I’m ready when you are!”
“I’m gonna need a glass of water and a glass of cranberry juice. I want ice in my water glass. Make sure its filled to the top with ice. I like a lot of ice. But I don’t want any ice in my cranberry juice. I want an extra glass on the side filled with ice. And make sure the ice is filled to the top. I also need lime. I need a lot of lime. And I need sweet n’ low. Do you have sweet n’ low? Cause if you don’t, I’m changing my order to a diet coke.”
This is gonna be a long day.
I return with beverages, glasses of ice, a bowl of limes, and another bowl of sweet n’ low. I even bring a diet coke, just in case she’s not completely satisfied with our sweet n’ low.
“Miss, are you ready to order? Or do you have any questions about anything?”
“I’m trying to eat light, what’s in the bikini shrimp salad?”
“A mixture of iceberg lettuce, our spring mixture, salt and pepper, grilled prawns, watermelon balls, candied walnuts, cilantro, and our bikini dressing, which is a little tart.” I hope to God that was right.
“Do you have any ranch?”
Seriously, this is a CHINESE RESTAURANT. We do not have ranch, nor do we have low cal options.
“No, I’m sorry! I can have the dressing brought to you on the side if you would like.”
“No that’s okay, I don’t want to have to mix it up myself. I’ll take the salad anyway. Just give me the half order.”
Half order?
“We actually don’t do half orders, but I can always box up any leftovers for you to enjoy later.”
“But then it’ll get all soggy. Do you have any other lighter options?”
“Our egg drop and hot and sour soup are pretty light choices. You can also get any of our dishes stock velveted, which is essentially cooking the meat using vegetable broth rather than oil so it cuts down the fat a lot. Any more questions?”
“No, that’ll do. I think I’ll just take a cup of the egg drop soup. That sounds good. And bring me some of those fried wonton strips on the side. And actually get me an order of the sweet and sour pork too. Oh. And don’t forget the white rice!”

And that was only my first table.

This is gonna be a REALLY long day.

Shame.

Fortunately, since this course is online, it may be a little bit easier for all of us to disclose more personal information. Overall, I’m pretty comfortable discussing any topic when asked, however, there are a few components in my life that I would rather leave shaded. These topics encompass the darker side of my life, but I want you all to know that my personality does not really reflect these events. I smile a lot!

1. My dad passed away when I was nine-years-old. He was a heavy smoker and an alcoholic. It was only about three months ago when my mom finally decided to show me the certificate written by his doctor at the time of his death. Seeing the word “alcoholic” actually written on paper changed my entire perception of him. I feel like I had fake memories of him until now.
2. I moved to Arizona a little less than 3 years ago. Within that time span, I’ve lost a significant amount of weight and have been the target of concern among my friends and family. I’m pretty sure I have some issues to deal with in that spectrum.
3. Growing up, I was a very loveable kid. Today, I cant even seem to give someone hug. I sometimes even resist hugs from my own family. I have issues with affection and it’s hard for me to get past that. I seem to be the only one of my friends that is not in a serious relationship, and on the surface, it doesn’t seem to bother me, but I’ve gotten so good at lying to myself that I’m wondering if this is really affecting my emotional state. I don’t even feel as if I have made any true connections with people out here. My friendships just seem so fake.

The Only Boy Worth Crying Over.

I’m pretty sure I spent majority of my childhood hating him. He practically tortured me. He pushed me around. He called me names. He pulled my hair. He once even stuck a Twizzler in my eye. And it seemed no matter how many times I yelled, or cried, or put up a fight, he would never back down. He was ruthless.
My brother, Ashwin, four years my senior, was always right. He was smarter than me. He was faster than me. He seemed talented at everything. And I resented him for that. No matter how hard I tried, I could never reach his level. I counted down the years until his graduation.
Growing up was hard enough and I certainly did not need his criticism. I remember second grade. I remember standing at the bus stop on those bitter-cold Michigan winter mornings while all the other kids waited comfortably in their mothers’ toasty minivans. Our mom worked long hours, often leaving early in the morning and not returning until dusk. She would always try to pack our lunches the night before, but it was our responsibility to get ourselves up and ready for our day at school.
I remember Ashwin’s stern voice. “You have to get up now! You’re gonna miss your bus.” Mom had long been out the door and Ashwin was instructed to make sure I got up on time. It was school picture day. It was my most dreaded day of the year. I was so awkward looking. All the other girls in my class were small and fair-skinned, and I was a frumpy Indian girl with frizzy hair and crooked teeth.

“I need mom to get me ready!”
“Mom left, just throw something on and go.”
“I don’t know what to wear though!”
“Who cares, just hurry up!”

I then did what any young distressed girl would do. I hugged my stuffed dog. I fell on the floor. And I cried.

What followed is something that still shocks me a little bit today. Instead of letting me suffer and telling me to grow up, Ashwin sat down next to me, wrapped his arms around me, and calmly said, “don’t worry. I’ll take care of you.”

And that’s exactly what he did.

I look back at that second grade picture and I remember everything about that moment. My ugly purple polka dotted dress. My hair pulled back into a disheveled ponytail. And my beaming smile reflecting how lucky I felt to have someone whom I could rely on. I felt like the most beautiful girl in the world that day.

East and West

I spent the first seventeen years of my life growing up in a little town settled nicely in southern Michigan. I resided in a safe and comfortable neighborhood where everyone knew each other and each other’s dogs. I had the same friends throughout school and we pretty much did the same thing every weekend. Countless hours were spent drinking coffee at Starbucks. Or hanging out in basements. Or driving around aimlessly just listening to music with each other. There wasn’t much to do in our little town, and that never seemed to bother us.
I floated through high school with no worries about the future. Like my brother, I was destined for the University of Michigan. I had good grades. I played sports. I joined student council. And deep down I knew that being a minority certainly did not hurt my chances of gaining entrance. As junior year progressed, we sent out our applications, which consisted of Michigan State University, the University of Michigan, or maybe both if we were still feeling a bit torn between the two.
I wrote the best essays for that U of M application. I checked the mail everyday for the next three months, and on that frigid afternoon in early March, I finally received what I had been waiting for. I quickly tore open the letter envisioning that glorious statement: “CONGRATULATIONS ON BECOMING A WOLVERINE!” I was so ready to overwhelm my closet with blue and gold and plan out the next four years with my best friends. But as I searched the letter for that glorious statement, all I found was “Sorry to inform you…”
That letter changed my life. That letter moved me across country. That letter tore me away from my home. From my family. From my comfort. And at the same time, that letter gave me my freedom. That letter allowed me to take on responsibility and mature into a confident young woman. That letter gave me a chance to experience real life, and meet different people. And most importantly, that letter made me realize how fortunate I am to have strayed away from the pack.