Tag Archives: Life

Awesome? Who? Me?

Way back in May, June the Stupendous tagged me as awesome and asked me jot down 7 reasons I was awesome.

Now June is a self-made, funny gal and a confident professional and I’m – well – I spend my evenings at home thumbing my Rosary of Masochistic Imaginings and Behaviours.

So I’m all – “But June, I suck. I don’t just think I suck. I know I do. I can’t do this tag.”

At which June left the L.O.S.E.R. sign on my doorstep and foxtrotted away in the way only very cool people do.

But its been a good week. And miraculously, I’ve come up with 7 things. I was sure that I would have to start faking after 3, but I surprise myself. Maybe singing The Greatest Love of All does help. Who knew? (Just kidding. What do you take me for? Now stop singing it!)

1. I am awesome because I am a natural clown. I make my family laugh. At me and with me. Nothing is ever so awful that I can’t poke fun at myself. However bad a mood Arvind decides to be in, I can make him laugh by making up ridiculous songs on the spot and having farting contests with my invisible friend. If all fails, I will become Bruce Lee and he splinters into pieces laughing at me. I can create a stand-up act out of my worst moments and I’m proud of that.

2. I am awesome because I can never be cynical about love. Nor do I ever plan to be jaded or tired or too old for it. I am not a person who will settle for as good as it gets, when I know it can be better. Hell, I deserve a great love story, all the corniness that goes with it and all the work that goes into it. If  I’m any shade of  awesome it’s because of the people who love me, who fight for me when I don’t fight for myself and who never let me forget that they’re there for me.

3. I am awesome because I have lived my life in four countries and made a home in my heart for each of them. I’ve taken huge risks with each move. Each time I’ve jumped impulsively into the unknown, fought change, embraced change and gone on to thrive. I’ve studied hard, worked hard, partied hard and found work in all the three countries I’ve lived in as an adult. I’m proud of my adaptability, how I  freely allow people and places access to me and I struggle to understand the mourning over a fixed identity. I don’t have roots because I love my wings.

4. I am awesome because I am strong. I’m fortunate that life, with all its knocks (so far), has led me towards strength. I’m not hard, not brittle, but learning to be strong, supple and bendy of soul. I can handle the obstacle race and I can grapple with resistance. I mentally prepare for the curve balls life will throw my way and I’m always ready to test my mileage on this highway. I can be a stubborn and determined cow. Give me a 5% percent chance and I’ll fight it.

5. I am awesome because I speak four languages without a trace of accent. And by the time I am sixty, I will speak at least 8. I have an unusual ear for languages and dialects and pick them up almost by osmosis. I often get asked why I have an “English accent” and I have learnt to reply that its a gift. (even though I partly grew up there) I love languages and I never get tired of testing out phonetics. I have a wandering English accent and I will effortlessly clue into the dialect of the country/region I’m in. I can handle the varying dialects of all five languages. It gives me a huge kick that I can perform Ibsen in English and Norsk. (Not that anyone has asked me to. Oh please! Why won’t you ask me?!!Grrr.)

6. I am an awesome friend. I will sit with you till four in the morning and co-psychoanalyse your ex. I will drive you the doctor if you call me in the middle of the night. I will look after your kids at short notice. I will cook for you when you’re sick. And drive over with it and make sure you eat and load your dishwasher before I leave. I will factor in time difference, call you and be there for you if you needed me. I will always tell it like it is. And when the time is right, I will tell you to get a grip, get a move on, get over it/him/her. I will deal you uncomfortable truths and I will expect the same of you. Often, in critique lies great loyalty. I don’t need to be surrounded by yes-men. I want friends who will keep me from driving into a ditch because thats what I’d do for you. I’m good with tough love.

7. I have a photographic memory for stuff. I’m pretty sure I know the entire lyrics to at least a thousand songs. And half of them are songs I don’t even like. If I hear it a couple of times on the radio, its stuck like glue. The same goes for capital cities, flags, bhajans, poems and pages from textbooks. If I hear a date of birth once, its there for life. I could tell you the last paragraph on page 122 if you let me skim it a couple of times. I’m practically a circus freak. And otherwise dumb since my hard drive is filled with utterly useless, unemployable information:-)

8. And this is the extra I couldn’t resist – the one I’ll brag about to my grandchildren. I’m awesome because I’ve had a total stranger in an Australian pub do a striptease for me!!!:-) It was a night of “high spirits” in Harvey Bay with the Viking and a handful of fellow backpackers, and before I knew it, said stranger had gone from general compliments to cranking up You Can Leave Your Hat On and climbing on my table to dance striptease down to the err.. bare essentials. He was hardly a Chippendale, but it was gutsy and fun and mortifying.

Eleven years later it still cracks us up.

I hereby tag the following awesome 8 people:

1. Era

2. Wordjunkie

3. Nat

4. Cecilie

5. Asaan

6. Maid in Malaysia

7. Mad Momma

8. Richa

Get cracking, you guys!

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Is Your Fortune Cookie Kind?

There is a Norwegian word – uheldig (silent “g”), meaning unlucky or unfortunate.

When I have called into work the past couple of days to inform people that I am staying home with my sick child/children (yes, today, hmm, yes you guessed it harhar, they’re puking all over us again) or if I bumped into someone I know on the street, people insist on pointing out that we’ve been rather unfortunate , “uheldig” with the childrens health.

No. We are not “uheldig“. No denying that our offspring are germ magnets. They fall ill, get the necessary medication and poof! before you know it, they’re throwing their spaghetti at the ceiling and sassing us. Thats not unfortunate. At worst, its an inconvenience.

What is the deal with the alarmingly low thresholds for using words like unlucky and unfortunate? Shouldn’t that require a greater stretch?

“Uheldig” would be losing them.

Never seeing their gorgeous, heart-stopping smiles again except in our minds eye or never again feeling the weight, the softness, the scent of them. Never again hearing their voices call out to us.

The scenario I can never let myself imagine. The one my keyboard practically had to wrangle off my fingertips. What about reserving the strong words we use so casually for real tragedies?

What Heather and Gorillabuns, (two bloggers I have been reading for a while) are going through is every parent’s worst nightmare. I wouldn’t have imagined that I could grieve so much for two children I have never met or held. That I could be so heartbroken for people I have only known virtually – through their blogs.

Heather – totally shattered yet so strong. I am awed and speechless when I read her because I don’t know how she gets out of bed – leave alone writing posts, attending fundraisers and talking publicly about her beloved daughter. For me, she has become synonymous with strength, grace and compassion. Celebrating the life rather than mourning the death. Even with the worst waves of anguish washing over them, Heather and Mike have used whats left in them to help others, to honour Maddie. They have resisted the sad labels and the unnecessary valourization. I won’t call them heroes because they would balk, but I sure as hell will think that thought.

Its such a sign of our times. Overrating physical health/the physical being and underrating the power of the mind, the power of hope, humour and happiness to sustain us in the most adverse situations. Why are we so easily seduced into negative auto-suggestive patterns? Is it easier for people to feel sorry for us if we feel sorry for ourselves?

Now that is what I would call “uheldig”.

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