“When the hell did I start believing that I need a man to make me feel complete?” (Aaaaaargh!!!)
Feb 14. Never a special date for me. Those years when I was “with” someone (different someone everytime, of course), I was too busy trying to prove to myself (and others) that I am not the bandwagon types — don’t believe in red roses and chocolates wrapped in pink foil. And I made sure that “someone” refrained from the usual Feb 14 excesses too.
Those years (more of these than those above) when I was not with “anyone”, well, I was too busy telling myself that I am glad I don’t have to join the bandwagon. Sour grapes, said some. I said, “Yippee!”
Cut to Feb 14, 2008. A bunch of single men and women meet up for dinner at Sigdi. Most of them are meeting for the first time (“friend’s friends”, as the phrase goes). Good food, average conversation, a few laughs, couple of “uncomfortable silences”, cigarettes to the rescue — over!
Now these single men and women are no longer your 20-somethings. They’ve all been there and done that. So they spent the better part of the evening wondering why the hell they were there in the first place. What went right? What went terribly wrong? More desperate than cynical. Cynicism works when you’re 20. At 30 you know better. Theories don’t hold water anymore. You’ve already shown the middle finger to liberation and emancipation. Your copy of The Second Sex is just good paper weight material. You want to tell Germaine Greer that you’ve started painting your nails at 31. And it’s okay, it really is – makes them look nice.
And you start admitting (only to yourself): “Ma was right!”
Feb 14. Never a special date for me. Those years when I was “with” someone (different someone everytime, of course), I was too busy trying to prove to myself (and others) that I am not the bandwagon types — don’t believe in red roses and chocolates wrapped in pink foil. And I made sure that “someone” refrained from the usual Feb 14 excesses too.
Those years (more of these than those above) when I was not with “anyone”, well, I was too busy telling myself that I am glad I don’t have to join the bandwagon. Sour grapes, said some. I said, “Yippee!”
Cut to Feb 14, 2008. A bunch of single men and women meet up for dinner at Sigdi. Most of them are meeting for the first time (“friend’s friends”, as the phrase goes). Good food, average conversation, a few laughs, couple of “uncomfortable silences”, cigarettes to the rescue — over!
Now these single men and women are no longer your 20-somethings. They’ve all been there and done that. So they spent the better part of the evening wondering why the hell they were there in the first place. What went right? What went terribly wrong? More desperate than cynical. Cynicism works when you’re 20. At 30 you know better. Theories don’t hold water anymore. You’ve already shown the middle finger to liberation and emancipation. Your copy of The Second Sex is just good paper weight material. You want to tell Germaine Greer that you’ve started painting your nails at 31. And it’s okay, it really is – makes them look nice.
And you start admitting (only to yourself): “Ma was right!”
posted by misti at
6:52 PM
2 Comments:
Maybe you should be writing a bit more, whaddya think?
you know i am gonna read these posts here on. blame P.
So here's a piece that says someone wants to believe she is pretty grown-up and wise. Well all you need to do is hold a mirror to your heart. A sweet(Misti) lil kid will be smiling straight back at you! Which clearly says you are still a chotto bacchcha. And I hope you dont kill me for this comment now.
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