musings

My parents are having an animated discussion as to whether or not caviar is meant to be cooked. You see, when you come from a traditional tambram family, its quite a surprise that your parents can even say caviar without feeling nausea rising up their throats.

maybe they did.
my parents are very nice people. every night, they sit/lie(mum latter, dad former) in front of the television, and watch a different show each day. My dad massages my mum's legs, and my mum massages my dad's back sometimes. Then they both watch television and engage in what is considered to be a very pleasurable and humorous activity in my house, making fun of people's mispronunciations on tv, and trying to figure out people's nationalities. I have learnt a lot from this. If you have a mole and work in a news agency, for example, it is likely that you are filipino. Pakistanis are, as you would expect, very easy to spot.

But this entire ritual, to me, is splendid. This is the way that life should be lived, once you grow older. When i grow old, I want my husband to massage my legs, and i want to massage his back. I would prefer if we engaged in slightly less ethnocentric activities, but if this is what we had to settle for, its fine with me.

Yesterday, my heart stopped beating twice. I am convinved that i have some sort of a disease, and will not live for much longer than the age of 50. I am also convinved that I am anaemic, zinc deficient, have heart murmur, and osteoporosis. My dad casually shrugged it off as a Common Hypochondria. Perhaps it is. If the symptoms of Hypochondria are weakness in the knees, blackness everyime you get up, backaches, headaches, nausea, and heart stopping.
It is a possibility though, I am not denying it.

It is much more thrilling though, to think that I am sick. I have never ben seriously sick before. I have never had an illness worse than a fever. I have never had jaunice, chicken pox, bee stings. I have never fainted, sprained my ankle, or broken any bones. Although this is the best way to be, a part of me (somewhere in my left knee) longs for some kind of thrill. This explains incidences in my history, such as a curious desire to pretend to faint during the national anthem from p1-p3, a desperate want for spectacles, and more things thati shall not mention for fear of persecution and my marriage application not making it to kalyaanamaalai.

that is a joke, by the way. i do not intend on sending my marriage application to kalyaanamaalai. not within the next twenty years, anyway. and after that, sindhu and i have a pact anyway. so kalyaanamaalai does not seem like a viable option.

damn, i want someone to wash my feet when i bleed. stupid chechi. stupid hot chechi.