Home and away

Since I moved to HK, I am constantly troubled by this sense of belonging to nowhere.

Not because I don’t feel at home anywhere but because I now feel at home in two places. I have also loved Bombay and felt most at home there. I never really wanted to leave the city, the way some people always aspire to live elsewhere.

But Hong Kong is a hard city not to love. I’m a complete city girl and HK epitomises city-ness for me. It’s beautiful, efficient, stylish, quirky, cultured, old and new. If I could speak the language, I’d be set.

But I’ve always maintained that Bombay is home.

However, as the years go by, every time I visit Bombay I’m rankled by the chaos. I find myself grumbling more about the inefficiency and the dirt like a true NRI. I still love my building and my friends and the pubs we go to and the food but I’m beginning to believe I couldn’t go back and live there and be happy.

Then V came back from a trip to Bombay with some pics of the streets, Juhu beach, gola wallahs etc. And I was almost teary eyed with longing. All I could think was – I have to go home, I have to go home.

And now, I’ve been asked to write something for the staff mag on a place in India and I decided to write about Goa because I don’t have any pics of Bombay. Actually, I don’t really have too many pics of Goa either, except that I went there for my honeymoon so I had some photographs.

Unfortunately, when I started looking for the pics on my comp, I couldn’t find them. And I couldn’t find my wedding photos either. Weirdly:
a) I was more concerned about the honeymoon photos than the wedding photos
b) I was more concerned about having no photos for work than losing photos of the wedding/honeymoon (which gives you a sense of how thrilled I was about my wedding. Hmmm I have to restart that Wedding series).

Anyway, I have thrown myself at the mercy of my friends for photos. And just in case people have more photos of Bombay, I started doing a write up on Bombay.

I realised that there’s tons to do in Bombay (well for a few days), contrary to my view that there’s nothing touristy in Bombay. But what’s worse, I started looking at photos of Flickr and getting more and more homesick.

Now I’m more confused than ever. I could have two home cities, but that doesn’t sound quite right, does it?

It’s like when we’re travelling and people ask us where we’re from and we say India. And then they start asking us stuff about India and where we live and finally we go: “oh but we live in Hong Kong.” Ugh.

Pst: Any generous soul that has photos of Bombay or Goa (beaches, buildings, shopping, churches, roadside stalls etc) and feels kind enough to send me some will be much loved. They’re only going to be used in the staff mag.

Internet interractions

This is something I never saw coming. And I mean in a good way. The Delhi High Court yesterday decriminalised homosexuality.

I haven’t seen much build-up to this. Yes, gay rights groups have been campaigning against Section 377 for a long time. And then suddenly, in one fell swoop, the court decided to strike down the outdated law. Yay!

What I like most is the wording of the judgment which says that criminilising homosexuality was a violation of fundamental rights and a right to full personhood.

It seems too good to be true though (thinks the eternal cynic in me). I’m pretty sure someone will appeal. But even if someone does, the precedent has been set and it’s a powerful weapon for gay rights activists.

I was also surprised by the Church’s stand. Apparently, the Church has never been for criminilising homosexuality (though they don’t morally approve of it). Which is pretty good considering it’s the Church. Of course, some reports quoted the Church representative as saying that homosexuality increases paedophelia. That strikes me as quite ironic, if it’s true (Indian reporters can never be trusted to get anything right). Considering the Church’s own record with paedophelia one would think that it would steer clear of that topic.

At the end of the every news report, in the comments section, the bigots were in full form, decrying the destruction of Indian culture and citing Sodom and Gomorrah. Whenever I check the comment sections, it seems like only the most ardent conservatives use it as their venting ground. It’s scary to think that there are people all around you with so much hate in their systems.

And speaking of personal laundry on the Internet (ha, I’m a prime example but nvm), I’ve been using this expat forum to sell some of our furniture before we move house. And then I noticed that there are discussion threads on such topics as “Is my boyfriend cheating on me” and “Is my husband having an Internet affair.”

It’s so weird. Why would one pose these questions to complete strangers? Why would one expect anyone to respond? But people do. And everyone just jumps in drawing on their own personal baggage. The women, who have gone through similar experiences, will be like: “Yes he is, dump him immediately” and the guys will go: “must be porn, turn a blind eye” or “guys need their space”. It’s scary to think that people might actually follow this kind of advice.

At least with blogging, if you’re writing about your own life, there’s some amount of continuity and space for broader explanations. And your readers tend to have followed you for some time so they have some background.

Anyway, the discussions were good timepass. Another way to while away the hours.

Good's not dead

This weekend, I sat in a chair at the hairdresser's four hours, some of it stroking her black cat who decided to befriend me finally and most of it spent reading Save Karyn, A Shopaholic’s Journey to Debt and Back. Yeah, I'm really intellectual like that. And did I mention I’m addicted to Shopaholic stories?

Frankly, I wasn’t keen on this book but I had just come of reading a series of amazing books (and I mean amazing in a light, heartfelt, yellow-covered way… not in an James Joyce way) and I needed something. And Curly tossed this one out and I decided to go for it.

Anyway, I didn’t completely like the first part of the book because Karyn, the protagonist came across as a bit too naïve and clueless (she came to New York from Chicago, not the back of beyond) but I was sitting in a chair with no end to the procedure I was undergoing in sight (I was straightening my hair, if you must know) so I kept at it. And towards the middle I started getting into it.

Basically, the story is about this girl who loves to shop and moves to New York. And who ends up running up US$20,000 in debt… and then loses her job.

At this point, I started getting the shivers. I’ve never been great with keeping track of money. I tend to go on extreme spending and saving sprees but I’m always too bored to check how much money I actually have. Right that minute I was spending HK$500 on straightening my hair. I had thought about the cost for exactly one minute before plonking down on that chair. Earlier this month, I’d bought a new bag to add to my collection of bags and shoes and clothes. Could I end up like Karyn?

Then I gave myself a little shake. I realise that I tend to get very involved in books and movies, more involved than I get in real life probably. V, who’s not a great fan of my reading habits (it’s testament to how much I love this man that I married someone who doesn’t care to read), says that it’s a crutch and an escape.

The first time I heard this theory I was appalled. I have never heard a single person hitherto profess the opinion that reading is bad for you. And don’t worry, I still don’t subscribe to it. But I have to admit that I use reading as an escape. I tumble like Alice into a different world and it makes everything that’s annoying me in the actual world disappear. Sometimes I get so involved in a book or film that even after I’m done with it, I’m affected by its mood for hours, even days.

Yes, reading widens the imagination, opens ones eyes to different possibilities etc but as V points out most of the time I’m lreading ight stuff, not anything that’s really challenging my mind.

Instead I often end up identifying with characters in the book, and relating the lessons of the book to my life. When they may not always be applicable.

Like Karyn. Yes, I’m a little clueless about money. But I’m so clueless that I never get into transactions that look even a little bit controversial. And I always read the fine print – here’s where being a reader helps in the real world – and if I don’t understand it, I tend to just avoid being any part of it. I never sign things I don’t understand. You get the point.

That saves me from a lot of trouble. Because it seems like these days it’s the stuff you sign that you don’t understand that comes back and bites you in the ass. Even if it promises to make you rich quick. Especially if, probably. Some of the stuff Karyn undertakes to get around her debt while continuing to shop was too befuddling for my little brain. But then, anything that has numbers in it makes me break out. Maybe some of you will have better luck.

Planning to read those bits out to V to see if the banker in him can make sense of it. These debt issues are the only parts of my chick lit collection that he’s interested in. Then again, maybe not. What if he starts explaining it to me and I have to pretend to be interested.

Anywho (as Karyn would say), at one point, she gets so desperate that she sets up a website asking people to donate a dollar. And it works! And this is the real point of this post.

Today, it’s pretty hard to believe in human goodness. Especially in a place like HK where everyone’s in it for themselves and that’s cool. Believe me, in India, people are poorer but they’re gooder (better just doesn’t seem to cut it here). But if you live in a place like HK, you’re constantly looking out for yourself. Because that’s what everyone does. Whether it’s a simple thing like finding directions or dropping a pen on the floor. Nobody’s first instinct is the help you out. And so you begin to focus on helping yourself out.

Now I come across as a very cynical person but possibly because of my upbringing, my first instinct is to help. Then my shyness kicks in and I generally let other people take the lead. But I have to physically stop myself from picking up other people’s stuff or offering seats to people who look even a little bit in need in the train. Even in India, if someone comes to me with a sop story about how they need money, I find it really really hard to turn them away. And if I do, I’m wondering about it forever - will my decision destroy their lives forever etc.

It’s not really the best way to be in this big bad world and that’s why my cynical side is around to help me from getting conned. For example, recently, I’ve been trying to sell off some of our furniture. And this girl came over to see our bed and said she’d like to have it. I didn’t feel like asking her for an advance right then so I didn’t (for which V growled at me). Then another woman called and said she’d like to take the bed and the cupboard, but didn’t want just the cupboard. Now, a lot of people would’ve just sold them both to her. But I had promised the girl the bed and I didn’t want to renege on that. So I smsed her to confirm and asked her to give me an advance. Then things started getting shifty. She bargained down the advance, then a day later started bargaining down the price of the bed etc. Frankly, my life would’ve been easier just selling the other woman the bed and cupboard.

But anyway, the book made me feel that human goodness is not totally dead. That there are people who will take a chance on someone else. On Saturday, I watched Pay It Forward, which is about this kid’s idea that he could change the world by doing three good deeds that would change the beneficiary’s life in some significant way and then ask them to do the same instead of paying him back. That movie made me cry. I spent the greater part of Saturday crying. Partly because V’s away but anyway.

The point being, this idea of taking a chance on someone else without defenses is becoming increasingly hard to do. The world is becoming a more assholic place and people have to protect themselves more. And living in HK as I said doesn’t make it easier.

But the book and the movie reminded me that to be nice is not always to be a fool.

Only the lonely

So I have been plagued by this headache, among other ailments, since last Friday. And since V left, I’ve been walking around with in the kind of daze that always happens when V’s not there.

It’s kind of pathetic but when I’m alone I find myself going through the motions, putting one foot in front of the other in some kind of stupor. I no longer feel that desperate panic that used to engulf me when coming home to an empty house. Nor do I feel the need to make plans for every day of the week to stave off that eventuality. I don’t feel much of anything frankly.

While stoically bearing my headache, resurgent sore throat and tummy upset, and genuinely being upset that because of the latter I cannot go to the gym, I have pretty much been going to work, coming home and going to sleep. Don’t even have the energy to watch SATC properly (gasp!).

And I figured I was ok with that and that means that I am fine being on my lonesome.

Then, yesterday, a friend called and asked me to dinner. And though I was not feeling too well, I said yes. The weird part was, I suddenly started feeling better. Although I was exhausted by the end of it, part of the gloom that had been surrounding me all week lifted.

Well, at least the headache did. I still have a tummy upset and a sore throat.

Thoughts for the morning

I am faced with two choices. To let down my defenses and to cede control and to just go with whatever crazy feeling happens.

Or not.

Ok wait. I did the former once or twice, didn’t I? And I was a blubbering mess.

At least this way I’m sitting here typing.

It does add a fucked up layer to the mind though. This level of self awareness.

Or maybe going with the flow means also going with my desire to wall up.

So this is the POA. When faced with anything painful I wall up. Then I go through a period of unwalling, which can be uncomfortable. Then, I’m all out there. Then I wall up again.

That’s perfectly normal, isn’t it? Except that most people aren’t conscious of it.

Well, if not normal, at least natural. Mimosas do it.

Hmmm mimosas should be my drink of choice. If only champagne wasn’t so expensive. If only I liked champagne.

The real issue I suppose is why I am a blubbering mess in the first place. Why can’t I sail through troubled times unperturbed?

Who does though? The unperturbed are the walled ones, whether they are aware of it or not.

Though there may be some people who are genuinely unperturbed and who are not (yet) yogis.

Maybe it comes down to don’t sweat the small stuff. Though aren’t we always being told to be detailed-oriented.

Also, being analytical is who I am. Even when I don’t analyse I’m still intuitive enough to feel. Am I supposed to shut down all my natural impulses?

Not feeling is either a) walling up b) denial. I figure that denial is just a more extreme form of walling up, which is what most people are doing.

Maybe the shrink was wrong. Maybe walling up is, as I believed since I was two? Ten? the only path to survival. Didn’t the Buddha preach detachment?

Guys seem to have it down to an art. See how easily they detach. Well, most of them anyway. The kind I like, unfortunately.

Maybe men have ruled the world, not because they a) have bigger muscles b) can pee standing up c) their mums always gave them the best leg of chicken but because they can detach. Hack of that guy’s head, that woman’s heart and move on.

As per shrinky wisdom, one must let go, feel the feeling, cry cry cry, then move on. Only to go through the cycle again.

As per me, one must attempt not to feel the feeling, cry less, hold on to a bit of the lesson for the next round so one can preempt feeling or at the very least brace oneself for the slap when it comes.

Which is better?

Gahhh!

PS: Since some people are not blogging enough, I am reduced to rummaging through my own head for entertainment.

White knight, anyone?

So since, the husband has deserted me, I’m back to watching SATC back episodes, here goes:

The episode: Season 3, episode 1
The question: Does every woman secretly want to be rescued? Are we all waiting for a knight in shining armour?

Carrie gently points out to Charlotte that today, a woman’s supposed to be her own white knight, that instead of waiting for Prince Charming she goes out, gets a job and gets insurance. To which Charlotte replies: “That’s depressing.”

Despite my feminist leanings, I have to agree. Maybe the idea of managing alone is not depressing, it’s just that nobody really wants to.

Men deal with it being alone and fending for themselves better generally, but who doesn’t want to have someone look after them? Historically, women have been placed in the role where we are allowed to expect to be taken care of (and paid a heavy price for being allowed the ‘luxury’ of this)… and so, well, we do.

It's a human need to want to be taken care of, layered over by a multitude of fairy stories told and retold literally from birth till death. Who can blame us? Why society decided to impregnate us with this fantasy is another matter. Why didn't the wise old elders decide that women need to be strong and fiesty and go out and bring back food like the female lions do (actually, maybe not. Those female lions sure do have a bad deal, all because they don’t have a mane). How did we become the human versions of male lions, minus the brute strength?

It's funny how even the strongest most fiesty woman will insist that she doesn't need anyone to take care of her, until she meets one who does.

Even if you subscribe to the theory that women should be their own white knight (which I do) and don't want to run the risk of waiting for a man, wouldn't you rather have the knight in shining armour as dessert if not the main event?

It's Friday night and I'm too tired

to pick up the phone and call my husband

to walk two minutes extra to the roof of the house we bought to water the plants

to stop my feet from walking home so that I can buy dinner

to watch a dvd

to do this

yay it's 9. Not as bad as 8.30, which would've been an embarassing time for a 28-year-old to go to bed on a Friday night.