How 2014 failed to ruin me

 

The idea was to push myself off a cliff. Metaphorically, of course. To write about how the idea of self, didn’t make much sense while growing up but in my 20s it’s the only thing I can think about. To fall in love, not out of compulsion, merely greedy for the most-hyped emotion in the world, but because there was no other way except to collapse and surrender. And of course, make enough money to travel the world.

To have whacky yet benevolent life experiences, which I could write a memoir about and live off its sales profit for the next five years. Be a Carrie Bradshaw and dole out fashion advice and personal sexual narratives for a column in the New York Times. Also a role-model of sorts, who is fit and agile and doesn’t need a minimum of ten hours unperturbed sleep or feed herself every two hours to make ends meet.
 

But life now, is pretty much as staid, as it could possibly be. I haven’t taken a trip anywhere but home for the last two years because I wanted to save up for a masters course abroad. And I don’t regret it (I do from time to time). I finally managed to get my passport in hand (which took five months of incessant cribbing and almost foul-mouthing the almighty). Thereafter I applied to three colleges in the UK on my own (read: with my own money) and have since then been binge eating, drinking, sleeping and awaiting a positive response from the universities.
 

At present, I probably have less than one-tenth of the amount required to make it to one of the places I aspire to attend. But me being the forever optimist about things that concern JUST me, I somehow have this “feeling” that things will sort themselves out. It really is a childhood dream (to visit platform 9 ¾, among other things). True Story.
 

Final observation on this utterly unremarkable year, full of pit stops and disgusting chocolates is that it has also been depressing, funny and utterly beautiful and brave when I was forced to deal with things instead of hiding under my bed like a little puppy.
 

ANDDDD, I have FOR REAL joined the gym. And beating my last record of two days which was two years back, I have managed to go attend the gym for five whole days (with a three-day viral fever detour in between). I have been skipping, crunching, squatting and exercising like a boss while also stuffing my face with frappes, cheese pizzas and gooey chocolate cakes, relentlessly.
 

Hopefully 2015 will also be an unpleasant surprise like 2014 has been. And I shall welcome it like a true Leslie Knope fangirl, “sophisticated with a hint of slutty.”

All I want for Christmas is (NOT) you

As a kid, I would preserve my cleanest pair of white school socks for Santa. I didn’t bother much about if he would be tired when he got to my place, travelling across continents, should I stay up to give him a class of water and make him a sandwich? No, I wanted gifts. It was my only relationship with Santa and that was that.

Now that Santa has ceased to exist the greedy mongrel in me continues to be satiated by my friends and family who know always make a mental note when I am rambling about a book I really want to read or if I need (read: want) a new pen or lipstick, scarf or a pair of jeans.

But suddenly this Christmas eve I realize that all along I have been anything but thankful. Not for material possessions but for the people who bear with me every day and believe that I am a good person who only goes nuts at times. Whose jokes are downright unfunny but hey she is as imperfect as perfect can be! (See, what I did there)

Anyway, as I sit in my room typing this post, my head is dizzy with a viral fever which has been harrowing me for the last two days and I don’t remember the last time I was sick on Christmas, so yes, I am a little sad and also a little bitter maybe.

However this also makes me realize that Christmas is not just a hullabaloo of what presents you got and what you aspired for and couldn’t achieve. It’s also about being there in the moment. Having that extra piece of pie and not care two hoots about what it is going to do to your hourglass figure, that extra tequila shot at a random bar because everyone around is hammered anyway. Karaoke to your favourite song on a non karaoke night or better still dirty dance to it and make your friend hope for a microsecond that you didn't exist (but then come and join you any way). 

But above all a silent prayer, because somewhere somehow some Santa is looking out for you, and will make sure your wishes, they come true.

Merry Christmas everyone.