Dejunkin' a Dresser Drawer

mismatched earstuds

dusty bottles of stale perfume

an empty jar of ecollagen

plastic-coated hairclasps

broken-toothed french combs

a box of white petroleum jelly still in its protective sheath

a dark-eyed peacock feather

l'oreal liss control long past its expiry

a gift tag saying merry christmas. love you lots.

bracelets in skin tones and sky blue and aqua,

silver and gilt-edged worn off in places

economy packs of neosporin and dipsalic

sunblocks in lotion, cream and gel

button strays

cds

a candle

dust whorls

hair strands

dog fur

and this is just the top drawer

wonder what's in the other three?

PS: After my last blog post, some folks seem to have pegged me down as being in some kind of deep dark depression. Not quite. Mood swings is the more correct term. Anyway, it made me remorseful enough to post something more lighthearted to say hey I'm ok.

Sunrise, Sunset and the In-Between (Midlife Crisis Blues)

And so a new time frame begins. Seems like only a couple of years ago that everyone was talking about the problems of things not being Y2K compatible but all that's ten years down the line already. Sunrise, sunset, sunrise, sunset, and in between those two eternals, our lives are seamlessly spun out.

The woods decay, the woods decay and fall,

The vapours weep their burthen to the ground,

Man comes and tills the field and lies beneath,

And after many a summer dies the swan.

Much as I usually try not to think or sound negative, I feel incredibly aged this year. The immortal lines of Eliot's Prufrock, learnt a long lifetime ago when the world was still sunny and warm and bright with promise, speak for me.

No, I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;

Am an attendant lord, one that will do

To swell a progress, start a scene or two

Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,

Deferential, glad to be of use,

Politic, cautious, and meticulous;

Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;

At times, indeed, almost ridiculous—

Almost, at times, the Fool.

I grow old . . . I grow old . . .

I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?

I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.

I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.

I do not think they will sing to me.

When a Number is Up

I've sometimes wondered what it must be like to have numbers on your cell phone of friends who die. Do you hit the delete button? Make a quick clean break? Or do you keep them and hang on for old times' sake?

In the five years since mobile phone connectivity came into my life with a major bang, not one contact on my list has died. Surprising since so many blood relatives and acquaintances have passed on in that time. That changed today though. Sawmtea, aged 28, and much too young to die, passed away this afternoon of heart failure. His was a number I often hit for help and information about my internet and cellphone connections since he'd helped me with both. He knew strings to pull and often had strictly confidential updates about new plans and schemes BSNL had in the oven which he'd gleefully tell me in hushed tones. You will be missed, my friend. And I think I'll keep you on my phone for a while yet.

Of Expectations

Why

do our expectations
of those we love
heighten so heavily
it strains the fragile bond
sometimes almost
to breaking point?

From the outside looking in

Ever have that outsider desperately wanting to belong feeling on coming across an invitingly cozy cocoon of light, warmth and comfort on a cold dark night?

Along Life's Pathway

How amazingly perceptions can change with age and experience. As I was hanging out clothes in the sunshine today, a young teenaged boy on the road across was turning around a gleaming red motorcycle that looked new. He was coiffed and combed and nattily turned-out. Had probably taken him ages to get ready and was obviously anticipating a lot of peer admiration and envy but the impression that struck me was quite the opposite. I wondered if young people who go around flaunting expensive new geegaws are aware how spoiled and shallow they actually appear. They obviously can't afford such extravaganza themselves, especially when they don't even look like they've done a day's labour in their young lives. But with the smug attitude of the cat that got all the cream, they exhibit luxuries with an affected casual nonchalance that's actually quite laughable when you really think about it.

When you're young and impressionable, all you see is what your eyes show you but experience reveal hidden aspects of the very same view.

Turning Artsy

As blogging gets relegated to an increasingly less important activity on my online program, I find myself discovering newer ways of self-expression. One of these being this web-based application that lets you mix, match, collate and collage images at www.polyvore.com. Never having been any kind of dab hand at drawing, sketching, painting and the other things that are effectively known as art in school, I've often wondered if I have any creative, artistic instinct in me. Well, polyvore has let me happily explore and indulge that part of me. My four creations in as many days thus far.

My first - I initially thought the place was just about fashion which explains this rather unlikely montage from me. Steppin' out in style.

My second - I deliberately set out to create a vibrant burst of colours since the first one had been somewhat monochromatic. A happy patchwork this if I may say so - Music and Butterflies.

My third came about purely as a result of all the gorgeous jewellery pieces I picked up. What every woman wants - Bling it on, girl!

And this is something I made just an hour ago. The Angels called Home Too Soon. Brought on in a rather reflective frame of mind following the sudden heart attack death of a friend's wife yesterday. He paid a moving tribute to her saying she had always been both wife and mother to him and he could not imagine how he and their two young kids would possibly do without her.

By the way, this technique is called layering and I find it incredibly exciting to work with in the sense that it's possible for anyone to produce something close to a great piece of abstract art this way! Just loving every moment of this.

Whose perspective is it anyway?

Funny how skewed perspectives can get. I say this with particular reference to the insensitive but widely-held notion in these local parts that spinsters are mostly either all pathetic or desperate specimens of humanity, and that, to put it delicately, once you're past the first flush of youth, you're supposed to meekly accept you're now fair game to being the butt of crude public jokes about old maids etc. My fellow blogger Aduhi vented on all of that here so I don't plan to tread into that territory now.

What I'm more focused on is that having being a netizen for several years now and the Mizo online circle being primarily dominated by people below 30 years of age, I've pretty much resigned myself to being thought of as something of a senior citizen. Even with these handles/nicknames/online personaes we all create, I still get the oh so respectful U attached to my online names. Helloo, that's quite unnecessary since I don't even know you personally and probably never will.

A senior citizen online and an old maid in daily life, little wonder I've been deluded into thinking I must have one foot in the grave. Last evening shattered that idea. Another fellow blogger wanted a picture of an old Mizo woman reading a book and asked if I had one. I said no, being busy harvesting pineapples and other virtual produce. The incorrigible fellow persisted, saying I could take one of myself and he'd blacken out my face. (yes, indeedy, I have the chat log right here, thanks to gmail's dinky little chat log feature) Being the obliging kind, I did as requested and duly sent the picture - all within half an hour, at the very least I'm sure. He examined the picture carefully, said he'd have to edit it a lot and finally said something that brings us all to the point of this post: "ure not old enuff though :( but ill take care of that too." I quickly ran a critical eye over the picture and aha, even to my tired, bleary eyes I certainly didn't exactly qualify for an Old Woman prototype. Anything but.

Thanks, Amos, I owe you one :D