M Continued.

M had a history of getting into disagreeable situations with people, whether they be of her own age or adults. She herself did not know how it seemed to happen. It just did. Though there were plenty of opportunites for her to learn to defend herself, her guardians all too often chastised her when she tried to oppose anything. As a result, she never learned to speak cleverly and make witty comebacks. Yet, she could not stay entirely passive either. Her lack of communication only increased her tendency to defend herself by physical means.

M often watched others fight and, during solitary moments, would practice various techniques on her own. She strove to develop muscles and endurance. The problem with all this, though, was that she was terribly lacking in self control. As she grew older, her situation grew worse, and so did her lack of control. She often allowed her temper to get the best of her during difficulties with her guardians. This alone would not have been so hard on her if it were not for the fact that she also possessed a relentless conscience. M hated her lack of control and would lock herself alone in a room and attempt to punish herself for any damage or hurt feelings she may have caused anyone else. Much of the cuts, bruises, and loss of tears (not to mention hair pulled out) was due to her inner turmoil.

With great difficulty and much time, M managed to bring her temper under control, even at the cost of her emotions. As she could not entirely control her feet and fists, M worked to rid herself of strong emotions. She refused to show strong anger or any other emotion, for that matter. The practice tore her from the inside out, and she would often find herself in a corner of an empty room, her knees pulled close to her, rocking back and forth, chanting "i won't give in; I won't give in!" as she fought back tears.
Unfortunately for M, those around her found her lack of emotion disturbing. What was the poor girl to do?

brishti te bhijte khub icche kore

Let's try something different.
We've all heard of the great, brave warrior princess Xena(or atleast, i think we all have). She's probably one of the only female warriors of the truly violent type that most people know of. I'll begin telling of a young girl, a possible princess, that was not so great or brave, but was violent nonetheless.
Let's refer to her as M, to protect her privacy.

I'll have to finish this later.
To be continued....

VIVA ESPANA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Writer's block

Ada cha die khethe pari na...
Ami to cha/coffee khai na.

I've been wanting to write a poem for ages now. Summer is almost over and I still haven't been able to write anything. That's pretty pathetic. I wrote one or two things here and there, but they were so meaningless I had to toss them out.
You would think that all those various options on AP would give some sort of inspiration, but none of them really mean anything to me. Ar AP-te shobai freestyle chai. ami freestyle/rhyme-less poetry ekdom pari na. Whenever I try, they sound really bad.

I GOT MY VOICE BACK!!! YAY!!

There was a time when I was in 5th or 6th grade...ammu cut her finger pretty badly. Blood kept gushing out and wouldn't stop. She held a cup to her hand with some ice in it and I watched her throw out a couple cups full of blood. It was horrifying. A nana/bhaiya living with us at the time went outside to the garden and collected some leaves from the marigold flowers out there. He crushed up the leaves with some sugar and applied it to my mom's finger. Behold, the bleeding stopped! Things like this really amaze me.

When considering my looks and interests, I think I may have been born into the wrong era. I should have been born a couple centuries ago when being 'healthy' was a characteristic of the dignified and interests in royalty and magic was normal.

Must write something soon...........

Angel of Music

Weeks and weeks of practicing...and it all crashes in one day. As I practiced singing, I was expecting to lose my voice sooner or later because of how much I strained and pushed it. That's what happened last time I started taking lessons and practiced. What's upsetting is that I did not lose my voice this time from practicing too hard. I went to an amusement park and screamed so much on the rollercoaster that my voiced completely broke. Now, I can't even speak.
Man!!... and I was improving too! I had finally started to singing higher notes from the lungs rather than through my nose. I don't know if that's the right way to say it, but that is what it feels like. I heard this song, "Shadows of the Night", sung by Ashley Tisdale. The lyrics are pretty pathetic and shallow, but I love the music. The chorus is on a pretty high scale (for me atleast) but I was able to reach them! I was jumping up and down in delight all around the kitchen instead of washing dishes like I was supposed to. I wonder how long it will take me to fix my voice and reach that again.
Ammu and Abbu told me to chew on adda, but since Apu doesn't keep any at home, I mixed some adda paste and honey together and ate that. It better work, because it was disgusting to eat...
I'd rather have the tulsi patha stuff my mom makes. I used to pretend that we were some secret descendents of ancient medicine men and magic workers...making these different healing herbal potions.

At the amusement park, there was one ride I particularly wanted to ride on, but the line was so long, I had to wait about an hour to get on the ride. Apu and them weren't willing to wait that long so I offered to go on alone. In front of me was a family engrossed in themselves, and behind me was a young couple, probably younger than me, practically making out right there in the line. It was killing me! I was completely disgusted! If people need to eat each other's faces, they should do so in private. Fortunately, both the people in front and behind me lost patience and left. I ended up standing right behind a group of three very nice black girls and asked if I could ride with them. We talked and exchanged names. They are all younger than me. The eldest was 16. It was nice listening to them talk and laughing at their jokes and games. I began to stop feeling sorry for myself.

Wawa Ji (and Serenoli, if it's possible), I do hope you come to America some time soon. It would be sooooooo much fun to take you guys to one of these amusement parks!
It would make everything worthwhile.

By the way, Angel of Music is a song from the Phantom of the Opera. I adore that song. Such lovely harmony....

Rif...almost went to sleep, and suddenly your comment came to mind...lol

Yes...that guy does motivate me...

but I still write for you, Esha darling :)

Have fun reading whatever you're reading!!

Midnight Snacking

I am developing a seriously bad night-time binging problem. I need to stop, and need to figure out how.

I just watched 27 Dresses and Elizabeth. I must admit that both of them were somewhat a disappointment. 27 Dresses was, ofcourse, your usual chick flick. I don't know why I expected anything else. Maybe it was because everyone else I knew was saying that it's such a great movie that I expected something spectacular. I should have noted that all those people were girls...

Elizabeth had far less substance in it than I had expected in a movie about such a time and person. They put too much emphasis on her weakness, lust, and lack of sexual satisfaction. It wasn't until near the very end, at the climax, that the movie seemed decent.
It had quite a bit of bloody, gory torture, inappropriate scenes and vulgar language. All that could have been tolerated if the story was better. There was so much more to Queen Elizabeth then what was shown in that movie.

And the hideous outfits and apalling hairdo's!!!!
I can't even begin to speak of them. Was it really necessary for the Queen to look so bad?




I feel numb. I can't explain why.
I've just had a period of anger, frustration, guilt, and self-disappointment all at once, and now, after suppressing it as well as I could, I just feel numb.

I think I like writing on paper better than typing....

Sigh...

Reading LOTR fanfiction while listening to magical music on Radio Rivendell....how absolutely delightful! On top of all this, there is a bright, cold moon outside glaring through meekly dark clouds. Though not a fan of the moon myself, I absolutely love the way the clouds glow when the moon is at its most powerful. It's even better if the moon is blocked by the clouds so that all that can be seen are the illuminated puffs of vapor.

This reminds me of a certain time in Sunamgonj. Things were just so spontaneous there. I loved it. For the past year and half, everything has had to be planned in advance; nearly every little detail. Though I try to act as though all is fine with me, I must admit, I hate having everything planned out. I feel so much better when things come as surprises.
Usually, when going to Sunamgonj, we would have no plans whatsoever, except maybe to go swimming in the pond. Yet, the visits there would end up quite memorable.
One night, my choto mama and a bunch of us cousins were just sitting around after dinner, talking. It was a beautiful night...cloudy, moonless, and very windy. Suddenly, near midnight, my mama says, " let's go for a long drive" (in sylheti, ofcourse). So all of us, about 8 of us, crammed into the little car, and off we went!

My mama decided to take us along the narrow, poorly paved road that runs between Sylhet and Sunamgonj. As it was the middle of the summer and monsoon season, the land on both sides of the road were completely flooded so that it seemed as if we were going along a narrow bridge through a vast gulf. As we went along, my mama blasted the music of the album Aadat, by Jal, and drove along at an alarming speed with all the windows down so that the cool wind tore through my hair. The sounds of Aadat pulsing through the car while we flew down that unlighted road put me in a state of both fear and ecstacy. I was so excited, it was hard not to scream out.

Eventually, we slowed down and stopped in the middle of the road, far from any trees or huts (there were no proper houses or buildings in that area), and looked out across the water on one side at Tengra Tila. At the time, there was an immense gas leak going on in that region. An enormous fire blazed and forced all the people of that village to evacuate. Though we were quite some distance away from that area, the multiple stories high flames could be seen clearly all the way from where we were.
We stood for some time on that lonely road watching the flames flicker and be reflected on the restless water. The wind was practically blowing us away, but I had almost forgotten it. My attention was caught by the deep red hue the flames projected on the blanket of clouds above it. It was as if the clouds were blazing. It is hard to explain the awe I felt watching that scene...and then, as usual, my brother came up with some strange ghost act and pulled my gaze away. Just then, as he almost convinced me of genuine fear, the rain came. It was so sudden, we were nearly soaked as we all ran back to the car and headed for home.
It is things like this...fairly simple, unplanned, and sweet...that give me so much joy. I just wish I didn't have so little of them nowadays.

Though babysitting takes away most of my time and energy, i'm finally getting around to some important reading. But it all just piles up. It's becoming overwhelming. I enjoy the challenges he gives me and wish I could keep up, but though i'm not really doing anything particularly notable this summer (no job or classes), taking care of a baby is much, much harder than it looks. At the end of the day, it's hard to work your brain. But i'll keep trying...

Whoever thought I, one who can be so stubborn most times, would be forcing such changes on myself?
Hopefully, these non-silvie-like books and studies will be worth it someday...

I ADORE irish folk music

Each person's perspective of reality revolves around themself. How, then, does one create a realistic character and yet keep from revealing oneself completely through one's writing?

After a lovely explanation from Lady Serenoli, I think i now understand. I can do better than this. I've just been watching too many dumbing movies...

Well then, the character of Tawariell as described in the previous post is discarded, and I will start anew.

Random Note...

It is highly unpleasant to fall asleep in the afternoon out of exhaustion, miss prayer time, have a bad dream, and wake up in the dark not knowing where or when you are.
Neither does it help waking up in a room that smells like art, especially when that consists of oil paints.
I assure you, art does not smell as wonderful as it looks.
My olfactory organs have been offended..

Tawariell

Once upon a time, there was a young maiden known throughout the land as Tawariell. Not only was her name highly unusual, but her ways were not easily accepted among the peoples. Though she had quite a plain face, her mystifying gaze and fondness for dragons and black nail polish made her quite the outcast.

As is obvious, she was easily taken to be a witch. Though that name hurt her at first, she had grown to like it and took pride in her differences.

hmm...now who does this sound like?

...........

Thanks to Wawa Ji's reminder, I finally finished the oil painting i've been putting off for quite a while now. My first oil painting...
I am really not good at painting from imagination. but this will have to do for now..

Don't feel so good...i'll go now...

Daily Doings

There have been some bad news lately, but I won't brood over that.
Constant babysitting...I'm too young to have to learn all the pains of taking care of a child. Everyone keeps saying it's good training..people can be so annoying!

Too many weddings and marriages happening. My mom's been buying me way too many saris...which is even stranger considering the fact that I don't really wear saris and, being in a culturally lacking town, don't have any reason to wear it. It was bothering me..so I actually confronted my mom about it. Fortunately, I don't think I have to go into hiding. She doesn't plan on forcing me into anything.
I'm glad i'm on open terms with my mom. It's interesting to hear about proposals coming in from people who have never seen me and (as far as I know) know nothing about me. I don't like the idea of arranged marriages, atleast not the way it was done in my mom's and sister's case.

Going along those lines, i've now been confronted by yet another person who lectures me about not wearing makeup. It's funny. Is it really necessary to wear makeup? I can understand that everyone my age (and younger) does it, but I just don't see a reason. And there isn't much to work with anyways. I used to wear it quite often when I was younger, as in elementary school. I often experimented, but I haven't worn it normally for so long that I feel like a clown in it. I'm willing to wear makeup for parties and weddings though.

I've found ANOTHER passion, though it's not entirely new. I just have more courage to do it in public now....dance! I absolutely love dancing. Especially classical indian type with plenty of hand twists, arm movements, and some hip movements. I also love bhangra! It's so much fun, but can get painful after a few minutes. I've been working on choreographing a dance to the song Jhoom Barabar Jhoom, bhangra style, for the function in the fall. If only I can find a partner...
Speaking of passions, I've always loved singing, but that might have caused me a bit more trouble than I expected. I asked one of my sister's khala-in-law to teach me to sing. She used to give singing lessons in bangladesh. She's an expert in Rabindra sangit and has been teaching me for a few weeks now. The problem is this...there is a bengali party coming up in about 2 weeks, and she said I must sing during that party. I protested saying that I can't sing. Her response? "Ofcourse you can sing. Ami tumake bathroom singing-er jonno shikhachi na! Stage fright charthe hobe." Oh god....

I've been watching a BBC production of the book North and South. I was expecting something like Pride and Prejudice, but this story has so much more depth to it. It's funny that I should have watched this now. I've been researching Liberation Theology, and this movie seems to have illustrated it to quite an extent. It is so sad though.
Rif, you should DEFINITELY watch it.

I need to learn to sing...ugh..
It's becoming painful, literally..

I wonder if it's wrong to force someone to talk to you...
I sort of made one of my cousins, that I so dearly loved, talk to me. We've become sort of distant, but I want to fix that. Well, wrong or not, I still claim the right to do what I want with him, as his cousin :)

It's now 1:20am and I can't sleep. I would love to be able to sing at the top of my lungs right now. In fact, I've got a strong urge to do so, but everyone is sleeping and this is an extremely quiet town. They'd have the cops after me.
If I was in Dhaka right now, I might have been able to sing. If I was in Sunamgonj right now, I could probably scream my heart out and no one would protest, I don't think..
I do miss Sunamgonj. It was the one place where no one paid too much attention to me and I could roam and do as I liked, except maybe when they're yelling across the field for me to come eat.

Sigh...

Untitled

Liberation Theology, in its most simplified form, is the belief that God sides with the poor, unfortunate, and oppressed. Ignoring the cries of poverty is a serious sin. Poverty cannot be cured with simply charity, but requires a change in the social class system. The oppressed must be liberated not only physically and financially, but also socially and morally. They must be rid of the thought that they are of a lower class. They must be taught to publically stand up for their own rights, and recognise that they have rights. They must know that they can do more in this world besides wait for death to take them to a better place. In other words, they must be taught that they are equal to all other people.

We are obliged, as the capable class, to answer the cries of poverty because it is the demand of overabundance of the rich that cause the lack of resources and suffering of the poor. The lower classes provide endless labor, the fruits of which are enjoyed only be the upper classes. The poor are cheated out of their labor and struggle to survive. Any help they recieve make them feel forever indebted to their 'benefactor'. Yet, it is the rich who are indebted to the poor. They are dependent on the labor of the poor and are incapable of surviving without it.