Even warriors get tired

Valentine's Day is a big deal in Thailand. I used to think it was a big deal in Ireland, until I moved here. Even at school kids make a huge fuss about it. They come in with stickers and candy and huge stuffed animals for their friends. The stickers part is unique to Thailand, as far as I know. The more you have on your shirt, the more friends you have, which years of schooling has taught me, is not synonymous with actually being loved.

And so, because Valentine's Day is such a big deal, somehow, without my knowing, I get wrapped up in this mess. Until this year, I have never had a significant other on Valentine's Day (well, maybe one year but we were miles and miles apart and it did not matter much). Therefore, subconsciously (or perhaps now - after voicing this - consciously)I have put pressure on my significant other and myself to have a splendid Valentine's Day, because you must - if you are in love.

Even though I know better than this, a part of me desires to be spoiled. Not because I necessarily feel I deserve it, but because I almost always fend for myself and everyone else. I'm the person that will arrange meetings and gatherings, and introduce people to one another. I'm the one that likes to make sure things are running smoothly, and that we're all getting along just fine. I'm the one that takes control and plans events, trips, and travels. And I guess, I just want to put my feet up and believe that if I didn't plan that dinner, if I didn't set up a time for all of us to meet, that dinner would still happen, and everyone would still get together in time. I want to let go of the reigns I hold on to so fiercely. But in my head: if I don't plan it, it won't get done. And if it does get done (a miracle!) then surely, I could have done it better.

I am flawed, of course. And sometimes, the thoughts that clutter my head lead me to believe, I am a mess.

I have chosen a partner that does wonderful things for me regardless of what day the calendar states it is. A partner who has been a support group entirely by himself on most days. I have chosen a partner who prefers me in my gym wear, hot and sweaty, versus in heels and make up. I have a partner who sees me, respects me, and love me the way I am. And he can do this because he is like that too. Labels do not apply to him: he is not just an English teacher, or an aspiring filmmaker. He is not just a basketball player and lover, he is everything, and all at once. Which is why, he is such an important part of my life.

So why then am I upset that this person doesn't care about Valentine's Day? I chose this person. I chose his calm demeanor and his laid back attitude, because it is so different from mine, because it is precisely what I think I could use a dose off. And yet, and yet.

I think getting caught up in all of this allows me to realize how shallow and superficial I can be. It also allows for this inner battle where one side of me screams, I'm not superficial! I just want to be taken care off! And the other side of me yells back, I am a fierce warrior, I need no one, and no one needs to take care of me.

But even warriors get tired.
Of fighting.
Of battles.

Even warriors must have looked at their nails every once and a while and thought to themselves how they'd like to see them clean, glossed, shiny.

Even warriors get tired.

And so this isn't about him as much as it is about me, and my shortcomings, and my unnecessary wants (aren't they all?)

 This is about me.
And my inadequacies.
And about how warriors too, get tired.

in sickness and in health

Thursday night I found it hard to swallow any food or water. After a trip to the emergency room where, I was unable to speak much, the doctor told me I had laryngitis and pharyngitis (never heard of that before), and prescribed me some antibiotics. The throat got better, and then a nasty flu ensued and back to the doctor's it was. Another trip, and various other antibiotics later, here I am! As good as new! Not.

I don't care much about taking medication. For the most part, I try to avoid Western medication like the plague, but if I am sick and unable to workout, I will take whatever I can get be back on my feet again. Needless to say this hasn't happened yet - I have yet to fully recover. I know my body probably needed a break, but my mind did not. My mind is constantly pushing me to do more, to do better, and so to swim 25 laps and feel exhausted, makes my mind yell at me and say some pretty harsh things.

That coupled with the fact that so many things about my body are psychosomatic. If I don't work out, I can suddenly see fat where it wasn't before. I know, this is not real, but that's how it feels for me, and feelings are as real anything else you will encounter. So, while I was devastated I could only swim 25 laps yesterday, those 25 laps meant I crashed at 9 p.m, right after I had taken my nightly dose of antibiotics. 

My throat is better today, but I am still extremely drowsy (and I just took my lunch dose) and restless. I missed classes that I love yesterday (at the studio), and today I will miss another. 

But, being sick has made me realize how wonderful it is to workout. And I am sure in 2 weeks, at some point, I will have to drag my butt for a walk or a run, but for a while at least  I can not wait to get back to it. Plus, tomorrow is Ash Wednesday and that can only mean one thing...

...like every year since college, I must learn about will-power and strength all over again. My best friend from college and I give up things that we are addicted to. This usually means we pile up on these very things on the days leading up to Lent, and then find it even harder to give them up once it actually starts. 

This Lent, I have chosen to do something a little bit different. Instead of saying, I will not, I'd like to put a positive spin on the words (credit here goes to what I am learning in my Health Coach course), and instead say: "this Lent, I will avoid processed sugars, and I will swim at least thrice a week, and run at least 16 km/week." 

This might not sound like much, but given my full-time job, my training, my classes and my ridiculous desire to occasionally be in something other than sweats and work out pants, it is enough. I promise.  

Today, will hopefully be my first jog/run in a week (!) and I sincerely hope it doesn't make me any sicker physically. Because mentally, I know it will put me at ease.

Other than being sick, there are some interesting developments which I will share later on today or at some point tomorrow (once everything is finalized so as not to jinx them).

Let's do this then, shall we? Let's use whatever excuse we need, religion, family, friends, career, to get fit and get active. Let's not allow our sadness and our weakness to be the reason we eat that double chocolate chip muffin; let's not allow how other's treat us determine how crappy we will treat ourselves. Let's not let a bad day turn into a worse one because we chose to cry it away, or sit on our tushes and feel bad for ourselves. 

Get up. Get out. Get some fresh air.

Had a crap day? A worse week? Make yourself better. Work out harder.

Good luck!

the feeding

more or less

the art of labeling

Living and studying at Mount Holyoke College, I met many individuals who did not like labels. They did not want to identify as straight or queer, or Asian or white, for all those labels come with stereotypes, misconceptions, baggage and concepts that might not have applied to them.

I learnt quickly, I too had this problem. I could not identify as Muslim because I did things that are unforgivable in Islam, and to call oneself a Muslim, a good Muslim, was a title in my opinion, and no easy task. Why should I call myself a Muslim when sinning as per the Holy Book had become my middle name? I am what I am, and I was not ready to vilify a faith because I was picking and choosing the things I wanted to believe in, and the rules that I had to adhere to.

Similarly, when my best friend and I at college joined the animal rights club (and she then became chair of this organization), I realized what a joke this was. Here I was, using make up tested on animals (although not very often, for that was not really my style at MHC), eating meat like it was my job. How dare I elevate myself to the status of my friend who was (and continues to be) an animal right's activist, with her non-animal harming/testing, and vegan-loving ways. She inspired me to become a vegetarian, and for 7 years I remained true to those beliefs.

Until recently I stopped being a vegetarian, and therefore refuse to identify as an activist. Do I love animals? Sure. Do I know how cruelly and brutally creams, make up, medicine are testing on them? Yes. Do I continue to use them? Yes. Well then. That's another label I will shun, because my love does not extend far enough to save animal lives anymore. Every day some calf's mother is on my plate, and I do not feel remorse but impending joy, and I am not traumatized but salivating instead, is proof enough that I am just an animal lover at best. And that too, when it is most convenient for me.

Recently however, I have met people who love labels! They call themselves feminists, and queer rights activists and fitness freaks. And then they do something else entirely: they sacrifice nothing.

To identify as any sort of activist, any sort of agent of change, you must sacrifice and surrender sometimes things that are important to you. You can not bash on men and call yourself a feminist, that is not what feminism is, and if I have to spell this out for you, you need to submerge yourself in feminist rhetoric, theory and discourse, because people have not been sacrificing for generations just so you can shit on their sacrifices. You can not call yourself a feminist and go to a ping-pong show, or contribute to the exploitation of women and girls in other ways. It just does not work.

If you give yourself a label, if that is what you choose, know that labels come with restrictions and limitations, there are things you must do, and those you must avoid so that people take you and your apparent cause seriously. You are not a fitness freak because you talk about it. Sweat it. Feel the burn. Work out on the days you think you have no time, and then we can talk.  You can not be a queer rights activist because you grew up with a queer person living next door. That is not activism. That is you clinging to an identity that is not yours.

But then again, what is identity? Yours or mine? Is it just the journey we embark on to make sense of ourselves? Is it just the process of knowing who we are not, versus who we really are? Are we ever really anything?


As I said in the beginning, I am not used to the idea of people actually wanted to have a label stamped onto their foreheads. But if this is your wish, if this is what you desire, then know what you have gotten yourself into: a life bound by what someone else once decided and dictated.

Good luck to you.

Because personally, identifying as someone, something, forcing myself to fit into a box, a sqaure, even a triangle, makes no sense. We are who we are, flaws and all. To not accept that is to not accept yourself; to not love yourself.

Why would anyone willingly do that?

As I said before, good luck to you.

Oops! I did it again...

A while ago I mentioned on my facebook page how tired I was of being used by people. I am that person that extends herself  to people who are feeling lost and isolated. I have done this many times before, and very few times has anyone actually shown any appreciation. What I mean by this is, people enter my life feeling shitty, and somehow for whatever reason start to feel better about themselves, and then suddenly the excuses begin: "no, I can't hang out that night, I'm busy/ sorry i didn't call you back, I had no time/ I have plans/ you wouldn't like my new friends..." You get the point.

This is all well and good. I have learnt over the years that I don't really need people. Of course there are a few people for whom I have a great, unconditional love, but they are very few. And even so, I live with the understanding that nothing is forever, and so to be attached to someone or something is a dangerous thing.

So where does this blog entry stem from? Is it because it is February and that means only one thing for me? Friday the 8th marks my father's birthday, and my mother's 12 year death anniversary - and that certainly puts things into perspective.

I show the kindness I do to people because I am my parent's daughter. There is no other reason, I don't actively help people because I feel they will do the same for me. My parent's already taught me that is a gift, should it happen, a blessing.

But, I have a problem with this notion: that  the person being bestowed with kindness and compassion has no responsibility to do good, to pay it forward (if not back).

Recently people have told me what a huge influence I am in their lives, whether or not they are actively with me, they make smarter choices because they have heard from me, or read something I have posted. And yet, and yet, these wonderful sentiments are followed with a series of excuses as to why people are backing out of their commitments to me, or why I can't be introduced to the new wonderful people in their lives (because apparently I am such a giant bitch I do not how to meet and greet people - in which case what are you doing in my life?)

I am really quite sick of it all. And frankly, I think maybe it is time to burn some bridges. Perhaps it is better to coexist with certain people, than to befriend them. Perhaps it is better to collaborate with some rather than to embrace them. Perhaps I shouldn't waste my time on people who clearly have no time for me.

I don't mean this in some spiteful, wicked way, but I am already the person people come to when things are difficult, and I am not going to be used, thrown aside, and be the person they come back to when everything falls apart.

Not again.