A label I can stick to...

Those of you who know me know that I dislike labels. Not the sticky kind or the blogging kind, but the kind that we attach to people. In my eyes, a label reduces a beautifully complex human being to just one defining feature. Jocks, geeks, plastics (Mean Girls, anyone?), tomboys, goths...the list is endless. I get that we like to pigeon-hole people because it makes them easier for us to understand, but in reality it just means that we're overly confused when they present a characteristic that we have deemed to be incompatible with their 'type'. And let's not even think about getting into how most labels are derogatory and highly judgemental!

I've resisted labels throughout my life. I've been the 'white' girl, the 'poor' girl, the 'geeky' girl, the 'plain' girl, (and most recently) the 'single' girl. I've hated all these labels. I've always wanted to be defined by who I am, not what I do or don't do. Until now.

It probably has a lot to do with the fact that I don't have any friends outside work here, but work is my life now. The only time I'm not thinking about work is when I'm watching tv. I'm not kidding - I recently had a dream about a class test I was planning (and I never dream).

I am an educator. And in spite of the low pay, the ungrateful students, the mindless bureaucracy and the towering pile of lab reports that I need to mark, there is nothing else I would rather be. And if people want to label me 'the lecturer girl', then I will wear that label with pride.

I'll still watch the cricket and fangirl over Made In Chelsea though.

Whinge whinge whinge

Listening to: 'Take It All' by Adele [21]

Just got back from the Dr's. Apparently the back pain isn't anything to worry about, but I've been referred to a physiotherapist just in case. And apparently I should start swimming again 'cos otherwise I'm on the fast track to becoming a cripple. Thanks for nothing, scoliosis.

Combine all this with the lack of money and the fact that a 45min swim session costs £4 (?!), and I am not a happy bunny. Where the hell am I supposed to find ~£20 a month from? Oh and have I mentioned how I don't actually like swimming 'cos it leaves me with a runny nose for the next 24hrs? Although I suppose I'd take a runny nose over using a zimmer frame at 40.

Ugh someone give me a job already.

Behold the moment I died and went to heaven

Listening to: my heart thumping

OK so I don't really know how to put this, other than to say...

I JUST MET STEVEN FINN!!!!!!!!!!

Now let me tell you how.

Middlesex CCC are playing Cambridge MCCU this weekend, in Cambridge. In case you've been living under a rock for the past I-don't-know-how-long, England fast bowler Steven Finn plays for Middlesex (along with England captain Andrew Strauss and England batsman - and my future husband - Eoin Morgan). So I knew Finny was gonna be in Cambridge this weekend (the other two are on post-WC leave and IPL duty respectively), and decided to do viva-prep all day and then cycle over to Fenner's for a bit of the afternoon session.

I got to Fenner's and I watched the cricket and took a few photos, all the while surreptitiously trying to spot the delectable Mr Finn. I mean he's 6'7"...surely he can't be that difficult to find? And sure enough, he wasn't...'cos a few mins later I saw him walking towards the bench where I was sitting!!!!!!!!!! He was with another guy who I assumed was a friend. I kinda whimpered "Finny" (I was sooooooo nervous and excited and my heart was RACING) and I don't think he heard me but the other guy did and he stopped and then Finny looked at me and smiled and then I asked "could I get a photo please?" and he said "yeah sure" and then I like a dumbass turned my camera OFF (so classy, PR :-| ). So then I fumbled and turned it back on again and the other guy offered to take the photo so I said yes please. And then I said "hmm maybe I should stand on the bench" and they laughed and then Finny stood next to me (and I almost died) and then we took the photo and then I said "thank you" and he said "no worries" and then I said "good luck" and he said "thanks" and then I sat down and then I realised that the other guy was actually a journalist about to interview him. Oops.

So yeah. I was planning on just getting an extensively zoomed-in picture of his right foot or something, and instead he stood next to me and I got a photo of us. Perhaps I should buy a lottery ticket today?

yes, that's how much I was smiling/blushing

I should probably try and calm down and get some work done now. EEE!

Why I love English cricket

Listening to: nothing

So unless you're just back from a day trip to Atlantis, you'll know that Sri Lanka gave England a real thrashing today. A lot of my Lankan fb friends seem to have forgotten that we dropped Morgan thrice (two of those chances being absolute dollies...luck of the Irish, eh?) but it didn't matter in the end, so I won't be a spoilsport. Today's performance bodes well for the semi-final on Tuesday, and I hope we deliver. Being the realist/cautious optimist that I am, I won't be as arrogant and cocky (and to be honest, downright irritating) as some of my friends and claim to have a hand on the trophy already...but I'll gladly acknowledge that we have the talent and the form to go all the way.

And that is all I'm gonna say about Sri Lanka's performance in this post. The rest of this post, I want to dedicate to the England team and its supporters. I've been getting a lot of stick from people for supporting England in this WC. A lot of Sri Lankans can't understand how I could support a team of our 'colonial oppressors'. To them, I say: wake up (and grow up), we're not in the 1940s any more. A lot of Sri Lankans can't understand how I could support a team that's not my 'home' team. To them, I say: I was born in the UK and I've spent almost 15 years of my life here...I'm almost 28 - you do the math. A lot of Sri Lankans can't understand how I could support two teams. To them, I say: watch me.

So England aren't the best team around. So what? Did ardent Sri Lankan cricket fans only start supporting our team after '96? Oh wait...:D. But seriously, I like the attitude of this England team. They enjoy their cricket, and they have a laugh. They try hard, and they can take defeat. There's an excellent team spirit, and a sense of gratitude towards the fans that is lovely to see. They seem like the kind of people I'd want to go down to the pub with after work on a Friday. I won't deny that it helps that a lot of them are extremely easy on the eye, but that's just a bonus. I also won't deny that they've had lapses in sportsmanship (Colly's jelly-gate comes to mind), but I think they more than make up for it the rest of the time.

For instance, look at this tweet from Graeme Swann after today's match:

He didn't bowl that badly, but he got thrashed around the ground nonetheless. To finish a match like that and a) give due respect to your opponent, b) put it in perspective and c) compliment the opponent's home crowd...I think that's big of him. He could've moaned about the fatigue, the heat, the noise, the fact that the Taj (I think?) nightclub music kept them up last night...but he didn't.

And what of the fans? I don't need to remind people about the behaviour of some cricket fans when their team loses *cough*India*cough*Australia*cough*. But here are two responses that appear to be representative of the sentiment in the UK:

The first, from the lovely englandcricketteam tumblr (which you must visit if you want yummy pics of yummy England cricketers :D ) -

And this from BBC Radio 1 DJ Greg James, in a reply to Sri Lankan BBC Radio 1 DJ Nihal -

It makes me proud to be Sri Lankan, and proud to be an England cricket fan.

I suppose a part of me feels pressure from my Sri Lankan friends to feel guilty about liking anything about England, sport or otherwise. After all, I'm only here for uni, right? Well...no. If 'home' is where you feel safe, happy, welcome, and that you belong...then this is 'home' for me. I'm not saying it always has been, or that it always will be...but for now, it is. A lot of Sri Lankan friends will call me names and what have you, but that'll just make me feel more at home in the UK, far away from their judgemental narrow-mindedness. Home is where the heart is, and right now my heart is snug as a bug in a rug in the UK. If you don't like it, that's your problem.

I shall end with my favourite picture from today's match, courtesy englandcricketteam:

Awww Moggie ♥

How did I feel?

Listening to: Radio 1

First of all, thank you very much to everyone who commented on my last post. I purposely didn't talk about my own reaction, because:

a) I didn't want to influence anyone's response, and
b) I genuinely wanted to know how you would feel.

So now I will tell you how I felt.

Overall, I couldn't care less. When I heard it, I'll admit...it stung a bit. But my very next thought was a big fat 'meh'. I was facing my back to the guys so luckily I didn't have to look them in the eye, but anyway I just completely ignored them and walked towards the dancefloor and joined my friends.

A lot of you had suggested retorts I could've used. To be honest I wouldn't have wasted the pleasure of my attention on them, but if I had, I probably would've said something along the lines of "Thanks for the tip, Captain Obvious". I mean let's face it...I know I have miniature boobs, I see them every day. It's one of the many things about my body that I hate (there's a long list). But...I've come to terms with it. In fact, I've come to terms with the entire list (almost). And that's why it didn't bother me. Nothing to do with the perpetrator, the venue or the value of the comment. All to do with me.

Looking back at at the episode, I can break down the moment between the initial sting and the final 'meh' into micro-thoughts...and it goes a little something like this:

1. Ouch!
2. It's ok, only a little prick *tee hee*
3. This is proof that sexual harassment isn't just a 'Sri Lankan man in a bus' thing
4. Wait, so that was the only negative thing they had to say about me?
5. Yeah, go ahead and watch this ass as it walks away, way out of your reach.

Ahem...yeah OK so I may have added a little bit of swagger to my walk towards the dancefloor :P

So there we have it. To be fair, they were just stating the obvious. I suppose a part of me just assumed that that's what guys think when they see me any way...so I wasn't surprised in the least. Don't get me wrong, I know the statement was offensive, but I wasn't 'offended' as such...I've been told far worse (namely "she should put a bag over her head"). With regards to this episode, I suppose "water off a duck's back" is a good way of describing how I felt. I consider that to be a good thing...don't you?

Oh the irony!

Listening to: 'Salt Skin' by Ellie Goulding [Lights]

When Shorty's man was writing up his thesis, I went crazy with the red pen and inserted commas all over his draft in order to simplify the otherwise-incomprehensible academese. I've just started going through my own thesis in preparation for my viva, and what do I find on page 3?

There's a comma missing.

An apology (of sorts)

Listening to: 'Ain't No Way' by Aretha Franklin [Respect: The Very Best of Aretha Franklin]

Dear KC,

I'm sorry you're still hurting a week after the 'incident'. OK let's face it, it's not like you were ever in the running for 'most beautiful knee cap of the year'...but now you look more like a choppa-fied plum than a knee cap. You feel like one too. You can blame that stupid bike of mine for being heavier than I, and Cambridge City Council for not maintaining the roads properly (oh yeah and my rubbish sense of balance, but let's not dwell on that).

I don't think I'll stop wearing short skirts (at least until I've properly smashed you up), but rest assured you'll be well hidden by dark-coloured tights for the time being. And let's not allow the prevalent sunshine to delude us into thinking about Summer.

OK I think that's all I have to say. You can go back to looking all scabby and bluey purple now. And can you stop hurting please? Thanks.

Love,
Me.

Getting used to my new life (or not)

Listening to: Skream & Benga's 'In New DJs We Trust' show on BBC Radio 1

So it's been 10 days since I submitted. I slept for about 15 hours, and then the day after I buggered off to London for almost a week. Had an amazing time - slept a lot, chilled a lot, ate a lot...and spent a lot of quality time with people I love. Got back to Cam on Tuesday, and since then I've been chatting with people at the Careers Service, walking up to random shop assistants and asking if they've got temp vacancies, and um, sleeping a lot.

On Wednesday and Thursday I ended up going to the Dept 'cos I had to copy my stuff off the work PC etc. Turns out there's a newbie already so I've lost my computer, but my labmates have set aside a workstation just for me so that I can use the office facilities whenever I need to. Isn't that sweet? :-)

Today, I stayed at home. I did stuff like paying my rent, sorting out laundry and gossiping with my mother for an hour. And you know what? After just a day of chilling at home (and all you working people are gonna hate me for saying this)...I'm bored. I know, it sounds terrible. I'm supposed to be enjoying my free time after 4 years of PhD. But I don't know what to do. I've danced around to songs on the radio, watched TV, done housework, chatted with people, cooked...and it's only 9pm. My 365's gone all over the place and I need to get back to it, but there are so many photos that require editing that I'm not actually looking forward to it. I've actually made a list of stuff I need to do, so hopefully that'll motivate me. But I just feel idle. I don't like idle. Grr.

Anyway that's what I've been up to. I'm going to try and bake something this weekend. I don't know what yet. I haven't baked since I was 7, so this could get messy. We'll see.

To-Do List

Listening to: 'Like a G6' by Far East Movement [Free Wired]

1. Finish experiments before my collaborators go all juvenile (again) and say I can't use their lab any more
2. Write up so that my supervisor has enough time to read my thesis properly before I submit
3. Get a viva date before the degree committee meeting
4. Get a visa appointment before my student visa expires
5. Pass my viva (hahahahahahaha - I don't know why I find this so funny)
6. Get the confirmation letter before my visa appointment
7. Apply for my new visa before I get deported

And you wonder why I'm stressed.

In retrospect

Listening to: 'Me and You' by Nero [-]

I'm on a self-imposed TV ban at the moment...I have enough distractions from the thesis as it is, without feeling compelled to scream "bus wankers!" at no one in particular for a few hours after watching Inbetweeners. That said, I do allow myself exceptions...the MoBO Awards show was one, and the latest instalment of 'World's Strictest Parents' on BBC3 was another. I mean after RD told me that the priest at our meditation centre was in it, how could I not?!

The premise of the show, from what I could gather, is this: two wayward British teenagers are packed off to some far flung place for a week, where they will live with *drumroll please* the WORLD'S STRICTEST PARENTS *dun dun dunnn*. In Monday night's episode, a quintessential Essex girl and a posterchild of David Cameron's 'broken society' were sent to live with a family in Colombo. I enjoyed the show, partly 'cos the two chavs were hilarious and partly 'cos it made me long for home. And of course I got all excited seeing the priest on TV. And the doggy.

It also made me think about my own upbringing: were these parents really that strict? How strict were my parents in comparison? Would I have done anything differently?

I'm not sure if I can remember each and every issue that came up, but I'll list the ones I do recall.

• No cellphones
  The mother said that their children don't have cellphones. I can relate to that - I only got a phone when I came to university. It's not that I asked and my parents said no - there just wasn't a need for one. At my old school, none of us had phones. When I switched schools for A/Ls, suddenly loads of people had phones. I still didn't see the need for one though. I remember walking along the corridor once and I heard this girl in a lower Form telling her friend how her mother's a bitch 'cos she wouldn't let her have a phone...I was horrified! One, because what do you need a phone for at that age?! and two...well, see the next point.
• No bad language
  This is something that always disturbs me - children using bad language when talking to or about their parents. The two girls in the show...oh my word I wanted to slap them (or wash their mouths with soap #corporalpunishmentFTW). I dunno how that couple stayed so calm. If I had used that language in front of my parents, I would've been slapped silly. I've been slapped a fair bit, but never because of bad language - I just don't use bad language in front of my parents. Never have, never will. My parents know I use all sorts of words when I'm with my friends...but they know that I respect them enough not to let them hear it.
• No smoking
  Erm...that goes without saying, no?
• No birthday presents
  I guess that's unusual but then I didn't get birthday presents either. My parents worked on the principle that if I had been a good girl and they could afford what I was asking for, I'd get it regardless of the time of year. But seeing as I was being punished for most of the year, I didn't get much :P Which brings me to the next point...
• No TV
  Another supposedly extreme one. True, there was no TV ban in our house...except when I was being punished. When I was about 14/15, I had a nasty habit of talking back to my parents, especially my mother. My mother now assures me that it was normal teenage behaviour, but I'm still ashamed of it. Anyway, if I had been especially rude, my TV rights were the first to go. I was rude so often that I think I got used to not watching any TV at all! Then my radio started getting confiscated...that's when I calmed down and started to behave :P

So yeah, that's it. Were these parents strict? Yeah I guess so. Were they the world's strictest parents? Hell no...I had classmates whose parents were muuuuuch stricter than this. How about my parents? I'd say yes they were strict, but fair. Very fair. And looking back, I wouldn't have it any other way.

Tightening the belt

Listening to: 'Leaving Blues' by Bombay Bicycle Club [Flaws]

So today, I sat down at my PC in the office and watched the Chancellor George Osborne outline the proposed budget cuts in the government's Spending Review...while eating my home-made ham, cheese and mustard sandwiches. Yup, gone are the days of popping over to Boots for a lunchtime Meal Deal (sandwiches, drink and chocolate for £2.99, for the uninitiated)...Cambridge City Council has decided that since I've passed the four-year mark of my current degree, it's time for me to start paying Council Tax. As a result, my expenses have increased overnight by £96 per month. Now the easy thing to do would be to ask my parents to increase my allowance...but I decided that wouldn't be fair. They didn't budget for me to be in my fifth (?!) year of a PhD...I was supposed to be fully employed by now. So I'm cutting down. The first thing to go was internet on my phone...it's not like I used it much anyway. And I started using the Dialog website to send free SMS to SL. Next up was lunch...it's actually quite nice to have fresh sandwiches, although I've decided I hate Hovis with a passion. I could make better bread, and I don't even know how to make bread! I'm yet to see exactly how much I'll save, but it should be a substantial amount. I'm also cutting down on socialising in a big way. No meeting up for coffee (unless it's with someone who's working and therefore likely to buy my coffee out of sympathy ;-) ) and no going out to dinner. To be fair, I don't have time anyway. Finally, and possibly most obviously, no shopping. So the £50 black boots (well, £40 with student discount) that I've been eyeing at Dorothy Perkins will have to wait, as will the amazing debut album by the XX and the Season 1 DVD of Glee (which I had planned as a post-PhD treat). Things will change after submission, when I find myself a part-time job somewhere, but for now, this is it.

But like I said at the beginning, I'm not the only one cutting down. The Coalition is aiming to save £84bn with these budget cuts/freezes, and a lot of people are unhappy. I am, perhaps surprisingly, less unhappy than I thought I'd be. The pre-Review rumour mill speculated that funding for science would be cut by 25%. That's over a billion pounds less than what we're getting at the moment, and what we're getting right now is definitely not enough. Scientists and engineers around the UK decided to fight for the future of research in this country, and around 36,000 signed the Science is Vital petition. There was also a protest. Now I generally don't agree with protests 'cos I think they're a lot of fart and no shit, but I think in this case, the protest was complemented by enough constructive action to make it worthwhile. I dunno if it was the petition, the protest, or the support from Britain's eminent scientists...but Whitehall listened. Instead of a 25% cut, the science funding budget has been frozen. Of course this means there'll be about a 10% reduction in spending because of inflation, efficiency savings etc., but compared to what we were faced with, this is good news. I'm not opposed to all cuts, 'cos I think something has to be done about the deficit, but this seems like a fair decision. And we all know how much the Coalition likes the word 'fair'.

Paris photo post

Listening to: Radio 1

I need to go to sleep now but I thought I'd get the trip photos out of the way first. For those of you that I don't know personally, here you go...

If the slideshow's playing up, the Fluidr set is here

Highlights of the trip?

• Day 1 - seeing Marie and Pierre Curie's tombstones at the Panthéon; feeling my knees go weak as I entered Notre Dame; almost being squashed to death on the Metro; seeing the Sacré Coeur; walking around Monmartre
• Day 2 - being pleasantly overwhelmed by the Louvre (I say pleasantly 'cos I was overwhelmed by the Met in NYC as well, but not in a good way); being predictably underwhelmed by the Mona Lisa; feeling chuffed that I managed to climb up the Notre Dame towers without my heart going into overdrive
• Day 3 - The Eiffel Tower...everything about her is pure heaven for an engineer; feeling almost sickened by the grotesque opulence of the Palace of Versailles; getting rained on at Versailles; eating escargot
• Day 4, 5, 6, 7, 8 - lots and lots of mother-daughter and father-daughter bonding time :-)

And there we have it. Sorry I don't have time to write a full account - hopefully the pictures will speak for me.

Bullet points

Listening to: 'Evening/Morning' by Bombay Bicycle Club [I Had the Blues but I Shook Them Loose]

I'm not in the mood to blog. Too stressed. But there's stuff that needs to come out, so I'm gonna be the stereotypical engineer and blog in point form.

• I'm 17.3% through my Project 365. That's two 31-day months and one day, for those of you who are not mathematically inclined. Some of the photos are good, some of them are awesome, and some are just plain pigeon shit. But they're all up there. If you haven't seen them yet, what are you waiting for? Go go go!


• I bought two albums recently - Who Needs Actions When You Got Words by Plan B, and the one I've got on now - I Had the Blues but I Shook Them Loose by Bombay Bicycle Club. They're both awesome. The former is scary and satirical at the same time. He's like a less glamorous, less messed up Eminem. You listen to this, and then Defamation of Strickland Banks...they could be by two different people.
  As for the BBC album...it's lovely. It just makes me want to jump around. I think if I had to describe the boys in 3, 4 and 5 words, it'd go something like this:
  
  • 3: quirky Brit indie
  • 4: Vampire Weekend meets Editors
  • 5: ohemgee Suren is so fit.
  So yeah. Their new album 'Flaws' is on my wish list already...I am loving Rinse Me Down.


• I had my first lab accident today. Which is pretty good going, considering I've been doing lab work for almost 4 yrs. I was wearing the appropriate PPE, and I'd closed the fume cupboard...else there might've been trouble. And I'm pleased to report that safety training does work! I didn't panic, I just did what had to be done. I'm quite proud of myself. People give me grief for being a goody-two-shoes and stuff, but whatever man. If not for my 'sticking to the rules', I might be in hospital now, or worse.

Hmm...I think that's it for now. Incredibly sleepy. Will try and squeeze in another post before Paris.

Why can't my body just behave?!

Listening to: 'Squealing Pigs' by Admiral Fallow [Boots Met My Face]

Blood tests and ECG tomorrow. I'm not worried...needles don't really bother me. And the ECG...well it's been about 15 years since I last had an ECG, and all I can remember is stickiness. Or was that an Echo? Meh. I'm rather desensitised to these medical thingies anyway. I just hope the tests are conclusive. In a weird way, I'd rather be told that there's something (minor, and treatable) wrong with me, than be told that I just have to 'live with it'. It's not that I have some unrealistic expectation of the scope of modern medicine, or a repressed death wish...but I'm fed up of inexplicable phenomena...I have enough of that in my own research, dammit!

And let's face it, I haven't really been doing a good job of 'living with it' so far. I can wear three pairs of socks and my feet will still be (literally) icy cold in winter...and I can wave them in front of a fan and sprinkle water on them and they'll still be red hot and swollen during summer. I can wear two pairs of thermal gloves and my fingertips will still go blue and hurt like hell in winter. And I can sit peacefully and sip water and do nothing else all day and I can still get palpitations. Hello, I'm 27...I'm not supposed to be getting 'old people' ailments. Gah.

Anyway, time for bed. I won't see my Dr till next week to discuss the results, and unlike in SL, the nurse is unlikely to let me bring the reports home...so I'll just have to continue 'living with it' (or not) until then. Ugh.

P.S. For the initiated amongst you, yes I am a suspected Reynaud's case, but my Dr said there's no point doing all the tests 'cos the 'treatment' is just treatment of the symptoms. Joy.

Reminiscing

Listening to: Radio 1

I just finished watching an almost clinical (well, save a few unnecessary unforced errors and 2nd serves) Wimbledon Final performance by Rafael Nadal. Rafa is my absolute favourite and I'm thrilled that it was so easy for him, but I had kinda hoped that Tomas Berdych (who is actually quite cute, btw) would rise to the occasion. He did against Federer and Djokovic, but not today. He's got potential though, and as with most of the players on the tour, he just needs to work more on his mental game.

While I was screaming words of encouragement at the monitor, my mind went back to a time when I wasn't into tennis. Yes folks, believe it or not, there was a time when I couldn't stand the stuff. Or cricket, for that matter. Oh how things have changed.

I used to be really into my Premier League football. I was a steady Spurs supporter (two words: 'Gary Lineker'). Tennis, in my opinion (if you can count the opinion of a 9 yr-old, that is), took far too long. Realistically though, there was a deeper reason. My father worked long hours, and I cherished the time he was at home...but with Wimbledon on TV, he might as well have been at work. I still remember that famous '92 Wimbledon final between Agassi and Ivanisevic. I was in the middle of a very tough 1000-piece jigsaw puzzle, and I wanted Thaththi's help. But nooooo, he and Ammi were screaming words of encouragement at the TV (sound familiar?). Hmph. I can't remember why I went and sat next to them, but I did. And I followed the ball, and the cheers. And the scoreboard. Before long, I had grasped the basics of the game. And you know what? It wasn't that bad. In fact, it was actually quite enjoyable. Maybe I would learn to like this tennis malarkey after all.

Or maybe not. We moved back to SL in '93, and had no contact with tennis for a while (except through the papers). But then somehow, we managed to catch the 1996 US Open. I saw Pete Sampras play, and I was hooked. For a while at least...I briefly lost interest when Sampras retired, and it took the first of the Federer/Nadal encounters to reel me back in. Their rivalry, combined with the excellent BBC tennis coverage, has turned me into an addict.

Like I said earlier, tennis isn't the only sport that I learnt to love. Considering that I thought tennis took too long, you can imagine why I didn't like cricket! Again, the Ashes would steal my father from me, and it irritated me that he would rather sit and watch some weird moustached man (Graham Gooch) instead of playing Scrabble with me. Double hmph.

Fast forward to January 1996. I was in hospital after my surgery, and utterly bored in my room. As luck would have it, the TV in the room would only show one channel. The same channel that was showing Sri Lanka's infamous tour of Australia. I had two choices: try and follow the cricket, or die of boredom. And so I followed. I listened to the commentary, and tried to figure out what the hell was going on. I filled in the gaps by quizzing my father during visiting hours. And then I was discharged, just in time for the World Cup. The rest, as they say, is history.

So yeah, what started out as a way to have some quality time with my father, or to relieve my boredom, resulted in a lifelong love affair. And now I couldn't care less about the Premiership. Funny how things work out, no?

The curse of the has-been over-achiever

Listening to: 'Nothin' On You' by B.o.B. ft. Bruno Mars [B.o.B Presents The Adventures of Bobby Ray]

I got an email a couple of days back from one of my mother's friends asking me how I'm doing, and she said -

"...knowing you, you'll pass with flying colours. I know your parents are so proud of you."

Today, I decided to start updating my CV. I was looking at the example CVs in the guide book, and my list of achievements looked...well...minuscule, in comparison. I felt like a failure. A phony. Like I had let everyone I know down.

Why does everyone I've known since childhood assume that I'll just breeze through everything? My mother jokes that it's my own fault for being an over achiever. Perhaps...I'll accept, I used to be an over achiever. But not any more. Now I'm struggling to keep afloat. It's difficult enough as it is to not drown, without everyone else expecting me to just sail through. It's taken a lot of soul searching for me to accept the fact that things are difficult now, and that it doesn't mean I'm a failure. I'm learning how to ask for help, and I'm learning to love myself, warts and all...but the moment someone expects me to return to my over-achieving ways, it all comes crashing down. The chest tightens, the tension headache appears, and I burst into tears...only to be told off by my father for getting hysterical.

I wish I could explain to these people that it's difficult. And that it doesn't just happen. Yes I did my school exams well...but don't for a minute think that I didn't work incredibly hard. I am not a genius. I know a few geniuses, and I know that I'm not one of them. This assumption that my life is obstacle-free infuriates me. They expect more from me than they do from their own children...how is that fair?! It's peer pressure on a whole different level, and it's unbearable.

And it's not just regarding my studies.

"Someone like you must be having boys lining up at your door!"

I'm sorry, what?! WTF does 'someone like me' mean? Last time I checked, insecure, highly strung female engineers with no physical assets whatsoever weren't really high up on the 'desirability' scale. I wish people would quit the whole 'talking just for the sake of conversation' thing.

I don't really know where I'm going with this post. The positivity of a few days ago disappeared as quickly as it appeared. Looking at CVs was demoralising. I only managed to do half of what I was supposed to do today. And I'm as lonely as hell. Yes I know I keep going on about it. But seriously, you know it's bad when you think "oh shit I forgot to wish Dave for his birthday"...and by 'Dave', you mean 'Comedy Dave' Vitty off of The Chris Moyles Show on Radio 1 (wished him now on twitter though, so it's OK). I think I'm actually going crazy.

If I ever have children, a part of me hopes that they're not high achievers...no one deserves this pressure.

A day in the life of a single girl

Listening to: Radio 1

This time last year I had a little rant about how singledom was perceived to be some kind of disease, and I'm sad to say (not really surprised though, I guess) that things haven't changed. In fact I lie, they have...they've actually got worse. My mother did warn me that they would, but I don't think anything or anyone could've prepared me for this.

Rewind to my trip home in December (re-rewind, when the crowd say bo sele...what?! That wasn't the first thing that came to mind when you read that sentence? Oh.)...amongst all the various social obligations was a family wedding. I was there with my parents, aunts and uncles, grandmother and grand aunts and generally having some quality 'family' time. One of my grand aunts took me to a corner and advised me that 'it was high time I found a good Sinhala Buddhist boy' but she's pushing 90 and harmless so I just grinned and took it on the chin. I thought to myself that if this was what my mother had warned me about, it'd be a piece of cake! I was wrong. Oh boy was I wrong.

Across the ballroom I spotted one of my old teachers, and being the glutton for punishm...I mean, well brought up child that I am, I decided it was probably best if I went and said hi. She was very pleased to see me, and I felt like I'd done a good deed...I mean who wouldn't appreciate being remembered after so many years, right? Everything was going along swimmingly...you know, the typical "so what did you do after leaving school?", "what's your research on?", "oh how lovely that our students are doing so well!"...and then I noticed her looking at my hand. My left hand. Suddenly alarm bells started ringing in my head. What happened next was a sea of incomprehensible questions, advice and gestures...but this was the general flow:

Ms X: How old are you now?
Me: Erm...26...?
Ms X: So you have a boyfriend?
Me: *OMGWTFBBQ* Err no, it's not a priority at the moment
Ms X: WHAT?! You're not getting any younger blah blah blah you must blah blah blah did you see Mr Y blah blah blah he's really smart blah blah blah I'll introduce you blah blah blah
Me: *keeeeelll meeeee naaaaooooo* Err no Miss it's ok, you don't have to...*feels hand being grabbed, body being hoisted off chair and dragged towards random guy*
Ms X: *to Mr Y* I want you to meet one of my blah blah blah she's very blah blah blah ok bye
Me: Erm hi. OK this is awkward.
Mr Y: *embarrassed look* Hehe

Can somebody say 'most embarrassing moment of PR's life'? Louder please. Thanks. My mother keeps telling me to 'keep an open mind' and I had to remind myself of that every two seconds in order to stop myself from tying my saree fall around my neck. I made small talk for about half a minute and then ran to my mother as soon as I could possibly do so politely. I was mortified, scarred for life...and my mother was rolling around laughing. And then came the next bomb drop. Apparently she had been told to look out for Mr Y's brother, 'cos he's apparently 'a good catch'. I mean WHAT THE...I'm being pimped to brothers?!?!?! Could things get any worse?!

Evidently so. About 2 days after this episode, we got a call from a family friend who lives abroad...asking for my height. Yeah, you guessed why...apparently her somebody's son is really nice and really smart. Ugh. And to top it all off, the food at the wedding was a bit dodgy, and I got the worst indigestion I'd had in ages. Way to kick a girl when she's down eh?

Why? WHY?! I ask you. I didn't ask to be set up with anyone. My parents haven't asked for me to be set up with anyone. Who are these people who feel they have some kind of duty to marry me off...some kind of right to interfere with my private life?! Since when did my love life become a public concern?! Apparently their intentions are good. Well you know what? I don't give a flying f*** about their intentions. They sure as hell don't care about mine. And to make things worse, some of these people have the audacity to tell my mother and father that they're bad parents because they're not searching for a groom. I'm telling you now, you could search the whole universe and not find two human beings who love me, care about me, respect me, who are proud of me, and have my best interests and my happiness at heart more than my parents. Anyone who calls them bad parents wouldn't know good parenting if it slapped them in the face.

And this is one of my 'issues' with back home. Every Dick, Tom and Harry is a self-appointed expert on all and sundry, and the sole purpose of their existence is to impose their opinions and their 'help' on everyone else. The fact that their intentions are good seems to make it all OK. I mean it's unimaginable that the recipient might not actually want or need help, right? What kind of an ungrateful wretch wouldn't want help or advice from these 'experts'? Oh I dunno, maybe the kind that actually knows what she wants in life and doesn't need interference from some supposedly-educated self-important elder? *rolls eyes*

So yeah. I've wanted to blog about this incident ever since it happened, but had a bit of writer's block until now. I know these are good people and I know their intentions are good but they're so self-absorbed that they don't realise that their efforts are in vain and unwelcome. I wish I knew how to tell them to STFU and mind their own goddamn business without actually telling them to STFU and mind their own goddamn business. Sigh.

Narcissism 101

Listening to: 'Kings and Queens' by 30 Seconds to Mars [This Is War]

Those of you who know me might recall that I flew into the UK two weeks ago. You might also be aware that I spent the first two nights in London, before making the dreaded trip back to Cambridge. So what did I do on the Sunday I was there? Sleep? No. Sightsee? No. Shop? No. Gossip? Well, yes I suppose, but that's not the answer I was looking for. Let me tell you.

It all started with an email from Shorty back in November. Something about a free photoshoot she had signed up for, and whether I'd go with her. The minute I saw her email, I thought "ooh like the one Scrumpy did ages ago!" but I couldn't remember the details (in retrospect, I probably should've dug up her blog post at that point...oh well, you live and learn). Now I was interested, but finding a date that we were both free was tricky, and the only date we could find was...yes, you guessed it - the day after I was due to land.

Fast forward to the weekend in question. My flight from Colombo was delayed by over 3 hours due to bad weather in London, so by the time I landed at Heathrow it was 10.45pm on Saturday. Did you know that Heathrow is completely empty at that time of night? There were three very sleepy Immigration Officers on duty, but there was hardly anyone else around. The baggage reclaim hall was in complete darkness, except for the area near the belt carrying our bags. It was kinda spooky! Anyway it was about 2am by the time I got to Shorty's, had a chat, had a shower and got into bed, and I was shattered. Still (and this is probably a good thing), the jetlag had me up pretty early the next morning...so much so that I had to force myself back to sleep about three times! When it was finally time to get ready, I managed to create three 'outfits' from the contents of my suitcase, and we set off through snowy London to the studio.

The first thing I noticed was that there were no South Asians on the staff, and that worried me. No, it's not a racial thing, but Westerners are notoriously bad at matching make-up for South Asian skin tones, and I didn't really wanna end up looking like a circus freak! Oh well, too late now! After many forms and a free hot chocolate later, I was introduced to my make-up artist. I found myself observing how she had done her own make-up, and I was relieved. You can get a good idea of a beautician's style by the way they groom themselves, and her make-up was very subtle, and accentuated the features she already had...a good sign. She took me to her fancy workstation and we discussed what kinda 'look' I was hoping for. And then she tilted my chair back in order to get to work! After a brief panic about not being able to see what she was doing until it was too late, I told myself to let the expert do her job.

And what a job she did! I had to convince myself that it was still me I was looking at. She had used hot rollers on my hair - something I've never done, and damn it looked good. And the make-up...wow. I have really bad skin, but I couldn't see any of it! That's not to say she had caked it on (seriously, mac foundation is absoflippinlutely amazing), but you couldn't see any of the scars. It was incredible! I felt beautiful.

So then I met up with Shorty again (whose 'expert' had done the most gorgeous hair and eyes for her), and we waited to be summoned by our photographers. Man, now I know how a model feels. I lost track of how many times the phrases "beautiful!", "gorgeous!", "give us a smile...there, I knew you could do it!" were directed at me. I had to do all sorts of bizarre poses, and I didn't feel daft at all! I'm usually quite conscious about how my arms look and which side of my face is showing and stuff but everything just felt so natural! Which is really odd, considering I was posing...but still. Chatting with Shorty after the photo session, I realised it wasn't just me.

What we also realised was that we don't actually know many 'girly girls' in the UK. We were asked to recommend the service to our friends, and between us we could only think of a handful of names. And even with those names, quite a few were put down simply 'cos they're girls...not 'cos they'd ever imagine doing anything like this. Sigh. That's what you get for being an engineer, I guess.

The final leg of this adventure was actually seeing the photos they had produced. OH. MY. GOD. We looked awesome. I mean yeah there were a few photos where my right arm looked more like the leg of a frog, but overall the smiles looked genuine and the poses looked natural. And of course a little bit of airbrushing helped with the complexion ;-).

And then came the 'sales pitch'. I felt my heart plummet through my ribcage while I listened to the lady explaining the easy payment scheme...yes, it was expensive enough to warrant paying by installment. I fought hard with my conscience and ended up going for the cheapest option that would still be good-ish value for money. The saleswoman clearly felt sorry for us, 'cos she threw in a few extras at no cost. I've just received the photos and I must say, it's worth it. It's a once in a lifetime thing and the only time I'm gonna look that good...and my parents love the pics. I don't think I'll be buying any clothes for the rest of the year, but at least I'll have these photos!

Gleeking Out

Listening to: 'Don't Stop Believing' by 'Glee' Cast [-]

Um yeah. So Glee fever has come to the UK. We're a season behind the US or something, but who cares. I was warned that it was cheesy and OTT, but seeing as Fearne Cotton and Scott Mills haven't been able to talk about anything else for the past week, I had no choice but to watch whatever I could find on 4od.

And now I'm hooked. Yes some of the characters are quirky and incredibly OTT, but the music is absoflippinlutely amazing and Cory Monteith who stars as the jock-turned-niceguy Finn bears an uncanny resemblance to a really cute supervisor I had as an undergrad (what? you never fancied any of your teachers? Riiiight). And it's so lovely to see Gina...I mean Jessalyn Gilsig as Terri. I loved her in Nip/Tuck, and she doesn't disappoint here. Also, anyone else think that Mr Schuester (Matthew Morrison) looks like a hybrid of Justin Timberlake and Neil Patrick Harris? No? Just me? OK then.

But yeah, eye candy aside, I think what's really drawn me to Glee is nostalgia. Most...nay, all my fondest memories of school are somehow related to the school choir. The early morning practices, the funny vocal exercises, the weird throat-soothing concoctions (warm honey with garlic? seriously?), the complicated harmonies, the retarded costumes...they were all worth it when we sounded good. And oh boy did we sound good.

Unlike the Glee club in the show, we weren't 'misfits' (well I was, but the others weren't). The choir was, in effect, a clique. The clique that sang English songs with boys *shock horror*...ah the joys of going to an all girls' government school! And we didn't always sing just what we were supposed to. While waiting for practice to start, we'd harmonise to anything that came into our heads - show tunes, pop, baila...you name it, we'd harmonise it. For me, singing is the ultimate form of expression, and choir was the perfect outlet.

I did join the chapel choir when I came to university, but somehow it wasn't the same. Learning hymns for a service was too short-term for me. I wanted something I could sink my teeth into, something I could feel passionate about. Something I could connect with, and feel good about when it came right. Chapel choir didn't provide that. There were societies and groups that did, but the time commitment required was more than I was willing to put in, and after two failed auditions, the dream died. I suppose singing on the blog is my way of regaining some of that passion, but it seems rather inadequate at times.

Anyway if you don't know what all this Glee stuff is about, this clip should be a taster.

Oh to be a part of something like that again. Sigh.

P.S.- Finn from Glee and Simon from The Inbetweeners...what is with me and guys playing school kids on tv? Chee what a paedo.

Bullyproofing my 16 year old self

Listening to: Radio 1

I've been tagged by Scrumpy and Whacko in the latest blogging tag, and 1720GMT today is the big moment for BBC's anti-bullying campaign, bullyproof...so I've combined the two into one mega post...

-----

Hello chuti^[1] PR,

What?! Don't tell me I'm disrupting your precious O/L revision...we both know you were napping. Ammi^[2] doesn't know yet...but as usual, she will soon. No, I'm not the Ghost of Christmas Future...this is November, fool. And can you please stop trying to explain this in your usual painstakingly logical manner and shut up so I can impart you with a few pearls of wisdom? Not that you'd listen to me anyway, you stubborn little...ah, thank you.

OK...since you're supposedly studying, let's start with that. O/Ls will be fine (yes, even your 3 month crash course in Lit.). Ignore the self-righteous bigots who love to trash international schools, you'll survive. You'll love your A/L subjects...except Physics, which you'll just 'like'. A/Ls will seem easier than O/Ls. Yeah you're weird like that...accept it. Embrace it even! More on that later.

FFS don't worry about all those people trying to turn you into a mini Thaththi^[3] (you look like him, that's enough)! Do what appeals to you. Remember when you were 7, you told Ammi you'd study at Oxford? Screw that, you're going some place far better ;-)...don't let that horrendous mock interview faze you. At university, your grades will be marginally above average, which'll take some getting used to. But do your best, that's what counts. Oh and you know that desire to help others understand stuff? Keep that at the foremost of your mind...it'll be motivation for some serious shit you put yourself through. Your PhD (yes, you do a PhD) will be one heck of a rollercoaster ride...better toughen up your stomach!

Hmm what next? Ah yes. The PMS will improve...no more puking and fainting...oh except for this one time when you faint at freshers' fair and the ambulance crew have to escort you out of the hall with loads of people watching. But yeah, the worst is over. You'll lose about 5kg over the next decade. People will continue to give you dagger looks and say you're anorexic...meh. Don't bother with the high protein/high calorie diets, they won't work for you. And I admire your resolve but not eating chocolate won't reduce your pimples, so just get back to the good stuff, k? Oh and LOOK AFTER YOUR TEETH!!!

Now the personal stuff. The easy bits first: your love life will be pretty uneventful for the next 10 years...unless unrequited infatuations count as 'events' (please don't waste your time). You will make some amazing friends, but you'll still keep in touch with the gang. You'll be two continents away from SS but you'll still be as close as ever.

Lastly, the most important part. How can I put this gently...all the times people said nasty things about your accent, your skin colour, your country, your weight, your opinions, your preferred language, your hobbies, your social class (I know you remember every instance)...the bullying has affected you. I know you think it hasn't, and you (and a lot of other people) think I'm being a dramaqueen...but it has. Greater people have turned to alcohol, drugs, self-harming etc., but you've channelled all the negative energy into your studies and you're doing ok. You're doing the right thing, and I'm very proud of you! The bullying won't stop though. People will continue to judge you by your social class (albeit from a different perspective)...they'll also be hurtful about your career choices, your gender, your life choices, your body, your race...and more. We both know that these things don't really matter, and you're principled/stubborn enough not to change simply because you're in a minority of one. But it will hurt. A lot. You will cry. A lot. And when the studies get difficult, when you get stuck and realise you can't do everything on your own...your world will fall apart. The wall you built to protect yourself from the bullies will crumble, and every ugly insecurity you can imagine will surface. You'll hate your body, your mind, your work, your personality, your friends...you'll hate every aspect of your life.

Now dry your eyes for the good news - you turn things around. You start writing a public journal (that's this thing) and vent your thoughts. You find people you can confide in. You take the extremely brave step of opening up to your parents. Slowly, but surely, you make your way back. Clichés aside, it really is a voyage of discovery. But remember this...every part of you, the good, the bad and the ugly...they're all you. And you are perfect in your imperfections. You are a good person and you live your life by the Dhamma^[4]...with that, you can't go wrong. You'll be bruised and battered by people's harsh words, but you must nurse yourself back to health. Don't let anyone belittle you, your hopes or your fears. Love and accept yourself unconditionally. Please. If not you, then who?

OK I'm outta here. Know that I'm very proud of you, and you don't turn out so bad ;-).

With Blessings of the Noble Trip Gem, and the biggest, warmest hug ever,

Loku^[5] PR

-----

Sorry for the long and unfunny read; it's stuff I've been wanting to blog about for a while. One person's bullying is another person's banter and sometimes it's hard to tell them apart, but please try. A little sensitivity goes a long way.

Tagged: Sabby and Lady Divine

1 - little; 2 - Mother; 3 - Father; 4 - Buddhist teachings; 5 - big