Look, the heart of the matter lies in

Look, the heart of the matter lies in a little worm. The worm eats away at your core, day by day. Little by little, it crawls into your brain and nestles there, spinning away. It is a monster worm, this one. It spins a glowing black cocoon out of doubt, and misery, and old patterns. Again, and again you try to spray it into oblivion. Futilely, you throw drops of happiness, and security at it. “Shut up, getout, leavemealone!”
It merely grins its hideous grin, and oozes its way into dark corners. It will resurface; it always does. It knows this and you know this.
I will claw your heart out, and suck the marrow from your brains. I will lick my lips with great relish as I tongue back an artery dangling out of my mouth.
“Man, I love it when we tongue”.
How many other tongues have you loved?
I will cut off your tongue, garnish it with salt and pepper, and feed it to my little giant worm. I have a gremlin little cat, who likes to listen to electrohouse. He climbs onto the drawer by the record player and cries in time to the drop. Little cat, little cat, little black cat, won’t you please eat up my worm?


on the surface of it

one day we will own a house with shabby comfortable couches, that you can sink into, and french windows. one of the rooms will have rust coloured walls and a fake fireplace on the mantel of which will live an empty frame that i have spray painted gold. we will own a cat whom we will name Murakami. Murakami will like you more but love me more, like children often do their mothers. i will have faint frown lines that finally show between my eyebrows and you will have the same old metallic frames housing your gaze. your hair will be more tamed, with a few blotches of white in it. mine will have resisted and have gotten messier than ever, clinging to girlhood. we will have a record player cohabitating with a stack of books we don’t read very often, but like to look at for their covers. perhaps they will have grand impressive titles like ‘Sarte on existentialism and bacon’. Actually, that is a book I would like to read, so scratch that. I should have been an art director in films. Perhaps I will be an art director for small films, and you will be writing something you like. one of the walls in one of the rooms will have lines from poems and books we love on it; parts will be yellowing, but we like it better that way. there will be a stack of dirty dishes in the sink that i am putting off doing, and there will be a line above your forehead, signaling your growing impatience,as you sit in an armchair and read The Times cover to cover, leaving out the obituaries and the tabloid. i will be traipsing around the house with a vague look in my eyes, in purple slippers and a long t-shirt that i have stolen from you. i cannot remember what it is that i’m looking for, but i keep throwing glances at the refrigerator each time i pass it, and finally, i settle down with a block of dill havarti (in a coloured jar with a paper label saying ‘I Can Haz Cheez’) on the other armchair on the opposite side of the room. i sit cross-legged, open Ulysses (which I have not managed to read in all these years), and catch you looking at me.


you just sigh. “never mind.” a slight twitch of the head.

“what?! why must you always leave things hanging?”

“i suppose you’re going to want me to do the dishes again”.

i smile in what i think is an endearing manner, but you don’t catch it because you’re looking at the kitchen and besides, you stopped thinking it was endearing about forty two weeks ago.

“only if they bother you”

“whatever”, you snap, and bury your head in the paper again.

sunday crawls along. i’ve never liked sundays. bloody evil days providing you with time to mull over things you have no business thinking about.

one day we will own a house, and a cat, and comfortable couches, and grow old and tired of each other. or perhaps not.

Epiphanies abound

Like this:

T: well long distance is one thing that’s working for you
R: haha how on earth is it working?
T: you can choose how much you want to keep in touch. it’s all in your hands really. if you actually wanted to, you could go incognito
R: maane? just drop out of his life without a word?
T: err mane just cut him off. i’m not saying it’s an option but that’s the thing with long distance. you’re not prompted by phsyical proximity anymore.
R: yeah. i think that’s too mean. but. it is an option.
i don’t know. i think i just realized how much of my mental space he eats up and how much i    DON’T want that. it’s not his fault. it’s mine. and its because i’m intense and obsessive. but i really can’t afford to lose my focus now and i really have. so i need to get shit together and consciously think about him less, just spend less energy on him
T: well said. if i was there i’d pat your head 😛
T: i think the fact that you’re thinking this way means you’re seeing the larger picture
R: haan. i think its about time. i’ve been so scared of the future, i think i’ve been clinging to N as one good sorted thing in my life. but you know. here’s the thing. a guy can;t make you magically happy. even if he’s the right guy.
and ignoring my problems and just all the SHIT i have to figure out with gradschool and the future and whatnot won’t go away by focusing on N.
R: so. i’m not doing that anymore. i mean i just realized that i *was* doing that.
T: i’m glad. you have to balance the head and the heart
R: yeah
T: and being abroad and on your own, you need to do that even more

In other news: I ate escargot! It was too drenched in olive oil, and butter, and cheese for me to really make out anything of the flavour than it was rubbery and reminded me of mussels. Also, I have realized that I hate steak and I’m never going to put myself through eating it again. In even more news, I’m on the lookout for housing again. If anyone lives in Boston/Cambridge and is reading this right now, Heeeeelp. I do the dishes, and take care of floods, and cook once in a while. I’m generous, and make a mean chicken noodle soup. I’m also cute (no, really) and love babies, and animals, but don’t own a pet. I’m smart and a great listener and am willing to amuse you with music or horrific anecdotes and witty pop culture references, if that’s your kind’ve thing. Haaaalp.

Momentary melancholy

I miss you terribly right now.

I feel you like the bones beneath my skin. You are in the dust of my fingernails, and the upturn of my nose, and the curve of my shoulders. I wonder if this is real, if it will last. I look for an end to the distance but the future is hazy and I cannot see far enough. I go on longing like a child hankering after a toy that his mother would not let him buy. But you are mine. You are mine. 

I cannot convince myself, nor can I stop worrying. Is something any less significant because it might be temporary? I do not want this to be temporary. I am moody, fickle, selfish and everchanging. But I do not want this to change. I am afraid. I am afraid and heartsick, and I need to think with my hands. 

I will not tell you this. But I will miss you all the same.

Boston Chronicles 1.0

So life in Boston has settled into its own easy pace. Cambridge is being kind to me for now. Every day brings with it some sort of new discovery. Now if only I could find more permanent, affordable housing, everything would be perfect.

The hobo, contrary to all expectations remains in my life six months in. Less pressure with more effort seems to sum up the whole scene, as A. said. It seems contradictory, but makes more sense. I get to keep my sanity, and flirt with cute bostonboys? Yes please.

Friday: After a pretty unproductive day at the lab, I was supposed to go out with a new friend from the lab and two of her friends for a girl’s night that promised to be wild. Her friends decided to bail on her however (blasted flu), and so I decided to rescue the night and have a girl’s night with a completely different set of girls. I recruited J and P, and the four of us decided that it was Friday goddammit, and we were going to have some fun. After some mulling over possible places- drinks and good food without breaking the bank seems to be a tall order- we decided upon ‘Brown Sugar’. Token American aka the boss suggested Bon Chon but AH dismissed it as fast food, thoroughly upsetting him. So Brown Sugar it was, and we set out on the shuttle, clutching our coats, ushankas and scarves. We waited in the lobby for a good ten minutes, making eyes at the puffer fish, and violently coloured snaggle-tooths in their aquarium before we got a table. The food was excellent, and served in preposterous quantities. I ordered Fishman’s Madness which was basically an explosion of scallops, squid, shrimps, mussels, mushrooms and peppers in this delicious chilli-garlic gravy. I have discovered that I really dislike scallops- they remind me of the pork fat that hobo and company tricked me into eating, and taste like nothing but blandness and blobs. The texture itself puts me off. The squid was for some reason carved like pineapples, but the mussels were great. Post-dinner we dragged our Garfield like selves to this tiny Japanese place where I experienced the deliciousness of mochi for the first time. I liked it so much that on Saturday I walked for half an hour to Trader Joe’s to buy myself some, which sadly turned out to be nothing like the real deal. I now have a pack of mochi lying in the refrigerator, covered in flour , all gooey and gross.

Saturday was spent waking up late, frantically running to the dysfunctional T and reaching Boston Commons nearly an hour late for my ice-skating date with the labmates. The weather was unexpectedly warm and sunny, the speakers at Frog Pond played old 90’s music, and we spent a good three hours there. Now this was my very first time on the ice and considering that I can’t even walk in a straight line, ice skating was really… interesting. My labmates were super patient though, and the scene wound up being something like one at each side, holding my hand while the third skated behind us. Every time I would wobble, the three would zoom up and huddle around me. By the end of the day, we’d all become a lot more physically intimate than we would have expected. Good first date, I’d imagine.

So after ice skating we grabbed footlongs at Subway and then I ran to Vanderbilt Hall at Harvard for choir practice. I got roped into it by AH from lab. Here’s how it happened: Hey, you should come see my acapella group. It’s gonna be a shitshow, but it’ll be fun. Hey, what’s your range like? Hey, you should do liptorrals and sirens. Hey, you’re a soprano. Great, our group needs help.

And so I’m singing ‘Fields of Gold’ in harmony with the Harvard Heartbeats at their cadaver memorial on this Wednesday. What’s a cadaver memorial, you ask? Well, people donate their bodies to science, see? And this Wednesday the families of those dead bodies along with all of Harvard Med School are going to come to this program at Harvard and watch me sing a solo, and harmonize with 5 other girls (it’s going to be a complete shitshow, since very few of them can actually sing and we’re getting roughly one and a half rehearsals in before the show). Random, but it’s a thing.

The other highlight of Saturday was the walk to Trader Joe’s where I bought Green Tea mochi, a pack of three dark chocolates imported from Belgium, and Trader Joe’s own smooth peanut butter cups made of dark chocolate (Dear Reese’s, nothing compares to you). Came home to find a note on the fridge from the second roomie saying, “Help yourself to banana cake if you like”, which I obviously did, and boy was it delicious- full of pecans and almonds and chocolate chip and dusted sugar. 

Sunday has been pretty useless, in a not so terrible way. Woke up late, stayed home, talked to the hobo, and made my new year’s list which I hadn’t all this while because I’d started off the year completely miserable. I also read ’50 shades of grey’ which a friend sent me the ebook of, and it was completely fucking awful, like I knew it would be. So recommendations for good literary erotica are welcome. What, didn’t you know that this was an adult blog?

What I hope to do with the rest of my evening: shower, laundry, read papers and come up with a list of relevant questions, finish the new year list.

Other highlights of the week include visit to Rodney’s Bookstore where the guy at the counter, who is writing a book and draws comics for an indie newspaper, directed me to the underground music scene and gave me recommendations on where to live (Allston, baby!). Also lunch at cafe Au Bon Pain, where Robin Williams and whatsizname played chess in ‘Good Will Hunting’. Lunch consisted of rain and a salmon-wasabi bagel which was both delicioso and affordable. Trek to Somerville to look at a potential house which turned out to be completely unsuitable. Trek to Inman Square where I discovered the Bukoswki pub which I definitely intend to visit. Also multiple visits to Flour which is close to work, has hipster baristas, and  the most beautiful lamb sandwiches- gigantic, fresh and dripping with cranberry sauce.

In other news: I bought a guitar, and I’m getting a tatoo in March which is when T comes to visit. Life is definitely having a ‘What R did’ moment right now.

2:17 am

I watched ‘Moonrise Kingdom’ today. Right before I rewatched ‘Juno’. And earlier in the day I finished watching the second half of ‘Coffee and Cigarettes’ cuz I’d fallen asleep halfway through it last night. So I didn’t really get the point of Coffee and Cigs. Seemed sort’ve like all aesthetic and no substance. I mean it had the coolest cast- you stick Tom freaking Waits in there, he’ll make anything cool. I guess watching Waits and Iggy Pop trying to awkwardly one-up each other had its moments, but those moments mostly revolved around “OMG TOM WAITS” in my head, than anything else. The ‘Cousins?’ sketch was strong, I thought, but it didn’t really have anything else going for it. The boyfriend sort of half assedly recommended it to me, and I was a little annoyed that I didn’t like it, y’know, I really wanted to like it. But yeah. I mean I didn’t see the point at all. It seemed like the kind of movie everyone says they like because everyone says they like it.

‘Moonrise Kingdom’ on the other hand was fantastic. I love Wes Anderson. Every movie I’ve watched by him so far has made me happy. He has a great aesthetic going on, but thankfully that’s not all. And what I love about his movies are how warm they are, despite his heroines who don’t smile. My personal favourite of his films is ‘The Darjeeling Limited’, but I haven’t seen ‘Rushmore’ yet which S. says is absolutely fantastic, and he should know. I’ll watch it soon, I suppose. It’s one of those films that have been lying around on my hard drive forever because I’ve been reluctant to watch them out of this strange feeling that I won’t like them.

‘Juno’ is brilliant, obviously. This time it made me teary instead of providing the usual snarky chuckles. Maybe I’m just PMSing or whatever, but I guess I identify with that bit in the middle- I really need to know that it’s possible for two people to be happy together forever. I guess I just need to believe that true lasting love is possible. I’m only about to turn 21 but I feel like I’m growing up at breakneck speed, and people back home- my best friends at least- have found the person they’re going to stick with- and I don’t even know where I am on that front. It’s just scary to contemplate.

Distance is a bitch. Time is a bitch. Space is a bitch. Life’s a bitch. But it’d suck to be dead, so here we go.

Insert epiphany here

Sometimes the person it is the hardest to love, is yourself. Maybe it’s just me. Maybe I was born with a strange cocktail of chemicals in my brain that gives me a predisposition towards self loathing. Who knows? The point is that I have finally, finally come to realize that loving yourself or self love and all that jazz isn’t really some pissy bullshit that women’s magazines talk about, and people with too much time on their hands think about. It’s something that is absolutely necessary and essential. I’m beginning to realize exactly how much the way I feel about myself and my own feelings of inadequacy and lack of self worth colour my interactions with other people, the way I react to situations and my relationships- essentially my whole life. So, this really is more a matter of utmost urgency, and less a matter to be brought up on a rainy day when I’m bored. Has this insecurity, and relentless hungering for more,better,best spurred me on to achieve things and led me to the accomplishments I’ve stacked up? Maybe. Probably, even. But I think I’ve reached the point in my life today, where I have a healthy desire to succeed anyway, and this whole inadequacy thing is becoming more of a real problem than a motivation.

So yeah- I guess what I’m saying is, 2012 marks the time when I actively start to work on being okay with myself. No matter how many friends or people tell me that I’m great, I’m not going to really believe it on an intrinsic level because you just can’t rely on others for self-validation.

So, here goes. I have no idea how I’m actually going to get to point Z from point A/idon’tknowwhatthefucki’mdoing but it’s a process, right? Right.

I love you, I’ve a drowning grip on your adoring face

I don’t know why I’ve turned into such a weepy mess of late, but I’m really grateful for this blog where I can vent without boring my readers who know me in real life. I discovered this song on Pratiti’s blog and it set me off again.

“Elope with me, Miss Private, and we’ll sail around the world
I will be your Ferdinand and you my wayward girl
How many nights of talking in hotel rooms can you take?
How many nights of limping around on pagan holidays?
Oh, elope with me in private and we’ll set something ablaze
A trail for the devil to erase ”

I don’t know why being in love should make me this unhappy. Unrequited love has always been a drag. If I could, I’d flick the switch on in your brain that’d make you feel the same, that’d make you understand this desperate, slightly insane mess that you’ve made of me. “Love me”, I’d say. “Love me the way I love you. Irrationally, clumsily, too much. Please feel the same. I could make you so happy, and you could make me happy too.”
Everything comes full circle, and my would-be-knight from many summers ago could rest easy knowing that I now go through this awful feeling, only he wouldn’t, cuz he’s such a nice guy, even when he’s trying not to be.

I’m terrified. I can’t write this off as high school bullshit anymore. I hate growing up. I hate Aristophanes’ legend of missing halves. I hate that the more organized I get in my professional life, the more I seem to fall apart in my head.

I’m really grateful for my friends and my family. I’m really grateful for the opportunities that I have, and for myself. It should be enough, but it isn’t. I want you. I will be miserable if you leave, please stay.


I have hung my dreams upon the crook of your little finger. Your gnarled mutant fingers that you must make an effort to bend. I am a scientist in the making; I see beauty in ‘most everything that is you. You edit and polish sentences, chopping off pieces that stick out to create the perfect product. My hair is a mess, it will never behave and stay put in a bun- tendrils will escape and wave about. My eyes will always be smeared with kohl, or exhaustion, or too much affection. Yours display equations from time to time- things that make sense. I spilled into your life one night drenched in rain and whiskey, my head buzzing in a cloud of smoke. Sometimes I startle you so much that you cannot make sense of me, of why I say or feel certain things. We are on different planes. I know this now, yet there is no resentment like I thought there would be. I am okay with this. The sudden clarity is stunning. What I want is a chance for us to bloom. It is hard to bloom when you are this far away- I know you’re right, I know distance is an insidious creature- but I choose to brush this thought aside and cloak it in cobwebs in some dusty corner of my mind. I will not think about it, and you will not think about it, and we will get through your beginning a new life, and me beginning mine. We have no shared history, we stole a few perfect moments and then I kissed you goodbye- “for now”, as you added. How much shared history can be constructed over the phone, over the Atlantic, over an email in your inbox from me?

You ask for a rain check, and I give it gladly- I find most things you do endearing. I would give you almost anything you asked for, I think. It is a madness, but I suppose I must have something to be mad about at any given point. I have never loved someone so much, you see.

Apparently 6 an…

Apparently 6 and a half hours of sleep is the new ideal. Sounds like good news for me.

I slept from 5pm to 5am last night. It may have been the exhaustion from the past week, or it may just be that SAD is getting to me. Today is supposed to be productive. On the agenda:

1. Laundry (from the past 2-3 weeks)

2. Grocery shopping- tomatoes, eggs, chicken, mushrooms, cereal, sandwich cold cuts

3. Cooking- rajma, fried rice  (did this Monday night/ Tuesday morning till 2 am, goodtimes)

4. Studying for the Ecology midterm

5. Lab prep

Things with the boyfriend are weirdly weird. Maybe it’s all in my head, maybe I need to talk to him soon. I hate my head. I wish I were more normal, sometimes.