I'm looking at this title "Overabundance Choice" and realizing that it doesn't really make sense. It may not even be correct english. But the beauty of it is, incorrect english doesn't make me sound uneducated, it makes me sound cute, you know why? coz I am foreign. I speak incorrect english in a thick accent and I go from dumb ill spoken youth -to- Cute good looking foreign man that makes girls week in the knees. Haha I just spelled "week" when I meant "weak"... adorable, no?
Tell me, though, in all seriousness, how the frack do you guys buy bread and milk in this country? I mean talk about choices. I came to the US in 99. I landed in Augusta, GA, coz I had an uncle there. seriously though that is the only reason I went, i thought i might spend a week in "Augusta" to acclimate myself to "America" before I went to school in "Portland" But that is another story... I digress.
Choices! the first day I was in Augusta my Uncle pointed out the local grocery store in case I wanted to explore, and left for work. Feeling high and mighty with my new found independence and a few crisp dollars in my pocket I walked to the store to buy some Milk and Bread. Don't ask me why. I cant really tell why I chose to buy Milk and Bread and not Bread and Cheese, or Cheese and Milk, or Ham for a sandwich, I dont know, I just wanted to get some Milk and Bread. So i enter the store on my M&B expedition and go to the aisle that said "Breads" it didn't say "Bread" it said "BreadS" Now, I guess that should have given me some indication of what lay ahead, but come on, I am foreign...OK OK, so I walked down the aisle and stopped in front of this shelf of bread that was so large it would have left Stephen Hawking speechless. (I tried to make a joke, but i don't really get it) Seriously though? the choices of bread? I mean Wheat, whole wheat, white, brown, 7 grain, multi grain, honey and oat, oat and honey, sourdough, Italian, potato bread (seriously what the frig is potato bread?) How can you expect me to know what kind of bread I want? I am a little boy from India whos cook gave him either a white bread sandwich (which i loved) or Brown bread sandwich (which I loathed) So, I press the button for help, and along comes this very flamboyant helper boy guy, who may have immediately wanted to make me his flamboyant helper boy guy, and asks me what I need. And this is what I say "Um, I would like some bread for a sandwich" At which point two things happened. One, I saw myself looking at myself and thinking "man what a dumb foreign thing to say", and two I saw him looking at me and thinking "man what a dumb foreign thing to say... at least he is pretty." Actually I made that last part up, I am not sure he found me attractive, I may have not been flamboyant enough, either way never let the truth get in the way of a good story. So he says "What type of bread would you like" and I say "what is the normal kind?" and he says "I guess white" and I say "white it is." and with that he was gone. Well after a little dancy twirl thingie he was gone.
I now had my bread, and was on the Milk part of the agenda. I walked up to the cold part of the store presuming the dairy would be there (we foreigners aren't all that useless) and there they were. All the fracking Milks ever made in the world, right there in the frigid section of this store in Augusta, and I thought to myself- assfrack! Whole milk, two percent milk, one percent milk, vitamin D milk, skim milk, low fat milk... tell me America what is the difference between 1% milk and 2% milk. (actually as I ask that, the answer is obvious) But still! So, I press the button hoping its not Flamboyant boy and of course there he is twirling away in the next aisle coming to help me with my conundrum. And I say "Um I would like some milk" At this point two things happen... actually nothing happens, he just says "what kind of milk" and I say "what is the normal kind" and he says "Um I guess Whole" and I say "A Whole it is" I really did say that you know, I really did say "A whole it is" which probably sounded like "A Hole it is" What a dummy dumb dumb.
Bread in hand, Check. Milk in hand, Check. I paid the cashier and with a not so glamourous twirl, Pirouetted my way into the parking lot and eventually to Portland... and Philly... and DC.... and New York... but that is another story.
Oh I forgot to say-- I always forget where to put the ' in the word doesn't.
I just wanted to say, from the deepest part of my heart--thank you, thank you so very much. On a day when I needed a friendly ear I found hundreds, and every comment, every story, every piece of advice helped quell my troubled soul. Its amazing how we humans can come together, all races, all backgrounds, and give love and support to people we dont know. I mean, you dont really know me. I opened up a little piece of my world and you all accepted it with compassion, understanding and empathy. And for those of you that shared similar personal stories, again thank you, they did not fall on deaf ears.
This has been a long time coming, I guess. I have always wanted an avenue through which I would speak and people would listen. Although in this case I wouldn't really be speaking, I would be typing. I have heard however that in speaking, thoughts are half muttered. Not to follow a however with a however, but, however I also feel that between the time it takes my brain to tell my fingers what to type, I somehow lose some sense of where I was going. "Clever" I think to myself, only for it to look like some form of garbled verbal diarrhea (it took me four tries to correctly spell that word, even then i cheated, i looked it up) when it appears on paper. So here we are on my Blog that is stuck in between thoughts half muttered and half typed.
I was going to write about my first time. I really was. But to be honest I don't feel much like writing about sex today. I usually do, I think it is the one thing that gets people going universally. If you offer a soldier the option to shoot their worst enemy or fulfill their greatest fantasy, something tells me they would choose the latter. then again I am not really well versed in the art of war or killing of enemies. So I guess I cant really say. I just know that I would always choose sex over war. Anyway, I dont really feel like discussing war or sex.
You see, today a dear friend of mine lost her mother. She died of a rare disease. A year ago her mother was a healthy loving mother of three. today she is gone. In the last year this horrible degenerative disease that affects one in a million people caught hold of her body and killed her. So, today I cannot think about anything but that. Death, memory, passing on, missing someone. When tragedies happen, people often look for faith or religion. God has a plan, or all this is in the hands of God. But for me, these are the hardest times to believe in God, and religion has no meaning to me when someone is so prematurely robbed of their lives. I am a spiritual person, i believe in Karma, and peace and universal love, and I believe there are other forces at work other than rational human thought, and you can call that Jesus or Allah or Krishna, I dont care, but I do believe we are brought together by some higher power. But all this is so questionable when talking about tragic death. I dont really want this to be about religion I am just trying to find the answer to quell the hurricane in my heart, this ever weaving of sadness and hurt. And the truth is, I am not sure that I have the answer, actually I am not sure anyone does.
I once had my heart broken and was so quickly stripped of this person in my life that it felt like they had died. And I did nothing to deserve it. I remember feeling like I was going to throw up all the time. Nothing felt good, food lost all taste, every smile was fake, I found myself floating through this world disconnected from everything around me. And you know what? Soon, well not that soon, but after a while, I got better. Time went by and I started feeling ok again. So, I think that time really is a healer. People really can move on, Life does really go on and on and on. That's it, time helps heal. Feelings of sadness and loneliness give way and the memories that made us laugh push forward through the drunken fog of remorse, because no one can take memories away from you. they are safe, formed in the very glue that bonded them to your heart, stuck, like the good kind of stuck. And that, there in the memory of your loved one is where your happiness will lie, that is where you will always find your cuddle on a cloudy day, or your long talk over hot chocolate, or your kiss in the rain, or your mothers arms holding you through the night, while the whole world called you ugly.
I am not sure that anyone will ever come here and read this, I hope they do. Actually now that I am famous, a lot of people will probably read this. Either way if you do, please take this day to remember how lucky we are to be alive. Use this abundance of life to spread love, kindness and peace.
Contrary to my brother's belief that I am writing a blog to get laid, I just have to say, I am not.