On the first day of Kindergarten, my dad had to physically wrestle me away from my mother. In the first few months of my Kindergarten days, I cried every single morning and ended up crying throughout the entire day till I got to see her again. She gave up her career for me, stayed home to baby me and never let me out of her sight longer than necessary. She was my first friend, and the first person I miss when I’m away from home. She loves me, more than I could ever love myself. She loves me unconditionally.
Parental love is unconditional. They’ll love you even if you had one eye, both, or with four. They’ll love you stark naked and fully clothed. They’ll love you even if it kills them, or you. They’ll love you through anything. But don’t be mistaken. Don’t take this undying, absolute love as a one way ticket. They love you, but it doesn’t mean they’ll always be proud of you. It doesn’t mean they’ll always be pleased with you. Sure, they love you, but it doesn’t mean that your actions don’t repulse them, it doesn’t mean that they won’t be embarrassed when you let out a belch at the dinner table. They’ll love you through the snot and the tears, the blood and the vomit, but don’t ever think for one second, that just because they love you, they aren’t the ones that caused them in the first place.
This blog could easily be the best thing that happened to me in 2012 (although the year has barely started.) Besides reminding me of the fact that I can actually churn out posts that vaguely resemble something legible, it is also my incinerator for all things annoying, depressing and worth bitching about in life. A plus point would also definitely be that not many know about or willingly come here to listen to my incessant whining and over dramatised recounts of life, which makes it so much easier to actually post about things that matter.
Attempted to ombre my hair today, not at a salon, but at home, in front of a sink, with two boxes of pharmacy bought dye and a strong soul able to withstand the aftermath. I guess I got too bored after being night-grounded by Mop and this was my mediocre attempt at trying to piss her off. Okay, so I wasn’t night grounded. But Mop wasn’t elated with the epic night last Saturday and has repeatedly tried to talk to me about “late nights out in sleazy places”, talks which turn into arguments, which she eventually loses and ends with me telling her “This discussion is not over Moppy.” I have been wanting to have this “darling daughter all grown up” talk with her since forever, but I have no idea why we haven’t so much as passed the egg shell with the topic yet. I will post more about the conflict between Mop and I soon, probably after I return triumphant from the final argument.
See, this post is proof that I am capable of blogging about things that do not involve a) broken friendships b) alochol c) being judged and d) trust issues. I am perfectly competent at posting interesting snippets of my otherwise mundane life, all with a splash of humor as seasoning. Oh and regarding the outcome of my ombre-d hair? Its a mess. But I quite like it, because for once, how I look outside and how I feel inside are aligned.
I just had to end this in a less than cheery tone. (Hehe)