Worst thing ever: Blowing off a date

Maybe some people get through life without ever causing anyone (apart from their parents) serious inconvenience or disappointment. But I think it's safe to say that most don't. I have tried very hard to be in the first category, but as a one-term president of a student group and perpetual single lady, I have "failed" countless times. I just wish there were a funny picture with a netspeak caption for each time.

Yes, put simply, I suck as much as the most disappointing person you know.

With each failure I tell myself that I can sink no further. But the very next time I'm given the chance to screw up, I do! So I fear that the world will stop giving me chances to find success in love or what have you. Especially if I've done something particularly egregious.

Remember how excited I was about online dating in my last post? Well, today I blew off one of those prospectives. This particular creature was one I was looking forward to seeing all week; he's a witty cartoonist whom I've spent considerable time creeping on the internet.
I slept through my alarm and missed our coffee date by 5 hours. I checked my phone and saw he texted me, "So, about coffee. I'm assuming you didn't mean 8 in the morning..."
I nearly died.
I'm trying to deal with the situation by leaving him super apologetic texts and an IM. I would have called him, but it was 2AM. I'll call him during the day when there's a better chance he'll answer his phone. I just hope he forgives me.

I really want to reschedule, but it's possible that he won't want to spend time on me ever again. For that I'm somewhat thankful that we don't have mutual contacts and that we never actually met before, but it doesn't override the immense regret I feel for standing him up. Gaahhh. I guess there will be another chance with another boy. But dang.

Keep moving forward, I guess.


UPDATE:
He was really nice about it and we went out again the following week! Of course, I paid for his drink :)

Online Dating and Desi Rappers

I'm doing it! Online dating with sincerity!

I'm on OkCupid.com and so far have played psychiatrist to most of my admirers. They've ranged from horny 40 year-olds to eccentric 20-somethings with lots of baggage--one had a kid and a pending divorce AND a dying mom. yikes. I'm not really finding anyone I'm interested in, though...

Ok, there was one--an adorable half-desi geologist with beautiful eyes. But he won't message me back. I'm not used to dealing with blatantly uninterested men anymore, so I take rejection a lot more harshly than I probably should. At the same time, I feel like the impetus to be more critical might help me be a better person overall. *Sigh* One date, you silly boy, one date!

Oooh, I'm REALLY digging this song by Humble the Poet. I'm not one to fan the forest fire of Punjabi pride, but the sweet hook and anti-partition message has me feeling super bad-ass and political. He seems to be rapping about how he hates being fitted with the blanket classification of "Indian" given the fact that he culturally identifies with people on both sides of the Indo-Pak border. I can get behind his frustrations with that identity also because even Punjab-centric Bollywood tends to marginalize Sikhs. Still, I hate how narrow-minded regional pride can feel.

Ever feel short of "awesome"?

I try to keep deeply personal topics off blogs, but I so yearn to connect with other people who feel this way that I'll post regardless.

My problem: I'm really really shy about saying or doing anything stupid. I'm scared to the point where I don't want to publish any of my writing and tend to shy away from criticism whenever I might get it meaningfully. I'm not super shy--I speak out in at least one of my classes once a day--but I can grow so much more if I become more open with the world. My inhibitions are what I resent the most when I look at my present situation and wonder what I should have done differently along the way to be cooler, smarter, more popular, on the better track to 'success,' whatever that is.

Perhaps this stems from not being comfortable with myself. I've struggled to believe anyone could appreciate me as a friend, girlfriend, student, anything. I didn't apply to any schools outside Minnesota because I doubted myself. I didn't try harder in school because I was afraid of looking like I 'tried too hard.' I wanted to show everyone I was one of those genius kids who excel effortlessly.

Now, I'm starting to realize there is no genius without willing effort somewhere along the way. I struggle with finding the niche where effort isn't an obstacle--just the stepping stone to excelling in something I love.

Maybe I'm trying to be someone I'm not. Maybe I'll never be independently wealthy, change someone's life... Maybe I should give up.

Or do I try harder? Do I bust my ass EVERY TIME to get an A on every assignment? Suppress my sloth? There's always a moment where I give up and say "eh, fuck it. turn it in half-finished. Stop studying." Is that the moment where I have another 20% left to go?

They say happiness lies within. I can't get anywhere without knowing that I'll be fine, okay, wonderful, as perfect as I need to be no matter what. I hate sticking my neck out because I've been burned so many times. I know in my mind that people have loved and continue to love me. I just don't feel it with my heart. I can't touch their love. Their love is just words and assurances that hang in the air. That makes stronger case for finding inner happiness on my own.

I want to be open. I want to learn and grow and get the hell out of Minnesota. I want to conquer the world, find my passions and live.

I have no idea where to start.

Adulthood

A recent New York Times article (Long Road to Adulthood is Growing Even Longer) raises the issue that our definition of "adult" is growing archaic. Though we used to mark adulthood with the traditional milestones of financial independence, marriage and having children, more "adults" are taking longer to reach financial independence and see raising a family as a "lifestyle choice." I find this interesting in light of my conversation with a friend about maturity. I was starting to see maturity as the ability to take care of other people, and adulthood as the ability to make a commitment to take care of other people.
All adulthood really is is the stage in life where you're most accountable to other people. I'm sure a few of these beta adults have adjusted their definitions--maybe they have parents they need to take care of, or have jobs with a high level of responsibility. But I think we might have a generation of people who are increasingly only accountable to themselves. If we're deferring accountability and responsibility, why must we have better institutions to help us get by as the article suggests?

Humanity

I consider this post a pretty unsound piece of writing, but it reflects the world as I see it in the most general terms. This is part of why I'm starting to lose faith in activism. We have to burn this mother down. The only way to move forward is via destruction.

Due to it's ubiquity in the news, the BP oil rig explosion and recent developments in the Bhopal Disaster set me off to thinking about doomsday scenarios and the value of mankind. I know meditations on karma are cliche, but I really have to sort this out for myself.

Karma makes sense on a large-scale level. Everything that has ever been said or done has extremely far-reaching effects, and there have been enough books and movies made (Butterfly Effect...and others) to illustrate this. But our impact on the environment--which has been summarily awful--is pinching us in the butt. Birth defects, cancer and obesity are all making our brains and/or bodies slower, simpler. Diseases are killing us off in huge numbers.

Earth pushing back. Nature's tendency for equilibrium. Homeostasis. Whatever you want to call it, you know it's happening.

Development is a fucking disease so humans (rather, we. I keep forgetting to include myself in this) have to be wiped out or slowed down. We have caused most of the shit that's killing us and the rest of the planet. We need to reduce consumption, and the only way that will ever happen is if we reduce our numbers. The only thing that is being rewarded in the dominant culture is maximization of profits.

I don't want to fight against cancer. I don't want to fight against anything that slows the 'developed' world down. This "fight" --this battle against the plagues of humanity--is not equal. The people least damaging to the world are being killed off at a greater rate than those who should be stopped. It's a disgusting but true fact.

Activists and Marxists understand that a lot is at stake, and with each political defeat of the left the world is moving faster to a globalized, capitalist disaster. Humanity will forever change the face of the earth.

Rather than work to reverse or slow down this trend, I see myself working to make amends with the world. I see myself working to humanize capitalism, help people whenever I can, and raise a family. Working for the private sector is okay if I don't compromise on my morals. Right now, the only thing I refuse to do in my corporate career is directly stand in the way of unions and their bargaining rights and be complicit with unethical decisions.

I can no longer refuse to be a cog in the machine. But I can still refuse to be an unthinking, depoliticized cog in the machine.

Kumari's cup

"Don’t take that. It’s Kumari’s cup.”
I set down the small clay tea cup I was fingering and for a moment brood the loss of such a fine little thing. Though inexpensive, I find its earthiness charming. I am disappointed I would have to put off my next use to some indefinite time in the future. Or, depending on how severely my mother thinks Kumari is tainted, I may never drink from its delicately shaped rim ever again. But then I am smarted by shame.
“Mom, that’s ridiculous. Should I be avoiding her shadow, then?”
“It’s not like that!” Her sudden response suggests that she did not intend to sound like a stuck-up Brahmin who unrelentingly follows the groupthink of the caste system. But she becomes quiet and reflective.
Kumari enters the kitchen and wordlessly signals for us to leave. Her mop traces half circles, again and again, across the short distance to the washing room. When she gets to her sink, she rinses the mop and ties up the small garbage bag—her garbage bag—that has been accumulating vegetable peels since yesterday morning. We re-enter. My mother goes to Kumari’s sink and makes a few discriminating sniffs in the air.
“You have to understand, they have different standards of hygiene. See here. She clearly has an incontinence problem. We’ll get sick from being stupidly idealistic! Don’t just stand there—smell it!”

But all I can acknowledge is the lingering smell of the trash.

My mother continues her lecture, casually gesturing to sixty percent (according to my History teacher) of the world’s second most populous country as she talks about “their” water, “their” bathing habits, and “their” eating utensils. By the time the country gained independence, “they” actually had a multitude of names: dalits, shudras, untouchables. The most patronizing one of all was coined by Gandhi—harijan, meaning “child of God.” But in our house, none of these names are used. After all, “that” isn’t what we’re talking about.

I was very sick only last week, but exhausted our supply of mugs in pampering my throat. Kumari washed them as she gabbed on about her family and attempted to draw gossip out of my mother about the other building residents. Kumari knows how to slip in a request for an advance or a hint that she will not come in to work the following day. My mother says her sly little monologues have to be heard out, however tedious.

When I was studying world history in sixth grade, my grandmother told me that you could always tell the difference between a Brahmin and a non-Brahmin.
“We have a certain neat look,” she said in her usual cluelessly vain way, to which my mother always rolls her eyes.
“You mean, we dress rich and they don’t, right?” I asked.
“No, no. Even without finery, you can just tell. It’s perhaps in the face—certain features. You can tell if you have been in India for a long time. You are young, so you don’t understand right now. But when you grow up, you’ll see that there is a difference.”

Indeed, there is.