Family, Myself, Random


English: on skullcandy
English: on skullcandy (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

It was a beautiful morning yesterday.   Wisps of wind traveled around me, and the sun pierced jaggedly through scattered clouds. It was chilly by Southern California standards (69 degrees or so), but one filled with small bursts of heat. Bella was busy sniffing at each clump of grass as it was something wondrously new, and at that moment I could honestly say I was grateful for what I had in life. I saw this girl on a swing, going back and forth but something was different. She couldn’t have been more than 10, but she was glued to a phone. I wondered what had to happened to just experiencing things for what they are. What is this need to amplify every experience we have by posting it on social media or just mindlessly do it while we miss out on true beauty on us?  As I looked down upon her, my headphones squawked to let me know a call was coming. Shit! I had my headphones on, and while I defensively thought that I was listening to Shabads, the truth was that I was no different from that little girl.

It struck me that I have been walking for weeks, and because of my headphones, I barely managed a hello to strangers or to the old Indian cross guard who always smiles and seems like he wants to say something more to me. In a sense, I have been using the headphones to disconnect myself from the outside world.  I want that time to catch up on Umano or listen to Simran so as much as I would like to be friendlier, it struck me that I want these early morning walks just for me and Bella. As someone who has taken a break from social media, I find myself that I am no longer aimlessly scrolling through countless updates about what people had eaten for the day (something that I am notoriously guilty of doing myself), and that I have found other ways to fill in that empty time by catching up on the New Yorker, Men’s Fitness and Poet and Writers. It’s funny how more and more of us are becoming disconnected by posting things up on Social media in the hopes of finding validation. We are no longer engaging in conversations or connections. We are just pounding on the chest that we are HERE! LOOK AT ME!  At some point, that just doesn’t do it for me anymore.  Don’t get me wrong, I do miss knowing about friends and family, but I have found that I can always text or whatsapp them, and in the end that has made all the difference.

Food For Thought, Random


THINK (Photo credit: Erik Eckel)

I will be honest. I only know that 3 have been killed, and 147 injured. I have heard that from NPR, and have actively avoided watching TV.  I have briefly glanced at Facebook statuses which either express horror, or underscore people’s own insecurity. Muslim?  Then you go on a rant for people to be open-minded and wait for the person to be caught before blaming.  White? Silence. Because the reality is if it’s a minority, we will put you in a box. We will launch missiles, but if you are white, we will just call you mental and ask for gun control.  These types of events are so loaded that many of us struggle not to say anything that compartmentalized or sounds vaguely racist or xenophobic.And others feel free to spew their vision of the world. But as humans, that’s what we do to survive. It does not make it right, it just is.

So before we go balls to the walls on our social media networks announcing what we think, perhaps just for a moment take some time and think about those lost, and perhaps forever maimed mentally. Give a breath and a prayer to the ones who will never get to see another day.  These type of tragedies make me realize how truly alone we have become.  We only listen to like minds, and have no interest in knowing the Truth.  Whatever fits into our narrow scope of thoughts has to be the truth.  I realize that past experience forms our present prejudices, but it also allows us not to think anymore. We, as humans, can do better than that.  We owe it to ourselves to not let emotion run us all the time.  Yes, the person(s) intended to create terror, but their real win will happen when we become less tolerant, and more willing to let others do the thinking and actions for us.  We can do better than that.

We have to.

Journal, My Past, Myself


Image representing Facebook as depicted in Cru...
Image via CrunchBase

I talk too much. I post too much. I tend to do everything too much that pleases me, and when I do something that pleases me, I like to share it. I never thought much about how it affects other people. I just know how I feel, and when something moves me, I like to forward it to people who I think would benefit from me.  A friend of mine advised that perhaps of just blindly forwarding, I explain why I am forwarding to that particular person, because to some it may just look like over sharing.  I know I am struggling with things personally, and I have an inkling that others are too. I just read something that hit me, we are all bozos on a bus.  We all pretend that we are OK when we talk to each other, saving our real feelings only for a few or none.  I lived that life, and it got me an unhappy life.

Yet, my friend has a point. If I quietly forward an email or share on Facebook, what will that person get out of it?  I guess I am afraid of offending them. “Does he really think I need help with exercise?” or “Who does he think he is telling me about depression.”  I create their response in my head and so I forward in silence because I am too afraid to really tell the person what I feel.  It’s also because I am afraid of being rejected if I reach out to the person.  Or it could be that I have this tendency to want to tell people how to live their lives.

I don’t know when I became so afraid when before I would blurt out whatever came to my head.  That also got me in trouble because I usually ended up revealing something about someone that probably shouldn’t have been shared.  That’s been my problem my whole life. I either over share, don’t share enough, or not at all.  I am struggling with my own thoughts and feelings on a constant basis. I realize how whiny this post may seem to some, but I’d rather share than err on the side of not really being myself.  So you’re gonna have to bear with me while I share because I’d rather been seen as a oversharer” than someone who did nothing.

That does not mean I will forward blindly, but if you do happen to get a forward from me that’s not a joke, perhaps, just perhaps I am trying to say something to you politely, or just reach out to you in my way.  If its unwelcome, tell me, but no matter what, tell me something, anything rather than the deafening silence I continually face in my forwarding marathons.





Candles (Photo credit: magnuscanis)


I hate when I have to learn from repetitive mistakes.  It seems pointless, even hateful that I continue to make mistakes that seem so clear AFTER the fact.  Yet, that is how we get better, grow and perhaps at some point stop making those mistakes. I never thought I would stop making mistakes, but I did expect that I would get better.   Well, so much for that notion.  It’s not even the continual mistake that I am sorry about, but the fact that I let someone down who expects me to rise above being my usual self. I am too caught up in my pain to see theirs.  Too self-involved.  Too hurt.  Too deep in my self-pity. Too everything as long it involves just me, me, me!


Yet, all those are rationalizations. They are nothing more than excuses after the fact.  I am at a loss as to how make the person feel better, and that could lead to even more mistakes.  I thought I was better than that.  That I could learn at any age, and be a better person.  I know I can, yet I also have to deal with the aftermath of my carelessness.  It wasn’t meant to be spiteful but leaving someone alone in their time of need can feel that way to the person.  I was recently told to become more aware of what I say and I do, ad I have to say I still have a long way to go.  I am still too often on auto-pilot, and saying and doing things that are completely unnecessary and hurtful.


At this points, words are the assurance I feel I can offer someone, yet even I know that is not enough.  It is time for action. Sometimes being and acting sorry are not even close to being enough.  Sometimes you have to be an adult!



Myself, Writing

Energy: A Blog Post

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Image via CrunchBase

I remember writing few months back where all my energy, ideas and focus melded into one need to get the story done.  I was smiling and truly enjoying the process, just living the dream of being a writer, knowing that what was being laid down was pretty good and I could do this.  I want that moment back, those blissful hours when it seemed becoming a writer full time was not a fantasy, that I was good enough dammit!  Yet lately, I seem to have found people who either don’t think much of my writing or dismiss it.  Worse, still I have others who manage to always feel bad about blogging or posting on Facebook even when I am supremely careful of not blogging names and keeping my status updates to a minimum.  I feel stifled and trapped into being a certain type of personality on social media as if I have to apologize for being open about my thoughts and feelings.  Sure, I have said too much sometimes and called out others when it was not my business to, and to that I can only apologize and call it a learning process, yet I feel trapped with the label of someone who talks too much.  It’s soul and creativity killing to know that my words are scrutinized to be either dismissed or confirm my status as a big mouth.

I want my words to have the energy they did when I wrote freely and got them out of being in my body, bottled up for so long.  That’s where I want to get to.  Let’s hope that the ones who are judging me know that they are killing me softly.

Cancer, Family, Myself, Preeti

Prayers, Friends and Family

Goodenough, PhD
Image via Wikipedia


by Jemal Yarbrough


In the fading light of the day, I say a small prayer for my friend’s father who passed away 2 nights ago.  The house is quiet as usual, and she rests uneasily but expectantly for the nausea to follow.  A friend had just visited, the  worry lines creased deep into her forehead due to the recent seizure experienced by her little brother. 2011 seems to be foreboding, and I wonder if more bad news is to come.

But that really is the easy way out.  What is it about a series of bad events that makes us believe that we are unlucky or somehow cursed?  I close my eyes and see my family, and nothing but joy gratitude and loves comes into my soul.  There is not a single relative that I don’t love with all my heart and soul.  It almost seems like heresy to believe that I have the perfect family.  I know my love for them is imperfect because I do not thank God or revel in my blessings of having a truly amazing family enough.  I would daresay that my family is worlds better than the ones I hear about in fictional novels.  I have the ULTIMATE FAMILY, and their wondrous love and prayers are the reason I can sit here clacking away while she struggles with her pain.

Their thoughts and prayers are the reason I know with all my heart and soul that this too shall pass.  That this stupid Cancer is merely a minor bump on the long road of life.  And I pray even harder.  Pray for my blessings, pray that I am at the unfortunate cross roads to hear about friends parents dying, sibling suffering uncalled for pain,  and it makes me ache for my mom and dad who are merely a block away from me physically but always reside in my heart.  I fall in love each time my sisters come over or her brothers do.  Her mom’s pain reverberates in my heart, and I wish I could inhale all their worry and fear.  So I thank God yet again for joining us with them.  For giving us real soldiers so we can mercilessly kill the killer.

And then I come to my friends.  I always thought I had a few good friends, but this recent adventure of ours has introduced me to an amazing soul:Biba, who has selflessly given her time and energy to heal the love of my life.  She made the chemo session seem as just a routine doctor’s visit and I do not think I can ever thank enough.  And then there are others who think they can achieve comfort by merely texting or leaving quick voice mails.  Don’t get me wrong the concern is real but it’s minuscule as if the disease she’s batting is minor or one that can fit in 140 characters or less.   The sad part is that healing her takes nothing more than their physical contact but it’s treated as if  she’s not worth that.  And it hurts.  But we move on because we have to, and we will remember.  They are the past, and the future we have looks brighter due to the shining souls in our life.  The rest of them can take their indifferent asses back to Facebook, Twitter and texts, and become as irrelevant as the social media horse they rode in on.