Poopy Talk

I find it quite interesting the way we innately are repulsed by the smell of poop. I mean, how does our mind know that it's something yucky? Is it something associated by the nature of it being a waste product? But then, as far back as I can recall, the very smell itself, without knowing what it is (say as a very young child) was always something to go 'Eww' at.

From the outset, sure, the topic itself is something perhaps to 'ew' at. But the reason I am in fact considering it is because, if it's something beyond the logical thought process of concluding that something which is a waste product must be yucky, therefore all qualities associated with it must also be yucky, therefore its smell is yucky, then, well isn't that just so much more interesting?

To wit: that we were actually programmed to be repelled by this waste product. A definitive coding in our system of survival. So, if this is something we're born with, some pre-installed app in our brains to know what is yuck and what is not, then we can postulate that this goes for quite some very many things that guides us to survive.

Poopy smells? Yuck. Smelly burps? Yuck. Burning tar on the roof? Yuck. But why have we been programmed to even discriminate in what we find appealling or not? Pretty much, these things are toxic to us, and therefore we have no need to associate with it, and get rid of it or get as far as it as possible.

So, could we then hypothesize that our other senses also come equipped with similar GPS systems? Not just our sense of smell. Our sense of taste for example. Maybe our sense of sight.

And if our sense of sight, does this somehow provide explanation to why we find certain people attractive, and others not? And then, not just our sense of sight, but our sense of....feeling. Perception. That intangible sense of gauging another person, not by physical sight but by cognitive sight.

Reasonably we recognize that we somehow are repelled by one person and are attracted to another. We acknowledge that there might be toxic qualities about a person, so that we try to avoid them. But attraction - we find ourselves drawn to certain features, and more so, to certain sensibilities in personality.

 So we stay away from poop because we instinctively know that poop stinks. But alternatively maybe somewhere inside us we have that one smell that is tailored to be perfect to our minds. The smell of fresh baked bread, the smell of vanilla, the smell of spring or impending summer rain.


Is there some pre-installed app, some programmed system or GPS signal that's telling us that what our destination is meant to look like? Or not what, but who?

Enduring

Sometimes in the middle of this everyday life, while everything is bustling about, carrying on, a pause comes over me, and I remember.

When you've been with someone so long, things tend to settle. Settle down, settle in place... less of the tremulous, less of the hovering and less of the unknown.

It peeks out at me sometimes, a memory of the thrill of falling. When things were new, and unknown, when the merest presence, the sensation of meeting, was beyond words to describe.

Feelings relegated to memories. And yet, not entirely gone. Sometimes in the middle of looking across the room to you, something stirs. It's partly memory and yet partly something still new.

Sometimes my breath stops, and my heart quickens. And that's when my mind tells me this is so familiar and yet --- when I inhale it feels as if it is not air that is filling me up but everything that is you.

Why should I write a story? A different story, that's not you and me?
Why shouldn't I just let down the gates and let the words flow; so much more that has yet to be told
What more would there be in fictional characters, giving them a happily ever after
Giving them a story that's something we wish we had
But we have it all.
This is our story, our story we keep waiting to happen
When things are finally better and when things are finally calm
This is our story; a story of waiting for our story to start
But in the meantime we have been apart
If I can open my eyes today and you can close yours
If my sun sets to your sunrise, and the distance remains this far
With the hours stacked up and yet clocked in synchronity
The world keeps turning   And the heart keeps beating
Your heart
Then mine
Your heart
My heart
This is no silence. What are we waiting for?
Our story has already begun.

Free

I have found myself wrapping myself around the idea of you. Around the idea of us. Why, I am not really sure. Yet; because suddenly I have only realized this. Perhaps it is to wrap up close what this you and I is, so that nothing escapes, nothing floats away.

But in this I have become so molded in the frame of you, in the grooves, valleys, chasms, hills that are your landscape. Have I changed my own to better fit to yours? Have I lost something that was myself in becoming myself-with-you?


Why has it become my responsibility to wrap us up and protect, why has it been me that has settled to walking a steady pace instead of flying, soaring wildly, to ease your fear of heights? And it is true, you did not ask:

Maybe it is my fear that has always been at fault. A fear of losing what may be lost. Maybe holding on so tight is already the cause of having now lost so much.

What will happen if I unwrap this gift? Let the air flow, and let us fly free. What if I make you stand on the edge and open your arms and fall; maybe you too will fly with me.

Breakout

YESTERDAY- For some reason, my face had erupted into the moon. Overnight. All those bollywood 'chand' songs could now be dedicated to me. Y'all, begin.  *poses*

Okay, well no. It's not thaaat bad, but for a person who relishes good skincare (...but then again, who doesn't?...) it was a problem for me. But you know how it is, when we find some little blemish on ourselves its a BIG deal, but noone else even notices. Right?

"WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR FACE?" The accountant at work asked.

Wrong.

"Geez," I deadpanned, "that was so polite."

"No really, what happened to it?"

"I think my cat kissed me a few times too many, or pawed at my face with her dirty paws."

I'd take a picture for you, but.....no.

The problem was that it was basically a few...wait, for full disclosure, let me count for you....yep, four spots. And all on my right side. Which also correlates to the side of my face which my kitty nuzzles. Also the side where the accountant comes to sit when he attends my office.

But anyways, I figured it was Easter Monday. Noone was really hanging about. Traffic was sparse. The transit commute was sparse. I never really bump into anyone I know when I'm travelling normally, so noooo problem.

The bus stops at the town center. Girl gets on empty seat beside me. I'm reading on my tablet when my elbow is jogged a few times by this girl. That's when I notice she's not just being fat, but trying to get my attention.

"Hi, I know you right?"

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO DONT LOOK AT MY FACEEEEEEEEEEE!"

Well, to be honest, no I did not say that.

Not like that. It was like, "Great! I was hoping I wouldn't bump into anyone I know but now you've gone and did it, don't look at my face will ya, it's gone and had itself a breakout."

So I had to resort to preemptive measures and did what I could only do in this circumstance. I proceeded to yapyapyapyapyapyapyapyapyapyap. Hey, I knew her twenty years ago so there was a lot of ground to cover in the reuniting-comparing-contrasting-reminiscing-catchingup process. So I yapped so much in the short span of 3 and a half minutes that there was nothing more to say and I had successfully forestalled her by making her look the other way in fear that if she turned her head even a small fraction of an angle I would start again.

Then I got home and sank into the heaven that was washing my face with my Exfo-brusher rolling it with Yes-to-Tomatoes and dousing it with ACV. Phewww.

Re-Awakening

This morning after a long Long-Weekend I had to arise again at the early morning hour to resume the routine of the work-bound. This time however, I had to leave the insidious realms of a very vivid and realistic dream...

Planes were zooming across the sky, so much that the blue was obscured by white, grey, black of metallic machinery... was this war?

I stood at the top of an office building's balcony and watched the chaos down below. I was worried, because I had not heard from my Special Someone in a few days, and I wasn't sure if the whole world was going to blow up or not.

I paced this way and that. Suddenly I was in a airport, waiting at a terminal. Was I waiting for someone to arrive or was I about to embark on a journey of my own? All I knew was that I was waiting for someone.

Crowds went this way and that, people were shouting, people were pushing through. I spotted an old high-school crush, who now lives and works abroad in India, coming through with a wheelie-bag, and he waved. I waved back, but still worriedly, because he was not the one I was waiting for.

Suddenly, an official of some sort approached me and told me that the one I was waiting for was over there. I got up and turned around and there was this random dude who has no place in my real waking life standing there. He started to profess his feelings for me, stating that he didn't realize what a beauty I had turned out to be and that as we were growing older and were still single...blah blah blah... I was stunned and found a voice inside me worrying what the time was...

I looked about and saw that the date was a long long time in the future and I still hadn't found the person I was searching for. I also realized with a start that this dude was lying. I'm not single! I started to say, but then my best friend from highschool was standing behind me, in a show of support.

Hey, she asked this fellow, isn't that the smell of marijuana on your shirt? He stopped and looked sheepish. Yes, to be honest it is, but I can stop. I can clean up this label if you will allow me to be in your life, he said to me.

I blinked, and blinked again. What the hell was happening?

Next thing I knew, Falak's Oh Sajna was playing, and it was time to wake up.

Note to self: I have forgotten most of the dream.