I am a diarist


I have decided I am not a writer.

I am not a writer. There is so much pressure to just show up on the page every day and god damn write. I cannot. I am a rebel, and if I have to, I just won’t. Even if the “have to” has been decided by me! I have to trick myself to write more. I was in the pursuit of “flow”. That once when I am done with my world-building, the chapters will write itself. Or at some point, I will be able to write more than 500 words a day. Or some day, I will be so engrossed in my creation that I will forget the world.

Well, that’s not happening to me. I have realised I don’t have the stamina or the self-belief to drown myself in me.

I am not a journalist. I read such good opinion pieces or well-researched articles all the time. People tell me I could do it, or rather, I should do it. But I god damn won’t do unpaid research and write that beautiful essay if it is not an assignment. That kind of work has to be a “have-to”.

I am not a blogger. As in, I don’t blog with the SEO terms in mind, and try to climb my way up to be a respected blogger with followers who read them regularly. I am not topical. I don’t have mass appeal. I am not that committed to this blog in the sense where I want to create my own brand personality. I really don’t see why someone stops by this blog either. If you are reading this, it is because I asked you to, you are curious about me, or already adore me. The only place I publicize it now is on Twitter. So there is nothing I want to make out of this website. It is just a happy feeling to have a website you call your own on the internet.

It must be clear now that I am very unambitious.

I am not a memoirist. I mean that is an art in itself. I don’t really tell you about the people in my life. I don’t narrate it in a way that has an essence driving the story forward. I am not locating myself in this time period of the 21st century and the shit we have been going through in 2020 either. This blog is so apolitical most of the times; it is unlike me!

I am a diarist. This stream of consciousness bullshit is my schizz. This is the creativity I can muster. I journal incessantly as a way of therapy. I definitely recommend it to everyone too. I also write so that I purge the things deep within me so that I can escape the police in my head. I allow myself stream of consciousness writing because this gives me a sense of flow. Not really, flow. But I don’t stop because I have nothing to think about. Because if I have nothing to think about, I will write exactly that. This may not be art. May not be relevant to even me after some time. It does make me cringe after I am past this phase, but I still cherish it. There is no technique to this (except for the basics of structuring).

I am leaving bread crumbs to make sense of who I was and what I have become, and what I want to be. I worry if I ever lose my mind (which is my biggest fear), I could trace myself back. The eternal quality of words…, I value it but I couldn’t for the life of me try to imitate or aspire for it. I don’t expect my writing would be eternal or even useful! I really selfishly do this for me. I am hoping that it mutates into something that is valuable. But even if it doesn’t, it is fine with me.

Writing diary entries have always been life-affirming. I hold on to that.

Signing off like a typical diarist,
tame shewolf.


PS: Stephen King writes 6 pages daily. That bastard.

 

Daydreams


I do catch myself indulging in wishful thinking sometimes.

I once read Rana Dasgupta’s book Solo, and that book haunts me. I was so impacted by the book’s structure itself. It had divided itself in two parts– the first was the life, and the second was the daydream of the character. Both were so beautiful. That book made me realise that we cope with our lives in daydreams.

But even though I understand that fact thoroughly, I am only recently internalising it. Daydreaming or wishful thinking evokes a lot of guilt in me. I feel stupid because I am being unrealistic.

I am afraid that if I start dreaming I am deluding myself. How can I aspire to be an artist? Indulge in art that gets paid? How can I call myself a writer when I am still held ransom by my moods? Why should I as an “independent” woman continue to hope for companionship? I am cringing as I write this. I am definitely more responsible and stronger than that. Am I not?

I hate being all feelings. Daydreaming definitely feels like “no brain”. So, then even in my own head, I resist reaching a thought that exposes what I lack. It is pointing out what I could want, but it is impossible. If I indulge in it, I am confessing that I still want that impossible even though the realities don’t lead to that direction.

In short, I was afraid.

The first time I articulated it in my journal, I had to take a step back. I see dreaming as weak? That’s pretty harsh. Don’t we cope with our lives in our dreams?

I want to have more audacity than I do now. A little bit of delusional thinking would do me good. If you want to continue living life, not just surviving it, you are forced to be an optimist. There is no need to have a naysayer in your own head. Let the outside world do it if it must. But just maybe, the outside world doesn’t see your dream as a delusion either.

Why not dream?
tame shewolf.


PS: This whole time my mom was crushing on a Korean actor after watching a romcom TV series, and I told her to indulge herself in daydream about love because what is the damn harm? That’s the point of entertainment. Clearly, I preach first and then practice.)

Of hard exits


I recently got a whole speech on how I should not hard exit from people. So for the sake of argument, the “wise man” was upset about how sudden and harsh it can be. That things don’t have to end, they could just fade into oblivion, and what is the point of a hard exit after all?

It really put me in a spiral of reflection. I didn’t like it. Was I doing something wrong by cutting people? I know people can change, but why must I sit through it if it is making me suffer irrationally too? I felt a lot of guilt because my hard exit is usually preceded by a discussion/confrontation/intervention, and if that doesn’t work, I bid farewell. I am out.

The “wise man” accused me of doing this without feeling guilt about the wreckage I caused, because I had a discussion. I brought up the issues. But what is the point, he argued. Times would just resolve them or make the times seem lighter in the distance. You could just hang around, and not really say goodbye.

There are two reasons I may make an hard exit: One, I have had enough.  Two, all diplomatic ways to deal with it have failed. But I still felt guilty.

Serendipitously, the next day, I watched Ben Platt sing,

“If you have to hurt me, hurt me once
If you have to end it, get it done
You have all these choices, I have none”

And, I was like— Thank you Ben Platt. That’s what I would want. Hence, that’s what I do.

I can’t for the life of me prolong the torture. If I know that it is a phase, I will obviously wait it out. If I believe that this is a pattern of abuse that this person has no intention to get over any time soon, I feel like the best thing to do is to leave. I don’t want to just stand by and be supportive of self-destructive ways. I used to think that my friends who have a stupid patterns that they repeat on others, they would not do it to me. They’d keep me safe on a pedestal from their madness. But it is untrue. You become witness and victim to the madness.

I am not a person that gets angry often. Even when I get angry, I talk about it. I want a sincere discussion. But then if the person feigns ignorance, or throws up a defense, or unleashes tantrums on me.. I can’t put up with it anymore. I have also had hard exits that have been mutually agreed upon, like, when I know that the bitch is a Nazi to me, and I am the Anarchist to them.. there is no reconciliation. That is not a phase. (Both labels are true for both of us. Lord, forgive me, I have kissed a Nazi. </3)

I am not trying to avoid responsibility. I am responding to the suffocation I feel when I can’t express myself truly. If I have to tone down myself because the person is volatile, and it is not temporary, the why must I persist? It is an energy-sapping relationship. I am not trying to avoid the wreckage that my departure may cause. I don’t block, I just say “Bye FOR SURE”. I am open to the people I have left to confront me when they can articulate it, if ever. I am still open to helping them if they need me. I just can’t be the shoulder to cry on, or the person who they hold on to as a crutch.

So the hard exit is not an expression of anger or punishment. It is the need for my closure.

I have also realised, as a writer… (I will double down on the imposter syndrome and say—) as a prolific writer, I like neat ending to stories. I mean, the door is not shut forever. But I can’t god damn linger. I know life is not a well-edited movie. There are times that just extend to a painful degree. Memories merge and make new meanings. But I genuinely imagine that each person has a story to tell, and people walk into our lives as characters for a season or a reason.. (is this a poem?). Then they may leave, fade in time, move to the background of the narrative and not be the plot-movers. But even for those characters in our life, I want a closing conversation that the characters can have with each other. I just need that. Maybe it is selfish. Maybe I don’t deal with grief well, and this is my way of processing relationships gone sour. I mean, I see myself as a  side character who wants an exit, and a graceful one that makes sense. Not something that becomes suddenly inarticulate and is unexplained. I am not trying to make a well-edited movie out of life.

But I definitely want good stories to tell about the people I have met! And aren’t limbos the worst?

 The prolific writer,
tame shewolf.

Woman La La La


Prompt:
“I want to hear about how it is to live as a bio woman for you”
~ Jane

Bio woman sounds like a bad word because I don’t feel like a bio-woman most of the time. But there are some physical things that remind me that I have been assigned female due to the body parts that I have. And though I have questioned gendered constructs, I have never really questioned my gendered body. So, writing this felt a bit weird, but I get why it can be important to reflect on this. Women with vaginas have a weird relationship with their bodies too. There is shame/guilt. There is discovery or disassociation.

Brace yourself for some ⚠️super-confessional shit⚠️.  Please skip if you will be embarrassed for me. Confession is my writing style, so…  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Breasts

I think I have already spoken about how I saw my breasts during puberty here. I  am sure there will always be more to excavate if you think about it. I was embarrassed about having small breasts initially, but now I am more intimidated by big breasts. And I don’t know how I would assert being queer with huge breasts. Also, I think about how I like to be a bit invisible and anonymous, so big breasts definitely make you hypervisible and I would hate that. Now, I am much more comfortable with my breasts.

⚠️Superconfessional shit– My breasts were not part of self-pleasure until like last year! I think participating in the #identitty project did help after all. I do not actively still know how to be super proud of my breasts, but it was a learning lesson anyway.

I feel like your parents teach you to be embarrassed about your breasts and always worry about covering up. It is so ingrained this rapey way of looking at your own body. Feel sexy, but not too much. That’s such a weird balance to maintain.

Uterus et al.

Contrary to the majority opinion of women with uteruses, I feel happy during my menstruation cycle. I think I associate it with the relief I feel after the week of mood slump due to PMS. Also, when the period is late, then the mood slump continues for longer which is the most terrible for a depressive person like me. I cannot escape the fatigue of a mood slump even in the most optimistic of mental states.

But I manage the periods well! I feel like I take care of my body and have to monthly because of it. I love to update my period tracker app. I guess, it is a weird joy of gender confirmation for someone like me who feels boyish most of the time.

Menstrual cups have been a huge blessing too. I hate sanitary napkins. I haaaaaaaaaaaaate them. Even when I feel lazy sometimes with the menstrual cup, I remember the rash and the cloth stains that a pad entails. So, to avoid that ordeal, I take up the slightly longer ordeal of menstrual cups. It is great to be on periods when you feel dry and can ignore it for the most parts! Also, for a boy like me, it is the movement of manspreading that I value most that menstrual cups afford. Thank god for its discovery right around when I had control over my money. (My mom’s first reaction to it was conservative and also slut-shaming but luckily, I rebelled and took a risk that paid off).

Vagina

Menstrual cups also fucking taught me so much about my vagina. The amount of research I did on this was crazy. I still couldn’t visualise it but if you told me to draw a rough diagram of how a vagina looks like from the inside, I think I could draw it pretty well. Some people live their whole lives not really exploring their bodies because there is so much shame attached to it. But for the sake of comfortable menstruation, I learned something!

⚠️ Superconfessional shit: This may seem like a weird trajectory but I had had sex first. Then the next year, I started using the menstrual cup. Then, after another year, I started masturbating! This is actually quite reasonable of girls really depend on guys to help them figure out their bodies. That’s stupid because they too don’t know shit. But then after I realised people with penises are on the same boat as me, I took more initiative to discover the secrets of the mysterious vagina. So, menstrual cup obviously is the more scientific, nerdy way to start that journey then. 

Clit

Then, finally, you reach the clit! I have a vague teenage memory of trying to masturbate and the pleasure was so strong that I was afraid to touch myself again.

When I became braver later, I just couldn’t match what I had imagined. There was a disassociation to overcome. I could just keep trying and trying and nothing would happen. I have watched Feminist Youtube videos on how to get into the mood, read comic strips about how to do it. Nothing. I just had to persist. I think by this time, I also had a dildo, but it didn’t help shit. I even thought what if I didn’t have a clit and I will be barred from this amazing experience of multiple orgasms that women have.

Finally, when I conquered the tiny Everest, I was elated. I felt free. I felt like I will conquer sex like a beast now. That didn’t happen. Because it is still dependent on the vibe with the other person. But still, we will be proud of the baby steps we’re taking in getting to know each other’s bodies I guess.

⚠️ Superconfessional shit: Isn’t it the best depression medicine ever? I could have salvaged some teenage sanity if I had pursued this adventure earlier.

I mean, I can write a whole more provocative thesis on the Magic of the Clit but I’ll move on.

XY chromosome

Who the fuck gives a shit to trace gender at that level? Transphobic people, that’s who.

Being seen as female

Again, in the last five years, I must have taken up the label of “genderqueer”. It felt like a better explanation of myself. I could explain why my expression to be not so “feminine” is more than just internal misogyny. It is not just the hatred at being disrespected when coded as female. I also am incapable of performing femininity. I feel like a fraud in a costume who is trying to doll up, which is not a comfortable skin to be in.

I don’t like being seen as female but I know I am because my genderqueerness is not gothic rebellious or confusing. It is just plain. Like I said, I prefer invisibility. It is not trying to be too boyish nor too girly. It is a mismatch of things. So, I feel uncomfortable when somebody reminds me I am a woman. I feel watched and I can’t chill in public spaces, even if I am the only person on the bus or at the station. I am expected to know everything related to household chores, which I have never volunteered to do ever. I will help if you ask. But I refuse to be seen as an efficient expert at it. I definitely can’t dress up so I hate office-HR-celebrations which decide the dress code according to gender. It sucks so bad. I hate dressing up because I have not found clothes which feel like “me”.

I think I know exactly my dress sense is but the world is not nudist enough for that shit!

10 Ways Celebrities Are Wearing a Bra as a Shirt | Who What Wear

I mean, this is my gender expression. Can’t wait for when this becomes the norm and we are okay with all types of bodies in this world.

The truth is I don’t hate my femininity either. I am just uncomfortable to be just one gender. Even if someone boxed me into a more masculine role, I would just rebel against that too. I like men who can be chill about gender themselves bcz there is a sense of freedom in breaking these arbitrary rules of presentation. Gender truly is a performance of self-expression, and that expression (for me, at least)  is moody. So, I just cannot choose one thing as my permanent gender forever and ever.

I am glad that I am not finally confident in calling myself genderqueer. I used to feel like an imposter (bcz I benefit from being coded as cishet automatically) but then life has only confirmed what I already know to be true for myself. So even if someone accuses me of being “just a girl”. I will just shrug it off. I don’t have to prove anything to anyone.

 

Queer Free!
tame shewolf.


PS: The title is a Harry Styles song because I am in love with that boy and the chorus was playing in my head while writing this.

Who wants to be a kid, anyway?


“Whoever said that childhood is the happiest time of your life is a liar, or a fool.”
― Carlos Ruiz Zafón, The Midnight Palace

For as far back as I can remember, I have always wanted to be a grown up. Now that I am a grown up, I am thrilled! The only thing that makes me apathetic sometimes is how much intentional care my body needs now. But other than that, it has been great to be an adult!

I get why someone would dislike being an adult or miss childhood. You want to be protected and carefree under the benevolent authority of your parent. You don’t want to be responsible for every small little thing or the big things too. You don’t want to work, and get your soul sucked out like the adults do.

I get all this hypothetically. But, I am not convinced. You want to live a carefree life, but under rules laid down by someone else? You don’t want the power that comes with the responsibility? You are okay with facing the consequences of other people’s mistakes? You don’t want to do a nonsense job, then blame capitalism, not adulthood.

What I hated about childhood is dependence on adults for everything. E.V.E.R.Y.T.H.I.N.G.

So, the first time I discovered that adults are untrustworthy liars is during the vaccination phase of childhood. Approximately, I was less than 6 years old. I am the oldest among my cousin, and I have two more cousins younger to me. My parents were discussing in Tulu the number of vaccines left. But told us that we are going to the doctor to get our weight checked?!!! and I am telling my cousins, nooo, they are lying and I don’t want to go. My sister was the first one to be injected, and when she started crying, we all started crying. So basically, I was right and my cousins were stupid.

You know what would have been best. If they just told me why the injections were important to be taken, and it would pain for some time but it will be okay and that the doctors would be nice about it. I would at least trust the adults for telling me exactly what would happen, and maybe even believe in god, bcz everything they said actually did happen. HAHAHA..

I try to piece together what kind of a kid I was, sometimes. But I can’t remember already.

I see my friends regressing into child-like behaviour to escape some pressure they imagine or to allow themselves to have fun. There is also a need to blame every anxiety to a hurt inner child. Not to minimise the pain, but surely it is about time you rise up for yourself. Parent your inner child rather than destroy everyone in sight because your inner child can’t handle reality. Clearly, that is an abusive behaviour you’ve learned as a child whose tantrums are pandered to.

The only time I miss childhood is when I see kids run and explore spaces with joy. I want to believe that I still have a sense of wonder for things. But I definitely would like to run around and assert myself in spaces more naturally, like kids do. Then again, I don’t even have the energy for that anymore.

I have grown so old, so old.. I will wear my trousers rolled.

“He didn’t want to play football. He wanted to be told the truth.”
― John Boyne

Been precocious,
tame shewolf.


PS: You can’t excuse the shit your inner child resorts to all your life. Grow the fuck up.

🔎 A fellow ethical slut


Dating culture has gone to the dogs with the pessimism and the need for a quick fix and the pervasive boredom and the sense of directionless that my generation suffers.  I have no problem with no promises attached sex. Been there, done that infinity times. But definitely, there is a person in front of you and not an object. But how we allow ourselves to treat someone as a means to an end will always remain beyond me.

Clearly, it has been very difficult for me to find a fellow ethical slutty person who is as forthright. So, I thought I should just write the things I value so that the next time a guy asks me I will just share a link to this blog and make him run away. 😛

First of all, I think it is important to not slut-shame. I literally have felt abandoned after I have honestly shared my sex-life. But sharing your history is part of a sexually healthy partnership. I am definitely not a risk-taker. I don’t know how to navigate being honest but not shamed or (in the other end of the spectrum) be treated as someone up for anything.

Second, and as important, communicate bitches! You may be an introvert, or a person with few words, but you have to speak up about what you want and don’t want; if you are bored and want to move on, or if you want something more; if you have a particular kink or fantasy.

My dating profile is very clear about what I want and don’t want. I still end up in situations I don’t want. If I ask clearly for what I want, there are still times when my needs are bulldozed over. (It sucks to date men). A lot of dating culture also normalises ghosting. I think, it is important to give the person closure. It will help you practice saying “No” even if it is on text. Then, if they can’t be mature about it, please by all means, BLOCK. Till then, in good faith, communicate your boredom, disinterest, and respect the other person’s feelings.

Open communication also entails, if you are comfortable at entering that level of conversation, to share your kinks and fantasies upfront. You definitely don’t want to be shocked or let down later. It helps you own your sexuality. Being open also doesn’t mean up for anything. So this conversation also helps in setting boundaries and actually being open to safe fun. (Plus, the way the guy talks is kinda a giveaway of how thoughtful he will be about your needs in bed later too. 🤞)

Hopefully, if your communication is free of any pretense, it also means that the chances of playing games with each other’s feelings reduces. So then, whatever the arrangement, there is a chance of both of y’all to reach a middle ground.

Also, I want to add one more underappreciated aspect of communication and that is — care for the person beyond your immediate needs. Be curious of other people and their stories and their daily lives. It doesn’t mean you have to talk everyday, but when you talk it has to be beyond “DTF?”. If you can’t do this, you are not ready to date. Basic human empathy required to be an ethical slut. Make lifelong fuckbuddies, not transactional ones.

Value empathetic consent. Don’t just value whatever has been communicated and agreed on. Be attuned to understanding someone’s discomfort in body language or temporary disinterest. It would requires empathy and also just keep checking in if you are in doubt. Slutty people don’t owe people sex all the time, even if they are up for it most of the time.

Know thyself, bitches– Dating is fun if you are clear about what you want from love and life. If you are with fellow confused people, there is bound to be hurt and confusion, because heterosexual romances are fraught with gender politics and then some more bullshit. Work out emotional baggage to avoid unloading it on others and missing out on good experiences. Don’t use sex as a means to feel better. You will not feel better, and neither will the other person enjoy it.

We deserve a better dating culture bcz it feels like we are doomed to be single in a bad economy. It is better to find a community that cares even if you do not find a single person who you could commit to. Learn from the queer community, you god-damn heteros! (I am a hetero too, and clearly I am suffering.)

Is this a dating manifesto?🦋
tame shewolf.


PS: fuck properly!

Fear of missing out


There are so many habits I am articulating and unlearning in this lockdown. All the creative reflection and reading has given me some perspective.

If you would ask me whether I had the fear of missing out or FOMO, I would say— no! I don’t. I am an introvert. I anyway avoid obligatory social dates or even office meetings if I can skip them. Obviously, it hurts me in the long run maybe. But I am genuinely not curious about what they talk in the first place. I know the socializing is important, and I do it if I must. But I would always rather waste my own time in a way I choose. Even if it is sleeping or singing my heart out or play a dumb game.

Recently, I have realised I had a different kind of FOMO. It is about missing out on the thoughts of people, or their growth. I could not let myself unfollow painful people because I respected them. I could not let myself cut off people who thought that I was not as smart, or too emotional and demonstrated their patronising behaviour towards me. I would be beholden to them and wanted to learn so much from them. Even if it was just their out-of-context status or retweets or recommendations. I felt that their thoughts, speech and writing helped me grow. If I let them go, I would be stagnant. I truly believed that.

I used to cow down to arguments of you should experience it first and then argue. Obviously, the imposter syndrome also prevails where I always think I don’t know as much and should not speak authoritatively. I found myself stupid in comparison to their genius and courage. I found my courage and genius reckless and trite.

There have been some instances where I was forced to cut people off. I have realised I have still grown! Despite them. It is possible! The instinct to learn has been with me with or without a personified teacher or mentor or genius friend. Thank god for books and the internet. The kindness of authors and curators. I mean, there is more than enough in this world. I am enough too.

It took me some time but I’ve found “intelligent” people toxic and rigid and less playful. What’s the point of your genius, if you remain unhappy? I genuinely find myself indulging myself and my stupid parts without feeling ashamed of not being a person with perfect politics. I have internalised now that the purpose of revolutionary theory is not to invoke guilt, but empower and inspire change. It is not directed against individuals, but the structure. The will to change is of the community, and not the individual responsibility of the person. I find a lot of kindness and forgiveness in thinking this way. It helps me not rant out against a person, but a prevalent toxic concept.

I am still learning. But this feels healthier and happier. I can think aloud without feeling conscious of perfection. I can create without guilt. I am coming up with ways I can contribute to movements, instead of feeling out of place in them.

With love, one day, liberation,

tame shewolf.

PS: Again, I have one Pakistani Youtuber-Communist-Teacher-Singer Taimur Rahman to credit this radical shift within me. His lectures have helped me think of the politics of current times with the help of theory. He is also generous with his knowledge. His optimism even in dark times makes me feel that hope is the point of life, the centre of continued struggle. But I also don’t put him on a pedestal like I did before. He is inspired some form of independent thinking but I couldn’t tell you how. I guess, just by existing and doing and creating. I feel like I aspire to that now.  I feel he has embodied Amedkar’s “Educate-Agitate-Organize”  and it rings as a mantra in my head now.

Anyway, grateful to kind, light, great teachers! 🙂

The Dream Meal


Obviously, it is night time and I am thinking about food because this is time for my binge. So this is my distraction writing which may or may not help me. But I have realised I am supposed to really pause to enjoy food.

I have been listening to Off-Menu podcast by James Acaster and Ed Gamble. It has got me thinking about my own dream meal. To be honest, I love every dream meal that I have heard on it so making this list is super hard. I actually can’t choose. This is my mood right now, I guess.

Also, fair warning: I am a convenient vegetarian. So my dream meal will be vegetarian only.

Starter

A starter is so beautiful. When my parents allowed for it in a restaurant, it was a fucking treat! In India, it is unnecessarily overpriced and I don’t feel like indulging in it myself if I am on a budget. But if I can, uff.. that could be everything and the only thing that I would eat.

The stupid thing about going on dates is sometimes, it is looked down upon to actually order a meal. Bitch-bois really want me to be satisfied with starters and drinks, and I hate that. I oblige because how can I eat more than the other person in a meal! But I literally know in my head that this ain’t gonna work long term for sure. Men with no appetite or who are fussy eaters piss me off. Never will I ever even tolerate such bullshit.

I don’t mind any starter really, but one starter I crave for is Spring rolls. It is exactly because people don’t order it often and don’t like it, is the reason I crave for it. Yeah, yeah, there is a possibility that it may be a badly made spring roll, not enough filling, soggy even. But, when done right, it is everything I ever need in a mouthful of food. It is fried, flavourful, full of textures. I don’t care if you don’t like the maida taste, I will eat your portion, bitch.

 

HD wallpaper: fried spring rolls in white platter, nem, chinese ...

Look at this beaut.

Main Meal

I am obviously not going to stick to just one cuisine if it is a dream meal in a dreamy restaurant. This is a mess of gastronomic proportions. But hear me out… Creamy Spaghetti Pasta with fresh vegetables.

The point being my main meal would have been noodles. But I couldn’t choose a good one I have tasted in the Chinese variety. But I have memories of this one meal where I ate creamy spaghetti pasta.  Again, the creaminess, the texture of the broccoli and mushrooms with the softness of the pasta, the never-ending looping of spaghetti on your fork.. You literally get to play with your food. Plus accompanied with bread to clean off your plate. Like, it is a thing you can proudly do. Lick that last creaminess with bread but you get to be appropriate about it.

I try to make my ramen noodles creamy by adding cheese just to recreate that memory.

dish food produce vegetable cuisine pasta soup spaghetti italian food creamy pasta side dishes carbonara

Sigh. This picture doesn’t do justice to what I am imagining.

Side Dish

Can I have a bread basket? Could I write a love letter to bread?

Toasted Bread. Garlic Bread. Oregano Bread. Multigrain bread.

Mini bread basket

Will they ever do justice to you in a restaurant, my dear bread?

Bread. Bread. Bread. Love of my life, Bread. You can never be a side dish. These haters don’t value your softness, your ability to soak in all the flavours so beautifully, your ability to provide umami. Bitches don’t love you like I do, bread. You are the star of my life. They can tell me that you are bad for me, but I am never going to give you up. What can I not dip you in? What can I not combine you with? I remain beholden to you. Accept the meek love that I offer you for the joy you bring me.

Drink

I am not a connoisseur of alcohol. I will drink anything, will try everything and then forget their names. When left on my own devices, my safe choice has always been “Whiskey neat with ice.”

It is a drink I don’t chug. I always end up chugging sweet cocktails like it is sherbet. Then it messes me up too quickly than I wanted it. Other drinks need a soft drink/soda mixer. But not whiskey. What brand I drink depends on how much money I have. 😛 But do I care? I am chill if it is chilled but burns down my throat and I can savour it.

Glass With Whiskey Free Stock Photo - Public Domain Pictures

I am not tempte—-

 

Dessert

This was difficult. A complete meal would close with chocolate nutty icecream. But then I thought about what is it that I crave… Chocolate ice cream mixed with nuts is easily acquired by me. But again, a dessert I dream of has been the Cheesecake. Light. Beautiful. Indulgent. Different textures promised again. The three colours have to be prominent. A dark biscuit base, a lighter creamier centre, and the soft glazed brown of the top. You could savour every spoon of the slice. Every bite, if it is made perfectly– like all desserts demand, can make you go mmmmm..

File:Raised slice of cheesecake.jpg - Wikimedia Commons

A dessert that makes you loudly moan is something.

Alright, writing this has help me cross my binge urge. Tell me what is your dream meal, and I think, I would already hop on board because there is no meal that I dislike. Clearly, the whole list is a longing, a craving out of scarcity. But I love food as I have repeated several times over now. Don’t test my love.

I am blessed to be stuck with my mom in quarantine because she loves cooking and is great at it!

Wracked by a relentless passion for food,
tame shewolf.

PS: Thalis are always my dream meal because my stomach is a vortex.

The Best Gujarati Restaurants In Gurgaon | We Are Gurgaon

Look at this and tell me you are not already overwhelmed with emotion by this royalty.

PPS: I could have a food appreciation post for South Indian breakfast food and Gujarati dishes.. but I can’t go down that road without doing injustice to everything else that I love. These cravings are more often resolved thanks to my mom. PEACE!

 

Showing up on the page


Have I become someone who is now focussed on quantity over quality? Yes.

Because this creativity slump was affecting my mental health. I was thinking about how I should be writing, but sitting in front of the laptop and coming up blank. Just distracting myself with some shit or the other. There are too many blocks and naysayers in my head and around me too. I didn’t realise that. But since I have been working on this white woman workbook, it is really helping me. Of course, my “rationality” won’t let me disclose what book I am solving.. but my heart is really enjoying this DIY therapy. All this while, I have Gabor Mate leading me by the hand and helping me be kind to myself and my addiction. I have found some inner-spring and I want to protect it.

I have also discovered that I will always be teenage-ish chirpy or angsty.  Can I escape that voice? I am 27 now. I may be 35 and still like this. So, might as well embarrass myself if I must, if it is an inescapable part of my existence… Also, a lot of my writing is for me. So maybe, I will write a lot of stream of consciousness writing. Many embarrassing confessions to purge from my system. Maybe I will appear more thoughtful and poised than before. I am okay with that. This is not some pristine page of a book. That is clearly so much hard work, as I have discovered.

So since the lockdown, I have delved within without the guilt of “have to”. Deleting all the “should be doing this and that right now”. I am privileged enough to create my island and indulge my underemployed self into creativity and resolving my binge eating disorder with focus.  Week 1 of food sobriety, and I think I am on a high. Or maybe I am on to something and I am going to motivate myself to be in that process.

I have been writing. But just not here. I have three blogs in total now. This one is my projected self. A face for the faces I meet. I have another private blog to rant my heart out in fiction. A mirror to stare back at me. The third blog is public but I usually use it to think and do my writing projects there. More academic. More practice. The function is to be more helpful to others on that journey. So, that’s the persona, heart, brain categorized neatly. I am sure I can split myself further.. but now my task that I have set before me is to help me merge these. Become a bit whole.

Creativity is really indulgent. I am still doubting the capacity of the inner-spring. I am worried about the relapse in the future.  But there is also a thought in my head that wonderfully counters this. Just do. We’ll face what we must when it comes to it.  So yeah, if I am sounding high, maybe I am. I am okay with seeming delusional.

The best part is that blogs are finally out of fashion. Nobody is searching for blogs and the SEO tags, unless it has really contributed and curated knowledge. This is safely my island again. No dream and aspiration attached to this website.  Just exploration. Just showing up on the page to rest, to try, to daydream, to express, to be silly. 

Onwards!
tame shewolf.

PS: See you tomorrow for another 500 words.