It’s really a strange observation, the way life moves.
Sometimes you strut; sometimes you shuffle your shoes.
One minute you want to die in shame.
Then the next you just love the fame.
That’s the way I feel with people too.
One minute I love them honest and true.
The next I’m so disgusted I’m screaming blue.
At the hopeless jerk and the pretentious fool.
Well now notice my friend i say feel.
Feel is not the same thing as real.
In reality its a whole different story,
You just bite your tongue and say sorry.
So what is it i'm talking about?
Relationships of course without a doubt.
So is it simple or riddled with complexity.
To know better first you breath nice and easy.
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
The Extrovert and what people don’t know
They are loud and in your face. The party is usually where they are. The noise is around them. People tease them plenty, and they, being sporty take it well. They laugh and laugh and are able to take a lot of good natured ribbing. You hardly or never see an extrovert cry. They have the sunniest smiles around them and always are the first to volunteer in any crisis. They tend to be over enthusiastic; and their ‘never say die attitude’ if not understood correctly, is usually misunderstood and often considered annoying.
However, here's what you don’t know about the other side of an extrovert... . . .
In reality they are terribly shy but in two meetings they become your best friend; so, you forget that when you meet them the first time they are actually at a loss of words.
Some people call them sassy, impish or brazen. But you must remember again the situation called for it. If nervous and frightened they need to throw the sass and brazen attitude to regain their confidence which is missing at that moment.
Hey and their incessant jabber is just a show to keep people at a distant. What do you really know about the extrovert? You might know everything about them; however, do you know them? Then seem extremely easy to read, but trust me they let you know only what they choose too. They can be highly mysterious about their true feelings and emotions.
An extrovert may be madly in love but they’ll never let you know for fear of rejection. An extrovert might be really hurt by something you said, but they’ll never let out a squeak, they’d just laugh it off and shake their head wiping the tears of laughter when you’ve actually broken their heart.
An extrovert will be a friend for life and they usually hate nasty scenes. You can be guaranteed that there won’t be a confrontation or an ugly scene with them.
But please don’t push the extrovert because they reach breaking points too. When they fly off the handle don’t agitate them further. Once they simmer down they come back feeling extremely silly and repentant about the entire scene. Even if it’s not their fault they seek forgiveness of the entire world.
In a nut shell sparkling and exuberant beings who love to hide behind uncertain and insecure masks.
However, here's what you don’t know about the other side of an extrovert... . . .
In reality they are terribly shy but in two meetings they become your best friend; so, you forget that when you meet them the first time they are actually at a loss of words.
Some people call them sassy, impish or brazen. But you must remember again the situation called for it. If nervous and frightened they need to throw the sass and brazen attitude to regain their confidence which is missing at that moment.
Hey and their incessant jabber is just a show to keep people at a distant. What do you really know about the extrovert? You might know everything about them; however, do you know them? Then seem extremely easy to read, but trust me they let you know only what they choose too. They can be highly mysterious about their true feelings and emotions.
An extrovert may be madly in love but they’ll never let you know for fear of rejection. An extrovert might be really hurt by something you said, but they’ll never let out a squeak, they’d just laugh it off and shake their head wiping the tears of laughter when you’ve actually broken their heart.
An extrovert will be a friend for life and they usually hate nasty scenes. You can be guaranteed that there won’t be a confrontation or an ugly scene with them.
But please don’t push the extrovert because they reach breaking points too. When they fly off the handle don’t agitate them further. Once they simmer down they come back feeling extremely silly and repentant about the entire scene. Even if it’s not their fault they seek forgiveness of the entire world.
In a nut shell sparkling and exuberant beings who love to hide behind uncertain and insecure masks.
Thursday, November 23, 2006
Traffic
[I wrote this next piece while witnessing the entire incident in front of my gate. I found it absolutely fascinating and amusing.]
The obstinate buffalo.
The angry motorist – glares raring to go.
The humongous black beat throes its nose in the air.
It was there first. So it will not move – it’s only fair.
The middle of the road the blasted meat factory chooses.
Man and beast engaged in a fierce battle of “stare-you-down-first”.
If looks could kill….
‘One a pile of ashes for the Ganges’
The other….
‘A barbecued offering’
SILENCE blares through the street.
In slow motion I see.
The metal bump to the living rump.
A smile of victory.
Steel blades still send goose bumps over cattle hide.
Man rules over beast!
The four footed obstacle moves aside.
A dented bump and a hurting rump later. The motorist speeds away. Gloating inside.
Indian traffic anything BUTT..
The obstinate buffalo.
The angry motorist – glares raring to go.
The humongous black beat throes its nose in the air.
It was there first. So it will not move – it’s only fair.
The middle of the road the blasted meat factory chooses.
Man and beast engaged in a fierce battle of “stare-you-down-first”.
If looks could kill….
‘One a pile of ashes for the Ganges’
The other….
‘A barbecued offering’
SILENCE blares through the street.
In slow motion I see.
The metal bump to the living rump.
A smile of victory.
Steel blades still send goose bumps over cattle hide.
Man rules over beast!
The four footed obstacle moves aside.
A dented bump and a hurting rump later. The motorist speeds away. Gloating inside.
Indian traffic anything BUTT..
8:30 A.M
[I wrote this when I was going insane with the traffic scene in Chennai. How much ever I love the city there are certain things that are far from amusing]
Auto’s bursting with children bundled one on top of the other, limbs precariously sticking out. They balanced left and right shifting their weights as the auto swerved dangerously taking a one way street a short route to school ( save time n save petrol) the harried auto driver labored on with his burden like a pregnant woman in the midst of shrill screams and gasps that escape from young mouths every time he avoids a collision.
The children wave at their friend traveling on a scooter. The good old family transport carry father, mother, brother sister and baby. Only daddy gets to wear the helmet, the children scowl. The baby chuckles and lunges in the direction of a tricycle with a massive load of colorful plastic pots. They are heaped fifteen feet high (talk about a towering offence)
I sigh and honk cajoling the other vehicle in front to move on. Irritable and already tired at the start of the day the traffic continues to clog my senses.
The creaking buses! The mobile leaning towers of India swollen with the crowd and ready to topple over. Mammoths so menacing they block the road and refuse to move forward.
The cyclists darting in and out squeezing through every available space the super men of the Indian roads who manage to dodge and bound over every rut and obstacle.
Tears down my eyes as the noise and the smoke slowly choke me. The car behind honking the most horrendous ear splitting horn, loud enough to raise the dead. I glare at the motorist who dares to overtake me. The start of a new day.
Auto’s bursting with children bundled one on top of the other, limbs precariously sticking out. They balanced left and right shifting their weights as the auto swerved dangerously taking a one way street a short route to school ( save time n save petrol) the harried auto driver labored on with his burden like a pregnant woman in the midst of shrill screams and gasps that escape from young mouths every time he avoids a collision.
The children wave at their friend traveling on a scooter. The good old family transport carry father, mother, brother sister and baby. Only daddy gets to wear the helmet, the children scowl. The baby chuckles and lunges in the direction of a tricycle with a massive load of colorful plastic pots. They are heaped fifteen feet high (talk about a towering offence)
I sigh and honk cajoling the other vehicle in front to move on. Irritable and already tired at the start of the day the traffic continues to clog my senses.
The creaking buses! The mobile leaning towers of India swollen with the crowd and ready to topple over. Mammoths so menacing they block the road and refuse to move forward.
The cyclists darting in and out squeezing through every available space the super men of the Indian roads who manage to dodge and bound over every rut and obstacle.
Tears down my eyes as the noise and the smoke slowly choke me. The car behind honking the most horrendous ear splitting horn, loud enough to raise the dead. I glare at the motorist who dares to overtake me. The start of a new day.
The story of my life
[Some time ago my boss had asked me to write up a profile C.V style for a client who wanted to do a background check on the trainers… …. I wasn’t exactly in a great mood to write. I was harried and hassled and my mind just wouldn’t work that day so this is what I came out with…… (Of course naturally later I sent her the official looking one.)This was just to give my boss a heart attack because she insisted I send it across in an hour’s time and I hate being forced or rushed. Thankfully my boss is a good sport and took my nonsense with a hearty laugh. Anyways, here the mail I sent her…….]
Hi Kathy,
I know you held a gun to my head and forced me to say o.k. to the Mumbai trip.
So what else could I do but say ok.
You say go to Mumbai so I go.
So here’s my profile given below.
Like most other kids I had an education. I had parents nice enough to send me to an English medium school so I managed to finish my schooling at Union Christian Matriculation Higher Secondary School, Chennai.
On passing out I thought I had conquered the world. Yes for me it was an achievement.
Barely had I come out victorious out of this war when the army general and her lieutenant, (Mom and Dad in that order) decided that it was time to send me to torture camp. More Education! So I was forced to do a degree in English literature.
Why English in specific?
Well that seemed to be the only language I spoke and being a drama queen my parents thought I would ace in Shakespearean Studies, Poetry and the likes. Little did they know there were other subjects such as History of English Literature, Linguistics, The origin of Grammar, Etc etc.
I thought cruelty to children was banned. I should have a filed a case against my parents and the educational institute for the abuse and battering caused to such a delicate, beautiful mind such as mine.
No I thought they will not destroy me I will survive. So I did. I passed out of English literature with average scores like an average kid.
But the journey was lonely dark and deep.
I managed to break every rule in the book.
Scraped by without being suspended, rebelled the authorities, fought for my freedom by leading strikes and demonstrations(I wished too much of a coward to actually get to it).
But here I was a fresh graduate older, wiser and at cross roads again.
-
- blah
-
- blah
-
- blah
-
- blah
-
- blah
-
- blah
-
Hey Kathy,
You told me it would flow out. You were right. He he he he he. Just kidding check the other mail.
Love Saps.
Hi Kathy,
I know you held a gun to my head and forced me to say o.k. to the Mumbai trip.
So what else could I do but say ok.
You say go to Mumbai so I go.
So here’s my profile given below.
Like most other kids I had an education. I had parents nice enough to send me to an English medium school so I managed to finish my schooling at Union Christian Matriculation Higher Secondary School, Chennai.
On passing out I thought I had conquered the world. Yes for me it was an achievement.
Barely had I come out victorious out of this war when the army general and her lieutenant, (Mom and Dad in that order) decided that it was time to send me to torture camp. More Education! So I was forced to do a degree in English literature.
Why English in specific?
Well that seemed to be the only language I spoke and being a drama queen my parents thought I would ace in Shakespearean Studies, Poetry and the likes. Little did they know there were other subjects such as History of English Literature, Linguistics, The origin of Grammar, Etc etc.
I thought cruelty to children was banned. I should have a filed a case against my parents and the educational institute for the abuse and battering caused to such a delicate, beautiful mind such as mine.
No I thought they will not destroy me I will survive. So I did. I passed out of English literature with average scores like an average kid.
But the journey was lonely dark and deep.
I managed to break every rule in the book.
Scraped by without being suspended, rebelled the authorities, fought for my freedom by leading strikes and demonstrations(I wished too much of a coward to actually get to it).
But here I was a fresh graduate older, wiser and at cross roads again.
-
- blah
-
- blah
-
- blah
-
- blah
-
- blah
-
- blah
-
Hey Kathy,
You told me it would flow out. You were right. He he he he he. Just kidding check the other mail.
Love Saps.
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