You know what? You cannot always have an entirely pure existence. The waves of the ocean have to crash violently against the shore after a long period of calm. I warn you beforehand about graphic details that can (quite literally) make your stomach turn, in the lines that follow.
It happened yesterday.
Yesterday, for the first time in my life, I had what medics like me studied in our 4th year microbiology class- I had a dastardly encounter with Bacillus Cereus (or perhaps his comrade Staphylococcus Aureus, if you like)- the famous Chinese Fried Rice syndrome.
It was pretty bad. Between you and me, I am reminded of Boerhaave*.
I went to the restaurant the next day. The thought of going there was in itself nauseating. This was a VERY famous line of Chinese restaurants- you have it in every corner of the UAE. I’m not sure if it was the rice or the meat that caused the trouble, but the branch I went to cooked beef for ONLY 10-15 minutes. After writing a complaint (so that it never happens to another customer again), I decided to leave no stone unturned, and personally speak to that wretch, the chef. He was accordingly summoned.
I must note here, without digressing, that playing the part of a good samaritan carries its own burdens. I was, that evening, fated to see a booger in the chef’s left nostril that quaintly resembled the flecks of egg in the chinese rice he made the other day.
Moral: I am never eating Chinese food outside in my life. Never. Everything we eat outside can be made at home as well, if we really try. The recipes are all out there. What a person makes for strangers will always be dangerous unless someone with a conscience AND with knowledge about food hygiene is making it. We do NOT know what goes on in the kitchen of the best restaurants, and I hope you look no further than my own experience to enlighten you.
*Boerhaave- In the 1700s, Boerhaave described a deadly syndrome in which a person’s food pipe ruptures after intense vomiting against a closed glottis.
Ah, how fair thy cheek is!
And how becoming, that faint malar flush of mitral stenosis!
Sometimes you have to sift through a crowd of individuals who are tiresomely presented to you day after day, week after week, month after month- for years- just so that you know that all those souls were not worth a second of your time. Just so you know that the one who really is was in your face all this time.
And that you had to go through all this just so you realize this one soul’s worth.
12amish- Dad decides to enter the room with a black balaclava on, scaring the living daylights out of my mum and I. Apparently, he has a headache because of the AC and this works better than panadol.
#Don’t try this at home, kids. #You can give your twenty-something year old a myocardial infarction. #Not just theoretically, no.
And most people are asleep. I hear a baby crying.
Except that there is no baby in my house.
And the fact does not disturb me. What ruffles my head though, is the logic behind the occurrence. How is this to be logically explained? I ask this with a poker face.
I have consented,
if not conspired my way into being a social pariah.
I tore myself away from commitments and people.
Only to jump into something even worse.
Something I’ve referred to in a previous blog post as being ‘demonic’.
(You must have very thick dura mater indeed to not realise this instant that I was referring to the famous MRCP exam- a postgraduate medical exam for those species of homo sapiens who have pledged their life for shortening and their hair for whitening).
I am in earnest when I say I didn’t know what I was plunging into.
Troglodyte world! We must hereby be intimate friends. (The only other friends I’ll be cheating on you for may be Kalra, and a certain Sanjay Sharma. Just letting you know in advance).
A woman with values! With spunk, with resilience, with substance, with ambition, who is no nonsense, who is modest and who has a vision. Who no man or army or country can smother. Here’s to you! You’re beautiful!
A woman with God on her side!
And it’s called ‘sanity’.
Miss Mimsy has matured. She is 25 years old now. She has commitments in life, which, if she chooses to ignore, people may end up hating her or ostracizing her.
Miss Mimsy hates the fact that she is a people-pleaser. Sometimes, she just wants to take the day off, switch off all the lights, tell everyone to enter her room if they dare, lie in bed and then dream.
She wants to dream about sleep.
Surely, the affair of the big, fat bear who said “I don’t care” while his nose was up in the air, was no trivial one.
I shall follow his example and assume the mask of indifference. Or even better, of IMPERTINENT nonchalance!
(N.B. Readers who assume that I am big or fat may do so at their own peril, in days such as these).
It is so beautiful to fall in love with someone. To look forward to seeing that particular entity, to hugging and loving him. To watch him sleep. Sometimes I am tempted to squeeze my sister’s pet cat to death. I have NEVER loved an animal this much. Believe you me, I miss him more than my mother. I dreamt about going over to my sister’s house, and meeting him. He came up to me and asked in a low, squeaky, pathetic voice: “Where were you? Why did you leave me? You forgot about me”. And he was crying while saying that to me.
I take him up in my arms and hug him, lying to my baby about wanting to come before or something like that. You don’t sometimes remember the exact words you’ve exchanged in dreams, but the vivid image of the dream stays in your head. I was crying during the dream, too.
How can so much love be possible? It is a new, pleasant feeling I have stumbled upon so unexpectedly. I look forward to our tryst, my child. My heart is overflowing with love for you ❤