Forgotten

Those eyes.

Those eyes used to gaze at me with love, but now look at me without a hint of recognition.

Those hands.

Those hands held me before I learnt to walk, now hanging limp and lifeless by her side.

Those lips.

Those lips always curve up in a smile and shower me with kisses, now frozen, unable to turn on the smile that lights up her face.

How does it feel like to be forgotten?

It feels like dying. Like being killed.

Like your existence is wiped away from the world against your will. Not just from any world. But from the world of someone who loves you and someone you owe your life to. And the worst thing is that there’s nothing you can do about it, to claw your way into being remembered or somehow try to redeem memories of you in that world.

I am always someone in love with life. Yet, somehow I always have this firm belief that my days are always numbered in my Maker's Hands. And that when ‘my time’ comes, I will not try to hold on to life. But sitting by her bedside, holding her hands, calling her, without her having an ounce of recognition in her eyes, I wanted to fight: fight for my existence in her memory. I wanted to claim my rightful place in her past and her present. Never in my life had I wished to be remembered. Never in my life had I wanted so bad to live beyond ‘my time’. 

Just a little bit longer.

My Ma’s cousin, my other mother, my second mother who was with the family even before my eldest brother was born; ‘Ka Nu’ we called her. She was nothing short of a mother to me. Since Ma was a working woman, she was the one who took care of me, kissed each wound, dressed me, fed me and clothe me. A single mother, she moved away from our home after her only daughter got married in a sleepy little town down south.

May, this year, I was in battling the peak of Delhi heat when I got a call from my cousin who told me that Ka Nu was sick and that she’s taking her to Aizawl for medical checkup. A few weeks later, I was informed Ka Nu had multiple brain tumour and that  the doctors told her she doesn’t have long to live. Treatment wouldn’t work at her condition and her age, I was told.

The only thing I did when I heard the news was that I got on my knees and begged God to allow me to meet her and bless her before her time is up.

God is good.

Within a couple of months, I underwent numerous changes in my life. Not a thing was pre-planned. I moved to Aizawl and a month later, I was on a bumpy road towards the southern part of the state.

It was raining when I reached the town. And though it was September, dark rain clouds hovered with mists fogging up the town. And to make it worse, the whole town was out of electricity!! It felt as if the universe knew what sort of emotional state I was in and conspired to make sure I stayed in that state.

I reached her bedside, held her hand and whispered “Nu, ka lo thleng tawh asin!”. Her eyes look at me without an ounce of recognition. My cousin called out to her, “Nu, hei Senmami a lo thleng asin. I koh I koh thin kha!”. No response as she stared at me. Fresh tears spilt on my cheeks as I cried. It was guttural, it was a heartbreaking sob triggered by the pain that has been knitting inside my core for so long. I didn’t care who was there, there was no room for etiquette. And as I sat by her bed, staring at the lifeless limp body, frozen by stroke; a fresh doze of emotions shot through my heart. It was a mixture of happiness to just see her and pain to see her in such a condition. Don't get me wrong! I had my silent "thank yous" to my Father that he granted my wish. 

But to be forgotten by the woman who raised you… the pain was magnificent.

Right at that moment, all I wanted and all I wished was to be remembered.

Sometimes, when you wish for something that bad, you start a ‘make-believe’ world. Just half an hour by her side, I started creating my make believe world.

I would like to believe that every squeeze of her hands tells me that she’s glad to see me, that she missed me; that I make her proud every single day. I would like to believe that every blank flicker of her eyes tells me that she loves me; that she’s happy that I came; that she remembers every memory that we’d made together.

I would like to believe that though the words are missing, though there isn’t a flicker of recognition in her eyes, somewhere behind the thick clouds that cover her, there is still that woman who raised me into the person that I am today.

And though I can’t see from the other end of the view, though I don’t know what it feels like to forget, there’s one thing I refuse to accept.

I refuse to be forgotten. 

And I refuse to give up the fight until I am remembered...

Through his eyes: B for 'Buata'

It's all in the eyes of the beholder!!

If only I could see the world through his eyes, life would be more beautiful than it already is.

I met him a few years ago here in Delhi. We attended different universities back then and I used to admire his spirit from a distance. He was a Master's student in JMI and also an active member of the Church Youth. A light hearted young man, you'd often catch him laughing away or in a deep conversation with his friends. I used to look at him and wondered how he could juggle everything with his condition.

You see, Buata was born blind. ('Visually challenged' might be a politically correct term). He has been tested to be above 95% visually impaired where he retains less than 5% of full sight. But his condition never stopped him from living a full and abundant life.

Lalbuatsaiha (B for Buata)

He was born in a little village called Keifang, attended a blind school in up till matriculation, graduated from a regular college and came to the Capital to pursue a Master degree. Recently he completed an MPhil, making history to be the first blind Mizo ever to complete a Master degree and an MPhil. Wait that's still not enough, today he's still working towards a doctorate degree. And to add more feathers to his already colourful crown of glory, he's an executive member in the JNU Christian Fellowship, the Convenor of the JNU Visually Challenged Forum and also the Co-Convenor of the North-East Student's Forum in JNU. Man!!! Some people are just out of this world!

But enough praises about his social skills and his academic accomplishments, one thing which makes Buata stands out from the rest of the world is not his diplomatic social skills or his pile of degrees, it's his attitude towards life and himself. I have never met a person (physically challenged or not) who doesn't have self-pity but Buata is one of the few people I know who doesn't dwell on one. Have you ever noticed that with some people you tend to 'not' talk about certain stuffs because you don't want to hurt them or end up in an awkward situation? Well, Buata has a whole new approach to those situations.

It was only a few months after he moved to our campus when I was out at a dhaba for a late night tea. I noticed Buata sitting alone in one of the benches when I approached him and said 'Hi'. His answer totally threw me off balance. He turned around to the direction of my voice, smiled and replied,

 " E... Zuali, Lo thu ve rawh. Zanin chu i van nalh em em ve" 

(Zuali, come and sit. You look very good tonight!)

I stopped in my tracks not knowing how to respond when he continued...  

"Tunlai chu i chhelo hrim hrim, i hmaibawl te hi a zia tawp, i no sur bawk sia"

(You look good these days, your pimples are showing mercy and you look positively glowing)

And then it hit me that it's one of his ways of breaking ice!! I laughed so hard that night. 

Somedays, he'll tell me that I gained weight when I'm in my lightest and just last night, he told me I've lost so much weight (I'm in my heaviest) compared to last year!! And somehow he added "Nikum kha chuan i hnungzang atangin i keh mai dawn amaw tih tur alawm". And we laughed and laughed. C'mon, it's a blind guy saying all that!!!! The irony of it all!

Once I met Buata walking alone at a busstop on my way back from the library, it was an hour past midnight. I called out to him and asked him where he's going. He waved his walking stick at me and hollered "Nula  hmeltha deuh ka rim dawn" and walked back into the dark!!

He's quite a venturer. A month after he moved into campus, he knew his way around every dhaba, every school, the library and yes even rides the bus to get to different hostels in campus. On nights when there are some social callings to attend to, we'd pick him up from the busstop nearby his hostel and we'd drop him there on the way back. On some nights when, we'd meet up for dinner, he'd be the first one to pick up the guitar and the whole gang would go screaming, singing and dancing to a familiar chorus of "Pari Zun" or "Tu zunzam nge?". He's way too independent that sometimes I'd totally forget about his condition.

At our picnic last year where he decided he will be the judge of the 'mixed wheelbarrow race' !

But there's one incident that I witnessed which I will always use to pull his leg...

A couple of years ago, I saw Buata at North East Night celebrations, being totally dependent and helpless during the function and  the dinner afterwards. He needs to be ushered, led by the hand and practically fed (oooOooooh!) and he couldn't take a step by himself. One thing I also noticed was that a very pretty, soft spoken Naga girl was hovering around him, running to his every whim! 

After that we'd tease him mercilessly, saying he knows who has the softest hands or who smells the nicest among all the Naga and Mizo girls in campus! He'd laugh along. But then again, his defenseless laughters are often louder and more boisterous!!

And with questions about the significant other, he's someone who, ironically, often gives hope to the guys here in campus. He'd say that he just needs to find one girl who loves him, not seven. If he had to find seven, he told me once, then he might find it a bit challenging. Well, he wouldn't tell me if there is someone. But  last month, he asked me which market in Delhi has the best and most comfortable salwar kameez and last night, while he was hesitantly posing for a picture with me (he didn't like his new haircut), he was on call with a female! Heeee!! 

Buata, the player: One girl next to him, another on the line!!!

It's people like Buata who made me believe in the power of the human spirit. It's people like him who makes life beautiful. It's people like him who struggled with hardships and somehow takes it as an easy stride, who reminds me about the beauty in life! And it's people like him who found tiny specks of sunlight in a dark dark cave, who makes me want to find beauty in everything. And most importantly, it's people like him who makes the most of what he's given and who doesn't blame God for the hardships in life but rather find blessings in everything. I'm glad I have met Buata in my life and I'm proud to call him a friend and an inspiration.

If someone like Buata, who hasn't seen the beauty of sunrise and sunset, the greenery of the forests during monsoon or a white lily blooming in the wilderness can have such a no-nonsense, self-pity-free, bright and positive outlook towards life, tell me who cannot??

At JNU Miho Kut 2011: Packing up from the park to continue with  evening programme after dinner. His favourite line that day "Lersia kawmchar zu aia thlum zawk ka rawn phawrh ang".

It's all in the eyes of the beholder. 

Sometimes, those eyes maybe blind, but as long as the person refused to be blind, there's beauty in the world and life is lived abundantly! 

His acceptance speech on recieving an Honorary Award from DMZP after he submitted his MPhil Dissertation.

So here's to Buata, his kickass attitude and a full life which will be abundantly lived!

Cheers!

A Father's Day post

Once during a Bible discussion group, a friend talked about how important a role that fathers play in our understanding and relationship with God, the Father. Misha went on to talk about her childhood and how difficult it was for her to understand God's love, because the only father figure she ever had in her life was a man who was abusive to her  for years and who, in the end, abandoned Misha and her mother for another woman. She later told me that the Bible story she had problems with the most was the parable of "The Prodigal Son". I remembered listening to her story often paused with sobs and sullen anger and for the first time, being really thankful for my father. 

That happened only a few years ago. I admit with shame that, before Misha's story, I had taken my father for granted.

So today, I'll take the time, get back on radar and blog about my dad. Forgive me if I brag, but if I do brag, let me brag about my thankfulness for having such a dad. 

I was 18 when my mother passed away. Until then, I must admit, I looked to my dad as more of a financial support than a parent. But these nine years without Ma has taught me how much of a parent he really is and how hard he tries to be a father to my brothers and I, each single day. I admire everything about my dad, but the one thing that stands irrevocably prominent is the Big Gesture that he made for me by allowing me to stay away from home for these many years. It might not be a big deal to some, but for me, it's the greatest sacrifice that my father can make!.

You see, I am an only daughter and I have been away from home since I turned 16. After Ma passed away, there hasn't been anyone to take care of and run the house. And with running the house, I literally mean 'running the house'. People who know me in person know that my father has a career in politics. And it is a known truth that politicians and pastors get criticized the most from the way their children lived their lives. Politicians and pastors again, need a good home support system. A support system which I, as an only daughter to such a father, should provide. No matter how hard I try to live my imperfect life perfectly, at the end of the day, I am but a daughter who stays a million miles away.

Soon after I graduated, uncles and aunts and what-nots have put constant pressure on my dad to ask me "to come home and take care of the house". And especially after dad lost in the last election, the pressure grew to "How are you going to support her? We all know how expensive living in Delhi is! Ask her to come home, a Master's degree is more than enough. Anymore than that, no one will marry her". My dad was quiet. And when it was time, he dropped me to the airport, waved me off and told me to go fight for my dreams. I know that all the uncles and aunts and what-nots, somehow, want the best for me and my dad.  They could see that my dad was all alone and he needed someone to take care of him and help him run the house. But despite their good will, giving me a chance at doing what I want to do was just out of question. Why? "Because you're a girl. Once you come of age you'll be married off. Why spend so much time and money on you?". And here I thought we are living in the 21st century!! Well, Hello!!

Once after overhearing such 'pressures' being put on my dad, I exploded. I went to my grandparents, bawled my eyes out and even went to the extent of telling my grandpa that my uncles should 'just shut up'. Word must have gotten around. It's been years since such 'pressures' were put on my dad. What was so precious to me was that my dad put his foot down against the family and choose to give me a chance at an education that I've always wanted. Even though he knew, by doing so, the house would be empty and he'd have no one to take care of him or keep him company.

My dad has always supported me in what I want to do, where I want to go and even who I want to date. Unlike many Mizo fathers who stay away from their daughters' emotional escapades, my dad has been there for me for the biggest heartbreak of my life and right now, giving me constant support through, yet, another heartbreak. When you have a father who cherish you as such, you'll never settle for second best. And when you have a father who trusts you so much, breaking his trust is the last thing you want to do.

Today, I want to tell my dad that he is my hero and his love is the reason why God's love seems so real to me. I want to tell my dad, that I fought for my dreams only because he fought for me; that if I am a trustworthy daughter, it's only because he has been a trustworthy dad. That if I am a woman who is respected, it's because he taught me to respect myself; that if  I ever meet a man who truly loves me, it's only because  my dad taught me how to love; that if I'm a good human being, it's only because I learnt it from him.

Pa,

Min hmangaihzia leh ka tana i inpek nasatzia ka hmuhin, Pathian hmangaihna ropuizia min hriatnawntir thin. Nang ang pa ka neih che avang hian, Pathian hmangaihna hi a takin ka hmu nawn fo thin a; Pathianin malsawmna min pek zawng zawng zinga ropui ber chu nangmah hi i ni asin. Pa, ka hmangaih che!

Happy Father's Day!

The Chronicles of Gopuii

I have a friend. A very dear friend in met here in University. And if I were asked to use a single word to describe her, I would chose nothing less than the word 'unique'. Yep! I've never come across anyone even remotely resembling her or her one-of-a-kind personality. 

It has been a tradition between our friends in campus to christen each other with 'Miho' names - names that we give each other once we came into campus. Some of our names have stuck well with us and among those is her name - 'Lalgo-i' which we lovingly 'pet-named' to 'Gopuii'. I will not explain why she has been given this name or what the names means. I hope the rest of this post will make the name slightly comprehensible.

The first time I met her , I was reminded of Sarah Connor from the movie Terminator 2. But then soft spoken bespectacled girl proved that her smile is the only thing she shared with the gun-trotting woman from the sci-fi movie. In my six years of knowing her, I've never heard her speak an angry word. Yet I've seen her getting pissed one night when the bunch was cooking in a room in a boys hostel and we decided to fry only one kilo of potato. I remembered her pulling her face taunt as she peeled all the three kilos and fry them all by herself. She wasn't going to be short of the loving carbs!

Gopuii is always a second slow, but she's never behind. The guys love to say that her processor's a second late. But she never gets into trouble for it. I guess it's because that's just the way she is and whatever force overlooked her simply accepts her and loves her for it. Sometimes I feel that the universe and its contents stay aligned just for her and her own timing.  One such episodes would definitely be what I'd call the 'Cheraw episode'. I've never seen Gopuii dancing Cheraw with the rhythm of the drum. And if you've known or seen what the dance is like, it's rest assured that she will get injured with each beat. But then of course, with the universe wildly rearranging itself to her timing, she never has any practice accidents. It's always the men who has the accidents. In the end, I remember some of our guys closing their eyes while beating the bamboo, the very moment Gopuii gets into their lane. That way none of them got hurt. Yep! sometimes I'm almost convinced that time waits for Gopuii!!

But sometimes, just sometimes, the universe doesn't always go out of its way for Gopuii. One such 'sometime' would be the Taekwondo class. She couldn't get a belt in her Taekwondo class because she counldn't finish 'the dance' with the right movements and most importantly with the right timing. She practiced so many times, even in bathrooms while brushing her teeth. But she couldn't get it right which in the end made her drop out of the class. The first failure of Gopuii, I must say. The other day, I walked into the Taekwondo class after a badminton match and I realized the class was for kids around ages 10 and below. It made me admire Gopuii for having the persistence to take classes with kids where she'd definitely be the biggest clumsiest one who couldn't even finish the dance.

But why is Gopuii so interesting?

I was told that once she wrapped and packed her desktop with elastic threads for a train journey. She makes sure she wears a Burqa-like covering whenever she goes out in the heat. Well, we all do that in peak heat don't we? But his classmate Biaka, once refuse to catch up with her because she was wearing a towel on top of her baseball cap and an umbrella on her way to class. Gopuii firmly refuses to use an alarm clock because it is always the best to wake up naturally without pushing the body.

Once someone asked me if she's stoned because he saw her walking with her head high, her neck elongated turning slowing from side to side and her lips curled up in a slow private smile. Another friend quickly jumped to her rescue before I could say anything, 'She's always been like that. I bet she doesn't even understand the meaning of getting stoned'. Ah!! She's well loved by all.

And I kid you not. The love can be seen in another episode. Gopuii once contested for the post of the School Councillor in the Student's Union election. I told her I'll help her with her campaigns anyway that I can, but what I could do was little as I wasn't from her school and I don't know many students. But anyway. once we were going towards the school basement to get handouts printed when she suddenly disappeared as we turned a curve. I went hunting for her and found her half an hour later, writing out her name in a piece of paper while talking to people sitting in the computer lab. And needless to say she swept the votes at the School of International Studies squeaky clean. She came out with the highest votes in the seven membered body which was elected.

But the thing which prompted me to write this post is her recent incident at the airport. We all do weird things when we're broke, right! But Gopuii is the only person I've known who asked for a 10 rupee discount in an airport coffee shop because she's broke. She later told me 'unamused' 'An la phallo zui '!!

I'm glad to have someone like her. It reminds me of the different, unique and lovely ways that God created us. If Gopuii had somehow tried to conform or tried to fit in a box, and be someone else. I'm sure she wouldn't be loveble, endearing and funny as she is now!

A few nights back, I texted her asking if I could do a blog post about her. She texted  a positive reply with the line "Don't destroy my future".

Gopui... No one can touch you or your future as long as you have such a kickass attitude. Have a long long blessed life and continue being who you are! 

^_^

Here she is, the beautiful (inside and out) Gopuii, still with remnants of her stint at martial arts!!

(BTW, her real name's Mapuii and nope! She ain't single... :P)

Of Facebook profile pictures, friend requests and the borderline Misandrist.

A Facebook friend vain enough to sport shades and a self-mobile-clicked photo as his profile picture once admitted to adding girls because they looked cute in their PP and later deleted them after he saw them in real life.  And he later complained about how misguiding PP's can be. 

Need I repeat the very funny fake account that took the Mizo Facebookers by storm just a couple of weeks back? I won't. Because I refuse to let that insignificant episode taint my blog. But then again I think that episode explains a lot about men and Facebook PPs.

Anyways, the fake account with the pretty PP and the vain friend's complaint triggered me to write this post. 

Let me tell you my side of the story with my Facebook profile pictures. Both untouched, both 'un-photoshopped'.

This picture is me.

The picture was taken about a year ago when I spotted this felt mustache at a friend's place and decided to fool around with it. I have no makeup on, my hair is uncombed, my thick glasses are perched on my button nose and this picture was taken with a 2mp phone camera. I liked this picture a lot. This is sooo me! The felt mustache and what my Sunday School students called my 'rubber face'. One particularly bold student told me later 'You're old but fun' after coming across this picture. Coming from a 11 year old, I took it as a major compliment.This picture was my Facebook PP for about three months before I switched it. 

 Let's go the other picture.

This picture is also me.

This picture was taken in November last year at the backstage of the campus Confluence Night. I was in traditional costume, full-on makeup, good lighting, good angle, my glasses are gone and the man behind the expensive camera is a man in love. (Ok!! I just got corny!). I think I look very pretty in this picture and I liked it but not as much as I like the first one. This picture was my PP for about a month until I changed it to this.

This caption is something I wish to be.

Yes, it's a bible caption but who hasn't ever dreamt of being the Proverbs 31 woman?? Well, I have! 

But my main point is that the amount of friend requests I received while using the 2nd picture is overwhelming. Overwhelming as in up to 13 requests in a day!! . But then after a month of deleting friend requests (I'm sorry, I don't add people I don't know), I got tired and changed the picture to the bible caption. And the friend requests drop down drastically to only one in a week, which came from a girl I know in North Delhi who realized she hasn't add me yet!  True Story!

I get that the second picture is appealing to many people. I think I look pretty in the picture too and that is exactly why I use it as a PP. I don't think I look pretty in the first picture, but I love it because one look at the picture will describe who I am - a person who's fun and who's not scared to make a fool of herself. And if I have to pick which one is more me, it's definitely the first picture. I am the person in the second picture once a week (Yep - I wear make-up only on Sundays and special occasions.), yet, nonetheless, it is still my picture. I've been told I'm photogenic and I heartily agree that I'm not as striking in person as I am in pictures. But that doesn't mean my pictures aren't me! I have the right to post both these two pictures because they are both me. Inspite of that, I've decided I will continue using captions as PPs until I recover from the shock of the superficiality of men I've encountered through the single PP!

A close friend of mine famously quoted about men "They are ruled by their vision and they have brains between their legs". Our male friends love to hate that quote but can do nothing much about her attitude because, I feel, they know she's right in some aspects.

I've been a borderline misandrist for quiet sometime now. So many times have I been disappointed by shallow men and their choices in life. So many times have I been bruised by men whose visions ruled their world. Just these experiences would have been enough to drive me to the border.  But there are just two things that kept me from crossing over to the island of Man-Haters:

1. I cannot judge a man because I'm not one. It's just the way we are wired. Just like men cannot get what gets us women going and what ticks us off. You cannot generalize it. Everyone is different.

2. And most importantly, I have a few good men in my life who still amaze me and surprise me with their decisions, their train of thoughts and the way they choose live their life. These handful of men keeps me from portraying men as disgusting creatures.

But then again, this is for all those men who add girls because of cute PP's and delete them later. _____ you. (I use the F word only in my mind.) Don't complain about the girl putting her best picture in her PP, she has every right to show her best to the world. It's not as if you didn't put up your best picture for your PP.  Stop accusing others of being a hypocrite when you are one too. There's more to life than being an arse!!

*

*

*

*

Ah!!! That's liberating!! :D

Of Parikrama, the 'high-note Toes' and being a choir member

It all started last Thursday afternoon. I had a late lunch at the Library canteen and walked around the campus, stretching my legs and killing time before my five o'clock English classes when a friend called me out of the blue. He wanted to know if I'm free for the evening for a song practice for background vocals for Parikrama. I paused. Parikrama??? "Yeah. The rockband." he replied.

A few hours later, four of us, Apuii, Moses, RC and I (one for each part) were whisked away in Sonam's car to a bungalow somewhere in Sainik farms. We came to learn that members of the band had a project for a movie soundtrack and they wanted a choir singing and humming in the background of the song. So after Sonam (Need I say he's the band's guitarist and married to a Mizo?) gave us the lines, we sat together preparing and harmonizing the notes. I must confess, we didn't do anything mighty for it was all of three lines and a bridge.

The recording, it turns out, was for a presentation. So until it got approved by the director of the movie, it's not the 'real' thing yet! But that didn't stop us from going into recording the next day. We spent a good couple of hours in the studio and wrapped it up as the band has a show the same evening and we had a funeral to attend. It was only for a few hours but were we proud to back up even just a demo recording for the band!! 

What surprised me was how pleasant the guys were during the practice and the recording. They talked a lot, laughed and joked with us and were so pleasant to work with. During the practice, either one of the three guys present there would pop in every ten minutes asking if we need anything. And during the recording, if there's one thing which amused everyone, it's my multicolored skull socks. And I thought I was so rocker-chic sporting them!! And before I could get over the amusement, Sonam would point at my toes yet again and laugh!!

When the recording started, My-oh-my, was I nervous!! Apuii was the first one to record her part and she didn't have any problem with it. But when it comes to me, my first take was all pitchy and flat! And I realized I  was shaking when I couldn't hold a note for a mere three seconds. But a few more takes, a lot of deep breaths and bouncing around the room helped me gain back my confidence until I came to a particularly high note. Then the choir girl in me broke loose. I tiptoed while working to hit the high note, silently wishing I had my high heels on!

Well, for people who didn't get the tiptoe, my way of hitting a high note is by transforming myself into a string puppet - neck stretched, shoulders pushed back and low and working every muscle in my legs down to the toes. I didn't even realized I was doing the string puppet posture when the room bursted out laughing. Moses and Apuii were quick to point to my toes while Nitin confessed that even though he was staring straight ahead, he couldn't help but notice my colorful pointy toes. Then he quickly added that his way of hitting a high note is by tilting his head with a slight neck twist. Ah! I should remember to look out for that  move when I go back and stalk him! Hee Hee!

This experience will go down in my CV for a lifetime. And whenever I come across another Parikrama fan, I'd tell them of the experience. But then again, coming back to the main motive for this post, I'd never have this experience had I not been an active member of the Delhi Mizo Choir.

I was 16 when I left home for my studies, and hardly active in my own church and choir. Even though I was a member of the church worship team during college, I didn't get the chance to be a part of any choir until I came to Delhi where I decided that I would not waste my time by NOT being a choir member. Of course, being a choir member here in Delhi takes a lot of your time, your money and energy. You have to pay for your own travel expenses to and fro practice, sacrifice your leisure time and most of the practice evenings, you miss dinner hour in campus. But then again, we all have to make sacrifices for the things we love doing and I LOVE singing in the choir. But it doesn't take long to realize that those little sacrifices pay off. My closest friends are people I met in the choir. They are people I rely on and people who pull me back on track when I needed it. My five years with the Delhi Mizo Choir has seen me, of all the people, singing for the President of India, the Prime Minister of India and countless other religious dignitaries. And now, a contrast, a Rockband.

I know for a fact that most parents back home, send their children out with the line " i zirna zu ngai pawimawh ber la, kohhran leh khawtlangah zuk inhmang tam suh ang che ". Even my family is not free of such parents. My uncles, still have a problem with me being an active member of the choir and a sunday school teacher. But then I thank God for a father who told me 10 years ago " Theihtawpin i zirlai i zir anga, mahse kohhran leh khawtlang hmantlakloh lehkhathiam nih hlau hle ang che". If I'm bragging, then please let me brag, because 10 years later, I'm just beginning to realize what a sound advice that was.

But then coming back to Parikrama, I decided that night that I'm way too old to be a screaming fan girl. But I now regret. I should've taken a picture with Nitin Malik. Apuii and I developed a huge 'old maid' crush on Parikrama's frontman but we decided to stay classy and composed!! Who were we kiddin'?? The composed girl wasn't so composed when she spotted the Les Paul Slash Signature that she stole a moment during a tea break for a picture ! Ah! How well do I know myself ?! I guess I was a bigger fan of the guitar than the vocalist! Sorry, Nitin, we still love your no-hair! :)

The Les Paul Slash Signature and the 'amusing' skull socks! :D

Of 'imperfect' families and 'fitting right in'!

At first, I thought it would be a quiet dinner for two friends who hardly have the time to catch up. Since there's no song practice after church, we had an impromptu plan where we'd catch up over a plate of crispy dry chilly lamb. The evening turned out to be more than we expected.

My friend, a very responsible daughter, soon started outing tearful tales of her family problems - problems, I know, bad enough to be shared with someone who's not family. While I listened to her, wishing there's something I could do, I also somehow admired her for having the strength to share problems so intimate and personal yet I felt so inadequate to be the one hearing all of the problems. We went for a short walk after dinner and she took an auto home. 

On my way back, as I closely hugged my jacket against the dipping temperature, it got me thinking about the complexities of life and family and about my own in particular. I don't have the perfect family. And I will lament on the incompleteness of my family for a lifetime. After all, losing a mother can never be fair to any human. There will be certain personal clashes in the family. After all, despite the fact that we share bloodlines, we are all born with different personalities. But at the end of the day, as dysfunctional as we are, we are still family. And in times of need, we will somehow turn to each other and stick by each other.

My mother was my role model. Right from the way she was active in church to the way she used to dress only in neutral colors. Till today, I look at situations and problems and try to envision my mother handling those and I try to do the same. She was my superwoman  who could defeat everything that could even slightly harm her family. My father is my hero. When I was a child, he was the man who could do no wrong and the invincible man. But it took me 18 years to realize that my parents were also human beings. My mother was but a woman who loves her family fiercely but who also, in the end, succumbed to cancer. My dad, somehow, was also just a man who was lost without the love of his life, his wife and the mother of his four children; a man who somehow struggled to stitch his life back together after burying his own heart. 

It turns out, my mother was no superwoman and my dad is nowhere near the invincible man I envisioned him to be. They turned out to be just human beings after all, prone to mistakes, problems and who could also be haunted by the bad decisions they made years ago. And my brothers... ah! my brothers! I could write books and books about their irresponsible behavior and how frustratingly human they can get.

The funniest thing about life and family, I feel, is that in life we don't get to choose our roots yet we get to be a part of them for the rest of our lives. And as dysfunctional or imperfect that our families are, we get to be a part of that imperfection for our lifetime. I've heard of people who've turned their backs on their families and choose to face the world alone. Definitely not me! I'm such a loser when it comes to facing the world alone. I don't want to face the world alone, I don't want to face problems solo. At the same time, I don't want to celebrate success alone and I don't want to go through milestones in life without someone to share it with. I need my family behind me, to celebrate with me and be proud of me when I succeed and to fall back on in times of loss.

I know I don't have the perfect family. But I have a family who stands by each other, a family who loves and respects me. My brothers and I don't always get along but we all want the best for each other. I have a Dad who loves and  values me in a way no man ever will. I had a mother for 18 years of my life and aunts who worry over me, sometimes too overwhelmingly. 'Overwhelming' meaning setting a meet-up between you and some 'eligible bachelor'.

I have nephews and nieces who all fight for a sleepover since I am the cool A Ni who lives in Delhi and comes home once a year. I never slept in a bed during my summer in Aizawl, my bed or even my dad's giant bed was too small for 3 sometimes 4 little bodies who'd suddenly take up four times the space of their body size when they fall asleep. So we always end up sleeping all over the floor!! I have a niece who's the spitting image of me and who even sounds like me, and another who shares my name (at least half of it).

I know I'm so much less than the perfect daughter. Despite all my goodwill and my 'genuine' love, I know I'm the daughter who stays a thousand miles away, the daughter who's hardly home for Christmas and the daughter who's hardly there for my dad even when he gets sick. I am but the aunt who disciplines the nieces too much that sometimes their mother refuses to speak to me; the sister who's everything but docile; the cook who's always close to burning water in the kitchen; the tigress who's ready to bite if anyone leaves a footprint on my freshly waxed floor and the sister who gives a long lecture while doing laundry for the brothers she hardly takes care of!

So somehow, I fit right in with my imperfect family. And I know that if I conquered the world or even landed at the bottom of it, my family are the people who'd be there with me. So what if we have problems we sometimes  find it difficult to weather? We're in this for life! And while so, we'll learn to live with and for each other!

So here's to my dysfunctional family. I'm proud and thankful to be a part of the imperfection!

Now and Then: Of 11 year olds and 'normal' childhood

For a few weeks, I've been giving English Classes to an 11 year old.  Lets call him Sam K. for the time being. Sam, an only child of two scientists, is in Seventh Grade and scores above 90% in all of his subjects except in English where he scored 84%. And I am brought in to give him an hour long class, four days a week after his school. 

Sam : a voracious reader who reads everything from science encyclopedias to Harry Potter; a science wiz who can spend an hour just educating me about the black hole and also still a pre-teen who sometimes complains to me about his mother who, he says, nags him a lot and about a certain classmate who sometimes bullies him. Sam, the smart kid who argues with me for 30 minutes on why 'Scylla and Charybdis' should not be used as such an idiom because with Charybdis, the whirlpool, you still have more chances of survival. His argument? The right centrifugal force and inertia can propel your ship right out of the giant whirlpool. I didn't have a comeback for that because it's been eight long years since I've read about centrifugal force, inertia and all that jargon.

This evening, I just spend a couple of hours with Mrs. K discussing about Sam's progress and drawbacks. And I am taken aback by what is expected of him. I can't blame the parents. It's a competitive world after all. But somehow, deep in my heart, I feel pity for the 11 year old boy who is already in Seventh Grade and who is under a lot of stress and pressure at that age. Mrs. K talked about her concerns with Sam, his performance and also his relations with his classmates in school. She noticed a lot of personality change in the past two years and she, as a mother, is concerned when Sam refuses to discuss what is happening in school. In short, she literally wanted me to dig into Sam and learn about his personal problems in school, get him to talk and learn what is bothering him so that the parents can take certain measures. And here I am, with the overwhelming responsibility of 'shrinking' Sam, an 11 year old who is already fluent in four major languages of the world.

On my way back, as I hugged my cardigan against the chilly evening wind, I could not help but compare the 11 year old me with Sam. I was in Class 5 when I was 11 and made my first major slip from 'O' grade to 'A' grade in my second term exams. My parents were unhappy with me but somehow let it slide. After all, there were only two 'O' graders in my class. I don't know half the things that Sam knows, yet I don't have half the pressure that Sam has. My mother, a high school teacher, never nagged me into doing my homework but helps me when needed. But if I didn't do my work, my teachers in school were more than ready to cane me or give me extra work. I was never forced to take extra classes or tuition classes after school as my parents were contented with my grades. I know it is unfair to compare my life with Sam's when I was his age a decade and a half ago, but I just could not help it.

My uncle in Aizawl wanted to put his 8 year old daughter in a boarding school in Delhi ever since she was 5. "I wanted her to have better opportunities" he told me. My cousin, a strong-headed girl for her age, strongly refused. Last summer when I went home, my uncle told me to somehow coax her to come to Delhi. "She looks up to you, she will listen to you" he quipped. When I talked to Esther, her little face fell and she cried when she said she doesn't want to live in a place where she can't see her siblings everyday. I stopped then and there. I never resumed the conversation again. I thought the coaxing is unfair to her.

I cannot say the way we were brought up was the best. My parents never raised bars too high for me and my brothers. One sibling is never compared to the other. 'Each of you have your own personalities and your own calibre' my mother used to tell me. So we grew up contented with whatever marks and results we got. My  parents never had the finances to send us to boarding schools until we finished high school. My mother told me she never found the need to send me to a boarding school, when I got accepted in 'the best school in Aizawl'. I don't know if that would be the same, had we the finances.

Everyone in my generation grew up wanting to be doctors, engineers or IAS officers. Though we don't even know what those were at first. Kids, these days, grow up wanting to be much more - dancers, artists, rockstars, CEO's, lawyers, cardiologists, astronauts. I wanted to be a doctor when I was a kid but I decided I wanted to teach during my secondary school. My parents were fine with me when I changed my stream in college and my dad was ecstatic when I decided I want to go into research after a Master's degree instead of hunting for a job. The case, I believe, might not be the same for another generation. 

I want to be a mother at least by the time I'm 35. Sheesh!! I cannot say I will have the same attitude as my parents with my (future) kids. The bars will certainly be raised by the time they get to high school. After all, it will be a more competitive environment than the one we had. But will I make my son go through the stress and pressure Sam has to go through everyday? Will I want to send my daughter away to a boarding school at a tender age in order to give her 'better opportunities'? 

I know that my children cannot have the sort of childhood that I have. It's a changing world after all. But I would want them to have a stress-free, pressure-free normal childhood where they grow up with their siblings. I would want to share their test marks, their school picnics, their first crushes and their turbulent teenage years instead of sending them away to a boarding school. But then again, 'normal' changes after every decade or so. So by our kids' generation, maybe a stressed, pressured childhood would be the 'normal' childhood. To each his own. But then if the case is such, I will definitely teach them how to 'live outside the box'.

But then again, why do I even write a post on such topics?? I'm not even married yet! What can I say? I am, but, the myopic girl who suffers from perpetual hypermetropia.

My Rainbow: Colors in my Life.

I love colors. And even though I have my sepia tone days when I enjoy being in one tone and all alone, most of the time I relish the colors in my life.

If you ask me what is my favorite colour, I'd quickly reply 'Rainbow' without even missing the blink of an eye! There are people who make my life colorful. Crazy, one of a kind people who make my life bright and happy. I love their little sparks and their little details, and to use a word from a certain movie, their 'ness'!!

So here's a tribute to the Colors in my life and their crazy little details!

The Color called Nancy : The Roommate

A paradox personified. A tomboy scared of mantis, grasshoppers and insects; a Buddhist who is partial to stray animals who enter our floor and writes a blog she prefers people not to read. She is so scared of ghosts that every time we tell ghosts stories, she'd sleep with a totem of her deity under her pillow! The selfish Buddhist! She suffers from a mild case of OCD and is also a big sucker in love... Huge!!

A Facebook quitter but a Blackberry addict who labels the stray dogs in campus as 'personality-less' and says they 'howl without class'. Recently, she admitted to losing all her dance moves! I wonder why!? Of all the roommates I've had in this University, she's definitely the best!


The Color called Kuki : The Future Maid of Honor

Someone who lives outside the box. She lives in a flat which had been burgled once and has been haunted annually for the past four years.  Yet she hosts the best parties I ever went to.We were born on consecutive dates. Except for the year. She's known under three terms - Social worker, Loudest Soprano in choir, Sunday School teacher. An antihistamine addict with the perpetual chubby cheeks. She's a Super Aunt to the three most energetic boys in the world and her most prized possession  is a picture in her teenage years taken with Aamir Khan.

The last time I checked if she really wanted me to be my MOH if I decide to get married, she gave me the Cobra Stare "Hmingthanzual, min hman loh chuan i na ang"

The Color called Thangpuia: The Boyfriend

The boyfriend for four and a half years who's a failed choir singer, failed dancer, failed musician, failed photographer(What did I get myself into?)  and mathematician. (ah! that explains it all!). He's been told he  looks 35 ever since he was in college. Tall, not so dark, handsome (OK... I'm prejudiced!). The Lai man who  talks to me in Lai only when he wants to get to my good side and smokes only when he wants to spite me. He hates Facebook, my short haircut and converse shoes but loves Shrek, Kungfu Panda, Kelly Clarkson and Adele. A formal dresser who started wearing jeans only after we went out.

Recently he tells me he wants to buy a good camera. 'The photographer in me urges me to' he quips. My reply? 'An expensive camera doesn't make you a photographer!'

The Color called Engkima : The Loudspeaker

My honorary brother who is the LOUDest person I've ever known. We live in the same hostel and his room is my refuge when I get sick or once during an earthquake after-shock. A kohhran Upa in South Delhi Mizo Inkhawm!! I'm not kidding!! Writer, academician, poet with such magnetic personality which even attracts bed bugs. A strong-headed man with the weirdest fashion sense. Yes! he wore only a Mizo-made chappal till he got his master's degree and refused to wear a belt till he completed his MPhil degree. His worse habit is chewing on his dentures! I always get scared that he'll accidentally swallow it! He gains an insurmountable level of confidence from his mock-relationship with the Color Nancy!

His latest conquest? Chheihlam minus the bending!!

The Color called Ben : The Rockstar

My Sunday School co-teacher who's known as Big Ben or Ben Ten among the kids. It amuses me sometimes that he teaches teenagers when he looks like one. We make the perfect ten. He the one, I the zero. I once ran up to kiss him onstage during our Student's Union rock nite (on the cheeks.. Relax!). He got himself a groupie that night, and I happily ticked off a point in my 'List of Things to do before I turn 30!". He doesn't eat pork and has two addresses in Delhi - a weekday address and a weekend address! He's got two elder brothers and hence is named Pazawna. When I learnt he has a younger brother, I asked if his brother's name is Pahlira. Nope!! He's named Lalchhuanawma! :D

My favorite singer who's in charge of the music in the upcoming Delhi Mizo Kut. I made a request for him to sing a Justin Bieber song, just to spite him. It worked. He didn't even smile when I mentioned the J word!


The Color called Becki : The Dictator 

The hairdresser who made the drastic change in my hair length. She's the head contralto in the choir who'd give acid stares to anyone who hits the wrong tone. Hence earning the title - the Dictator. A frequent meal skipper who looks half her age. A carpenter, seamstress and artist all rolled into one. She buys boots only in summer and already had her wedding dress designed which she wants to handstitch by herself. All we need now, is a guy to marry.

Currently in a dilemma on how to survive the harsh Manali winter while helping care of her soon- to- be -born nephew/niece. "I'll buy gloves. Good ones!" she quickly add. I smiled. Gloves? For the freezing Manali winter! Indeed!

The Color called RSa : The Friend 'n' Foe

Most sarcastic person I've ever known who is passionate on picking on me. 'Ready made' person when it comes to the 1 AM phone calls I'd make from the airport. He'll diligently pick me in 20 minutes. And thus earned his name Tuaitereka. Person with worst sleeping habit. Older girls find him cute **wink**. A grown man who's scared to sleep in the dark. A tea addict who tells me I'm the worst badminton partner ever yet who's a member of our 'baby-sitter's club'. Blessed enough to have the warmest family in town. A computer nerd, a good tenor and has the best footwork to an old Grease song! I can't think of a day spent with him without him insulting me. I can't think of a day spent with him without me insulting him either!

He texted me two days ago telling me that he'll remember me bailing his birthday dinner, for a long long time! The 'long long time' takes exactly 26 hours! My friend, my foe!

The Roommate, The Boyfriend, The Future MOH, The Loudspeaker, The Rockstar, The Dictator, The Friend 'n' Foe!

And how could I forget my Colors from last season! Nope, they're not out of style, they're vintage!

The Color called Jonathan : The Hug Bear

My best friend in college who at lost for words, told me that we'll share his mother the day my mother passed away! He used to date a girl half his size in college and now dates another girl, still half his size. A Shrek enthusiast who bloated up after we moved away for our Master's degree. A blogger, a writer, a singer, a songwriter and a musician all rolled into one. But, unfortunately, is a failed dancer. I once got bruised ribs from dancing with him.

After living away from him for 3 years, I thought we're not that close anymore until that one night when he puts me up on the phone all night after an exhausting day with absolutely no concern! Or guilt when my sinusitis peaked the next day! His synonym? No apologies = best friends!

The Color called Ronald T : The One who got away (with calling me 'fat and funny')

My ex co-group coordinator in the campus Christian fellowship. The one person who dares call me 'fat and funny'. Sad I still can't get back at him. Hence, 'the one who got away'. An experimental photographer who I don't really trust to be my wedding photographer. Just yet. Another Blackberry Addict in my rainbow, a tweetheart, blogger and the only guy I trusted enough to have a bottle of Breezer with. A mediocre singer and sadly a failed dancer (Remember the weird hands in the Potter choreography?).

Last time he was in town, he wanted to surprise me with dinner but then I missed his call. The next day, I got lectured meticulously (complete with the finger) for spoiling his surprise and then dragged off to the nearby mall in my sleep sweater and crocs! When protested for inappropriate clothing, he raised his voice, just a few octaves higher "Just think of how expensive your crocs are"!!

The  Color called Sam : The Midget

The one who presence always make me shrink. Literally. A 6 foot tall (I think. At least he looks that tall) Tamil who eats pork. He's also the first Tamil guy I met who didn't sport facial hair. Which, now I realized, was just a phase he was going through!! A tweetheart and a blogger who swears in the middle of a bible seminary and has the most infectious grin. The Ex-worship Secretary and the Groovy dancer in spite of the height. Yep I can still see him dancing on the Rocks at Easter Sunrise Service a few years back.

'If I'm a dancer, you'd be the pole' I used to say.  5 years later, I realized I don't need to be a dancer for him to be the pole! He's still the perfect long line!

The Hug Bear, The One who got away, The Midget

I know that hours after posting this, I will receive texts, Facebook messages or phone calls from these people accusing me of stealing Facebook pictures or publicizing their little details.

I have only one reply " I Love you too. Muah" :P

A Letter, a year-old.

I came across another one for my unmailed letters safely tucked away in one of my files. 

It's a year old letter but now at least, I have the courage to let it be read!

Dated: 6th October 2010

Ron,

Long time eh? I was just going through some of our old pictures and I thought of you. The old videos that we made, we all looked so happy then!! The other day, I wandered into Mezbaan and ate alone. I missed you guys so much! But imagine my frustration when I realized I didn't carry my Student's ID. I had to pay full price. 

How are you doing? How's life at your end? Hope everything’s good and well.

Well, for starters, this is not a happy mail! Cause I’m badly looking for a place to vent, which I can’t find these days. I feel bad venting out to someone who’s so far away and I may never click the 'send' button to this mail, but anyway the writing part is at least therapeutic.

Remember when I use to say that I can’t wait to be 26 and that I’ve been waiting for the age since I was 17?? Well, 26’s just around the corner and my life is in shambles. Lately, I’ve been thinking that maybe 26 is the age that I finally succumb to life’s miseries. Nothing’s been working out lately, life’s not at all beautiful and my rose-colored spectacles haven’t been working for quite sometime.

I have lots of problems back home and I'm too far away to deal with it! My father's been sick for two weeks now and last night I was up all night thinking about the failure that I am as the only daughter of the household. The daughter who is but a thousand miles away!

I am in a relationship with a guy I can’t communicate with. We didn't start off like this. Is this what happens to people after three long years in a relationship, where you start taking each other for granted?! And I'm sick of people sticking their noses in our relationship. We're just two insignificant people and who in the world  would even have the time, energy or the desire to put a wedge between us?? Well, guess what. Maybe we're not that insignificant after all!! What can I say?? I don’t want to be a drama queen. But drama just follows me J.

I am so very disillusioned with the whole idea of relationships, marriage and family right now! I just can't shake off the feeling that after all this time, after all these years and after everything I've been through, I stand, but, alone. Sometimes, I feel I just want to quit everything and retreat in a hole. Sometimes I want to quit teaching in Sunday School! I don’t think I can be a role model to my kids. I feel like a fraud to teach about Christian life and relationships to teenagers when I can hardly handle my own. Sometimes, I am tired of putting up a brave front. These days, the perpetual smiles never reach my eyes! I just want to crumble into pieces but I also know I just can’t! So I hold myself up and smile for the world to see.


Last week, a friend came to me to help her on her rocky relationship. She told me that I’m one of the strongest person she knows. I froze and realized I'm a hypocrite... all over again!

Academically, I’m a snail. I'm still waiting for my Viva Voce while doing background reading for the proposal for my supposed doctoral thesis.

Healthwise, the past two months had me suffering from dengue TWICE!!! And the whole time, I was  helping take care of the boyfriend's mother during her hip replacement surgery. Friends say that I'm the one person who takes dengue fever as a breeze. But I don't! The whole time I thought it was viral fever and symptoms of over-exhaustion. So I'd pop another pill, refill my bottle with ORS and head off to the hospital to help. I was diagnosed only when my post-fever rash came!

Financially, I'm broke! L So is my laptop! L I'm saving up for a new one. And I don’t know if I can pay for my tickets home for Christmas.

Anyways, that’s the story of the my life at the age I so wanted to reach!!!

Somehow, I realized I always blamed myself for the bad things that happen to me; make myself miserable and torment myself. But then at this ‘golden’ age, I’ve also realized that life is still going to torment me mightily anyway even if I don’t torment myself. So I’ve decided that I have the right to wallow in self-pity and cry my heart out… once in a while!

That was one year ago....

I remembered feeling like I've hit rock bottom while writing this, feeling like my life would be just a huge big gloom of eternal rainy days!

One year later, what is my life like?? It's still not perfect but it's much much better! Did I even notice or gave myself a self-appreciated "pat on the back" for how well I've survived the dark days?? Hardly!

Time and time again, I've learnt that the tough times never last. Yet time and time again, I tend to dwell focusing on the dark rain-clouds.

This letter is just another reminder.

To remind myself everyday that you can't always be a worm. One day, sooner or later, you'll break out into beautiful butterfly! And it doesn't matter if your butterfly lives for three short summer days. The point is, the worm is just one cycle away from being a butterfly.

Happy 24th "Da Who"

Today, I mean, yesterday was my baby brother's birthday. He just turned 24. 

I am such a bad sister. I didn't talk to him. Not that I forgot, but when I couldn't get through after six attempts, I guess it kinda slipped my mind. Which, I know, is absolutely no excuse! I am such a horrible sister. Period. I must have gotten distracted over the much-hyped Dhaba dinner with the girls and another, which never happened. Shame on me, and shame on you too, Duat Vin and Madamji!! When it finally registered that I didn't call the birthday boy, it was already past midnight, which means it's already too late to call him.

But anyway, it's 4:19 AM on my clock as I am typing this line. I've gotten up again after an unsuccessful attempt to sleep with the guilt. It turns out Guilt is the worst enemy of an insomniac. So here I am writing a special post about the 'man' who means so much to me.

I remembered the first time I met Hutea. It was on the day he was born and I was just two months shy of three. I remembered peeping inside my parent's room when they were changing the baby, and asking my Grandma, "Pi, tinge naute ek hi a dum vek a?".

I remembered the first time I broke his toy, the 'crawling soldier'. I cried louder than he did.

I remembered feeling jealous of the bond that he shared with Ma. Him being the youngest, he got a lot of attention from everyone.

I remembered that one time when I babysat him when he was sick. I made a mistake in measuring the medicine and gave him double the dose of what I was suppose to give him. I remembered crying aloud and refusing to eat when he was taken to the hospital after he suffered from seizures.

I remembered that day when we cut off Ma's favorite PJs to make him a superhero costume. Boy! Were we scolded bad!!

I remembered that day when he had the accident that tore out all his upper teeth. He fell from three floors to the road. We all thought he'd die that day. And he was just 4. The little buster was such a fighter after all. I still hate the doctors, that day, who stitched back his gums without a shot of LA. Hutea later told me that it felt like they were putting a burning coal in his gums with each stitch they made. And through it all, he didn't cry. My brave fella!

I remembered that night when we read a horror story book and he was scared to go to his room. He slept with me on my bed that night.

I remembered the way he'd make fun of Westlife (my favorite, back then) just because he wanted to see me go mad.

I remembered him threatening my first ever boyfriend. His exact words "Hurt her, then you'll have to deal with me"

I remembered him crying, hanging his head low, on Ma's funeral. I remembered hearing soft sniffles coming from his bed that night.

I remembered his final words to his constantly cheating ex-girlfriend who always wanted to come back after, "Ui bakin a luak a ei ngai hleinem. Ui i ni ami?". Harsh words right?? Don't blame him. He learnt it from me.

I remembered the day he called me up to tell me he graduated. I was so proud to have a baby brother who's an engineer.

Yet, I remembered him coming up to me last summer when I was home, with something as simple as his dandruff problem. 

Nontheless, he's a great brother, a strict and irritating uncle, a confused soul (sometimes), a good son, an athlete, an entertainer, a musician and a whole lotta more.

He's 24 now.

Yet he will always be the 8 year old who'd behead my barbie dolls and the 14 year old who'd draw a missing tooth on my treasured Mark Feehily posters.

He's 24 now.

Yet he still asks me to scrub his back in the bath or sometimes even shampoo his head for him.

He's 24 now.

But last time I shared him my boyfriend problems, he grinned excitedly "Hey, break up with him already. Of course, you know I'll never let you get married until you find someone who can take care of me like you do".

He's 24 now.

But when I'm around he still insists I help him pick a shirt, a sock or even underwear.

He's 24 now.

But he'll always be the baby brother I adore.

"Da Who". 

I love you.... more!

Happy Birthday

I promise to call.... before church today!

Hutea with his favorite niece: Total foodies and wai wai addicts!

My favorite pic in the summer (ignoring the blur). Genuine happy faces!