Have you ever felt 'barely there'? Not in terms of education, career or success, but as a person. As your friends are out partying, falling in love, building memories, doing silly things, and even making dreams come true, you start becoming 'barely there'. It might be because they're moving forward in life, or it might be because you're no longer 'cool' enough for them. Occasionally, one or two of them do check in on you, but soon enough the interest dies down and again, you become dispensable. How exactly do you determine your value and impact on someone else when the world has taught us how to skillfully lie through our teeth? This has nothing to do with jealousy, but it most definitely is one of the reasons why I'm dead set on leaving.

Role Model

According to the dictionary, a role model is “a person who serves as a model in a particular behavioral or social role for another person to emulate” (The American Heritage Stedman's Medical Dictionary, n.d.). To many, role models are usually people who are much older and experienced, probably veterans in their field. However, my role model is far from old. In fact, she has not even completed her high school studies.

Shanti is a 16 year old Hindi girl who has eyes the shade of hazelnut. She also has lavish dark brown locks that cascade down one side of her shoulder, in the form of a braid. I first met Shanti in Lucknow, India last year, when I led a team of youths on an overseas Youth Expedition Project (YEP). She was one of the oldest girls in the children’s home that we visited, and she was always seen scurrying around the place; be it cleaning after a younger one, or preparing our next meal.

Despite her busy schedule, I was lucky enough to have a chat with her on the last night that we were in Lucknow. I was told that every child in this home had a ‘story’ and somehow I was drawn towards wanting to know more about her. Needless did I know, I was about to take a ride on the emotional roller coaster, a ride that I would never forget. As we sat under the moonlight, Shanti began unraveling the past that not many know of.

Shanti was 4 years old when she lost her mother, brother and sister because of a flood, leaving her brother, father and herself behind. Her mother was the village head and the family depended on her income, but because of the incident, her father who was once a well-known educator, turned to the streets to beg and feed Shanti and her brother. As time passed, Shanti s father was overwhelmed with the responsibilities, and in his bit to escape the pressure, he went away to seek a better life, leaving 7 year old Shanti and her brother behind. That was when their lives spiraled for the worst. Without a roof above their heads, Shanti and her brother had to live on the railway station, and resorted to begging and stealing in order to survive. At times, sleeping the cold and hunger off was the only solution they had. One could never fathom the thought of living in such an extreme condition, but in reality, this is the life of a ‘railway kid’ in India.

Fortunately, her brother heard about the children’s home that Shanti is currently living in, and decided to send her over. Shanti finally had a roof over her head and could get her basic needs met, but the day that she arrived at the home, was also the last day she would hear from her brother. I paused to look at Shanti  and even though there was a tinge of sadness in her eyes as she gave a recount of her experience, she looked back at me with a wide smile on her face.

Despite all that has happened, this year marks the tenth year that Shanti has been living in this home and she is still optimistic and forward-driven. With a positive mindset, Shanti is making plans to become a doctor after completing her studies. Believing firmly in ‘paying it forward’, Shanti even plans to set up a hospital upon graduation in order to provide free health care to “her people”. Her determination never ceases to amaze me.

The reason why Shanti is my role model is because of her confidence, determination and efforts to strive, and pull away from poverty while helping those in need. It is humbling and amazing to know that a 16 year old can place others before herself. With plans to commit her time, money and love, Shanti expects nothing in return except to achieve the desired outcome; to provide free healthcare so that “her people” can be healthy and happy.

A child once told me that when he grows up, he wants to be Superman. To me, when I grow up, I want to be just like Shanti.

*p/s: The real name of the person isn't used for the sake of confidentiality. And no, I'm not going to reveal the location nor the name of the home as well. I gave you my word and I'm keeping it, Shanti*.

Serenity

Sitting here under the void deck as I wait for my final class to begin might seem like an absolute waste of time, when I should really be focusing on completing my overdued essays, or using the time to recuperate and reenergize my body. However, I am loving every bit of it, just sitting here for that solid forty-five minutes or so.

From the serenity of the homely neighborhood, to the occasional cackle from the crows on a nearby tree, to the crisp of a wrapper dancing with the wind, to the feeling of freedom as my opulent locks of hair interacts so mildly with the wind and leaps forth to wherever it takes it.

Just like my hair, I feel the freedom, but as I heave my shoulders and inhale deeply, I am struck with the realization that similarly to how my hair is stuck to my scalp, I too am stuck in the abyss of time and space...

Tell me about yourself

So, tell me about yourself.

­            Well... Right from an early age, the dynamics of how the mind worked fascinated me. Throughout my early childhood, I spent most of my time observing and interacting with my playmate, Raj, who had autism. His unusual behaviors and ways of communicating forced me to question the meaning behind his actions. Being an inquisitive child that I was, I soon developed a deeper interest in the aspects of psychology, and how people think, act, react and interacted with each other. I was also curious about how individuals were so different from each other, when in fact, we were all genetically similar. As I grew older, I was naturally drawn towards finding out how emotions and feelings affected our daily lives. The information that I gathered over the years have been useful on a personal level as they provided me with a better understanding on various human stressor factors.

      After completing my GCE ‘O’ Levels Examinations, I enrolled for a Diploma in Early Childhood because interacting with Raj over the years spurred me to become an educator so that children like Raj were equal opportunities to develop and become leaders of tomorrow. The study on Psychology for young children inspired my inquisitive personality as I learned about the different types of disabilities, their causes and diagnosis, as well as the forms of interventions that could aid those with disabilities to ease into society. My thirst for more information grew and after exhausting all my course materials, I turned to other sources of information. I read up the works and experiments of Jean Piaget, B.F Skinner and Sigmund Freud. I opine in Skinner’s views on how positive reinforcement is more effective at changing and establishing behavior than punishment. I also sourced for authors like Torey Hayden who wrote about her experiences when teaching children with special needs.

Upon graduation, I applied for a teaching position in a school for children with special needs, and the experiences provided me with opportunities to gain insights into school environments, working alongside various professionals to nurture children holistically. The opportunities to develop curriculum, implement lessons and design interventions to help children with special needs adapt to the classroom gave me a better understanding of the needs of these children and how I could improve their learning experiences.  Also, my volunteer work mentoring children from underprivileged families continued to widen my knowledge on psychology and personal development. Above all, these experiences enabled me to hone my oratory skills, patience and confidence as I deal with different children, parents, and other stakeholders in the community. The value of meaningful work is definitely abided through volunteer work and improving the life of others, thus sparking my interest in Social Work as well.

Apart from that, my consistent academic achievements and commitments in school are extremely important to me. Throughout the three years in school, I was given numerous opportunities to hone my leadership skills through various projects such as the production of a motivational video for a celebratory event for my peers, and presentations. I was also selected as an ambassador for my school and conducted duties overseeing school events.

Opportunities to lead a team of youths to countries such as Vietnam, Philippines and India as part of overseas study trips and youth expedition projects enabled me to put my theoretical knowledge into practical use as we conducted lessons and contributed to community work to improve the standard of living for our counterparts. These experiences widened my perspectives on social issues such as poverty and it has also invoked in me, a deeper appreciation towards life; to count our blessings.  The valuable life-long learning gained from these trips also inspired me and some friends to start-up a new co-curricular activity in school; “FoodAID”, that is aimed at educating students on the importance of healthy eating, as well as to promote awareness and contributions to the larger society through food-related fundraising events.

In contrast, I also spend my spare time engaging in sports such as volleyball, and have represented my school in National competitions. The intensity of the games and training has taught me about perseverance and teamwork, which are important factors in life so as to stay highly motivated.

Above all, I believe that I am a determined and disciplined individual with realistic goals. I have taken on full and active roles in my school and workplace, I intend on doing the same throughout the rest of my life...

No... Tell me about yourself. The real you.

To start things off, my name is Kethlyn. G. Kethlyn Gayatiri. I hate my name. Well, not all of it. Just the Gayatiri bit. Why? Because it is too common. Okay, the spelling isn't, but the pronunciation of it is. And no, it is not pronounced as ga-ya-ti-ri. It's guy-tree. That's the other reason why I hate it. No one ever gets it right. No one really gets Kethlyn pronounced right either, but I like Kethlyn. 

I am Indian. It took me a while to accept that fact. More like, 21 years and still going kind of 'a while'. It was only recently that I came to the realization that I did not hate the culture or the people belonging to this race. In fact, I love the rich culture; the colours, the food, the music, the joy, the drama! I discovered that the reason why I wasn't proud to call myself an Indian was because of the hate that this race was getting. Indians were the butt of many jokes, and we were often cast as smelly, or that we were rapists, perverts, drunkards, or loud and irresponsible beings. In addition, I lost a lot of opportunities to befriend people once they found out that I was an Indian. It took me some time to realize that these people weren't worth my time. I didn't have to hide away from the fact that I was an Indian, but I still didn't see the need to flaunt it. It might be hard to understand right now, but I just hate being 'catergorized'. After all, we all bleed red, so why do we still segregate people based on their skin, eye and hair colour, or their religions and beliefs?

Despite being an Indian, I look nothing like one, the stereotypical huge eyes, long lashes, and the thick opulent locks of hair. I used to have long wavy locks but I chopped them off because I felt like it. I've had all lengths of hair, really. From long wavy lavish locks, to shoulder length, to dreadlocks, then to a bob, a pixie, and now it's at the disgusting length; it curls in the oddest places, yet it's not long enough to be tied. It's perfect to hide my ears though. They stick out at the ends. They're huge at the same time, so I decorate them with piercings.

I like piercings. And tattoos. And dermal anchors. I don't like branding though and I certainly am not a masochist. I think of my body as a walking canvas; a piece of artwork, or many artworks mashed together. I like art, but I'm not necessarily good at it. However, I like picturing everything I interact with, as a form of artwork. Music is art, so is the sky and the clouds, and birth, and love, and death, and feelings and emotions and rain and evaporation, and the taste of food. Even how the man stacks the cans in the store is a form of art to me. But art isn't just art. Art is anything and everything. But so is music.

I like music, but I don't have a favorite artist. I do however, have playlists built based on the weather, and my mood. On rainy days, I sip hot chocolate and crinkle my toes under the covers as I laze around to the soothing voices of Mogwai, Dido, Adele, John Mayer, Jason Mraz, The Civil Wars, and Colbie Caillat. Sometimes, when I feel like jumping around and getting dizzy from unnecessary headbanging, I load up the playlist of hits by Paramore, Blink-182, Linkin Park, Metallica, and sometimes even Slipknot. At times, I throw myself against the bed and sing my heart out to Taylor Swift and Adele, and slowly build up the walls around my heart with hits by P!nk and Avril Lavigne. There is no specific reason why I feel this way. Sometimes, it's 'just because'. I like saying just because. I think it's a valid reason. Anyways... Who can forget the Oldies? Richie Valens, Elvis Presley, Johnny Cash, Selena Quintanilla, Frank Sinatra, ABBA, Air supply, Cyndi Lauper, Bee Gees, Ray Charles, Phil Collins, Elton John. Oldy but a goody.

I like reading too. And I hope that by now you would've realized that I don't really structure whatever I am typing as opposed to the essays that I write. Reading my blog entry or hearing me speak is similar to watching the release of a million butterflies. I don't even know if that makes any sense, but what I meant to say is that I tend to go into a 'verbal diarrhea' and sputter everything on my mind before the train of thought leaves. Now, where was I? Oh right, books. I don't really know what kind of books I read. Kinokuniya calls them 'Survival Literature'. My mum hates it whenever I read this kind of books, because she thinks that I get too emotionally attached to the characters in the books that I might end up going under depression, or worst, committing suicide. I think its funny that she thinks that way. I get heavily attached to the characters because I feel their pain, but at the same time their stories always motivate me even more. So I don't see how I can ever commit suicide because of such a book. Books are a great way to escape reality. You get to travel, you get live another life, you get to soak up the atmosphere, you breathe and you feel invincible. But you know what gets to me every single time? Flipping the last page of the book, and feeling a sense of longing, as if you've just lost a really close friend. Do you get that sometimes?

On days that I feel that way, I usually curl up in bed all day, or head out to my 'secret havens'. They're usually the airport, or the beach but I like to think of them as hiding places because I watch too much of Peter Pan. I used to think that I could fly away to Neverland, but till this day, he never came to my window. I used to think that I was a princess too, but that clearly isn't happening. In fact I used to think of a lot of things, because as a kid, thinking about all of these and fantasizing about them didn't hurt. In fact it was encouraged because it was a part of my imagination which led up to creativity. But all that has since died, or have been swept under my bed alongside all the dust bunnies. 

Either ways, I'm starting to get bored with this entry. That's the thing about me. I can never retain enough attention to complete a task, before hopping on to the next. That's probably why I'm the last person you should ask out on a study date. . I retained enough attention to pass my exams though, and enough attention to read a book in one sitting, but I guess it all depends on when my body is ready?

I don't necessarily think I'm weird. I like candy, and chocolate, and movies, and ice cream and things, just like anyone else. I also like wearing toe-socks and eating rice using chopsticks. I like to say the word 'fuck' as well. I don't usually curse, but when I do, I say 'fuck' a lot. I also like eating cereals, a lot. A friend of mine once said that I inhale them. That's funny, because I wouldn't want a lucky charm stuck up my nose. When I'm out shopping, I usually pick the second or third item when I'm buying something that's hanging on a rack. I never pick the first, only because I assume that everyone's like me; I always squeeze or crush the contents in first item that is hanging on the rack. I like squishing marshmallows and gummy things too. And I like jabbing my finger into rolls of toilet paper. I like placing my feet on perfect square tiles and if I stepped on a line with my left foot, then I must do so with my right. I am not weird, I just have quirks. I hate being tapped on my shoulder though. And I am ticklish in every spot, and I do mean every spot. 

I believe in everything that is written about an Aries. I am an Aries, and I adore this masculine, stubborn little creature that ram things with his head. I do the same too, which is probably why I get headaches so often. I love looking horoscopes, and palm reading, and fortune telling and everything else that can't be seen with the naked eye. I wish I was a witch, a good witch of course because the bad witch dies in the Wizard of Oz. She was killed with the house. I always wanted the red shoes that Dorothy had, but I never could figure out which outfit would go best with it. It had too much of a bedazzle to it anyways. 

I don't really know what there is left for me to say. That's pretty much me, really. Unless you'd expect me to do into the explicit detail of what I do on a daily basis. No, that's not going to happen.

Now then, why don't you go ahead and tell me about yourself. The real you.

     As you stand by the edge where the surf washes ashore, you become hypnotized by the alluring waves that come crashing against your feet. You stand rooted in one spot, still very much focused on the songs of the sea. The ocean's arms caress you so gently and beg you to become one with the sand. You wriggle your toes and your feet sink into the warmth and grittiness of the sand's touch. The waves knock you off balance every once in a while, but you have gotten the hang of it and with every wave that comes your way, you heave your shoulders, stiffen your body and inhale deeply. You feel anchored.

     That was how I set out to feel, but this is entirely the opposite of how I am feeling this week. Of course, it might be too early to sum up my week since it is only Monday, but so much has happened in this one day that I feel hopeless, guilty even...

Promise

We never promised each other much
we were always just kind of touch and go.
as if we knew we'd know that somehow we'd grow differently
so we did and we do
and none of this is to say that it wasn't worth going through
or that i care any less about you
shoulders to lean on are hard to come by.
I know because there were times I would have broken my own neck
just so that I'd have one of my own to cry on.

And I remember when each finger was a pawn 
moving slowly across the chessboard of your body
and we made each game last.
Passed up each avenue of attack because neither one of us were trying to win
So how do we begin again when that feels like now and this feels like then?
When all I can do is tell you 
"if you've got something that needs saying, tonight I'm paying dues."
I've got a pocket full of blues and two pennies to rub together
Which means I'm wealthy enough that I can finally afford to pay attention.
I'm listening.

And I know right now I'm somehow like that kid sitting in math class, 
terribly aware of his first boner.
It's hard. 
But difficulty has never been a good enough reason to describe 
the effort it takes to make the good times and the memories worth having. 
And they were and they are and I wouldn't have come this far 
if you weren't worth the sleepless nights where abandoned appetites of a heart, now rail-thin, because of the constant hunger strikes. 
In your absence, I'm finding value, 
because what starves you carves you, 
and I'm chipping away the rough edges of a statue 
built to memorialize everything we've been through. 
And when I'm done, I'm gonna set it against 
the backdrop of the sun and stare just no matter where I go, 
it'll always be etched into the back of my mind, 
stenciled in behind whatever future I have left to find. 

Maybe we were never meant to last. 
Maybe we're only meant to reflect fondly upon a past where we cast ourselves in the lead role of a one-year sitcom. 
One that had the critics standing, while putting hand to palm, 
in an ovation we're still getting curtain calls for. 
And the stage floor was a graveyard for the 
freshly cut roses that we waded through 
to take our bows and say 
thank you. 
It was beautiful. 
And it was and it is and none of it was ever show-biz. 
But we were waiting for lights to dim on a stage where we set ourselves to music. 
As if the swelling violins could ever 
mimic the hidden moments found in the theatre 
where we kept audiences stapled to their seats. 
And they watched us, looking for vacancies they could occupy in the spaces between our heartbeats, 
as if silence was a room for rent, 
and we both went "shh." 
But the beats themselves: 
they were loud enough to drown out the applause. 
And we laughed at the ushers left looking in the aisles for the dropped jaws of patrons who still can't believe we took time to find beauty in the flaws we possess. 
That there's only something better to be found in allowing our collective damage to coalesce. 
And all we confess of ourselves forever 
is that we will make it through this. 
We're gonna make it through this, 
like a big-ass jug of cool-aid with legs and arms 
busting through a brick wall to quench the thirst of our loneliness and say "fuck yeah." 

Yes, I miss you. 
When I'm not looking, the softest parts of me 
will issue restraining orders. 
Not the kind that define borders or boundaries; 
these are the kind that will keep me in place when I ask 
"please, call me when you get there." 
Because every somewhere I go to, 
is just another place that reminds me I miss you. 

And my broken heart is where I keep the scar-tissue 
that I used to dry my eyes when a tear tries to make a break for it. 
I've built my eyelids into an Alcatraz, 
where every prisoner has a parole board meeting scheduled for yesterday. 
And they played dominoes until time comes full circle, 
like a sun rise, and today tries to set them free 
because they'll be locked up here until I let them go, 
until it's safe to let you know 
you're my best friend. 
And that some things end 
so that other things can begin. 
Sometimes an ending can be an origin.
That history is a resin that can keep 
two people stuck together, 
that change can be a tether if you let it. 

I'll always want to kiss you. 
Or touch you.
Or do that thing that drives you crazy. 
And by that, I mean you literally go crazy when I call you "cranky pants." 
Sorry, but it makes me laugh. 
And that's important to someone 
who's given more than half of their life to tragedy. 
I keep your side of the bed empty with a just-in-case mentality of
that hope's middle name is maybe and maybe you miss me too. 
One day, 
you and I are going to make it through this. 
And we'll look back 
and we'll realize 
that we have, 
and we did, 
promise.