“I’m faking it? No you’re faking it!”

I hate taking photographs. Like legit, if someone put a gun to my head and asked me to smile for the camera and told me he would let me go if I smiled nicely, search for me with a gunshot wound in a dump somewhere.

I guess that’s not funny.

Oh well. Take two.

I wouldn’t say anti-photogenicism (yeah, that’s a word – look it up) runs in the family because my elder sister photographs like a dream. My brother on the other hand – you know those kids who smiled for the camera and then when you looked at the photos, they looked like they were in intense pain? – yeah, he was/(is?) one of those kids.

And don’t even get me started on my brace face years. Today when I look back at my final-year school pictures, I can feel the pain oozing out of the photos by the sheer effort it took me to smile trying to show as little metal as physically possible without ending up looking like someone punched me in the balls (I don’t have any.. not because someone punched it into oblivion.. but because I am a woman) right before taking the photograph.

I studied in a weird school where we didn’t have yearly class photographs taken. And for that, I’m forever grateful.

Now imagine this person (as being asked to have a good picture taken to be sent for suitable-match “hunting”? Like Tinder, but instead of an app, you have middle aged uncles/aunties sending around your photos and sending you photos of ‘nice boys’ back. And if you’re interested, more details follow. And instead of hooking up, the swiping right results in marriage. No big deal.


Excuse me while I go off screaming into the sunset. Alone.


Clean up already!

I’ve been so busy!

Okay no, I’m lying. I’ve just been lazy. And uninspired. So very uninspired. I guess you could call it blogger’s block. Sucks when it hits, doesn’t it?

But let’s get back to lazy. So I’m a lazy child. I hate doing household chores, but then again, who doesn’t?

That’s who!

I guess I don’t mind doing the dishes or mopping the floor or putting the clothes out to dry (especially ’cause of certain li’l midget niece who will pick up the clothes from the laundry basket and give them to you so you don’t have to bend all the way down – funny thing is she actually enjoys doing stuff like that – may she never grow up!). But how I hate dusting! And anything related to dusting. Sweeping the floor or whatever. My mom thinks my allergies are not real. REALLY MOM, REALLY?! How I have managed to live 21 years in a desert country is beyond me, but then again, we see more concrete here than actual sand so yeah.

And what about folding clothes? Seriously, why you got so many clothes, family?!

Got me thinking about the many excuses I have used over the years to skip doing chores. Here, have some useless information – ’cause we don’t have enough of that already.

New readers: I'm otherwise very mature, I swear.

#1. The Classic – “I’m sick!”


Mom, I don’t feel so good.“, if said in the right tone and with the right level of puppy eyes, works every time. Works with annoying roommate who’s on a cleaning spree as well.

#2. The Rebel – “NO!”

Ah, the troublesome teenage years. “My life, my rules!” doesn’t work that well, does it? Usually ends up in “Go to your room and no dinner!”, I guess..if you’re white? (I don’t know; you tell me) and a “DO YOU WANT A TASTE OF MY ROLLING PIN?!” if you’re brown.

#3. “Sorry, I really want to help, but ah, all this work!” and then type away at your keyboard with the intensity of someone who’s working on her assignment that’s due the next day.

#4. Delegation of duties 

See, this why I would make a great shitty manager. I would just quietly go to my younger sister’s room and say, “Hey, mom’s asked you to vacuum the floor/do the dishes/clean the toilet(?)”. So gullible.


#5. “In a minute, I’ll get to it!”

Usually ends up in parent doing the work by themselves. Be prepared for “No one in this house helps me ever/ I have such ungrateful children.” and the like, though.

So there you have it! And Lord knows there are many more where that came from!

Hey hey! Don’t act all high and mighty and judge me – you know you’ve done it too!

But humour aside, I’m a dutiful daughter – most of the times – and I can almost hear my mom going ‘Pfft!’ when she reads this but mom, you know you love me! And I love you too!

Spill out your excuses people, I really am hoping to hear some zany ones!

Mission Rubik’s accomplished.

So I’ve been busy.

Working; lazing around while not working; completing this thesis work I voluntarily put myself into (it will be educative!); playing around with my niece; waking up randomly at 2 A.M. in the night without checking the time and proceeding to brush and get ready for the day (giving mom who was just going to bed, a reason to laugh her head out and embarrass me in the morning); reading – you get it, technically, busy with life.

And it’s funny because while I’m living it, I don’t feel like I’m doing much at all. Let’s face it, my life will be an eternal struggle between wanting to and not having enough time.

And while I’ve been reading fellow bloggers’ posts and adding my two cents here and there, I broke my promise to myself of having a piece up over here every three days. But it’s alright, since ‘myself’ forgives easily. Thanks myself!


Wait. Whaat.

Alright! So since I’m all about the smaller things in life, this happened the other day. Now I will not go into detail about how I was supposed to be doing my project when I saw this bizmuck (yeah that’s a word!) contraption that my sister bought a day back, sitting on my table which then proceeded to me forgetting about the project that night and the next morning in general and how my niece thought I was turning crazier with each ‘ARGH!’.

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Damn straight I was proud of myself.

Now that you find me sexier,


Good morning!

My niece and her thoughts on Death

My niece is at that age when she’s on the lookout for new, big and interesting sounding words. We’re SO careful these days while having conversations, our spelling skills have damn right improved but the little one is always one step ahead of us. And unfortunately, the latest word in the vocabulary is ‘dead/died’.

Now obviously we haven’t taught her the concept of the whole ‘ceasing to exist’ thing. When recently, my grandma who we were all very close to, passed away, my sister and I tried explaining to the little one that granny was gone. “But where did she go?” I thought for a bit and replied, “Heaven, darling.” “Oh, alright then.” For her, heaven is just another place and dying is something like falling down or bruising your knee or hitting your toe on the foot of the bed. But sometimes it is downright uncanny how she manages to perfectly fit that word into place in a conversation.

This is what happened sometime back. After a day out, my brother in law dropped my sister and my niece in front of their apartment and drove off to search for a parking spot. They decided to wait for him near the elevator but he apparently took a while. “I wonder what’s taking daddy so long?”, my sister asks her kid. Staring back at her, my niece somberly replies, I think he died, mommy.

Not so funny when you hear it at 11 o’clock in the night from a child’s mouth.

The other day we were having lunch at our place. My niece LOVES 7-UP, especially ‘cause it’s a rare treat for her, not just because she’s three (“I’m three AND A HALF!” would be the retort to that), but also – a three year old on a sugar high? – “ain’t nobody got energy for that!”

Anyway, we had a bottle on the table that day.

My dad has been diabetic for as long as I can remember. “Pour me a glass, will you?” my dad tells me. My niece shoots up her eyebrows and says, “Grandpa! You can’t have 7-UP! Your sugar level will go up!” Yep. My niece, the little genius.

“Oh yeah? So what happens if his sugar level goes up?” I ask her.

She puts on a stern face and looks at my dad, “You die.”


And no, that wasn’t the end of the whole ‘death’ phase.

My dad likes to think my niece gets her wit from her granddad. When we stopped at a Red signal while driving back home one day, she exclaimed, “Oh so that’s how it is! Red means Stop and when it blinks Green we can go!” Quite proud of herself, she lapped up all the “Good girl!”, “You’re so smart!” and the like that followed her sudden enlightenment.

“What will happen if I drive when the signal’s red though?” I ask her when we get back home. Quite seriously, the three (AND A HALF) year-old replies, “A car will come hit you and then you will die.”



Lesson noted.

When was the last time you got owned by a toddler/kid? Let me know so I can have a laugh, please!