Monthly Archives: October 2011

This wednesday I went to the Sidney gallery on 22nd street.My first impression of the gallery was that it was very small. I was a bit disappointed.I expected a large ornate gallery dripping with art, but I soon learned that the size of the gallery did not matter. I was pleasantly surprised to find myself enjoying the intimate space. The contents in the gallery were all photos. I specifically remember a large photograph of a napkin draped over a book. From a distance it looked like a flower petal. Another one that stuck in my mind was this photograph of the chest of an African boy. His chest had the letters R,U,M burnt on. No its not the liquor, but Refugee Union something or something along those lines. I don’t know why that image plugged on my heartstrings. My overall experience at the gallery? A good one. Would I go again? Probably not in the near future, but someday ;]

I saw a man the
other day – he was walking down Madison in a dark navy suit, carrying a cell
phone to his ear and a leather attaché case to his side. His attire was
immaculate, his swagger – unobstructed. I could make out the thin pinstripes in
his suit and the stitching in his brown leather shoes. I also couldn’t help but
notice the bright silver watch which just peeked out from underneath his shirt
cuff as he help the phone to his ear.

Although there
were many things in front of him which he could have obstructed his path – from
people, to puddles of water – his eyes were not focused in front of him. Nor
were they focused on the street, which was overrun by aggressive taxis eager to
pick up the next fare. Instead, his head was turned slightly towards the
building he was passing; his eyes fixed on the glass windows of the ground
floor coffee shop.

Like every
sidewalk down the streets of Manhattan, this one was lined with glass windows
which reflected the cars and people who passed by. The funny thing was, in his
distraction he failed to see a coffee cup which had been strewn to the side.
Apparently lost in his own image, he stepped on the cup, which was still
slightly filled, and covered his brown leather shoes in brown liquid coffee. His
immediate reaction was to step aside and stare at the cup as if it had come out
of nowhere – intentionally dispensing its contents upon his shoes. He then
threw up his hands in frustration, shook off his shoe and continued walking. It
wasn’t long before he caught his gaze in the reflection once again.

I had to stop
and give that whole sequence of events some serious thought. I had never
noticed how much I looked at my own reflection until I saw a man so infatuated
with his appearance that he made a fool of himself on the streets. There are
mirrors everywhere in this city. Walk down the sidewalk and you’ll see a
hundred thousand panes of glass floating above the streets reflecting
themselves and the world around them. What huge egos and crippled self-esteems
do these mirrors reflect every day? Is our image really that important to us
that we can’t function in a world without mirrors?

I glanced at
myself in the mirror. I saw myself in the middle of a cityscape surrounded by a
dozen other people. I saw my orange American Apparel T-shirt, and Kenneth Cole
faded jeans; my Nike Freerun 2’s and my Sketchers black leather belt. I saw the
book bag on my back and the gym bag on my shoulder, as well as the iPod in my
ear and the cell phone in my hand. All of these things have told the world
something about who I am and what I am like. I used to have an English teacher
in high school who said “You can tell everything you need to know about a
person by the shoes they are wearing.” While the point was used facetiously to
instigate debate, I couldn’t help but think about how true that statement is in
a variety of circumstances.

Dirty shoes can
mean you’re athletic or outdoorsy, whereas clean shoes mean you’re classy and
fashionable. Are these statements true? Not in all cases, surely, but a second
point then comes to mind- does it matter if they are? I hate that we live in
such a superficial world where image counts for 6 and personality is a measly
extra point. What should it matter whether I wear a dirty tank top or a
perfectly tailored blazer, if I can play Bach immaculately or establish
differential equations?

But I do love
images, and, if I had to be completely honest with myself, the single most
important image to me is myself. And maybe it’s not because I “care what others
think”, but, rather, I subconsciously justify my own success and self-worth by
the way I appear outwardly. Maybe it does matter that I wear the freshest
clothes and listen to the newest music, because otherwise my mind would not
accept me as belonging to society. I think we all have some kind of deep desire
to make ourselves look like what we think our social environment should look
like.

I guess the
mirror is the vessel which connects our image to our social world. We walk and
we talk, but more importantly, we look – at ourselves and the world around us.
There must be a reason for the world of mirrors which we walk through every
day. I think my biggest fear is being alone – not physically absent of company,
but void of any social connection which expresses my mind and my heart to my friends.
Being genuine is the single most respectable trait a person can display, and
toward that end the mirror shows the ultimate truth. The next time you’re
walking down the street and you see an especially reflective window pane- take
a look. Do you like what you see?

It’s a Tuesday, worst day of the week. I already did all my homework… what should I do now? I wish I didn’t live at home. I hate living with the two biggest psychopaths on the face of the earth: Joseph and my mom. I could play xbox but Joseph would yell at me because he a territorial dickhead and never lets me use it because he bought it. He is the most anal sixteen-year kid I have ever met. Thank god I am going away this weekend. Schenectady should be fun even though there is nothing in the city. I hate having to study for all these midterms. I have to study for philosophy tonight and then art history over this weekend, on top of that I have a math quiz. I hope I ace this philosophy test. I really miss my peeps from high school. We had a lot of fun this summer I cant wait until there all back. I love it when they come back for breaks. They are really funny, and I love seeing them, unfortunately they are all enjoying college more then me. At least I am the only one not going into a shitload of debt.

What makes me afraid? It’s not the dark, it’s not spiders, and it’s not ghosts. It’s not knowing what might be under or around me when I am in the ocean. All these movies like Jaws, Deep Blue Sea and Open Ocean shows everything that is out there to get me. I mean the ocean covers the majority of our planet. Me in this vast ocean is like a spec of dust in my room.

Don’t get me wrong I love swimming in the ocean and going to the beach, but I always have these dark thoughts in the back of my mind of the unforeseeable. Standing in the ocean and not knowing what I might step on even worries me. There could be a crab waiting to pinch me with its claws or a poisonous sea urchin on the ground waiting for me to step on it. Every time I step on seaweed I get a little hesitant because I think its something else.

I remember going snorkeling in Mexico and the water was so clear I was able to see so far. I thought it was the best. I swam to a reef and a couple feet down there were hundreds of fish it was amazing. Then I saw this giant dark shadow that I couldn’t quite make out what it was. Immediately, I started swimming away because I didn’t want to stay there and find out what it was even though it probably wouldn’t swim up to me.

I try to hide this fear because I feel that it is pretty dumb to be scared of fish, but it’s something that I probably won’t get over. I will however continue going to the ocean and hopefully one day I will learn how to surf. I am sure the whole time I am out there learning to surf I will be thinking about how I look like an injured seal, the perfect meal for a shark. Guess I am just going to have to face my fear!

Introvert. Yeah… that’s what they think of me when they first meet me. It’s not my fault. I was told that as a baby, I would cry whenever someone stared at me. See? It’s innate; I have no control over it. But just because I’m an introvert does not mean I’m not normal. Just like everyone else, I have my own fears such as stage fright, heights, bugs, and failure. Especially the fear of failure. After years of put-downs, of saying how useless I am, and comparisons between others and me, I know that failure is not an option because the disappointment will grow. Just like everyone else, I also have things that I would be excited and become animated about.

Now that I think about it, am I truly a 100% introvert? Nah. Yeah, I’m quiet sometimes, but it’s because of my reserved personality and because I often insult others unintentionally when I open my mouth. I don’t know about you or anything, but I draw a fine line between acquaintances and close friends—a by-product of my reserved personality. And as for those close friends, it takes a while for me to welcome them into my world, my life. There are a few people that I can talk to for hours, and many others that I don’t say more than a couple of words to. With this wall built around me, I speak less while my thoughts run wild. Sometimes I feel like my brain is going to explode from over thinking. Ugh, Stress! I wish there was a best friend with whom I can pour out my problems to and be fully understanding of me. Don’t you want a best friend like that?

There are times that I wish I could be comfortable bringing the ‘Me’ from home outside. Yep, at home I am a weirdo and a chatterbox. But people are so judgmental these days; I’ll just be labeled as odd. Sigh, these are only wishful thinking. Not going to happen anytime soon.

I am very tolerant of many things but one of my pet-peeve is when people put words in my mouth. That is THE most annoying thing in the world. I also HATE being compared to anyone. Does it look like I can magically transform into that person? No. It doesn’t even make sense to be compared to others when I grew up in different circumstances. Since I’m rambling on about pet-peeves, might as well mention the nasty smoking habit some people developed. Upon entering Baruch, I’ve inhaled more cigarette smoke than I did in my whole life.

Well, in the end, I guess I don’t want to be remembered as that quiet girl. I want to be remembered as me, an individual person. I just need that extra push out of my comfort zone.

I want to be someone who changed the world! Er… just kidding, that’ll never happen. =__=

Okay, I’ve been sitting in front of my laptop for hours now, thinking of what to write but my mind is blank.  I never wrote a monologue before so honestly, I have no idea how to write one. It’s almost four in the morning and I’m starting to not think clearly and my eyes are closing so I’m just going to write whatever comes to mind.

I’m the only person my dad has in his life.  He has no wife, his oldest daughter refuses to speak to him, and he doesn’t have time to keep in touch with his friends because he works 13 hours a day, 7 days a week.  So you could imagine how tough things are for him.  But wait, this monologue is supposed to be about me, not my dad so let’s move on.

My dad affects a lot of the things I do and the way I think.  I should be going to school because I want a better future for myself but really, 99% of the reason why I go to school is because I know that’s what my dad wants.  I grew up constantly hearing him talk about how his only dream is to see me graduate college.  So I know it would break my dad’s heart if I ever dropped out of college.  And now that my sister doesn’t live with us, he puts more pressure on me.

Sometimes, I feel like I can’t make my own decisions and choices.  Sometimes, I feel controlled like I’m caged in with no way out.  So I began to think… What’s the point of living a life that I don’t want to live?  If I keep living my life the way my dad wants me to, how lost am I going to feel once he’s gone?  I’ve heard many people say, “You only have one life to live so live it to the fullest.”  It took me some time to realize that I can’t experience all life has to offer unless I make some changes.  I need to start living life for myself and follow my own dreams and goals.  One thing’s for sure: life can only get better from here.

Being the oldest child sucks! I hate that every time I do something I always have to be the first out of the family to do it. This means that I always have to make the mistakes before anyone else does. In one way or another I am creating a template for my little sister to follow, which is so unfair since I never had anything to follow.

Both my parents didn’t go to school and now they work full time and never seem to have free time. This all means that in one way or another, I have to become my sister’s mother. I don’t know if this is a good or bad thing but sometimes it’s just so overwhelming that I don’t even know what to do with her. Why is it that she is trying to grow up so fast, and making my life so complicated?

I don’t understand why I have to be the one always doing everything for my parents and sister, but my sister doesn’t have to do anything around here just because she is the younger one. I always have to be the one running here and there.

All the times that I try to help her and give her advice, I don’t even know if she is listening to me half the time. I became a big sister in January of 1997 and since then I don’t think I have ever gone through a day without worrying about what might be going on with her and how she is feeling. I feel like no matter how annoying she is I can’t possibly ever be mad at her for more than five minutes, which is why I guess being the oldest sucks!

After 6 weeks of college, I’ve finally came to the conclusion that high school is useless.

High school was a total waste of time.  The things I learned, if I even learned anything, did not prepare me for college.

A few weeks ago, my English professor just taught us how to use commas.  Yeah, I’m going to college and I’m not even sure how to use a comma correctly (I hope I’m using them correctly in this monologue).  Well it’s not my fault my English teacher would spend a day on grammar, and a couple of weeks on figuring out the theme of a novel.  Sometimes I think they have more to say about a book, than the author actually intended.  I guess they’re just trying to waste time so they don’t have to teach grammar.

I thought things would be a bit better in Philosophy…wrong again.  I found out Philosophy is involved with P and Q, and it was one of the few things I actually remembered from high school. I thought it would be an easy class because I had learned it before.  Oh was I wrong, it’s not the same P and Q I learned in geometry; it’s more like, P and Q on crack.

If high school has taught me anything, it was how to procrastinate efficiently.  Well, that isn’t very helpful.

I can go on and on about how high school didn’t prepare me for college, but I’ll end it here because people are already falling asleep listening to this boring monologue.

I have always greatly admired my sister’s independence. Being the oldest child, she was always forced to learn how to do things herself, whether it had to do with school, work, or personal matters. Since she knows how difficult it is to have minimal guidance when making important decisions, she is always willing to go out of her way to help others whenever they are in need of advice or assistance. However, it seems that whenever I, her own sister, ask her for help, she refuses to do so because she thinks that “it’s not fair” that she had to learn how to do everything herself while I get “babied” by being given advice . Every time I ask her a simple question about school, she always tells me, “Shivani, you just have to make mistakes and learn from them. Just pretend like I don’t exist and then make a decision.” This always infuriates me. I don’t get it. How am I supposed to pretend that I don’t have a sister when I clearly do. I lived my whole life knowing that I have an older sibling. How am I supposed to just “pretend” as if a person I’ve lived with my whole life doesn’t exist.

I mean isn’t the point of having an older sibling so that they can help guide you and protect you from the mistakes that they made. Isn’t my older supposed to always be there for me? I honestly believe that my sister is overly dramatic about her experiences as the oldest child. I would think that because she didn’t have anyone to guide her when she was younger, she would want to spare me from the same experiences by giving me advice. But no, that’s not the case. I guess it’s for my own benefit because I’m more independent since I am forced to make decisions by myself. However, I still think it’s annoying. I mean, it’s not my fault that I wasn’t my parent’s first child.

I have a thing for Ikea. Maybe it’s because they sell every possible furniture you could ever want. Ikea sets out the dream room that you never even imagined before, and it’s only better that they tell you how much every single item in your future dream room costs put together. Ikea even tries to give you a homey feeling to the room by adding fake computer screens and televisions. They even do your dream kitchen and table settings. How kind of them right? They figured out what it took people months to figure out. I like their free pencils and rulers! The pencils they give you may be a little too short, and probably only useful for writing two words, but who does not like free things! I have to give it to them for the rulers though. They are great indicators of the circumference of my head and the size of my waist. And how about those large yellow bags?

I have not even gotten to my favorite parts of Ikea though. I want the KRABB or the SPOKA, with two dots over the O. That’s just the name of the mirror and the lamp I want from them. I’ve never seen these words before in my life, but when I go to Ikea, it seems to make sense that the mirror is named KRABB. Whoever came up with these names is a genius. Or maybe it’s just in a different language. I don’t really care. Sounds fantastic regardless. Whoever built the Ikea is also a genius. When you enter, you pretty much have to walk around the entire store before you can find the exit. It’s like a maze. The arrows tell you that you’re approaching the exit, but really, you’re not. They are making sure that every single person who goes in there will see something they like by the time they exit the store.

Finally, when you get to the exit, you think your whole Ikea experience is over. But actually, it just begins. Who would have ever thought that after walking miles in Ikea, paying for what you picked up while traveling around the store, that you would end up face to face with a food stand sort of thing. They sell hot dogs for 50 cents, cinnamon buns for $1, ice cream for $1, and pizza for $1. HOW COULD YOU PASS THOSE OFFERS UP. You can’t. Everyone on the line in front of me know the deal. We have exhausted ourselves finding the exit, emptied our wallets paying for all the unnecessary stuff we end up buying, so we will make ourselves feel better by buying some cheap food. :]