Rape Me, I Dare You.

Let me gauge my inner feminist here.. (Allow me to dig deep, way past the traumatic girl's changing room experiences and bathroom fiascoes, and pull her out of hiding after she was beaten to death by rational thinking.)

Does my (Assuming that you have seen me, of course..) body look like a plaything to you? (Men-kind.)

Okay forget my body. Any woman for that matter. Does she look like she wants your filthy hands on her? Is she looking you in the eye and begging you to come hither and feel her up in the middle of the road?

You good for nothing (Excuse the language.) assholes have taken it upon yourselves to (Inner feminist here.) own every single aspect of a woman's core being.

Don't give me that crap about "she was asking for it" or "she was seducing me" or "she was wearing provocative clothes". No. Fuck you, you were horny. You couldn't get any action so you decided to GET some. By taking away something that is of so much of value to a girl. To a woman.

No, I am not talking about her virginity. I'm talking about something way beyond the mere importance of that. You hurt a woman, you force yourself upon her, what you take away is her dignity.

It baffles me as to how many of those men who claim to be our "brothers" are the ones who lech at us when we walk down the streets. Those same people who send mass messages with the "Plz save our vemen. Dey r our sisterz who is bieng rped!!1!" are the ones who 'accidently' bump into us on busy streets.

It's becoming such a common story, rape and harassment. Every week, numerous cases go unreported. Why? Because it's a shame. When a woman gets raped it soils her. Makes her filth. Makes her disgusting to not only to the public eye, but to her family as well. This is no lie. It's brutal, because I've seen it happen.

Heck, I've been there. In that position, where a man has been inappropriate with me. I just didn't have it in me to tell my mum and dad. I was ashamed, and afraid. Because had I come out and boldly told the world about the crime committed against me, they would point an accusing finger not at the perpetrator, rather, it would be pointed accusingly at me.

"Why did you give him the chance to..?"

My heart goes out to the girl who lost her life because of those men. My heart aches about the fact that the scum who did this haven't yet been caught. I am ashamed of our Ministers, who have the audacity to blame this on the women of our Nation, who run this country with pride and a sense of equal justice. I am ashamed of my fellow students who don't see the power and grandeur of social awakening, viewing these campaigns to be "wannabe-ish".

There is no fairer punishment for these rapists than that of death. But what these good for nothings really do deserve is to be publicly humiliated, and to be castrated, and skinned alive.

The other day, I was crossing the busy road in front of our college when two men on a bike slowed down and licked their lips at me. I don't know what came over me, but I spat on them. Hit the rider square in the face. The man did slow his bike down and start towards me, but I had already caught an auto on the other side and was on my way home.

My point here is, more than asking men to grow a pair, why don't we? If they don't know how to control themselves, might as well give them a good ass-kicking. Get familiar with self-defense, arm ourselves with Tasers and pepper spray. What? Too violent? Say that to the defenseless girl who was nearly beaten to death. Who passed away this morning, God rest her soul.

I think it's high time we stand our ground. Defend our rights as women. We have understood our role in society. We RESPECT our role in society. YOU learn to respect US. YOU learn to protect US. YOU learn to GIVE US OUR RIGHTS and HONOUR them.

I want to feel protected in my own home. I do not wish to seek refuge elsewhere. Give us that peace of mind, before things get messy.

We are your girls. We are your women. We are your sisters and cousins. We are your girlfriends and wives. We are your mothers and grandmothers. We are awake. We demand justice, and we want it NOW.

(To be continued.)

A Modern Boy's Guide to Breaking Up.

Have you been wondering what it would be like to be single again? Tired of the old "ball-and-chain"? Want to finally throw away that "relationship" your girlfriend thinks you've "built together"? Well have I got the solution for you!

Just follow these simple little steps and you'll get rid of that whiny sod that hung around you for years together and claimed to "love" you, in NO time!

1. "It's not you baby, it's me.": Always a classic. And mind you, us girls are amazingly knock-your-socks-off stupid enough to believe that! Hold her hand to add the effect of feeling really sorry for her. Don't look her straight in the eye. Instead, avoid it like you'd avoid the Basilisk's gaze. And if you must, insist that SHE'S too good for you.

2. The Best Friend: Reach out for the closest girl around you- one you've just met even- and claim her to be your best friend. Then you cheat on your cumbersome current girlfriend WITH said BFF and proclaim to the world that your 9 month old BFF knows you way better that your girlfriend does, on your 2nd anniversary. Works like a charm!

3. Douche Cruise: When we say "treat us like princesses" we didn't mean that! Oh LORDY no! Start off with treating her like a delicate piece of satin that fell off the Queen's behind. THEN you start treating her like absolute dirt. Call her "wench" even. Treat her like the rag you think she is!

4. Paranoid Android: See her talking to another boy? ACCUSE HER OF CHEATING! See her talking to her male professor? ACCUSE HER OF CHEATING! See her talking to her cousin? ACCUSE HER OF CHEATING! See her talking to her dad? ACCUSE HER OF CHEATING! See her talking to her dog? ACCUSE HER OF CHEATING!

5. The Gut Wrenching Story: "My sweet darling. You are the light that shone up my ass crack when the times were rough. But, my sweet petunia dipped in honey, we must break up. I haven't told you, but my balls are easily susceptible to breakage when I see your moonshine face. We must break up on account of me being too fragile to handle your chocolate glazed glory. Goodbye.. My.. LOVE."
You get the drift.

6. Crowded Room: Blame her for crowding you and constantly badgering you with her "Good morning!" message that you receive at the beginning of the day. Tell her that you need your space because you cannot STAND receiving her FOUR messages during the course of the day.

7. Empty Room: Tell her that she ignores you. Blame her for being too hostile. Then go sit with your other friends in class and badmouth her from across the room.

8. The Mother: This one is just too easy. Just tell your mother how wonderful you think she is and she will automatically try to shield her baby from the troll that's trying to steal her precious boy away from her bosom of motherly love. And if you're really lucky, your mother is racially biased, and your girlfriend is dark skinned.

9. "I'm not ready for a relationship": Celebrating your three-year anniversary in another week? Tell her you're not ready yet! Ready for what? A relationship, silly! Give her grief about how you're not in the right state of mind to be in a three year long, steady relationship. And then, add a dramatic sniff.

10. Ignorance Is Bliss: Ignore her! Imagine that she died and went to a better (hell) place. Tell your friends that you don't know where she's gone to. Tell HER friends that you don't know who they're talking about. And when she finally pin points your location and confronts you about ignoring her? Tell her to sod off, and use tactic number 9.

More creative ways to end the relationship are: Cheat on her with her best friend, her cousin, or even her sister!

There you have it! Some very useful and tactical ways of breaking up with your girlfriend! Remember, it's fun to break someone's heart into a million little pieces and toss it around like confetti!

~Fin~

Love Thy Neighbor.

It's very hard to piss me off indirectly.

As in, you can be the loud douche at the end of the movie ticket line who's constantly cribbing about the line being too damn long and you being super late for the movie because clearly you're the only one around who's being denied a faster entry, but that won't piss me off. (That is, of course, with the exception of you standing right behind me and constantly whining. If that were the case, I would turn around and hit you. Hard.) 

So in all technicality you will need to irritate me in a consistent manner, over a period of time, and at regular intervals, for me to go ape shit crazy. You know, after I reach my "point of no return".

Enter: my loving neighbors.

I live in an apartment that is so closely boxed together with another building that you can literally hear them clip their toenails. (I kid you not. Every Sunday, to the beat of their favorite Tamil Gospel song.) Honestly, though, they aren't the problems. They are at least evolved enough to understand the basic request of lowering their volume. 

The college numbnuts that stay above us however, beg to differ. 

So they're living on their own. This OBVIOUSLY means freedom to swing your junk all over the place, scoring some excellent weed from God knows where and then getting stoned out of  their ruddy minds. But this results in a lot of running around. (And falling) Oh. and did I mention the ugly taste in music?

I know I sound like a cranky old man when I say their music is too loud.

But it is. At TWO in the MORNING, hell YES it is. NO one wants to hear how Pitbull got himself crunk or how the club can't handle Flo Rida. 

Almost every night, I walk up to the intercom, having been woken up by some illiterate rapper whining about asses and bitches, and call my oh so considerate neighbors up, and ask them, politely, to turn their music down. They apologize and say that it won't be repeated. All is calm.

That works for about an hour. 

Then they decide to watch Two and a Half Men and laugh their balls off. And again, I call them, this time, a little obviously irritated with their stupidity. "Oh so sorry we didn't realize" they say "We'll turn it down."

No. They don't. 

They start DANCING. And judging by the amount of times of what I presume to be a really large man falling down and rolling all over the floor (Yes. I can hear that too.), they aren't very good. So I call them again. "Oh you can still hear us?" He asks me sheepishly. "Oh, no no. I called to say goodnight." I say, which, weirdly enough, gets my point across for the last time. 

We all aren't good neighbors. I'm sure many of our neighbors hate our guts for blasting Floyd, Dire Straits and The Who form three different home theater systems every Sunday afternoon. We have our imperfections and our quirks too. But given the fact that we've never been complained against, I think we're doing a pretty terrific job of keeping it quiet enough.

So what about these numskulls who don't seem to understand a simple request? Do I pray to the Lord to give me the strength, patience and tolerance to deal with their lack of brain cells? Or do I leave a graffitied warning on their door to get my point across?

Bully.

I nearly got run over today. I was on my way back on my scooter after buying a packet of chips when three men on another incoming scooter tried to grope me by extending their hands while they approached me. They weren't successful with the act of sexually harassing me in broad daylight, and so they rammed into my scooter, causing me to lose control and fall down. There were two other people who were witness to the act but all they did was stand by and watch me struggle with the weight of lifting the scooter off my right foot.

There are plenty of things I could write about after what just happened. Sexual harassment, lending a helping hand or altruistic behavior are topics that people have written about plenty of times. But quite frankly, one thing stands out the most.

The act of bullying.

We've all been bullied at one point of time. We've all bullied someone at one point of time. And obviously, being at the receiving end sucks donkey balls.

Psychologists describe the act of bullying as a "distinctive pattern of aggressive behavior manifested by an individual by deliberately harming and humiliating others." It's a patterned way of behavior and is very durable, mainly because bullies eventually get what they want. They don't exist without victims. The act  includes verbal harassment, threats, physical assault and coercion. And their victims constantly fall prey to this aggressive behavior.

People say that bullies were once victims too, and this is their way of protecting themselves. I don't blame them. With the right kind of help, they pull themselves together and realize their stupid mistakes.

What if a person is just a bully by nature? What if they were never victims?

I was in the 11th and 12th grade when I was bullied. This classmate of mine took it upon her holy duty to spread rumors about me and verbally abuse me in front of our other classmates. We were schoolmates at one point of time and I never got around to understanding as to what it was I even did to her to get her harsh attention, because as far as I can remember, I never interacted with her except when it was absolutely necessary.

Okay it's high school. EVERY one goes through that, you say.

How about in your 3rd year degree in University? By someone who was once your close friend? This time it wasn't me, who was the victim, rather, a close friend of mine. She took control of her life by first getting rid of people who she thought were negative influence on her. I am SO proud of her for her honest and brave move.

Not proud of the stupidity that followed. Backhanded comments, bitchy looks, the works. No, it wasn't her doing this. It was the friend she pulled away from.

There are bullies everywhere. Your neighbors, teachers, colleagues, friends, family members.

"How does this connect with the first topic?"  you ask. Men in general are bullies. I think it's the excess testosterone they pump out, which automatically makes them masters of the universe. And in a culture struck country like India, men view women as objects. They must have us under their thumb. Yes, that gives them the right to eve tease and grope us in public as well. Deny this, they will get aggressive and take what they want. No, I'm not trying to shove down some feminine crap down your throats. I'll leave that to my bra-burning sisters.

I wish I could go all Road Rash on them rather than get bullied off the road.

Hey man, I get the fact that you all are sexually depraved and shit. We all need some lovin' from time to time and yeah we get a little touchy-feely. But ew, yeah?

So the question is: Do you complain about the bullying or do you give the bully something to complain about?

Your Mother, Good Sir!

Yo momma jokes. You love 'em, you hate 'em, you want to slather creme on 'em and feed 'em to yo momma. ('Cuz she's fat like that.) We ALL have a soft spot for them.

ANYWAY. Since I haven't been nice enough to barf out something tasteful for my none-existent readers last month, and also, since college has turned me into a fast food inhaling, cussing zombie, leaving me feeling the least creative I have felt in the LONGEST time, my dear friend Amit and I collectively came up with Yo Momma jokes. Old news? Yeah, thought so.

BUT HERE'S THE THING. We're Potter fans. And we have incorporated Yo Momma jokes (I know, it's not new, but there are some really creative ones in there.) with Harry Potter!

Now mind you, it's explicit. So if you're a child or are soft hearted like blue cheese, avert your eyes, human! Because this shit just progressively got serious. (Psh not really.)

• Yo momma so fat, she got put in ALL the houses.
• Yo momma's so fat, that her patronus is a cake.
• Your momma's so stupid she thinks patronus is a tequila brand
• Yo momma's so ugly, that even a Dementor wouldn't kiss her.
• Your momma's the reason Dumbledore's gay.
• Yo momma's so fat that she tried to eat Cornelius Fudge.
• Your momma's so fat, the dementors cant suck out her soul in one sitting.
• Yo momma's so fat, that she got sorted into all four houses.
• Your momma's so fat, they call her "she-who-shall-not-be-naked"
• Yo momma's so fat, that when she faces boggarts, they turn into treadmills.
• Your momma's so smelly, Bertie Bott made her a jelly bean flavour.
• Yo momma's so ugly, Quirrell thought SHE was the troll in the dungeon.
• Your momma's so fat, her wand's core is a creme filling.
• Yo momma's so fat, that her wands are licorice
• Your mommas so ugly, she turned the basilisk to Stone.
• Yo momma so rancid, that even Sir Nick could smell her form beyond the grave.
• Your momma's so old, she gave Nicholas Flamel his first kiss.
• Yo momma's so hairy, she gave Hagrid a complex.
• Wingardium leviosa couldn't lift your mom
• Gwarp couldn't lift your mom.
• The original forbidden forest belonged to your mom
• Yo momma's voice so nasty, that when she sings or talks, even mermish sounds like a symphony to a wizard's ears.
• Your momma's so fat, she sees ham in the mirror of erised
• Yo momma's so fat, that she needs an enlargement charm to be cast on the mirror of erised, just so that she can see her face
• Your momma's so ugly, her siblings needed to be confunded, so they would play with her
• Yo momma's so dirty, that even house elves wouldn't clean her. She's so fat, even, that they'd probably die before they finish their job.
• Your momma's so stupid, she drowned in a pensieve.
• Yo momma so fat, that she had her own house table.
• Your momma's fat, the great hall was her dormitory.
• Yo momma's so fat, Hagrid mistook her for Gwarp.
• Your mommas so fat, she ate the death eaters  
• Yo momma's so scary, that even Fenrir Greyback shits his pants when he sees her.
• Your momma's so fat, that Harry, Ron, and Hermione camped on her legs in the seventh book.
• Yo momma's so fat, she needed an industrial burner to use the flo network. (Okay that needs work)
• Your momma's so fat, her vaginas attached to the flo network.
• Yo momma's so fat, the Whomping Willow broke in half when she crashed into it.
• Your momma's so smelly, not even dobby would take her sock
• Yo momma's so stinky, she puts dung bombs to shame.
• Your momma's so ugly, Lockhart wrote a book about looking at her
• Yo momma's so ugly, that Newt Scarmander wrote a book about  how NOT to her.
• Your momma's so fat, he spent years searching for her, on her back.

SO. There you have it, ladies and gentlemen! Hope you enjoyed it. And if it has offended you in any way, please feel free to jump off a cliff because I give a flying Thestral. Amit, we should come up with more. We've left this all empty and blank like the back of a bald man's head.

Here's his blog, please do check it out. Show him some love, people! (Please don't send him naked pictures of yourself.. WHAT. I'm TRYING to be FUNNY. #foreveralone)

Subscribe, read my old posts, eat some cookies, and go skin a Kesha fan. Have a lazy Sunday!

30 Days To Twenty.

I now have a month's worth of being a teenager. Yes. It is the 15th of July, 2012. I have never felt so dejected. EVER. (I have actually, come to think of it. When they stopped selling Maltesers at the stores we frequent. My heart sunk, and I stood outside their door looking like a lost lunatic, repeatedly accusing the owners to have sold their souls to the devil.)

I can't help but wonder, (Yes, it's going to be a boring post about my stupidity.) WHAT have I achieved in my teenage years? (I've had a very depressing Sunday. Give me a break.) Have I ticked off everything in my "To-do-before-Twenty" list?

Psh. NO.

How do I look at turning 20? I mean, is this my chance to finally grow up? Or just stay that stupid, reckless 16yr old who never got tired of late nights and Snicker dinners? (Yes I know I posted this whole blog about the whole mature thing but BLARRRG, okay? Okay.) I hate growing up. I hate what my ego's become. And I HATE hating.

I come face-to-face with that dorky looking 16yr old from time to time and she tilts her head slightly to the right and asks me: What have you achieved, in the last four years?

I've fallen in love, and then fallen MADLY in love. I've made friends and lost so many more. I've gotten over my stage fright and added to my uncontrollable fear of spiders and relationships. I've broken my bones and vases and windows and phones. I've given away books and bought more and more and more. And I've forgotten how to dream about my future.

And when I look at that 16yr old and TELL her that, the IDIOT SMILES at me, and says: It's all good, maaaan. Chill out, no? (Small comforts count, eh?) 

I need to punch Bieber.

I need to do something stupid. I think I'll set the curtains on fire again.

Growing Up And Other Life-Threatening Diseases.

I threw a tantrum today because I wanted to buy a Nerf water gun. Yes.. I threw a threw a tantrum today when I was all alone. (Good grief, it was terrible. But easily controlled. Candy does the trick.) 

I threw a tantrum with the grown-up side of me. I wanted the Nerf Super-Soaker so bad, that I stood there staring at it like a weird bespectacled stalker and sweet-talked the be-jebus out of it. (Yes, I tend talk to inanimate objects. I get very creepy around things I like. You should see me around books.) 

And as I was reaching out towards that beautiful machine (Creator of wet t-shirt contests and water gun fights alike.) this tiny (Anal.) voiced asked me, POLITELY, to put back the gun, because I needed to start saving money. It even said please and thank you. 

I don't know when the schizo side of me grew up. I always though she was 12 and would REMAIN 12 for eternity. (Okay maybe it's just another persona. I'm just trying to save face here.) I banked on the fact that even though I would age physically, I would forever remain a child. (Constantly supporting the idea of throwing a tantrum each time I didn't get what I wanted. Yes, that would also include getting married to the man of my dreams.)

I started putting a lot of things into perspective, suddenly. It's amazing, how one day you realize the lectures your parents gave you once upon a time start applying to each scenario you live through. The "I told you so's" start haunting your nightmares and you start REGRETTING things. (A new feeling that I've come to terms with. The hard way.) 

I know for a fact that I regret a butt load of things. (Save your sex jokes for later.) Handling relationships, for example. Every bond that I've created with another human being has had at least a 2 year warranty (Three, if I'm really lucky. Four, if that person is imaginary.) Not particularly a good thing. (My father thinks I have no friends and keeps buying me more books and games.) 

I feel powerless when it comes to that. Yes. One of my biggest weaknesses is not allowing myself to completely trust another human being. Which in turn brings out the immature, selfish moron in me.

I think growing up involves a lot of sacrifice. The main being shedding the immaturity that you've held on to (And added to..) ever since you turned 4 and learned that a tantrum can get you that shine-y thing on the table. Also, I've realized, that it takes a lot of testicular possession to admit to your mistakes and be the bigger person. Something that's not so vehemently obvious in my case. It's there though. In bits and pieces. 

None the less, I'll take this growing-up weirdness one day at a time. One mistake at a time. 

Starting with telling my mum about what REALLY happen to her favorite vase..

Breaking Up With Psychology.

Dear psychology,

I must admit, you're kinda scary. I've never feared my favorite subject, ever. I never thought that I'd be running away from you but here I am, on the floor of my room, typing out this hurried blog, while one of your text books is currently sitting in a flaming pile outside my house. (Oh and I'm sorry for setting it on fire. It wouldn't spontaneously combust so I had to do the honours.)

Speaking of honours, I never got in. The Honours Programme, that is. I wanted it so bad. (Yes I'm making this sound like a sex scene. Deal with it. Freud is starting to mess around with my brain.) Words can't even begin to express how crushed I felt when I found out that I wasn't even selected, and that my seat was handed over to a person who applied just  for that sake of an honours degree. (Oh you know who you are. And I curse you. May a thousand rabid raccoons feast upon that excuse you call a face, you stupid twat, you.)  It was as if the universe denied me direct passage to my future, and was making me get to my goal the hard way. (Karma, apparently. Just because I copied my map of India in the 10th grade.. Tche.) 

But I'll let you in on a little secret. Even though I was so prepared for the grilling and the projects and the internships and the workload etc., I hesitated. I remember sitting in the classroom, waiting my turn for the interview and watching all my classmates and friends talk about the techniques and strategies they were going to use for their interviews.

What was I thinking about? My next blog post, my next prose piece, my next poem, my PS3, Clarkson's columns and my books. And then it hit me. Yes you, darling, were my everything. I did see a future with you. We were so happy in our cozy little office somewhere in Upper Manhattan where we'd counsel heartbroken men and anal women, sign a couple of autographs for our commendable work towards game development for special children and discuss future research projects with colleagues over a glass of wine. Yes, we would've been beautiful. But you're merely a priority. Literature is my passion. (I'm so effing cheesy. Mills and Boon misses me.)

This feels like I'm cheating on you. And I must confess: You've been reduced to plan B. What we had was special. I planned my entire future surrounding you and all it took for that dream to shatter was an interview. There goes my research. There goes my trust fund/scholarship. There goes UCLA/Michigan/PennState.

There's a sliver of guilt that's been embedded in my conscience about the way I've approached this whole situation. I wasn't all that disappointed about not getting in. Crushed, yes. Heartbroken, very. But that's just because the thought of losing freaks me out and this was one such situation wherein I felt like I came third in the race. A few tears were shed, curses were echoed, and vows of bloodshed were sung but that was it. I moved on. Faster than what I had initially anticipated but I did.

My parents adored you. I don't know how I'm going to break it to them, now that we're over. I fear for my life, quite frankly. They said that we were a good combination, the two of us. I need to brace myself when I tell them that I want to get into print media. I think their first response would be "Oh so since you're throwing your life away, here are some marriage proposals. Feel free to choose your future hubby. Ignore their paunches and paan-stained teeth. Just pick. Close your eyes and go Eeni-meeni-minee-mo if you must"

I still want you in my life though. You've been the driving force for most of my work, see, and I still love you. But times have changed. I have changed. And I need to let you go. You still mean a lot to me.. So let's stay friends? 

Forever yours, Aaliya.

__________________________________________________________________________________

It was a bad break-up, really.

Privacy, and Other Public Affairs.

To err is human. Or something like that.

Yes life has been a total bitch to me for the past month or so.. She's been like that annoying, nagging, girlfriend you had, in your moment of weakness who'd constantly call you to check where you were, how you were and what you were doing and all you want to do is get rid of her or scratch her eyes out (oh who am I kidding, that was me, two years ago. :|) But you get the general idea.


So I faced a "Code: OFYMRYFM" a few days ago. What's that, Aaliya? Oh, I'll tell you Aaliya.. (Yes I'm going to assume that no one really reads my blogs so hence the schizo moments.)


Code: OFYMRYFM stands for Oh F**k Your Mum Read Your Facebook Messages. (Cue dramatic chord) 


Nifty, is it not? That a 20yr old (OKAY 19.) has no privacy within the walls of her own home? The haven of her heart? The-ah never mind. They feed me, I stay. Poe-tay-toe, toe-ma-toe.


The contents of my conversations shall not be divulged for it IS, after all, PERSONAL and PRIVATE. (Let's just say that it involved a feathered boa, eggs, some honey, and a wet chicken.. I'M KIDDING. Pah.) And mind you, this isn't the first time she's ever done this. She was kind enough to read my journal (...diary)  two-ish years ago, claiming that she was merely looking for the book I write my prose and poetry in. However, she found a detailed description of how my then boyfriend tried to give me a hickey, (..and ultimately FAILED.) because of which she refused to talk to me.

This resulted in a shouting match, BOTH times. And I really hate losing my cool. It sucks because I tend to break things. Noses, for example.. But that story is for another day.

My question right now is this: Will there ever come a day when parents stop thinking that they rule our lives respect and trust our boundaries? Will there ever be a day where the phrase "I'm not your mother/father, I am your best friend" is actually put into practice? Will there ever come a day when Torres actually scores a goal? (WHAT. The moment seemed appropriate..)


I'm not blaming you, parent-kind. We are your flesh and blood, so to speak. At the end of the day, you're responsible for most of our social behavior and actions. We are grateful. ( I keep saying "We", given the fact that I seriously hope I have the full backing of my peers on this one :| ..) You have taught most of us the rights and wrongs that govern us, and all that jazz. Naturally, you're curious as to HOW we run our live. (I think it was right after we were potty-trained that the whole concept of independence dawned upon us..) But you just don't seem to get the fact that we don't remain 12yrs old for the rest of our lives. We grow up. And we live our OWN lives.

Please don't take this the wrong way though. We appreciate the fact that we mean the world to you guys. The feeling is mutual. But for the love of sweet potatoes, let us live our lives? All you need to do is advise us. How we put that advice to use is up to us. We'll learn from our mistakes. We give you the full privilege to say "I told you so!" when we recognize that said mistake or fumble. Just leave us be till then.

But in all honesty, I'm no one to be all judgmental and stuff.. I will only know why parents act the way they do when I myself become a mother, yes?

Till then, please allow me to throw as many temper tantrums as I like? (Oh, and raise my allowance. Must. Buy. More. BOOKS.)


Well, now that we've had this heart to heart, I think I'll sit down with my mother and have a MATURE conversation with her.

I'll take my stuffed iguana for protection, though.. Just in case, you know..