Loving, Living, and The Rest of It

I love my life.

It’s taken a while. The road has been sometimes long, often bumpy. But I’m finally at a point where I am who I’ve always wanted to be, and never believed I could become.

Growing up in India, a woman, I was always taught to be inferior, secondary. I wasn’t good enough on my own. I needed a man to feel complete, to be complete.

Even though I knew I was smart, even though I knew I was better than many of the men around me, even though I didn’t need or want a man, every day I’ve been single, I’ve been made to face the fact that my own society, my own family, my own culture, won’t think anything of my accomplishments.

It didn’t matter how successful I became, how much money I earned, or how many lives I changed. What good was I if I couldn’t even find myself a husband?

Well, you know, fuck that.

I’m intelligent, I’m independent, I’m happy being the person I am. And every time I’ve refused to be part of a soul-sucking relationship, it’s been a choice.

Maybe it’s because I was taught to believe that men were supposedly “better” than me that my relationships have always been a competition. And every time I’ve realized that I’m smarter than the man in question, I’ve left.

At the beginning of the relationship, they would somehow “save” me from the mess that was my life. And towards the end, they’d put me in a bigger one.

Growing up, we’re always encouraged to believe in that one true love who will come and turn our lives around. He’ll take care of us, rescue us from our problems and our lives and make everything better.

Because that’s what love, true love, is supposed to do. It’s supposed to heal the wounded, make believers out of non-believers, it’s supposed to save us from our own mistakes and bad choices.

Bollocks.

The problem with being “saved” by men who don’t know any more than you do is that you put them on a pedestal and worship them. Love goes out the window, and all that’s left is blind faith.

Enough bad relationships. Enough deceptive men. Enough compromising on the important things in life. I don’t want to have to look back on my life and tell my children that I settled for second-best because walking away was too hard, because I thought I was out of options. We are never out of options.

I decided I would never compromise in love. That I didn’t need to be “saved.” A condescending asshole deciding his way was better than mine was never going to turn into a lasting relationship. And I finally discovered what I should have been taught in the first place: I was fully capable of saving myself. If I needed saving at all.

Instead of sitting around waiting for that knight in shining armor, I donned the armor myself.

I’m twenty-six years old. I live by my own rules. I’m traveling, I’m writing, I’m learning and growing. I’ve traveled around India, I’ve lived in Ghana, I’m heading off to America. I have friends who love me, parents who drop everything at a minute’s notice for me, and a boyfriend who adores me. I’m growing personally and professionally, reaching heights I never thought possible.

I get up every day knowing I didn’t make a compromise or surrender my ideals and dreams for anyone. I know I deserve the best, and I’ve gotten it. I’ve seen and learned that my choices are what have brought me this far, and every time things go wrong again, I continue to have that power of choice. I don’t have to give in. I don’t have to take the bullshit. I don’t have to keep forgiving people who repeatedly hurt me. I can choose who I’ll let into my life. I can choose the woman I want to become. I can choose my own means of happiness.

And I’m happy. Pretty darned happy.

That’s a choice, too.

The Good, The Bad, The Eh

In the “That Rocks” department, I’ve managed to find enough regular work to pay rent, buy food, and have some extra fun money each month for the next six months. Phew!

In the “Bummer” department, I’ve been so busy trying to fill my life with all this for-money work that I haven’t had a chance to pitch anything worthwhile in weeks.

In the “Eh” department, the planning, shopping, and paperwork continue. Moving is fun. The days before the moving, not so much.

On Feminism

Me: An editor of mine invited me to Los Angeles to attend a women’s conference.

Him: Wow, you and all your feminist friends in the same place. Ooh, let’s all burn our bras!

Me: I don’t mind wearing bras.

Him: Ooh, let’s all not burn our bras!

Me: To be fair, some of them will want to burn their bras.

Him: (exasperated) Ooh, let’s all do whatever the fuck we want with our bras!

Me: Damn right!

“I Escaped From Tibet” (Orato, August 08)

My name is Dakpa. I’m 24 years old. I was born in Thepo, in the Amdo province of Tibet in 1984. I’m a Tibetan monk and a refugee. This is my story.

When I was a child, I used to look after the cattle with my mother. Our village is very small and the school has only 15 students. My father was a farmer and he knew the value of education.

He sent me to the village school in 1993, and for four years, I was determined to study hard so I wouldn’t waste my parents’ support. Because of my financial situation, I would work with old books and pens collected from the garbage.

Continue reading:
http://www.orato.com/current-events/2008/08/15/i-escaped-tibet

How to Not To Be a Workaholic

Or How I Turned Off My Computer and Got a Life

I’ve been a freelancer (and a workaholic for about six years now, several of them full-time, and it’s only lately that I’ve realized that it doesn’t quite add up.

I love writing. Almost every job I’ve held has required me to write in some capacity. And if I were to be completely honest, I’d have a better chance of doing investigative reporting and hardcore journalism if I were a staffer at a daily.

But I became a freelancer for a reason: freedom. Independence from schedules. I wanted to be able to take a vacation when I wanted, go for a movie any time I deemed fit, regardless of whether it was a weekday, a work day or whatever. I wanted to be able to take classes, learn new languages, travel for extended periods without a deadline, be free to explore. I wanted to live.

And yet, as a freelancer, I spend fifteen hours a day glued to my computer, doing none of those things.

Where’s the bloody freedom in that?

But acceptance is the first step. And I reached it about eleven months ago. Now I’m ready to take the second step, which is what experts call, “quit yer whining and bloody do something about it.”

So that’s what I’m doing.

1. This is what makes me a sad little thing, but you have to plan for fun, people! I now typically schedule my weekends ahead of time. I also have a goal to watch fifty movies a year, and read at least fifty books. And yeah, I keep count. Shut up.

2. Fix your timings and stick to them. Ha ha, just kidding! No, what you need to do is fix the number of things you’ll do in the day, get them done and then forget about work. Inspiration strikes at weird times, so for writers, I don’t think the whole setting the 9-5 thing routine really works in the long-term. Targets in terms of work are a better measure of efficiency.

3. Find a hobby. No, actually, make that find a hobby that you have to pay for. You’ll find more motivation to actually get to that 6 a.m. aerobics class when you’ve shelled out good money from your fun budget.

Pride Meets Prejudice (ELLE, August 08)

The law labels them criminals. Society labels them different, morally corrupt, and sometimes even mentally ill. Friends and family often label them a disgrace. But in June this year, homosexuals in four cities came together and labelled themselves proud.

My article on the first gay pride parade in India appears in this month’s issue of Elle magazine. Page 114. Check it out.