I don't wanna be tied down.

     Sigh. I'm too immature for a lasting relationship. It's a long story and no one really wants to hear about this stuff anyway, but... I guess he's attracted to my goddamned mood swings or something. But I'm done with commitment. I feel too young anyways. I'm just not ready for that yet. I like liking people, just liking them. Any further than that, and I get uncomfortable. Or I lie. Not healthy.

     On a happy note, I just made Toll House cookie pie. And I'm re-reading Gone With the Wind. Because of something—someone, someone no one would ever suspect that I think about—that I was thinking about over break. I'm going to keep this inside. No one can know. Especially not him.

      And I bought more avocado, and tonight I'm watching My Girl with some friends. And I don't have t.b.! ^_(\ I had to get a test for camp. The doctor said it was stupid as hell to, but whatever. Now I know, hey?

My two favorite things don't work.

     Meaning India and Cary Grant. Okay, I honestly prefer James Stewart to Cary in terms of looking good in movies, but... No, you know what, I can't make that kind of decision. It would be barbaric to do so. I can love them both.
     And Ravi Teja is still hotter than the two of them combined.
     I watched Gunga Din when we got home from the grandparents' house. Most racially offensive movie I've ever seen, my god. I was going to text K when I saw the back cover because the synopsis included the fact that the main issue was that some Indian guys were part of this bloodthirsty cult that worshipped the Hindu goddess Kali (who had some intense fascination with killing people), and he was the one who taught me about Kali in the first place, but I'm glad I didn't because I would be embarrassed if he ever looked up the movie. It was that disgusting.
     The entire movie basically consisted of Cary and some other British guys with those nasty late-nineteenth-century mustaches, constantly beating up like ten riled-up "Indians" at a time, never mind the fact that the latter were wielding guns and riding temperamental elephants. It was so stupid and clearly the Indian guys were going to lose, but I got so sick of Cary strangling and roundhouse-kicking five men per second that I wished he would just fall in a hole or blow up or get trampled or something.
     The Brits did this while simultaneously throwing around sticks of dynamite and riding horses and coming up with witty comments as bony little guys in turbans and beards ran around with bayonets—all right, the other two guys were stiffs. The witty commentary was just Cary. That guy is just too perfect for words. He's definitely in the top five on my Attractive White Guys list.
      I digress. I cynically type "Indians" because none of those sonuvabitches were even Indian, and that is just wrong. For god's sake, the title character, Gunga Din, was played by an elderly Jew! They must have blackfaced themselves or something. It was gross. When I wasn't trying to gore my eyes out using my barrettes (the only relatively sharp things I ever have on hand) because of how terrible the movie was, I kept thinking, "Jesu', and to think I watched Gandhi last night. Puts this goddamn production to shame. Dressing fat, middle-aged white men in turbans and loincloths does not make an instant India. To shame, I tell you.

Hey shona.

     Yesterday was such a great day. Today was actually almost as good. The rude awakening is that I always have the best day of a vacation right before I have to go back to school. The same applies to camp, or a school year, or anything else. I wish I could find some kind of balance. But no, and I'm sure there's a term for this—the grass is always greener?—but I can never be happy with what I have. When I have free time, I'm bored and wish I were at school. When I have a structured schedule, I get tired and stressed and wish I had some free time. It's a pretty vicious cycle. I wish I could cut it out. But I can't.
      See, this is why I could never be a Buddhist. I get too stressed out about things. And I over-think everything. In the words of Mr. Monk, "it's a gift... and a curse."
      Some gift.
     Anyway, today was Easter and all, and my hair was very curly and I was happy, even though I didn't get to ride my bike at all. We went to the grandparents' house and had a pleasantly action-packed egg hunt, pleasant because none of the cousins had tantrums. It was great.
     About half of the time I hung out with the adults and gossiped about my grandpa's brother's family and listened to plenty of venting about the NYC fifth-graders-have-to-goddamned-APPLY-to-MIDDLE-school experience that the twins are going to be going through in a year or so.
     About a third of the time I hung out with the kids and sang Panjabi MC at them and practiced my Hindi and annoyed the hell out of them until they chased me down and tickled me and threw, or attempted to throw, those plastic red and yellow balls you find in those IKEA ball pits.
     The rest of the time (see how I so craftily hide the fact that I can't do math) I just lay on the short brick wall of the driveway, barefoot, listening to Enya or Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head or my new Hindi podcast.
     Pretty sure the neighbors thought I was completely bizarre. I kept having these conversations with myself, just over and over again, "Hello, what is your name—hello, my name is Megha, and what is your name—my name is Asha—Asha, your name is nice—thank you!" But in Hindi.
     I just love all the words for 'thank you' in other languages. Especially Asian languages. And I can't get enough of comparing words in languages that are really similar. Example: I know probably two words in Arabic, one of them being 'thank you'—'shokran.' In Hindi, 'thank you' is 'shukriya.' I love being a word detective!
     God, I am such a geek. A word geek and an Indian geek. Well, hey, at least I find simple excitement in my life. And if when I go to India, at least I won't sound like a complete gringo.

San Francisco to Champaran

Another location change.

San Francisco, CA, USA.
Champaran, Bihar, India. This place was predominantly the setting of Gandhi. I researched the hell out of this place.

Movies I've watched over break.

-Gandhi—I watched it tonight; blew me away. One of my favorite movies in a while, and I've seen plenty of good ones. Long live Gandhiji, all I'm saying.
-Steel Magnolias—watched it a few nights ago. I cried a few times. And the way Sally Field has those outbursts where she goes from sad, to mad, to scared, to sad, to cracking up... She's probably my favorite female actor.
-Funny Face—watched it tonight as well. Not impressed with Audrey Hepburn's acting or dancing, ever. Not impressed with the movie as a whole, but that dancing scene in the bar was priceless.
-Some Like it Hot—I forget when I watched this, but it was great. Joe E. Brown or whatever his name was, with the mouth? So good. Nobody's perfect.
-On the Waterfront—only caught the last third of it, but it was so powerful really. Marlon Brando, the original 3D actor, in On the Waterfront, the original mafia movie. 
-Suspicion—a Hitchcock, with Cary Grant. Other than that, unmemorable. Plus it was a young Cary Grant. Ew. He's too blocky when he's young. Cary's like cheese, improving with age.
-Breakfast at Tiffany's—was so unimpressed with everything about this movie except Audrey's outfits that I more or less called it quits about a third of the way through. Maybe next time.
-Ta ra rum pum—Hindi movie; don't remember when I watched it. Good though. The guy was pretty attractive also. ^_^
-Sukitte Iinayo, aka Say "I love you"—okay, not a movie, an anime. But I watched all thirteen goddamned episodes yesterday when I was sick. It was so cute, and it made me want to live in Tokyo all over again, or at least a small city.
      That's all I can remember. I'm positive I've watched more. Sorry to the ones I've forgotten.

My love list.

I've finally gotten happy with break, and it feels pretty good. To maintain my inner happiness or what have you, I'm gonna make a list of things that I love right now.

I love avocado.

I love composition notebooks.

I love the Red Hot Chili Peppers.

I love Ravi Teja.

I love gel pens.

I love writing letters.

I love The Clash.

I love yogic flying.

I love Mary Janes (the shoe, not the nasty old-people candy).

I love Malcolm Gladwell.

I love newly painted toenails.

I love doing stretches.

I love Raj (my chick).

I love cup ramen.

I love Punjabi parents.

I love acting.

I love screenplays.

I love Buddha by Deepak Chopra.

I love Tollywood.

I love TM.

I love New York City.

I love goblin sharks.

I love the young Josh Hutcherson.

I love curling up in the sun.

I love wispy hair.

I love thin ankles.

I love the sound of water.

I love being elusive.

I love lying down and thinking.

I love reminiscing.

I love talking to old friends.

I love coconut water (but only that certain kind).

I love pickles.

I love grape juice.

I love Passover.

I love playing piano.

I love The Cranberries.

I love Gervita yogurt in France.

A semi-sadistic love letter-turned-screenplay I sent Mia.

Purén to San Francisco

     Since I change my Blogger location so frequently, I think I should keep track of what they are whenever I change. My logic is to keep my future self informed of what cultural obsession I'm going through at which time.
     So, former location: Purén, Nahuelbuta, Chile
     New location: San Francisco, CA, USA (future self, I'm sure you'll remember why)

I'M .25% INDIAN! JOIE!

     Me, myself and I had a nice little understanding this past weekend since he was away. The three of us decided to stop texting so much, and ALSO TO STOP PLAYING THAT DAMN DOGE 2048. Even though it is such wow. Anyways, we're going to make a conscious effort to stop lazing around and gain back our pre-Fieldstone motivation. Er, pre-8th grade... What I mean to say is... Pre-him. Sigh. Yeah. Him. That's not to say that it's his fault I'm like this, but... It's my fault for starting all this. Oh well. It's my fault for provoking this in the first place, and I guess it's now up to me to get us both out of what we started. It's a time and energy suck for me, but it's good for him... That's why it's hard. I've tried to come up with happy mediums, but I never live up to what I say I'm going to do about it. Well, maybe this'll be it.
     Since we're not going anywhere for break, I figured I should have a list of things to do while I'm home. As follows.

MY PLANS FOR SPRING BREAK:
-clean out closet
-go spring shopping; i.e., go to Uniqlo and call it a day
-hang up prayer flags
-hang up Shakespeare and Co. poster
-finish Buddha picture and hang it up
-download Third Eye Blind, Cranberries, Cars, etc. CDs
-watch Om Shanti Om, Balupu, etc.
-email Shama... God, I am really going to miss that kid. She's so great... I miss her already. It was so great being her tutor. I'm definitely going to keep in touch with her when she's in Andhra Pradesh or whichever state it is that she's from.
-don't play sudoku, or 2048, or doge 2048 ^_(\
-read Ishmael
-run a lot
-stretch a lot
-jump rope and use sidewalk chalk and do dips and planks
-play Bridge Over Troubled Water and Moondance better
-learn chess again... I really want to do that.
-work on that book folder thing
-cook; i.e., fry ramen and vegetables and call it a day
-hike—go to Campmor or something for boots for camp
     I love how I just realized that I didn't tell any of my friends about the whole camp ordeal except Krupal. Wow, me.