My boys and the essence of a song

This is going to be a very boring post.

You know how you have those songs which, at times in your life, completely and aptly describe your situation? Well, there's this beautiful song by Fiona Apple called 'Shadowboxer', that I used to love. I listened to it nonstop and then suddenly grew tired of it. One day, recently, I was in the shower and playing music on my oh-so-cool phone and loudly singing along while washing my hair, and this song suddenly pops up. I'd completely forgotten that it was still on my playlist on the phone and it gave me a little frisson of happiness (or something like it) to listen to it again.

And as the song played and I sang along, I realised how perfectly, incredibly apt it was regarding not 1 or 2 but 3 men in my life! I empathise with every line in the song right now. Which is why I'm so enamoured by this idea, because there have been many songs that I have identified with but there are always some lines or words that do not gel for me. This one does.

So here are the words and I'll try to link the song as well.

Shadowboxer - Fiona Apple

Once my lover, now my friend
What a cruel thing to pretend
What a cunning way to condescend
Once my lover, now my friend

Oh, you creep up like a cloud
And you set my soul at ease
Then you let your love abound
And you bring me to my knees

Oh, its evil,babe,the way you let your grace enrapture me
When, well, you know, I'd be insane -
To ever let that dirty game recapture me

You made me a shadowboxer, baby
I wanna be ready for what you do
I been swinging all around me
cause I don't know when you're gonna make your move

Oh, your gaze is dangerous
And you fill your space so sweet
If I let you get too close,
You'll set your spell on me

So, darlin', I just wanna say
Just in case I don't come through
I was on to every play
I just wanted you

But, oh, its so evil, my love,
The way you've no reverence to my concern
So, Ill be sure to stay wary of you, love,
To save the pain of once my flame and twice my burn

You made me a shadowboxer, baby
I wanna be ready for what you do
I been swinging all around me
cause I don't know when you're gonna make your move

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oVpHFLF2gNY

Here you go.

And as for the boys, you know who you are.

Broken

I feel you slipping through my grasp.
like sand through my fingers,
tiny fragments of your being,
crash to the ground at my feet, and splinter,
so why, tell me why, is it that i'm the one,
who feels so broken.

Your hand is lying in mine,
but your heart is far away,
and the pleasure i should feel
of having you by my side,
is shattered, ruined, damaged
by your love.

You let yourself walk away,
i want to run, catch up,
beg and plead, on bended knee,
cant think of anything that
would keep your love
entwined with mine

And I feel you slipping through my grasp.
like sand through my fingers,
tiny fragments of your being,
crash to the ground at my feet, and splinter,
so why, tell me why, is it that i'm the one,
who feels so broken.

3 AM Blues

I'm almost violently ill with emotion.
but still happy, sad, pleased, amused, longing
drowning in the pool of feelings,
gladly slipping away into the beyond,
my body and a part of my mind reacts normally,
and the rest of me is a purple and silver,
gauzy dress floating, in layers,
all around me, like a tent, covering me,
allowing my arms to slip through the sleeves,
my head to push through the neck of the dress,
draping me, becoming me,
but is that who I really am?
is that who I'm meant to be?
or who I long to be?
or will I wake up to another tomorrow?

No one ever dances with a Phat Chick.

The world is a sucky place. A place where no woman has the right to have womanly curves, and where no man wants to dance with a FAT CHICK. You heard me: the title may say Phat. I mean "Fat".

Fat can be of many types; slightly overweight is the same as obese which is the same as curvacious, but its all the same in the end, innit?

I just dont understand it. Why would someone want to dance with a girl who has 2 left feet and is stick-thin, when he can dance with someone who manages to move subtly but sensuously, and has a bit of a belly?

I'm not talking about myself here, thought this post does stem from personal experiences. Since you've all guessed by now, I don't get asked to dance much. And thus I have time to stand in the corner and observe. Guys only dance with girls who are "pretty", thin, and who wear revealing (or whats currently "in") type clothes.

Say theres a grossly overweight girl, who is pretty even though she's fat (pretty fat-teehee) and she's wearing something that nicely covers up her bulges, makes her figure looks somewhat streamlined and is a good dancer. Like she manages to move well without doing too much or trying to do things she shouldn't be doing at her size even if she can manage them. She's danced before with these men, they've even seen and appreciated the way she moves.. yet she has to ask them for a dance. Ofcourse they wont say no. And they'll enjoy the freakin' dance. But a little part of her dies.

I know it seems sexist to assume that the guy should ask the girl, but then again it is not a girls place to refuse a guy a dance. Basic manners state that a if a guy asks you to dance, you cannot refuse him the first time. The second time you can plead hurting feet or tired-ness. But the first time, you HAVE to dance. No matter if he's butt-ugly, unattractive, cannot dance, steps on your feet, has bad breath, is shorter than you. No matter that your feet are killing you in those stilettos or that you're dying for a drink or you're short of breath or you are just plain turned off by the sight of him. You HAVE to follow through with the first dance. It takes a lot of guts for a guy to walk across the room and ask a girl to dance, especially if he doesn't know her. Be nice to him and dance with him. Its only 3 minutes of your entire life.

But the whole problem lies in him asking you. What if he doesn't? Then what do you do? And on a dance floor(as it happens in many other areas(not counting birth records) there are always more girls than guys. Which means that the most of the guys will be dancing on the floor, with a "hot" skinny chick, while the slightly differently shaped girls stand around at the sides hoping for a dance. Catching a guy standing at the side is difficult enough; asking him to dance just kills you. slowly, but surely.

Especially in India, where even in a place like Bombay, a girl going up and asking a guy to dance elicits stares, sniggers and weird looks. "oh my god, she is so desperate/outgoing(they say that like its a bad thing)/slutty" I mean come on!


Despite all my ranting on this subject, the other day I went to a local salsa night and made sure that I sought out all the guys I like dancing with and asked them.
Out of the 12 guys I danced with that night, only 2 had asked me for a dance. The remaining, stood mildly in a corner while paid no heed to my crying ego, and gathered up the courage to go and ask them to dance. I had quite a blast that night. Danced with full abandon, enjoyed myself to bits; I'm sure the guys enjoyed themselves too (well, they didn't complain - :-|)

I got home later that night, opened the door to an over enthusiastic dog jumping on me, so glad to see me home and while sitting down on the bed and cuddling her, cried my heart out.

The facts still remain:
1. It still hurts, no matter what.
2. Society and other peoples stares will affect you
3. You will have a blast dancing and get bunions from the heels you're wearing.

and
4. A little part of you will die when you lie in your bed late at night, wishing that you were ugly, thin and wore designer clothes that make you look more unattractive than you already are.

The Ranting Room

In my dream house, I have a soundproof room which has one padded wall which I can bang my head against when I'm angry.

It also has a lot of old furniture, made out of different kinds of woods, (some that break easily and others that dont) that I can throw around and stamp on.

It has a soft comfy bed, lots of fatty things to eat, a HUMONGOUS box of tissues, and tons of squashy pillows that I lay against and cry my heart out.

It has sheaves of paper and pen that I can scribble on and a big waste paper basket to throw my work in after I'm done ranting.

It has a huge fireplace in the middle so I can burn things to my hearts content and let out the pyromaniac in me to roast..err...i mean roost.

It has a bevy of excercise machines so that by working out I can let out my anger/frustration AND become thin and sexy.




It DEFINITELY has a computer with a fast internet speed and tons of space to store music, so that I can play it at full blast while ranting on my blog or to my friends.









Some days are beautiful. But there come some days in a persons life when they want a room like this one to let out their anger and disappointment at life.

Unfortunately, Me

What would i give for bee-stung lips and tear-filled doe eyes.
a save-me look and a miniscule size
of dress hanging in my cupboard, along with others
just as pretty. and for some brothers
who'd beat up a boy for me, and punch
him across the face. a bunch
of lovely flowers and some elegant, tiny earrings,
long fingers and silver rings,
that adorn and enhance their beauty, a shape
thats slim and sexy, a nape
thats beatifully curved, tiny perky breasts
and a pendant that nests,
amongst them like it belongs, a voice that's clear
and that all want to hear,
lovely long wavy tresses, smooth and silky,
and skin thats pale and milky
slender ankles with slim golden chains,
frail wrists and the main
thing is, i'd rather that, a man would sit and stare
at me, and maybe dare,
to ask me out, fervently hoping that i would agree.

But unfortunately, thats just not me.




I slip, i trip, i fall down and do stupid things,
I cannot sing
a true-blue note, i'm extremely wide-hipped,
and unfairly thin-lipped
and i chew those damn nails, and my eyes,
are small and beady, guys
dont ever want to lift my bags or hold my books,
I never get lingering looks,
unless they're directed at my "weird" fashion sense,
long earrings and my size ten,
skirts that cling to each and every curve, the staring
of men at my shirts, baring
and exposing my ample chest, the graceless walk
and the incessant talk.
the short stubby fingers, a nose thats uneven
tangled messy hair, my heathen
-like demeanor, my wide strong capable shoulders,
which should be lifting boulders,
a hearty shrug, a wicked grin, salsa-thighs
that wobble and a size
that isnt 'conducive to dancing'. i'm plain, as plain as could be.

That, unfortunately, is definitely me.