Late night euphoria

I want to write about this before the feeling wanes. Two days ago, I thought to myself, this feeling I have, is very reminiscent of the first time I applied to the Ph.D. program (and I wrote about it too). A sense of disbelief combined with a form of relief, I felt very hopeful and excited that I knew what I wanted to do, and no matter what happened with respect to the results, I am on a path that I cannot be moved from.

That's honestly how I feel about my HRI paper submission. I wanted to submit to it one way or the other, all the way since May. Now I know my paper may not be the best, it hasn't gone through any rejections yet, so it won't possibly be accepted. But the pursuit of this question, the excitement of user studies, learning statistics on the flow has been incredible. It has been stressful, no doubt, I have lost count of weekends lost and nights spent working and not sleeping, and how can I forget, that voice of anxiety always around to pull me back. But I've learnt to work around it. I've learnt to love my work more than I fear anxiety. And maybe for a moment, I feel like I won.

Maybe this is all temporary. But this is me, capturing this moment, before it flies away from me.

Woman

You're never perfect, are you now? 

Sometimes slightly fatter than you ought to be, 

Sometimes just a little too skinny with no real ass or breasts to look at, 

Sometimes too bossy trampling over frail egos, 

Sometimes not leader enough to have ever made the best of that position. 

Sometimes too showy for a place you work at, 

Sometimes too plain to ever make a difference. 

All your mistakes, big or small,  

looked into with the zooming of a high powered microscope, 

Never good enough, never bad enough, 

It's not you, it's all you. 

Even if we dismiss all of this with a wave of our hand,  

We have now internalized this. 

Never to be satisfied with our decisions. 

Second guessing every step. 

Why is it that boys will always be boys 

With a paunch, barking orders, with no implicit requirement to care, 

No implicit requirement to display maternal love to people that aren't related to them, 

And girls are taught to grow up to be the perfect wife, perfect daughter in law, perfect mother? 

Why is it always the woman 

who has to take the pill? 

Wonder if her period is just late 

Or is it something else? 

Insert an IUD, deal with a pregnancy,  

And people continue to say,  

Who asked her to go have sex,  

Who asked her to taint her body,  

As though a woman has "no control" and "all control" over her body, 

As though that visceral pleasure is too much for a woman to experience,  

Much more than she will ever deserve. 

I'm so tired of only thinking about how I look, 

The hairs that pop up on my legs and on my chin, 

Forgetting completely how I feel and who I am, 

How much more of a person I really am, 

You take away my image from me, 

and I'm still here, I'll still exist. 

Don't scrutinize every inch of weight they gain, 

Every blemish that has appeared with pain, 

Every wrinkle that marks her golden age, 

Her "turkey neck", a sign of all the years that she looked up 

 at EVERY person who came along the way, 

To tell her she wasn't right, she wasn't ready, 

While she took those giant steps in the shadow of a giant man, unnoticed yet significant. 

Let her go crazy, 

Let her have a paunch or not, 

Let her have an ass or not, 

Let girls be girls too. 

Let her come out in the open, 

Let her cry as much as she likes, it doesn't make her any less of a human being, 

Let her voice not reach the ends of a large room, but her intention to lead stay strong, 

Hoist her on your shoulders, and tomorrow,  

Tomorrow, she will hoist ten of you on hers, 

Without a word of appreciation, because she has learnt to mark her own successes. 

That's the woman I know, staring into the mirror, 

Wondering if this could really be. 

That woman is you, 

That woman is me, 

Reminding herself that perfection is just a failed pursuit in this hollow hypocritical reality. 

Post-script: 

I apparently wrote this in October 2016, and by the way, I did NOT know the existence of the term "Turkey neck". Sheesh. I think it came up as a diss on one of the women senators or journalists or someone at the time, and I was so mad at the violation and acceptance of all things abnormal, how people used physical aspects of women to demean them when it has absolutely nothing to do with their work. 

I recently read Tyra Banks' book, and one of the things she harps about, which I realize is important - whether a woman does botox or not, wears makeup or not, it's completely her choice, it is about what makes her feel good, about what makes her feel comfortable. I myself am guilty of having judged women who were more feminine in the past, because I did not own my own and I was mad at them for letting down the community, which feels so stupid in retrospect.



This self-acceptance of my physical self and my femininity is fairly new to me. This anger too is very new to me and I don't always know what to do with it. But I think poetry helps me deal with expressing at least some part of it. Maybe I will begin to make more sense of things by writing about them.

Push

You just need to push a little longer, they say 
How long, just how long, I ask, 
Just long enough to get through this deadline. 
This date.
This time. 

Okay. 

Then the day comes and goes 
And again I am back in the same place, 
The wall getting higher 
The doors getting heavier 
Every push seemingly less effective. 


Can I sleep just a little longer, I ask, 
Can those few minutes of escape drive my demons away? 
Those demons aren't going anywhere! 
Why don't you wake up and show them what you're made of? 

Okay. 

So I somehow tumble through, 
Finding hope in the smallest distances covered 
Like a bike struggling to reach uphill, 
Ignoring how much it takes. 

I just want to give up, I say 
Don't! You've waited so long to be here! 
If you give up now, what's the point of all those years?! 

Alright...

I read my old notes of things I've said to myself, 
I remember times that were seemingly much worse, 
So I go on, moving along, without an audible tear or a sound. 

When do I really escape? 
What is holding me back so long? 
When did this love of life turned into an effort song? 

I feel stuck 
Hiding in the crevices of my own mind, 
Thoughts bouncing between inexistent corners inside, 
Till they get so fast, that they cease to be thoughts. 

I bang my fist, and scream out loud, 
I can't really do it anymore, 
I cannot I cannot I cannot. 
A radio silence is all that follows behind. 

Can I go home now? 

Anxiety

Anxiety is weird. Even after you've gone for months of therapy and you've learned to get over it, it rears its head up in the background; reminding you it's always right around the corner, just you wait. Its volume turns up pretty high closer to deadlines as well. There was a time when I used to wake up in the morning and not be able to get out of the bed; too overwhelmed by the day that was to come. Now, I wake up in the morning, knowing I am not ready for the day but I force myself out of bed and decide to face it head on. There are moments where it is too overwhelming, you tell yourself you could throw it all away and run away to a place where nothing real exists. I do consider it, but only for a moment. Because I know I will be bored to death in that life. I love discovering papers and ideas and being excited about things to do, I don't really want to run away. I tell myself "Stop thinking about stupid shit and get back to work". So I do. But anxiety is right there, just behind the curtain, trying to rear its ugly head back at me. Time goes both slow and fast. Slow because you are doing nothing, just looking at time pass you by. Fast because you finally get into the zone - but so much time has passed, that you have lost all energy just worrying about how slowly the time was passing, and did nothing after all.

The thing is I have fought it, it has worked. But then, sometimes it escalates from 0 to 100 before I can even say the a of anxiety, and before I know it, I feel my heart beating through my chest, my palms leaving sweat all over my mouse, and all my effort to turn chaos into something in a handle-able manner goes out the window. And all that is left, is me screaming and hating and refusing to work. (Cue the weeks to my prelim deadline)

I leave for my internship tomorrow. This is something I have been excited about for about 4 months now. But now that it is close, all that seems to have disappeared. All that is left in focus, is the nervousness, the uncertainty, and all the ways in which I have no idea what I am going to do; which is not even true. I have some idea, and unless I explore it (it's right there, do research!), how the hell will I know?! This is how my unproductive phase begins -  my brain negatively reinforcing my fear of failure over all the freaking success possibilities. It is so annoying to remember only the low moments especially when it is not time to do so; and to tire myself out so much, that I don't even remember what it is like to love working anymore. This type of shut down before I even begin makes me wonder whether I am even meant for academia, a place where I finally feel like I have found my own. All because my brain refuses to rationalize emotions the way I can so beautifully do when it comes to math or research or coding or cooking or music or any freaking thing in the world, precisely because they are freaking emotions. *sigh* This sucks. I don't want all my beautiful moments to be overpowered by random circular negative reinforcement circles that do nothing useful.

I don't want this to be a dire piece of writing. But it is how I feel. I try denying it because it feels stupid (even typing this feels stupid). It feels stupid because this means so much to me, and in some ways, it feels like I'm sabotaging it (or some activities of my brain are). It is as though my brain is creating an artificial danger situation, which is not at all existent, and here I am, firefighting the hell out of it. It ought to be easier than this, I shouldn't have to struggle to just get through each activity, I shouldn't have to fight against my own freaking brain.

This feels especially weird because I have given competitive exams, where I did believe it was a case of now or never, as did everyone around me where the scores pretty much determined my future. But, I just studied, I just worked, I don't think I even knew the a of anxiety. I fared more than just good, I did pretty well. I just remember being excited about learning, learning about newtonian physics, falling in love with organic chemistry, discovering calculus and the logical nature of computer science - and exams were just a thing. All my undergrad, despite some very subpar classes, I couldn't stop being excited learning about various aspects of Computer Engineering. I devoured textbooks, I loved discovering how algorithms work. There were frustrating moments, of course, but I didn't doubt for a moment that Computer Engineering was meant for me. Every class I took, took me a step closer to what I believed was my place.

And that's exactly why, I don't recognize this bubbling mass of anxiety that doesn't hold on to her excitement of discovering new things for too long. This is too new to me to be familiar with it. So I deny its existence with every fiber in my being trying to hide it under the carpet and there it lies, perfectly hidden for you to convince yourself that it doesn't exist, but that's not quite the truth, is it? 

Maybe that is the key - to understand and accept it as a part of me as much as my excited self is me as well. To be kind, to be warm, like I would to a friend, and not push my anxious self into a corner. Honestly, this feels too personal to share, partly because writing always gets me to write the most intimate things I never would say out loud. Especially because hiding in the shadow of metaphors of pain comes naturally to me. But maybe talking about it explicitly is not a bad thing?

I guess, I logically know I can work through this and just maybe I believe  (yes, font size intends to say exactly what you think it does). I know I have seen some successes (hey, I'm still here, right?), I have seen some breakthroughs in my time here as well as future breakthroughs in my head. The inherent optimist in me, wants to go "A change is gonna come" (You know where this is going, don't you?). Now that I have spent half an hour writing this and procrastinating, I'm gonna get to packing and hopefully looking forward to a life in California for the next three months.

And keeping in mind the foreshadowing I already provided (*wink wink*), I have to, have to share this song. Even though I know this song signifies the civil rights movement and is born from a very singular moment, these words (as music and poetry sometimes do) seem way too apt for me in this moment. As much as I want to give up and run away, I also want to believe, I also want to know it is not the end of everything.

I hope you listen to Aretha, who as always brings magic to this song, with her voice and her most beautiful rendering, and get lost in this moment of hope during times of need. I know I can do with a lot of hope right now.

Small talk

I've come to understand and maybe even enjoy small talk. It isn't always about the weather. Sometimes, it's about finding that connection in talking about your day's events; knowing that even for those two minutes, you are genuinely interested in that conversation. In those few minutes, there is that semblance of warmth. I have often wondered how much of it is forced and of course, even fake; since I'm always on this end, someone who barely exists there before she is gone. But they, the baristas, the nurses, the customer service reps, the cab drivers, are constantly present, going through this process with different people hour after hour, day after day. And I think, maybe I ought to do my part to be the least bit pleasant, the least bit agreeable? 

And even during the worst days, there is something about being that small level of vulnerable, to feel that honesty that comes through when you talk about how you really are feeling, what you are actually going to do and what you are looking forward to - knowing that we aren't always the "Hi , how are you? Good. How are you?" machines.

Today I shared that moment with someone, all thanks to small talk. 

Railroad Memories

I got the "coffee convert" tea today. The watery black tea to which I added some milk and sugar. The first taste on my tongue and the memory of travelling by train hit me like a rock. To waking up to the sound of "Chai chai" and "Coffee Coffee". I loved travelling by train, it brings up some of my nicest memories with my family, despite the 36 hours of journey and terrible bathrooms. I loved looking out at the green fields, reading by the window, playing card games, having idli mulagai podi packed in banana leaves for food and fermenting yogurt in bottles, and last but most definitely the topmost in priority - loving the food that came through the compartments (Masala vada tops that list hands down). 

Train journeys also remind me of sleepless nights spent talking, feeling, realizing and appreciating those moments. Of times experienced together that cannot be repeated. I still have this romanticism associated with it.There is something about travelling by train in India that pulls me in, even though I don't think it is going to happen any time soon. Until then, I'm gonna hold on to these memories that just bring up the excitement of travel, the relishing pleasure of food and an inherent feeling of experiencing life in the moment as opposed to letting it pass you by, we leave that to fields on the train. :)

This song has nothing to do with trains except for the title (and maybe the pacing and the pattern of playing too). But here it goes. 

John Mayer - Stop this train

P.S. This is definitely one of my shorter posts. But I think I want to just write more instinctively and post as opposed to waiting for time to perfect, since all that effort is spent in trashing and rewriting my research things. So here's to firsts!

Glorious 27

26 felt inconsequential but 27 feels like something. It may be because it brings back the memory of having read the biographies of two music legends who died at that age. The point where they had just begun to succeed, where fame had just caught up to them, a few more years and they could have produced the best material of their lifetime. Because of multiple reasons, either unanticipated drug overdose or suicide, they died and then they were made legends, because that was just before their best was to come, just not yet.

This feeling weirdly, very weirdly feels a little too applicable to me at my to-be 27. I am where I think I need to be, and this feels all right and all that struggle makes sense (in hindsight, of course. How else do we deal with the constant disappointment and awkwardness yet unexpected and undefined happy moments that is our life?). I could die at this point, letting people epitomize me in the idea that if there was anyone meant to do research, it was me (that's quite some self-aggrandizement, isn't it? if only I told that to myself every single day for motivation).

This new year began with a lot of melancholy, confusion and being too burnt out and just this idea of not knowing for sure what I really was doing. I had forgotten how books can heal - I was reading a book that made me completely forget where I was, my presence completely lost in those pages. I had forgotten how writing can feel so right, even now it feels unbelievable how therapeutic this feels, just being able to put my thoughts into words. I also completely seemed to have given up on music in the past few months and my guitar just sat there, my heart yearning to play yet my mind refusing to take that first step - the mind that was lost in the quagmire of the perception of busyness.

Which reminds me of an incident that happened two weeks ago. I was walking home and was definitely not in the best place and a random person who walked past me, paused to look at me and continued walking in the opposite direction while saying "Hare rama hare rama....hare krishna krishna krishna hare hare be happy" as I continued looking at them. And I burst out smiling, because it made me think; how assured we are in our belief of individualized lives in our own bubbles but here we are, giving away so much just by being in the physical presence of another person even if for a split second. It was a very real moment and I realize - I don't want to be lost in the labyrinth of my thoughts that are filled with dead ends, not again. I know I have an exit that I can take always and find myself again, be myself again.

But maybe some of this is also because a lot of "shaking the tree" has happened in terms of me learning about myself, in isolation from the society and people's opinions and my own damn opinions from a lifetime, that for the longest time I believed defined me. I've had moments of ups and downs and belief and disbelief through this phase. I think I have finally accepted myself for who I am - in the good and the bad - and maybe, just maybe, I like a few bits of this person here and there. And this really played itself out in terms of trust. Trust that I am worthy of relationships, trust that I am worthy of this research position and trust that even if I screw up, as long as I am willing to accept the responsibility and consequences of things and work towards things that really matter to me, as long as I am being true to myself, that's what matters. (or so I'll hope until I have to do a round 2 with this, and then I'll write about that as well. :) )

This acceptance of the bad has probably been most surprising and the most calming, I know now it is not the end of the world even though I believed it was, for way way too long. Someone once told me about how I overthink to the point that I have to plan even to have fun and it wasn't meant to be a good thing. But to be honest, that's who I am. I plan excessively. I think too much, about too many things and too many people. But I have finally learnt to try to give myself credit too, to not hate myself for how some things might manifest themselves. This might mean I have to plan every fun moment in my life, but I don't really care, because at least I'm having fun. :)

Another not so subtle realization is how I am so much closer to who I really am in all my vulnerabilities and wants and weaknesses (described here elegantly or not so elegantly based on how you see it). I don't feel apologetic about how much I feel or express anymore or who I am as a person. I AM a computer scientist damn it, and I can finally say it after 12 years of doing this, 6 years too late (but at least not never?). I want to see more women, talk to them, see myself in them, hopefully learn to navigate this path of feminism where I can learn to emulate the successful men and women in my lifetime without giving up my identity.

A nice moment that happened was that I FINALLY reached 100 posts this year. Well, 100 posts in 10 years isn't spectacular; but I was waiting for 100 for a very long while. Even though this blog has been on and off, it's definitely here to stay. I feel like I gave up everything that are therapeutic to me to pursue something that means something but not giving it enough credential either. So here's to changing that - to spending time doing things that are meaningful in a conscious manner. 

So you see, 2018 might be the year I actually found myself and began living for real. And then again, if I do die, wouldn't it be just that poetic? :D

In memoriam, to his fashion sense, to his novel use of the wah-wah pedal, to my love of blues, to him being made a legend before he even hit his peak, here's Jimi with one of my favourite songs, Little Wing.

https://vimeo.com/166581864