Tag Archives: Compliments

The randomness that gets me through potholes of madness

27 Sep

Now, because I promised myself that I’d take more time to do things that I love doing and the things that make me happy, here I am, back again. Surprised?? Good!

One day prior to now, I might have received my greatest compliment in recent times. “You look just like Sharmila, my daughter… (I swear, I beamed enough to give the moon a complex.) She’s 40.” Ahem! Why yes Auntyji, thank you VERY much! That’s exactly what I needed to hear in my current state of mind, I thought. How very kind! 😀 I’m certain women read facial expressions far better than men do though and I’m right, too, because she was rather quick to top that with, “Of course, she’s much older than you.” Thank God for a higher emotional quotient in our kind, wouldn’t you say?! Phew.

Too much to do, all at once is beyond irritating; yet nothing to do is undeniably worse than a day not lived- I can assure you of that first hand- it is punishment, in my own words from the day I had to endure what I’m talking about. To think of it the way I imagine God must think of it, (if He does indeed think like me, that is ;)) we’re all just plain greedy. But then again, fulfilling work would surely make everyone feel better about a major bulk of everything in their lives, right? “Holy Lord! Does such a thing exist?” (Don’t waste time wondering about whether or not I’m still talking to you because I totally am. Look wonder-struck and question that with me.) “If it does exist, dear God, please know that I’m standing pretty much first in line in search of my tour guide. Seriously. Thank you. Yours truly, ME. P.S. No, I am not complaining and I still think of you as my friend.” As for you guys, don’t copy my lines when you pray because honestly, I’d rather that you be second, third or fourth in line. Deal?

Yesterday evening, I happened to see a middle-aged man walking on a busy street in fluorescent yellow pants and a light checkered shirt. 🙂 Yep! You can laugh first because I did, too. No, he did not look mentally unwell. Did he care about who thought what of him? Not that I could tell. Did he want to look better than every other teenage kid in town? I don’t think so. Did he look like he was cribbing about a more respected life that God probably hadn’t chosen for him just yet? Not really. Do I know him? No. Will I ever see him again? Most likely, not. But he taught me to feel beautiful in myself. That one sighting of him changed at least a few pages in the story of my life. I’m grateful.

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