Girls and their Unmentionable
I was in the cafeteria today, standing in the queue waiting for my turn at the cash counter and there was this bombshell, nail-bitingly beautiful girl standing ahead of me. She had a fairy with her wings and wand tattooed on her nape and her hairs were streaked with at least ten different shades of golden brown and she was dressed resplendently in a blue top and blue jeans with matching eyeglasses and nail varnish. She was wearing so much color that she looked like a walking advertisement for Benetton. Anyways she got her coffee and she turned and gave me with one of those I-am-hotter-than-your-coffee looks but it wasn’t her face that I was looking. She was beautiful, gorgeous in fact but there was some black stringy thing running across her shoulder, something that was reminiscent of a hasty decision taken on a hot and sweaty Sunday afternoon when you have to tag along with your mother or girl friend and carry all those shopping bags. That instant she simply plummeted from being a hotter than hell, I-want to-die-for-you chick to someone pathetic, someone not even worthy of a second glance, someone incorrigible because a lady who has gone lengths to color coordinate everything, from the color of her hairs to her nail varnish and who smelt of roses and blooms and wore a 3000 bucks jeans with embellishments, why such a lady couldn’t possibly find something matching, something more elegant to wear underneath her top, is something I couldn’t possibly comprehend. What’s more, it’s not only her, this seems to be the problem with all the females that I see walking around my campus, they are pretty much cautious about Levi’s and Von Dutch knock off’s that they wear but when it comes to their underclothing’s black and white seems to be the color for all seasons. It’s sort of okay with us guys because we people couldn’t possibly differentiate between grey’s and blacks and aborigine and red but these girls who could possibly tell apart and name all the 255 shades in the color palette why can’t they see beyond white and black when it comes to their bras and panties. I get it white is supposed to be the color of virginity and you are pretty much proud of your flower but then it needn’t be drab like a nun’s clothing and there has to some way in between being a virgin and being a witch( which I guess happens to be the plausible motivation behind black undies). No one is actually going to bothered about what you are wearing underneath, as long as you are pretty apt at concealing and as long as you are not wearing something black underneath something white and flimsy and since they’re going to be very few people who will get to see you first hand in those clothing and believe me they too would be pretty much interested in taking them off, so you could most of the time get away by wearing your blacks and whites but ultimately it all comes down to the fact that how much comfortable you are with your own body and how much as a person you love yourself because if you consider yourselves to be beautiful then I don’t think you will ever be hiding yourselves underneath those drab and run of the mill nunnery cloths. They may be your unmentionables but they are also the parts that have make you beautiful and they are the parts that have made you what you really are, so dressing them up nicely, with some lace and frolics is the least you can do for them.
I am not a pervert, believe me and nor I am an employee with the Victoria Secret but I do know something and that is dressing up starts from the very basic and much more than anything it is a reflection of what you think of yourself to be, if you yourself are ill at ease with your body then I don’t think anyone is going to look at you in any other light. A piece of advice finally, please do wear a strapless bra with those spaghetti tops and don’t team up black with anything other than black, unless of course you are really generous and want to give some teenager a reason to walk with a smirk around his face.
Spidey-The Spider
There used be a spider, living somewhere along the walls in my room. His webs seemed to infiltrate each and every corner of my room, from my closet to bookshelves but I never really bothered him or myself with his activities more so because he was perhaps the only company that I have through those long and lonely days. I used to lie down in my bed and watch him weaving webs all around my room and I really got fond of this so much so that I named him Spidey. Watching Spidey at work used to be so much fun and watching him weave his own elaborate and ubiquitous webs, I started to weave mine with tiny and gossamer shreds of life that were tucked away or left forgotten along some bends or dark corners of my mind. Spidey was a professional and he never got entangled in his web but when you delve deep within the abyss of your mind to retrieve all those long forgotten memories and remembrances you can’t help but be affected by it all and it was pretty excruciating as well. There were are a lot of things which I never really bothered about and now when I thought about them, they really left me bewildered, feelings which I thought I was immune to and relationships which I thought I have gotten over with they all come back to hit me right across my face. I worked through those memories, organizing them somewhere along the shelves of my mind and believe me, it was a painstaking task and I am not referring to my emotions here. Working through those disjoint and incoherent threads, trying to find a piece or missing memory or a pattern that would fit into the picture, trying to remember people and their names and faces and more importantly the reasons why they were left out from my life, left me simply overwhelmed with a feeling that I have never felt before. At the end of all this I was left with much more confusion and chaos in my life, now that I remembered everything I wanted to forget it, throw those nice boxes along the shelve all away. Making mistakes is one thing but seeing yourself making those same mistakes again and again, watching everything in my life fall into definite patterns and once you starting to pull on those strings of memory there can’t be any going back, things just start to reveal themselves to you and all when all those hidden meanings are made clear to you, you can’t help but feel aghast by whatever has happened in your life. There were a lot of questions, questions like the name of the girl whom I used to travel with every day in the metro, I can remember her phone number though but her name and her face and the reason why she talked to me is all gone. There were some happy memories though, memories from my childhood and my birthdays where everyone would be wearing those triangular hats and I would be the one getting the cake with my name across it and then they will all sing and bless me with many girlfriends. It’s all sad how we can’t go back and relive those happier times, all those is left is just a tingling feeling and a cardboard box with birthday written across it stuffed somewhere in between all those infinite boxes which make us what we are.
I haven’t seen Spidey in a long time, perhaps lazy, the lizard, ate him but even with Spidey gone I still weave those webs, hoping to find all those answers that I thought never existed. My past is over and I have to move ahead and this baggage is perhaps what I should be carrying with me to remind me of what I am and what I have lost and gained.
