Offensive Personal Opinions, Personal Stories

Neeya Naana

Neeya Naana is a talk show where they take an issue that has no solution, debate over it for an hour, and end by bringing in an expert who says the issue has no solution.

I don’t watch Neeya Naana at home, because my parents are educated. I was forced to watch Neeya Naana at a hair salon while waiting for my turn. What kind of hair salon plays Neeya Naana, you ask? Well, it was my local barber shop. I’ll still call it a salon because I want him to make it in life, and secretly rebel against the rampant classist capitalism in society. Secretly, because I also want to be a classist capitalist one day AKA rich. I want to be so rich that people call me opulent. Yes, I want them to upgrade their lexicon to financially categorize my stature in society. Back to Neeya Naana.

The episode in question was about parenting: Should you be strict with your kids, or let them be free range? And, here’s the kicker – they’d allowed these people to bring their kids along. Imagine sitting through a PTA meeting, and finding out your parents were the ones flunking all along. Not just your parents, EVERY parent in the vicinity! But, kids being kids, all they cared about was being on TV. So, while some obediently sat on their parent’s lap, there were a few others dressed in floral themes running around the set, adding to the ambiance of an otherwise dull debate.

As an adult, it was excruciating to sit through this. I could only manage it because there was a guy with a blade and scissors, hacking away at my head. The debate was mostly one-sided. The protective ones were trying to go the Dark Knight route. “I’m the parent my child deserves, not the one it needs right now.” That was their disclaimer before getting into how borderline creepy they were being with their kids, all in the name of protection.

One parent said she’d never let her sons use public restrooms on their own. If the door to the stall was a foot off the floor, she’d make sure their shoes were visible AND she’d make them sing until they were done. Another parent said she wouldn’t allow her kids to stay at their grandparents’ house because she didn’t think the elders knew how to raise “new-age” kids. She also went on to say elders don’t know what to feed #kidsthesedays and almost everything they’d give her kid in her absence might lead to intestinal death. At which point, my barber cut in with, “Ey, your parents raised you properly only, no? They can’t raise your child, ah? ADING!” (There’s something terrorizing about a man with a blade standing behind you and spewing angry advice at a TV screen, while you get to stare at your hair sprinkled face, hoping this isn’t how you will turn up at the gates of hell.)

These people didn’t believe in survival of the fittest. They believed in survival of the Stockholm.

The other side was all about how such strict parenting will result in kids becoming socially retarded. Freeya vidardhu, as they put it, was all about letting your kid figure shit out on their own, and realizing they aren’t going to be handheld all the time. Another person said the primary role of a parent must be to say no to their kid(s) whenever they make demands. Apparently, this way, the child would develop exposure to rejection much early in life, and learn that the world is not all about them. I don’t disagree. But, the flipside is, if every parents’ first response is “No!” they will end up in denial and their kids will label them senile.

Kid: I want chocolate

Parent: No!

A few years later…

Kid: I want to be an artist

Parent: No!

A few weeks later…

Kid: I might not be straight. I want to explore my sexuality and…

Parent: NOOOOOO!

See what I mean?

The rest of the “leave them be” argument was all about parents telling everyone how their kids were able to manage everyday tasks without being whiny bitches.

Finally, there were two things both sides agreed on.

  1. Parenting has become a competition. It’s not about the kids anymore. It’s about being the best amongst their peers. They didn’t see their children as human beings. Their offspring was an object, a prized possession they didn’t want anyone else touching or taking away. Basically, they’re all being shitty manufacturers by not making any changes to their product until the release date, and then fucking around with it because they can’t provide guarantee or warranty. They’re the human version of Richie Street.                                                                                                                                                   
  2. This issue has no solution.

 

Advertisements
Standard
Personal Stories

My Story

Hey, there. I’m a storyteller, and I’ve got a story to tell you. Before we begin, I want you to understand something – this story is for adults. If you’re not an adult, you might just become one by the end of this story. Speaking of the end, I don’t really know how it ends. There’s definitely an ending. But, is it going to be happy? Is it going to be sad? Is it going to be an action packed climax, or a cliffhanger teasing a sequel? I’ve stayed up nights asking myself these questions. I still don’t have an answer, and that’s the best part about this story.

One of the easiest things for a storyteller has got to be telling a story someone else wrote or lived. All I have to do is tell you the story. I don’t have to relive, reminisce, remember, resent, or repent. I could even make things up in the middle, just for funsies. But, this story isn’t like that. This is my story. It’s one of my favorite stories, because I know how it all began. I know what happens right after the beginning. The characters in this story are real people with real lives. The best thing about this story for me, though, is it never ends. Now, I know I said there’s a definite end, but stay with me a little longer and you’ll know what I’m talking about. This story never ends for me, because it never feels like I’m close to the end. You know, I once tried to end this story. I thought I was done with this story – it was great while it lasted, and it was an adventure, but there was another story that seemed more interesting and maybe I should move on. I wasn’t mature enough to know the difference between the end of a chapter, and the end of the story itself.

That new story I thought was way more interesting, wasn’t that great by the time it ended. This time, someone else ended the story for me. It wasn’t the end of a chapter. The story hadn’t ended, either. But, you know how sometimes you’re reading a story and you lose interest and shut the book and leave it on a shelf you’ll probably never return to? That’s what happened. As time went by, I remembered the last story. I returned to it – not because I didn’t have a story to tell or because my new story didn’t end well. I returned because I knew there was more. I realized I didn’t consume the story, the story consumed me. I felt like this was the story I would never stop telling. The more I read this story, the more I learnt about myself. The more I told this story, the more I realized how nobody would ever say, “Oh, yeah! This reminds me of that other story!” No. This is my story. If you want to be part of this, you need to know that I won’t stop when you want. I will only stop when I want to, and that might not be any time soon.

I know I haven’t told you anything yet. Do you feel conned? This isn’t even the beginning and you’re already feeling entitled? Then, you’re exactly the kind of person for this type of story. This isn’t a story for the ages. It’s the story of an age. An age I wish I could go back to.

You know what, I think I’ll make you wait some more before I start. But, here’s a teaser: This story has drama, tragedy, comedy, romance, action, and lots more. Most of all, it has a life of its own.

Standard
Offensive Personal Opinions

A Constructive Guide to Suicide

I’ve lost my job. I’ve lost my relationship. I don’t have much left in life. So, I think it’s a good idea to end my life. I’d say I want to kill myself, but that sounds unnecessarily violent. Am I depressed? Maybe, I don’t know. I don’t want to spend good money on consulting a therapist, either. Do I have a sad life? Not really. I have been happier, for sure. I used to have someone to share my happiness with. I used to have someone to depend on, to be happy (because I couldn’t be happy on my own). It’s all gone now. It’s amazing how you can make all these promises in the heat of the moment, and suddenly wake up one day to find yourself alone and miserable. Given the choice between self-preservation and keeping a promise, some people choose self-preservation. And, there’s nothing wrong with that.

I’m just a little bored of life. I don’t feel optimistic about the possibility of fun, happiness, peace, or love in the near future. That’s how relationships work. When you hit a saturation point, and decide there’s nothing interesting or stimulating about it, you break it off. I’ve essentially decided to dump myself.

What about friends? Yes, I do have some friends. Some people who give a fuck about me; who will shed a tear if I die. Fuckers will probably laugh about it, but that’s what I’d do too. I will be fondly remembered. I know that much. Have I told anyone about wanting to kill myself? Not on my life. Either they’ll try to talk me out of it, or make fun of me and call me a pussy. Neither of those will encourage me and give me the motivation I need to off myself.

It might sound absurd, but suicide requires a lot of motivation. It’s not an easy task. In fact, it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever wanted to do in life. Because, you know, after that there will be no life (hopefully). Unfortunately, suicide isn’t something someone can force you to do. If someone told me things like “Why don’t you go die? I don’t care. Go kill yourself. You’re a worthless piece of shit who doesn’t deserve to live” I would get pissed off and show them how I will not die, I am not worthless, and I will not let someone else decide the value of my life. So, the only person who can motivate me, persuade me, and convince me about ending my life is me. And, I’m feeling a little lazy right now, so I don’t really want to do all of that.

I’m not a masochist. I do not enjoy pain. And, most methods of suicide involve self-inflicted pain. When life is being a pain the in ass, suicide shouldn’t be sodomy. I’m sitting with my legs on a table that has two kitchen knives just lying around. Kitchen knives aren’t great for stabbing. I can cut my jugular, or slit a wrist or two. But, that will cause pain. IF I can’t handle stubbing my toe against the chair, I definitely can’t handle slicing my nerves. I would be all nervous, and probably end up hurting myself. Suicide isn’t about hurting yourself. It’s about killing yourself.

There’s also the part about making a mess. A good clean suicide is a myth. Maybe not if I take sleeping pills. But, I’m bad at math, so if I miscalculate, I might just end up taking a really long nap. Naps aren’t bad, don’t get me wrong. But, if I was getting enough sleep, half my problems wouldn’t exist. I can’t sleep with myself. No wonder nobody wants to sleep with me.

I’m also a really nice person. I don’t want to burden others with the responsibility of my last rites. It costs a lot of money, too. If I can’t afford a therapist, I definitely can’t afford a cremation; especially my own. So, what’s the best method of suicide that doesn’t involve violence, sharp objects, prescription pills, accomplices, fans, ropes, vehicles, tall buildings, or pain?

Life. Living life is the best suicide. Every day that passes, is one less day to live. Why fuck with the natural countdown? There is only death at the end of life. There is no chance of survival. This way, nobody knows I killed myself. I will take this secret to my grave. The decisions I took, the people I pursued, the hobbies and vices I chose – at least one of them (if not all) will kill me one day.

It doesn’t make me happy. This means more people will leave me. I will lose money, respect, love, and a whole lot of other stuff. But, I will also gain some. What goes around comes around. When I lose my life, I’ll know for a fact that I have nothing more to lose or gain. I did not choose this life. It was given to me by someone else. So, I will let someone or something else take it away from me. I’m going to be lazy about suicide. You should try it sometime. You might like it. If you don’t, you’ll get used to it.

Standard