Soooo...as of yesterday, I haven't blogged in over a month. My sincere apologies, dear reader. There are, however, two reasons for this:
1) Living in Delhi is like living in Winterfell, except in reverse. Here, for months after I arrived, people kept muttering "Summer is coming" in ominous tones. Well, summer has arrived. All 44°C of it. My flatmates and I have opted not to rent AC units. My motivation for this is mainly because a) I can't afford one and b) I end up constantly sneezing like someone put pepper in my nasal spray. So really, all I have to combat the heat in my room is the ceiling fan, which just kind of shuffles the hot air around a bit. There is no chance of sightseeing, unless it's to nicely air-conditioned malls. Going to a crowded monument like the Jama Masjid in Old Delhi would be temperature-induced suicide. The heat quite literally makes me feel ill. So I'm pretty much stuck indoors. Which is not so bad becaaaaause...
2) I've fallen in love. I'm very much aware that I'm stepping dangerously close to Eat, Pray, Love-esque cliché here. Middle-class twenty-something girl, dissatisfied and bored, goes to "find herself" in an exotic and culturally-rich location and finds love instead. It sounds like the blurb of a particularly trashy summer holiday reading paperback. The twist is - and yes, this is also cliché territory, so not really a twist at all then - that I've never been in love before. Not properly. Anyone who knows me (and if you're reading this, I'm assuming you do) knows that I'm the prototypical perpetually single girl who just can't seem to find someone she likes who likes her back.
I've had more than my share of unrequited crush dramas. Actually, they're dramatic to no one but me due to their total and utter lack of anything deserving of comment. If you've been my shoulder to cry on during one of these crushes, I offer you my deepest thanks. And I now repay you by dropping entirely off the face of the earth. Whereas once you couldn't get rid of me and my whining, you now barely hear from me, because I'm at my boyfriend's (!!!!) place making cutesy baby voices while we feed each other with our hands. Yes. We are that sickening.
And quite frankly, I feel no guilt about it. Because at 27, I'm enjoying my first real relationship. Coincidentally, neither of us has an office-based job at the moment, which means we get to hang out a lot. In a few months we'll both be doing the 9-to-5, and life will get instantly and simultaneously more complicated and boring. We'll look back on these days of Delhi summer wistfully and say, "Remember when our biggest problem was what we're going to eat for lunch?"
I don't really want to say too much about it, because I'm afraid I'll jinx it. (Aaaand now realising the irony of saying that after waxing lyrical on a blog read by most of my friends and family...) Suffice to say, I'm happy. I'm really, really happy. Obviously, it's still early days, as we both keep saying. But I feel really good about this. He's a really great guy and I really enjoy being around him. And he's good for me. He hassles me about my time management issues and encourages me to write. Probably the main reason I'm writing on this blog today is because he reminded me that I hadn't updated it in a month. Not to mention the fact that he knows more about South African political history than I do, Indian citizenship aside, and so I'm learning more about not only India but also my own country through him. (Did you know John Dube, Sol Plaatjie and Pixley ka Isaka Seme founded the ANC? I didn't! I probably should have, what with having a history teacher for a mother, but I didn't!)
Ok, I'll stop gushing now. I'm getting mildly nauseated by my own teenager-iness on your behalf. I tell you all this only as an explanation for my conspicuous absence from the blogosphere (as well as Facebook, email, gchat, whatsapp, and all other means of communication). I'm sure I'll return to normal soon. Bear with me. I'm heading to Mumbai/Bombay next month, and the most wonderful Estelle will be visiting just before I leave in July. More India stories to come, I promise!
Love and more love,
M.xx
1) Living in Delhi is like living in Winterfell, except in reverse. Here, for months after I arrived, people kept muttering "Summer is coming" in ominous tones. Well, summer has arrived. All 44°C of it. My flatmates and I have opted not to rent AC units. My motivation for this is mainly because a) I can't afford one and b) I end up constantly sneezing like someone put pepper in my nasal spray. So really, all I have to combat the heat in my room is the ceiling fan, which just kind of shuffles the hot air around a bit. There is no chance of sightseeing, unless it's to nicely air-conditioned malls. Going to a crowded monument like the Jama Masjid in Old Delhi would be temperature-induced suicide. The heat quite literally makes me feel ill. So I'm pretty much stuck indoors. Which is not so bad becaaaaause...
2) I've fallen in love. I'm very much aware that I'm stepping dangerously close to Eat, Pray, Love-esque cliché here. Middle-class twenty-something girl, dissatisfied and bored, goes to "find herself" in an exotic and culturally-rich location and finds love instead. It sounds like the blurb of a particularly trashy summer holiday reading paperback. The twist is - and yes, this is also cliché territory, so not really a twist at all then - that I've never been in love before. Not properly. Anyone who knows me (and if you're reading this, I'm assuming you do) knows that I'm the prototypical perpetually single girl who just can't seem to find someone she likes who likes her back.
I've had more than my share of unrequited crush dramas. Actually, they're dramatic to no one but me due to their total and utter lack of anything deserving of comment. If you've been my shoulder to cry on during one of these crushes, I offer you my deepest thanks. And I now repay you by dropping entirely off the face of the earth. Whereas once you couldn't get rid of me and my whining, you now barely hear from me, because I'm at my boyfriend's (!!!!) place making cutesy baby voices while we feed each other with our hands. Yes. We are that sickening.
And quite frankly, I feel no guilt about it. Because at 27, I'm enjoying my first real relationship. Coincidentally, neither of us has an office-based job at the moment, which means we get to hang out a lot. In a few months we'll both be doing the 9-to-5, and life will get instantly and simultaneously more complicated and boring. We'll look back on these days of Delhi summer wistfully and say, "Remember when our biggest problem was what we're going to eat for lunch?"
I don't really want to say too much about it, because I'm afraid I'll jinx it. (Aaaand now realising the irony of saying that after waxing lyrical on a blog read by most of my friends and family...) Suffice to say, I'm happy. I'm really, really happy. Obviously, it's still early days, as we both keep saying. But I feel really good about this. He's a really great guy and I really enjoy being around him. And he's good for me. He hassles me about my time management issues and encourages me to write. Probably the main reason I'm writing on this blog today is because he reminded me that I hadn't updated it in a month. Not to mention the fact that he knows more about South African political history than I do, Indian citizenship aside, and so I'm learning more about not only India but also my own country through him. (Did you know John Dube, Sol Plaatjie and Pixley ka Isaka Seme founded the ANC? I didn't! I probably should have, what with having a history teacher for a mother, but I didn't!)
Ok, I'll stop gushing now. I'm getting mildly nauseated by my own teenager-iness on your behalf. I tell you all this only as an explanation for my conspicuous absence from the blogosphere (as well as Facebook, email, gchat, whatsapp, and all other means of communication). I'm sure I'll return to normal soon. Bear with me. I'm heading to Mumbai/Bombay next month, and the most wonderful Estelle will be visiting just before I leave in July. More India stories to come, I promise!
Love and more love,
M.xx
