Granddaughters Promise

A couple of weeks ago, my grandad passed into the immaterial world. And though we can’t physically see his scarecrow build before us, he lives on through my dad, dad’s sisters and his slew of granddaughters.

What makes us the Malikat Singh Daughter Collective, is that each and every one of us are fiercely independent. We’ve created lives contrary of what society expects. We’ve fought for our intellectual journeys. We’ve studied our way into male-dominated professions. We’ve fought for our families. We’ve lived lives according to our own wishes and continue to expand the female footprint in this world.

Ironically, it’s the women in which I see granddad’s spirit the most and not his lone son, my dad. In spite of pa being a replica of granddad – tall, strong and someone you want in your corner in a knife fight (he’s a gardener, and an expert with blades) – when it comes to the chill, stoic, I need nothing but my basics; it’s granddad’s girls that best represent his solitary life. Fuck we are lucky to be content in living in the moment, choosing life as per our desires and being more than okay with being on our own. We some bad bitches – we could definitely take down any of the guys in my family, even those who married into the jungle of warrior-women. Yea,  continued well wishes with us, cuz we be wild’n.

Granddad, I’ll be seeing you on the other side sooner or later. Until then your spiritual legacy is very much alive and present. We’ve got you and there’s no way we’ll let anyone forget you.

Granddaughters promise.

 

 

Dedicated to my Favourite Ex

Dearest Favourite Ex.

You served 31 years as one of society’s greatest heroes. In 2012, you appeared in my life and became my greatest hero. Your boss couldn’t have said it better, you are one of the sincerest souls on the planet. And trust me, I know what I’m talking about – I know almost everyone in the world, uh duh.

You came into my life when I was a disaster. I’m still a disaster, but I’m like only emergency activation level 1 now. My friends loved you, my family loved you and honestly, everyone you come across ends up loving you; you are as charming and as good as they come.

Three decades of fighting fire, with hose or paper  – That was just the first half of your life.  Everyone knows it doesn’t end here for you. You’re meant to coach, mentor, heal and entertain dozens others.

I got one thing right – I met you.

Keep keeping it 100 Charles.

Part two of your life is about to start…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Rewrite your story

I had a fight with one of my rose-boys last week. I got ugly. Man was this a throwback for me: teen rebellion over here. Somewhere down the road, I changed and lost the ability to speak my mind.

I remember sitting with my therapist and her referencing the connection between my upbringing and subsequent loss of voice. At that time, it was too soon for me to see the connection because I was consumed with turmoil and telling everyone about my divorce story: yep, I was one of those people. Poor cousin r, I’d corner her and tell her over and over again; it’s kind of her fault for being a bleeding heart. Now, a decade later, I don’t even get into it. Instead, I hand out cue cards outlining the key messages.

For the better part of my adult life, I’ve repressed my feelings or have distanced myself from the source of emotion. Developing addictive and histrionic behaviour was my jam. Purchase over Partner… Literally. I bought a Prada bag on the Friday, and I was partnerless on the Sunday. True story. Ask cousin r, she’ll corroborate as she’s heard it a million times.

I’m less addictive now, but I’m still hella dramatic (I wonder if my being extra is due to the reduction of addictive behaviour)? Anyway, I was chatting with one of my brilliant colleagues and through the conversation, mostly me hogging airtime, he sparked an epiphany.

These days, I’ve been blabbing about how I’m gonna meet the next Mr. deepali; A love story like no other. Or basically like every other, but I’ll be super theatrical about it. Talking to diamond, (my friend colleagues alias), I was able to speak freely, which eventually led him to ask the million dollar question:

exactly what is it that you want?

And like that, a revelation was had and everything became crystal.

I wanted a fucking love story. I wanted it so badly I was casting any tom, dick and harry as leading men. I was trying to love any one of these roseboys when none of them have declared their unequivocal desire to be Mr. deepali. Shut up, more of us do this than not.

So thanks diamond, because of you, I’m rewriting my love story.

In this version, the bachelorette (me) has revoked all the roses in play and has composted them. She’s starting from scratch with new ones which will be available when COVID-19 is over and handed out upon careful consideration.

 

Until the next.

deepali

I mean what I say

I mean what I say…

Thanks to my besties, I mean what I say.

We’ve had thirty years of growing up, growing down, growing sideways BUT always growing with our deep historic connection keeping us together. Cheers to quality over quantity. I’m not crying, you’re crying.

These bitches have been with me through thick, thin and thinner and are the REAL WIVES of North America. If you wanna see unconditional love in action, watch us. It’s savage cheer love for sure..

After this re-charge with my besties I ran into sexy building-mate. Damn, a specimen worth examining.

I’ve been sending mixed signals to him since we met. We’re still in the risk assessment stage.

So yeah: Which one of my prospects is gonna earn the title of Mr. deepali.

 

Sexy building-mate;

The guy who makes me feel like I’m in a Mary J. Blige video;

Comfortable cuddly protective guy;

Or the unknown illustrious Asian man who I’ll meet when I go back to Asia when social integrating and physical nearing is permitted

One of these fellas….

He’s gonna be my boom.

Or bust…but whatever, who cares, I don’t have time for that shit.

Until the next….

 

2020 – Enter Mr. Deepali

I don’t recognize who I’ve become. The other day, I caught myself saying to a friend that I wanted to be married. Like married – compromising, doing shit for the other, putting our needs before mine.

I haven’t felt this way ever. Yes, I’ve been married before and it was good while it lasted but when I think back to the primary driver for getting married – I did it because it was socially prescribed.

Don’t get me wrong I loved my ex but did I truly want to get married, no. Did I  sabotage my marriage, unconsciously yes.

Talking to that same friend, we started chatting about the values we internalize and whether our interests are intrinsic or shaped by external influence.

As much as we think or feel we know someone, do we truly know them? I mean we are essentially trusting others to be honest with us but for the most part, are people even honest with themselves or are they just going through the motions of what they think they should be doing. Seriously complicated.

So yea, these days I want to be a Mrs, again. And not just for the access to extended health benefits and man-skills like unfastening pipes and retrieving the items I drop down the drain.

And like always, I’m crushing on a couple of prospects.

Prospect One – The friend I’ve loved for years who reminds me so much of my ex-husband – Comfort, assurance and reliability.

OR

Prospect Two- The acquaintance I fell for instantly who reminds me of all my favourite people combined but who’s also a turd who I want to murder more often than not.

I wonder who destiny has in store for me. Is she going to make it happen with the man who will protect me, or the asshole who drives me insane. Or according to my sister and cousin A-hai, neither. Instead, they see Prospect Three – a rich industrialist from Asia who can give me the life I was born to live – Glitz, glamour, all the bougie shit on his dime.

Dunno. But I can tell you what I do know. Mr. Deepali is around the corner and it’s only a matter of time before I invite you all to the wedding in Thailand. Just wait and see.

Until then.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Destiny made me do it!

It’s official. I’m that person: the loud, crazy bitch who walks into a room and either repels or magnetizes. Since the reduction in hearing (due to my advanced age), the volume of my speech is three million decibels. And because of my inability to give a damn, i’m crazy honest with my commentary. Like my friend Lisa P, I too stop innocent people on the street and openly criticize how they’re doing things. Seriously, getting old is fucking hilarious.

Now that I’m in my forty fourth year on this earth, I am hella determined to get exactly what I want. Who knows how soon its going to be before the earth implodes and starts anew. None of this, “well, what are people gonna think?” OR “this person’s gonna get mad,” OR “I’ll lose their respect.” Many argue I’ve been this way since birth but I didn’t fucking know as I was too busy being emotional and overwhelmed with self-hatred.

Anyway, last week marked the debut of this new look:  The mega determined, outspoken and offensive/mesmerizing deepali. My politico friend ARJ was hosting a party where I got to be Mittens date. The two of us, I tell ya; black swan – white swan. Mittens and I are pieces of work who when coupled, are so damn fucking ridiculous. We openly yell at and publicly mock each other. What makes this so funny is that we are well in our forties, and behave like girls gone wild. The other thing that makes it absurd is that we are both”apparently” gorgeous and intelligent, but behave like a couple of spotted hyenas when we’re together.

But then again, any time I’m involved, there’s a lot of stupidity and laughter. Turns out crosshair guy, in spite of being acquainted for 10 minutes, provokes big time hilarity….but also raw, uncensored emotional reactions. Fucking Crosshair guy – I wanted to marry him but now I wanna murder him 99 percent of the time. Passion? Who knows, I certainly don’t because I’m too busy living life to pause and analyze. At this mid point of life, people are either with me or not. Take me or leave me. And if you leave, don’t waste your time trying to come back.

Being Canadian, suppose I should apologize for being so unapologetic: but in my defence, destiny is making me do this so you’ve got that bitch to thank.

Later.

Take risks, feel stupid, no one cares

My general practice in life is taking highly un-calculated risks. Seriously, the feelings of excitement and uncertainty of what’s in store is thrilling…And the lessons learned after all is said and done…damn I be drunk in love with that shit.

But sometimes I start thinking about the need for someone to ground my lofty ways. The former husband was a wonderful anchor, props to him for having that virtue. One day I will stop talking about him, but until then, pardon me for always bringing him up.  That’s the thing about unconditional love though, regardless of what’s been said and done, you still love ’em.

As of late I’ve got someone in the crosshair. I’ve already imagined the wedding at CityHall, me in a white pantsuit, blue patent Gucci’s and all my gals waiting on the other side of the lobby door. Fact: Even at 44, I still dream like I’m in the first grade. What’s different with this one however is that I’ve given destiny the wheel. I’ve basically advised her that I want x, y and z. So if she wants to give me a combination of x, y, z, or a combination of nothing at all, I trust she’s got my back.

Honestly, if I could jedi-mind control the dude I’ve got in crosshair, I would have had him on bended knee upon first sight, with not one, but two rings from Tiffany. But sadly, I do not have those skills. So now, I just say what I need to say. I take the risk, feel stupid for a minute and then basically let destiny do her thang. What can I say, she’s a trustworthy betch.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It’s Still Progress

Finally. I think I’ve gotten over the loss of my husband, to be clear, I lost him to another person, not death. I guess I could have said “I’ve gotten over my ‘divorce” but there is something shameful that comes over me when I say the D- word. It’s a reminder of another broken dream – one that may not have been mine to begin with. For me, the feelings that come with breaking another’s heart are harder than feeling my own heart break.

“Ju breaking my hart” is all me and my dumb and dumber sisters hear from our parents. And in spite of being 40-ish, gracefully single…..All of us be downloading Tinder, trying to get skinny, and asking any man who looks in our direction to date…Like fuck, it’s desperation that ain’t even ours. Thanks mom. Thanks dad. Those fuckers would prolly say ‘You’re welcome.”

Right, so back to being over my marriage being done (Still can’t say the word, “divorce.”), the better part of the last decade has typically been me slipping into a coma this time of year. Haunted by memories of wedding anniversaries, birthdays etc. Raise your hands if you fall in the fall, ’cause i always do.

Truth is, I think I chose to feel sad. In some way, I felt that holding onto to some degree of pain kept me accountable, helped me avoid making the same mistakes. Or maybe hanging onto the sadness kept any chance of committed relationships at bay. Sure I had Captain Goodtimes, but as in love with him I was, I was preserving myself big time. By the way, I know you’re reading this. In fact I know all a million of you men whom I’ve enchanted over the last decade are reading this; Here it is: the reason why I was a distant b.

I’ve been feeling pretty damn alright for the most part and so much lighter than usual this time of year. Guess I’ve served my time in the prison of guilt and shame, a 10 year sentence served. 

I’m still physically exhausted and only wake to the thought of going back to bed. But fucking A, It’s still progress.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In the end, sometimes dreams are all you got

Mission, unaccomplished. I did not get a date for Cousin J’s wedding. I repeat, I did not get a date for cousin J’s wedding. Truth is, what’s meant to be is meant to be. If all signs are pointing one way, can’t not go in that direction. Hate counterflow, unless it’s in relation to traffic.

0 for 6 invites.

INVITE 1 – Was about to ask a former mayor because why not make my colleagues happy and root for this brown Cinderella.

INVITE 2 – Moved onto inviting the friend I’ve secretly loved for twenty plus years. He declined but oh, how I dream of the ways he effortlessly fits into my life.

INVITE 3 -Went on to ask an ex, knowing full well he would say no but asked anyway because I liked the lack of odds.

INVITE 4 – Grabbed my lady balls and invited a random stranger @TallPaul who is my IG buddy now. Seriously though, when I’m depleted, I lay my head down on the table/desk and pull up my Insta feed to see what this next level gorgeouso is up to. What can I say, I like pretty things.

INVITE 5- Whilst in Toronto, I asked the blind date I met through one of my dad’s old school besties. He would have basically been a giant gift for my dad. “Look papa, I got another husband. He’s cute and Indian like the last one…Do you love me now?”

INVITE 6- And of course asking basketball star @ rick fox via IG …. because I was feeling  hella inspired that day. And as Gretzky says, you miss 100% of the shots you don’t take.

0 for 6 invites

Dateless. Sure I was the middle aged aunty at the bar, sizing up all the men, family included.

Am I disappointed for another wish gone unfulfilled? Nah, because for me, the experience was worth way more than the net zero outcome. I have a million wishes, so what if half a dozen don’t come true. It’s not like I’m gonna stop wishing or dreaming. Often, this is all I have…but more importantly, I know the universe has a queue, eventually my turn will come.

Until the next….

 

 

 

 

Here I go again – In love with a friend

I think of how far our relationship has deepened since we stopped seeing each other after dark

Don’t get me wrong I love where we are now. The ease and comfort of our most natural selves. Chatting freely, openly, real talky talk. It’s so easy. Genuine and authentic intimacy that comes with friendship.

But…

I’m starting to dream about what its like for you to come home to me everyday. Hearing keys jingle at the door, running up to greet you. I know, like a dog, but truly that’s what I look like in love. Sure I break promises left and right but that ain’t nothing to do with love. Behaviour is a brain thang. Love is matter of the heart.

I fantasize about chronicling my day for you, listening to you about yours. The ritual good-morning and good-night kiss. Assurance in knowing you’ll be there for me day to night.

But…

I know better. Millions of articles have been published about what men want and when I piece the clues you send and cross check against the literature…the answer is pretty clear.

But…

Why is my heart feeling like something has changed for you?

Or am I just projecting my feelings for comfort and security onto the idea of being with you?

Is my heart being an asshole?

So…

Do I ask you these questions or do I continue to ask Alexa.

Do I stay in the safe zone, harbour the feelings and wait for them to fade like they have in the past?

Alexa. Tell me.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I know, a bona fide crazy, sexy cool b.  me.