Tag Archives: Instastories

X Generation

There’s a name for my generation. The children of Baby Boomers who arrived a few calendar pages too early to be Millenial. We’re Generation X. Or perhaps Xennial. X marks the spot of cluelessness in the Information Age. 



Apparently I’m attractive now. After years of Gori&Chitti, this skin colour & attitude are desirable. I’m a modern day Sleeping Beauty waking up in a world she doesn’t recognise. Err, without the non-consensual kiss & 100 year sleep. I’m not THAT old. But I am 41. And wow, has the world changed. X is for extra powered RedBull to get out of the bullshit. 

Dating, is a thing now. Bravo, India. Human relationships have gone digital. Matrimonial sites are mainstream. After all, our mothers are today’s biggest users of Whatsapp. So we can find Attractive, Family loving, Sapiosexual, Horoscope-matched, Pedigreed Pluviophile matches at the tap of a button. X is for family approved sex appeal.

And on the same screen there’s also Swipe Left for No, Up for Hells No, Down for In Your Dreams and Right for Alright Your Place or Mine? It is pretty confusing. No? That’s just me? Us X-Gen olds? X for caught in the crossfire. 

Where do I fall on this? One broken engagement & several shamefully hidden breakups later, I can tell you 36 ways marriage is Indian torture. Also 72 reasons your mother-in-law cannot be your frenemy. So no thank you ShubhShaadi, TurrantVivah, JeevanSaathiya. It’ll take more than a matched horoscope, a word-processed bio and three templatised messages to find my Happily Ever After. X is for my confidence made of exes tears. 

But hookups are so much effort. I’d rather spend Saturday nights with a book, drink tea instead of wine and keep my body clean of all the nasty things that you get when you do the nasty with a stranger. Nasty things?HIV, hepatitis B, eroded cervixes, unrequited love. X is for a Windows 95 generation begging shut that window or I’ll have to call IT.

No apps to satisfy the cravings of a slightly pre-millenial X Gen’er. All I can say is Relationship Status: Between Swipe Right & Made In Heaven. X marks that spot.

🎶: DEEWANE TO DEEWANE HAIN-Shweta Shetty #TheMateHunt #IWear #IndianMatchmaking

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If you liked this post, you’ll want to follow the Facebook Page and the Youtube channel. I’m Ramya Pandyan (a.k.a. Ideasmith) and I’m on Twitter and Instagram.

Orange Solo

Some nights are a turquoise tango, some days are an orange solo. 

Flashback 12 years. I wandered down bookshelves that I’d been glazing over for weeks. It seemed wrong to be there alone. The environment matched my mood. What was earlier opulence had run into decadent indifference. Books lay piled on floors, skeletons ripped. They were all in the wrong racks. I suppressed a grimace. Things change. My favorite bookshop was my haven of tidy ideas no more. I missed someone.

Had dinner with a friend who had trekked across the city after a busy week, simply because I had called. He’d thought I needed to talk. How touching. I ordered my favorite drink, he asked for chocolate milk. I was amused when the waiter put the milkshake down before me & the drink before him.



After I talked of the events of the past year, he said, “You shouldn’t have to face this. She said so too.”

I was touched again. How very young they seemed to me – her & him! How agonizing my disappointment & frustration must seem to them! It occurred to me that they grieved for my suffering, that I didn’t experience any more. I remembered when my older friends would tell me stories of their lives that filled me with feelings too overwhelming to express. It prompted him to ask, “But eventually….you too want stability, don’t you?” Out of the mouth of babes….

As we left, he asked, “Are you happy? On a scale of 1 to 10, not just this moment but in life, how happy are you?”

I didn’t have to think real hard or lie to say, “8. Quite happy.”

I’m happy because I can finally bend over touch my toes after 2yrs of yoga. I’m happy there’re people who ask if I am. I miss a friend & am glad to have someone to miss. I’m happy the rains didn’t give me a cold. I’m happy to have found a drink I like.  I’m so happy to be 28 with with a 24 year old friend who hears the melancholy in my voice. 

Back to the present. The 24 year olds bleed now but they still look to me for hope. There are new 20-somethings filled with yellow sunshine. I’m happy the tapestry of turquoise is shot with orange threads. I’m happy I lived to 41.

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If you liked this post, you’ll want to follow the Facebook Page and the Youtube channel. I’m Ramya Pandyan (a.k.a. Ideasmith) and I’m on Twitter and Instagram.

Drag Me


When you look at me, what I’m wearing is the first thing you see. My clothes are my way of saying hello. My chosen language to say, this is me. My red lipstick is a fashion statement and that statement is NOT “You can fuck me”. Sometimes, it’s “Look at me!” Other days, it’s “Dracula be hungry”. Today my lips say, “I bleed words”.



Every day I choose from a wardrobe, full of accessories and garments, moods and temperaments. Each day, I fashion a new me. I’m a walk-in cupboard full of people to be, my mind a lingerie drawer full of personalities. Every living moment is a shopping expedition. Every person a fashion find. A pretty scarf, a new discovery. Any fun idea that crosses my mind.

Identity is a game of smoke and mirrors and hot breaths and scratches on paper. I was once Madonna in her Gentlemen prefer blondes avatar. I know I’m not blonde but neither was Madonna. Not Norma Jean Baker either. But Marilyn Monroe was and so was the Material Girl.

But why limit me to my hair colour, my job, my nationality, my gender? I am whatever I imagine at that moment. A warrior, an empath, a friend, a healer, a student, a lover, a teacher, a stranger.

Insecurity speaks in many voices, worry in many octaves. Dressing up is a reminder that every label can be peeled off, even ink washes off and the faces & bodies we present are but performance.

If you were in drag, what would you be like? Would you be camp? Would you be pretty or sultry? Would you add a touch of desi? Would you invent a new planet and claim fealty? Would you redefine love? And where does the drag stop and where begins your identity?

I never really liked labels anyway. So you can put your Versace, Gay/Straight, Gucci away. Because if I were in drag, what would I be? Bigger, Shinier, Sexier. Just even more me.

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If you liked this post, you’ll want to follow the Facebook Page and the Youtube channel. I’m Ramya Pandyan (a.k.a. Ideasmith) and I’m on Twitter and Instagram.

Vulnerability Bait

Art makes honesty accessible, believable, livable. It makes vulnerability look appealing by giving it validation. I rewatched an EASY episode of an ageing graphic novelist. It tapped into my fears of growing old & irrelevant, regrets over bad choices.

When I began blogging in 2004, I didn’t know I was pioneering something, like TikTokers are doing today. I was pushing the boundaries of mining one’s own life for the public.



At 20-something, I was being pressured to marry, after a life of being restrained from interactions with the opposite sex. I had questions like what does love mean, how do you judge whether someone is right for you, how do you do this in one meeting with 25 other people watching, everyone ready to decimate you for a wrong choice? I was navigating this through sexual violations, male entitlement, slut-shaming & glass ceiling without knowing these terms.

This formed a secret blog – meetings with prospective grooms & later, my own experiments with men I met in other ways. The word ‘dating’ wasn’t in the middle class Indian lexicon but I was learning. I wrote of attractions, chronicled matrimonial site meetings, joked about the ineptitude of my male peers to have a conversation, I despaired in blogposts of ever finding an equal partnership. Always using elaborate nicknames & descriptions stripped of identity.

I was almost discovered once by someone in the blog. He laughed then but we don’t talk anymore. I never told my abusive ex of it. I pitched it as part of a book once, saw the idea copied. A recent @AlphabetSambar event made me think of it. I asked some people to read it. Only one did. To be a writer is to have nobody think your work is worth anything until it suddenly is.

Watching EASY reminded me that once this blog’s contents are public, things will come crawling out of the woodwork. Upset they don’t appear here. Upset they do appear & how. Upset someone else appears. Upset this chronicle exists. C’est la vie.

The first thing my friend said after she started reading was,

“It’s so vulnerable.”

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If you liked this post, you’ll want to follow the Facebook Page and the Youtube channel. I’m Ramya Pandyan (a.k.a. Ideasmith) and I’m on Twitter and Instagram.

What Do You Give The World Every Day?

A longtime mutual said they wished people who posted saree pictures would find rats eating their clothes. My timeline is full of hate levelled at book cover posters, musicians, yoga practitioners, performers, travel bloggers, cooks. Hatred towards anyone whose timeline is not full of hate.

The viciousness stings. When I ask people why they’re being so malicious, the responses are usually that they didn’t mean me, that I’m not that important so why should I care, that they are ‘just’ venting or lashing out, that mental health issues justify any behaviour, no matter how hurtful.

‘Toxic positivity’ is the villain. At the moment there isn’t a single human being on the planet who feels safe or content. So what gives anyone the right to hold their suffering as a weapon against those who aren’t crying? How does this help? I don’t think misery actually likes company.

The act of smiling is bravery. It is hope in the face of the worst we have ever experienced. It is the courage to do so even as naysayers wear you down. And if you can’t summon this up, it’s okay. Acknowledging that you are scared & hurting is also brave. Being honest about what a mess life feels like, can be healing.

But attacking others for coping is neither brave nor healthy. It is poisonous. A contagious kind of poison. Our lives are not what comes after. They’re living stories we’re writing right now. Together, about, with and for each other.

As of today, we don’t know if, when & how we will survive the pandemic. What we do have control over, is how we treat each other & the space around us. Are we punishments or collaborators in the world around us? Do we fill it with joy or suffocation? Do we light it with serenity or rage? Do we carry it with hope or resentment? This world that we share with others, do we create it as a space of love or pain?

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WHAT DO YOU GIVE THE WORLD EVERYDAY? A longtime mutual said they wished people who posted saree pictures would find rats eating their clothes. My timeline is full of hate levelled at book cover posters, musicians, yoga practitioners, performers, travel bloggers, cooks. Hatred towards anyone whose timeline is not full of hate. The viciousness stings. When I ask people why they're being so malicious, the responses are usually that they didn't mean me, that I'm not that important so why should I care, that they are 'just' venting or lashing out, that mental health issues justify any behaviour, no matter how hurtful. 'Toxic positivity' is the villain. At the moment there isn't a single human being on the planet who feels safe or content. So what gives anyone the right to hold their suffering as a weapon against those who aren't crying? How does this help? I don't think misery actually likes company. The act of smiling is bravery. It is hope in the face of the worst we have ever experienced. It is the courage to do so even as naysayers wear you down. And if you can't summon this up, it's okay. Acknowledging that you are scared & hurting is also brave. Being honest about what a mess life feels like, can be healing. But attacking others for coping is neither brave nor healthy. It is poisonous. A contagious kind of poison. Our lives are not what comes after. They're living stories we're writing right now. Together, about, with and for each other. As of today, we don't know if, when & how we will survive the pandemic. What we do have control over, is how we treat each other & the space around us. Are we punishments or collaborators in the world around us? Do we fill it with joy or suffocation? Do we light it with serenity or rage? Do we carry it with hope or resentment? This world that we share with others, do we create it as a space of love or pain? 🎶: WHERE IS THE LOVE-BLACK EYED PEAS #theideasmithy

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If you liked this post, you’ll want to follow the Facebook Page and the Youtube channel. I’m Ramya Pandyan (a.k.a. Ideasmith) and I’m on Twitter and Instagram.

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If you liked this post, you’ll want to follow the Facebook Page and the Youtube channel. I’m Ramya Pandyan (a.k.a. Ideasmith) and I’m on Twitter and Instagram.

Apocalypse Epiphany

If you are reading this, you are very likely to survive everything that’s going on. You’ve got a better chance than most other people, on the road to homes they may never reach, having to choose between fighting hunger and an invisible virus. I will most likely come out of this unharmed. But not unchanged.

Last week @chicavoz_food said we would remember this forever. I asked her if she knew anything about Y2K. Like many of her peers, she did not. I remember feeling the panic of a world on the brink of crash, the frustrated rage of not being able to do anything, the frenzied madness of not ever having had a chance at a future. I remember it. But a scarce five years later, nobody did. We had other things to worry about, a plane flying into a building, the rumbles of season 2 of a war, a dirty word called Recession that we’d come to be familiar with over and over again. The world forgets because it’s a way to cope, to survive. And survival trumps all in the business of living.

It doesn’t matter if I don’t have a job right now. It doesn’t matter if I’ve wasted my best years. It doesn’t matter if my big chances have failed or been frittered. It doesn’t matter if the future looks bleak. It only matters that there is a future.

It matters that I have made mistakes because I now know I can survive them and maybe even how to. It matters that I’m older because things don’t feel quite as new & fragile anymore. It matters that I have broken before because I’m that much scareder & more careful about the fragile nature of existence.
We are in the climatic churn of a larger story, the ultimate destruction (that any of us have seen in our lives). I think what scares many of us is knowing that we will be the survivors. The ones tasked with rebuilding a world that we may have contributed to or complicit in destroying. The ones that must live through that heavy burden called survivor’s guilt.

Yes. And it’s time to do it. Living, rebuilding. With knowledge, with care and with strength. Even if it is hard. The alternative is not be at all. 

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APOCALYPSE EPIPHANY If you are reading this, you are very likely to survive everything that's going on. You've got a better chance than most other people, on the road to homes they may never reach, having to choose between fighting hunger and an invisible virus. I will most likely come out of this unharmed. But not unchanged. Last week @chicavoz_food said we would remember this forever. I asked her if she knew anything about Y2K. Like many of her peers, she did not. I remember feeling the panic of a world on the brink of crash, the frustrated rage of not being able to do anything, the frenzied madness of not ever having had a chance at a future. I remember it. But a scarce five years later, nobody did. We had other things to worry about, a plane flying into a building, the rumbles of season 2 of a war, a dirty word called Recession that we'd come to be familiar with over and over again. The world forgets because it's a way to cope, to survive. And survival trumps all in the business of living. It doesn't matter if I don't have a job right now. It doesn't matter if I've wasted my best years. It doesn't matter if my big chances have failed or been frittered. It doesn't matter if the future looks bleak. It only matters that there is a future. It matters that I have made mistakes because I now know I can survive them and maybe even how to. It matters that I'm older because things don't feel quite as new & fragile anymore. It matters that I have broken before because I'm that much scareder & more careful about the fragile nature of existence. We are in the climatic churn of a larger story, the ultimate destruction (that any of us have seen in our lives). I think what scares many of us is knowing that we will be the survivors. The ones tasked with rebuilding a world that we may have contributed to or complicit in destroying. The ones that must live through that heavy burden called survivor's guilt. Yes. And it's time to do it. Living, rebuilding. With knowledge, with care and with strength. Even if it is hard. The alternative is not be at all. 📸: @eyes.on.the.street at @gohalluhallu 🎶: WE THE PEOPLE: A TRIBE CALLED QUEST #theideasmithy

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If you liked this post, you’ll want to follow the Facebook Page and the Youtube channel. I’m Ramya Pandyan (a.k.a. Ideasmith) and I’m on Twitter and Instagram.

The Waiting

I didn’t call it ‘The Wait’ because that implies a known finiteness, a visible end, a goal.

How does one learn waiting when one has always lived from distraction to distraction? For what are goals but distractions from the fact that life is endless waiting while drifting. But notions of time and space (ergo speed) give us reference, something to cling to and to define ourselves by how fast we are moving, what we are moving towards and all this in relation to other people. Space got taken out of the equation. And we realise how easily the time boundaries got erased too.

We are so used to seeing difficult circumstances as problems to be solved, issues to be resolved, abnormal conditions to be pruned & edited. But some situations are not helped by a problem solving approach. Instead, the approach actually impedes us because we get frantic about looking for the error area, an action that is dangerously close to a blame game. We also focus our attention on the questions like “What doesn’t work? What is wrong?”. This is a crippling loss of perspective.

Perspective is the one thing that can help us face a situation that cannot be solved. It gives us the stability needed to proceed without distraction. It keeps our resources & reserves in mind and makes us prudent. I find it helpful to ask myself, “What if this is how it is and it doesn’t indicate anything about me? What if the only thing to be done is for me to get through this? What if the test is not my ability, intelligence or strength but my endurance?” The answer is – of course, this is not about me. I am not important enough to the cosmos, to my planet or even to my species for the pandemic to occur just so I learn a few lessons. It is a liberating thought. Self-importance sits heavy and right now, the spirit can use some unburdening. What if it is not about how great I can be, but simply if I can be?

This brings me perspective. It tells me I’m okay just as I am. It lets me only have to think about my breathing. It helps me wait.

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THE WAITING I didn't call it 'The Wait' because that implies a known finiteness, a visible end, a goal. How does one learn waiting when one has always lived from distraction to distraction? For what are goals but distractions from the fact that life is endless waiting while drifting. But notions of time and space (ergo speed) give us reference, something to cling to and to define ourselves by how fast we are moving, what we are moving towards and all this in relation to other people. Space got taken out of the equation. And we realise how easily the time boundaries got erased too. We are so used to seeing difficult circumstances as problems to be solved, issues to be resolved, abnormal conditions to be pruned & edited. But some situations are not helped by a problem solving approach. Instead, the approach actually impedes us because we get frantic about looking for the error area, an action that is dangerously close to a blame game. We also focus our attention on the questions like "What doesn't work? What is wrong?". This is a crippling loss of perspective. Perspective is the one thing that can help us face a situation that cannot be solved. It gives us the stability needed to proceed without distraction. It keeps our resources & reserves in mind and makes us prudent. I find it helpful to ask myself, "What if this is how it is and it doesn't indicate anything about me? What if the only thing to be done is for me to get through this? What if the test is not my ability, intelligence or strength but my endurance?" The answer is – of course, this is not about me. I am not important enough to the cosmos, to my planet or even to my species for the pandemic to occur just so I learn a few lessons. It is a liberating thought. Self-importance sits heavy and right now, the spirit can use some unburdening. What if it is not about how great I can be, but simply if I can be? This brings me perspective. It tells me I'm okay just as I am. It lets me only have to think about my breathing. It helps me wait. 🎶: IN A SENTIMENTAL MOOD: Duke Ellington & John Coltrane #theideasmithy

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If you liked this post, you’ll want to follow the Facebook Page and the Youtube channel. I’m Ramya Pandyan (a.k.a. Ideasmith) and I’m on Twitter and Instagram.

A Good Egg

I’ve been reading food fiction through lockdown. It was a little surprise since I’ve never been either a foodie or an enthusiastic cook. Food has been fuel, a functional need at best.

But in lockdown, I have found myself needing nourishment of the mind as well as the body. My physical health has been very decent these past few weeks and I realised some part of it is because I’m not eating outside food. It’s not just the ingredients, it’s the callousness of fellow diners who smoke, the impersonal touch of paid cooks, the self-esteem issues of dining companions that I can taste in every morsel I eat in those messy environs. Home, I’m only dealing with the very familiar dynamics of people I’ve known my whole life and food, similarly so.

@ayushee.ghoshal posted a picture of her poached egg experiment which made me pipe up about mine. I’d been making my breakfast in a fog of irritation at the weather & confinement. But our conversation made me think of the parts of my reading I’ve liked and the ones I didn’t.

I feel soothed by remembering the universality of food. It’s a positive counterpoint to the negative universality of a virus that doesn’t discriminate. It makes me feel connected to all human beings everywhere – our needs for nourishment, for protection, for affection, for validation, for community. I did not like reading about fashionable food circles, about toxic human politics brought onto the table. It feels wrong on a cellular level to poison the one thing that HAS to be wholesome.

But I guess we also need air to be clean, our minds to navigate conversations that are enriching (not combative). It makes me surer about not glorifying rage, about the importance of personal responsibility, about gratitude over guilt.

This morning, I thought about these things instead of how my hair was sticking to the back of my neck. And the eggs turned out beautifully. After all, all things do well when shown care.

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A GOOD EGG I've been reading food fiction through lockdown. It was a little surprise since I've never been either a foodie or an enthusiastic cook. Food has been fuel, a functional need at best. But in lockdown, I have found myself needing nourishment of the mind as well as the body. My physical health has been very decent these past few weeks and I realised some part of it is because I'm not eating outside food. It's not just the ingredients, it's the callousness of fellow diners who smoke, the impersonal touch of paid cooks, the self-esteem issues of dining companions that I can taste in every morsel I eat in those messy environs. Home, I'm only dealing with the very familiar dynamics of people I've known my whole life and food, similarly so. @ayushee.ghoshal posted a picture of her poached egg experiment which made me pipe up about mine. I'd been making my breakfast in a fog of irritation at the weather & confinement. But our conversation made me think of the parts of my reading I've liked and the ones I didn't. I feel soothed by remembering the universality of food. It's a positive counterpoint to the negative universality of a virus that doesn't discriminate. It makes me feel connected to all human beings everywhere – our needs for nourishment, for protection, for affection, for validation, for community. I did not like reading about fashionable food circles, about toxic human politics brought onto the table. It feels wrong on a cellular level to poison the one thing that HAS to be wholesome. But I guess we also need air to be clean, our minds to navigate conversations that are enriching (not combative). It makes me surer about not glorifying rage, about the importance of personal responsibility, about gratitude over guilt. This morning, I thought about these things instead of how my hair was sticking to the back of my neck. And the eggs turned out beautifully. After all, all things do well when shown care. 🎶: ISN'T SHE LOVELY: New York Jazz Lounge #theideasmithy

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If you liked this post, you’ll want to follow the Facebook Page and the Youtube channel. I’m Ramya Pandyan (a.k.a. Ideasmith) and I’m on Twitter and Instagram.

A Poet & A One-Woman Band

I was a high functioning workaholic in my 20s. It took me to stress health issues, abusive relationships, bad decisions. A frenzied mind does not have room for joy or the capacity to relax. It’s hard to answer the question, Are You Happy?

It’s called workaholism because it is an addiction, an escape. I’ve been trying to disengage my self-worth from my productivity for years since then. It’s not easy because we live in a world where our common definitions of value at every level are based on efficiency, productivity & wealth. Not satisfaction, contentment or health.

When you ask most people about their weekend, they list things they accomplished or checked off. Or  a defiant admission of having slept/drunk/smoked up. How often do you find yourself thinking “I was happy, I smiled a lot, felt very good after a good meal & great sleep”? Those words didn’t cross my lips once in over a decade.

These days I’m seeing a lot of my alter-selves display the same frenzy as we cope with lockdown. There is defiant raging against something called ‘toxic positivity’ which TBH confuses me because how can anything positive be toxic? No, don’t tell me. I don’t have FOMO. If I don’t like something, I exit, switch off, turn away.

I haven’t acquired a new employable skill, notched up an impressive already-read/watched list, baked something pretty. But I have experienced panic, joy, loneliness, relief, irritation, inspiration. After years of boredom & lack of inspiration, I am suddenly feeling. And I’m writing. This is the very stuff of life for me. It doesn’t happen on a plan & the compulsive organiser in me is happy to be taken by surprise. Life is very dull when you know it all.

The next time I step onto a stage will be a celebration. The next time I stand on a beach will be a homecoming. The next time I hug somebody will be ressurrection. The next time I travel by train will be reunion with the city I love. The next time I see some of you, I will get to fall in love again. I can hardly wait. Anticipation isn’t desperation. It lifts me, it doesn’t consume me. I just have to let it happen.

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A POET & A ONE-WOMAN BAND I was a high functioning workaholic in my 20s. It took me to stress health issues, abusive relationships, bad decisions. A frenzied mind does not have room for joy or the capacity to relax. It's hard to answer the question, Are You Happy? It's called workaholism because it is an addiction, an escape. I've been trying to disengage my self-worth from my productivity for years since then. It's not easy because we live in a world where our common definitions of value at every level are based on efficiency, productivity & wealth. Not satisfaction, contentment or health. When you ask most people about their weekend, they list things they accomplished or checked off. Or  a defiant admission of having slept/drunk/smoked up. How often do you find yourself thinking "I was happy, I smiled a lot, felt very good after a good meal & great sleep"? Those words didn't cross my lips once in over a decade. These days I'm seeing a lot of my alter-selves display the same frenzy as we cope with lockdown. There is defiant raging against something called 'toxic positivity' which TBH confuses me because how can anything positive be toxic? No, don't tell me. I don't have FOMO. If I don't like something, I exit, switch off, turn away. I haven't acquired a new employable skill, notched up an impressive already-read/watched list, baked something pretty. But I have experienced panic, joy, loneliness, relief, irritation, inspiration. After years of boredom & lack of inspiration, I am suddenly feeling. And I'm writing. This is the very stuff of life for me. It doesn't happen on a plan & the compulsive organiser in me is happy to be taken by surprise. Life is very dull when you know it all. The next time I step onto a stage will be a celebration. The next time I stand on a beach will be a homecoming. The next time I hug somebody will be ressurrection. The next time I travel by train will be reunion with the city I love. The next time I see some of you, I will get to fall in love again. I can hardly wait. Anticipation isn't desperation. It lifts me, it doesn't consume me. I just have to let it happen. #theideasmithy 🎶: HOMEWARD BOUND: SIMON & GARFUNKEL

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If you liked this post, you’ll want to follow the Facebook Page and the Youtube channel. I’m Ramya Pandyan (a.k.a. Ideasmith) and I’m on Twitter and Instagram.

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