My program had its big going away party yesterday. It ended much like it began despite my best efforts to bring some diversity and understanding to the group. Here are the highlights:

I got a beer spilled on me.
A man asked me my hair color.
Our director cracked jokes about Islam.
I was repeatedly recommended to try the expertly cooked but still haram food.
I got asked when it was again my parents divorced. They aren't.
Got offered liquor twice.
I got licked by a dog.
Got asked if I was going to have my 'arranged marriage' sometime soon. Er, no.
And the crowning cringe - I got hugged by my male colleagues.

Some things are going to be easier to say good bye to than others.

Um. I just graduated. Or, I did whatever one does when they finish up a fellowship. I met the uni president, she said some solemn words and I got a piece of paper. Kind of anticlimactic really, but hey. Better than nothing, no? Closest thing to a real graduation this lazy and unacademic girl is ever going to get.

Part of me thinks, meh, no big deal. It's not like I could have flunked out. It's getting accepted and selected that's the hard part. But once you're in, shy of shooting up the place or giving everyone rabies, I don't think they would consider kicking you out. You just show up where you're asked, stay awake, occassionally talk, and that's it. And I didn't even do all that.

But then, there's another part of me that thinks .... whoa. I got paid to go to the semi-ivy league. I got to be considered an equal in a group of seriously talented older journalists. I got to have a rare once-in-a-lifetime experience where I could put my career and grown-up life on hold and just think and learn. And I am now one of less than 300 journalists around the world who can say they are graduates of my fellowship.

I don't think I realized how much this meant to me till my mom called me up last night. My parents have always been pretty hands-off when it came to education and careers. There was none of that "you are going to be a doctor" business from my desi dad, or "make me proud" nonsense from my American mom. They were happy if we managed to stay out of serious trouble and be self-sufficient. We didn't have time or money for fancy stuff anyways.

Consequently, my siblings and I took rather unconventional paths - mine being the least "educated." Events conspired to keep me from ever going to college but I didn't let that stop me , making the most of it in a career in journalism. Anyways, I didn't think anyone cared - me, or them.

But they did. And I do. My mom, in her informal and unpretentious way, called the night of my graduation and told me that what I had just done was the greatest educational feat the family had ever seen and would ever. That, I doubt given that my elder bro is working on a masters. But her pride, I can't. When my reserved mother of few words told me how much my struggle to succeed had meant to her, that brought tears to my eyes. And I don't cry easy.

It wasn't just from my fellowship that I graduated today.

*watery grin*

Wanted: One kind soul who can cheer up this stupid and self-destructive little goon. Many thanks.

You know what's the dumbest phrase in the world? "If I'm being honest with you..." The moment it comes out of your mouth, the person who hears it must immediately think that you are either lying then, or you were lying all along. So why on earth did I use the damn expression the other day in the middle of a very serious conversation? Because I'm a damned sponge-brain. A colleage uses this all the time as their favorite turn-of-phrase, and I picked it up. And now I probably look as shifty as they do. Brilliant.

Why can't I absorb useful things, like how to explain string theory, poetry, or surahs from the Quran?

Sigh.

I've got this great friend back in the UAE. She's about 10 years older than me, and many lifetimes more experienced. She sort of adopted me when we were working together, feeding me home cooked meals and making significant contributions to my apparently shabby wardrobe. On a side note - I realize there's something about me that channels 'lost puppy' to a lot of people and they're forever trying to feed, clothe or fix me. Go fig.

In turn, I think I provided her with a steady stream of entertainment via the trainwreck that is my life. I am constantly getting myself into trouble. The Owl channel is All Drama, All The Time. I'm not sure why that is. I'm kind of embarrassed to even admit it, but it's true. If it's not one thing, it's the other. I always have some crazy dilemma or situation to spin absurd stories about and machinate against.

So this friend very patiently listens to madness and tries gently (and sometimes not so gently) to guide me back to reality. Often at the end of one of these talks, she returns to her bottom line of - Owl, you're extremely naive. Which, as a self-proclaimed jaded old soul, I find very annoying. "But I'm so world-weary! How can I be naive!" I rail. To which she sagely responds "That answers your question for you."

So I was online the other day and she messaged me, asking how I was. I had great news for her. "I AM NAIVE!" I announced. "FINALLY!" she answered, "What brought on this revelation?!" Oh, stuff. Things. You know. It's hard to put my finger on exactly what it is that got me to admit that I'm terribly childish and idealistic. But I am.

Sure I am jaundiced about a lot of things - politics, society, global warming ;) I've got a journalist's mind - totally sceptical. But when it comes to individual people, especially people I think well of, I'm absurdly optimistic. Apparently, I see people not for who they are, but for who they can be - their higher potential. And because of that, I have high expectations of them. And sometimes, that's not the smartest thing to do. I'm like the daredevil who puts their head in a lion's mouth every day, thinking "he's trained, he'll never bite me," oblivious to the fact that one day if the lion sneezes, or gets hungry enough, then I'm a goner.

And worse than that, I'm utterly naive about myself. I've got this silly and dangerous idea that I can handle anything. Or as my friends have learnt - "Owl is made out of asbestos covered cement with a steel core - she's flame-proof, rock-hard and unbreakable." And as if that wasn't bad enough, I also think I'm totally in control of myself. Like nothing happens in me that I'm not aware of and haven't approved. If that was the case, every ache I've ever had was my idea. Psh.

Put it all together, and you have one crazy little chick, putting herself in absurdly risky situations, trusting in the goodness of others and her own strength. But if there’s just one little slip - mine or theirs - I’m going to get my head bit off. And no matter how tough I say I am, that is going to hurt terribly.

Just don't let me down
Just don't let me down
Hold on to your kite
Just don't let me down
Just don't let me down
Hold on to your kite
Just don't let me down
Just don't let me down
Hold on to this kite

Naive - The Kooks

I'm going try and not navel-gaze for a little while and revert back to my usual madness. Gosh, remember when this place was funny? Long time gone.

So I'm a Facebook neophyte. After months of resisting, I signed up to the site that promises to "connect people with friends" and fell into the chaos head-first. It's great for superficial interactions with my friends (wall graffiti is much less of a commitment than a letter), shameless self-promotion (with all manner of add-ons), and lastly, spying on my social circle (why is a status change the only way I find out my friends are hooking up?).

What I didn't get into Facebook for was the grief. The damned website regularly insults me. How is that, you wonder? Through that sneaky Compare People thing.

When I first put that malicious slandering little application on my Facebook page, it was fairly innocuous. After answering some insipid either-or type questions about my friends, it must have returned the favor, as it soon told me what my friends thought of me. I ranked me highly on the "would like to be stuck in handcuffs with" index. Not bad. Means I don't smell anyways.

Soon after that I had something like 3rd place for best public speaker and 4th place for best dinner companion. Again, not bad. I did wonder how most of my friends, who have never seen/heard me orate (and would probably not live to tell the tale) could think I did that well - and how those who'd survived a meal with me without ending up with half the menu on their lap would recommend it to others. But no matter. It was all lovely self-aggrandizing nonsense and I relished it.

But then it went downhill. Instead of regular updates about how awesome my friends thought I was - albeit with a weird and very random sort of measure - I was getting mails from Facebook telling me how my rankings had fallen. First I was no longer a good dinner companion. Then no one wanted to be stuck in handcuffs with me any more. Which was sad, because out of all the ways to measure a person's worth with this warped App, being stuck in handcuffs with me was probably the closest one to ever being a reality. Remember, I did get pulled over by a cop last night - on my bike of all things. It's just a matter of time before I'm asked to try on a pair of those lovely linked bracelets.

And today, my status has degraded even further. Facebook is not content to only tell me how the mighty have fallen. No, there is still a smidgen of my self worth that needs to be stamped upon! Now I get emails telling me what my weaknesses are. Pulling no punches, the mighty Facebook gods have deemed the following wanting: my smile, my profile pic, and my study habits! NO! NOT MY STUDY HABITS! ANYTHING BUT THAT!

*runs to edge of cliff*
*collapses*

So I'm an ugly, unphotogenic moron? Well, the moron part, um, I concede. I couldn't study my way out of a paper bag. But the others are just unfair. I mean, my profile pic? Dude, I deleted THOUSANDS of goony shots to find that ONE where I didn't look like my little brother in drag. And my smile? Come on! I have no say in what this face looks like! It came with the body. (Which, incidentally, came with the face. It's a vicicious and convenient circle) If you have a problem with it, take it up with the Maker, not me!

But now, after raising me high only to shatter me against the ground, Facebook does something odd. I got an email from it with the subject of "Owl, these people are similar to you!" Inside, I found a list of some OTHER people whose study habits, faces and smiles suck. Apparently, Facebook is not without mercy. Sure it wants me to know I'm insufficient, but doesn't want me to be alone in my inadequacy. There are three broken losers out there who could use a friend right about now.

*pushes "will you friendship me"*

Once again - mission accomplished for Facebook.

There was this event at the uni today that everyone seemed to think I needed to attend. It was a lecture and dinner on bike safety. And at least three separate friends forwarded me the invite. I guess that tells me something about how my cycling is viewed.

I didn’t have anything better to do so I thought I’d stop in on my way to my softball game that was happening later this evening. Except, of course, I left the house late, and had to put the pedal to the metal to get there on time. It was your typical mad dash – a couple red lights broken, some cars dodged between, and no slowing down.

When I got there I quickly locked up my bike and ran up to the lecture. I got in a few minutes before the speaker, a doctor of paramedic medicine who looked oddly familiar, got started.

“How many of you bike?” he asked. I and a few others raised our hands. “How many of you wear helmets?” again I raised my hand, mentally adding the caveat of ‘mostly anyways’. “Well, it’s of no use if you drive like a maniac!” the old doc thundered. “Why, just on my way down here I drove behind a young lady who broke two red lights. And I thought to myself ‘You’re gonna die!’”

Then it hit me, why I thought I’d seen him before. I had. About fifteen minutes before, when I biked past him. That ‘gonna die young’ biker was me. Haha, um, er. Yeah, I’m working on that.

Thankfully, he didn’t recognize me without my helmet and coat on. I quickly ducked out after getting my fill of depressing facts (“You will have a run-in with a car for every 4,500 miles you bike – it’s just a matter of time.”) I had a softball game to get to, and if he made me late, well, then I’d have to bike like a maniac again to get there.

Softball was worth it. I’ve had a couple bad weeks after I reinjured my sprained ankle, twisted the other one, and pulled both my quads. But after a week of pills and having both ankles wrapped, I’m finally getting my game on. I had two catch outs today and one of the much needed runs. Now, if I can only get my speed back. Normally, I’m nothing if not fast – not the best hitter and an average fielder, but I can get behind nearly any ball and steal more bases than most. That is - when I don’t have two aching legs that simply do not respond when I need them. Boo. Still, at least I’m not a liability to the team.

So it was a good day – free dinner, interesting lecture, and a good showing on the field. Until my ride home. Did I mention, I, er, got a ticket. For breaking a red light. On my bike. DAMNIT!