My life .-) by Nalgene Bottle

Racial Profiling Rife at Airport, U.S. Officers Say 367 Co

More than 30 federal officers in an airport program intended to spot telltale mannerisms of potential terrorists say the operation has become a magnet for racial profiling, targeting not only Middle Easterners but also blacks, Hispanics and other minorities.

I had never dreamt that I would write about my life. But today it  came to me , as I lay there on my bed for the day, that I am going to be a writer, especially after I read some bit of news headlines today

"TSA Worker's Metal Detector Causes Evacuations, Delays At JFK Airport ...

I am of course shocked, and then, just like all those who write books on a whim, I decide I shall  be a writer.

   I am Nalgene Bottle,first name Nalgene,last name Bottle. I never questioned why my parents named me Nalgene, because I never knew them. I am adopted. I had spent my early years, at least the part that I remember waiting to be adopted, I would lay in bed watching those who got adopted, watching them , envy brimming inside me. I knew I had to wait my time, so I waited patiently, in my bed, cozy in my blanket, clear and crinkly, watching the world go by . We never had naps , because our land was always so bright.We knew it was night when the people looking to adopt us all left and our town became really quiet, except for the fluorescent sun, still shining strong.  I envied all those clear skinned  babies and the pink faces who got adopted. I have to say I am kind of grey and ruddy, not yet purple but nearly violaceous . Lets say, I am colored and also a little chunky. May be that had somehow delayed my adoption for so long.
Then one day I too was adopted. Ah those kind hands that took me places. I went every where with them.
    As for my religion, I don't follow any religion fervently or clearly. I was born with this inherent knowledge that I have all those good genes from my parents, all their good qualities, God rest their souls...They gave their life for me , and hence I always remember them. I knew I was created,but at the same time knew I must have evolved as well. Well since my adoption I have travelled a lot with my adoptive parent . I don't think much about my beliefs, just knowing I have a higher purpose in life, that always keeps me grounded...  all those interesting places ,people, oh it is so busy, yet so rewarding.
Today I overheard my parent's conversation ...they were talking about how Sally  had named her son "Dollar" and her daughter "Naira". Sally seems to love paper with patterns, and seem just  plain awful.I am just thankful I was named Nalgene and not some stupid name like that.
However, despite all that, some times I feel angry at my parents, and grandparents, for their secretiveness. It is not easy being related to famous people like BPA and Teflon and some others who are too secretive even to be named.
Today I decided I had to write about me , and my life , especially  as I am afraid for my life.
May be I am getting sick, but I feel there are dark forces out there which could shatter me despite my inner strength.
 Just today, in a matter of minutes I was X-rayed probed, poked and X-rayed again three times. After all that they were giving my  adoptive mom , those evil looks, despite it being clear as day that I had nothing to hide.I was drained, empty as can be...just air, I told myself, as I tried to calm myself. They were really harassing her. They swabbed at her hands, not once but twice,  then they pulled out my bedding, spreading pieces of it all over, and poked at me again and again. If they knew I could read their minds , I feel they would have at least tried to keep their dark thoughts more hidden. Oh I shake just remembering their biased evil thoughts...they even called my mother a "Muslim terrorist", and many other choice phrases that I cannot even bring up without breaking down. Did they with their TSA degrees ever go to class,or to any of  those churches with my mother...I did. Of course I always went everywhere with her, even to visit some Cardinal uncle of hers.. How their small minds do think that the word terrorist must always associate with one religion, and not with another...well, I guess the micro-cultures in some regions carry biases that can only be called delusional. Do they think our color predict our minds, of course they do, because I saw their dark thoughts, so I know.With such small minds , how  can they even think, it must rattle their brains every time, to think anything even within the constraints of that poorly connected organ.
May be their degree " TSA"mean "think some away" or "think small always"...some thing.I don't know. Now I am exhausted, I think I will write  again later...after a long nap to clear my mind of all the negative  energies from those dark forces and bully faces. I only hope they are not following me with their dark hearts...I fear for my life, but I will write again, that is a promise.May be some day I too will be writing about the million little peices of my life, detailed descriptions and all...vow, I can become famous, see me on TV, briefly, yet feel elation for my brief greatness and fame.I have to really take a nap now to dream something big, I guess...soooo... to my rest-ful dreams...

Connections

To be connected -mostly it appears to be a failing of sorts, except to the virtual world. So, I strive to become disconnected from others, just to make it easier.Thus there can be no dimension of truly thinking about consequences to where life expand to, in time. It will then be all about self, hence others, all other beings are  then easily discounted.
     This past week it got harder, as my connected nature despite significant training, still pushed through.

               Death and lives had got itself strung out on strands of benzene rings. First, it was news item----

Diesel exhausts do cause cancer, says WHO

The years go by and friends all get  busy, just as you do, then you squeeze in time for lunch, between work, kids, meetings and what not...especially if they are coming from another continent,with decades lost in  between, then you box up the training to disconnect for a few hours...Thus there was another reconnect into the past...Yes, that reconnect brought the benzene ring into sharp focus.
So many had died -the common theme..wisps of benzene and cancer...Diftar,Mrs.Fisher,Goma,Therese, Francis,Ali,Kumar...the list just got longer as the compressed time begged the reminiscing minds to race ahead.
    So, this morning I made the move. I called to make an appointment for the scan. After all, all these people from the past seemed to do one thing, -urgently connect with me and move me to face reality.
Ignorance some times is bliss as the saying goes,still,  awareness though hard to grasp, with its sharp edges, has once again brought that benzene ring to a very sharp focus.
When it stares me down,almost taunting me ,  as I put a slice of mango into my mouth or wash the just picked asparagus from my organic garden, I tried to poke the benzene ring right in its eye...yes, I dialled to make that appointment. Yes , knowledge is going to be my power, indeed my guard-for now.

Anxiety- some thoughts

I have thought awhile about fear and anxiety- more so lately. It seems that anxiety could be like a constant while fear has touches of hopelessness where that constant of anxiety fades, almost like a fall that you cannot break...then you come to know that to be depressed is all that and some more.There is a sad fragility to  living,   is its own loss , a loss of the hope sprung joys  ...then you dip into life -dip in and feel choked full in emotions that are compacted and stuck.
    Fear is probably the the epitome of walking with tightly closed eyes, knowing very well that you are at the precipice, steps away from an abyss, but you prefer to walk forth as you have no choice, no choice at all to turn back.You prefer your eyes closed ,because opening them would only deepen the certainty of that hopeless fall.
In that fall I morph into many parts, and there I loose self--me, you, them , us , all become parts of one ,yet stay whole, disintegrating at times...
   If I say I am not afraid, that would be a lie . What lies in the future is scary, most of all, it is not knowing any of it ...Each check up you hold your breath and then it stays there unable to breathe out, held there stuck...
  You plan again  for tomorrows, you look at the sun come up and then it is night again.You want to pin blame  some where......the air, the food, but you just cannot, among uncertainties...
           Even when the tanks rolled out and the acrid smoke with a hint of benzene in the air coated your sky, even as you stayed in a constant dark , roads that snaked into the desert,stayed quiet and dark , veiled in gloom, you did not panic. There was hope still, and everything could be seen as yet another challenge...
Even in those days when you played hide and seek, when you held your breath to be very quiet, ,to protect your children , you still took it as a challenge.But it all changed when a constancy of battering settled in , took away you, slowly bleeding life form the depths within you.
Even on that day the car caught fire,awakening you  in the back seat on the way back from Khobar, it still amounted to another challenge...despite the awareness that touched on reality at the periphery, of you, a woman with children left there alone by the side of the highway, just sand stretching into the horizon. It still took on a hue of a challenge as you found hints of the desalination plant poking through the far Arabian haze,a point,a beacon to pin some shade of hope to.
Yet when life has thrown too many bouncy balls at  you , the person...and the least expected one stuck, for however brief, that is fear.Then even when it bounces away, as those bounces on the hard floor disintegrates into quiet,you hold onto the feeling of doom, unable to let go...
You are just afraid of what comes bouncing around the next bend, that's all. Then you slowly hug the days,even as you fill it beyond full, for you cannot bear to know the still of quiet...
That disquiet which fills the quiet then evolves into a constant, a constant lax cord of doom that with time curdles and morphs into a choke hold of anxiety.
Like an aged rubber band,it does not give any more, the laxity has settled with time, now you are just wound and taut, a non pliable self, waiting for the pall of doom to break you- just around that next turn of life.
The challenges have given way, and you wait , a stretched wait for the gray of doom, the constant of anxiety by your side.
As I write this, another quicksilver flashes and dart into the life mix, a little far removed and that was enough to move things to challenge level once more.So I have to now go and embrace the new challenge and feel the force of life again, flashing across in challenge forms...more invigorating than the gray of gloomy doom
May be engaging in these little flashes of challenges against the gray of doom, I will evolve, to hear in the stillness, the birth of thoughts, as they once again shift to flexible forms that can stretch...or so I imagine again...