Ena - Day 62
Ena: It is cold, windy, and rainy here today, and I am a mess. I have absolutely no idea what I am wearing; it was a last minute decision. I had planned to wear something completely different and ridiculously chic, but – due to the “extreme” weather conditions – I wore this instead. I suppose that I should have planned better. Oh, will I ever learn?
Though my outfit leaves much to be desired, it did get me thinking about all of the women living in places with actual weather; how do they manage to leave the house every day wearing anything other than pajamas and a sleeping bag? That’s certainly what I’d be wearing. I mean seriously, how do women bring themselves to dress stylishly while faced with having to battle the elements?
Having spent 18 of my formative years living in Seattle – wet weather, yes, but by no means harsh; Minnesota it is not – you’d think that I would have some sort of insight into this question; but no, I’ve got nothing. Far from stylish, I did manage to make it out of the house (most days) in something other than bedtime or camping attire, though I have no idea how.
My mind must be doing some kind of post-traumatic memory suppression thing, or I have been living in California long enough to have forgotten the weather induced outfit horrors of my past…or I have early onset dementia. Either way, days like today do remind me how good I have it and why I absolutely love where I live. But, more importantly, days like today remind me how amazing the women living in less friendly weather conditions are; it takes major dedication and motivation to do what you do, truly awe-inspiring. As evidenced by today’s pictures, you are all stronger than me; mad props.
Bina - Day 62
Bina: This morning, when my iPhone alarm went off above my head, I wanted to hurl it across the room and yell “Nooooooooooo!” But I did not. It wasn’t really quite so dire, but I pulled back the curtain and looked out at the rain pelting the window and wanted to stay in bed with intense malaise all day. But I did not. After about another 10 minutes, I got up and things were gonna be okay.
I knew I didn’t want to wear anything constrictive so I threw on this bohemian standby and grabbed my denim jacket and this Forever21 scarf thing which I love – I feel so cozy. My dress is too long (on account of my short little Japanese legs) and it has already been hemmed slightly but I guess not enough. The hem is soaked and I keep tripping over it with my cowboy boots, which I am pleased to have brought out again today.
Cowboy boots remind me of my Dad. My Dad loves the rodeo, and he loves Texas. He is the only middle-aged East-Indian man I know with a Texas accent, and his friends at Lockheed-Martin call him Joe. He learned how to be an electrician in the U.S. Navy on the Midway, and he came to this country with practically nothing but the clothes on his back when he was 17. I admire him for all that he has accomplished and provided for our family.
I’m not going to get into any specifics – so please don’t get too uncomfortable – but I’m sure plenty of us know what it’s like to grow up with an angry drunk. We are quite impressionable in those formative years, aren’t we? Anyhow, he has been sober for the last few years with the short-term aid of anti-depressants, and it truly feels like a miracle. He’s like a different person now , and while we still clash on occasion, we are learning how to communicate. Last year, on a family excursion to India, my Dad finally said “You know what? You’re pretty cool.” And that meant a lot. We are realizing how very similar we truly are. I have his face. I have his cheeks. I have his hands and feet. I have his temper. And I have his anxiety.
Every Valentine’s Day, because she’s awesome, my Mom sends me a care package. This year, the post office got it to me a day late, so I excitedly opened up my goodies last night. Let’s see – Godiva truffles, microwave popcorn, Hawaiian dress, Forever21 gift certificate, and the card. The sentiment of the whole card was beautiful and was already making me a little weepy. And then I read what my Dad wrote. Every year that I can remember receiving a Valentine’s card, my Dad has scrawled the same thing: “Love you and miss you – Dad.” Every year.
This year, he wrote: “Bina I miss you so much and hope you will get better very soon. Bina you are a carbon copy of me. Love you, Dad.” I cried. We are beginning to understand each other.