Tuesday, November 3, 2020

I iz accepted

 Kinda old news, but whatever.

Henceforth, all my shairs are going to be dedicated to AnonReviewer1.

Thursday, October 22, 2020

From shahzadi to stray bitch

 Happens, folks, happens.

For future reference, it will probably happen again. The themes in my life remain roughly the same.

Wednesday, September 16, 2020

Waiting for reviews

 Waiting is an inevitable part of life, and most of mine is spent in it. Age has made me mellow and the only thing I really wait for is food from my favourite places. Otherwise, I simply find myself unable to care.

Still, the process gives rise to some ideas, for example, the distance between the ideal and the real. Personally these are the kind of reviews I want to get:

1. The author appears to have tried very hard to evade education, beyond two years of kindergarten.

2. Simply an outrageous submission! It defies all principles of mathematics, common sense and writing.

3. I am amazed at the audacity it must have taken to write this and send it to human beings!

4. The paper is delightfully insulting and the author is bound to make a delightful companion for a cup of coffee with a sunset. However, labs are not her forte, and should be kept away from her, as assiduously as possible.

5. My lord, we have been played! This is a colossal joke.

6. This truly pushes the boundaries of the idiocy that the human specie is capable of, and spares no expense in documenting it.

Alas, life is bound to be dull and utterly devoid of romance. Hence I am only going to receive a 'We are sorry to inform you.' on Friday.

I was once told that my life lacks romance. Clearly, this is not my fault.

Friday, August 21, 2020

Longing for a DC life

It is a bitter truth that one inevitably ends up longing for exactly the things one once decried. The distance between now and once need not be long. In fact, in retrospect, it always looks too short.
It was on this exact same blog that I used to complain about life being too DC. The year was probably 2012 or 2013 A.D. Then things changed as they always do and they triggered me as they, again, always do. Self diagnosis tends to be suspect but I do think I have very mild autism, as evidenced by my fear of change and my delayed response processing problem.
Life these days was stable, and stability is what I long for more than anything as a broke, going-nowhere-in-life, personal or professional, 30-ish woman with nothing to say and no one to say it to. I severely underestimated its importance and well yes I have realized my mistake.
I find doctors to be the only class of people who can ever diagnose anything correctly about me. Mostly I am on my own. So be it.
It does make one question the entire point of having people in one's life. Since I am done with the usual host of questions that accompanies midlife crisis, I can afford to deal with it now. As usual, I suspect I know the answer. Putting it into practise would take some effort on my part, but hey, I can manage it, inspite of a different kind of ache along every foot of my body that seems menopausal on multiple accounts. Ah well, one's spirit must be what it is, and mine has never been young for a moment.
Last few weeks have been lovely for half an hour every day when I study differential geometry. This is the kind of stuff I have always wanted to spend my time with, but it does not come naturally to me. Ah well nature is overrated.
All this reflection reminds me of the succinct conclusion I once reached and told Aby about, while reclining on a chair in the UC; that I don't need men, I just need maths. Men are lovely creatures and the reference here is metaphorical, towards all things material and abstract and which don't reside in one's mind. The biggest lesson I have learnt or perhaps re-learnt is that it is what it is, where it can point to each and every thing in the universe. A lifetime spent trying to fit in tells me that it is an exercise in futility, and one that tends to hurt people all around. An excess of emotions and a deep inexplicable void are things that humans carry around in one form or another and here at least I can find refuge in the elusive concept of normalcy. 

Saturday, July 18, 2020

l0ve 4 haTers

I have a horror of emotions in general, unless they be negative ones. However, some people are just too precious not to be treasured; some feelings are just too beautiful not to be expressed.
Much as I worry about my internal wiring all being off, it delivers remarkable surprises from time to time. One side effect of being me is that I thrive in the face of adversity. Provided that the temperature can be kept near room temperature, of course. The summers here are simply unbearable, but one gotta live where one gotta live.
Summer in burgh was beautiful, as I once documented here. Truly beautiful. On the flip side, though, it was too easy. I just remember a group of undergrads from whatever country being somewhat rude to me in the sports complex, but even those guys later asked us if we would play badminton with them. Sweet times!
It was one of the best summers mostly due to the fact that I was moderately well-off, I had nothing to deliver for being this well-off, and I could pursue my heart's desire. Apart from drinking ice cream shakes with Aby in the afternoons, it mostly translated into studying spectral graph theory and experiment design. It was there and then that I finally understood the linear regression equations that I was supposed to have learnt in the previous semester. Who knows, maybe my professor remembers me as the girl who wanted to do 'research' but didn't know matrix inversion. Wow!
Back in those days, I used to be not popular at all. Now I look back with fondness on those serene days! Still, it was there that I made a not-very-radical observation that keeps popping up on overheard- I don't need men, I just need maths.
Hard work just isn't for me, and I'm just not for it. Aby worked hard that summer. I mostly read stuff on a variety of topics and theorized about graphs. Never led me anywhere!
In retrospect, I had it way too easy, and I never realized it at that time. It was only when I came back that I discovered all kinds of haters-explicit and implicit. I absolutely love them all and they are my only source of passion in a lacklustre life. With time, one learns to twirl one's curls and smile at all the incoming hate and dumbing down and underestimation that just keeps poring in. Guys who thought it'd take me six months to learn BERT, when their BERT is just model.fit and model.predict, as I say. Guys who thought I had to slave away for two years to find out stuff. Guys who think I can't write or engineer. I distinctly remember that I used to be bothered by all this, but for the life of me, I can't fathom why. Maybe due to low self-esteem. True and correct self esteem comes from the realization that we are all crap in the end and it does not matter and life is fragile, very fragile. Love, on the other hand, has turned out to be surprisingly robust, but that is a story for another day.
Why do I never experience reality the way other people do? Part of it is due to my distorted matrices, but there is something more sinister at work. Ah well. Who even has the time to be bothered about that.
True bliss lies in staying away from people in all shapes and forms, and in a happy way. Not in a whiny oh-the-world-does-not-give-me-attention, but in a careful and through way. People are people and you are you; you are crap and so are they.
Unless they hate you, in which case you have no option but to love them.
I've recently discovered Pinkaj Mishra.

Monday, April 27, 2020

Circles and movement

Isolation might be getting to me, but it has some benefits over normal life. At least I don't have to feel too guilty about doing nothing.
It is infinitely difficult to keep one's self entertained, and this responsibility can not be delegated to anyone else. I confess that I am infinitely bored these days; so much so, that at times I start thinking of responding to texts. Horror of horrors.
Communication is mostly an exercise in futility, and I am sadly too aware of the shortcomings and barriers of language and words. They way they hide, distort and malign rather than transmit, convey, inform. To try to communicate is a fool's errand.
People usually make peace with the cognitive dissonance inside, but I struggle with it too. Most of our internal life is spent resolving our own questions and dilemmas, or at least making some effort along those directions.
Making an effort is a thing that does not come naturally to me, oh no. Laziness is inherent in my material. So is listlessness. The laziness, however, always wins.
Except from being locked down with family, life is pretty empty these days. I am not doing anything and I do not plan to do anything either. Why bother pretending that I haven't given up mostly? I was never a starry eyed youth and in these mature years, I have tasted the futility and the pointlessness more than anything else.
Recently I have been watching a German sci fi series and I have a few observations to make.
1. Cause and effect are piece-wise in human life. A bit of cause, some effect, more cause and so on. Rarely does anyone do anything without feedback.
2. I think I am a non-linear system. My reactions are disproportionate and huge. I am left looking like an utter fool when things subside. It has something to do with feeling in high-resolution and noticing details. The system has its pros but it does not make for a smooth life.
3. I want to learn German, but uttering this line takes up all my energy and I am unable to do a single bit about it.
I have been happy and serene at times in my life, at places and with people. Trouble is, it never lasts. People take up too much energy and there are always miles and miles of chasms between you and them. At this point, I have pretty much stopped caring. Why bother feeling when it is utterly pointless in the end?
If I could choose a super-power, I would want the ability to sleep 23.5 hours every day.
Oh yeah, circles. Someone told me that I move in circles and stay stuck in things forever. I realized that she is right.

Thursday, April 16, 2020

A creature of the shade

Sadly, I have become a creature of the night.
I wish there were some interesting angles to this, but sadly again, there aren't. Some characteristics that include too much sugar and not enough melatonin but besides, nothing at all.
The melatonin problem is an old one, I suspect. As far as I could remember, I have always had trouble falling asleep. This might have contributed to my addiction to literature, or it might have been the other way around. Long story short, when someone declares that they have sleep problems, it gives me a deep and fundamental sense of connection, unmatched by anything else, such as love for rationalism, appreciation of the fine things in life or an abstract way of talking.
It returns during lazy days, such as the ones I am currently living. Bayrozgari is more a state of mind than anything else, but the support it lends to a nocturnal lifestyle is horrifyingly strong. When you literally do not have anything to get up for in the morning, why get up at all? Why not get up at 5 in the evening, if you must, constrained by the biology of homo sapiens?
Ah, how our ancestry binds us. How I wish I could go back and select some other specie as my ancestor-something that slept more. As much as possible, ideally.
People rarely sympathize with my love for all things Kylo Ren, but it is an under-appreciated fact that the dark side has immense pull, at least on some dark natures. I have been observing somewhat self-styled bayrozgari for about 2.5 months, and I was a punctual creature for most of it. To bed at 12 AM, up about 9 in the morning. Most proper and remarkable and commendable.
Except, alas, the normalcy was fragile, as everywhere else. Something is there and you think it is always going to be there in the exact same state and you are going to be there in the exact same state and the phenomenon of observation is going to exist indefinitely in the future and the laws of physics are going to hold up forever. The laws of physics do do that, but as for the rest, it is just a sad oversimplification on the part of human beings. Absolutely no stepping in the same river twice for anyone.
Dwelling too much on this nature of reality can trigger anxiety, if combined with an immature way of handling change. The mature way isn't very sophisticated either; it just informs you to suck it up and take it in stride and move on and live in the moment.
I had been searching for answers to questions of power and stability in systems that involve multiple human beings, mostly inspired by my last workplace. It was an interesting place, to say the least. I absolutely liked my boss, but he had his 'issues' and he proved inadequate at dealing with them. I fear I might have catalyzed a chain reaction of firing there, but on my behalf, it was either that job or the remnants of my mental health.
The virus and the ensuing cascade of catastrophes have raised some very serious questions, and I shall be looking into them, like a proper scholar of human specie as I pretend to be. Today, however I will try to keep to the main point.
My requiem for stability stems from the fact that I went to bed a bit late just two nights in a row maybe, but it was enough to get me on a fixed schedule of going to sleep at least at 9 in the morning, and not a minute earlier. The ease with which I lose my footing horrifies me at times. For goodness's sake, instability should be unstable. Instead, it is the most stable thing in the world. When you fall down, you firmly remain there, forever glued to the nadirs. Maybe this can be used as an argument to show that evil and deviations from norms are, like, really low in a moral and theoretical sense, and not just alternative lifestyles.
Ah well, normalcy is an elusive spirit anyway. If they were selling it somewhere, I would have sold off all other possessions to buy some of it.
Experiences are subjective and memory is shaded. What even is the worth of stability? Things are beautiful precisely because they don't last. If you sit down and analyze the last decade of your life, you are left with fleeting impressions. A sparkle in a pair of green eyes. A stammer, coming from a glib speaker. A smile from a squash court that absolutely stopped your heart. A recitation of poetry on the roads, under a full moon, to absolutely adequate appreciation. Honest exclamations that I am a rare creature. What would these moments be, if prolonged? A drag and a burden.
Fine things are fine, but what I actually need in my life is the ability to go by myself to my favourite place and eat as much as I want.
Recently I got a lecture on ability and capability, and wasting thereof. I sulked in response, and fixed my deviant bedtime. I am going to stick to it.
Very narcissistic point of view, but as soon as I plan to fix my life, some new and utterly unforeseen catastrophe arises. Someone just had to go and release this virus from the wild. They took pity on it and introduced it in polite society as they would never introduce me. The virus, on the other side, proved fairly egalitarian and sociable. If one has to die from it, that can't be helped at all, but meanwhile I am going to be happy and myself. Utterly myself. If I am a late night sleeper, I am one, end of discussion. There isn't anything I can do about it. Embrace my inner bat, so to speak, except that they have impressive immune systems, whereas mine is fairly non-existent.
There was this otherwise silly movie about Virginia Woolf, which gave me the answer to a long standing question. I have always felt that I am more a spectator of the spectacle of life than anything else. An observer, a very third person. Never ever the first or the second one. A third rate woman to boot too, but that is a separate discussion.
I talked about this to people, crafted this feeling in my poetry, slipped it in my prose. I never got an answer from anyone. In this movie, the Virginia character said the exact same thing, and the other woman laid bare the crux of the matter in a single sentence.
Because you think when instead you should feel.
There is an upside to watching such movies, folks. Once in a decade, you get the answer to a question that matters. How one actually goes about the business of feeling is an altogether more complicated problem, methinks, and one that is above my paygrade. Not my circus, not my monkeys.