On Being a Closet Metalhead

So many years, and so many deep, dark secrets that I haven't yet rambled about.... Today I will talk about being a closet metalhead.

Can you imagine what it feels like? May be you know someone - a friend or a family member - who is a closet metalhead. May be you are one yourself.

But what on earth is a "metalhead", you ask? Well let me explain one thing first. A Metalhead is a person, not a thing. In simplest English, a Metalhead is a fan of metal music. They may also be referred to as Headbangers and (less accurately) as Thrashers.

There is a common misconception that being a Metalhead is a lifestyle, that it is something you choose to do, that it is something you are indoctrinated into by misleading peers. But most metalheads will beg to differ. We were born this way, they will say.

I remember one of my first encounters with rock music. My brother and I were sitting on the couch, eating chocolate cream biscuit, and lazily flipping channels looking for cartoons. It was a beautiful afternoon, and the setting sun was streaming in through the balcony doors. We stopped when we saw a bride walking up the aisle in a short wedding dress and her black stockings. The music began, slowly and melodiously, gradually growing in intensity. We both stared slack-jawed as the scenes led into each other, the music changing, electric guitars, pianos and violins taking us on a trip. I don't know if it is possible for a pubescent girl to hold her breath for a full nine minutes, but I think that is what I did. I was transfixed, and so was my brother. We didn't say a word to each other until that bouquet of red roses landed on the coffin, its colors fading in the rain. The song ended, and we looked at each other. That moment I knew that we were not the same children anymore. Something inside had changed, a whole new side of me that lay there dormant had been uncovered. We had just heard November Rain by Guns 'n Roses.

The years went by. Meteora came out and I thought it was pretty badass. Then there was System of a Down and Evanescence. And then I befriended other children of my kind, and everything went downhill from there.

"Well Hansi, you have been thoroughly brainwashed by media and peer pressure," I hear you chide.

Not so. You see metal heads are like wizards. They are born with magic in them, they just don't know it until they get their letters of acceptance from Hogwarts!

Speaking of acceptance, that is exactly what all children find in the music. Acceptance, respect and fuel for the brain. This is perhaps where the stereotypes come from. That we are all a bunch of loners in baggy dark clothes, angry high school dropouts, failures, scum of the earth. Then there are the tattoos, the piercings, the booze, the drugs, the reckless sex- sex with children, sex with goats, sex with.... well you get my point.

We are a diverse and accepting group of people. Yes, some of us are satanists. Some of us have tattoos. Some of us dropped out of high school. And that's all okay with us. Some of us are poets and artists. Some of us are engineers, doctors, teachers, soldiers. Some of us are girls. We have jobs. We have families. We have pets. We are the closet meatlheads.

People are shocked when I tell them I love metal. They are not prepared to recognize a South Asian woman as a metalhead. I may have no tattoos (yet), and my piercings may come and go like the seasons. I am just another hard-working college student, who happens to have a mad love for this particular genre of music.

A Link Alive, Gojira.

Interesting Dinners and other such things

There are days in life when you just throw your hands in the air and say "fuck this shit." Today was one of those days. It's only the second day of the semester, and I'm already losing it. I must get my shit together. For real.

One thing I've decided to do in a feeble attempt to make my life interesting is try to cook something interesting at least once a week. I use the word "interesting" here, because that's what my dinner today was. Interesting. I baked mushrooms, onions and tilapia drizzled (bathed) with olive oil and spices. It was more or less a typical White man's dinner, except of course I had it with basmati rice. It wasn't particularly delicious, but it was warm and fresh, and that alone was enough to satisfy me. Downed it with some Chinese green tea. (I've been drinking nothing but tea these last 48 hours because I can't open the juice bottle I bought the other day. Now I know why my mother says I need to find a nice man and settle down.)

This is where I stop typing and ask myself the purpose of what I am doing right now. Is this endless whining really the only contribution I am capable of making to the World Wide Web? Sigh...

New Things in 2013

Keeping up with the positive vibes of my previous post, let me say a few gay words about the new year, 2013.

We're officially one week into it. Like how the fuck did that happen?

I'm aging, and wherever it is that I am going, I am going there fast.

With the beginning of a new year, there's always that excitement about new year's resolutions. I honestly thought I wouldn't even bother thinking up any this year. (Only when I started typing this did I remember those from a year ago. No! Two years ago? Yeah, that's right. Even I don't read my own blog. If you're interested in going back and having a sadistic laugh at the naive 20-year-old me, here's a link. I feel sorry for myself already.)

But well, this year, I'm going to scrape all the nonsense and keep things simple, for real.

NEW YEAR'S RESOLUTION 2013:

Push my body to its optimum human potential.

May be this is like the last wish of a woman who has come to the realization that she is slowly heading to the grave, with every passing day. Whichever it is, I feel it's a good enough fight to take on. 

Here are the things that are on my list:

Things to try out:

1. Consuming better.
2. Sleeping better.
3. Swimming.
4. Yoga.
5. Hapkido.
6. Cycling.
7. Hitting the gym, regularly.
8. Dancing.
9. Rock climbing and mountaineering.
10. Meditation.

Yes, it's an extensive list. And I don't know how much of it I will achieve, but I will give it my bestest shot.

In other news, procrastination is such a bitch. I'm thinking of asking for professional advice to help overcome it. I'm just too old for this shit. Another thing that needs taking care of in 2013.

Of all the things I anticipate this year will bring, what scares me the most that I have no idea, absolutely no idea, of where I will be in a year's time. Come 2014, I don't know to which corner of the world fate will take me. I have become so terribly attached to Iowa, and even after these few weeks in California I already feel like I'm becoming fond of the Pacific, the mountains and the queer people who live in the valley in between. And I still miss chaotic Colombo ofttimes. My only hope is that wherever I find myself next will be as exciting and memorable as all my other crazy transitions. I guess that is just the way it is with us humans- wherever we may roam, where we lay our heads is home.

Of Falling Stars

Written a bunch of days ago...and edited today.

One whiny post after another, I sound worse than Justin Bieber. So today I thought I'd write about happier things. 

I thought I'd tell you about December 14. I awoke around three in the morning grumpy and dazed in the post-finals stress. Then I remembered what a friend of mine told me about the meteor shower that was supposed to happen that night. I dropped out of bed, quickly brewed myself a big mug of tea, put on my warmest coat and pair of boots, and walked out into the night. 

Looking for a spot that was out of the glare of street lights, I walked across to the nearby golf course. There was a little hill where I lay on the grass for about an hour staring into the skies.
Lying there I felt dumb and illiterate. Above me was the expanse of stars and I could not find my way around. The only constellation I can recognize is Orion, and that was the only one I spotted that night. I kept staring, hopeful in spite of the numbing cold. There was a dizzying array of sparkly things of different intensities, plotting patterns across the blackness, but I was oblivious, staring at them as dumb as a tortoise that saw the sky for the first time in its life. 

Then I saw it. At first I thought I had imagined it. It was a mere silver glitter in the sky. I kept staring at that area, and I saw one again. It drew a little shimmering vertical line in the dark night sky, sharp and crisp like the slash of a silver blade.. Then another and another. I think I saw may be seven shooting stars that night. 

As beautiful as they were, they probably were not happy things. Only particles of dust caught in the gravity of Earth, falling at such speeds through the atmosphere that air sets them on fire. Burning, they fall and vanish into air. What was probably one of the most beautiful nights of my life was only a glimpse of the remnants of the universe burning away.

See what you missed, here.