Always Put Your Oxygen Mask on First

A series of rejections – however slight, and lies leads to feelings of being dejected.

I believe it’s taking a toll on me.

In the recent past I have been swindled by a guy out of money, which did nothing but anger me for being so gullible; met countless men who don’t know what they want; and others who claim to tell you what they want – but they are simply being deceitful. Not to mention a barrage of texts from an ex that I speak of often on this blog. Once again, I was so mad at myself for forgetting to block him from one particular forum where he tracked me down.

What is the solution to these experiences that result in a range of emotions from minor irritation to disappointment or anger?

Is it to totally give up hope of meeting anyone and make no attempts at all?

Maybe but I don’t want to do that!

Well, then I’m out of answers. That’s all I got.

A sabbatical?

Yes, that sounds sensible.

I have done that before – take a sabbatical from men and it has worked.

Sabbatical it is until further notice. People go on retreats to rejuvenate their spirits- a sabbatical should do the trick for me.

Next week is my birthday week and so I shall put one person up for caring, pampering and copious amounts of TLC. That person is me.

Until I date again!


A Letter That Shall Remain Unmailed – or not. We’ll see



Dear Asshole,


Here’s the thing. When you decide to message me saying you cannot find me on Instagram, on Facebook, Twitter or have your messages delivered on my phone, it’s because I have blocked you from everything. Except one place.  Alas.


Why did I do it?

I did it for me.

You had to do, and did what you had to do, and now it’s my turn.

I need to separate myself from you.

I am done convincing you that what you did was fucked up and utterly hurtful. I just know in every cell of my being that it was.

You will forever have the distinction of breaking my heart like no other.

Your apologies were half baked, and they came after I asked for them. And so they lost even more water. They did nothing to assuage my pain. If anything they were more upsetting because I believe they were insincere.

I was even naive enough, and made myself vulnerable to you again by asking you for your help.

“Help me heal,” I pleaded foolishly.

“I am always here, you know that,” you said.

They were just words. Untrue words.

What you offered me was a watered down version of a friendship that we had.

That is unacceptable to me. It didn’t help. It hurt me more.

You see, now it’s all about me and only me.

Kinda like you were when we were together.

I know you so well that I think you felt the need to be in touch after all this time, not because you had an epiphany that you fucked up royally and were the biggest bastard ever – but because you want to tell me things. You want me to know how wonderful your life is now. I know you want me to know about your new apartment in Brooklyn, your black kitten, your new car. How nice it is to have your brother here with you.

You see, I already know all that.  Not because I spy on you. I just know.

I also know that I was the first person, sometimes the only person you would tell things to. You even told me that you would talk to me when I wasn’t there because you couldn’t wait to share something with me. You pretended I was walking with you as you went to the store, ran errands and waited for when I finished work, and we could talk.

Now you have others to tell those things to.

But wouldn’t it be great to tell Geetika too, I bet you think to yourself.

Yes, that’s what I believe is the motivation behind you trying to find me and getting in touch. Just to let me know what you are doing.

I don’t know if I will ever be ready to allow you back into my life.

All I know is that right now you are not allowed in my life.

It’s not that I haven’t moved on – or that I have any desire to be with you – it’s just that I am not done hurting.

I haven’t forgiven you.

I doubt I ever will.

I gave you more love, more affection, more attention and more life lines than I have any other human.

But what you did, how you did it ,and then how you reacted to my pain was the most despicable behavior possible.

And that is why you didn’t find me on Instagram, Facebook, etc. And you never will.

I know that I am not doing myself any favors by walking around with all this hatred and by not forgiving you.

But since I haven’t been betrayed in this manner before, I don’t have the luxury of tapping into old memories of techniques I may have used in the past to recover.

This is what feels right for now and so this is what I shall do.

I will not stroke your ego any more than I did when we were together, and even when we were not.

I spent the last year and a half asking myself, the universe, why you even came into my life. Because you know, people seem to say with great conviction that everything happens for a reason.

I haven’t found the reason for you yet.

Maybe you came into my life for no reason whatsoever. Maybe you were just an excuse to spend a year in a wasted, fucked up manner.

The world is full of anomalies and useless mutations. Maybe you were just that.

I know why I came into YOUR life on the other hand.

I was your anchor when you had no one to hold you into place.

I probably even made you strong enough to leave the house and meet her, wherever the fuck you met her.

Without my love and encouragement you probably wouldn’t have even been confident enough to woo her, to believe that you could be loved.

I did all that for you. Yes I did.

And what you did, you did at my expense, on my shoulders.

I am certain you did something in your past life – if you believe in that sort of stuff, or you did some amazing deeds in this life that brought me into your life.

You were broken, by your admission.

I made you whole, by your admission.

No good deed goes unpunished. I would tattoo that on my ass if I wasn’t so afraid of needles.

All this makes me sound bitter. I am not. Thankfully, that is not my nature.

But does my mouth get flooded with bile every time I think of you?

Yes it does.

The saddest part of this whole thing is that now I don’t believe one word you ever said to me. I don’t believe that one smile on your lips, was true. Not one touch of yours was a touch of love.

It was a hoax.  Every moment I spent with you was a lie.

That, to me is the grandest tragedy and what I can’t ever forgive.

Wait. I just thought of one good thing that came out of you and me.

I started writing. Writing a lot.

Now I’m writing a book.

Before your dick starts to become hard because you think I am writing a book about you – I am not!

The book is not about you. It is about me.

Are you in the book?

Oh yes you are.

Do you look good in the book?

No you don’t.  You look just like you were.

I tell the truth in the book and so how can I make something look good when it never was good.

I can’t.

Making you look good would make it a piece of fiction.

And so once again I tell you why you can’t find me on any social media or my phone – because I blocked your ass from everywhere.

That’s why.

For now the only question is: do I mail this to you or let you read it in my book when it comes out.

Until I date again!

Does Crying Help?

I think it does.

Crying is cleansing, literally and figuratively.

The tears that brim in your eyes and slowly roll down your cheeks can feel good, even comforting.

Sometimes one tear streams down onto your lip. You purse your lip ever so slightly and taste the salty tear. You hope that salt contains some of the sorrow that is in your heart. Some of the pain that is making you cry. The warmth of the tear gives you a glimpse of yourself when you will feel better, at ease, as though ensconced in your favorite blanket.

Sometimes the tears flow easily and are plentiful. I call this cry a three tissue cry. Other times there are just not enough tears to leave your eye. A couple simply lay within the eye like raindrops stuck on a window pane, never dripping down – invisible to the world.

A good cry is cathartic.

You might cry in silence.

You might sob.

You might wail in pain when the hurt is so deep, so vast that the pain takes over your entire being.

You think you will never be free of this pain. Never feel whole again.

You think you will live in this deep dark abyss forever.

Luckily, everything passes.

Nothing is permanent.

Even this pain.

For me, there is comfort in this sentiment.

So go ahead. Have a good cry. It’ll make you feel better, I promise.

Until I date again!

The Healing Magic of Time


Some mornings I would wake up and forget what he had done. That we were no longer together. That he has slashed my heart carelessly with a dull, serrated knife. That he was no longer mine. That I was no longer his.

I would forget, as I waited for the phone to turn on that there would be no message from him. Messages that he would often leave at night when he knew I would be asleep – so I could wake up to his voice. To his voice that I loved more than any other voice.

The harsh light of the phone would shine into my eyes and I would remember that he didn’t love me any more. I prayed for the day when I wouldn’t love him anymore either. That prayer is yet to be answered.

The pain of the realization that we were no longer one, brought back the familiar ache in my heart that I have carried for months. The cuts from that knife are still so raw – they open up, flare up and begin to bleed with the slightest thought in my mind. The mind that still becomes inundated by thoughts of him on a regular basis.  The thoughts of him telling me that we would make the most beautiful babies together, the way my skin felt when he touched me, the way my heart skipped a beat every time my eyes met his eyes.

This is no way to wake up. My gut couldn’t endure all the bile and the tears I dropped into it for so long.

I would open my eyes, sit up, shaking my head and body in an attempt to rid myself of the painful memory of the man who told me almost each time he saw me that I was his best friend, his life, his jigar (heart). The realization that this same man had punched me in my stomach, with the grandest betrayal of my life seemed too much to bear.

But I have good news. Time really is a great  magical healer. The severe cuts and gashes begin to heal. They don’t split open so easily. Maybe on certain days they still bleed, but the number of those days begins to decrease.

You begin to smile more. The tears don’t run down your cheeks each time you tell the story of what happened, each time you hear a song or smell the flowers he sent you every week.

For this I am grateful.


Until I date again!

When I Duped a Man into Telling Me He Loved Me – in my defense, I knew he loved me :)

O Gawd – I am 19 here!

Before I start, I want to tell you that I ‘write’ as I walk – to the subway, to work, etc.  If I’m lucky, I remember most of it and can actually write it down as soon as I get to my destination.  Other times, I don’t recall what I thought sounded so good as I was walking.  Today is that day – but I shall try my best to recall or write afresh.

I am 19 years old, I have been dating a man for a few months. My first boyfriend, my first love. Everything is magical. We are having the best time and it is making the scary freshman year of college bearable.

One day we are alone and I say, “you know there is a ladder, and when you first meet someone you are on the first rung of like and as you know them more, and as time passes, you keep going up the rungs on the ladder.”

He looks at me confused. But since he is such a sweet man, he says nothing.

“Do you agree?”

“I guess so.”

“So where are you on this ladder with us?” (manipulative much? but oh so brilliant if I may so say myself – ha)

“Well I am on the top of the ladder.”

“Yah?  And so where does one go after the like ladder ends?”

“To love, I think.”

I looked at him expectantly. I couldn’t stop smiling.

“I love you,” he said.

My first I love you.

Even though I had manipulated him into telling me that he loved me, these were the most special words I had ever heard. I buried my face into his chest. I remember each detail of that moment – where we were, what we were wearing or not wearing, what we were doing.

“Don’t get so emotional?” he said trying to pry my face out of his chest. “You know I love you,” he repeated, looking into my eyes and holding my face in his hands.

“I love you too,” I said.

That memory makes me smile even after all these years.

Today is his birthday and we are still friends. The few lovers I have been able to maintain a friendship with. I cannot show you pictures of us, which are so damn cute but just believe me when I tell you that those were happy years that I look back upon fondly.

Happy Birthday to the sweetest man I ever loved.

Until I date again!

On Regrets


“Life will break you. Nobody can protect you from that, and living alone won’t either, for solitude will also break you with its yearning. You have to love. You have to feel. It is the reason you are here on earth. You are here to risk your heart. You are here to be swallowed up. And when it happens that you are broken, or betrayed, or left, or hurt, or death brushes near, let yourself sit by an apple tree and listen to the apples falling all around you in heaps, wasting their sweetness. Tell yourself you tasted as many as you could.” ~ Louise Erdrich

If someone is telling you something and you don’t listen … how stupid does that make you?

Extremely stupid. Very Stupid. An idiot!

Yup – I talk of myself here.

It was the perfect summer evening. We were at our favorite place – the beer garden where we could sit outside on the communal picnic tables and benches. I sat wearing his favorite deep v neck blue shirt, my fingers wrapped around a large beer mug. He was straddled on the bench looking at me.

“You have the perfect features. The perfect size nose for your face,” he said.

Well, thank the lord Jesus Christ for that,” I laughed and looked at his beautiful brown eyes.

“And there are those crazy dimples,” he said and kissed me deep in one dimple and then the other.

I loved when he kissed me. I loved when he looked at me. I loved when he played with my hair, pulling down the collar of my shirt and just nuzzled in my neck. I sat there feeling him breathe into me and I ran a finger past his chin feeling his stubble. I was lost in our little bubble, his hot breath on my neck and the cool droplets of condensation from my beer mug on the tips of my fingers. At that moment two women came and sat on the bench across from us on our table.

We untangled from each other and he gave me a kiss on my lips before he turned his body around. He opened the box of cigarettes.

“Just one left. Share?”

“Yes please.”

He lit the cigarette and took a long drag, handed it to me and then took a large gulp of his beer.

“I could do this everyday,” he said.

“We kinda do,” I said returning the cigarette.

“We do? No we don’t. You always have to work.”

“Well, that’s what people without trust funds have to do my love. You need to make that film of yours and sell those lovely songs.”

Meri Jaan (my life), you will not have to work a day in your life if you don’t want to when that happens.”

“Just make it happen – whether I have to work or not is not the point here.”

“I know, I know. I want it to happen and I want to share it with you.”

I put my arm around him and my head on his shoulder, “you really need to push harder. I can only encourage you. But you have to do the work.”

“You are right. You are always there with me and I love you for that but I am just in such a funk,” he said stubbing out the cigarette into an overflowing ashtray.

We sat there for a few moments, as I willed him to feel better and make his art. Everything would be so different if he got his projects going.

“Would you like one?” said the petite girl sitting across from us as she offered us a open cigarette box.

“Thank you,” I said as I took one from the box and put it in my mouth.

“Greedy, greedy,” he said as he brought a lit match to my cigarette.

“Only for you,” I smiled, blowing smoke into his thick black curls and running my fingers through them.

“You are such a beautiful couple,” said the girl across from us.

And so began our banter. Four people chatting and enjoying beers on a beautiful summer night.


he decides to announce to a bunch of practical strangers, “While I do love her, I am just her friend and she thinks otherwise.”

The women were so shocked that after a couple of awkward exchanged looks and uncomfortable good byes, they left the two of us alone.

I stood up to leave – I was so humiliated.

“If you leave, you will never see me again,” he slurred.

I stayed.

Later that night we went home and had sex.

How fucked up is that?

So fucking fucked up.

I could hit myself so hard.

But you can’t unring a bell. You can only learn from your mistakes and move forward.

Not an easy task but must be done.

Until I date again!




Is Age Just a Number?


I find myself in a bit of a quandary.

Quandary might not be the right word here but that’s the word that comes to mind and also the word I choose to use right now.

I was recently introduced to a man who I haven’t met as of yet but we have spoken on the phone for hours, for several days. That is not unusual for me – I love having conversations, long ones, detailed and messy ones. While not all men are interesting enough or even have enough topics in their bag of tricks to keep up an interesting conversation – this man has more things to talk about than there are days.

So we talk about ourselves – as one does when one is getting to know the other. We talk about books, movies, life and any topic we can come up with.

He is an amazing listener and asks me questions, many of which I have never been asked before. I like that very much. To be asked a question that prompts me to think of things I may not have in the past – AND to articulate those thoughts into coherent words on the spot is so stimulating.

This person asks questions for a living and is very good at it. Also, I believe his interest in people is what makes him so good at what he does.

When we talked, especially in the beginning I found myself speaking for so long – mostly about myself that I was embarrassed by it. When I mentioned being self conscious about that, he instantly put me at ease telling me that I was a good conversationalist and that what I was saying was interesting.

So far so good.

So what is the problem you may ask.

There is no problem per se. In fact all the interactions we have had thus far have been so wonderful and I look forward to them. He is attentive, informed, smart and witty, with a perfect sprinkling of flirtation and sensuality thrown in for good measure. He seems to love women, respect them and gets along with them better than the average man.

His flirtatious conversations are measured and appropriate, in that he comes in gently – with a word here and a reference there. I believe he gages my responses and proceeds accordingly.

So what is the problem?

What is the quandary you speak of, is a very legitimate question right now.

Well, the first day we spoke I learned that he is at least 21 years older than me. And since I am no spring chicken – that makes him quite old. My father old.

I have never dated a man even close to his age. As a matter of fact, the oldest man I have ever dated was just a couple of years older than me.

That gives me pause.

Honestly, when we first started speaking I didn’t even know what this relationship was to be. We didn’t meet on a dating site where the intention of both people is evident. We were simply introduced by a mutual friend on facebook who thought we might hit it off.

She was right! We did.

Back to the age difference. I am trying to figure out what if any is the problem.

I don’t have an answer yet.

I am intrigued by the way he describes his admiration for women. It is so enticing that I have began to fantasize about him doing the things he describes enjoying doing to a woman.

That turns me on immensely.

Yet I hesitate.

What is this hesitation?

I am not sure.

I am afraid that when I meet him I will not be attracted to him. But that is not unusual. That is always a thought one has before meeting a new person.

So I ask myself again – what is the hesitation?

I don’t know.

He has said things to me that make me confident that he will like me, is attracted me and will seduce me in a manner that I may never have been seduced before.

I believe that his touch will be gentle at first, his caresses will turn me on to no end. I know that he will not be in a rush, that he will take his time to pleasure me. I know he will touch me everywhere I want to be touched. I know that he will taste me the way that I yearn to be tasted. I know that he can take me to levels of ecstasy I may not have visited in a long time.

Yet the questions.

The hesitation.

Is it as simple and shallow as a number? His age?

May be.

If that is the case, I am highly disappointed in myself for even thinking this way.

But, in my defense, one has reservations and questions about new things, things one hasn’t experienced before.

I am absolutely willing and eager to meet him and see how I feel. How he feels.

That’s fair I think.

Having said all of this and thinking about the age difference, he has certainly intrigued me like no other.

He offers me all the things I often complain about other men. He is polite, speaks like a gentleman, has made it clear that we shall meet for a nice dinner – the first time we meet. He is so intelligent and accomplished which is a huge plus for me – without being uppity or snobbish.

On the contrary, he is extremely complimentary, even about things that I am shy or unsure of.

And he doesn’t forget to tell me that I am beautiful, that my eyes are lovely – all the things any woman wants to hear.

So what is the problem?

I suppose there isn’t one.


Sigh of relief that is.

Until I date again!