Fifteen days ago, we met at the airport. Oh no, I'm not about to narrate a romantic encounter; my French Exchange partner! Raphaelle looked like a little, shriveled up creature when we first met at the airport because first they had taken a train from Grenoble to Lyon, then from Lyon to Paris where they spent the night at the airport and then they took the plane to India; so everyone was very, very tired. And so it began.
There are so many, so many, things I could say about the past fifteen days, its not even funny. When Raphaelle came to live with me for two weeks, she was an absolute stranger to me. Our virtual conversation had been limited and we didn't know each other at all. And of course at that time, I didn't know that language was gonna give us so much trouble. And to spend all hours of two weeks with a person to whom you have never spoken in your life is a scary thought; especially if you don't share a common language.
The French pronunciation is so different that even if you know the word they are saying, you're not able to understand. One time in the car, Farah and Raphaelle asked me, "Can we 'ave zose, circle, circle, sweet zsingz, uhhh, orange and sweet?"
"Jalebi?" I asked.
"Yeah, yeah!" they said. "Can we 'ave zose with onioney?"
What I could make out of that peculiar word was...onions.
"You want to have jalebi with onions?" I asked, weirded out.
Everyone burst out laughing; jalebi with oninons would be the strangest thing ever.
"You know, zat, 'onee? 'Oneen?"
"Honey!" Jili offered! That makes much more sense.
There were so many hilarious situations like these, when we couldn't understand what they were saying and interpreted something else entirely. In the beginning, I felt like banging my head on the wall out of frustration but as the days passed, we understood each other better and by the time they were about to leave, I could complete Raph's sentences easily. If were standing in a place, Raph would say, "What we wait?" which meant, what are we waiting for. If she wanted to know how much time was left till we reached a place, she would say,
"How many times, we uhhhh, we....uhh..."
"-reach?" I would say, and she would nod. Every time they understood something we would say, there would be an expression of great realization on their faces and they would say, "OH! Oh yeahhh!"
And the French, or maybe Europeans in general, have amazing manners. Too much of them, if you ask me. After every second sentence, Raph said thank you. No kidding. When she asked me if she could take a shower and I would say, yes, of course, even then, she would get a big smile on her face and say thank you. It's very French to say thank you, she told me. And every morning and night, she would wish everyone in home good morning and good night. " At my 'ome, " she told me, " we wish each ozerr all ze time. My muzerr make me, uhh, kiss 'er goodnight everyday."
I can't remember the last time I kissed my mother, let alone kiss her goodnight. It makes me wonder if I'm a little ungrateful to the people I know.
Their food habits are equally proper. And strange, if you ask me. She eats no spices at all. She can eat anything at all, if there's no spice in it. And I mean no spice AT ALL. I don't understand how they swallow all that bland, plain food. I find food pretty much tasteless without spices.
"Izn't it....odd," she looked at me to confirm if the word she used was right or not. I nodded. "Zat in France, it eez so cold but we do not eat spice, but in India it eez so 'ot and you eat so many spice. It eez....laugh, laughing?" she asked me.
"Ironic," I tell her.
"Ironic," she says.
But I guess its okay, because the French are more fond of eating sweet stuff rather than salty. Her every meal is incomplete without deserts. There would be a nagging voice in their head if they did not eat deserts. And in the breakfast, they have never taken salt. Never! Once I made her try idli-sambar for breakfast and she ate one idli with such a disgusting face that my mother took pity on her and gave her her beloved bread and confiture(jam).
And they eat so little! They hardly take breakfast and don't even snack in between meals. I live on snacks! Partially, because no matter however much I eat, I don't gain an ounce but I think everyone here is quite fond of little snacks. Hence the snacks before dinner tradition in Indian parties. "We will starve when we got to France yaa, " Navya said to me. " I'm gonna take lots of biscuits and Haldiram packets to France, in case they expect us to wait for mealtime or something."
"But my brozerr eat so much," Raph told me. "I don't know 'ow can 'ee eat so much. 'Eee do a lot of sport. I'm sure, if 'ee do not do sports, 'ee become a very, very fat man."
This one time, Raph and I were waiting outside a restaurant for the others.
"Srishtee, " she says in her French accent. "In France, on zuh roads I see so many, so many people kissing and 'olding 'ands, walking togezzurr, but 'ere, I see nobody!" she held up her hands in surprise. "In our school too, zere are so many, so many coouples and zey are always kissing, but 'ere, nobody!"
It was quite funny.
And they loved traveling by auto-rickshaw. 'Tuk-tuk', they called them. Lets go by tuk-tuk.
But not everything was hunky-dory. My partner, and I'm not talking about the French in general, mostly didn't like Indian things. All she bought was 4 scarves and box, although she had carried a lot of money for shopping. She didn't like Janpath, hated Dilli Haat, couldn't stand Red Fort and didn't buy any souvenirs. She preferred going to the mall and the amusement park and parties and drinking rather than going to any historical monument or seeing anything ethnic. Which was a little disappointing, but it was okay because I tried my best and if they didn't take interest, it was their loss. I'm all ready to soak up everything French. :D
In the beginning, a lot of us couldn't establish a rapport with their partners. We were all so sick of them and their English. "These French people, " I said, "are like a bug you can't get rid of. And the worst part is, you paid for that bug. " We were all very glad when they were all taken to Jaipur without us for two days. Because staying with them all the time meant taking care of them every second of the day, and that is not easy. I will never take my parents for granted now. Even when we Indians talked, we talked about these French as if they were our kids; we discussed about their habits, their likes, dislikes, and all. So aunty-ish, I tell you.
And that when the French were so unconcerned and unaffected by all did we did for them. As soon as they saw their friends, they jabbered away in rapid French and forgot everything else. But I guess thats everywhere. Our teacher told us that we'll do the same when we go there, its natural.
French people were also quite flaky. Sometimes, their mood, humeur, was so good they couldn't stop gushing, how nice Indians were. And sometimes they were very curt and short. "I can't wait to go to France to create a fuss and watch them take care of us."
I couldn't agree more. These past two weeks, its like we don't have a life of our own. We take care of them all the time and have no time ofr our freinds, or for our hobbies. There's this constant nagging, worry in our heads if they are feeling fine.
There are just so many, so many things I've learned these past few days. Raphaelle is one of the most awesome people I've ever met. She travels so, so much and she told me all about her trips to New York and California and Egypt and morocco and Europe. She has great knowledge about every city she has visited and our shared love for movies made it very easy for us to make conversation once we were in the humeur. We have had so many long talks about different cities and places. You know how every city is mostly defined by a typical thing of that city? Like if someone says Paris, I would say fashion. If someone says New York, I would say Times Square or I dunno, maybe a fast paced life. If someone said USA to Raphaelle, she would say crazy people.Absolutely bizarre! And I used to think London is more industrial kinda city, more about jobs, Paris has more artists. But Raph says thats not true anymore. There has been a great mix of culture and you can't really define a city by just one thing typical to it. Its just a great, big, mish-mash now. In this mish-mash, so much mixes together and emerges as something entirely new and different. Like we start with primary colours, Red, Green and Blue but if we keep mixing and mixing, there's no end to the colours we develop.
We've had deep, insightful talks like these in addition to the extremely stupid situations. When Raphaelle saw my French notebook, she had tears of laughter in her eyes. " Zis eez my life, zuh things I do and you are studying eet! Eetz too funny!" she said, laughing.
It was quite sad yesterday, when the whole day we talked about her going away. Six months, we kept saying. We see each other after six months. "But you know, " Raphaelle said. "Six months eez nothing. Tell me, what izz six months in life? They'll pass like zis!" she snapped her fingers. "You go to school, you do 'omework, you ski in winter, make snowman, and zen you are 'ere!"
At the airport, everyone was saying all this cheesy stuff like, "Don't cry that its over; smile that it happened" and all that. But we didn't shed a tear. I mean, I was sad and all but I needed to be on my own for sometime now too!
As we were coming back after taking her to the airport, I remembered when two weeks ago, I had come to pick her up. When she had gotten in the car, she was sitting at the back and she had strapped her seatbelt on. I've never, ever put on my seatbelt, especially when I'm at the back. So I told her, "You don't need to put your seatbelt on, its okay." Raphaelle had smiled and said, "Ohh, everything's okay!" and kept her seatbelt on.
Two weeks later, her words seemed true. That yes, everything IS okay. Its how you make of situations that make them okay or not okay. You can get along well with a stranger with whom you don't share a common language or culture and have the time of your life or you can sit and crib and cry about it.
Everything is okay; its what you make of it. There were good times and bad times but, all's well that ends well.
This was just one small episode in my life; maybe I'll have many, many more like these. If I get to make new friends and learn new things about different cultures, lifestyles and maybe even languages, I'm sure I'll love it.
You know how everyone and everything, people, things, places, all have separate distinct scent? Raph's scent is still lingering in the room, I sometimes catch a whiff of it. But I know it'll be lost in a day or two.
Until six months later.
Cuz its not the end; its actually the beginning.
Showing posts with label Les lecons de la vie. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Les lecons de la vie. Show all posts
Ohh, everything's okay!
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Can I get some fire?
So on Saturday night, I was at the New Friends colony market. Its a really good market actually, with loads of good restaurants without the snobby air of it.
I was with this other person (henceforth referred to as 'Uncle') and this another person (henceforth referred to as 'Ann').
We were waiting for our juice and I looked around aimlessly. There were food stalls and magazine vendors, as I checked out their titles.
Then Uncle pointed to us, a group of three girls. Look at them, he said. They're smoking, his voice more patronizing than usual.
I resisted the urge to say "So?"
Ann looked mostly unconcerned.
Uncle looked at them, disdain clearly visible on his face.
"Do y'know, smoking is prohibited in public places?", he told us in a matter-of-factly tone.
And then I realized something-
He wouldn't have given them a second glance, if instead of those girls, there were a bunch of guys standing there and smoking.
Which they do all the time. But does anyone bat an eyelid? No.
He still had an expression of distaste on his face, as if he'd swallowed a particularly juicy fly, and I half-expected him to go over there, snatch the cigarettes out of their hands, stump them beneath his feet and yell, "Batameez!"
I didn't want to say anything or I'd be chastised for Not Knowing Anything and Speaking Without Thinking.
I was a little confused; as far as i had seen, he was a man with modern views.
Then why this prejudice?
This question is not directed at him, but to all people in general who have a problem with ONLY girls smoking in public. Or smoking at all (or anything else, for that matter).
Is this how its supposed to be, then? Even though smoking in public places is banned, when guys do it, thats alright, but when girls do it, its not? Is that it? Now smoking is a guy's domain? Isn't that sexist?
In this day and age, when we pride ourselves on having a female President, when the gap between girls and guys is fast getting bridged, where does a prejudice of this sort fit?
Merely allocating a third of seats in the Legislature to women isn't gonna do the trick. Sexual prejudice is deep-seated, and needs to be combated in our everyday lives. The very mindset of people has to change. Handing out political power doesn't necessarily mean change. Its little things like these that matter.
Now I'm no smoker, nor do I think that its a very good habit. I mostly dodge the fumes, as I know that passive smoking is equally harmful. But I don't believe in this kinda prejudice.
In 10th, in Political Science, we had a chapter- Gender, Caste and Religion. It taught how discrimination takes place in each of these three.
We study about it so much, we make notes, we get marks and sometimes even straight A's. But when it comes to practical application, we fail miserably. Then we go back to our rigid, old-age, dead beliefs (not implying that these are ALWAYS bad), wholly convinced we are right.
Theory is BASED on practical application. If after reading about all kinds of biases, being explained how they are wrong in a thoughtful, logical way, we still cannot apply it in our lives, then its safe to consider our entire year absolutely wasted.
On a completely different note, I'M GOING TO CAMP!!!
Youreka, thank you, thank you, thank you for existing! 11th June, I board the train for Chakrata, or Room on the Roof. My major will be watercraft. I shall learn all about rafting, reading water currents, paddling and all that. I haven't yet decided on my minor.
Maybe I'll be awesome at my major. Maybe that one week will be the best week of my life. Maybe I'll meet the love of my life.
Who knows? Anything can happen.
I CAN'T WAITTT!!
Whooo-hooooo!!
Bonjour India!
I was lucky enough to be a part of the twelve student group who were sent to the FIRC- French Information Research Centre. (Thanks Daggu :))
Little did I know, as I climbed into the twelve seater minivan, that I'd learn something entirely different than what was expected.
We were there to witness a story narration by a professional French Storyteller. Now, I've never met a storyteller. I didn't even know that a profession like that even existed. Telling stories for a living? My kind of thing!
As we walked inside the gates, I saw the chairs and tables covered in clean, white linen and multi-colored satin bows on them. There was a round table and chairs around it. I've always, always, always, wanted to sit at round tables covered with white linen. And there should be a champagne glass in front of me. I've seen those only at weddings, and somehow, that mood isn't created. But those chairs around the tables? For me? Yay!
And then I saw around twenty-five little French kids, all dressed as if they were out for a picnic. There were other schools too, but they naturally caught my attention. They, as I found out later, were the kids from Lycee Francaise, which is a French school for children from classes sixth to eighth. The event was pretty formal and they were running around, playing and I immediately smiled, seeing what they were doing. We stood, as we were a little early, looking around, and surprisingly, they approached us. First came the boys, and alomst all of them had golden hair (not blonde) and the Zac Efron hairstyle which I totally LOVE! This one:
Only less weirder. So I couldn't stop staring at them. I was too nervous too actually talk to them so I let the others talk.
1.
And then, behind me, this group of French girls come and say, "Quelle est votre classe?" Which is your class? I look nervously at Shubhra. " Dixième," she tells me. I repeat.
We look at each other for a while...a little more broken French.
"Je t'aime ta jupe, " I like your skirt, I tell one girl.
"Merci, merci", she says happily.
Then they go back. We roamed around for a bit, as we were early.
2.
And then I noticed something- there was French Jazz music playing in the background. And the little French kids, they started dancing! Just like that.
There were many people there, all of them older, and they didn't care. They started dancing, doing weird, funny little actions.
Just like that.
I couldn't take my eyes off them. Would I dance with all those people looking at me? No. Why?
3.
Finally, we took our seats, and this French boy turns around and looks at me. "Bonjour," I say. He grins and holds up two fingers, the victory sign. These kids were COOL.
The event started and whenever anybody on the stage said Bonjour, just as a form of greeting, all those French kids would shout Bonjour back.
The group-song competition started...first up was our school and the name of the song was announced.
4.
And surprisingly, all the French kids started hooting and giggling. "Whats so funny?" I asked them in French. One of them said managed to squeeze in between giggles,"Sarkozy...Carla Bruni."
I couldn't make anything of this answer until later I came to know that that song was dedicated to Nicholas Sarkozy by Carla Bruni.
Those kids were giggling.
5.
Our team was singing, it was a slow, romantic, melodious song. Everybody was listening quietly. And one of the French kids, he started clapping. Slowly, with the beat, holding up his hands. He looked at us and gestured to us to do the same. Clap for our team.
There were students there in the age group of fifteen to eighteen years. There were college students and post-graduates. There were teachers and adults.
And here is this twelve year old foreigner telling us to clap, cheer for our own team while everyone listened quietly. Obviously, when the song ended, we did cheer. But that was different. Cheering for a stranger, and sincerely, is much, much different.
6.
It was the French kids' turn then. They ran to the stage, pushing each other. All of them wanted to be in front. As I looked at them, I saw myself. I. Group song. Pushing. Laughing. Not caring that we're on the stage.
They sang enthusiastically, tapping their feet on the ground, almost jumping. After the song ended, they clapped for themselves, and one of them even jumped off the stage and fell face down on the grass. I couldn't stop laughing. (No, he did it intentionally!)
7.
Another school's turn. They became very excited when the heard they would be singing Champs-Elysees, a popular French song. They sang along to every word, encouraging everyone to join in.
Then was the time for story narration.
8.
One of them, Clarisse was the name, would be narrating a story. They cheered for her, and they cheered good. "Clarisse! Clarisse!", they yelled, clapping their hands. "Relaxe! Relaxe..." they kept saying...and it was so refreshing. When everybody sat on their seats, prim and proper, these children were jumping up and down, supporting their friend.
She narrated the story beautifully, avec action et al.
Then came, Muriel, the professional French story-teller. Muriel here, had vivid, red, curly hair and she wore a so many beads and necklaces and bangles. But the way that woman narrated a story- awesome. She mostly narrated folktales. She traveled all over the world and collected folktales from different cultures. What inspired her to choose a profession like that, somebody asked.
Because, she said smiling wickedly, when I was twenty, I was much in love with a guy who loved stories.
She was fifty seven now.
She told us mostly folktales, about devils and angels and heaven and hell. About how the city of Los Angeles was built and why people say 'Uh-hun.'
"Its all about," she said, "finding the right story for the right person at the right moment."
9.
The French kids were the perfect listeners. They gasped and 'oohed' and 'aahed' at the right time and every once in a while, they'd raise their hands and go, "Madame! Madame!" and ask questions. Even in the middle of the story. And nobody minded.
Then there was a play, La Petite Chaperon Rouge. The Little Red Riding Hood.
"Thank you everyone for coming. Now you can all proceed to have lunch, we have chocolate croissants and hot chocolate and sandwiches waiting for you."
And the French kids exclaimed and ran towards the food.
And at that moment, right then, I wanted to be one of them.
I had to be one of them.
I had to.
They were so...carefree, unrestricted.
So unaffected, it was amazing.
I wanted to be able to go upto older, intimidating (?) strange teenagers and talk to them casually.
I wanted to to dance on French Jazz, not caring that a group of snotty teenagers were staring at me.
I wanted to make the 'V' sign AND look cool.
I wanted to hoot after hearing the Bruni-Sarkozy song.
I wanted to cheer for my team, absolutely not caring what anyone thought of my screams.
I wanted to jump and laugh on stage and not feel conscious.
I wanted to jump off from the stage, rock-star style.
I wanted to yell my friend's name among a meeting of serious, sophisticated people.
I wanted to jump because there was hot chocolate for lunch.
I wanted all that.
Because they were happy people. The real happy.
And I'd settle for NOTHING less.
Where has the heart gone? Where has the spontaneity of actions gone?
Nevertheless,
*raises empty wine glass*
To the French Spirit!
Love,
Srishti
P.S. There's a chilly nip, or rather, Christmas in the air. Bring on the warmth, whatever may be the source. ;)
Good enough?
Every so often, these thoughts, they enter my mind, sometimes strong, sometimes weak. A random photograph, a song, a passage from a book, triggers my mind and I think.
Do I have what it takes?
Will I make it?
The people around me are sophisticated, poised, shrewd. They know how to get what they want. They know how to get around. They know the way.
They’re aware of the tactics, and they don’t mind breaking the rules. Morality comes later.
They are the types who won’t mind shoving it in your face; they won’t mind clawing you to get ahead.
They have it all, people say. They have it all.
And again I think:
Am I good enough? Good…but is it enough?
And then…then the Voice spoke aloud again. The very same Voice which had helped me when I needed it, the Voice which had guided me forward when I couldn’t see, the Voice which was always by my side. The Voice which urged me to move ahead no matter what, which kept me grounded when I floated above.
And the Voice told me, as it had always done, “The only person you need to be good enough for is only, and only, you. As long as you're honest to what you do, they cannot harm you. ”
And instantly, all my doubts, fears, insecurities were washed away. All of them. As long as I knew that I did my best, that I gave it all I had, that I was the best I could be…t’would be alright. I needn’t be good enough for them. I needed to be good enough for me, and for me alone.
Content.
Thats what I am.
Content.
"I'm good enough, I'm smart enough and doggone it; people like me. " - Al Franken
Fighting...but for what?
When I was in Second (Or Third or Fourth, I don't remember clearly), there was a boy in my class named Akshat Bhandari. He always sat on the second-last seat in the second last row. We used to have 'seats with partners'. I always wanted to sit with him, and so did my friend Ashna. We both wanted to sit with him so much, that we started fighting over it. I came to school early so that I could be his partner. Ashna would come, give me an angry look and stalk off. And some days she'd come early. We both got so into this fight that we even resorted to some really, really desperate measures. We would push each other, pull each other's hair and a lot more. After a time, it wasn't about sitting with Akshat any more. I didn't care if I was Akshat's partner or not...all I cared about was that I had to beat Ashna to the seat. I had to have that 'in your face, I win this time' expression on me.
Often, when we're fighting, we lose sight of what we're actually fighting for. The prize at the end of the fight doesn't matter as much as the satisfaction which comes after beating others. Sometimes, maybe, its a good thing, I don't know. But usually, in this case, we fight pointlessly.
We don't care about winning the prize...all we care about is winning from them. Defeating them. Making them lick dust. Okay, thats a little far-fetched. Anyway...
When you're in such a situation like this,
Stop.
Breathe.
Take a look around.
And then think. "Does it really matter?"
Does it really?
Akshat left the school the following year (not because of us, I hope). And I really, really hope you don't read this Akshat. I'm not that crazy now.
Also, I'd like to apologize to Ashna, wherever she is now.
I'm sorry. Twice we both wanted the same partners (remember in KG when Akshay came to sit with me? I'm not still gloating over this, swear).
Anyway, you can have both of them now. It doesn't matter to me.
Is this what they call 'closure'? ;)
All my love,
Srishti
P.S. If you're from Ahlcon, please, please, please don't read this!
The Magic Words
As we grow up, we learn so many new, different things, gain knowledge and one day, we may become All That. But its important not to forget the little things that we were taught, because in the end, those are the things that help us.
What did your Nursery teacher tell you when you were little?
"Never forget to use the Magic Words," she said.
No matter how old you are, no matter how accomplished or learned you are, the Magic Words are the words you should never forget to use.
Its a simple concept. The Magic Words don't involve any hocus-pocus; but they are just that...magical.
Magic Word Number One:
Please
A 'please' can do wonders. A request is always much more effective than an order. A request can almost make the other person obliged to do whatever you asked them to.
And I don't think that 'please' doesn't exist in close relationships; if I want to borrow something from a person I know really well, I know that she'll give it to me, never mind that I request her or order her. But a please reminds both of us that she's the owner. That I can keep it for as long as I want and do whatever, but a request is always appreciated. In contrast to saying, "I'm taking this."
I've convinced grouchy government employees with a 'please'.
Appeal from the heart and see if you don't get it.
Magic Word Number Two:
Thanks
Now this a Magic Word people are fast forgetting to use. A 'thanks' goes a long way. After receiving the change or being let in through the door first, after a stranger hands you something that fell down or after someone holds the elevator for you, a thanks is a must. Everybody likes to feel gratified once in a while, knowing that they did something for which you're grateful to them. A thanks can make someone's day, knowing that they helped a person in whatever small way. And whoever said that thanks isn't needed in friendship, said it wrong, according to me.
Everyone likes to hear a thanks sometime or the other. Everyone.
Magic Word Number Three:
Sorry
This sorry is the most important Magic Word of them all.
When I was little, I swallowed short stories. And one little story I clearly remember.
Once there was a pine tree and a cane plant planted alongside. They were the best of friends but their personalities were very different. The pine tree was arrogant, proud of its size and strength and refused to bend in front of anyone; whereas the cane plant was humble, ready to accept his defeat if need be. The pine tree often made fun of the cane plant, how it bent easily by the softest breeze. But the cane plant just smiled; he knew that he did nothing wrong.
One day, there was a huge storm that ripped apart everything. Torrential rain and hail, thunderstorm destroyed everything. The pine tree which was too proud to bend in front of anyone was uprooted instantly; but the cane plant, a modest little thing, bent along the direction of the wind and was miraculously, saved. Saved from the storm which uprooted the gigantic pine tree.
Never be so proud that you cannot accept your defeat; never be so proud that you're unable to admit your fault; never be so proud that you can't utter a little sorry.
Gukka says that she cannot say sorry; that she 'has too much ego'.
A sorry can melt the hardest of hearts.
Any day.
Unaffected
Because of you, I know now. That sometimes, its okay. Its okay if I don't cross the finish line first. Its okay if I don't cross the finish line at all. Its okay if i just stay back and cheer for others.
If something is not going according to the plan, if something doesn't turn out the way you wanted it to-you have to learn to accept things. To let it go.
When we're all running after the same thing, fighting for the same thing and cribbing about the same thing, I learned from you how to stop. To breathe. And to look around. Then realize- it doesn't matter.
I learned from you- how to stop caring when you don't need to; and remain Unaffected.
I argued and I cried, I tried a hundred times. But I couldn't get what they had. But then I looked at you. You. Odd. You didn't want what everyone was after. You were happy, content, satisfied.
So Unaffected.
And I realized. Thats what I want to be.
Unaffected.
People fight around us, they shout, they argue about the smallest of things. I get sucked in. But then I look at you. And you remain Unaffected.
People want more. They become clones of each other, get dictated by each other and blindly wait for the next upgrade. But you remain Unaffected.
You do so well what I want to do.
Draw joy from trivialities in life. If things are not working out, be okay with it.
Not care what's being said about you.
To enjoy being on the Cheering Side.
And remain Unaffected. From things and people who don't matter. At all.
That how I wannabe<3
You May Have Won The Rat Race But You're Still A Rat.
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