Nayla’s Notes on Life

Tag: family

  • Superhero Suit Not Included

    Superhero Suit Not Included

    If you could go back in time and give your younger self advice, what would it be?

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    “You need to grow a thicker skin,” she said with the confidence of someone who’s always been comfortable in hers.

    My eyes darted down to the darkest corner of the room and lingered.

    The pregnant pause in our exchange broke as Mom’s voice softened. “It’s a harsh world out there.”

    I drew my gaze back towards her, secretly hoping it would alter the usual trajectory of these uncomfortable childhood moments…

    You see, I’m someone who cries over cat food commercials, a tender scene in a sitcom, and a lonely snowflake on a winter morning.

    This has been a bit of a problem, because I come from people who survived by not feeling things out loud.

    Mom and Dad were displaced into the Western world as refugees.

    They lost their jobs, their possessions, their savings, and, most importantly, the place they called home. Mom brushes it off. “We were young…” she says, as her voice trails off into distant memories carefully tucked away.

    They rebuilt their lives from the contents of their suitcase: a couple of saris, a few toiletries, and a quiet hope that maybe it would all be okay again.

    “Not dwelling on things” was a survival strategy.

    One that I failed to inherit.

    As a child, I’d squeeze my eyes shut tight and try my best to will this so-called “thicker skin” into existence… like an Iron Man suit that shoots lasers and has a built-in snooze button for gory TV shows, large crowds, and cat food commercials.

    I never did grow that thicker skin.

    I just stopped criticizing myself for having the skin I have. It turns out most of the sting was from the second hit.

    I’m not sure I wish my younger self had known this though.

    Because sometimes I wonder…

    Perhaps my parents survived by not dwelling on things so that I could have the luxury of doing so.

  • Exercise One: Don’t Step in Anything

    Exercise One: Don’t Step in Anything

    What are five simple exercises to do at home?

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    No Equipment Needed, Just a Cat and a Lint Roller

    Fitness influencers swear you only need a living room and commitment. They never mention the fringe benefits that come with a cat.

    1. The Cleanup Lunge

    Throw up. Or the classic: pee landing exactly two centimetres outside the litter box, with the precision of someone who measured. You’ll find it the way everyone does, with a sock, at 6:15 a.m.

    Repeat daily, bonus points if you’re barefoot.

    2. The Shouting Match

    Several times a day, your cat will stand in the hallway and yell at a wall (especially if she’s the “geriatric” kind). You, in turn, will yell at her to stop yelling at the wall:

    “MEOWWWRRRRRRR!!!”

    “What is it?”

    “Meowwwwwww?”

    “Are you hungry?”

    “Meow.”

    “You have a full bowl. I watched you ignore it at 9 p.m.”

    “MEOWWWRRR.”

    “Do you need something? Water? Are you cold? Is it the wall again?”

    She looks at the wall. She looks at you. She looks at the wall again, slower this time, like a cat who is done repeating herself to someone who claims to be “adulting.”

    3. Interval Training (6 to 8 p.m.)

    Entertain your feline friend with a feather wand between 6 and 8 p.m. so she’s too tired to wake you between 2 and 4 a.m. Results may vary.*

    *A legal phrase meaning she’ll be standing on your sternum at 2:47 a.m. anyway, having thoroughly enjoyed the wand and moved on.

    4. Furniture Draping

    If you’re allergic to cats, like me (don’t ask) make sure every surface gets a blanket, and then the blankets get blankets. This targets your lats, your traps, and the muscle group known as “why is my back like this?”

    Add the sneezing and you’ve got a full cardio session.

    5. Documentary Photography

    Finally, take approximately 400 photos of her looking angelic: chin on paws, soft window light, the face of a cat who has never once yelled at drywall. Crop out the blankets, the lint roller, and the suspicious spot near the litter box.

    If this ever goes to trial, the evidence will conclusively prove she’s an angel.

    Extra Credit: Call Your Mom

    Call your mom, a lifelong cat hater, and gush about yours. Send photos. Use the word “baby” unironically.

    She will let you finish, sigh, and say, “These are not the grandkids I asked for.”

    Congratulations, you are now frustrated enough to run a 10k. Cardio complete.

  • Mom

    Mom

    Which relationship has taught you the most about yourself?

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    She could win an argument with a parking meter.

    Everyone has that one person who could negotiate a ceasefire and a discount in the same breath. Mine was a 4-foot-9-inch giant.

    I learned who I am by standing next to someone I’m not. Here are three stories about Mom that show it: how she moved, how she laughed, and how she never once apologized for either.

    Move or Be Moved

    Maybe she was born with an independent streak, or maybe life forced her to develop one. Either way, she had a confidence I could never replicate, no matter how many times I practised in the mirror.

    In a past life, Mom was a general. A psychic said so. (And I 1,000% believe it.) Every morning, she put on makeup like she was heading into battle: she called it “war paint.”

    I, on the other hand, was told by my Kindergarten teacher to stop avoiding conflict so much.*

    *I did fix this. I became a mediator, which is what you do when you’d rather not be a general.

    A Little Levity Goes a Long Way

    Of course, good warriors know that not every battle needs a cannon. Sometimes they need a punchline.

    At one of her first jobs in London, a colleague kept sitting at her desk. (It happened to be right in front of the attractive boss’s office.)

    Mom got so fed up that she started telling the desk-stealer to inform him she’d gone home for the day because she had nowhere to sit. This went on for a while… until finally, she marched in to complain directly.

    He was seated behind his desk, but from where she stood, he might as well have been a skyscraper.

    She took a breath.

    “I have a problem,” she began, hesitantly.

    He waited, probably wondering what this tiny woman who’d been skipping out on work wanted to gripe about now.

    “You’re too good looking…”

    Mom was quick witted like that (disarming before you’d even seen her aim). I, on the other hand, am a classic tube-light.

    Let’s Hang in the Shallow End

    Mom’s approach to self-discovery was simple: be yourself, loudly, and let everyone else catch up.

    So when I gave her a copy of The Four Agreements: A Practical Guide to Personal Freedom by Don Miguel Ruiz, I should have known what to expect. She gave it about seven seconds, then threw it back at me, muttering, “What’s this crap?”

    The book and I both sat there, stunned.

    Unlike Mom, I spend most of my time wallowing in introspection, gobbling up every self-help book I can find with the voracious curiosity of a raccoon at a picnic.

    Mom is slowly making her way out of this realm. She’s taking her time, on her own schedule, as usual.

    In Avengers: Endgame, Frigga says, “Everyone fails at who they’re supposed to be. The measure of a person, of a true hero, is how well they succeed at being who they are.” Mom never needed that lesson, since she was born knowing exactly who she was. I had to fail at being her first.

    I’m not like her. But I know who I am because I got to stand next to someone who knew exactly who she was.