My funny Valentine…

My man is a little different. At first he’d just come to the mall to kill time either from lack of a job or maybe he’s so rich he doesn’t need to work. Either way he was there with his extremely long beard. Not the sexy kind, the kind that homeless men have because they can’t afford a razor.

To whom it may concern,

Valentine’s Day is swiftly approaching so I figured you all needed a cure from the last depressing post. Don’t feel too bad about my lack of social skills with men. Sometimes, not often, there’s one guy who finds my lack of a grasp of the English language in situations of pressure rather adorable.

Since I left school I’ve had a part-time job as a Customer Service Representative for a mall. The mall is pretty schmancy, in the heart of Newmarket in Auckland; a mall where most of the retailers themselves are a pristine reflection of the ridiculously expensive clothes they sell (I’m looking at you hot Barkers guys…yeaah, you aiite 😉 ) On your average Saturday morning the mall is streaming with the love children of Beauty Queens and Millionaires wearing boat shoes and a Ralph Lauren sweater casually slung across their broad shoulders even though there isn’t a boat in sight and it is really rather warm for a sweater. But no complaints here because when you’re that good looking nobody cares and apparently you don’t sweat! Pretty much the perfect place to meet a beautiful man who is not only smart but also rich?

My man is a little different. At first, he’d just come to the mall to kill time either from lack of a job or maybe he’s so rich he doesn’t need to work. Either way, he was there with his extremely long beard. Not the sexy kind, the kind that homeless men have because they can’t afford a razor. One day he walked by the Customer Services desk and saw a Brown Princess awkwardly daydreaming (me, I’m the Princess…it’s my story) He dares not approach the Princess for her vacant stare was too intimidating but mostly creepy. So he returned every day after trying to figure out exactly which days she worked there, all the while plucking up his courage to talk to her.

He gained hope when one day she wasn’t daydreaming and looked in his direction so he quickly took advantage and did the ethnic head shake that all fobby ethnic men give a girl when they recognise that she too, is of similar ethnic and cultural background! He did some reconnaissance work with the security guard and asked for her age and name. Turns out he was quite a bit older than she was and by a bit I mean a lot. But he didn’t care. He continued to show up as she started her shift and didn’t leave the mall till she finished her shift. Sometimes he’d walk by her desk “on the phone” so it didn’t look like he was just there. Then FINALLY one day he went up to the desk and said “I’ve been coming here every day for you. You want coffee sometime?” and she said, “No thank you, is there anything else I can help you with?”

But he persevered! He would not take rejection, for months of preparation had gone into asking her out. So he began watching her at her bus stop. That’ll win her over for sure! But then she called security who rewarded him with a trespassing notice from the mall and a warning that the next time he approached a Customer Service Girl the Police would be called. Because stalking young girls is a crime.

So what am I doing for Valentine’s Day? I’ll be working the evening shift at the mall where our kick-ass security team keeps me safe from stalkers 🙂 Come say hi! Bring me chocolate 🙂


Your Valentine

Tragic experiences with boys – Part 1 of many

Picture a brown Lorde performing at the Grammy awards, with the alty hand movements and crazy eyes but without the singing, in a normal conversation. Yea. That sort of sums up my attempt at flirting.

To whom it may concern,

I don’t consider myself a shy person – I doubt many do. However when it comes to the department of the gentlemen, whoa buddy. No words.

Picture a brown Lorde performing at the Grammy awards, with the alty hand movements and crazy eyes but without the singing, in a normal conversation. Yea. That sort of sums up my attempt at flirting.

In my defense I never really had to deal with the “dating” situation at school. My first boyfriend asked me out in year 11 and he’d known me since I was 12 – he knew I was weird before we started going out. Luckily for me, he put up with my weirdness till University. Someone give that boy a medal. Let’s just say it’s a good thing he had a strong sense of humour.

After 12 years of being in an all-girl environment, Uni was probably not the best time to figure out how to talk to lads. It also doesn’t help that I’m almost always oblivious to most social cues but also somehow manage to over-think EVERYTHING.

So one day when a lovely guy and I decided to watch a movie I was understandably very nervous.

1) I didn’t know the guy very well at all so he definitely wasn’t aware of how totally cool I am and frankly wasn’t sure if he could handle it (not even a little sarcastic). 2) Not everyone really “gets me” – a fact I constantly forget. 3) The word “date” was never used – STRESS OF MY LIFE. 4) He is definitely a lot smarter than I am + the chances of me saying something stupid are high = maybe I shouldn’t speak?

I was so incredibly nervous that to this day I have no recollection of anything I said on the actual date/not date/was it a date? Seriously guys what the hell was it…

All I know is it probably wasn’t good.

The one part I do remember was the car slowing down and my attempt at being “cute”. He’d been telling me about how he’d had his first lot of patients that day and how they’d all been rather depressing (Yea he’s studying to be a Doc…see what I mean about smart).

What I meant to say was  ”I had fun! *Hair flick* I hope you have better luck with your future patients *cheeky grin* “. And then he’d be like “damn. This girl has some great listening skills and I really appreciate that cheeky grin”

What came out of my mouth was: “thanks for the ride, Good luck for your future” *exits car* and he was probably like “wtf?”

So that happened. I’m just going to stop, fulfill my Father’s dream of me becoming a lesbian Nun (He doesn’t trust boys, he thinks they’re ALL trying to do the horizontal tango with me…little does he know) and just save everyone the trouble of having to deal with me. Except for the lesbian nun population, which I feel, would be very small, so no harm done.

Always yours,


Does it matter if you’re black or white?

What’s cookin’ good lookin 

Moving to New Zealand at the age of 12, an age of social development and finding of oneself lead to a lot of confusion. My first day of school at Remuera Intermediate was truly traumatic. I knew absolutely no one AND because i’d joined in year 8, relationships had already formed in year 7 and everyone else already had friends.

I had buckteeth; curly (ok frizzy) hair was Black as night and had one seriously seductive accent. People were pretty much lining up to be my friend. My teacher found me hesitating to leave class at morning tea so she told a girl in my class to introduce me to her friends. This girl rolled her eyes and took me outside to a group of girls whom i later found out made up 50% of the Kapa Haka crew. I fit right in. After about 2 minutes of awkwardly standing around and trying to join in with their jokes the girl told me to turn around and “follow the light”.

I awkwardly laughed really hard (dying on the inside) and just told myself to laugh it off and walk like i didn’t care. I must’ve looked like such a tosser strutting back to my classroom. My teacher found me about 2 minutes later and obviously took pity. She said “I’ll find you some friends!”. Do you know how many cool points you get when your teacher tries to find you friends? Not many…

Bless her heart, she found the first two Brown girls and said “You’re Indian aren’t you? (I’m Sri Lankan) This is a new girl Ketarki (close enough). She has no friends (cooool). Can you please play with her and show her around”. Turns out the girls were from year 7, One was from Dubai and just really tanned and it was also their first day but they were really lovely and we hung out for the first week till I made friends with my actual classmates.

A year later when it was time to leave for highschool and I’d cemented my relationships with peers in my own year group, I was informed that I had gotten into Dio and would therefore be attending Dio. All my friends were going to Eggs. I definitely cried. Can you blame me? Would you want to relive my first day?

I’m probably one of the few people that actually benefitted from Dio’s Buddy system. Mine was awesome. Lydia played the electric Bass (totally badass) and loved ‘The suite life of Zach and Cody’ (even more badass) and was the most welcoming person.

A few years into Dio I looked at my friend group and one thing definitely struck me. My year group was predominantly white. And of the 7 “brown” girls in our entire year, 4 of them sat with me. It wasn’t long before I was asked to join the Indian dance crew (still not Indian…) and the teacher in charge would speak Hindi to me, regardless of the fact she knew I was Sri Lankan. She told me I had to learn it.

I loved school but I think the lack of diversity has left me extremely confused. I started milking the fact people couldn’t tell the difference. I let People think I’m good at accounting, or believe that I’m a lot smarter than I actually am. My bus driver always greets me with a “Namaste”. One guy asked me if I was good at Kama Sutra. I just nod. They will never know. I know its really bad but I can’t help myself. Its too easy.

Then my friends and I thought we were the closest that Dio had to actual African Americans so we often refer to ourselves as each others “black-up” (definitely not African American enough to get away with that), Sometimes my best friends refer to me as “Maaa nigga” (seriously Shreenal stop, someone’s going to hit you one of these days). And its not just the “Black” issue that gets confusing.

Sri Lanka is part of Asia. I make Asian jokes ALL the time. People must think I’m really racist making Asian jokes but technically I’m FULL Asian. Geography bro.

Aside from LOVING curry I have almost no stereotypical “ethnic interests”. Guys I play the cello, genuinely enjoy Western classical music. Sometimes I listen to Jazz? What of it? I only like cricket if the English team is playing and that’s only because the talent is better and by that I meant they’re much much hotter than the Sri Lankan team. I feel like I’ve let down the team. I think its time for a visit back home. Maybe a cup of Dilmah. This is getting out of hand.

At 21 I’ve learnt to embrace all the races I’ve decided I belong to. They are yet to embrace me but that’s alright. I’d like to think that if I were to go back to that first day of social awkwardness that the Kapa Haka group wouldn’t tell me to go find the light or at least explain to me what they meant by that. Did they tell me to die? and follow the light to heaven? Because I was 12 and that’s a bit extreme guys.

This blog has achieved nothing.


Racially confused.


To whom it may concern,

For the last 21 years and 9 months, I’ve had a friend. You may know her as Sharmini or Mrs.M. To me she is “Maaaaaaaaaaa”. From age 4 through to maybe 12, to be perfectly honest, I plotted her death multiple times. Nobody screams like my mum. She also packs a mean open-palm. But as I’ve grown older and not taller, I’ve realised it was because she was the main gal in my corner, screaming for me to push myself as all mums do – mine just had a set of lungs. Now, I have serious attachment issues concerning my Mum.
Not even joking, NYE 2013 was the first that I’d spent away from her. It was initially traumatic. Before you judge me, yes I have been away from my mother -_- . My mum moved to Sydney in my last year of school and she lived there until July of last year. But this meant that we’d always made an effort to be together for Easter, Christmas and NYE. So this year when my friends told me we were going on a road trip to Mangawhai I had seriously mixed feelings.
I had to consult my friends Stef (fellow sufferer of attachedtomother syndrome) and James (an intelligent friend who happened to be online at the time of my anxiety attack) to make sure that I wasn’t doing the wrong thing by going away, abandoning my mother if you will, at the start of a New Year! My mum didn’t give a crap. She told me to leave so she could get some peace and quiet.
The drive there involved 3 texts from me detailing the drive, obviously. She replied with “kundi xxx” (Bottom in Tamil (weird pet name… don’t ask) xxx). This made me even more mum-sick. The only option was to drink copious amounts of alcohol. That’s right mum. I blame you. At 12 am on the 1st of January 2014 I called my Mum to wish her!
She didn’t pick up. She called 20 minutes later and told me that she was at a party and she looked amazing. She then sent me a couple of selfies to prove it.
I don’t even…just…no words.
Today is Mama bear’s 50th Birthday. If you see her, tell her she doesn’t look a day above 60. She’ll hate it. It’ll be hilarious. I’ll laugh. Unless she hits me. Then the laughing will cease.
Dear Mum,
You are so weird. Thank God, you would’ve never understood me otherwise. When you doubt yourself and you feel down (like that time you thought you were losing your ability to balance because you’re getting older, and then proceeded to practice balancing on one foot at random times around our house…seriously, what the hell Ma) Just look at yourself through my eyes. You’re my Superwoman. My best friend. This is getting very lame now.
Love you,
Kundi xxx