Tag Archives: growth

Ode to the Uncut Nail

Dailypost: A True Saint

In 300 years, if you were to be named the patron saint of X, what would you like X to be? Places, activities, objects — all are fair game.

a Menasseuse by 	 Hyacinthe Rigaud  another version can be found in Musée Granet (Aix-en-Provence) This work is in the public domain in the United States, and those countries with a copyright term of life of the author plus 100 years or less.
La Menasseuse by
Hyacinthe Rigaud
another version can be found in Musée Granet (Aix-en-Provence)
This work is in the public domain.

I would be the patron saint of uncut nails.

I find uncut nails befitting of me, because my nails have always grown far too sooner than I have wanted them to ever since I can remember. Even when I in kindergarten, while all the kids had tiny nails on their plump fingers, my nails stuck out on thin long sticks I had for fingers. I hated them. I wanted to be like others. I wanted to have cute kiddy fingers instead of old woman’s claws.

Until the day came when I realized everyone else envied my nails. I realized they liked, even admired my nails. I took a good look at the hard, almost bone like structure on my fingers. I observed them… And noticed quite  a few things…

Nail polish looked better on my huge nails.

When I tapped on the desk to show impatience, it made a more charismatic sound getting many tasks done much faster.

If anyone needed to change the battery for the remote control or reach their sim card on their phone, it was not a problem because my nail was long enough to give the delicate push.

Did you need to add a new key to the chain with the tight piece of metal shaped like a spiral? It would not be easy, but my nails could take the pressure.

And the pistachio we all liked so much but, darn, sometimes it was hard to get to the best part. No, you did not need to break the shell with your teeth! I would take care of that with my nails.

Oh those lids! It was so hard to open the ketchup bottle/ juice box/ coke can… The patron saint of uncut nails was there to save the day! No lid was too tight in face of this saint!

And the best part was I had never needed a manicure to keep them in good shape.

Thus, little by little, I realized that what made me so different turned out to be a secret strength that could work to my advantage. I learned to embrace my difference, and left the ugly duckling everyone, but most importantly, I deemed myself to be behind and learned to accept who I am with all the attributes I hold.

Once, something as trivial as a nail alienated me from the crowd. Yet, something as invisible as a nail also helped me see what power I held hidden at the tip of my finger.

Therefore, there is no other more deserving of the title patron saint of uncut nails than I.


A Lovely Crappy Day!

"La Libre Esthétique salon annuel: Musée Moderne, de 10 a 5 heures, ouverture: 24 Fevrier, prix d'entrée: 1 Franc, le Dimanche 50 centimes." Poster for art exhibition of the Brussels-based artistic movement at La Libre Esthétique.
This image is available from the United States Library of Congress’s Prints and Photographs division under the digital ID cph.3b52530

So I took the famous French exam on Friday to apply for permanent residence in Quebec… Boy was that a failure… It feels great to finally be able to let that out… My French is actually not bad. Definitely good enough to talk about lame situations but when my performance is being scrutinized, I tend to get nervous and start speaking gibberish… No matter what language I am using at that moment… And that is exactly what happened during the exam. The less I care about the results of an interview, the better I perform… In other words, I don’t perform well under pressure… Unless it is a task involving writing…

And, completely acting in contrast with my personality, I told everyone it went OK, instead of freaking out and expecting everyone to relieve me with soothing words… Is this what finally growing feels like? Meh…

I didn’t tell my friends about how poorly the speaking component went because almost all of them have to take the same exam and they are still at preliminary stages of learning the language and are immensely freaked out about it… So telling them that I fucked up would not be much of a help… Plus, they sort of consider me to be one of those straight A types who always walk out of the exam room with despair of certain failure. They might be right, but it is so hard not to shriek when my mind is consuming the few neurons I possess to eat me up alive…

Neither did I mention the anguish I was swimming in to my husband because he rarely has any story in store to make the anxiety go away… Except for the jokes, which did help right after the exam when we met up… Though he had no idea his funniness was being exploited for selfish self appeasement ends.

And, I am finally getting to the point where I do not run to my mummy’s arms for comfort… I am in a way preparing myself for the day she might die and I will have to deal with my problems on my own… Although she is perfectly healthy… Sort of like encouraging yourself to push harder by telling yourself giving birth is much more painful when you are constipated… Surely, you know what I mean…

Yes, this is exactly where I want to put an end to today’s post… I felt like crap for Quebec’s sake… And here is a bunch of crap in the form of a blog entry… Have a lovely Sunday crap…