This one time, I had no idea

Well, this week has been interesting. 

I spent Canada Day long weekend with two of my favorite people in the world. I drove 7 hours to Valemount, BC to visit a couple of gays and their new cabin. It was quiet, and peaceful, and amazingly perfect. I came back to face the week with some much needed clarity.

Then Monday happened, and all clarity went away. Now I'm left without an anchor, and without a reason to be logical. 

For the first time in many years, I have the chance to choose the life I want. But that begs the question, 'What do I want?'

My plan has changed several times since Monday and I expect it will change many more times in the coming weeks. I think that's normal. Right?! There are just so many things to consider! And I suppose, I will never know what the right answer is, but in the coming weeks, an answer will have to be made. No 'ifs', 'ands', or 'buts' about it.

This shit's about to get real. 

Just sooo Indian

I am pretty white-washed. I mean, I have been called the whitest brown girl ever.

It's true, I am not particularly cultural. In my defense, neither are my parents. It's not like I was all ... I reject my culture, blah blah blah.

Rather, I just followed suit.

They didn't run around the house wearing saris or constantly cooking Indian food. Mom's best meals are the always the ones she asks her white friends for.

But, the one thing my mom does, soooo well, is Indian breads. Namely chapatis.

They are also called rotis for some people - I don't know why they have different names, but they do. Harp, can you explain?

They used to be regular occurences in my life. Mom would make them and I would devour them.

Now, they are few and far between.

I can make them too - they are one of the few items I can cook that actually comes out tasting the same as when she does them - but for me, they still taste better when she makes them.

Plain, with cheese, with a saucy goodness, I swear, chapatis could solve the world's problems.

Well, at least mine.