God is Pleased

London is great when it is sunny. Warm London is the best kind. Today it hit about 20 degrees and I remained ecstatic despite spending a majority of my day in a shopping mall sipping a latte from Starbucks. And, they spelt my name right. I suppose my name isn’t that difficult to spell anyway, I mean for a brown person. Most of us have really long names with silent letters and all, me, I am plain and simple – Meera. Equally easy to pronounce Mee-ra. Although the British say Meh-rah. Oh, accents. My accent lies somewhere in between Kenyan, Ugandan, Indian and maybe even Arab. I am just putting the Arab in there to sound really culturally diverse. My accent is very Indian and Kenyan…Kendian?

OH! OH! Other than sunlight in the UK, gay marriage has been legalised! I am so happy! I am so gay! (see what I did there?) I mean, call me old fashioned but I think that’s just God sending out sunlight in the form of “well done for being so great, UK, you rock!” Come on, freezing countries that still consider homosexuality illegal, take a hint! It is, after all, right before your eyes.

My family have come down to visit and it’s great having them around. It’s nice, and it’s incredibly refreshing. I am having a marvellous time! And I hope you are too, wherever you are in the world.

So, an old friend of mine said, or bitched about, how weird I am. And I am almost certain she meant it as an insult because why the fuck would anyone want to be weird? Well, my dear, why the fuck would anyone want to be ordinary? I am not going to lie that I was a little bit disgusted by this, but hey, we’ve all been mean girls. Right? I know I have. Anyway my point is, she wanted to insult me or look down on me because I am weird…but I wasn’t insulted. I was quite content actually, because, as weird as I get I will always be me. Era. And I am proud of that! I am weird and dysfunctional and eccentric. I am no puppet of society. So why oh why would I be insulted by being called weird? Also, I had once wished upon having a daughter much like this old friend…but taken into consideration her teensy mind and mean girl attitude, I would much rather my daughter be like me.

It may seem immature of me to blog about it, but I’ve decided to write an autobiography through this blog. Which, I suppose means speaking my whole mind. And, I have a little note in my bedroom that reminds me to write honestly. So why the heck not.

I love you all,
Thanks for reading this!
Until neg-est time,
Meera.

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