deviousways

Found myself amazingly sad at Heath Ledger's death. Then caught myself wondering why. This rich, goodlooking man with a lovely daughter, millions in his bank accounts, a great movie career, and god knows how many willing women by his side, died allegedly of a drug overdose. So, why does his death matter even, to me? The other day, a photog friend sent me pictures of homeless people -- a project he's working on. The photos were great, of course, but those visuals of little children living on the streets, holding out their hands in mute appeal; boys and girls with vacant, defeated, knowing eyes, didn't touch me at all. I found myself thinking the project was essentially for a Western audience. And then I went around saying, oh what a shame Ledger is dead. A Hollywood star's death affected me. Scenes I see every day in my city, don't diminish me at all. What a cruel, shameful irony.

Two women sat across a table. One: "I have aminos in the morning and a protein shake in the evenings. My trainer tells me I can have as much grilled chicken and fish I want but only one piece of carb." The Other: "I follow the same regime. In fact, I've lost more than two kilos in the past week on this. I aim to maintain my weight at this level." I was there too, at that same table. I tried mightily to elegantly chew on evenly browned bread. I hoped my plate didn't look too loaded. But no, carbs were not on my mind, crumbs sticking to my lipstick definitely were. The women talked of their shared determination to eat right. I tried to spear some fried chicken. I tried to eat peas with my knife. They exclaimed over how they both disliked dessert. They were blissfully admiring of each other's healthy eating lifestyles. I spooned my way through two puddings. One was yoghurt-based so that counts, don't you think? And yes, I had lots of fruit too!