let lemons be angry

I never realised it until now, but I have a bizarre appetite for danger.

My dreams about organised crime and kidnaps started when I was about seven years old. I could blame my father for making me think that all men were out to get me--he was always teaching me to punch and block and duck. I got boxing gloves when I was in primary school, and a punching bag last year. The first movie my dad took me to watch was Lethal Weapon. Today, I'd watch an action thriller over a romantic comedy anytime.

My mother has made her contributions too. "If you're in the lift with any man, hold your key in your fist!" For eye-poking purposes of course. She has her own tales of fending for herself in India against drunken men and hooligans, with knives, boiling water and stones.

I've been trained in self defense for years. And so I always walk around ready to practice what I've been taught, expecting danger to lurk around every corner. I look behind me when I walk home and I remember the details of people in my lift. I requested pepper spray for my last birthday and am rather disappointed that all the defense i get to do is in my dreams.

Today in coffee club, I saw a man leave his table abruptly and storm off. He was wearing sunglasses though it was dim indoors, and he had this menacing expression on his face. And he left his bag behind on the chair. I immediately blurted, "Bomb!" I tried telling the waitress about the suspicious bag when she took our orders, but Dawn hit me on the head. Later I saw that all his friends had left their bags behind too, and of course they all had to come back and sit around and laugh and talk again.

And then I got home. I put my key through the keyhole and turned, and pushed on the door. But it was stuck. I pushed harder, but it only budged a millimetre. It felt like it had been glued to the doorway. I rang the doorbell and stared at the door. The logical conclusion I came to? That a burglar had broken in and taken my father hostage and had taped the door shut with masking tape. Then I thought that if that was indeed true, then the burglar would open the door and stab me or kidnap me as well. I ran behind a pillar and watched the door from a distance.

I'm blogging about it now, so you probably can guess that it was a false alarm, and that my father opened the door and that the door was only temporarily stuck. You're probably even laughing at me now for being paranoid.

But it's not my fault. When i got through the door, I told my father all my worries and why I'd run away. He said, "Smart! But next time get to your phone first and call the police."