kindly fill up the form and send back

I was talking to a far-off relative who recently immigrated to Canada. She immigrated from Dubai, where she was living with her husband and kids. Worked as a government employee in Dubai, with all the perks that an Indian household is used to. She went on about how Dubai compares with Canada, how life was so much easier in Dubai, how there are no good restaurants to eat at here in Canada, and how difficult it will be to keep her kids “within the culture” after moving here. You could see a cloud of entitlement around her, if you are a Canadian that is. She went on about how difficult it was to get her PR in the first place, how many sleepless nights she had waiting for it, and she deserves a good life here after waiting so long to get here. I asked how long it took from start to finish, and she said “Oh, it took a full 9 MONTHS!”.20 years ago, when I was a kid, I remembered my parents thinking and discussing whether we should move to Canada. We were living in Africa at the time, there was no internet and resources were scarce. At that time, you would request an application package from the Canadian Embassy and they would send the package by mail to you to fill out and send back. We waited for weeks, hoping that our mail reached them and that the application package would not be lost in transit to us.When the application package finally arrived, we knew we couldn't jump on the form, we had but one package of forms to work with. So, my dad took the form to a photocopier shop several kilometres away and got a bunch of copies taken. The shopkeeper was quite happy having received such good unexpected business from us. Next up was filling the form. Tech-savvy folks that we were, we figured we should type it up. My mom's typing skills came in handy - she felt she was destined to do this. My mom and I would trek every day to a typing school a few kilometres away and I would watch my mom roll up the papers into the typewriter and type up the answers exactly within the field. We brought white-out bottles with us for correcting the inevitable errors.After all of that, several reviews, and making sure we dotted all our I's, after praying for our golden application package's safe transit, we mailed it off to the embassy. Then, it was a wait. A long wait. A long long wait, where there were no tracking numbers, no application updates, no nothing. After a full 7 months, we got a mail telling us that our application was received and we need further documentation to be submitted.We did all that they asked. Then war broke out, and we left to India. It was a bureaucratic circus getting our file transferred to India for processing. My dad would call up CIC office and threaten to protest in front of their office if they didn't proceed with the processing.My school was in limbo. Every year when the school started, my parents would tell me, no point enrolling you, we are leaving for Canada soon. One month in, they would know it's not happening and would enrol me in. All my schoolmates knew I would leave for Canada, but that never was happening. They would joke that I was bluffing, that I was never going to leave.Then one day, we got our confirmations in the mail. After 5 years. After several calls, mails, one scary interview in Delhi and a lot of agonizing wait. How did it feel? I don't know about my parents, but I was in a trance. All I could think of at the moment was to go tell everyone who made fun of me, “ Seeya Losers! I'm outta here!” I obviously didn't do that. My parents probably felt a huge relief of gaining certainty in life, but also felt a huge surge of new uncertainty about a new chapter in life. Will they succeed there? Will we survive there? Will all be ok?My dad ended up working as a general labourer for several months, my mom too, after coming here. They didn't want us kids to feel anything, so they were super casual about it. But, it didn't escape us for one second that my father who was the head of R&D in India, and my mother who was a bank employee, were doing all these for us, for us to have a good life. It grounded us, put our feet firmly on the floor, and taught us to do whatever is necessary, for the people we love.Canada gave us a lot, we lost a lot too. My mom passed away before she could see us succeed here and my dad became a single parent unexpectedly. But, in the end , perhaps it was alright that we came here. I would have been a different person if I didn't come here. I would not have known what hard work meant may be, what being responsible meant, what being humble and modest means, what kind of person I wanted to be. Or maybe I would have been the same person wherever I was, I wouldn't know.As to my relative, she is back in Dubai now, claiming Child Tax Benefits for her three kids from here and living it up over there. Yes, she is perhaps “luckier” than me in life, but I feel I'm lucky too, just differently.

I'm no owner, but I can tell you that the strangest personalities we get don't end up getting guns.The list of "strange personalities" comprises of drunks, crackheads, lunatics, fools, belligerents, and the intellectually deficient.My personal two favorite examples consist of one fellow who was clearly high as a kite on some substance or another. Slow, retarded (I mean that in the literal definition of the word - lethargic and slothy and slow to respond), and would stare at the floor or walls and occasionally giggle to himself. Not at all violent or belligerent. Hell, he was barely cognizant.He eventually requested to see a handgun (not buy, just handle), so I bluffed him and told him that he needed a firearms safety certificate (California thing. You need it to buy guns, not handle them) to do so and proceeded to give him the test. He proceeded to fail all but one of the 30 multiple choice questions (a statistical marvel, as 10 of them are true/false and the remaining 20 have a 1–4 chance of guessing it correctly).As such I lied and told him I couldn't show him any guns or let him shoot or buy. He proceeded to stand there occasionally giggling before eventually leaving the store with the slow gait of a sleepwalker.My second favorite is of a young lady and young man who wandered (in?). My first impressions of them were that they are either well groomed but homeless, or the most stereotypical vegan, non-GMO, all organic, natural fibers modern day hippies.The male remained silent throughout the encounter. They approached the main register and the lady proceeded to, while not belligerently, somewhat confrontationally ask my colleague what his opinion on see-through waterguns was.My colleague was clearly confused, but caught on quick, and replied in the most bureaucratically and politically correct non-answers possible. "I'm not sure what you mean…I can't really give you an opinion…", etc.After failing to clarify her query, despite being prompted to by us, she finally ended the encounter by replying with a snippy "well come back to me when you do", and they left.I got the distinct vibe that the two were not frightened, but tense, as if their adrenaline was up a bit or that they felt nervous. I can only assume that they didn't like firearms, and came into the store to try and push some debate about kids being shot by police, but were so afraid of us evil gun nuts shooting them for no reason that their ability to actually hold a conversation failed.

I thought of going anonymous, but revealing a truth doesn’t require a mask.Well, this happened back in 2016.I used to travel home from Delhi to Chennai through Indigo flight once in a quarter. All the time I do a web check-in and choose ONLY aisle seats because I can stretch my legs little more than a window seat. I used to travel on Tuesdays, to have lesser fares.And this was one typical day of my visit to Chennai. Another Tuesday, like every time the cabin filled with many business travelers carrying laptops, magazines. It was packed with 80% men in blazers/suits.I was on a aisle seat on the left side (refer pic) seated comfortably and started my iPod playlists. Since it was short flight, I used to listen songs than take a nap.In comes a gentleman (like-dressed) about 45+ years with well outfit and shining shoes with a Ray-Ban spectacles. This didn’t surprise me. He was chewing pan since boarding. I have witnessed many times that people from North India are fond of Pan and it is normal thing which I don't find offensive. I can’t intrude into another person’s personal pages. He seemed like any other person in a cab.About 1 hr past, many of the passengers were asleep, some were lost in their movies, laptops, office work, and this guy who was just seated on the right side, but 1 seat ahead of me. So, I was able to see what he was doing from behind. People on the front seat, adjacent seats, no movements, nothing.I was listening to my iPod, I still can see others just by an overlook as our eyes roams. Here comes the point, he leaned a bit towards the pouch in front of him. Normally, I used to keep my headphone cases, books, sometimes tablets like everyone does.He was leaning towards the pouch, open the pouch a bit bigger and with no hesitations, he SPIT what he was chewing in his mouth.Yes, you read it correctly. The whole mouthful chewed “thing” he spit everything into the pouch with aircraft guides, magazines in it. Left as it is and leaned back comfortably to his normal position and took some water, leaned back, closed eyes. Probably slept. He didn’t know I was watching all from his behind.I was like WTF?! What the hell did he do? How inhuman is this? Doesn’t suit his outfit and what he just did?! What’s the point of your education and money? Any sense he has? The very next moment he lost all the respect when he had boarded. With that, he put all the Indians in shame.Come on, you don’t have a basic courteousy, a good behavior? How can you grow a child to a quality person yourself?!And from that moment I never keep any of my personal belongings into those pouches, never take my hands down into that.Just think about it, WHAT IF that could’ve happened in front of an foreign national? What will he/she think of my country?P.S: I’m not here to blame all North Indians. I’ve seen many well mannered, cultured people who were very modest and generous. But this incident still disgusts me!What kind of mentality, if nobody is seeing you, your crimes are not counted? Just because you’re paying money for the flight journey, attendants are not slaves who wipe off your SHIT!!Keep an eye on your surrounding and your front pouches ,)Thanks for reading.Pics courtesy: GoogleEdit1: Thanks all for your overwhelming response. That guy was reported to the crew members 30mins prior Landing. They came and inspected and told him politely “please use lavatory for your needs” I wasn’t sure if he was fined.She came, thanked me and said, “This isn’t first time we get this”- That’s one bitter truth!

"It doesn't hurt, get over it."Context: I have Sensory Processing Disorder, meaning my brain cannot accept and organize sensory information properly. The senses you use every moment to understand where you are, what you're feeling, whether or not you're injured are unreliable for me. I was born with it, I live my whole life with it, I will most likely die with it.When diagnosed, back in 2002 while I was in grade 4, little was known about SPD. It was believed to only truly be found in Autism and anyone outside of that spectrum who showed sensory issues had minor delays they simply needed to grow out of. And that's what my parents were told. That I would soon grow out of it and all would be right in the world.Cue the next 12 years of me struggling to understand the issues of my body. When you're told you're normal, but you realize that everyone else isn't going through the same thing as you, it creates a very meased up idea that you are somehow... bad. You're intentionally being this brat that can't understand where your limbs are or freaks out at mushrooms or does the same sound over and over again in your mouth because it feels good. Because I had no label, no understanding, I simply thought I was the worst goddamn human on the planet. Bin Laden was horrendous but at least he didn't vomit on the new floor when finally wearing those socks him mom bought him as a present.Yep.I did that.Christmas Day.Because the fabric was one I could not stand and it caused me that much pain and discomfort.Now, back to the phrase. As I said earlier, SPD buggers up how I experience pain. Velvet is a totrue tool that shold be banned world wide. And in my brain, touching velvet hurts worse than breaking a bone.When I was told over and over to "get over" my sensory issues because the weren't a big deal, I began to rationalize that anything less painful then my sensory issues was obviously not a big deal. If Tomato soup was something I needed to stomach through, then so was PCOS. If an overwhelming shopping mall was something to be happy about, then broken rubs were simply something to laugh at.I'm not exaggerating. I'very broken multiple rubs and I don't know from what. I've mashed my pinkie toes, because I'm unaware of where my legs are going, to the point where they now curl in under my feet.I don't blame my parents. Honestly. They were trusting professionals who didn't really know enough. It's no one's fault. But now I'm older and have the history to look at kids like me and give advice. Look at families like mine and prep them for what happens next. Hopefully a few can learn from my mistakes.I explain sensory pain and all that jazz better here

“(Hold on a minute) I SAID I WANTED A PEPSI! A FUCKING PEPSI! proceeds to throw hot coffee through the “Donut Shop” window at me ARE YOU ALL FUCKING RETARDED!?!?”That was “Pepsi Lady,” as she would come to be called. I worked at a certain national “Donut Shop” in high school, and this middle aged woman would come through, talking on her cell phone, stop at the order board for literally two seconds and maybe stop her conversation long enough to mumble “a Pepsi” and then hit the gas to pull around. We had a lot of Brazilian people working there, and “a Pepsi” can sound a lot like “small coffee” when English is your second language, and the person is also in the middle of a sentence on a cell phone and immediately pulls up.So anyway, this was literally my first day on the job and she said that, and Renato just handed me the small coffee, and I hand it out to her. She’s still onthe phone talking, takes the coffee, gives me money, takes her change, and didn’t say anything through that entire exchange. Then, however, she takes the change in her hand, and along with the small coffee, throws it all back at me through the drive thru window. I was 14 and didn’t even know what to do, so I gave her a Pepsi and she sped off. She was constantly harassing us. Yeah, I should have called the police or something, but I was young and needed the job. Also I think management was a little worried about not everyone working there being 100% legal, and they were my friends so I wasn’t about to make any trouble for them, either.Soon enough we started noticing her coming in with this guy and sitting in the dining area, making googly eyes at this guy like a school girl. Rumors started to circulate that this was her side guy, and that she’d sometimes actually come in with her husband who she was her usual, horrible self to. Well, lo and behold, one day I’m on and she comes in with a man that she’s yelling at worse than she usually yells at us. Well, that time I got covered in burning hot coffee and all the incidents of being treated like the scum of the earth were fresh in my mind. She walks up to the counter with her lawful husband and after she berates me and him a bit, I say as cheerfully as I can muster, “Oh, is this your brother? Where’s your husband today? You two looked so sweet together the other day when you came in!”Well, she looked white as a ghost and just gaped at me. It all went quickly from there. He started screaming, she called me some sort of liar. But it was clear he knew something was up. The last I heard the manager was questioning corporate whether we could release security tapes due to a request from a divorce lawyer. You don’t throw hot coffee at people. I regret nothing.*Update* Wow, what an unexpected and awesome response! Thanks everyone! So, funny afterword that my daughter is itching for me to add… as I said in one comment, I availed my kids about how horrible Pepsi Lady was. I abridged her horribleness in the story (there was a ton of verbal abuse in between the coffee throwing and the husband telling). So one day about a year ago I’m in the grocery store with my 12yo daughter. And who do I see? Pepsi Lady, a decade older and still perpetually loudly on her cell phone. So what does my bold daughter decide? To go up to Pepsi Lady and boldly tell her “you should be kinder to (Donut Shop) employees.” Well, Pepsi Lady makes a huge scene in the store, and comes up to me and asks “is she retarded? (She fond of that insult, in case you couldn't tell).” Clearly she doesn't remember or recognize me. So, not bound by my job anymore, I ask “are you?” Well, she tells me she’s going to get the manager to ban us from the store. My daughter and I calmly checkout our groceries, and as we walk out we wave to Pepsi Lady, still waiting in line at customer service. Clearly she learned nothing, smh.

Only if you're on acid.Just kidding.  It can be seen quite easily, depending what you are willing to accept as 'seeing sound.'The definition of sound  is a propagating pressure wave in a compressible medium.  If the medium is air, the pressure (or density of air molecules) difference between the crest and trough of the wave can in principle be detected optically via differences in refractive index or absorption.image source: Sound WavesBut it is much more interesting to 'see sound' by taking images of the object which is causing the sound.  One example is a bowed violin string (animation below), where the sound originates from the string vibrating as a propagating kink (image below).  The body of the violin acts as a resonator which allows the vibration of the string to produce oscillating deformations of the body which are large enough to facilitate propagating pressure waves in the surrounding air.  The tendency of the body to deform appreciably in response to vibration is visualized during the fabrication process (bottom image): the back plate is put on a vibrating board with mobile tracers (ground tea leaves) which accumulate in the nodes (troughs) of the normal modes of the instrument.  With high speed photography one can see similar periodic deformations in other musical instruments or in the vibrating diaphragm of a audio speaker.image source: Basic physics of the violinimage source: Strings, standing waves and harmonicsViolin backplate on a vibrating board with tracers.  Different images correspond to different driving frequencies. Image source: A recipe for a violin