On sparkle, hearts, and being Elle

Perhaps it's because my birthday just passed, but today my thoughts turned to shiny, sparkly, pretty things...like gems. No, I'm not engaged or even close to it (despite what will be six years of togetherness this April), I was pondering an old pair of earrings I had misplaced and recently found. They're enormous, heart-shaped CZs I purchased immediately after watching "Legally Blonde", a movie that was about MY sorority (Delta Nu is Delta Gamma, duh), which led to a now-retired nickname for me: "Elle". Except mine was "L", the first letter in my "pet name/house name/what my mother calls me". Sigh. Now I have to explain pet names for the white people. ;)

So, in Malayalee Christian culture (AFAIK), it's common to name your children for your parents. There's even a system or order to it. Your first girl gets her paternal grandmother's name, your next girl gets the maternal grandma's. Same for sons and grandparents. "Anna" is my paternal grandmother's first name. "Susan" belonged to my maternal Ammachi until they bestowed it on my little sister, Veena. She was Veena her whole life and then at some point in adulthood, she decided to go by "Susan", a name which doesn't even MATCH the constellation of lovely things that make up who she is...don't worry-- I don't think "Anna" is super awesome either, but I do like it a shit ton more than "Susan". I'm fond of palindromes, you see. Also, the Greek Orthodox church (to which I belong!) mentions "the holy and righteous ancestors of Christ, Joachim and Anna" during services. Anna wasn't just *my* Grandma's name, she was Jesus' Grandmother, too! 

This is all well and good. You can have up to four kids, two of each gender and their names are already set. One small problem: my father was the tenth of eleven children and the NINTH SON. He was also the last to get married, at the ripe old age of 37. That means almost every one of his brothers has a daughter named "Anna", too. So I'm Anna #9, a distinction I once included in my signature, where I tucked a discreet little "IX" next to my first name.

Another small problem: in days gone by, we all would've lived near each other and met up frequently. Therefore, if you called out "Anna!" up to ten of us would've answered, assuming my Grandmother were still alive. So everyone needs ANOTHER name, a "house or pet name", meaning something only your family calls you. I have Anna-cousins named Anu, Asha, Geeta...you get the picture. My real name is "Latha", though that doesn't appear on any official documentation, and the only people who are allowed to call me that are those who've known me since I was very small. If you know me as "Latha" instead of "Anna", chances are you saw my ugly phase. You remember how long my hair used to be (down to my knees!), you recall a steady stream of speech and debate trophies. "New" people don't know that name, unless they're blood relations I just happen to have met as a teen or young adult. If I went to India right now, I'd be "Latha" (which means Ivy). You have to choose "pet" names that aren't overtly Hindu, because we're Christian. That's why my Dad couldn't call me Parvati or Paru for short, even though that was his favorite nickname for me. Parvati is a wife of the Hindu God Shiva. Not bloody Christian at all. SO. You see why "Elle" or "L" worked. I have that initial!

Anyway, I was smitten with this movie and all its fluffy pink frippery, so when I saw these earrings at the now-defunct Hechts at Metro Center (RIP...you had the BEST DEALS), I had to have them. I wore them for a few months, then felt self-conscious that they were heart-shaped. Who does that? Who wears heart-shaped diamonds? There's a reason no one has a heart-shaped engagement ring, it's juvenile, kitschy, cartoonish...basically the opposite of sophisticated. So I put the earrings aside and eventually lost track of them. Fast forward 13 years when I removed them from a dusty jewelry box. I'd lost one of the understated, martini set studs that I loved and wore for years. At least half of my earrings were packed away somewhere in my storage space and I wasn't a fan of whatever I had access to...so I put on the hearts, shrugged, approved of the way they looked in the mirror, and muttered "fuck it."

I've grown to love them; that's not something I expected. But that's the difference between 26 and 39. When you're in your 20s you often still have some of that teenaged self-consciousness permeating your decisions. Or maybe that was just me, because I am epically immature. When you're in your 30s, especially your late 30s, you are too weary/experienced/jaded/old to give a fuck. 

I realized I liked them enough that if, by some improbable chance, I got an engagement ring, I actually wouldn't mind a heart-shaped stone. That would solve one of the problems I have with rings, that they're all so similar and I'd want something different (but fuck getting a Marquis cut, na'mean?). I have HUGE ISSUES with engagement bling, between symbolism, blood diamonds, and just the sheer stupidity of spending THAT much money on something you can't drive...when my best friend got a six-figure ring, I remember blurting out, "I'd...rather have an engagement Porsche! At least then we could both drive it and have fun...". In another life a decade ago, when I actually had an "online empire", "engagement porsche" was a term I was associated with because it showed up here, on my fotolog, etc. It was an excellent character test. People who actually read me understood what I really wanted and what I was actually protesting, people who surfed over to stare at my ass wrote me off as a gold digger.

Let me tell you right now, I have a track record of dating BROKE-ASSED GUYS, so that's completely laughable. 

Anyway, Panda is nothing if not a traditionalist and he already has a Porsche (!) so I'm not getting an EP. He actually loves his Mom's ring and the story of how his Dad, then a young doctor working in Manhattan in the 70s went to Tiffany's flagship location to buy it. That doesn't mean that he'd leave his mom's hand bare for some girl, just that he'd like to experience the same process (I think. I wouldn't know. we don't discuss these things and this is somehow the longest, most stable, healthiest relationship I've EVER had. coincidence? I think not.).

But yeah. While other girls would cringe at a heart on their finger, I wouldn't. Why would I? First of all, I'd be grateful for whatever I get, especially because Panda has excellent taste. Second, I wear my heart on my sleeve as it is, so moving it four inches lower would barely make a difference. Besides. Elle isn't afraid of hearts and neither am I, not at this age and stage. Bring on the overly precious carbon!