"I don't think that being a strong person is about ignoring your emotions and fighting your feelings. Putting on a brave face doesn't mean you're a brave person. That's why everybody in my life knows everything that I'm going through. I can't hide anything from them. People need to realise that being open isn't the same as being weak."

- Taylor Swift

Thursday, January 22, 2009

Reality Check.

I don't want to sound sympathetic,
I don't want to make girls look pathetic;
I just want to tell all you guys the truth.
All the crazy things that girls do,
All the crazy things that girls go through;
We do it for you.

All my life I've heard guys complaining
That girls are just so hard to understand.
We go through an awful lot,
And yet you seem to want everything we're not;
Our lives are tough enough without you,
And we can live without you;
Yes we can.

I just laugh when guys say,
They're underpriveledged and depressed.
Because if women jumped for the same reasons you do,
We'd all be dead.

Guys have no right to say,
That we cry too much;
We worry too much;
But they do, anyway.
Because if you were us,
You'd make twice the fuss;
And we'd probably have a tissue shortage.

You try living through every day,
Counting pounds and watching your weight.
You try trying to be perfect,
For men that can't appreciate (us).

You try being hair free,
Super thin,
Shoving bleached rayon up your ass.
You try being ridiculed,
Made to clean and cook
Being a woman isn't as easy as they say.

You try hobbling around,
Looking like a clown;
Doing stupid things,
Like putting sulphur on your face.
Just to make those stupid spots go away!

Men think they go through so much pain,
But they don't know pain;
We do!

So don't complain,
Take it like a man.
Men can't even do that,
Women can.
Why do we,
Have to always be,
Everything at once?

But we don't complain,
We can't complain,
We won't complain.
If you treat us with respect.

Wednesday, January 21, 2009

In Celebration.

Rosa Parks sat so Martin Luther King could walk. Martin Luther King walked so
Obama could run. Obama ran so that we can all fly.

Despite being on the other side of the world, I am a staunch Barack Obama supporter - as supportive as a legal minor can be, anyways. No, I did not watch the inaugeration (however you spell it), because despite being a staunch supporter, I do have bedtime curfews, and one in the morning is just a little past it (stupid time zones - I really wanted to watch the live broadcast!).

And I hope none of you have a problem with it, because I SUPPORT BARACK OBAMA.

Sunday, January 18, 2009


J is for jealous
E is for envious
A is for awed
L is for longing
O is for outshined
U is for underpriveledged
S is for social slave
Y is for you and me.

I get insanely jealous sometimes. Normally, I'm a positive person, but it isn't easy forgetting how chances just seem to pass me by.

Take Kristen Stewart for example. I love Kristen Stewart - she's awesome, beautiful, cool, and half-Australian. But she got her job handed to her on a plate - her whole family's in the business. Why couldn't my mum be a producer to give me movie jobs? Why couldn't my grandfather be some famous director?

Same with Keira Knightley. Sure, she works hard to keep her job, but she can't take the credit for *getting* her job.

I have nightmares about publishing my book and ending up a flop. People don't take thirteen year olds as seriously as they should - the X generation has to learn from the Y generation now, not vice versa. I want people to know who I am - if there's one thing I hate, it's being passed by.

And if I do get passed by, that is totally unfair - because I don't want this to sound stuck-up, but I'm not ashamed to admit that I *am* a better writer than most people my age - and I have the statistics to prove that only thirty-six people in the state can challenge me on that - Karri being one of them. I used to feel a bit guilty about it, but I'm not anymore - because I am good at *nothing* else, so why not flaunt my solitary talent? And if my one God-given talent fails me, I don't know what I'd do. I am not the kind of person who can live behind the scenes and be satisfied - I need to be in the limelight; I don't want the fame, I just want everyone to scream my name.

Athletes get medals. Artists get remembrance. So why shouldn't an author get recognition? I didn't ask to be good at writing - I would actually really want to be a dancer or a musician, but this is what I was given and I think it's fair that I get recognised for it. I'm sick of being ashamed of being a good writer. I want little girls to look at me in the kid magazines I used to read and think 'Wow, I wanna be like her'.

I get jealous of other people too: Bethany, Carina...anyone who has what I haven't got. I know that sounds wrong because you might think I should just work for it, but how can you work for some things? You can't buy a boy's heart, you can't buy family connections.

That's what I want. I want people to be jealous of *me*.

Not that people aren't jealous of me, but that's in a bad way. They vent it on me. I want them to be jealous of me and be completely helpless to the situation, just like I am, all the time.

Saturday, January 17, 2009

The Eratic Thoughts of a Writer Suffering from Acute Writer's Block

Never think you know me,
I hardly know myself.
Never underestimate me,
Get down from your shelf.
Never overestimate me,
Because I don't live up to expectations.
I am God's greatest error,
Yet his most brilliant creation.
- Anon.

That's not true - this poem wasn't written by 'Anon' - it was written by me. But by crediting it to 'Anon' people will instantly think better of it.

Because in this stupid world talent, credibility and prowess is based on how much you earn, what you look like, what you wear, how old you are, where you come from and who you know - not who you *are*.

Think about it - if that poem had been writen by Austen, or Shakespear or Rowling or Stephenie Meyer, there would be lots of hoo-ha about it. People would squabble over it on e-bay; anyone who had a copy would become an instant celebrity.

But it was written by me. An Asian-Australian thirteen year old. There won't be any hoo-ha about it. I'll be lucky to get a dollar for it on e-bay - and that person would probably just feel sympathetic. If I post it on Quizilla, it will be one of the millions written by what people assume to be wannabe-writers. I'm not a wannabe yet - I'm a *gonna*be.

I am the kind of person who will touch a surface that has one of those 'Caution - Hot' signs on it just to see if it really is hot, or paint my nails with lipgloss to see what happens.

I am a wild child right to the core.

On the surface, it's definitely grungy. I've forgoed the hairspray and opted for hair gel to give an uneven, messy, I've-just-gotten-outta-bed-and-can't-find-my-hairbrush sort of look, then I've pulled it back in a messy knot. Not to be outdone, I've used my fingers to lightly claw at my hair so that it doesn't look the least bit elegant.

My vest, which is a formal charcoal fully-lined affair, clashes magnificently with my casual coral ribbed tee and tiny dark denim shorts, but it still matches, somehow. My shoes are my silver party shoes I normally wear with floaty dresses and cute camis, giving the 'I don't care' sort of look. I'm not wearing any makeup except for a bit if lipgloss, and the girly clashes with the grungy in a very rebellious sort of way.

And tomorrow I'll probably wear a floral blouse and nice pants, and actually bother to hairspray my hair instead of scruching the bejesus out of it with gel. I might actually bother to put some make up on, too. Then again, I might not.

My personality is very much the same as well - I can be dark and moody one day, wild and rebellious the next and sweet and petite the day after that.

I am unpredictable. *I* can't even predict what I will do next.

Tuesday, January 13, 2009

Yep. Another Blog.

That's right. Another blog.

It's a beauty journal, and I'm not sure how long it will last, but it's something fun for me to do. It's a public blog, so anyone can access and comment on it, but administrative rights will be restricted to LaPianista, Karri, Icy and Doin'Huh3.5.

My philosophy is that all women can look beautiful, providing they follow some good advice - I for one will never pull off a high-waisted skirt and I won't even try it.

I'm writing this before I've actually made the blog, so I'll update it with a link when I've actually created it.

UPDATE: Here it is! http://asbeautifulastheinside.blogspot.com/

Have fun!

Monday, January 12, 2009

Write What You Know and Know What You Write.

That is the most useless piece of advice anyone has ever given me: write what you know and know what you write.

In theory, that works. You write about things that you're familiar with and set stories in places you know of, and you should do fine.

But that's boring. Insanely boring. Life is fascinating, but, especially as a child writer, most people have been there, done that. Sure, my circumstances are very different to the majority of people - but heartbreak, crushes, teenage puppy love - most people know about it.

Besides, it's boring as a writer. I generally don't like recounts, because the ones worth reading are painful to write and the ones that are easy to write are completely sleepworthy. Writing is my escape into a world of passion and love and adventure that seems to be seemingly absent in the real world - at least in my world, anyway.

Take my latest project for example - I'm writing a romance story - a man and a woman fall in love, the calm before the tempest, the wave of calamity, then the fresh dewy morning after the storm - I'm trying to capture all of that. It's a beautiful bittersweet love story, like Pride & Prejudice and Romeo & Juliet mixed together set in modern-day Connecticut.

Okay, so I really don't have much idea what I'm talking about. I have fallen in love, many times, but that love has always been one way - I understand the obsession a woman can develop over a man, but I don't know what it's like to have that man return those feelings. What is it like, fighting with your significant other? What's it like, going through a rocky relationship? The only kinds of relationships I've had are non-existant.

I've never even been to Connecticut - or anywhere in the continental United States for that matter. I made up the town, but the climate, the beaches, the places that I can't make up - all have to be meticulously researched.

But it doesn't bother me. I can bury myself in the woes of non-existant characters - it sounds strange but it is quite soothing - because if things aren't going right in the real world then you can vent your feelings by causing a whirlwind of disaster in your imaginary world - I'm more powerful than all the Gods and Mother Nature in my imaginary world.

Research is ever so important - I can hardly say that Lily is best friends with a koala or that Edward's favourite food is Vegemite on toast. Of course, it would be a lot better and easier if I just went to darned Connecticut to see for myself - but I'm a poor high-school student, I can't exactly zoom around the world whenever I want. Plane tickets are expensive, you know, and the Australian dollar is not doing too well at the moment.

But you can't research love - if I went by the generic definitions given by dictionaries and encyclopedias you'd all fall asleep halfway through the book - and the dialogue would be cheesier than Hayden Christensen's lines as Anakin Skywalker in Attack of the Clones. But I can imagine love. In a way, it sort of doesn't matter that I've never had a proper boyfriend before, because every relationship is different, so even if I did go out with a couple of boys Lily and Edward would be different. Love must be good - I mean, it's what everyone dreams and thinks about, what millions of stories are based on. Love is more than our natural instinct to procreate - but it isn't too good, not the stuff described in fairytales, because life is never that good. Love makes us laugh and cry and smile and causes us pain and lets us heal. Sure the fact that I've never been asked out might take it's toll a little on my story, but I don't think it has a huge impact on the quality of my writing.

Everyone has an outlet to channel excess emotions - music, sport, passions, hobbies, art...mine is writing. My unappreciated love shouldn't go to waste - so instead of pining away (I do a little bit of it so I don't bottle it all up, but I don't rim my eyes with kohl, wear black and cut myself about it), I write about it.

So what you know is not necessarily what you're good at. I've never had any writing training in my life and I haven't got a clue whether or not I'm good, but I like it, and it makese me feel good, and I get lots of praise, so I like to think that I'm good at it. Without writing to draw all the pain and heartbreak out of my soul, I don't know where I'd be at.

Life isn't perfect, but even though the imaginary world seems better, it isn't real - except unles of course you're a weird soul like me and you visit a different world in you dreams, a new world, a better world.

Saturday, January 10, 2009


I was considering writing this on one of my private blogs, mostly because there are some eyes that may not like this post. I'll give you a hint - these eyes are big, bright, piercing blue-grey, and I used to dream about them.

I will be thirteen in twenty-five days exactly. But what does that mean? Does it mean that, suddenly, I get older? Does it mean I'm a different person? Am I suddenly going to get smarter or dumber, prettier or uglier?

The owner of the blue-grey eyes is twenty-seven days younger than me - yet he seems so much older in some ways, yet so much younger in others, much more than twenty seven days, sometimes. For one, he's huge - 132 lbs and 5'9" and he has such a big personality, such a big ego. He has lots of girlfriends and lots of girls vying for his attentions - I was one of them, and I almost won. It takes a very mature boy to love women and girls the way he does.

But in other ways, he was so young. He was very naive, and he had no idea I was hurting until I cried. I wanted apologies, but because he was too...young to know what was wrong, he didn't apologise, and it was only after the tears until I got the apologies.

But it takes a mature person to act how he did - that eventful field trip. It takes someone who knows what he's doing to toy with my attentions, to play with everything he had that I so desperately wanted.

The teachers praised him for his maturity and charisma, which seemed to just radiate out of him. I think he is mature in some ways, yet so immature in others. He's a very different boy to the rest, the boy I fell in love with.

So what marks adulthood? When does a girl become a woman? The first time she gets her heart broken? Or is it something else? When does a boy become a man? Is it the first time he has the capability of loving a woman? Do birthdays have any significance? Is there any point in celebrating each year as it passes by, or is it just an excuse to get spoiled and receive gifts?

As far as some people are concerned, my childhood ends in exactly twenty five days time. Some say I have years to go, some says my childhood has already left me, and some say that childhood never leavess you. I personally think I have no childhood to give up, and those who I want to know know why. Childhood is not something that is until a particular point where you suddenly cease to be a child - childhood is a luxury, a privelege, that many must live without.

I've made many posts about the boy with the blue-grey eyes, on both this blog and my others, but this will be the last. It seems sad that I have to leave him in the past when I wish I could bring him into my future, but this is something I owe myself. I've shed too many tears over this boy, lost too many sleepless nights over him. My heart has been battered and bruised over him, and I never gave up.

But now, I'm moving on. Enough is enough. Many people have urged me to just forget about him for a while now, but I had to do this in my own time. I had to write about it, get it all out of my heart, listen to music, and cry those last tears away.

If the owner of those eyes is reading this, this is my message to you: If you ever need a shoulder to cry on, or an ear to talk to, call me - because even though all of this has happened to me, this isn't entirely your fault, and I'm still your friend. Don't think me too melodramatic over it, because this is how I see things and you can't help that - this is the truth as I see it. But if you ever contact me again, please, don't mention the past or this post, please. I'm not going to talk about it again, but if you want to hear more about it, I suggest you listen to the lyrics of How to Save a Life by The Fray closely - and think about it from my perspective. But don't come running to me if you want another girl on your arm, because that girl is not me. And don't feel obligated to contact me - I'll understand if you're not ready, or simply don't want to.

Friday, January 02, 2009

What Makes a Good Romance Book?

This is the Ultimate Dumbo's Guide to Chosing a Good Romance Book/Movie.

What does make a good romance book?

1. More than one genre.

No-one just wants to read about romance, romance and more romance. A good romance book/movie should be classified into more than one genre, any genre: Western, Action, Adventure, Sci-Fi.

2. Original storylines.

People have to get more inventive with romance books - seriously, some of them are so unoriginal. I have watched about ten big-screen adaptions of Cinderella and I haven't enjoyed one of them. Boring.

3. Not mysogynistic.

Believe it or not, you can write a damsel in distressed themed book without it being anti-feminist - Rachel Dawes in Batman is a classic example. Why does the prince/guy/idiot always save the day? The girl can still be the hero whilst still portraying the soft delicacy always portrayed by the female characters.


My god. It's so annoying when you're in the middle of a really good book, and there's a sex scene. And when you hastily flip about twenty pages, then double back five because you've gone too far, there's another sex scene. Sex in romance books is sort of unavoidable, but seriously, does it have to be so descriptive!? What kind of person directs a movie or writes a book and actually expects people to watch through the sex scenes without barfing!? Breaking Dawn, the last installment of Twilight, I think, dodged the sex scenes pretty good - maritial sex is mentioned, but you're not forced to read through ever gory detail. Gross.

4. Believable characters.

As a romance writer myself, I have always been tempted to do the classic prince-gets-the-girl-and-saves-the-world, but then I stop. How many princes actually go out of their way to do that? Princes, as far as I know, pass their days getting drunk and going to clubs and hunting and doing rich sports like polo. But neither can you do 'normal' characters either, because no one is really 'normal' in this world. Characters have to be believeable, and readers should be able to easily relate to all of them.

5. Sans Cheesy Dialogue

One of my favourite loves stories is Anakin and Padme in the prequel trilogy of Star Wars, but it is COMPLETELY WRECKED by the ABSOLUTELY CHEESY DIALOGUE. I'm writing some dialogue for my own romance story now and it is SO HARD To make it not cheesy, but it is possible. Cheesy dialogues are the WORST.

6. Don't overdo tragedies.

Seriously, the amount of death, death, death, and for a change, suicide, in stories like Romeo and Juliet is alarming - do they want couples murdering themselves now? Sure, a death or two adds to the atmosphere, but I can't help thinking that Romeo and Juliet go a bit OTT.

That's it from me! Happy New Year!