"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

Wednesday, August 31, 2011

Routine Infant Circumcision.

I must say, the response to that post about infant circumcision was...actually quite surprising. And nice. So thank you. I'm glad to increase awareness on any of the many issues I consider important - and routine infant circumcision is one of them.

To be honest, I'm just like any other teenage girl - I am just a little squeamish about talking about, y'know, down there. But I think it's important; it is, after all, just part of our bodies; and we should be proud of who we are and what we look like. Besides, should we let such a pressing medical matter pass just because it's about the nether regions? If we were routinely cutting ulnas off our elbows we'd be much more open about it.

I was inspired to write that post by this video off of Mama Natural's vlog. Mama Natural is one of the blogs I follow, and it's written by Genevieve Damascus, aka Mama Natural, about her beautiful baby boy, Griffin. Circumcision is not something that's given that much thought here, especially amongst teenagers (teens just tend to talk about peacocks in general ;)), and especially because it is not a routine medical procedure here; it's done more as a religious thing. But then I thought about it a little more; why do we modify sexual organs of infants for no apparent reason? There are some medical conditions that require circumcision; and I'm not opposed to it if there is a genuine medical reason, but are we perhaps freaking out when we say we do it for 'preventative' reasons? Should we remove breasts so that our children won't get breast cancer later on? And I don't entirely buy the premise of 'for religious reasons' either, especially because it's your religion, not necessarily your child's.

In the end, I'm not a mother, and I don't have brothers, and it's not something that's commonly discussed in an extended Asian family; so I'm not an expert. All I'm saying is that I'm opposed to the idea, especially if there's no reason for doing it - I'm opposed to parents not thinking before allowing things to happen to their children. To me it just seems excessive and barbaric and a practice of the past, one of the many things we need to leave out of modern society. If I do anything in this world, and for the people who walk this earth, let it be that I taught people not what to think, but how to think, and why.

Rolling in the Deep.

I wonder, sometimes,
If you knew
If you know now,
How much you hurt me.

With every hurt there is a wound.
You are a wound.

With every wound there is a scar.
You are a scar.

With every scar there is forget.
With every forget there is forgive.

It is not my choice,
But my hate kills me faster
Than it would ever kill you.
And so,
I am forgetfulness
And forgiveness
Whilst your
Is almost a deity
In itself.
I am the honesty,
The decency,
That you never had.

I can forgive your cunning,
I can forget my foolishness,
I'll never forgive what you took from me.
I'll never forget that we could have had it all.
I'll never forgive that,
It is

A dream.

Inspired by 'Rolling in the Deep' by Adele

Guys, Calm Down.

I am a fifteen year old girl. I never claimed to always write 100% seriously. Some things on this blog are quite obviously silly and/or badly written. Sometimes you need an outlet for inferior goods; I don't think we have enough exposure to stuff that's so bad it's good. So it's really not fair to dismiss my decent poems and throw criticism at the silly ones. I'm a blogger, not a genius.

I am an atheist feminist and one of the purposes of this blog is to advocate, promote, discuss and educate people about the feminist and atheist theories. I think that what I believe is right; but I also respect that other people are entitled to their own opinion. Many people don't know this, but I actually read this blog called Passionate Homemaking , to better understand women from all walks of life. And you know what? I actually agree with a lot of things on that blog, such as frugal living and the beautiful responsibility of motherhood. I didn't think I'd have so much in common with devout God-fearing people, but I think it's the woman in all of us that connects us. And the way of living that they advocate is a perfectly healthy way for women to live - but it's only one option. So with this thinking, I don't actually advocate one lifestyle for women over another; all I advocate is that women have the choice; the free choice of how they lead their lives. It's a basic human right. 

Please know that, as a blogger, I have the right to moderate comments, and to refuse to publish comments I find to be hurtful, rude, pointless or cyberbullying. I'm a highschooler; I'm not dumb. I know what bullying is and I know that I should not have to put up with it. I also know that the bullies are the real people hurting; I know that, when people try to drag me down and make me doubt myself, it's because they're afraid of what I can do. But, as readers, you have the right to express your opinion on my writing and I respect that. Therefore, my policy is to publish all coments that are civil and are non-personal, regardless whether people agree with me or not. Because none of us have the right to expect that everyone will agree with everything you say. I believe that what I believe in is right; but there is more than one right, and more than one wrong.  

Tuesday, August 30, 2011

The Beauty of Secular Politics.

A religious affiliation should be a voluntary, educated decision. I made the voluntary, educated choice to be an atheist. It is my right and my responsibility.

However, religion and politics is a dangerous mix. We use politics as a tool to impose our religious beliefs on other people. There is no universal religion; but the law is universal. Why do we impose our own beliefs on people we will never know? Why is your version of right and wrong THE version of right and wrong for everyone?

Religion is a static thing; it does not change, it does not move with society. It keeps people locked in the past, with ideas so old they are virtually alien. Times have changed. Society has changed. Religion? Hardly.

It is everyone's right to have whatever religious affiliation they choose. But please, from one person to another, don't impose your views onto others. Don't deny others the gift of choice.

Politics and law are secular elements of society. Keep it secular.

This is why I do not approve of religious political parties or religious political pressure groups. It is unfair to impose religious ideology onto a fast-changing, liberal secular world. The world needs things, like gay rights and sexual liberation, that religion is not prepared to give. Religion, especially Christianity in particular, has had almost free rein to freely, openly and proudly practice their religion and lead their lives how they want; why can't they return the favour? I'm an atheist, and I deserve no less than you. If people are gay, they deserve no less than you. Women deserve no less than men. Black deserves no less than white.

I'm not anti-religion. I don't dispute our rights to choose our religion. But what I do have a problem is is when we take these religions and inflict the good and bad of them on others. It's neither fair nor right, and sometimes we have to think; how much of other people's business do we take too personally?

Monday, August 29, 2011

Lost in Austen.

If only we danced
Two by two,
Four by four.
When young men stood and bowed
When you walked through the door.
If only we sang
And sewed the day away;
If only we knew
The innocent way.
If only we could go back to the times
Where the pianoforte forced civilities;
And the ballroom allowed for no liberties.
If only there were some kind of portal,
A paradox;
For there is a world in which I would like to get lost.
If only we lived as we did back then;
All I know is that I want to be lost in Austen. 

Inspired by the hit TV series 'Lost in Austen'.

Can of Worms #8

Worm #17: Should euthanasia be legalised?
The long and short of it: Yes.

My say: I don't get it: if we have a bad day and jump off the roof, that's legal, but ending your life when you're extremely ill and incurable is illegal. I believe we all have the power of life and death over ourselves, and we have the right to end our lives and ask others to help end our lives in times of great pain.

I do, however, think that this should be regulated; all too often you hear of elderly people being despatched just so that greedy offspring can lay hands on the cash flow. There must be proof of illness; there must be proof that it cannot be cured, or cannot be cured without extremely invasive procedures. There must be proof of little hope of a good quality of life.

I don't really think that family members should really have any say in it; it's a personal decision. It should, however, be approved by doctors, and I think religious pressure groups have no right to say when I die.

If someone I loved was truly terminally ill and in a lot of pain and asked me to help them end their life I would do it, and I wouldn't feel bad about it regardless of the consequences. There, I said it.

Worm #18: Is it okay to go elsewhere for sex if you're not getting any at home?
The long and short of it: No.

My say: If you're married or in a relationship it is definitely not okay to contemplate going elsewhere for sex, regardless of the circumstances. We live in the sexualized world where we completel detatch sex from any emotion or sentiment, where wife and whore are interchangeable. If your spouse is pregnant, just had a baby, injured, ill...get over it. As a spouse, you should have more compassion and respect.

However, I do think that many people feel deprived in relationships where lack of communication has led to sexual problems. For example, if you're not married and your partner wants to wait until the wedding night, think about it: is there any chance for a compromise? How important is it to my partner and/or her family and their beliefs? Is one guilty night worth jeopardising a relationship? I don't think call girls are going to solve the problem in the long run; a good relationship relies on communication in all things, and so maybe you'll just have to bite the bullet and have the sex talk. It's not that hard. I don't think.

Sunday, August 28, 2011

Coping Without God: Death.

I'm watching a little bit of Can of Worms (it was the religion!) and they're asking how you help a child cope with death and grieving without God.

Maybe it's hard, to be told that there's no heaven, no nothing, no place where you will see all that you have lost. I don't actually know, because I've never for a second believed in heaven, or hell, or all that jazz. I don't believe in reincarnation, either, mostly because I know my karma's screwed and I'll come back as a dung beetle or something. No, I'm actually frightened that I'll come back as a murderer or a psychopath or someone who has been broken or something; I mean, as much as I complain about this life, it's not that bad, so why can't we just leave it at that?

Most people don't know this, but I had a brother once, a long time ago. I don't remember him; I was two years old when he died - he essentially had all my problems, but much worse. He'd be thirteen now, and his ashes are under a beautiful liquid amber tree behind a women's hospital that's taller than daddy, and to me, that's proof that he's happy, wherever he is, and that's how I find peace in that. Of course, perhaps this doesn't really count because I don't remember him at all, I never saw him grow, never spent time with him to make his death truly heartbreakingly painful.

I don't really know what happens after death. Sometimes I feel like my brother's watching over me, but not like a God; just a child, observing, watching a world he could have been a part of. I don't think he's physically up in the clouds dancing around with angels; the idea is silly to me. I don't think I'll ever see him in a physical form when I die, or truly know what he could have been like; but I'm of the school of thought that we are not purely bound to our physical form. His spirit is somewhere, but his body is unconscious and will never come back; I've accepted that. I don't think we'll ever meet, but I don't think he'll ever truly leave. But I guess I'll never know until I'm in a state in which I can't really tell you, eh?

I'm not afraid of death; it's part of life. I'm not afraid of me dying, and I know my mother would be a  seriously pissed off spirit if I had jumped off a cliff after her funeral or something. We all live and die for a reason, and whatever is after death, if there is something after death, will be what it is, whatever it is. To be honest, I'm kind of excited to find out what's after death; it's more fascinating than frightening to me. There are more things to be afraid of than death.

Saturday, August 27, 2011

The Santa Clause Lie.

There are certain things that parents are willing to lie about: Yes, Santa's real and gets you presents wrapped in mummy's wrapping paper. Yes, the tooth fairy's real, but don't lose anymore because daddy's run out of spare change. Of course God is real, honey.

Perhaps the last isn't a lie - maybe someone more enlightened then me (or, perhaps, more deluded) who can 'see' it. But I can't. So for me, it's a lie.

And if you don't believe God is real, or if you're not definite about either God or the God-fearing lifestyle, why do we tell our children there's a man upstairs, definitely, when you don't believe that? 

But there is definite proof that there is no Santa, no tooth fairy, no Easter bunny - so why do we pull wool around our children's eyes? They have to grow up, one day.

When I was younger I got into a lot of trouble for having the 'cheek' to say that God didn't exist, Santa didn't exist, etc. As time passed I grew a little more tactful, but I've never lost my sense of how ridiculous it is that we feed twisted tales to children who cannot fully process the difference between fact and fiction. You can have fun with fairytales; you can play along, make a game out of it. But it's wrong to say that it's real. 

I grew up in a very pragmatic household, where I was expected to understand that there was no God, no Santa, and the like. Of course I still got money for my teeth and a roast for Christmas and chocolate at Easter, but it was more of a novelty, and it was very very clear that there was nothing paranormal about it. I don't think it's deprived me of anything; it's made me a stronger, a wiser, a more mature person. I mean, if I still believed in Santa Clause when I moved out and married my parents would have failed dismally indeed.

The primary role of a parent is not to comfort to the detriment of preparing your child for the world. The world is not going to be as indulgent, as sympathetic, as understanding towards your child as you are. There are better things you can give your children than the Santa Clause lie.

Can of Worms #7

Worm #15: Is it OK to tell your kids there is no God?
The long and short of it: Yes.

My say: I say this because, obviously, I am an atheist, and I genuinely believe that there is no God. I was raised not to believe in God by my secular Buddhist parents, and I don't think I'm traumatised or whatever because I wasn't raised by the Bible or anything. It's okay growing up without God. Really.

But then again, I do believe that religion is a very personal choice and we all have the right to religious freedom, even small children. So I would definitely explain to my children the concept of God, and how some people believe in God or a group of Gods, and how and why. I would explain to them that it's fine to believe in whatever you want, as long as you understand it thoroughly and truly believe it with all your heart. I would tell them about cults and tell them that religion can be dangerous, and religion should never make you do anything you know isn't right, or stop you from doing whatever you want to do. I would tell them that I don't believe in God, and I would explain why, and, whatever they choose, I'm not going to change and we're just going to have to agree to disagree. But most importantly, I would tell them that no matter what they chose, they'd still be my children and I'd love them still. When I am a parent, my job would be to teach my children to think, not what to think. What I would hate is to be a mother to some blind cult follower who doesn't think before he jumps. 

I think believing in God has the potential to make you a better person, but it can also have an equal and opposite effect. I have heard of too much blood spilt, too many lives lost and too many souls ruined by God, and I fear the whole concept. I don't think I'd be a better person if I were God-fearing; I don't think I'm a bad person because I am atheist. And that's that.

Worm #16: Is it wrong to tell a fat person to lose weight?
The long and short of it:Yes.

The only exception to this is if it is someone near and dear to you who is morbidly obese and in danger of dropping dead at any minute. Other than that, it is not acceptable to harass random strangers you don't know and would never talk to about their weight.

There are many reasons for weight gain: thyroid problems, genetics, having children, depression etc, and it's insensitive to just assume they're just gluttons.

You have to think about why you want to have a go at someone because of their weight. Do you genuinely care about them and their health? Why? Do you just think it's disgraceful someone could show their face to the world weighing 100kg? Is it really going to affect your quality of life is someone walking down the street is a bit todgy? What if they're going through a hard time and you're adding unecessary guilt to necessary ice cream binges?

If it doesn't bother you, leave it alone.

Special Worm #1: Does pop culture and new media demean the traditional practices of journalism?
The long and short of it: No.

To be honest, I'd never really trusted the whole world of journalism - it's always been about backstabbing, scrabbling for bits of information and invading privacy. I'm no expert, but I just feel as though pop culture and journalism have forever been intertwined, and it's hard to tell one from the other. What is traditional? When journalism was climbing over walls and lurking in private residences instead of phone hacking?

Thanks to Adelaide Dupont for posting some worms for me to respond to (I totally don't understand the first one! Will comment on it once I do some research). I would love to hear from anyone; please post a comment below. Can of Worms is going strong - although, to be honest, I don't really watch it ;) - I just get the questions online! The joys of the Net!)

For the love of God. Or Whatever. Please.

In English we're studying Philadelphia, which is a 1993 movie starring Tom Hanks and Denzel Washington about a man and his lawyer overcoming homophobia and the massive AIDS hype in the 90s by suing for unfair dismissal when Tom Hanks character, a closet homosexual, is dismissed after being diagnosed with AIDS. Then, one of my classmates had the cheek to say that the gay community have 'doomed humankind' because they are the catalyst for the spread of the AIDS epidemic.

I have been supportive of gay rights and anti-homophobia movements since I first understood the concept of homosexuality. We're all human; God or not, we're all created equal. If some of us are gay, then that is that, and we all have to move on. Besides, he's got his facts soooo wrong it's not even funny.

AIDS is an immune disease spread through direct contact with the bodily fluids of an infected person - this includes blood, semen, vaginal fluid and breastmilk. And yes, you can get it from having gay sex, but people fail to mention that you can get it from straight sex, and also through culturally accepted reproductive and sexual phenomena such as pregnancy, childbearing and breastfeeding. In fact, given the circumstances, most AIDS cases are caused by lack of sexual education or contraception in underdeveloped countries, such as Africa.

As sexual beings we have primary responsibility over our sex lives, and gay or straight, promiscuity, unsafe sex and other dangerous behaviours can spread all sorts of nasty business. But sex is risky business - all of it, not that I know personally - and we can't pin diseases on one particular demographic. I mean, I know we as xenophobic assholes love to pick on the gays. But we just have to get over it.

We are afraid of the unknown. We are afraid of what we're not so sure of. We're afraid of what's hidden under wraps, cursed with taboos and social convention. But in the end, we're all different, equal, but the same. We are an enigma, a paradox, a blessing and a curse. We're all human.

Friday, August 26, 2011


We forget how to love unconditionally - as children, we all did, at some point. The first person we love unconditionally is our mother - as a little kid, who has honestly said anything bad about their mother and actually meant it? There's something beautiful and vulnerable and liberating about loving someone not because, not if or why, just...loving for the sake of loving.

To be honest, I've never lost my ability to love unconditionally - it's not bragging, because it really is a double edged sword. There is no profit to be gained from loving heartless teenage boys too old to invoke that childish mama love and too young to truly understand how to love again so unconditionally. My greatest weakness is that I love too much.

That isn't to say I'm some kind of lovebug that oozes unconditional bullcrap and can't stand to hate someone - I hope from this blog I don't appear like that. I hate plenty of people, I dislike even more people, and I like a lot of people. There are some people of which my love has limits; boundaries, deal breakers. But some...perhaps most of them are the most undeserving, but sometimes I trip and there's no difference between a jump and a fall. It's why I find it so hard to forget about douchebags who would not condescend to my level - because none of it really matters. I would love my mother no matter what, and I say that freely; and not just because she is my mother. There's no reason; if she stopped loving me I think I would still love her. But aside from that, I feel as if she's the only person to truly return the favour.

How many marriages these days are based on unconditional love? Few. Or perhaps, there are more that are one-sided - one partner so blinded by an irreversable connection that they are bullied into the utmost wretched state by the other, who draws pleasure not from love or from loving, but only from being loved.

We are scared of unconditional love - men especially, particularly men going through this strange liminal space between childhood and manhood. As liberating as it is, its nakedness is vulnerable; it is a weakness, our inability to walk away from a bad game or to forget a bad day, a bad person, a bad time. It's uncontrollable, untameable, and we human creatures are so in love with control. Unconditional love can be what links you, or what chains you. It takes great wisdom to recognise unconditional love, accept it, and cherish it. It is something that, for me, exists purely between mother and child; in this day and age, where beauty is in the eye of the mass media, is it possible for more than a handful of us to feel this way towards others who are not our own flesh and blood?  

I just feel like sometimes I am so young and so unprepared for this world. But on the other hand, I'm an old soul in a young, slightly spotty body. It's strange being...strange.

Tuesday, August 23, 2011


I'm a humanist in that I believe that the human body and soul is a beautiful thing and I am in awe of our ability to create and to destroy. I believe that our greatest problems in society is because we fail to understand our own psychology, and the psychology of others. I think that human sexuality is a beautiful thing, in it's natural fluid and ever changing state; I think the greatest element of humanity is our ability to love and to feel. It is when we are individual; when we break away from society; when we love ourselves and others for what we truly are - that is when we are most vulnerable, when we are most human. I aim to always remain in that state, because I admire the purity of individuality.

I believe that sexual expression, especially female sexual expression, has been stunted and exploited by a commercialized, patriarchal society. I want to be able to express who I am without being branded. Freedom is something we dream of, but can never quite bring ourselves to gift each other with.

I'm a free spirit. I'm a little kid running around barefoot and soaking up the sun. I'm a teenager crying at rom-coms and love songs. I'm a woman with big dreams.

The Big L.

Love has no because. If you can think of a sole reason why you love or hate someone; it's not proper.

I say this because love is not a rational, a conscious thing; which is why I've never fully been able to understand all the criticism I get for a) falling in love and b) very very rarely falling out of love. It doesn't always matter that he's a douchebag, that he treats you like dirt and only very rarely, in his Dr Jekyll moments, condescends to be nice to you, smile at you, do little things for you. It doesn't matter what he looks like or what he's gonna look like. It doesn't matter that he's completely, utterly inappropriate. None of this matters in true love.

We often forget this, because we often think that the above is hardly conducive to long-term relationships and marriage and family life, etc. And that's true - it's really not. But that's not what love is about, not in the beginning, anyway. It's a primal, uncontrollable attraction, and I don't think any amount of pragmatism or biology is going to affect that.

People these days are scared of love. Oh, they don't mind the kissy-kissy bit, but when it comes to the deep and dark and wildly passionate side, the side where life and death and love and hate all come together - it scares the shit out of people. People have never been forgiving of my passionate nature, and I resent that. I'm not obsessive; I'm not crazy or going mad. I'm human.

When I was younger my primary goal was to get anyone, absolutely anyone to love me for whatever mask I could produce for myself - and that was hard enough, I assure you. Two childishly horrible """boyfriends""" (they get three quotation marks, that's how insignificant it was) and countless unrequited loves later, and I've realized that the task is EVEN BIGGER: not to look, but somehow find, someone, but not just anyone, to love me the way I am. BLOODY IMPOSSIBLE, much, but hey, why not?

To be honest, it's kind of fun. I haven't been so liberated since I was five years old. I do what I like, when I like, and I don't care whether I look stupid or sexy or nerdy. It's self-indulgent and risky, but hey, maybe one day some dude will say 'I totally dig that chick running around barefoot with green goo on her face'. Maybe. I know I'm a little too much for some, but sometimes I just stare, tearstained, thinking we could have had it all....

Love gets me into a lot of trouble. It makes me do stupid things, forget who I am and degrade myself. But it also makes me fly, soar; sometimes it sets me free. Sometimes I hate it; sometimes I wish I could just lock my heart up until I'm older, less vulnerable; sometimes it makes me feel so sick I wish I'd never been born at all. Sometimes I feel like I'm too young, it's happening too fast, and nothing's happening the way I planned. But all the same, I am glad that I am human and that I can love.

Monday, August 22, 2011

Jane Eyre.

I've decided I want to be like Jane Eyre.

I want to be a woman who can stand on her own feet. I'm accomplished; I know I can be even more accomplished. I'll be an academic, a writer, a woman with her own income; a woman who serves her own interests. Life is hard for women, even now, some 200 years after Jane Eyre was written; but I'll make it, some day.

Jane Eyre was a proto-feminist - a feminist before feminism existed. She shocked people because unlike many other romantic heroines she had her own job, her own income, and could exist quite capably with or without a husband or fortune. I can do that.

But at the same time Jane never shied away from the idea that she was someone capable of love; it is especially highlighted in later adaptions that Jane, quite controversially, accepts that she and Rochester are sexual beings. Despite social advancements society as a whole is still quite squeamish about the whole idea of female sexuality - it's like you can be a nun or a porn star but not a normal woman with normal needs. Of course women need sex, like sex. Of course it's one of the many things I look forward to in this life. It's ridiculous to think otherwise.

But the thing that I've learned the most from Jane Eyre is that you don't have to settle, but you can have less than perfect and still be happy. Rochester is not beautiful, nor young; but he's wise and passionate and heartbreakingly loving - that's what matters, isn't it? When one is not beautiful you learn very quickly to see what is underneath, and that's how I fall out of love. I can fall in love with chocolate eyes and curly blonde hair, but once the rosy tint is gone and I see someone for what they are underneath; sometimes I don't always like what I see. Not many people my age can do that, but hey, not many people my age have learnt the hard way not to say yes yes yes to the first person who says 'Go out with?'.

There are so many things we can learn from novels; but most of the things I have learnt is to unlearn what I have learnt from fairytales. I used to think that there were no such things as Prince Charmings or happy endings, and that if I was ever caught by a dragon I might as well resign myself to my fate as a piece of charcoal. But now I've learned that you don't need what all those princesses had to get so, so much more than they will ever, ever have.   

Fall from Paradise.

It's very very strange, suddenly waking up and realising that you're not in love. It took several months to get over BSC, and a year and more to get over K. But this boy? For once, the love story is longer than the aftermath. One day he was the world; the next day he was just one of many - rude, loud, boisterous. Just a boy.

It's amazing how you can take the most commonplace chap and turn him into Prince Charming in your mind. I had even nicknamed him Rochester, but oh, how he does little justice to the character. Has he always been so snappish? Has he always picked his ear like that? Has he always looked like a particularly dense sheep whenever he's around You-Know-Who? Has he always had that little pot belly and that biting sarcasm? How strange.

This is the first time it's happened, just like that. It normally takes me ages and ages and ages to get over boys; but then again, I'm a veteran of this love/hate game now. It's like being on that rollercoaster you so totally shouldn't have gone on, and it stops just before you're about to puke. And then you scramble off, too fast, and suddenly solid ground feels even worse than the rollercoaster. I feel a little empty, a little hollow; I'd spent so much time dreaming of could bes and blah blah that now I have so much time on my hands. I study. I knit. I eat. I sleep. I dance around in my bra and knickers before school singing some angsty sorority song. I waddle around, Shrek-love style. I have so much time to be myself, and not whatever I think he wants me to be.

I think it's part of growing up. It's part of realizing that is was never meant to be. It's part of realizing that in my life I'll do things greater than marrying the boy at the back of lit class. It's part of realizing that he's not all that amazing; and sometimes he can be a real pain in the ass. It's part of realizing that I'm fine, just the way I am, and having faith that one day somebody will see that, some day. It's part of realizing that life and love isn't a fairytale, and I've got to wing it alone until one day I'll have somebody sitting next to me, holding my hand on the rollercoaster.    

Maybe it's safer just mooning after Rochester and Heathcliff and Mr Darcy - safe, unattainable and fictional. But I don't entirely buy that I am too young - if I am too young, then why do I feel this, all the time?

Sunday, August 21, 2011

My Medical Experience.

I know many people with medical problems who do not wish to speak of them too freely, but being the free spirit that I am it's very theraputic. I also think that knowing too little of anything can be dangerous; I wouldn't want ignorance of my condition to be used against me. And there are some things I barely know myself, and it scares me; as you may have gathered, I'm the kind of person who likes to think that they're always in control of their destiny and person. Also, I think it's pretty cool :).

I was born with several problems - dextrocardia, situs inversus and a second degree heart block. Because of the above, I was fitted with an implanted pacemaker at three months, which has been replaced twice - once when I was five and once when I was fourteen.

Dextrocardia is a congenital heart defect in which the heart is situated on the right side of the body - as opposed to normal, which is towards the left. It's a pretty rare defect - about 1 in 12,000 odds. Dextrocardia is commonly associated with other heart problems, but the dextrocardia in itself is most likely a problem if all the other organs are in the right place.

Mine are not.

The state in which all organs are in the 'normal' place is called situs solitus. Unfortunately, I do not have this - I have situs inversus, which means all my major organs are reversed, or in mirror image to the norm. I don't know how far this extends - is my uterus backwards? Is my brain flipped? Is this why I'm left handed and creative? Who knows? The prevalence of situs inversus is about 1 in 10,000, and is quite problematic if it is not with dextrocardia. So in a way, I'm lucky. Weird, but safe.

Or so you might think.

I also have second-degree atrioventricular block, which is a disease of the electrical conduction system of the heart, which means my heartbeat is not altogether reliable, especially when under pressure - i.e. exercise. This improves as I develop but will degenerate further as my body naturally degenerates. Because of this, I have a pacemaker - a small device implanted under my skin which controls and regulates my heartbeat. My reliance on this has fluctuated over the years, but it is gradually getting better, and I now rely on it 5-15% of the time, and mostly when I'm sleeping. As technology improves I hope my operations will be few and far between, but nonetheless they are risky and horrible experiences and it is my greatest sadness that they will continue until I am too weak, too old and not valuable enough to do it anymore.

So what does this mean? Not all that much, in the grand scheme of things, but enough for me to detest my abnormality. I get checked up every now and again, hooked up to a computer where they run a couple of tests. I have an operation every five years or so (but I hope the gap will increase to a decade at least) and people look at me strange once they know. I just find the whole medical side of it humiliating, and the sad thing is is that nobody really has much sympathy for you unless you're properly dying; but let me tell you, there is nothing insignificant about any medical procedure. Once a decade might not sound like much; but then, this is coming from people who will only be in a hospital twice; when they're born, and when they have babies. I hate hospital; I hate how they talk about my operations as if I don't exist. I hate how they don't care about my opinions, and I hate how I have absolutely no say in anything other than whether I want an apple or an orange for lunch. I hate the pain; I hate the awkwardness and the immobility; I hate wondering about the chances of me not waking up; every medical horror story is a thousand times worse when you're someone like me. I hate the tears; I hate the inevitability; I hate not having control. That's what hurts me the most - when you're someone like me, it's hard to accept that you don't have control over something as important as your heart. It's degrading.

In the long run, there's not really much I can't do. I'm not allowed to be a heavy drinker or a huge fan of hard drugs; I'm not allowed to be eligible for the Biggest Loser, either. Apparently it won't impede pregnancy (I am a little skeptical about this - the wires snapped during a growth spurt, and don't tell me there's not gonna be no stretchy business when I get knocked up) or my longevity; but who knows? I'm grateful it's not any worse than it is, but sometimes I wish I had something normal and trivial, like minor asthma or something. As much as I detest it, I've come to terms with it - what else is there to do? But just because I've come to terms with it doesn't mean I don't think I'm eligible for a big whinge like this. It's how I heal, and I would love it if people stopped prattling on about how it could be sooooooooooooo much worse, but why do we do that to ourselves? We are all human; we all hurt. I talk and I write and I think; that is how the intelligent heal. It is fools who shun sympathy, who sweep all their problems under the carpet, pretend all is rosy and scorn those who show scars. 

Saturday, August 20, 2011

What I've Been Up To.

I'm turning into a clucky teenager.

Don't worry, the next post won't be announcing my teenage pregnancy. It's just one of my obsessions; I have them from time to time - it's a form of autism. Babies, babies, babies.

It's also an important time in every modern woman's life: what happens next? Career? Family? Both? Neither? I'm going to get kicked out of school at the ripe old age of sixteen, and I'm trying to plot my life out. Five years this, four years that. Ten years here, eternity there. So I'm hacking it out, piece by piece.

School is okay. There's not a lot of 'homework', per se, in the humanities - just a complete mindscrew during school hours and some drousy researching at home (mostly on Wikipedia, which has a bad rep and is sooo underrated). Nothing's really HAPPENING, if you get what I mean? It slogs on. There are good days, bad days. Normal.

I've fallen out of love. It's a strange feeling - it's like gravity suddenly exists again. Things are normal, and not everything has a rosy tint to it. When you realise that the boy you have loved, on and off, from the age of thirteen is a douchebag; yeah, it's a litte funny. On the up side, it's warm enough to go tight-free! Yes!

People are starting to freak out about year twelve ball - mostly guys trying to get dates. This is where guys have the upper hand; at least they can ask. All I can do is hope. Which is sad, because you know what? I'm not really all that fussy. But, at the moment it looks like I'm going to have to knit Bella a tux and take her ;).

Lately I've taken to reading blogs - like actually reading blogs, not giving in to peer pressure and never ever reading them. I like to read other people's perspectives on life, especially women so different from me: at the moment I'm reading Karen Cheng, a Perth favourite, and an American blog called 'Passionate Homemaking', which is about conservative Christian homemaking (as you do). It's rather strange. At first I thought I would have nothing in common with homeschooled, give-it-all-up-for-the-LORD women. But it turns out that women are women, and there are some vague similarities despite religious differences, age gaps, etc. How bizarre. I watch Mama Natural because her son is the most adorable baby I have ever seen: Griffin Damascus, or GriffyD. Luckily, they don't post too often, and between the three blogs there are only maybe about five posts a week - and so after reading and watching all the archives I'm assured that this will not be too much of a timewaster. Otherwise, I can just stop; I stopped reading lots of things ages ago, and I stopped trying to track my cycles because it just doesn't work. I'm good with timewasters; I'm also good at losing them, too.

I am also knitting. Very badly. For charity. Enough said.

I've spent some private time mulling over the recent London riots - the who, what, when, where, why. It's all so confusing, because I don't think anyone, not even the rioters themselves, really knows what's going on - and that's what makes it scary. I love London; I love England, and I've never made that a secret - to me it's a place of incredible culture and history and excitement. But there's a darker side to it all, and I see that now. And I'm not quite sure what to think; I don't really know where my sympathies lie. I know from personal experience not to jump to conclusions; not to take sides without knowing all the nitty-gritty details. So I'm on the fence on this one.

I know I haven't responded to worms or continued my ROME series. I'm just not in the mood. I've been on a little poetry trail; I hope you guys like that; I know I do. Poetry always makes me happy ;).

Thursday, August 18, 2011


I hate knitting.

The obvious response to this is 'don't knit, then'. But I can't. I've started. I've got to finish it. That's that.

Its frustrating, because I'm not naturally good at things with my hands or things that don't have backspace buttons. The wool splits. The stitches, that took so much painstaking care, slip off the infernal knitting needles. I hate knitting needles. Why are they so goddamn slippery!?

We're knitting blankets for charity, but this is the fifth time I've attempted to knit my stupid square. Every time something goes wrong. The wool splits, but I don't notice until I attempt my first row. I just really can't stand it.

To be honest, I underestimated knitting. When my friend first told me about this thing (now there are a good many year 10/11s doing it) I thought 'Grannies do it. I can do anything! I'm a Modernista!'

It's seriously the hardest thing. I don't know how grannies manage it, because you need the eyesight of a pilot and the patience of a mountain. The only thing stopping me from throwing the whole lot into the toaster and setting it on fire is that it's borrowed needles and borrowed wool.

Bah. My heart. My stitches. My stiches!

Wednesday, August 17, 2011

Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde.

We are alone.
Well, not alone but maybe
You are beautiful.

Everything you ought to be,
Pay homage to your chocolate eyes;
Everything drips drunken nectar and melted honey.

Why then do you take the poisoned apple,
And snatch my friend away from me?
How can you be so cruel, so kind?
Why are you sometimes Dr Jekyll,
But always Mr Hyde?

For All You Do.

You are a stonemason,
And I am the granite nun -
You crack me.
For all you do,
I love you still.

You are a hangsman,
And I am a martyr on the pyre -
You burn me.
For all you do,
I love you still.

You are a boy,
And I am a girl -
You shun me.
For all you do...
I love-

The Belladonna

I am the belladonna.
I can kill a man
And save a hundred;
I can grant a wretched boy
Immortality, but -
He will not drink me
Unless forced.
This poison in me,
This elixir within -
Have compassion;
I bleed,


The tighter the grip
The harder the fight -
I watch you walk away
And pray you come back,
Caesar to pleb.

I could enslave Caesar
The man, but -
His honour and pride
Cannot be caged.
I wish, but I cannot love
Caesar the slave.

But Triumph Caesar
Is Pharaoh's Caesar -
I am a pleb,
One of many, unworthy;
Caesar belongs to Isis Incarnate,
Daughter of Amun-Ra.

And when Caesar's gone
Isis will be
Antony and Cleopatra.
And when that is done
To blood and sand,
Octavian and Cleopatra.
Beauty can be fickle,
But love is a humble woman's curse;
I will while away eternity, dreaming,
Of the Gorgon and Caesar.


There are two types IBs (Irritating Blokes). Peacocks, and, well, cocks.Yes, I know all boys have cocks, but - can we not go into this? My ma's gonna give me a hard time about this post as it is ;).

There are no shortage of cocks in my grade, which is why I haven't had endless BSC sagas over them - I CAN SEE THEM NOW. The ones who think that it's bloody hilarious to spontaneously shag anything and everything that takes their fancy (fake, but still disturbing). The ones who haven't just regressed into early childhood - they never left it in the first place. Hormones does wonders to the human physique. But the mind? Not so much.

And then there are the peacocks. The ones who swap their glasses for contacts so that they can laugh at girls who wear glasses (i.e. me) - but then karma bites them on the arse when they get something onto them and have to TOUCH THEIR EYEBALL IN FRONT OF THE HOT CHICK. I was crying with laughter - talk about a backfired plan. I mean, there's only one thing more sexy than a guy with nerdy glasses - a guy who's fiddling with his eyeball and crying his eyes out in the process.

My mother has tried to convince me that there are better boys in uni, and in the big bad world out there. But there will always be peacocks, and there will always be cocks. I've grown up with them; I'm used to them; I even fell in love with one or two of them. I don't really know any guys who don't fall into these two categories; because at the moment, there's no guy mature enough to get to know the girl who spent last Sunday listening to uni lectures and staring at beautiful (real) peacocks.

Inspired by the only beautiful peacocks in my life: the resident peacocks of UWA.

The Things Girls Like.

I've always wanted to know what guys like about/from girls - I mean, I've seen those 'written by a GUY' columns in magazines, but I'm not stupid - it's very hard to be a size ten/twelve and believe that guys 'really don't care how big you are'. Pish. But seriously, I'm fascinated, and it's not just my endless obsession with love. Boys are fascinating - fascinating in their simplicity, but also fascinating in their complexity.

So now I'm returning the favour in advance. You know. Give you incentive. Something like that. It's how girls think.

1. It's not ALL about what you look like

Girls and guys have a very different idea of THE PERFECT GUY. Studies have shown that girls are much more tolerant of mild/moderate acne in guys than vice versa, which makes sense - excess oil production, which is the cause of acne, is a result of increased levels of testosterone. And yes, girls have testosterone, too.

In an era where girls shave every square inch of non-head-related skin, hairlessness is actually pretty cute. So don't worry about straightening your single chest hair. Like seriously, don't. Burn it off.

I have been told that all the guys I like/have ever liked is ugly. So there's still hope, after all :)

2. It really is the little things that count

This is something, apparently, that boys are really, really, bad at. You know. Breakfast in bed. Random gifts. Little cuddly things that make girls go bright green with jealousy (or, at least, the year-eleven spinster).

3. MANLY MANLY MANLY is actually really, really, unmanly.

Pretending to sodomise your best mate, replacing all adjectives and punctuation marks with 'fuck' and being a bitch to every single girl but the chick you fancy is really not sexy (and yes, guys in my school do all of the above on a regular basis).

4. The Chameleon. 

There's this boy in my grade who is a chameleon - a complete Mr Darcy sweetheart, witty and chatty and funny, on days when we're out of campus; and a complete pain in the arse know-it-all bitch-on-heat when he's trying to win back his ex-girlfriend. IT DRIVES ME COMPLETELY AND UTTERLY BATSHIT CRAZY.

5. You don't like hearing about periods, so we HATE hearing about footy, poo-jokes and random mate problems.

Guys don't understand periods, and makeup, and feelings - and there are girl equivilants, too. There are some girls who like and understand the above; but most don't.

6. Don't be picky. 

Girls are incredibly good at overlooking little personal slights, physical and other - the acne, the random ear-picking thing, etc. So be nice. So what if she did that pinch-bra-wire-and-move-it thing? You try wearing lingerie! So what if a tampon slid out of her bag? She has to put them somewher! So what if she's got a little errant pudge or patch of fuzz? You're fuzzy and pudgy, and all over, too!

7. Girls do eat. And fart. And wear glasses. 

We are humans. ET phone home.

Tuesday, August 16, 2011

Can of Worms #6

Worm #13: It's legal for a 17-year-old to sleep with someone in their 40s, but is it OK?
The long and short of it: Yes.

My say: I am a firm believer that it is nobody's business as to who sleeps with who. I consider a seventeen year old perfectly capable of being sexually attracted to somebody in their 40s (I mean, Adam Hills. Please.)and to be honest, I was hurt a lot more by teenagers than I ever would be by someone older. What is age? Age is just a number, and at the age of sixteen one has the right to do whatever they want with whoever they want. Pseudo-paedophilia may not be everyone's cup of tea. But it's everyone's right.

Worm #14: If your kid is being physically bullied, do you tell them to hit back?
The long and short of it: Yes.  

My say: This is a difficult one, but I'm going to have to say yes, but 'hit back' can be interpreted in a variety of ways. I was a dobber, growing up, especially at the age where children are too frightened to openly defy a teacher. Later, I was a crier - bursting into tears was a pretty effective way of stopping the hits, although it might not work so well for boys; such a sad reflection on society. Later I would post everything on my blog, and as my readership grew it also proved to be a pretty big deterrent, but I have kicked a few people in the shins in my time - an eye for an eye. I don't think that you should teach your children to ignite WWIII, but the occasional, unexpected punch in self defence, especially if there are no adults bothering to interfere (you can't rely on teachers too much, you know) is healthy. Teach your child not to be a punchbag, but maybe not a sleeping dragon, either.

If you have any worms to suggest, please comment and I'll write my views on them.  

Monday, August 15, 2011

I've been dreaming...

It's always good to do a bit of daydreaming. For me, it's the best way to stay motivated, and also a really positive, natural way to beat depression and the oh-so-lovely symptoms of PMS, which, if you're around my age, can be pretty much 24/7 sometimes - I have no idea why they call it pre-menstrual syndrome. It's more like I-bleed-sometimes-but-I'm-shitty-always syndrome.

For me? I've been dreaming of graduation. I've been dreaming of first kisses. I've been dreaming of school ball. I've been dreaming of publishing books and giving talks about how you CAN do what you WANT (I LOVE typing in CAPITALS). I've been dreaming about teaching what I love. I've been dreaming of travelling and eating and studying. I've been dreaming of seeing more than 1 comment every once in a blue moon on this blog. I've been dreaming of magazine covers and newspaper articles and seeing Dr. and a trail of fancy letters behind my name. I've been dreaming of getting married. I've been dreaming of fighting with my kids over the last of the chicken feet. I've been dreaming of cooking for a big noisy family. I've been dreaming of cuddling up with someone warm and snuggly, and comparing spare tires ;).

You're never too young or too old to dream...

Sunday, August 14, 2011

I am not unsaved.

Since establishing my personal religious beliefs about a year or so ago, I have done my utmost to maintain a level of respect and courtesy towards people of all faiths, and to teach and inspire people to do the same. But you know what I can't stand?

When Christians call me 'unsaved'.

I am not unsaved, in fact, I believe I am a better person because I am an atheist. Everything that I have ever done or made for myself, everything that I have ever suffered from but pulled through, has been through the pure strength, courage and perseverence of my parents and I. I have endured a congenital heart condition and depression, as well as all the other lovely things that come with being a person and a woman, without the help of God, and I'm a stronger person because of it. Everything I do, I do for myself, the ones I love or the community. Despite not believing in God, I constantly endeavour to improve myself, to maintain my integrity, and to make myself a better person, a better woman and a better feminist. Lately I have taken to learning other beliefs and perspectives, the better to learn from them and to respect them.So don't call me unsaved because you can't see beyond a book.

Respecting someone isn't always about agreeing with everything they do, think or say. I know that the majority of people are not like me: feminist, atheist and academic. It's about respecting that every single person has the right and the responsibility to choose whatever it is that is best for them, and about respecting your own right to do the same. It's about putting aside differences; it's about agreeing to disagree. Harmony, in a diverse and beautifully imperfect world.

Everyone has their own way of doing things. I believe that I am a better person because I am an atheist. If you believe that you are a better person because you are a Christian, or whatever religion, then fine. It's your life. But I don't call you 'deluded', even though sometimes in moments of frustration (that I later apologise for) I feel that way; so don't call me 'unsaved'. It's weak and offensive and narrowminded. I refuse to believe I am unsaved, because what have I to be saved from? We are not all born sinners, we are all born pure and whole. It is this world, or rather, the world we create to cage and poison each other, that corrupts us.

Gender Roles: A Feminist's Perspective.

Many people, especially the more religious/traditionalist/conservative sort, accuse feminists and feminism of muddling up gender roles. And perhaps we do. This isn't The Bible of Feminist Gender Roles, but simply my idea of them, as an unmarried, young feminist.

Most importantly, being a woman won't and shouldn't stop me from doing anything. I'm making it fine through high school, even though just 100 or less years ago (even today) women are denied even the basic right to primary and secondary education. I have all intentions of going to university, studying at a postgraduate level and establishing myself, somehow, as a writer and a teacher. Then again, I'm not the sort of woman who can completely turn her back on some more traditional aspects of femininity. I would love to be a mother, and I truly look forward to it. If I worked from home whilst raising a young family and my partner was the only one with a 'proper' job (lots of people use that word against me. Apparently I don't study 'proper' stuff and don't plan for a 'proper' job - but 'proper' is overrated) I would be completely fine with that - I think I'm educated enough not to see it as degrading. As long as it's my choice, and as long as, between then and now (I'm anticipating a good 10-15 years between then and now!) I can change my mind, if I want. 

A true feminist (I say this because there are heaps of crazy people giving feminists a bad rep) do not consider men to be better or worse than women, or even the same as women. Men and women are equal, made equal, and should be considered equal. A truly balanced man in the eyes of a feminist is a father (if he so chooses), a husband, (if he so chooses), a friend, a breadwinner and a homemaker - in this order, although the latter can be swapped around. A truly balanced woman is a mother (if she so chooses), a wife (if she so chooses), a friend, a homemaker and a breadwinner - in this order, although the latter can be swapped around. I consider the roles of breadwinner and homemaker to be almost gender neutral and equally important to both sexes - I believe, especially in a relationship and especially in a marriage with children, that matriarch and patriarch should know how to capably earn their keep and run a house, whether they chose one or the other or both or neither, because shit happens - death, divorce, financial hardship, injury, unemployment. A truly capable man could hold his own if something happened to his partner. A truly capable woman could hold her own if somethihg happened to her partner. That is the aim of feminism - independence if necessary, companionship as a choice.

I do acknowledge, though, that for most women it is easier to be more a homemaker than a breadwinner, and for most men to be vice-versa - I understand the differences in gendered psychology. But it shouldn't tie us down, but rather help us make educated decisions. As a woman I consider myself perfectly capable in the professional and academic world, but also as a woman I don't know whether I would be entirely at home with the idea of me working full time and leaving my children with a stay-at-home father - it works for some women, but I don't know if it will work for me. I mean, how would I know? I haven't even had a proper boyfriend yet ;) 

Feminism is a choice, but feminism is about choice. I don't believe that men and women should be locked in to a static and unchanging set of gender roles, because we're all different. I'm a very career minded person, so I want a very high-profile professional career whilst I'm still young (I don't want a family too young to tie me down), but I love the idea of later being a work-at-home mother (the joys of being a writer!) and then working again afterwards (old doddery people only get old and doddery because of an unused mind and body - Bob Hawke is eighty and sharp as nails!). So yeah, I want to flit in and out of the gender roles as I wish. I disapprove of people who look down on parents who choose to stay at home - lately this has been occurring not just towards stay-at-home dads but also houswives - but I personally grew up with both my parents working or studying full time and you know what? I turned out just fine. Maybe it's healthy to break the rules of gender every now and again. Because I subscribe to the theory that gender isn't just what's in your pants - we are all made up of man and woman in varying parts, just as we are all part straight and part gay. There are no absolutes in human sexuality - we should learn to accomodate that.

Saturday, August 13, 2011

The Malaysia Solution...to what?

I cannot believe we've signed the Malaysia Agreement or Solution or whatever the fuck it's called.  Our politicians are compassionless cockroaches.

And I am so thankful that we have a high court judge with more compassion than a cockroach, who blocked it.

Why is it called a solution? What is there to solve? I say it time and time again, but it's like breathing underwater. The more I say it, the more criticism I get. But it's true - we are a large, wealthy nation in need of the labour and cultural enrichment that immigrants - and yes, that includes the boat people we all love to hate so much. 
I cannot believe that we, a highly-sophisticated, wealthy developed country, signed an agreement to send unaccompanied children, women with infants etc. to a place where human rights are ignored, whipping is common and refugees are treated worse than we treat mass murderers. On behalf of the Australian population who aren't shameless backwards bastards, I apologise.

Refugees are people. Boat people are people. We all have the right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness, right? No, apparently not. Apparently we can bask in our first-world glory and let boat people rot away due to - what? Religion. Politics. Intrigue. Famine. Corruption. Horrible, human things like that - horrible things horrible human beings do to make other human beings suffer. And we do not even help!

When are we going to get over our 'not our problem' thinking? When are we going to realize that they are one of us? Despite being Asian and the child of immigrants, I receive a relative amount of acceptance here, but I would like to think that I, as I am, would receive the same compassion and hospitality if I were a refugee or a boat person. But I highly doubt it. It's not who you are that matters in this world, but what you are. I just happen to be a free woman, and I am treated differently because of something that is pure chance. No matter what happens, I am what I am, but the law, humanity itself, does not see that.

Friday, August 12, 2011

Say ah.

It does no good to love -
It is but to take a knife
And slice your flesh;
Draw blood,
Say ah.

It does no good to hate -
It is but to take a dagger
And plunge tip to hilt
Into anger-crippled breast;
Say ah.

But it does good to dream,
It does good to believe,
It does good to be, and say
Ah! Glory!

I love you still.

My daughter,
Let me tell you what true love is.
You are not here,
Perhaps you will never be anything but
A beautiful faerie in my mind.
But I love you still,
I love you still.
You sap strength from me
Because now you are just a
Far-fetched dream.
But I love you still,
I love you still.
Every new moon a daughter bleeds away,
But every time I say
I love you still,
I always will.
My daughter,
Let me show you what true love is.
You are yet to be mine,
You are yet to be real,
But I have a mother's patience
And a mother's will;
Come what may,
My daughter,
I love you still.

Thursday, August 11, 2011

Warming Winter Drink.

To be honest, I don't really know what to call it. At the moment I'm calling The Drink to Replace The Random Powdery Thing In My Pantry - No It Isn't Crack Thank You. It's great when you're cold, hot milk isn't really cutting it and you're kinda hungry but too lazy to make a proper midnight snack. You will need:
  • 1-3 dessert/tablespoons quick-cook rolled oats (depending on how hungry you are. I was quite peckish and two heapedish dessert spoons was good)
  • 1 teaspoon Horlicks powder (you could use hot chocolate - I haven't tried it. I might, eventually. But I got bored of the normal Horlicks and all the lumpy bumpiness associated with normal Horlicks so my Horlicks was getting a bit neglected)
  • 1 teaspoon honey or sugar (I use brown sugar. It's not as sweet and has a nice taste.)
  • 1 mug milk
  • 1 small saucepan
  • Big spoon, to stir,
  • Small spoon, to eat/drink
I've tried the whole spiced milk thing, but to be honest, powdered cassia cinammon and nutmeg does absolutely nothing to milk except make it a bit sandy. So I gave up on that :)

Method: dunk ingredients into saucepan and stir until milk is overboiling and is about to spill onto the stove. It is an art, seriously - no seriously, when milk gets all frothy and overboiled it's actually really nice :). Pour into mug (this takes skill - or maybe it's just me) and eat/drink. And voila! Hunger gone with...probably twice the calories as a muesli bar, but never mind.

UPDATE: I have now (finally) realized that this drink is a much more reasonable alternative to a big bowl of oatmeal that I studiously plod through every now and again, given my size and age. I only need two teaspoons of oats, not half a cup. My dad, on the other and, eats about a bucketload every day, especially in the colder weather. 

Can of Worms #5

Worm #11: Should you tell your teenager that some people take drugs because they enjoy them?
The long and short of it: Yes.

My say: All too often adults make the classic mistake of assumming that teenagers are dumb and irresponsible. We should tell teenagers that some people take drugs because they enjoy them because the truth is, some people take drugs because they enjoy them. It isn't necessarily going to make teenagers snort the first bit of myseterious white powder they see - I mean, I'm fully aware that people have sex because it's enjoyable, but that's not going to make me run around naked screaming 'FUCK ME!' (unless I was really, really drunk). Most of the trouble teenagers get into is because of misunderstandings and half-truths conveyed from parents to their children, in the name of modesty/decency/privacy/whatever you can think of that's coming between you and being a good parent. I mean, teenagers are hardly going to believe you if you say that taking drugs causes pain or discomfort or whatever - everyone knows people take drugs to get high. Seriously.

Worm #12: Do we hero-worship our sports stars too much?
The long and short of it: Yes.

My say: I'm a big believer in the idea that we all have our own talents and we all have the right to go as far as we want to go, but we do idolize sportsmen far too much. I mean, they get honours that heart surgeons and people who discover cures for incureable diseases barely get. I grew up in a heavily sports-oriented environment where day in, day out, all the sporty kids were doled out medals and certificates and trophies, and all I could think of was 'what about me?'. We all have equal talents; we all should get equal rewards.

My Vision.

God or not (I seem to be using this phrase a lot lately. Hmm.) we are all here for a reason. We're all here to inspire, to create, to explore. I've had this vision for myself growing for some years now, and it's always changing - and that's a good thing. Here it is, now:

My gift is writing and I want to use my writing to inspire happiness and creativity in people. Whenever I speak about my views on anything, my main goal in the end is not to have the whole world think the exact same way as me, but simply to think - most of my biggest mistakes were caused because I didn't think things through properly. Things aren't set in stone, we are organic and plastic and we can move and evolve. I want to use my writing to achieve success, and then in turn inspire people to aim high and score.

I love creating things - I am an artist, and every day I create something. Through my writing I want to create something beautiful, something that people can just absorb and say wow. I love cooking and I love creating things to eat. I love to do something, and step back and realize that, because of my labours, something is there that wasn't there before, and never would have been there if not for me. But most importantly, as a woman, I want to one day create life; I hope and pray that one day I will be mother to children who will also seek to inspire, create and explore.

I always like to explore what I can do, push the limits a little. Don't you love it when, after hours of exploring, you find a little niche that you can call 'mine'? Lately I've taken to exploring the mystical realm of love - not working out too well, but every happy traveller is bound to have some low points. Life is about asking questions and getting them answered; life is about exploring, touching, feeling, believing.

Wednesday, August 10, 2011

Men are fathers before anything else.

Feminist that I am, I firmly believe that, God or not, women are first intended to be mothers and - and this is what most people miss out on - men are first intended to be fathers. I think we all forget this - because career and education and finance and business aside, it is a man's first responsibility to be a good father to his children. God or not.

There is nothing sexist about responding to the natural calling of parenthood. Although it's hard, especially for women, to balance professional and private lives, it can work. My mother has always been working and/or studying full time and my sister and I have never felt like she hasn't struck the perfect balance. Love you, mum ;).

What I don't understand is that men have so much time, so many opportunities, and yet an alarmingly increasing number fail invest enough time or energy to be decent fathers. I mean, women have to face workplace discrimination, pay inequities, the time bomb that is the female biological clock - there is no excuse why any man in the world cannot be a good father. A great man is a great father, or else he is not a man at all. There's nothing particularly feminine or unmasculine about raising children, otherwise women would just asexually reproduce and there'd be no men to walk the Earth. Think about it. God or not.

There's more to being a father than putting money in a bank account. Think about it - are you doing all you can to be the best father you can be? 

The religion of dating politics.

I've always been considered a 'good' girl in that, at the ripe old age of fifteen, I don't dabble in the big bad worlds of drugs, sex and alcohol. There are a good many reasons for that - firstly because even if I considered myself old enough for the latter two of three, I am certainly not old enough for the consequences, but mostly because it's stupid and I'm lazy :)

I think many people are terrified that if they break away from their religion they'll just fall away to the dark side - like you can be Jedi or Sith but not neither (soz for the bad anology). Most people assume that most atheists are cheerfully amoral or immoral and genuinely couldn't give a fuck. I'll tell you, here and now, that that is not true. But instead of considering my actions responsible to God, I consider my actions responsible to myself and the ones I love. Have I let myself down? Have I let my family and friends down? How do I fix this so I can feel better about myself? Egotistical, maybe, but it's still a very spiritual way to make sure you don't fall down the slippery slope to sin.

A very long time ago I was talking with the school chaplain about how many boys my age are so completely unsuitable as peers, as friends, as boyfriends and as future husbands and fathers (or something like that).I t's an often laughed-upon fact, but I have this hypothesis that most women in early adolescence goes through this brief period of freaking out because future husband material is not acting like future husband material. Call it maternal instict, if you will. Now, you might think that's a hopeless stereotype, but I was thirteen and had just been dumped, and it seemed like all his friends thought it was the most hilarious thing to happen since that Indian chick showed up with unshaven legs. In fact, now that I think about it, most of the 'good boys' I have known have been religious to the point of irritation.

My views of boys and religion have changed and matured, but the basis is still true: religion keeps people grounded to the basic principles of respect, honesty, humility and compassion, especially in people who may not have the inner strength (or common sense) to regulate their own behaviour for the benefit of themselves and for others, no God involved. Is it so hard to find someone as young as me who can be good and see good in others without God? It is possible - I feel no more vulnerable to human weaknesses than the next (Christian) man. Find me a good atheist husband, and I'll die a happy woman :)

Sunday, August 07, 2011

Shrek Love

I'm in love with a little pot of green goo.

It's the Tea Tree Mask from the Body Shop, and it is literally a little pot of green goo. It's my go-to for breakouts, which are more or less eternal and simultaneous now. I wear it around the house - I also wear a skivvy and two wooly jumpers with a pair of Mickey Mouse sweatpants and ugg boots. So I am, essentially, Shrek.

I've suffered from depression before, and I've been open about that, but I don't think I - or anyone - have been fully honest about my insecurity. It plagues me like the devil, you've no idea. I spend most of my life kicking myself for doing whatever I did for the part of my life I haven't spent kicking myself. On my blog I'm more open, because you can't see me and I can't see you. Seeing is believing.

If I ever got a live in partner or a husband or whatever down the track, would I be confident enough to waddle around looking like Shrek? Probably not. I, like most women my age, have spent most of my life either wishing I was sexy or acting as if I were sexy. The former is the truth; the latter is my variation of self-confidence. It's sad! My mother, who is a woman who only gets about two hours sleep, can wake up looking like a woman who's only had about two hours sleep and feel confident my dad isn't going walk out because she's not a Victoria's Secret model. Me? I'm not so sure. I've lost faith in men, and I've lost faith in myself. This commercialized, industrialized, sexualized world has done wonders for my (distinct lack of) self esteem.

There's this boy that I am currently pretending that I'm not in love with - I'm saying that because I hate his guts and I hate my guts for not hating his guts properly (the definition of love) - who I inadvertently ran into. Well, when I say ran into I mean backed into, because he's huge, the gap between the back of my chair and the wall is tiny, he's to gentlemanly/awkward/drunk to say anything and I'm a deaf idiot. It's the sort of thing any person laughs off and forgets about in six seconds. Me? Oh, I laugh it off, alright. And then I'm kicking myself. Why? I'm human, but the person who can't accept that, is, well, me.

I think about a lot of people - I think I've said this before. I think about myself. I think about my dog and my mum and my sister. I think about the boy in lit class and Cristy and Hayden from MasterChef. But I may be the only person I know who considers it an honour to be thought of. I mean, if someone thought of me, just for a heartbeat, and it wasn't 'if she gets those extra marks in Ancient History I'm going to kill myself' I would be deliriously happy. Over the moon to Mars, where I'd fry with a big grin on my face.

You know what? I would love to be a stand up comedian. I love to laugh; I love to make other people laugh. It's why I repeat jokes o'er and o'er in the off chance I can recreate the scene of my mum pissing herself laughing at something idiotic I said when I was three. But I can't do it. I suffer from stage fright. Well, if I'm not, then my ears are. My great-granddad's ears go bright tomato red. I found out a couple of years ago I have my great-granddad's ears. I also, apparently, have my grandmother's lips. But with that, if I ever get kissed this milennia, will he/she be kissing me or my grandmother?

I really hate it when people say 'oh, you've got your mother's legs' (I do) and 'oh, you've got your father's feet' (Unfortunately). Because, and I'm blaming hormones for this, all I can think of is that I'm this pastiche of various different body parts, and someone eventually is going to be shagging the entire family. I'm sorry, I probably shouldn't have written that. But why censor thoughts? We think them, either way.

But it's fascinating when you find out something about yourself that you didn't know before. I mean, it's just strange - it's like you're not all yourself, and it's quite a scary thought that other people know you better than, well, you know you. You know, sometimes I have to actually remind myself that I am a walking piece of medical shit. I genuinely forget it, even when I've just got out of the shower and all I can see are the surgical scars. It's become so normal that sometimes I even think that everyone's got it. Sometimes I step back and thing 'wow...I'm stranger than you dreamt it...'

You know one character I identify with? The Phantom, being The Phantom of the Opera. That is such a cool name, innit? I half don't want to be remembered by my name - I'd be happy with The Moron of the Mod School. Seriously. Well, maybe not. Not as sexy. Anyway, the Phantom is living proof that ugly people can be sexy. Ugly people can be sexy, you know why? Because if we weren't then ugly people would have died out a long time ago. I mean, it gives me hope. The Moron of Mod School may eventually trip down the aisle eventually.

I wish people could feel what I feel. I don't think I'll ever meet anyone - lover, friend, whatever - who genuinely gets me. Or maybe I will. But maybe I'll just be too scared to show it. Because for all the show, for all the internet pseudonyms and angsty feminism, I'm really just Shrek in Ugg Boots, and I'm not too sure whether Fiona's coming anytime soon.

Saturday, August 06, 2011

Housewives: A Feminist's Perspective.

housewife: a married woman who is chiefly employed in the domestic sphere and usually does not accept paid work.

Is the role of housewife sexist? Well, it depends how you look at it.

I believe that all women have the right and responsibility to ensure that they are educated and employable, whether they pursue a career or not. I mean, it's all very well to put your feet up once you snatch a husband, but life isn't always a dream. Death and divorce and financial hardship happens. What if you get bored, or taken advantage of, etc.? That's why, no matter who or what you are or want to be, I maintain that all women have the right and the responsibility to ensure that they are educated for the modern world.

A career is a woman's choice, and I believe, as a feminist, that if it is a woman's choice to become a houswife than who are we, as feminists, to prevent her? But it must be a free and concrete choice and - dare I say - a choice that is not purely based on religion. Which is why I am happy to see the emergance of work insurance for stay at home mums, because houswives do not work any less than normal wives - or, at least, they shouldn't.

What I don't approve of is women becoming housewives because the HUSBAND says so, or the LORD says so, or because SOCIETY says so, or because anyone but THEM says so. 

I don't see being a full-time mother as being particularly necessary - in fact, I observed that children who had been reared entirely at home had increased separation anxiety than those who attended childcare and kindergarten. My mother works full-time and my sister and I went to childcare, and we turned out just fine. Well, that's the general consensus, anyway.

A housewife is not some useless ninny who sits at home all day painting her nails and fixing her hair, waiting for her cashed-up husband to come home to supplement her crazy sex life with the butler. No. A housewife derives her occupation from running house and home and - and here is the cincher - contributes to society by taking as much paid or unpaid work as possible, without impeding on her original task as housewife. 

What's also sad is that even though the number of employed women is on the rise, men still refuse to contribute to the domestic running of the household. If both mummy and daddy work than the household chores should be split 50/50, right? No. Statistics have shown that working women do roughly the same amount of women as their stay-at-home counterparts, and this does not change if their partners are employed or not. Shame on you, lazy husbands. Shame on you.

FYI, future husband who may be reading this: if you don't do the dishes I'll kick you to the curb :).

Thursday, August 04, 2011

Hunter and the Hunted.

I feel quite like a doe
With a bow and arrow.

I don't know how but
I would like to shoot.

But if I shoot the hunter
How am I to be hunted?

How can something so evil
Feel so good?

I would swap cloven hoof
For fingers and toes,

I'd swap fur for
Breast and legs.

I'd take a spear and
Run them through

And so the hunter became the hunted.

Then I'd find a stag
To call my own
And become once again the doe.

And so the hunted became the hunter.

Inspired by 'Whoso List to Hunt' by Sir Thomas Wyatt.

Wednesday, August 03, 2011

Routine Infant Circumcision and FGM

First of all, some definitions:

Routine infant circumcision is the circumcision (removal of all or part of the foreskin) of infants on a routine basis (i.e. not for religious or medical reasons).

FGM, or female genital mutilation, is the removal or modification of some or all of the external female sex organs, primarily for religious reasons.

I am vehemently opposed to routine infant circumcision and FGM - always have been, always will be. In a word? Choice. A doctor, a mother, nobody has the right to say whether a piece of an infant can be hacked off and discarded. It's nobody's choice but his.

Routine infant circumcision is a barbaric, outdated and fundamentally useless practice practiced in America and in Muslim and Jewish countries. And it's not just a bit of skin, and he will miss it. I'm not going into details, but statistics show that circumcised men have more sexual problems than uncircumcised men. Why can't we just leave it be? Men were born this way.

To be honest, I don't see religion as a very good excuse for it, either. If it said in the Bible or the Torah or the Koran or any other holy book to hack off our arms, and burn our babies, would we blindly do it? A book is a book, no matter how holy. A book is a static, stationary time capsule, and following a book word for word is doing the time warp. Times change. Religion doesn't. That's just that.

FGM is a revolting suppression of female sexuality and a violation of human rights. It's primarily an Islamic thing, although it is quite extremist and many Muslims (thank goodness!) are shunning it as a cruel barbarity. The sick part is that circumcision may sometimes be excused 'for religious reasons', but the primary function of FGM is to avoid female sexual arousal and to give men dominance in a sexual relationship. I can't even begin to tell you how sick and twisted this practice is. FGM is often a backyard practice performed by inexperienced, unqualified people in unsanitary environments, and many die or become seriously ill from infection. People with more extreme variants of FGM cannot even pass urine without discomfort, and FGM greatly increases the pain and stress of labour and childbirth. Shame on anyone who supports FGM.

I don't understand why we mutilate our bodies in the name of religion, or social convention. Since when have we become so weak and swayable? Before you jumble up your and your children's rights with religion and he says she says, think about it. A body is a body. A life is a life.

Tuesday, August 02, 2011


I was doing maintenence on my blog recently and flipped back to my earliest posts back in the good ol' days of '08. Actually, they were pretty shit days. But never mind.

It shocked me how much I've grown up in these last few years of blogging - I started out as a little kid of twelve and now I'm fifteen and nearly going to university. Some things haven't changed; the anger, the ambition, the passion, the power-struggle - but some things have. I'm older, wiser, stronger - I feel more like me. I was stunted and suffocated back then, and I've only just begun to realize just how wide my wings can spread.

I was young and silly and exuberant and immature, but it's part of what I was and it's still part of who I am, which is why I can't bear to delete any of those old and ridiculously inane posts. Because I wanna look back and laugh at my terror of big red-eyed fish in the lake. I wanna look back and think of how many times Asian sensibility has very nearly killed me. I wanna look back and laugh at all the boys that used to make me cry. I want this blog to be a time capsule as much as it is a diary.

I'm proud of how far I've come, but I'm proud of how I was back then, too. I was a fighter. I had to break away from everything people take as a given - acceptance, friends, love - just to have a shot, one tiny chance, at aiming high. My early teens were a tough time, but I'm a better person because I put my hand in the fire. And even though I was depressed, bullied, dumped, rejected and bored to tears, I don't regret any of it. I'm where I wanted to be now, and I know where I want to be in the future. When one is young and as humble as I am, that's a good place to be. At the age of fifteen, I've experienced how rewarding sacrifice and resilience can be.

But I'm a little nostalgic about it all - sometimes I kinda wish I was my pre-teen gung-ho self. As I get older the things I break away from are harder, the risks are bigger and the stakes are higher. Little seeds of insecurity somehow manage to sneak through the cracks. I'm not the twelve year old martyr I used to be - it's amazing how just three years of age can really weary you. Sometimes when I'm tired and sad I remember how happy I was when I was five sitting in the little tree house at school and staring at the sky, wondering whether I could eat a cloud and what it would taste like. And one day I'll flip back to the good ol' days of 2011 and remember sitting here, with the dogs passed out on the sofa, pretending to do homework.

Life and death is but a dream, and all the men and women merely figments of one's imagination.

Monday, August 01, 2011

Can of Worms #4

Okay, so there was a stuff up on the Can of Worms website so there is only one worm today. But it's a goodie.

Worm #10: Is marriage necessary anymore?
The long and short of it: Yes.

My say: A lot of people assume that because of my religious beliefs (or distinct lack thereof) that I do not intend to get married. That's not true. I want a big white wedding and I want to walk down the aisle to 'Teenage Dream' by Katy Perry and I want my groom to be a hot sexy Oxford graduate Ralf Laurent model...but that's another story.

To me, a marriage is an opportunity to publicly acknowledge eternal love and lifelong commitment, and whilst I support de facto relationships I think that any couple that plans a long-term relationship that isn't prepared to go public with it has serious issues. If you're lucky enough to have boy meets girl and you haven't burned your house to the ground, then why not? So, marriage is still necessary even if Australia progresses in a secular direction as I hope it will, and it is everyone's right regardless of anything to have the right to say 'I do'.