Have you ever read the ingredient label of your shampoo bottle?
Probably not, because you're probably not a psycho like me ;)
But...if you do read it, it's pretty disturbing. sulphates, parabens, ammonium, colour, fragrance and preservatives. That's basically it. That's what you rub onto your hair - think about how close that is to your brain - every day.
Shampoos without sulphates and parabens don't work, and are ridiculously expensive. Simply put, shampoo is a baaaad idea.
People in the modern world has a bizarre ritual - we strip away all our natural oils with harsh chemicals, and then replace these oils with even more chemicals, aka conditioner. It really doesn't make any sense.
But there are alternatives.
Natural soap, like castile soap, is a good alternative. But I don't really have access to that, and I don't particularly feel like washing my hair with Coles brand Antibacterial Handwash. Not using shampoo at all is also another option, but if you're a hormonal teenage greaseball like I am, that's probably not a good idea, either. As for conditioner, there are heaps of alternatives - any natural vegetable oil, like coconut oil, olive oil or argan oil. Or you can be strange like me and pour vinegar on your head.
Here is what I do.
Before I get in the shower, I wash my scalp and roots with a mixture of 1/4 cup bicarb soda and 1 cup water - this lasts for at least two or three washes. Then, I comb through a mixture of 400ml water and 4 tbsp vinegar (although I might use less vinegar next time because my hair smells kinda strange) - again, this lasts for more than one wash - and then when I finally get in the shower I rinse it all out with just plain water. Bicarb soda and vinegar are, obviously, harmless and completely edible, but neither taste good and both hurt like HELL if you get them in your eye. Also, if you use too much vinegar (like, ahem, full strength) you will end up with temporary, but very scary red streaks all over your face, and your hair will stink. Then, I rub a little bit of witch hazel into the roots and argan oil into the lengths and ends after I've towel dried.
What's the theory behind this rather bizarre ritual? Well, bicarb soda is really good for cleaning, stripping away products and absorbing oil - which is why it's an awesome dry shampoo in between washes. But it is slightly alkaline, and your hair really should have a neutral ph. The vinegar solution balances the alkaline bicarb, and the fizzing reaction between the bicarb and vinegar also helps to clean. Vinegar also makes your hair softer and shinier. Witch hazel is a good skin toner so is also good for oily scalps or dandruff, and adds volume. Argan oil is a natural moisturizer that helps to prevent (but not heal) split ends, frizz and dryness.
No artificial crap at all. The No-Poo method.
The result? My hair isn't oily (it has been for a little while now, because I ran out of bicarb soda. I honestly can't live without bicarb soda now), and feels really clean and soft. It looks silky. It doesn't smell AMAZING like freshly shampooed hair does - it smells very faintly of argan oil, which is a bit nutty, which only just covers a little trace of vinegar because I think I didn't quite get the ratio right (I think it should be 500ml to 4tbsp of water). I got a bit of the bicarb and vinegar in my eyes and CRAP THAT STINGS (searching for the tap with your eyes squeezed shut...not fun) but I didn't get lovely red streaks down my face from full strength vinegar. It is a bit fiddly, mixing all the different potions and applying them, but it's not so bad. I definitely think my hair has more volume, though, and no dandruff.
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
Sunday, February 26, 2012
Natural Hair Secrets
I have what I would call pretty standard, ordinary hair. I'm Asian, so I have very black, moderately thick straight hair, and I'm so lazy that if I can't find my hair brush (or if it's soaking in baking soda, but that's another story) I won't even brush it.
I do, however, have a few tips for really glossy, shiny hair. And because so many people ask me if I straighten my hair and there are so many people with hair in need of love, I'm going to post some very weird tips.
I've become a very crunchy person lately - and my hair care has become very natural and frugal. I swear by these four things: bicarb soda, witch hazel, vinegar and argan oil.
I don't use conventional styling products on a regular basis anymore, and I'm on the lookout for a more organic shampoo that actually works (I haven't had much luck with that, so at the moment I use Schwartzkopft and Dove). Don't believe the hype - once you get split ends, they're done for, and the only thing to do is to hack it off. Products claiming to 'heal' split ends only weigh your hair down with chemicals.
I never straighten or blow dry my hair - and I only curl my hair on special occasions. In the weeks before ball I was curling my hair every weekend and man, it got soooo fried.
You can add bicarb soda for anything used for cleaning - body wash, shampoo, toothpaste - I use it in my shampoo to strip away hairspray (such as after the ball) and oil without drying out my hair. I have very greasy hair and I normally have to wash my hair every day, but if I add bicarb to my shampoo I can normally stretch to every other day washing. I also use bicarb soda as dry shampoo - on the days that I don't wash my hair, I rub a little bit into the roots (it's a bit too drying for the ends) before I go to bed. It is white, and I do have black hair, but you don't end up with the granny look you get if you use baby powder.
Vinegar is a detangler and also helps to strip your hair of products and oil. After shampooing spray vinegar liberally into wet hair (if your hair is very dry, dilute with water) and leave for a few minutes, then rinse out and condition as normal.
I use witch hazel as a toner, aftershave and to freshen up, but it also works really well for oily scalps and/or dandruff. Massage a little into the roots of damp hair. Keep away from lengths and ends as it is too drying.
One thing you can put into the lengths and ends of hair is argan oil, which as been used by Moroccan women for face, nails and hair for centuries. I run two drops into my hair when it's damp, and a drop or two in the morning if my hair's gotten a bit frizzy.
I have only dyed my hair once in my life - in year eight, I put red highlights in on a whim. And I loved it. But now, I want to experiment with a more natural alternative to conventional hair dye - henna rouge, which is a conditioning treatment that glazes hair with a red tint that catches the sunlight. I'll post a review of sorts once I've done that.
I do, however, have a few tips for really glossy, shiny hair. And because so many people ask me if I straighten my hair and there are so many people with hair in need of love, I'm going to post some very weird tips.
I've become a very crunchy person lately - and my hair care has become very natural and frugal. I swear by these four things: bicarb soda, witch hazel, vinegar and argan oil.
I don't use conventional styling products on a regular basis anymore, and I'm on the lookout for a more organic shampoo that actually works (I haven't had much luck with that, so at the moment I use Schwartzkopft and Dove). Don't believe the hype - once you get split ends, they're done for, and the only thing to do is to hack it off. Products claiming to 'heal' split ends only weigh your hair down with chemicals.
I never straighten or blow dry my hair - and I only curl my hair on special occasions. In the weeks before ball I was curling my hair every weekend and man, it got soooo fried.
You can add bicarb soda for anything used for cleaning - body wash, shampoo, toothpaste - I use it in my shampoo to strip away hairspray (such as after the ball) and oil without drying out my hair. I have very greasy hair and I normally have to wash my hair every day, but if I add bicarb to my shampoo I can normally stretch to every other day washing. I also use bicarb soda as dry shampoo - on the days that I don't wash my hair, I rub a little bit into the roots (it's a bit too drying for the ends) before I go to bed. It is white, and I do have black hair, but you don't end up with the granny look you get if you use baby powder.
Vinegar is a detangler and also helps to strip your hair of products and oil. After shampooing spray vinegar liberally into wet hair (if your hair is very dry, dilute with water) and leave for a few minutes, then rinse out and condition as normal.
I use witch hazel as a toner, aftershave and to freshen up, but it also works really well for oily scalps and/or dandruff. Massage a little into the roots of damp hair. Keep away from lengths and ends as it is too drying.
One thing you can put into the lengths and ends of hair is argan oil, which as been used by Moroccan women for face, nails and hair for centuries. I run two drops into my hair when it's damp, and a drop or two in the morning if my hair's gotten a bit frizzy.
I have only dyed my hair once in my life - in year eight, I put red highlights in on a whim. And I loved it. But now, I want to experiment with a more natural alternative to conventional hair dye - henna rouge, which is a conditioning treatment that glazes hair with a red tint that catches the sunlight. I'll post a review of sorts once I've done that.
having standards.
It's part of being fearless, and searching for someone fearless.
When I was younger I admit I didn't have many standards. I didn't have a very high opinion of myself or the kind of guys I could get. When I first started high school I was piling on weight, I had really bad acne, suffered from depression and was desperately boy crazy.
I've gotten over that.
Now I've lost weight - I'm not supermodel thin, but I'm healthy - and I've finally gotten over my random patches of red, angry acne. I've gotten over my depression - mostly - and I've given up on my rather silly ambition to have a high school boyfriend.
Now I spend a lot of time around boys, and there are things that immediately rub the wrong way. After years of not understanding why girls dumped boys for being 'clingy' I finally get that. My mind works fast, and I'm constantly making decisions, changing my mind, flipping from one thing to another, and it drives me insane when somebody can't keep up and tries to slow me down. I never shut up, so I don't understand people who have nothing to say. I like consistency. I don't like it when people behave one way online and a different way in person. I like people who aren't afraid to let their hair down and shake it to Britney. I don't like people who constantly babble an endless stream of whinges and criticisms. Don't diss my taste in music. Don't diss my sister. Don't diss the subjects I study at school or the blog I write on. I always wanted to arrive at the school ball in a big black hummer, and I don't need you to tell me that it's tacky. If I say you look nice, say 'thank you' not 'I don't like flattery'. If you diss the stuff I like and want, and call it tasteless to my face, you're telling me that I'm tasteless. And if that's your opinion, fine, maybe I am. But I'm not a desperate pre-teen anymore. There's a difference between tactless and fearless.
I'm not saying this to say that I am perfect, or that I expect teenage boys to conform exactly to a teenage girl's expectations, or that the things that I have listed above aren't forgivable or changeable. I'm just saying that before now, I would have swooned blindly. But now I have the wisdom to step back and realize that I'm allowed to be annoyed, peeved, pissed off, and that I don't have to fall blindly for every guy I know.
When I was younger I admit I didn't have many standards. I didn't have a very high opinion of myself or the kind of guys I could get. When I first started high school I was piling on weight, I had really bad acne, suffered from depression and was desperately boy crazy.
I've gotten over that.
Now I've lost weight - I'm not supermodel thin, but I'm healthy - and I've finally gotten over my random patches of red, angry acne. I've gotten over my depression - mostly - and I've given up on my rather silly ambition to have a high school boyfriend.
Now I spend a lot of time around boys, and there are things that immediately rub the wrong way. After years of not understanding why girls dumped boys for being 'clingy' I finally get that. My mind works fast, and I'm constantly making decisions, changing my mind, flipping from one thing to another, and it drives me insane when somebody can't keep up and tries to slow me down. I never shut up, so I don't understand people who have nothing to say. I like consistency. I don't like it when people behave one way online and a different way in person. I like people who aren't afraid to let their hair down and shake it to Britney. I don't like people who constantly babble an endless stream of whinges and criticisms. Don't diss my taste in music. Don't diss my sister. Don't diss the subjects I study at school or the blog I write on. I always wanted to arrive at the school ball in a big black hummer, and I don't need you to tell me that it's tacky. If I say you look nice, say 'thank you' not 'I don't like flattery'. If you diss the stuff I like and want, and call it tasteless to my face, you're telling me that I'm tasteless. And if that's your opinion, fine, maybe I am. But I'm not a desperate pre-teen anymore. There's a difference between tactless and fearless.
I'm not saying this to say that I am perfect, or that I expect teenage boys to conform exactly to a teenage girl's expectations, or that the things that I have listed above aren't forgivable or changeable. I'm just saying that before now, I would have swooned blindly. But now I have the wisdom to step back and realize that I'm allowed to be annoyed, peeved, pissed off, and that I don't have to fall blindly for every guy I know.
blogging. i haz it.
As far as I am aware, I am the most active blogger in Perth Mod.
Please correct me if I am wrong.
When I first started blogging, I didn't know anybody else who did blog. When I got to high school a few blogs popped up every now and again, but nothing was really regular or permanent.
Blogging is a commitment. I don't have a regular schedule, but I have posted 761 posts for the 1230 days I have been a blogger.
A lot of effort goes into a blog post. It has to be coherent, and at least vaguely interesting. I don't do a lot of proper referencing - mostly because a lot of my stuff is opinion pieces - but there is lots of research going on behind the scenes, believe it or not. Poems can take five seconds or five days to write and I'm constantly going back to edit stuff. I get really scratchy about privacy, but at the same time there is nearly always somebody specific I'm talking to/about, especially in my poems, and I try to make that as obvious as I can. Even when I'm not blogging I'm always on the lookout for something interesting to write about, and I'm always drafting something in my mind. It's a full time job. You really need stamina to keep a blog going.
Blogging is gutsy. It's real gut spilling stuff - but for me, that's not hard. I've always been that girl who wears her heart on her sleeve; for better or for worse. I'm the kind of person who has to get it out - talk, whinge, cry, rant - to heal.
There have been some points where I've slacked off and seriously considered putting my blog on an indefinite hiatus. But I could never do it. I'm the kind of person who always has something to say. I need a creative outlet - a place where things can be published in an unrefined, raw state. If I ever become a writer I know that the books that hit the shelves will have been polished and scrutinized and pulled apart, and whilst this is all good and fine sometimes you just need to write an unedited stream of consciousness, and you need to have that kind of satisfaction that somebody is reading it.
But writing brings incredible satisfaction. Whether it's getting 100 on an English essay or just seeing a nice comment pop up on my blog, it's the best high ever.
I am so glad that I am a writer.
Please correct me if I am wrong.
When I first started blogging, I didn't know anybody else who did blog. When I got to high school a few blogs popped up every now and again, but nothing was really regular or permanent.
Blogging is a commitment. I don't have a regular schedule, but I have posted 761 posts for the 1230 days I have been a blogger.
A lot of effort goes into a blog post. It has to be coherent, and at least vaguely interesting. I don't do a lot of proper referencing - mostly because a lot of my stuff is opinion pieces - but there is lots of research going on behind the scenes, believe it or not. Poems can take five seconds or five days to write and I'm constantly going back to edit stuff. I get really scratchy about privacy, but at the same time there is nearly always somebody specific I'm talking to/about, especially in my poems, and I try to make that as obvious as I can. Even when I'm not blogging I'm always on the lookout for something interesting to write about, and I'm always drafting something in my mind. It's a full time job. You really need stamina to keep a blog going.
Blogging is gutsy. It's real gut spilling stuff - but for me, that's not hard. I've always been that girl who wears her heart on her sleeve; for better or for worse. I'm the kind of person who has to get it out - talk, whinge, cry, rant - to heal.
There have been some points where I've slacked off and seriously considered putting my blog on an indefinite hiatus. But I could never do it. I'm the kind of person who always has something to say. I need a creative outlet - a place where things can be published in an unrefined, raw state. If I ever become a writer I know that the books that hit the shelves will have been polished and scrutinized and pulled apart, and whilst this is all good and fine sometimes you just need to write an unedited stream of consciousness, and you need to have that kind of satisfaction that somebody is reading it.
But writing brings incredible satisfaction. Whether it's getting 100 on an English essay or just seeing a nice comment pop up on my blog, it's the best high ever.
I am so glad that I am a writer.
Saturday, February 25, 2012
wuthering heights.
you said i killed you.
haunt me then.
take any form
drive me mad
but don't leave me here:
in this abyss where i cannot find you.
it seems to me
that
only in
paperandink
are we
allowed to be
human.
violence
passion
aggression
love
what i feel
is all but illegal now
i am cathy
trapped in the next life
heathcliff
make your sacrifice
it is so lonely on the other side.
i cannot fight darkness
or bad dreams in the night.
i need your fearlessness
i'm getting greedy
but your hate
and my jealousy
somehow
collide
to light up the
wuthering
stormy
starry night.
heathcliff
i know you'll find me.
heathcliff
come to me,
come to me.
i know you will wander the moors
and the world
until the end of time
searching
heathcliff
come to me,
come to me,
master.
they all belong
in a world
of manners
and comforts.
but it cripples me.
you were wise
to run away...
now i am gone
but not free.
i wrote it over and over
cathy heathcliff,
cathy heathcliff,
cathy heathcliff.
but i lie
in the cold, cold ground
a stranger.
mrs linton.
i was a fool
to choose edgar
he cannot give me
anything real
dark
sordid.
why did i waste my life
chasing perfection?
i'll while away eternity
out on the
wileywindymoors
with you.
heathcliff
you understand me
you get
under my skin
i need to
possess you
i hate you,
i love you.
not as a pleasure
but as my own being!
leave edgar alone, heathcliff
let young cathy be.
let hareton go and
come to me.
i'm waiting
transcending
fading, falling.
my cage is gilded
and it crumbles
as you rattle my bars.
heathcliff, it's me,
cathy,
i've come home again.
i'm so cold,
let me in your window.
Inspired by Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte, the 2009 TV adaptation of Wuthering Heights starring Tom Hardy and Charlotte Riley and Wuthering Heights by Kate Bush.
haunt me then.
take any form
drive me mad
but don't leave me here:
in this abyss where i cannot find you.
it seems to me
that
only in
paperandink
are we
allowed to be
human.
violence
passion
aggression
love
what i feel
is all but illegal now
i am cathy
trapped in the next life
heathcliff
make your sacrifice
it is so lonely on the other side.
i cannot fight darkness
or bad dreams in the night.
i need your fearlessness
i'm getting greedy
but your hate
and my jealousy
somehow
collide
to light up the
wuthering
stormy
starry night.
heathcliff
i know you'll find me.
heathcliff
come to me,
come to me.
i know you will wander the moors
and the world
until the end of time
searching
heathcliff
come to me,
come to me,
master.
they all belong
in a world
of manners
and comforts.
but it cripples me.
you were wise
to run away...
now i am gone
but not free.
i wrote it over and over
cathy heathcliff,
cathy heathcliff,
cathy heathcliff.
but i lie
in the cold, cold ground
a stranger.
mrs linton.
i was a fool
to choose edgar
he cannot give me
anything real
dark
sordid.
why did i waste my life
chasing perfection?
i'll while away eternity
out on the
wileywindymoors
with you.
heathcliff
you understand me
you get
under my skin
i need to
possess you
i hate you,
i love you.
not as a pleasure
but as my own being!
leave edgar alone, heathcliff
let young cathy be.
let hareton go and
come to me.
i'm waiting
transcending
fading, falling.
my cage is gilded
and it crumbles
as you rattle my bars.
heathcliff, it's me,
cathy,
i've come home again.
i'm so cold,
let me in your window.
Inspired by Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte, the 2009 TV adaptation of Wuthering Heights starring Tom Hardy and Charlotte Riley and Wuthering Heights by Kate Bush.
Ball advice.
The ball last night was a blast! I had so much fun. It was so fun to see everyone all dressed up. Everyone really put the effort in and looked spectacular. It really was the night of nights.
As I said, there aren't very good resources to help you get through ball and ball prep. So here is my advice:
Prep:
- Try and start organizing ball during the holidays. Give yourself at least a month. My friends and I started preparing for the ball a good month and a half before the actual date, which gave us loads of time to book the limo, organize everything, even for our group to have a massive catfight and then reconcile. Anything can happen. Give yourself time.
- The key to organizing is to be completely democratic about the whole process. We had 16 people or so in our ball group, and everyone had to know absolutely everything, and have the opportunity to voice their opinion. We only ran into trouble when we tried to cut corners and people missed out on information, which caused a lot of confusion and misunderstandings. Facebook is a great tool for this, especially during the holidays when you can't always see your friends in person.
- I would let my hair grow out for as long as possible - I haven't had a haircut for a year and a half now - because longer hair is more versatile for balls. If you care for it properly, split ends and such won't be obvious.
- We booked a 16-seat black stretch hummer from Cosmic Limousines, after searching through what felt like the entire world wide web for a good deal. Unless everyone is going to the same afters, or everyone is going home after the ball, it is advisable only to have the limo one way - nobody really sees or cares about limos after the ball. We managed to get our limo for $960 for two hours, one way, which was $60pp with 16 people. There are other transport options as well - tram, bus, limocoach. Expect to pay a minimum of $60pp one way and $80pp two way for a 16-seater limo. Book early or all the good deals are taken.
Appointments:
- I went to school as normal at 8:50am and left at 12:00 noon - just after recess. I actually don't think there's much point going to school on ball day - there are only a few boys and nobody really does anything. At any rate, you should definitely leave at or before lunchtime to get ready.
- Book your appointments early. I honestly don't think it's worth getting your nails done - if they are neat and long you can leave them as it is - in the dark it's hard to tell the difference between a french mani and just well groomed nails - or paint them yourself, which is what I did. You can get your hair done professionally or do it yourself, but do it before makeup. My only appointment was to book Kasey from Klassique Makeup, who did a wonderful job.
- I would recommend getting a makeup artist to come to your house rather than go to a salon - it's normally cheaper and is much more convenient. I didn't really know what to do for my makeup, but that's okay - a good makeup artist will look at your dress and your natural features and figure out what to do.
- When booking a makeup artist or a hairdresser, make sure they know your ethnicity and have experience working with people of your ethnicity. It might sound racist, but you really need to work with someone who knows and understands your features and hair type.
- If you want to spray tan, dye your hair, or tint your eyelashes/eyebrows, I would do it at least a week before the ball so you have time to fix any disasters and for everything to settle and look natural. If you've never done anything like this before, now is not really the time to go DIY.
- I paid $50 for Kasey from Klassique Makeup to come over and do my makeup. I wouldn't pay more than $60 for ball makeup; there's no real difference between someone who charges $50 and someone who charges $80. Some places offer discounts for big groups, and if you go really, really, really far out (like, salons further than Joondalup) I have seen prices drop to $30.
Dress:
- I had my dress custom made in Shanghai a few years back. I made my own design from pictures off the internet, and it was creamy white thai silk, strapless, with sparkly silver embellishment and silvery-grey embroidery with a sakura motif. It is the most beautiful thing I have ever worn.
- I would recommend buying your dress overseas or at least interstate if you can for more choice and to reduce the chance of looking like everyone else. This may mean thinking ahead - I went to China several years ago, but with a bit of clever designing I managed to make a dress for last night. Spending more than $400 is absurd (I spent about $150-$200 on my dress). Buying online is a good idea if you're the type of person who looks good in lots of different cuts and styles - I don't.
- Invest in the right underwear to avoid a dress disaster. Because my dress was handmade it didn't have the structure and boning of a store-bought dress, but that was easily fixed with a bustier that I wore underneath - which also kept me covered when my dress began to slip around a bit. The best time to buy stuff like this are Boxing Day sales or just after the previous year's ball season - normally around March. Because ball season normally coincides with Valentine's Day, prices are absurd January/February.
- You have to stand out somehow. I bought a beautiful handmade silver, pearl and crystal tiara that matched the floral design of the embroidery on my dress. Nobody else had anything like it and I felt like a princess ;). Think outside the box.
- Make sure your clutch is big enough to fit some basic essentials - double sided tape, phone, lipstick, blotting paper or powder, a few painkillers and some emergency FHP.
- Don't worry too much about shoes. I bought a pair of pretty generic silver strappy heels on sale, and nobody really notices under long dresses. You kick them off to dance anyway.
- Boys should wear tuxes or smart suits. If you have a date, colours shouldn't clash (wearing neutral colours like black and white is better) and the tie should either be black or match your date's dress.
- Traditionally, the boy buys the corsage and the buttonhole, which should match. My super sweet date bought me a beautiful corsage but it didn't really hold up to my TEH SEX dancing in the middle of the dance floor. I would actually look into silk flowers, especially if your ball is on a hot day - mine wasn't, luckily, so it looked okay for photos.
The actual ball:
- I would eat before ball and not eat too much at the ball - I didn't do this, but I wasn't really hungry anyway. The food at my ball was pretty meh and you can't really dance on a full stomach anyway. Plus, I spilled stuff on my dress.
- Kick off your shoes before you dance. The wideness of a ballgown skirt should prevent too many people stepping on your feet
- Dance with everyone! Don't be afraid of having a good time, even if you have a date.
- Don't worry if your hair collapses, or you spill something on your dress, or your nail polish chips or your makeup smudges. Soon the lights dim and the music starts and nobody cares.
Afters:
- I personally didn't go to afters. When the night first started I thought it might have been cool to go to afters, even though I didn't have anything planned. But as the night progressed and I got more and more tired the prospect of going to yet another party was as appealing as being eaten by a lion. I was so tired I got really nauseous on the way home, and even though I didn't touch any booze I still managed to feel quite ill for a little while.
- Make sure you wash off your makeup really well before you hit the sheets. A little bicarb soda mixed with cleanser will deeply cleanse your face with minimal effort.
- Get your hair squeaky clean by mixing a teaspoon of bicarb soda with your shampoo - it strips away product residue. It also helps you go longer between washes, even if you have greasy hair. Because it gets rid of product buildup, it makes your hair soft and silky and shhhh....but this is my secret to my super straight hair.
In the end, the ball won't go entirely your way. But it's a coming-of-age ritual, so enjoy it. I didn't get any perky lips under the chandelier (I don't even think there was a chandelier) and I wasn't Belle of the Ball, but you don't need that if you're determined to have a good time.
As I said, there aren't very good resources to help you get through ball and ball prep. So here is my advice:
Prep:
- Try and start organizing ball during the holidays. Give yourself at least a month. My friends and I started preparing for the ball a good month and a half before the actual date, which gave us loads of time to book the limo, organize everything, even for our group to have a massive catfight and then reconcile. Anything can happen. Give yourself time.
- The key to organizing is to be completely democratic about the whole process. We had 16 people or so in our ball group, and everyone had to know absolutely everything, and have the opportunity to voice their opinion. We only ran into trouble when we tried to cut corners and people missed out on information, which caused a lot of confusion and misunderstandings. Facebook is a great tool for this, especially during the holidays when you can't always see your friends in person.
- I would let my hair grow out for as long as possible - I haven't had a haircut for a year and a half now - because longer hair is more versatile for balls. If you care for it properly, split ends and such won't be obvious.
- We booked a 16-seat black stretch hummer from Cosmic Limousines, after searching through what felt like the entire world wide web for a good deal. Unless everyone is going to the same afters, or everyone is going home after the ball, it is advisable only to have the limo one way - nobody really sees or cares about limos after the ball. We managed to get our limo for $960 for two hours, one way, which was $60pp with 16 people. There are other transport options as well - tram, bus, limocoach. Expect to pay a minimum of $60pp one way and $80pp two way for a 16-seater limo. Book early or all the good deals are taken.
Appointments:
- I went to school as normal at 8:50am and left at 12:00 noon - just after recess. I actually don't think there's much point going to school on ball day - there are only a few boys and nobody really does anything. At any rate, you should definitely leave at or before lunchtime to get ready.
- Book your appointments early. I honestly don't think it's worth getting your nails done - if they are neat and long you can leave them as it is - in the dark it's hard to tell the difference between a french mani and just well groomed nails - or paint them yourself, which is what I did. You can get your hair done professionally or do it yourself, but do it before makeup. My only appointment was to book Kasey from Klassique Makeup, who did a wonderful job.
- I would recommend getting a makeup artist to come to your house rather than go to a salon - it's normally cheaper and is much more convenient. I didn't really know what to do for my makeup, but that's okay - a good makeup artist will look at your dress and your natural features and figure out what to do.
- When booking a makeup artist or a hairdresser, make sure they know your ethnicity and have experience working with people of your ethnicity. It might sound racist, but you really need to work with someone who knows and understands your features and hair type.
- If you want to spray tan, dye your hair, or tint your eyelashes/eyebrows, I would do it at least a week before the ball so you have time to fix any disasters and for everything to settle and look natural. If you've never done anything like this before, now is not really the time to go DIY.
- I paid $50 for Kasey from Klassique Makeup to come over and do my makeup. I wouldn't pay more than $60 for ball makeup; there's no real difference between someone who charges $50 and someone who charges $80. Some places offer discounts for big groups, and if you go really, really, really far out (like, salons further than Joondalup) I have seen prices drop to $30.
Dress:
- I had my dress custom made in Shanghai a few years back. I made my own design from pictures off the internet, and it was creamy white thai silk, strapless, with sparkly silver embellishment and silvery-grey embroidery with a sakura motif. It is the most beautiful thing I have ever worn.
- I would recommend buying your dress overseas or at least interstate if you can for more choice and to reduce the chance of looking like everyone else. This may mean thinking ahead - I went to China several years ago, but with a bit of clever designing I managed to make a dress for last night. Spending more than $400 is absurd (I spent about $150-$200 on my dress). Buying online is a good idea if you're the type of person who looks good in lots of different cuts and styles - I don't.
- Invest in the right underwear to avoid a dress disaster. Because my dress was handmade it didn't have the structure and boning of a store-bought dress, but that was easily fixed with a bustier that I wore underneath - which also kept me covered when my dress began to slip around a bit. The best time to buy stuff like this are Boxing Day sales or just after the previous year's ball season - normally around March. Because ball season normally coincides with Valentine's Day, prices are absurd January/February.
- You have to stand out somehow. I bought a beautiful handmade silver, pearl and crystal tiara that matched the floral design of the embroidery on my dress. Nobody else had anything like it and I felt like a princess ;). Think outside the box.
- Make sure your clutch is big enough to fit some basic essentials - double sided tape, phone, lipstick, blotting paper or powder, a few painkillers and some emergency FHP.
- Don't worry too much about shoes. I bought a pair of pretty generic silver strappy heels on sale, and nobody really notices under long dresses. You kick them off to dance anyway.
- Boys should wear tuxes or smart suits. If you have a date, colours shouldn't clash (wearing neutral colours like black and white is better) and the tie should either be black or match your date's dress.
- Traditionally, the boy buys the corsage and the buttonhole, which should match. My super sweet date bought me a beautiful corsage but it didn't really hold up to my TEH SEX dancing in the middle of the dance floor. I would actually look into silk flowers, especially if your ball is on a hot day - mine wasn't, luckily, so it looked okay for photos.
The actual ball:
- I would eat before ball and not eat too much at the ball - I didn't do this, but I wasn't really hungry anyway. The food at my ball was pretty meh and you can't really dance on a full stomach anyway. Plus, I spilled stuff on my dress.
- Kick off your shoes before you dance. The wideness of a ballgown skirt should prevent too many people stepping on your feet
- Dance with everyone! Don't be afraid of having a good time, even if you have a date.
- Don't worry if your hair collapses, or you spill something on your dress, or your nail polish chips or your makeup smudges. Soon the lights dim and the music starts and nobody cares.
Afters:
- I personally didn't go to afters. When the night first started I thought it might have been cool to go to afters, even though I didn't have anything planned. But as the night progressed and I got more and more tired the prospect of going to yet another party was as appealing as being eaten by a lion. I was so tired I got really nauseous on the way home, and even though I didn't touch any booze I still managed to feel quite ill for a little while.
- Make sure you wash off your makeup really well before you hit the sheets. A little bicarb soda mixed with cleanser will deeply cleanse your face with minimal effort.
- Get your hair squeaky clean by mixing a teaspoon of bicarb soda with your shampoo - it strips away product residue. It also helps you go longer between washes, even if you have greasy hair. Because it gets rid of product buildup, it makes your hair soft and silky and shhhh....but this is my secret to my super straight hair.
In the end, the ball won't go entirely your way. But it's a coming-of-age ritual, so enjoy it. I didn't get any perky lips under the chandelier (I don't even think there was a chandelier) and I wasn't Belle of the Ball, but you don't need that if you're determined to have a good time.
don't call me a feminazi.
You do not know me. You don't know a thing about who I am or what I go through; the people I meet or what they do to me. You cannot judge what you do not know.
Don't you dare patronize me, with your stupid little dictionary meaning and all that shit. What am I, five years old? Your comment, which I have chosen not to publish, was discrimatory, wildly accusatory, sexist, judgemental and completely incorrect. You have chosen to attack me, not only as a feminist, but as a woman and as a person - and this cannot be tolerated in this day and age.
I am a feminist, and proud of it. I aim to see equality between the sexes, and a recognition and respect for the vital differences between the sexes.
A world ruled by women just would not work. It is not the aim of feminism; it is the aim of gynocentrism, which is perhaps what you refer to by way of 'feminazi'. We have our strengths, but we have our own faults, our own weaknesses, and these are balanced perfectly by the strengths and weaknesses of men.
I lost weight because I was nearly overweight. I lost weight because none of my clothes fit me anymore and it was really taking its toll on my self esteem. I lost weight because I wanted to be healthy, and I was tired of being slow and sleepy and sick all the time. I lost weight because I have a serious heart condition and I need to keep in shape just to survive. I lost weight because I wanted to look good and feel good. I lost weight for myself. Don't you dare accuse me of objectifying myself for losing five freaking kilos. I never said I wanted to be supermodel thin. Yeah, I look better now, but anyone would if they lost their jelly belly. And I'm damn proud of looking good, and nobody should criticise me for that. Why on earth would I want to look tubby? I'm sixteen! I just had my own goals for my own means and don't you dare think I'm doing this for anyone else, to win back some boy or to get ten thousand boyfriends. Weight is irrelevant to my relationship with other people, with men. If someone is going to ignore me at 57kg and then ask me out at 53kg, well then take a hike, Mike.
I do what I want, as a woman and as a feminist. Lipstick feminism subscribes to the theory that women are empowered when they take pride in their appearance and sexuality, and I wholeheartedly agree with that. Just because I'm a feminist doesn't mean I have to look like a frump, or a man, or pretend that I don't give a damn what I look like. Stiletto feminism dictates that there is no philosophical contradiction between being a feminist and being a woman, who is biologically evolved to be sexually attractive to men, just as men have biologically evolved to be sexually attractive to women. Atheist feminism sees the misogyny in society as a direct result of misogynistic religions, which dictate protocols and societal expectations of women based on fear and disgust of female sexuality. Why is it that men can walk around in nothing buy a pair of cutoffs and thongs and if I have even the slightest inclination to not look like a nun I am accused of being a slut, objectifying myself, etc, etc. I can wear what I want, and do what I want, and that has nothing to do with feminism. It's a basic fucking human right.
Of course I wanted to look good for the ball. It was the night of nights. Anyone would have wanted to look good for the ball. Everyone looked beautiful last night, and I looked beautiful, too.
This is what I meant by battling ignorance. It is ignorance and intimidation that drives men to attack feminists like me, women like me. We have to put aside our differences, defeat our fear and unite under a common goal. It is the only way forward.
Don't you dare patronize me, with your stupid little dictionary meaning and all that shit. What am I, five years old? Your comment, which I have chosen not to publish, was discrimatory, wildly accusatory, sexist, judgemental and completely incorrect. You have chosen to attack me, not only as a feminist, but as a woman and as a person - and this cannot be tolerated in this day and age.
I am a feminist, and proud of it. I aim to see equality between the sexes, and a recognition and respect for the vital differences between the sexes.
A world ruled by women just would not work. It is not the aim of feminism; it is the aim of gynocentrism, which is perhaps what you refer to by way of 'feminazi'. We have our strengths, but we have our own faults, our own weaknesses, and these are balanced perfectly by the strengths and weaknesses of men.
I lost weight because I was nearly overweight. I lost weight because none of my clothes fit me anymore and it was really taking its toll on my self esteem. I lost weight because I wanted to be healthy, and I was tired of being slow and sleepy and sick all the time. I lost weight because I have a serious heart condition and I need to keep in shape just to survive. I lost weight because I wanted to look good and feel good. I lost weight for myself. Don't you dare accuse me of objectifying myself for losing five freaking kilos. I never said I wanted to be supermodel thin. Yeah, I look better now, but anyone would if they lost their jelly belly. And I'm damn proud of looking good, and nobody should criticise me for that. Why on earth would I want to look tubby? I'm sixteen! I just had my own goals for my own means and don't you dare think I'm doing this for anyone else, to win back some boy or to get ten thousand boyfriends. Weight is irrelevant to my relationship with other people, with men. If someone is going to ignore me at 57kg and then ask me out at 53kg, well then take a hike, Mike.
I do what I want, as a woman and as a feminist. Lipstick feminism subscribes to the theory that women are empowered when they take pride in their appearance and sexuality, and I wholeheartedly agree with that. Just because I'm a feminist doesn't mean I have to look like a frump, or a man, or pretend that I don't give a damn what I look like. Stiletto feminism dictates that there is no philosophical contradiction between being a feminist and being a woman, who is biologically evolved to be sexually attractive to men, just as men have biologically evolved to be sexually attractive to women. Atheist feminism sees the misogyny in society as a direct result of misogynistic religions, which dictate protocols and societal expectations of women based on fear and disgust of female sexuality. Why is it that men can walk around in nothing buy a pair of cutoffs and thongs and if I have even the slightest inclination to not look like a nun I am accused of being a slut, objectifying myself, etc, etc. I can wear what I want, and do what I want, and that has nothing to do with feminism. It's a basic fucking human right.
Of course I wanted to look good for the ball. It was the night of nights. Anyone would have wanted to look good for the ball. Everyone looked beautiful last night, and I looked beautiful, too.
This is what I meant by battling ignorance. It is ignorance and intimidation that drives men to attack feminists like me, women like me. We have to put aside our differences, defeat our fear and unite under a common goal. It is the only way forward.
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
i'm 5'3" and intimidating. how sad.
Every day in form there are one or two boys who pick on me incessantly because I am a feminist, as if a couple of sexist jokes will somehow convert me. It's nothing serious and nobody really means anything but it is a very good example of how men are intimidated by feminists.
I don't look like a feminist. I wear makeup and do my hair. I roll my shorts up and my skirts don't go to mid-calf. I'm not always buried in books and I don't give men death glares if they try to talk to me. I'm 5'3", an incurable flirt and a relatively normal person. They just can't take it. I don't fit their brain's prototype of an angsty, aggressive, frumpy feminist.
Which makes me, as a feminist, more intimidating. What do I want? What am I after? How would my desires for the relationship between the genders impact men in this day and age?
Men are afraid of women. It is psychologically imbued into the male brain to be afraid of women. They are scared of how our bodies develop, how we grow and bear children; they do not understand female psychology or female strengths and weaknesses because they are so wildly different to a man's, and this ignorance scares them. Historically, men have not been content with being physically stronger than women and have attempted to claim the political, religious and intellectual spheres of life; but in these, ladies, we are equal, and always will be despite men's best attempts to make it otherwise. Women represent something men have no control over, and as women become more politically and socially powerful we become all the more intimidating. This reflects into many things; social, emotional, mental and psychosexual problems in men; an indifference, fear, or hatred towards women, abuse or violence by men against women or what I am experiencing; a rather weak attempt to put me down, with strong undercurrents of hostility and fear of intimidation running underneath.
Ignorance feeds fear. Fear feeds violence. The battle for equality, my friends, has only just begun; and our first feud is not with men, or even with sexist men; it is with ignorance.
I don't look like a feminist. I wear makeup and do my hair. I roll my shorts up and my skirts don't go to mid-calf. I'm not always buried in books and I don't give men death glares if they try to talk to me. I'm 5'3", an incurable flirt and a relatively normal person. They just can't take it. I don't fit their brain's prototype of an angsty, aggressive, frumpy feminist.
Which makes me, as a feminist, more intimidating. What do I want? What am I after? How would my desires for the relationship between the genders impact men in this day and age?
Men are afraid of women. It is psychologically imbued into the male brain to be afraid of women. They are scared of how our bodies develop, how we grow and bear children; they do not understand female psychology or female strengths and weaknesses because they are so wildly different to a man's, and this ignorance scares them. Historically, men have not been content with being physically stronger than women and have attempted to claim the political, religious and intellectual spheres of life; but in these, ladies, we are equal, and always will be despite men's best attempts to make it otherwise. Women represent something men have no control over, and as women become more politically and socially powerful we become all the more intimidating. This reflects into many things; social, emotional, mental and psychosexual problems in men; an indifference, fear, or hatred towards women, abuse or violence by men against women or what I am experiencing; a rather weak attempt to put me down, with strong undercurrents of hostility and fear of intimidation running underneath.
Ignorance feeds fear. Fear feeds violence. The battle for equality, my friends, has only just begun; and our first feud is not with men, or even with sexist men; it is with ignorance.
You cannot bear to see me happy,
You'd rather see me fall.
You'd rather see me sad and lonely,
Defeated,
Conquered.
My smile
Cannot make you happy.
If I built you a house
Brick by boring brick
You'd tear it down
And demand a castle.
Because nothing's good enough,
Nothing's ever good enough.
If I ruled the world
You'd set it on fire
And tell me
That the stars
Are as of yet
Unconquered.
Because nothing's good enough,
Nothing's ever good enough.
You cannot bear to see me free
A butterfly cannot flutter unmolested
It must be pinned
And locked
On display.
You must learn that
You cannot control me.
I have grown too big for your
Display-cabinet.
My greatest misery in this world
Is that you cannot reconcile yourself with
What you have created.
You can only see what I cannot do.
My greatest triumphs in this world
Have been celebrated without you.
Because I am not good enough,
Never good enough.
Could you not see me
As a joy
Rather than a duty?
Why can't you take your own advice
And be content with your lot?
Everyone I know
Is afraid of you.
Everyone I know
Would not dare
To change you.
You could at least
Return the favour.
You lost your right to be my friend
When you laid claim to be my jailkeeper.
You lost your right to share in my joy
When you laid claim to cause me pain.
I'll stop pretending to love.
Because it's not good enough,
Nothing's ever good enough.
You'd rather see me fall.
You'd rather see me sad and lonely,
Defeated,
Conquered.
My smile
Cannot make you happy.
If I built you a house
Brick by boring brick
You'd tear it down
And demand a castle.
Because nothing's good enough,
Nothing's ever good enough.
If I ruled the world
You'd set it on fire
And tell me
That the stars
Are as of yet
Unconquered.
Because nothing's good enough,
Nothing's ever good enough.
You cannot bear to see me free
A butterfly cannot flutter unmolested
It must be pinned
And locked
On display.
You must learn that
You cannot control me.
I have grown too big for your
Display-cabinet.
My greatest misery in this world
Is that you cannot reconcile yourself with
What you have created.
You can only see what I cannot do.
My greatest triumphs in this world
Have been celebrated without you.
Because I am not good enough,
Never good enough.
Could you not see me
As a joy
Rather than a duty?
Why can't you take your own advice
And be content with your lot?
Everyone I know
Is afraid of you.
Everyone I know
Would not dare
To change you.
You could at least
Return the favour.
You lost your right to be my friend
When you laid claim to be my jailkeeper.
You lost your right to share in my joy
When you laid claim to cause me pain.
I'll stop pretending to love.
Because it's not good enough,
Nothing's ever good enough.
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
fearless.
I told you I'm getting wiser ;)
I've gotten to the point where I'm letting go. I've realized that what I want is so powerful and beautiful and special that I'll always want it, but I won't find it here - not at high school.
It took me a long time to finally give up. I'm a pretty persistent person. But when you realize that you've been in love with one boy for three years and he still pretends like you don't exist, and that you've had a boyfriend for a grand total of three days, you realize that, for the time being, you're pretty much a lost cause.
What I want is what few could offer and even fewer deserve. I truly believe that true love is fearless. I've never had that, not yet. I've always been afraid of all the boys that I have ever loved. I've always been afraid of myself. I've never had the courage to be reckless; I've never had the chance to be fearless. One day, I'll learn the difference between a jump and fall.
I don't need people to say that I'm smart or beautiful. I don't need someone who tells me that I have a pretty laugh and nice hair and then ignores me. I want someone to say that I am fearless...I want someone to say that they taught me to be fearless, and that is the best part of me.
But for now, I have other things to do. A woman is nothing without education, and everybody is a nobody before graduation. I have my own goals, my own goals that don't involve the fickle hearts of teenage boys, and I'll work on that first. Fearlessness....that will come later.
I've gotten to the point where I'm letting go. I've realized that what I want is so powerful and beautiful and special that I'll always want it, but I won't find it here - not at high school.
It took me a long time to finally give up. I'm a pretty persistent person. But when you realize that you've been in love with one boy for three years and he still pretends like you don't exist, and that you've had a boyfriend for a grand total of three days, you realize that, for the time being, you're pretty much a lost cause.
What I want is what few could offer and even fewer deserve. I truly believe that true love is fearless. I've never had that, not yet. I've always been afraid of all the boys that I have ever loved. I've always been afraid of myself. I've never had the courage to be reckless; I've never had the chance to be fearless. One day, I'll learn the difference between a jump and fall.
I don't need people to say that I'm smart or beautiful. I don't need someone who tells me that I have a pretty laugh and nice hair and then ignores me. I want someone to say that I am fearless...I want someone to say that they taught me to be fearless, and that is the best part of me.
But for now, I have other things to do. A woman is nothing without education, and everybody is a nobody before graduation. I have my own goals, my own goals that don't involve the fickle hearts of teenage boys, and I'll work on that first. Fearlessness....that will come later.
Sunday, February 19, 2012
vulnerable.
I overthink things. My imagination spins out of control. I fall, too hard and too fast; without thinking. I get lost in dreams so vivid and real that when I come back to the real world it's heartbreaking. Sometimes I get so frustrated I break things, rip things apart, get a very brief moment of satisfaction in an act of destruction.
I've lost another battle. And another. You'd think I'd get used to the disappointment and the bitterness, but you never do. You never stop questioning yourself, what you could have done. You never stop getting angry. I the conoisseur and left wanting, just searching, never finding. Bittersweet.
Friendship is something brittle and fragile and, to me, more trouble than it is really worth. Just when I think that things are going well, I get stabbed in the back, or they turn around and walk away; a holiday's amusement isn't worth the upkeep when school starts.
People can be so wildly insensitive at times. I don't want to hear about parties you haven't invited me to, and I don't want to hear your excuses, and I don't want to tell you what I'll be doing instead - going home, alone, waking up, alone, and then going about another day, alone. Alone alone alone. I'm tired of being alone.
I may not be beautiful or conventional or...sane, but nobody gives me a chance. I have so much to give. Loyalty. Sincerity. Trust. Love. Does nobody value these things anymore? What else do I have, if not that? What else does anybody have?
I am not one content with being alone, but I get broken, again and again, by human company.
I'll pretend I'm okay. I'll pretend not to cry. There's nothing else I can do.
I've lost another battle. And another. You'd think I'd get used to the disappointment and the bitterness, but you never do. You never stop questioning yourself, what you could have done. You never stop getting angry. I the conoisseur and left wanting, just searching, never finding. Bittersweet.
Friendship is something brittle and fragile and, to me, more trouble than it is really worth. Just when I think that things are going well, I get stabbed in the back, or they turn around and walk away; a holiday's amusement isn't worth the upkeep when school starts.
People can be so wildly insensitive at times. I don't want to hear about parties you haven't invited me to, and I don't want to hear your excuses, and I don't want to tell you what I'll be doing instead - going home, alone, waking up, alone, and then going about another day, alone. Alone alone alone. I'm tired of being alone.
I may not be beautiful or conventional or...sane, but nobody gives me a chance. I have so much to give. Loyalty. Sincerity. Trust. Love. Does nobody value these things anymore? What else do I have, if not that? What else does anybody have?
I am not one content with being alone, but I get broken, again and again, by human company.
I'll pretend I'm okay. I'll pretend not to cry. There's nothing else I can do.
So, ultimately, your attempt to get into my good books failed.
Three years ago a little, shy girl fell in love with a boy in the back of her English class. But there were always others, many others, for me as well as for you. But I don't feel bad about that, because you didn't know or care in the slightest.
The time has passed when I would have done anything for you. I would have been content to be your friend, but that time has passed, too. You and I, we live in different worlds, and I was a fool to try and change that. Because the truth is I could have been your best friend in the whole world - I could have been anyone's friend - but nobody seems to want that, least of all you. And I understand that. I am used to being nothing to no one.
You aren't the kind of person I can just have a normal conversation with, and then walk away. That's more me than you. I can't be friends with someone who has so much control over what I feel. I'm tired of excuses, of apologies. I have been lied to all my life, and you are the least convincing of them all. So we'll go back to what we were before; you ignore me, and I'll pretend to ignore you. Friends are a petty luxury at the moment, but one day something more meaningful will come along, and I'll be okay. You taught me what not to do, and now I know how not to screw it up.
I promise you, you won't miss me. You know that already. You're probably laughing as you read this, and to be honest, I'm laughing too. You barely know me, so there is nothing to miss.
Three years ago a little, shy girl fell in love with a boy in the back of her English class. But there were always others, many others, for me as well as for you. But I don't feel bad about that, because you didn't know or care in the slightest.
The time has passed when I would have done anything for you. I would have been content to be your friend, but that time has passed, too. You and I, we live in different worlds, and I was a fool to try and change that. Because the truth is I could have been your best friend in the whole world - I could have been anyone's friend - but nobody seems to want that, least of all you. And I understand that. I am used to being nothing to no one.
You aren't the kind of person I can just have a normal conversation with, and then walk away. That's more me than you. I can't be friends with someone who has so much control over what I feel. I'm tired of excuses, of apologies. I have been lied to all my life, and you are the least convincing of them all. So we'll go back to what we were before; you ignore me, and I'll pretend to ignore you. Friends are a petty luxury at the moment, but one day something more meaningful will come along, and I'll be okay. You taught me what not to do, and now I know how not to screw it up.
I promise you, you won't miss me. You know that already. You're probably laughing as you read this, and to be honest, I'm laughing too. You barely know me, so there is nothing to miss.
Saturday, February 18, 2012
safeandsound.
there is nothing like
the feeling of helplessness
and spiralling dispair
of being strapped to a gurney
and moving without
legs
or
feet
towards
hell.
to smell the stench
of rubber pressed
against your cheek
as the sicklysweetether
smothers you
slowly
slowly
slowly
it is like being killed
to be saved.
there is nothing like
having tears running down your face
and having no hands
to brush them away
there is nothing like
staring
at a
hard
cold
light.
is there a war raging on the other side of those
plastic doors?
why does everything seem to be on fire?
it feels like there's a
drug addled
losing battle
inside my head
creeping slowly
down my breast
to claim my heart.
hold me close
whisper in my ear
tell me a mother's lie.
hold me close
don't let me go
say everything will be alright.
promise me
i will be
safeandsound.
Note: I hope this doesn't sound too depressing. I'm not really depressed at the moment. This is inspired, in part, by Prufrock by T.S. Eliot and Safe & Sound by Taylor Swift. But mostly...it's what was going through my head when I was in hospital when I was fourteen. It was a pretty intense experience.
the feeling of helplessness
and spiralling dispair
of being strapped to a gurney
and moving without
legs
or
feet
towards
hell.
to smell the stench
of rubber pressed
against your cheek
as the sicklysweetether
smothers you
slowly
slowly
slowly
it is like being killed
to be saved.
there is nothing like
having tears running down your face
and having no hands
to brush them away
there is nothing like
staring
at a
hard
cold
light.
is there a war raging on the other side of those
plastic doors?
why does everything seem to be on fire?
it feels like there's a
drug addled
losing battle
inside my head
creeping slowly
down my breast
to claim my heart.
hold me close
whisper in my ear
tell me a mother's lie.
hold me close
don't let me go
say everything will be alright.
promise me
i will be
safeandsound.
Note: I hope this doesn't sound too depressing. I'm not really depressed at the moment. This is inspired, in part, by Prufrock by T.S. Eliot and Safe & Sound by Taylor Swift. But mostly...it's what was going through my head when I was in hospital when I was fourteen. It was a pretty intense experience.
Thursday, February 16, 2012
Operation Get Fit: All izz well.
I must apologise for only posting poems and stuff about losing weight lately - my life has become something very confusing and contradictory and, at times, painful; I feel like I must talk, must write, must get it out, but I can only really describe it in abstract. Except for Operation Get Fit, which is going well, and would be weird in poem form ;)
I have hit a record weight of 53.5kg! Heeheehee. I'm skinner than I was on my thirteenth birthday. And, considering how high I was on ramen back then, much healthier.
Slight problems: my leavers jacket is a tent, I can't wear my school skirts, I swear my girls are shrinking and I've been borrowing a lot of stuff from my sister's wardrobe lately...;P
I have hit a record weight of 53.5kg! Heeheehee. I'm skinner than I was on my thirteenth birthday. And, considering how high I was on ramen back then, much healthier.
Slight problems: my leavers jacket is a tent, I can't wear my school skirts, I swear my girls are shrinking and I've been borrowing a lot of stuff from my sister's wardrobe lately...;P
seventoeight.
I don't really want you to know
That sometimes I sit
And watch
And wait
For the numbers to flip
From seventoeight.
You have become my
Tom Riddle's diary
I don't want to be
With or without you.
But
Just now
I had the most horrifying image.
I saw myself sitting
All alone
In a
housethatwasnotahome,
Cupping in my hands
A mug of tea.
I'm watching something you don't like
And even though I'm "home"
I've done my hair the way you like.
You finally walk through the door at
halfpasttoolate,
Back from people who don't
Scare you like I do.
And I press "pause" in the middle of the best part
Ready to become a heavily edited
fine tuned
watered down version
of the passion and sordid fantasies
I keep hidden inside.
And just when I think we've become teenagers again
With our
mindlessemoticonbanter
And that you're laughing too much in your
funnydeepvoice
I look back and realize
When I was sixteen I said you were a shadow of what you really are.
And when I was sixteen I swore I would never turn my back on
meforyou.
So I don't know...
I don't see...
I don't think
I should spend
any
more
time
Watching the numbers flip
From seventoeight.
That sometimes I sit
And watch
And wait
For the numbers to flip
From seventoeight.
You have become my
Tom Riddle's diary
I don't want to be
With or without you.
But
Just now
I had the most horrifying image.
I saw myself sitting
All alone
In a
housethatwasnotahome,
Cupping in my hands
A mug of tea.
I'm watching something you don't like
And even though I'm "home"
I've done my hair the way you like.
You finally walk through the door at
halfpasttoolate,
Back from people who don't
Scare you like I do.
And I press "pause" in the middle of the best part
Ready to become a heavily edited
fine tuned
watered down version
of the passion and sordid fantasies
I keep hidden inside.
And just when I think we've become teenagers again
With our
mindlessemoticonbanter
And that you're laughing too much in your
funnydeepvoice
I look back and realize
When I was sixteen I said you were a shadow of what you really are.
And when I was sixteen I swore I would never turn my back on
meforyou.
So I don't know...
I don't see...
I don't think
I should spend
any
more
time
Watching the numbers flip
From seventoeight.
my dear rochester.
It takes me a little while to forget
And then remember
That in person
You are a mere shadow of yourself
Metaphysically
You lack the transparency
That defines you in person
More than anything.
But you live in the kind of world
Where who you are
Not what you are
Is the question.
I know
I do not fulfill your criteria
But you cannot deny
That I am rather interesting to talk to
You are a charmer
But only half the time
So you're only half the charmer,
And therefore hardly worth my time.
You are such the consummate actor
Sometimes you even have me fooled
But I have faith
That mask is not you
But I am scared of
Hewhoisnotyou,
You've turned this femme fatale
Into another one of your simpering ingenues.
Although
Sometimes
I admit.
I do not know
Whether you pretend to care
Or you pretend not to.
You go
onandonandon
About all that you've done to me.
If you truly feel guilty
Why can't you mend your ways?
Eventually
You will come to realize
That without
Your soul
You are nothing
ergo...nothing to me?
I jest
I am just that fool
Watching
The numbers flip
fromseventoeight
There are other people
In your world
To do that for you.
But...
If you fly your true colours
I can guarantee that blanche will leave.
She subscribes
To your philosophy.
...but jane...jane might stay.
And then remember
That in person
You are a mere shadow of yourself
Metaphysically
You lack the transparency
That defines you in person
More than anything.
But you live in the kind of world
Where who you are
Not what you are
Is the question.
I know
I do not fulfill your criteria
But you cannot deny
That I am rather interesting to talk to
You are a charmer
But only half the time
So you're only half the charmer,
And therefore hardly worth my time.
You are such the consummate actor
Sometimes you even have me fooled
But I have faith
That mask is not you
But I am scared of
Hewhoisnotyou,
You've turned this femme fatale
Into another one of your simpering ingenues.
Although
Sometimes
I admit.
I do not know
Whether you pretend to care
Or you pretend not to.
You go
onandonandon
About all that you've done to me.
If you truly feel guilty
Why can't you mend your ways?
Eventually
You will come to realize
That without
Your soul
You are nothing
ergo...nothing to me?
I jest
I am just that fool
Watching
The numbers flip
fromseventoeight
There are other people
In your world
To do that for you.
But...
If you fly your true colours
I can guarantee that blanche will leave.
She subscribes
To your philosophy.
...but jane...jane might stay.
Fearless
true love is
sleeping peacefully
in the arms of a man
who has,
in his belt
a sharpened knife
and a loaded pistol.
and in his pocket
the kind of poison
that can kill without a trace
and knowing,
trusting,
with absolute surety
that no harm will come to you
in his embrace.
true love is reckless
but a true lover is fearless.
sleeping peacefully
in the arms of a man
who has,
in his belt
a sharpened knife
and a loaded pistol.
and in his pocket
the kind of poison
that can kill without a trace
and knowing,
trusting,
with absolute surety
that no harm will come to you
in his embrace.
true love is reckless
but a true lover is fearless.
Sunday, February 12, 2012
Saturday, February 11, 2012
The Ocean's Mistress
The beach was my lover today.
A cool cloud of foam swept up
And kissed my feet whilst
A piece of sea lace
Curled,
And caressed my skin.
The spray climbed
Higher...higher...higher
The sun and the breeze
Wrapped me in a lover's embrace.
The waves rolled in....and out....
A constant, gentle, seductive siege.
It is the most romantic thing
To walk into the sea
And never come back.
I would be content
To while away eternity
As the ocean's mistress.
A cool cloud of foam swept up
And kissed my feet whilst
A piece of sea lace
Curled,
And caressed my skin.
The spray climbed
Higher...higher...higher
The sun and the breeze
Wrapped me in a lover's embrace.
The waves rolled in....and out....
A constant, gentle, seductive siege.
It is the most romantic thing
To walk into the sea
And never come back.
I would be content
To while away eternity
As the ocean's mistress.
Friday, February 10, 2012
Make me write my name in my own blood,
Pour out my heart,
Bottle it,
Keep it safe,
Use it against me
Blind me with a facade
Sixteen summers of innocence
Broken
By a rude initiation
I do not understand
Why you insist on crowding me
Trying to write your name on my heart
and then
Leave me for the more worthy.
It is one thing to humble my hubris.
But you broke my back,
And broke my broken heart.
So leave me here
With my fickle, disappointing
writer of apologies.
I am well used to solitude.
I knew it all along...but it was nice, pretending, for a while...that I had friends.
Pour out my heart,
Bottle it,
Keep it safe,
Use it against me
Blind me with a facade
Sixteen summers of innocence
Broken
By a rude initiation
I do not understand
Why you insist on crowding me
Trying to write your name on my heart
and then
Leave me for the more worthy.
It is one thing to humble my hubris.
But you broke my back,
And broke my broken heart.
So leave me here
With my fickle, disappointing
writer of apologies.
I am well used to solitude.
I knew it all along...but it was nice, pretending, for a while...that I had friends.
Wednesday, February 08, 2012
in- retrospect
in- retrospect
you apologise
an afterthought
a careless hurt
atoned by
a toolatesorry.
make my heart go
pitterpatter
thudthud
butterflies
in my stomach
turn into
the monsters
that haunt my dreams
in- retrospect
you are all you
ever should be
my brain's a blur
with a thousand thoughts of
meandyou
you try so hard
to get into my good books
and then
run away
in- retrospect....
i still
don't know
what to think.
you apologise
an afterthought
a careless hurt
atoned by
a toolatesorry.
make my heart go
pitterpatter
thudthud
butterflies
in my stomach
turn into
the monsters
that haunt my dreams
in- retrospect
you are all you
ever should be
my brain's a blur
with a thousand thoughts of
meandyou
you try so hard
to get into my good books
and then
run away
in- retrospect....
i still
don't know
what to think.
Tuesday, February 07, 2012
Operation Get Fit: Depression screws with everything.
Before I was serious about losing weight I never cared about what I ate, or how much I ate. I always had a tummy, but I had wafer thin arms and legs and got away with it. When I was really little I hardly ate, anyway - food simply wasn't interesting.
Then when I got to about eleven I began eating ravenously, and shot up from about 4'8" to 5'2" - the leads from my pacemaker snapped (this doesn't even happen during pregnancy, usually), I lost my little-boy figure and got some lovely stretch marks here and there. After various stints of gymnastics, acrobatics, ballet, jazz - none of which I was particularly good at - I began playing basketball quite seriously; in that it was my biggest sporting commitment to date. I was eating more than my dad, but I was relatively fit for a timee; but eleven was also when depression set in.
It's impossible to describe how mental health and physical health are so deeply interconnected. When I was little I was a dapper little kid, a little fighter; I bore the brunt of my heart condition very well, and I was as healthy as I could be given my medical problems. At about eleven something just went wrong, and I was very depressed for a good three years. Depression in itself is purely a mental thing, but what it makes you do to yourself is quite alarming - you know you should be taking better care of yourself, but you're beyond caring. You just don't have the energy to care.
High school started, I moved away from the basketball stadium and my basketball team, and I sort of lost it. It took me eight years in primary school to form tangible friendships, but I went to a high school quite far away from where I grew up, with only a couple of familiar faces; but I didn't really get along with those familiar faces. I skipped a grade, losing any kind of social status in the process, and starting drooling over anyone remotely Y-chromosone. But I still ate as if I was still growing like a weed (I wasn't - between twelve and sixteen I've grown about an inch) and not really caring what I shovelled down. This was also the height of my ramen addiction - ramen being a rather noxious combination of refined wheat, sodium and a cocktail of chemicals and preservatives.
But this was when food became an obsession - I had become so unhappy and frustrated that I tried to replace everything I wanted with food. I became a coffee fiend, a ramen fanatic, and a faithful worshipper of anything calorie-laden and fattening. I was already unfit, but as I stopped exercising even walking the dogs became such a monumental effort I would go for weeks without properly exercising. Every day I would drag myself up staircases and wind myself if I ever tried to run more than a few metres.
Now, I don't drink coffee. I work out every day, and I watch what I eat; within reason. I don't deny myself the joys of birthday cake, pour exemple - life is too short to not enjoy your sweet sixteen, and when you're permamently the baby of the grade, it's nice to feel grown up. But most of all, I'm happy - I'm happy beyond words. Last year I really felt like I've shaken off my depression, and although my life is far from perfect it's much more fulfilling, and I'm much, much, happier than I was before.
So, if you're gaining weight, don't look at it as a problem in a vacuum. For me, the real root of the problem was my depression - depression, not laziness or genes or puppy fat or anything else - that had caused my weight problem. I had to face my depression and conquer it before I could even think about shedding pounds. If you're happy, you're halfway to being healthy.
Then when I got to about eleven I began eating ravenously, and shot up from about 4'8" to 5'2" - the leads from my pacemaker snapped (this doesn't even happen during pregnancy, usually), I lost my little-boy figure and got some lovely stretch marks here and there. After various stints of gymnastics, acrobatics, ballet, jazz - none of which I was particularly good at - I began playing basketball quite seriously; in that it was my biggest sporting commitment to date. I was eating more than my dad, but I was relatively fit for a timee; but eleven was also when depression set in.
It's impossible to describe how mental health and physical health are so deeply interconnected. When I was little I was a dapper little kid, a little fighter; I bore the brunt of my heart condition very well, and I was as healthy as I could be given my medical problems. At about eleven something just went wrong, and I was very depressed for a good three years. Depression in itself is purely a mental thing, but what it makes you do to yourself is quite alarming - you know you should be taking better care of yourself, but you're beyond caring. You just don't have the energy to care.
High school started, I moved away from the basketball stadium and my basketball team, and I sort of lost it. It took me eight years in primary school to form tangible friendships, but I went to a high school quite far away from where I grew up, with only a couple of familiar faces; but I didn't really get along with those familiar faces. I skipped a grade, losing any kind of social status in the process, and starting drooling over anyone remotely Y-chromosone. But I still ate as if I was still growing like a weed (I wasn't - between twelve and sixteen I've grown about an inch) and not really caring what I shovelled down. This was also the height of my ramen addiction - ramen being a rather noxious combination of refined wheat, sodium and a cocktail of chemicals and preservatives.
But this was when food became an obsession - I had become so unhappy and frustrated that I tried to replace everything I wanted with food. I became a coffee fiend, a ramen fanatic, and a faithful worshipper of anything calorie-laden and fattening. I was already unfit, but as I stopped exercising even walking the dogs became such a monumental effort I would go for weeks without properly exercising. Every day I would drag myself up staircases and wind myself if I ever tried to run more than a few metres.
Now, I don't drink coffee. I work out every day, and I watch what I eat; within reason. I don't deny myself the joys of birthday cake, pour exemple - life is too short to not enjoy your sweet sixteen, and when you're permamently the baby of the grade, it's nice to feel grown up. But most of all, I'm happy - I'm happy beyond words. Last year I really felt like I've shaken off my depression, and although my life is far from perfect it's much more fulfilling, and I'm much, much, happier than I was before.
So, if you're gaining weight, don't look at it as a problem in a vacuum. For me, the real root of the problem was my depression - depression, not laziness or genes or puppy fat or anything else - that had caused my weight problem. I had to face my depression and conquer it before I could even think about shedding pounds. If you're happy, you're halfway to being healthy.
Monday, February 06, 2012
Operation Get Fit: I hate my scales, and my dog hates my workout
I've spent much of Operation Get Fit obsessed with numbers. I know my BMI at the moment is 21.3 but used to be 22.7, which is shockingly close to overweight (which is 23 for Asians, not 24.9 like it is for Caucasians). I know that I am definitely overweight once I'm over 57kg and I'm okay at about 55-56kg, but I only really start feeling good once I'm under 55kg. I know my BWH measurements, and all other sorts of random crap.
But now, that's all out the window.
When I wasn't working out and just Sundowning, I was losing all the surplus weight I gained whilst eating my way through Asia, and that was quick and easy - three kilos in two weeks. But then, it stopped, and it didn't matter whether I ate or starved, I was still 55kg. It was pretty frustrating.
When I first started working out, it went down to 54kg! But then it climbed up, and down, and up, and down, and frankly, I'm sick of it. I quit maths to escape the indoctrination of numbers.
Scales are indiscriminate. They don't care whether you're light or heavy because of the presence or absence of fat, muscle, guts, brain, air...it's all one and the same. But it doesn't work like that. I'm not a walking ball of fat. I'm working out, and I'm feeling good, and I'm looking better. I am not gaining weight, not as fat, anyway, and if my scales don't agree with me then that's the end of our very tempestuous relationship.
My scales are so ancient they should be in a museum - they're one of those tired, world-weary, older-than-thou specimens from your mother's trousseau. It literally throws every number in the book - if you step on it too hard, you'll suddenly gain ten kilos, but I have been known to miraculously become like 30kg if I don't step on it 'right'.
So that is that. I don't care what I weigh anymore. As long as I feel good, and look good, I'm happy; no matter what number the scales throw at me.
My workout at the moment is a half an hour affair, and it's fun. I can't emphasise how much fun it is to just throw yourself into some hardcore stuff for half an hour, and forget about the dramas of school, and study, and exams, and homework, and ball, and boys. I work out with my iPod which has lots of 'workout' playlists that I've made on iTunes: something understated to warm up to, two tracks of weights, two tracks of cardio and two tracks of dancing, and then another quiet track to cool down to. That's eight tracks, which, in this day and age, is about half an hour. It doesn't have to be very accurate.
But my dog hates it. I race up and down the stairs, I run, walk, jog, skip around the house, and she always thinks I'm rushing around to go out (because I normally fly up and down the stairs collecting random things for my school bag/purse when I go out). I dance to music that she can't hear. She spends my entire workout attacking me (when I'm stretching on the floor) or chasing me up and down the stairs on the off chance I'll walk out the door and take me with her.
Dancing is amazingly fun. Our school did a brief stint of Zumba, which is corny but ridiculously fun, but then they made the oh-so-wise decision to start it again halfway during exams, so it was scrapped. Zumba was fun, but also extremely harcore and quite long - two hours - and I was seriously concerned that my heart condition could not put up with it. I'm not a trained dancer - I mean, I did ballet and jazz a long, long time ago in a galaxy far, far away - but any girl can swing her hips to the beat. Bellydancing is soooo much fun, and it makes you feel super good - it unleashes this hidden, don't screw with me Amazon in you, and I love it. It gets my endorphins humming.
But now, that's all out the window.
When I wasn't working out and just Sundowning, I was losing all the surplus weight I gained whilst eating my way through Asia, and that was quick and easy - three kilos in two weeks. But then, it stopped, and it didn't matter whether I ate or starved, I was still 55kg. It was pretty frustrating.
When I first started working out, it went down to 54kg! But then it climbed up, and down, and up, and down, and frankly, I'm sick of it. I quit maths to escape the indoctrination of numbers.
Scales are indiscriminate. They don't care whether you're light or heavy because of the presence or absence of fat, muscle, guts, brain, air...it's all one and the same. But it doesn't work like that. I'm not a walking ball of fat. I'm working out, and I'm feeling good, and I'm looking better. I am not gaining weight, not as fat, anyway, and if my scales don't agree with me then that's the end of our very tempestuous relationship.
My scales are so ancient they should be in a museum - they're one of those tired, world-weary, older-than-thou specimens from your mother's trousseau. It literally throws every number in the book - if you step on it too hard, you'll suddenly gain ten kilos, but I have been known to miraculously become like 30kg if I don't step on it 'right'.
So that is that. I don't care what I weigh anymore. As long as I feel good, and look good, I'm happy; no matter what number the scales throw at me.
My workout at the moment is a half an hour affair, and it's fun. I can't emphasise how much fun it is to just throw yourself into some hardcore stuff for half an hour, and forget about the dramas of school, and study, and exams, and homework, and ball, and boys. I work out with my iPod which has lots of 'workout' playlists that I've made on iTunes: something understated to warm up to, two tracks of weights, two tracks of cardio and two tracks of dancing, and then another quiet track to cool down to. That's eight tracks, which, in this day and age, is about half an hour. It doesn't have to be very accurate.
But my dog hates it. I race up and down the stairs, I run, walk, jog, skip around the house, and she always thinks I'm rushing around to go out (because I normally fly up and down the stairs collecting random things for my school bag/purse when I go out). I dance to music that she can't hear. She spends my entire workout attacking me (when I'm stretching on the floor) or chasing me up and down the stairs on the off chance I'll walk out the door and take me with her.
Dancing is amazingly fun. Our school did a brief stint of Zumba, which is corny but ridiculously fun, but then they made the oh-so-wise decision to start it again halfway during exams, so it was scrapped. Zumba was fun, but also extremely harcore and quite long - two hours - and I was seriously concerned that my heart condition could not put up with it. I'm not a trained dancer - I mean, I did ballet and jazz a long, long time ago in a galaxy far, far away - but any girl can swing her hips to the beat. Bellydancing is soooo much fun, and it makes you feel super good - it unleashes this hidden, don't screw with me Amazon in you, and I love it. It gets my endorphins humming.
Saturday, February 04, 2012
Operation Get Fit: Keep your pants on...
Update: Down to 54kg, and I have lost TWO INCHES off my waist! At the moment I'm roughly 35-28-37. It would be nice to be, oh, I don't know...37-26-37...;P
I have a leetle weetle problem.
I bought most of my pants that I have now in my wardrobe when I was 58kg and my waist was nearly 30 inches. All my other pants were like, girl sizes, for about a 25 inch waist, so they're all gone, baby, gone.
But now, I'm stuck with all these really nice pants that...don't really stay on. Insert inappropriate joke here.
So now I gotta find all my belts ;)
I'm still Sundowning, which is sometimes a challenge (I mean, during CNY that all went out the window ;P) and going back to school and all the running around and stress has been...slimming, to say the least. But, more importantly I've been, rather uncharacteristically...working out.
It's really important in year twelve to stay fit and healthy and, being the nerd that I am (I love all my subjects and can't bear to do badly in any of them) I know how easy it is to get bogged down in study and forget about exercising or eating properly. Every morning I do fifty reverse crunches and five five-second planks, which hurt like hell but wake me up, which is hard to do after a good two months of holidays. Then, every day, I do half an hour of stretching, cardio and weights - on weekends I do an hour. When it's not too hot outside I walk the dog. And, in less than a week of doing this, I've lost half a kilo and an inch off my waist. Not bad, huh?
I have a leetle weetle problem.
I bought most of my pants that I have now in my wardrobe when I was 58kg and my waist was nearly 30 inches. All my other pants were like, girl sizes, for about a 25 inch waist, so they're all gone, baby, gone.
But now, I'm stuck with all these really nice pants that...don't really stay on. Insert inappropriate joke here.
So now I gotta find all my belts ;)
I'm still Sundowning, which is sometimes a challenge (I mean, during CNY that all went out the window ;P) and going back to school and all the running around and stress has been...slimming, to say the least. But, more importantly I've been, rather uncharacteristically...working out.
It's really important in year twelve to stay fit and healthy and, being the nerd that I am (I love all my subjects and can't bear to do badly in any of them) I know how easy it is to get bogged down in study and forget about exercising or eating properly. Every morning I do fifty reverse crunches and five five-second planks, which hurt like hell but wake me up, which is hard to do after a good two months of holidays. Then, every day, I do half an hour of stretching, cardio and weights - on weekends I do an hour. When it's not too hot outside I walk the dog. And, in less than a week of doing this, I've lost half a kilo and an inch off my waist. Not bad, huh?
Stalin Smiles
I walk the streets,
Barely a person,
Let alone a woman.
It is as if ink has
Become my mask;
And note paper my veil,
My identity.
It is as if the sweat on my brow,
Is from a man's labour,
Not a woman's dance.
It is as if the swirl of my gown
Is a smithy's apron,
When I walk,
I march a soldier's march.
Somewhere in hell,
Stalin smiles.
I have become one of the
genderless proletariat.
Barely a person,
Let alone a woman.
It is as if ink has
Become my mask;
And note paper my veil,
My identity.
It is as if the sweat on my brow,
Is from a man's labour,
Not a woman's dance.
It is as if the swirl of my gown
Is a smithy's apron,
When I walk,
I march a soldier's march.
Somewhere in hell,
Stalin smiles.
I have become one of the
genderless proletariat.
Thursday, February 02, 2012
I am glad I was your hone.
But
Shouldn't I get some kind of commission?
I've always found it quite tragic
That when we are mortal
We have nothing to say.
Immortality makes us drunk
And pour out our hearts
But in the real world
You put your armour on
Not afraid of I the alien
But they the comrades.
It is not enough to say sorry
And then continue on as before
But it's okay.
I forget you at the dance of my pen,
And the sway of my hips,
To and fro.
But
Shouldn't I get some kind of commission?
I've always found it quite tragic
That when we are mortal
We have nothing to say.
Immortality makes us drunk
And pour out our hearts
But in the real world
You put your armour on
Not afraid of I the alien
But they the comrades.
It is not enough to say sorry
And then continue on as before
But it's okay.
I forget you at the dance of my pen,
And the sway of my hips,
To and fro.
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