Boundaries

How do you know the boundaries
In foreign territory?

How can I say anything
When you speak in foreign tongues?

I try not to let my paranoia
Colour my opinion of you

But I have all your offences
Lined up against a wall

A wall of pain
I cannot ignore.

I don't know whether I see too much
Or not enough

I don't know whether I know everything
Or nothing, at all

I do not know whether I ask,
And take,
What is due
Or undeserved. 

Forgive me
If I do not know
What is too much
And what is not enough.

Every step towards clarity
Is a step away from you.

We exist in the paradox
Of hypocrisy

We reach turning points
Between nowhere and nothing

But I have learnt, somehow
To tread softly
To pull back

And say sorry.

I do not know how to ask
The same of you. 

I used to think you could see past my insecurities

But all you know of my boundaries
Is that they do not exist...

I let anyone
Do anything

And for all your charms
And for all your kindness

In the end I suffer in silence

How do you know the boundaries
In foreign territory?

How can I say anything
When you speak in foreign tongues?

Click here for a discussion of Boundaries

A Thousand Thousand Fearless Things #33:

Now Playing: Never Let Me Go by Florence + the Machine

#261: All my favourite people ;P

#262: My dilemma

#263: There was nothing wrong with compounded. So nyer to you. 

#264: Exams start tomorrow. Eep.  

#265: How to be brave, how can I love when I'm afraid to fall?

#266: Toothpaste milk

#267: I can feel your eyes on me

#268: Katherine <3

 

The Paradiggim Died

Intellectual property. I don't really understand it, but whatever.

My whinges on the paradiggim will be posted after the school year.

Remission.

Now Playing: Breaking Down by Florence + The Machine

Depression is a little like cancer. You never really get over it; it just goes into remission. For some, it comes back over and over, like waves of a never-ending siege. For others, it just lurks unobtrusively in the background.

When you're depressed you genuinely can't feel happy. Nothing and no-one can make you feel whole and complete and content. Every day is a constant charade, a routine where you have to tell everyone that you're okay, you're getting over it, when you're not. When that goes away for real, suddenly the little things can make you ecstatic. It was exhilarating, after so long without a genuine smile, to feel so wonderfully, blissfully happy.

It's been two or three years since I was really, truly depressed, and I've been able to keep it under control, mostly. But I've never felt the same. When I have bad days now I have really, really bad days. When I'm happy I am euphoric. I feel like my emotions are heightened; I laugh easily and I cry easily. The littlest things can set me off into a downward spiral and I have to constantly check myself, force myself to look at the big picture.

I can't explain the euphoria. I don't do anything halfway, anymore. I don't know how to be just mildly happy. You cannot be moderately dead, or moderately in love, or moderately free; and I can't be moderately happy. I don't know how other people do it.   

The thing that hurt the most is that when I was depressed, and now when I have a bad day, people accused me of being ungrateful. Can't they see that depression is irrational and unreasonable and uncontrollable, and that if I had it my way I would spend my life basking in the glory of all my gifts and privileges and joys in life. But sometimes I just can't, I can't, I can't, and nobody gets that; nobody can see past their own stupid selfishness and realize that it's not that I don't care, but sometimes I simply can't care.

When I was little, and when I was going through rough patches, I wasn't afraid to let people know how I felt. I would pick fights over anything and everything that didn't suit me; I would cry over everything that didn't go my way. I don't know whether it's maturity or insecurity, but I can't do that anymore. I am suddenly so afraid that I get upset over things that are so petty that people will turn away. I don't know what is and isn't justifiable anymore.


I used to be the last person to let bygones be bygones. I used to carry grudges for years and years. And now what has happened? One smile and everything's okay. But everything's not.

I feel like there's a big emotional void. I am so frustrated at people who seem to have no reaction to anything, or anyone; they just pass through life in a state of apathy and indifference and it drives me insane. How can someone not be passionate about anything or anyone; how can they not care about anything? Every action has an equal and opposite reaction, right? Not freaking true. People don't feel anything anymore, and I feel like a freak for still getting angry, for still falling in love, when all these things seem to be out of fashion now. People, relationships, have no constancy anymore, no reliability or accountability. If I do something, or say something, I have no idea how people will react. I spend all my time thinking over what I've done and what I could have done better.

I have never had so much yet needed so much more. Every thrill is matched by something crushing and it's driving me insane. I want all this and heaven, too.

Narcissus

I never understood
Why you paid homage
To spring rains,
And autumn dew;

I never realized why
You loved the winter ice
And cried
When in summer the water dried.

I never knew
Why you would smile
And touch
And whisper, fondly
Why you were obsessed
And enamoured
And broken in my absence.

But you would abandon me for the hunt
For the thrill of the chase
For although water may wax and wane
You have,
In me,
The comfort of time and place.

You are my Narcissus
And I could weep a waterfall
To keep you prisoner, forever
Trapped by your own vanity.

Or I could meander on
And let time dry my tears
On the long and lonely journey
To the end of the world.

Click here for a discussion of Narcissus

A Thousand Thousand Fearless Things #32:

Now Playing: A Thousand Years by Christina Perri

#253: My dear baby brother, you have no idea how much 누나 wishes you were here. 

#254: Last day of school before exams. Good luck, everybody!

#254: A chocolate for the birthday boy

#255: Red glitter nailpolish!

#256: The coldest May morning in a century = me eating breakfast wearing three jumpers and an overcoat. 

#257: I've loved you for a thousand years, and I'll love you for a thousand more.

#258: There's a certain poetry in pain, but mostly it just fucking hurts.

#259: New favourite hair accessory? Chopsticks XD

#260: I want all this and heaven, too

Hardest of Hearts

It is nothing
It is another nothing, again
Another splinter I will have to flick away,
Ignore, and
Smile to spite my tears.

And who am I to complain?
I have not the words
To explain,
To describe
How something so
Offensively, appalingly petty
Can break the hardest of hearts.

So I will smile,
Again,
My empty courtier's grin
I should not like you to know
My every vulnerability.

We are Pyramus and Thisbe
But our wall
And its many cracks
Are of our own making.

You are not as tragic as I
The little things do not touch you
You do not let cause and effect and
Consequence become intertwined.

But you left
Without even saying goodbye.

Inspired by 'Hardest of Hearts' by Florence + The Machine

Click here for a discussion of Hardest of Hearts

Invocation

I do not know
If you are a sanctuary
Or a cage

The guards are just beyond the door
But all is quiet
Between a man and his
Paramour.

I went on a crusade
To invade
Your deepest secrets
And darkest thoughts

But all the while
Unbeknownst to me
You laid siege
To conquer virgin territory. 

You are beautiful
In your own imperfection
You sing to me
In the tongues of the troubadors

But you would make a
Fallen angel
Of an innocent vestal 

You would break
And create a void
In something pure
And white and whole.

I was a fool to think
That nothing,
Not fire, flood, act of God
Would silence my invocation.

But there is no higher order
And no time of reckoning
That can replace

My trembling fear
And spiralling excitement
At this,
The moment of awakening.

So claim your spoils of war
With a violent kiss
Upon virgin lips.

Click here for a discussion of Invocation

A Thousand Thousand Fearless Things #32

Now Playing: Moving to Mars by Coldplay

#253: Why is feminine hygiene always right next to family planning? Why?

#254: Dear baby Elaine: Stay crazy! (and don't you dare lose that cute British accent)

#255: This is ball all over again. I knew I wasn't invited.

#256: Hey sexy? Seriously? No. Just no. 

#257: Cat and mouse. If you seriously think the only thing wrong with the school is the fact I wear tights with shorts...well...

#258: Lonely hearts club ;P

#259: Pain is profound, and humbling in its intensity. 

#260: Teapot + Locker = FAIL

#261: Why are you so *unbelievably* unimaginative???

#262: Gap year, anyone?   

A Thousand Thousand Fearless Things #31

Now Playing: She's So High by Kurt Nilsen

#245: The cutest pics at the theatre with Franca and Claire

#246: Back from the dead, are we?

#247: I wasn't stalking, honest...

#248: Nouveau no poo recipe pour ma mere

#249: iPod screen + buttons died and then came back to life. Whilst it was dead, it froze on Close Every Door. Thank God the sound died as well because otherwise i'd be stuck listening to Donny Osmond forever...

#250: Dear breakout. GO AWAY. 

#251: 'Logic kills imagination.' 
'No it doesn't! That's illogical!'

#252: If you spell T.S. Elliot backwards you can spell TOILET!!!...kinda... 

my normally extremely cynical, dry sense of humour is, um, dying...

You know how I said I LOVE Walk Off The Earth???

New No-Poo Recipe!

Now Playing: Asleep in the Sea by As Tall As Lions ft. Kimbra

Haha new invention cause I...ran out of apple sauce...

Ingredients:

equiv. of 4 teabags. This can be green, black, whatever...tea leaves, fresh or used, tea bags, the tea bags used to make the vinegar rinse, fresh or dried herbs...anything goes.

2 tablespoons each of:
ACV or rosemary acid
White vinegar or lemon juice
Witch hazel or vodka

1 tbsp epsom salts or sea salt
1 tsp cinnamon
3 drops tea tree oil
3 drops argan oil

Vinegar is seriously your hair's best friend. The acidity and the alcohol replaces the harsh detergents in shampoo. The oil is needed to balance overdrying from the salt and argan oil is, I find, the best oil for slightly oily hair; it is very light and non greasy, but moisturizing. Replace with whatever vegetable oil (and in whatever quantities) that suit your hair. Epsom salt is an old housewives remedy for...pretty much anything; medical complaints, skin disorders, fertilizing the garden...fabric softener...it strips product from hair and helps volumize, and, ya'know, it's a fabric softener (sorry if my unscientific thought processes bug you)

Combine and use as normal. Rinse out thoroughly (use a comb! little bits of tea are a nightmare) and use vinegar rinse.

Super messy, but silky soft hair! Happy ;P 

A Thousand Thousand Fearless Things #30

Now Playing: Good Intent (Simlish) by Kimbra

#236: MASSIVE EPIC BREAKOUT. The advice of a self-conscious makeup addict? Just wing it. SMILE. Avoid mirrors ;P

#237: Cesare Borgia XD

#238: I'm so angry, and I'm even angrier that I have no valid reason to be angry. 

#239: Cookies!

#240: Melt my heart with peanut butter :P

#241: 3 versions of Two Way Street...why is that the MAGIC number???

#242: You, uh...left without your bag...

#243: Listening to bad 90s music (she's so HIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIGH high above me, she's so lovely, she's so HIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIGH, my Cleopatra, Joan of Arc and Aphrodite) An immortal bitten by a snake on fire???

#244: In times of war recklessness, intensity, is justified. In times of peace, you get institutionalized.

  

Theatre Bug.

Now Playing: She's So High by Kurt Nilsen 

I love the theatre. I love dressing up. I love seeing everyone dressed up.

Well, that's not entirely true. I don't understand why boys wear jeans to the theatre.

I love that the action is there, right there, that you're watching something raw. I mean, I know it's rehearsed and all of that, but it's the first take. It's imperfect, it's beautiful.

Yesterday I went with a few friends to watch National Interest at the Heath Ledger Theatre. This is the second theatre excursion our school has organized; a little while back all the year twelve lit students went to watch Arcadia, which was amazing. The school had THIRTY FREE TICKETS, but I rather doubt thirty people showed up. Which is ridiculous. I don't understand people who give up opportunities like this for study. I mean, it's like not taking the Golden Ticket to Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory because you have a Maths Specialist test the next day.

National Interest was pretty intense; it is a play commissioned to tell a very different perspective of the Balibo Five, which is a very dark and murky chapter of Australian history. It's a very political play, but also a very personal one; very well done, but a very...intense experience. Definitely not for the faint hearted, but it's a very moving story and it was very well done. Highly recommended.

A Thousand Thousand Fearless Things #29

#229: Dancing around in my pjs singing What Makes You Beautiful

#230: Simlish

#231: Hehehe...now it's broken, now it ain't. 

#232: Theatre was amazing! All the girls dressed up, all the boys wore jeans...

#233: If I let myself think of all your offences against me, I would have great cause to hate you

#234: Variations (or I am very boring when it comes to music): I have three versions each of Good Intent, Turning Tables, Somebody That I Used to Know, Breaking Down, Fix You, Love The Way You Lie, Teardrops On My Guitar, Viva la Vida and, ahem...five versions of Wavin' Flag...

#235: Standing at the theatre waiting for a lift home was humbling; it reminded me how scary the city is and how very very little I am. 

Respect.

Respect is much like love. One cannot exist without the other, and both cannot exist unless they are two-way streets.

There are things that you will never understand - about me, yourself, about life and love. You have never respected me, you have never been taught to respect someone like me, it has never occurred to you that you ought to respect me. When you lose your respect for people you feel you ought to respect, you take it out on me. I could have been there to comfort and sympathise with you, but I deserve better than to just be someone you can vent your anger on. Everything nice you say about me you say to other people; to my face when you are not angry you are indifferent. You blow the most trivial things into the most ridiculous proportions, you jump to conclusions and lose your temper at even the prospect of anything not going entirely your way. You would not do that to someone you truly loved and respected. And because of that, I cannot respect you. You cannot respect someone who has hurt you so deeply and thinks nothing of it. It is not your right to do all that you have done to me. It is no excuse that you don't understand what you do, or that you would not be hurt if you were in my position, because it is I who is in this position and it is me that is always getting hurt.

When I was younger you were my world. I wanted to talk to you, get to know you, learn to love and respect you. I wanted you to talk to me, so we could have an understanding, that I would never doubt your love and respect for me even when things got difficult between us. But you were always telling me to be quiet. Why can't you understand? I need to talk, and you were the person I needed to talk to most of all. I have been raised by other people, and those people taught me to talk and to argue and to have my own opinions and stand my ground and I know no other way. Other people have accepted that, and love me for it. I have never had the assurance that you will always be there for me no matter what. I doubt you and your love every day. Even when you smile at me, try and talk to me, all I can remember of you is your temper, and how  you never apologise for it. Some nights I wake in fear because I think I hear you yelling. You have mistaken fear for respect and drilled it into me. I cannot love or respect someone I am so afraid of. 

I am sorry I have failed you. I am sorry I am not all that you think I should be.

And so now I am quiet. My life is my own. I have nothing to say to you. I am grateful for what you have given and all you have sacrificed, and my admiration for you remains unchanged, but I have learned that I have to share my secrets, my joys, my fears, with other people, and one day I'll find someone to love as much as I wanted to love you. I am quiet, just as you always wanted.

We are flesh and blood, but no more.      

No Poo Update.

Now Playing: 'Dick Turpin: Highwayman' by Horrible Histories

No-poo is still going good. Random hair moulting thing is gradually going away. Shampoo free for about...hmm...three months.

ROSEMARY ACID:

...is amazing. Everyone should try it. It gets better as it gets older. When I started running out I put in a few stalks of rosemary (and thyme, which I had picked for a roast) and topped it up with some fresh ACV. I'm hoping that the old rosemary will just disintigrate and I won't have to worry about it, but, ya'know...biology was never really my strong point.

TEANESS:

I stopped using basil because my supply kind of died on me ;P. Plain tea brewed for at least half an hour works just fine.

OIL:

I've given up on coconut oil. My sister, who has drier hair and uses normal shampoo, uses the coconut oil as a hair mask, but rubbing vegetable fat in my hair clearly doesn't do much other than make me into a female Snape. I add a couple of drops of argan oil to both the shampoo and the rinse, which makes my hair really soft but not greasy.

OATS:

I used to use half rolled oats, half oat bran, and then I tried putting rolled oats in the blender. Didn't really work. Now I just use oatbran, which is much less troublesome. Incidentally, I make actual porridge (as in, a stirrabout you can actually eat) by cooking 1 roughly chopped apple until soft, and then adding equal quantities (about 1/4 cup) of rolled oats, oat bran, water and milk. Yummy.

BABY POWDER:

I am amazingly impressed on how well the recipes below have handled my hair, which can be lovely and fluffy and soft in the morning and slicker than an oil rig by the afternoon. A trick for this is applying baby powder with a fluffy brush on dry hair (at night, to avoid a granny look). This is a time-tested trick for day-old hair, but also works really well to keep hair clean even if you spend all day playing with it (like I do :P)

TIMESAVER (aka should have thought of this before...):

When I previously said that applesauce is easy to wash out, I was using a brand that was pureed to oblivion. Now I'm using a slightly grainier applesauce, so when I use the applesauce or oats recipe I use a comb under running water to get the little bits out.

FACE PAMPER:

No-poo face wash :P For all face types, but will help with dryness, acne, oil balancing, acne scars. Removes makeup. I previously tried using tea (green and black) but it stains a lot.)

1 teaspoon each of:
Oat bran
Applesauce
Rosemary acid
Honey
Raw Sugar

Plus:
3 drops argan oil
3 drops tea tree oil
Pinch of cinnamon

Almost the same gel consistency of store-bought scrubs, but eco friendly. The synthetic beads of commercial face scrubs are known as 'mermaid tears' and cause great damage to our waterways. Sugar, on the other hand, is completely water soluble.

Current recipes (they keep changing!)

Rinse/Detangler:

2 black teabags
3 drops argan oil
3 drops tea tree oil
1/4 cup rosemary acid

 Steep teabags for at least 1/2 an hour. Add oils and acid.

Honey/Sugar Scrub (my favourite):

2 tbsp rosemary acid
1 tsp cinnamon
1/2 cup raw sugar
1 tbsp raw honey
3 drops tea tree oil
3 drops argan oil
Witch hazel

Oat Shampoo:

4 tbsp oat bran
2 tbsp rosemary acid
1 tsp cinnamon
3 drops tea tree oil
3 drops argan oil
Witch hazel

Stir with hot water to achieve desired consistency. This is a BITCH to wash out, but worth it. Hair feels kind of manky when damp, but dries fine.

Applesauce Shampoo:

4tbsp applesauce
2 tbsp rosemary acid
1 tsp cinnamon
3 drops tea tree oil
3 drops argan oil
Witch hazel

Make your own or make sure it's at least 90% apples. (the cheapest is from Holland, for some bizarre reason) 


 

A Thousand Thousand Fearless Things #28

Now Playing: The Borgia Family by Horrible Histories

#222: Cesare Borgia. At least you're more interesting than the boys at school.

#223: Running up and down the corridors with my glasses yelling 'Can you see me? Can you see me?' is...infantile, but endearing ;P

#224: THEATRE TOMORROW OMG

#225: For a physics nerd you don't really seem to understand Newton's Third Law very well. 

#226: 'You should, like, be more Asian...'

#227: People who brick themselves in achieve nothing

#228: It's lonely here on higher ground.

 
 

Higher Ground.

Do you remember
Our far-flung little corner
Of our tiny universe?

The steps
We tramped up and down and up and down

Children masquerading like
Mummers in a game of love.

It still smells the same
The same chemical tang 
of disappointment
and fresh paint

But now I cannot remember how it used to be
I cannot feel you in my heart anymore.

Now I have no time,
No place,
No reason

To think of what could have been.

Time is unstoppable, and
Change is inevitable

I did what any child would have done when
I fled to higher ground.

I'm still Penelope
Weaving and unweaving
But my heart is for others to break now.

Click here for a discussion of Higher Ground.

losing face.

Now Playing: Lucifer by SHINee

I say the same thing to everyone: English and English Literature are two completely different, yet equal, subjects. I do both, I love both, and I am good at both; but I am better at English not because English is easier, it simply suits me better.

People don't understand my complete dedication to the English language and literature. Every day I thank whatever's out there for my gifts; Catherine II herself couldn't master poetry, and was deeply disappointed. In English I accept nothing less than the best of the best of myself; I've done it, and I know I can do it. It is a part of everything I am. I think in prose, I dream in poetry. Without my words I am nothing, I know that. I am not particularly remarkable in any other way.

And so I'm not obsessing over numbers. When I say I'm disappointed at a 70% or 80% I genuinely am disappointed, not because a 90% means much to me, but because it is a mark of what I know I can do. In my life there has been nothing more disappointing than knowing I could have done better; is that not the primary root of discontent when you fail in anything in life and love? If someone else can do well, I can do well, too. I'm not driven by blind ambition; I know that I will not become any better or more beautiful based on what marks I get. All I want is everything. 

I'm not afraid of failure. I'm not afraid of being wrong. I'm afraid of being mediocre. 

Oh, and by the way, between boys and books I would in all honesty choose the latter ;P

A Thousand Thousand Fearless Things #27:

Now Playing: Strangeness and Charm by Florence + The Machine 

#214: I could have spent an eternity just talking to you. 

#215: Casually killing trees in the name of indoctrination education 

#216: It's a bit like being held by a rock. 

#217: Florence + The Machine are coming to Perth tomorrow!....not that I'm going, it just seems a bit more exciting than the impending doom of the massive onslaught of assessments.  

#218: I'll pretend to feel nothing and want nothing

#219: I can't wait until next year. Next year I'll watch every play I can afford, and see who I like when I like, on my terms. 

#220: 'You know when you're little and you like someone, so you tell your friends who tell his friends who tell him, and so through word of mouth the boy you like somehow gathers that you like him? Well Aegina complained to Corcyra to complain to Athens, who just happened to be in Sparta that day...

#221: Listening to One Direction in Ancient History.

The Lonely Hearts Club

Now Playing: 'Seven Devils' by Florence + The Machine

My school is the kind of school where everyone comes from everywhere.

Public transport is more than just, well, transport - it's a social thing. Every day the conversation starts sat the lockers, and ebbs and flows as people drift down the stairs to the various stations and stops.

I don't like public transport.

It just seems to me to be a collossal waste of time. My route home is so inefficient it takes two hours to complete a journey that takes about 20 minutes in a car. I don't really object to walking uphill with a super heavy bag (have you tried running in a school skirt with a bag on your back? You feel like an obese turtle) - okay, I kind of do - but the bit that bugs me is that it's so nonsensical. I only use public transport when I have to.

The people who get picked up are a motley bunch. It's mostly scared year eights who are so small they'd probably get swallowed up and eaten alive by rush hour. Or lazy Asians, like me.

It's hilarious, the conversations we have in The Lonely Hearts Club. I mostly ask my year eleven friends how they're going, give them tips, freak them out about year twelve. It's not the most deep and meaningful forum of discussion hence...The Lonely Hearts Club.

One of the many things that is annoying me about year twelve is that nobody really has time to talk to anyone at all; any conversation not about school, or marks, or whatever is regarded as a waste of time. We're still living, you know, still getting older; just because we live in a paradox doesn't mean that the real world has gone on a holiday to the Bahamas. I just want time to freeze and let me run out of the classroom, grab someone by the hand, sit them down and say 'right. TALK.'

Some people ask me how I have so much time to blog. I don't. I don't have time to eat or sleep either, but it's just one of the many things I have to do. I'd go mad without my blog, really. Because my life is so filled with missed opportunities, shoulda-woulda-couldas, so many things I wish I could say to so many people.

At least, when I am frustrated and wound up by discontent, I can say them here. 

 

The Hardest Part

Should I strike down the infidel
Or sacrifice the heathen inside me?

I pay the price
My lips crack, bleed
When I smile.

The hardest part
Is the spring in my step
The absent courtier's grin

It brings tears to my eyes
I'm no good at this disguise

I could feel it go down
And I could not help but be mesmerised
It was beautiful in its tragedy
It reminded me of you.

The hardest part
Is losing you
Letting go

I cry without a sound
When I scream nobody can hear me drown

I was on my knees
And nobody came.

Will you be my Judas?
Or just a thousand Peters
Nobody stayed with me in my final hour.

The worst kind of people
Do not do bad deeds
They watch
As bad deeds are done unto others.  

You could see the blade
Glisten in the sun

The hardest part
Was that I wasn't scared
And nobody cared.

The last words on my
Cracked bleeding lips
Is your cracked bleeding lullaby

I'm sorry.

Inspired by The Hardest Part by Coldplay

Click here for a discussion of The Hardest Part

A Thousand Thousand Fearless Things #26

Now Playing: 'Breaking Down (Acoustic)' by Florence + The Machine

#204: WOMAN! CONTROL YOUR HOMONES!

#205: You'll never know how your smile breaks my heart 

#206: I spent the whole day playing cat and mouse. FML.

#207:Strange things happen in theatres

#208: Pouting over a swollen lip would be somewhat counterproductive, right?

#209: 'And the Spartans may help, but the Spartans may be doing religion that day...'

#210: Why are all the seedy boys in my form? I'm not complaining, though. 

#211: I HAAAAAVE...three versions of Turning Tables. And Breaking Down. WE-IRD. 

#212: I'm regressing. I read a little bit of Breaking Dawn a few nights ago. 

#213: The western women writer fighters: Elizabeth of England, Christina of Sweden, Catherine of Russia. 

A Thousand Thousand Fearless Things #25

Now Playing: 'Bedroom Hymns' by Florence + The Machine

#193: My music snobs. 

#194: Florence + The Machine

#195: Taller people don't always have the edge

#196: You is smart. You is kind. You is important. 

#197: Cristy (and the Stumpy Song) is back!

#198: Could you make it less...whiney?

#199: Just put it in a blender! (whatever you say, Jubbsy, whatever you say)

#200: Do I look like a cat to you? 

#201: Are you at any point gonna turn on your computer and write something, or is that not how you roll? 

#202: You mean far too much to me for me to give a damn 

 ..More to come.

 

sweet.

Now Playing: 'Wherever You Will Go' by The Calling

When I was about eight to thirteen a few people I know started families, and I developed a bit of a reputation of being the girl who loved babies; the most eager (and cheap) babysitter around. Now, all those kids are growing up, and I'm starting to feel...old. 

I love little kids. I love how sweet and innocent they are. I love how that careful element of cool calculation is blissfully missing with every word, hug, kiss on the cheek. Teenagers...teenagers scare me, because they're so passive-aggressive; passively indifferent and aggressively emotional, all at once. It drives me insane.

I love simpler times, simpler people. Little people who can  be enthralled enough by a story about a witch living in my closet to stay out of places that they shouldn't go to.

And it's pretty hilarious, some of the stuff that comes out of their mouths.

Pour exemple....

'I'm never gonna get married coz if you get married you have to kiss people like actually kiss people like this OM OM OM OM and that's really yucky i'm only ever gonna kiss my mummy and my daddy...'

Ahhh...youth...

solitaire and the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad week.

Now Playing: 'Never Let Me Go' by Florence + The Machines

Apparently I am very good at dodging questions.

Never occured to me before. I suppose I've just had lots of practice in the art of conversation. And when I want to, I can lie flawlessly.

Why is it that all the boys I talk to are taken? Not that I want any of them - or supposed to want any of them, anyway -  it's just a strange thing that they all have in common. Even stranger that it's those who are spoken for that are the best flirts. Maybe I'm not Jackie; maybe I'm Marilyn. Oooh...scary thought.

But I think it's safe to say that this talent of mine is overidden terribly by my extreme vulnerability to things like flattery.

I'm not always the best at turning a conversation in my favour, though. How many times have people apologised, called themselves terrible things, promised me over and over that they'll make up for it and all I could do was brush over it when all I wanted to do was agree and drive the point home?

I cannot hurt those who hurt me. I only ever end up hurting those who meant no harm.

I suppose it's rather disconcerting to some that someone like me can get so much enjoyment out of little games. I spend a good deal of time crying over them later, but I'm the sort of person who kind of gets caught up in the moment sometimes. You just...can't get that kind of fun out of textbooks, if you get what I mean. And that's all you remember, really, all you remember are the little giggles and the exhilarating shiver down your spine; the pain is just a little memory trigger.

Besides, I have more...real sources of pain to worry about. You know how I'm always boasting that I'm a cyborg? Actually...it kind of sucks. If you want to know why, take a razor sharp wire, and jab it somewhere unimportant, but fucking painful. It's the kind of pain where you can't speak, can't breathe, can't do anything, really. 

But it's okay, I can handle that. Because that kind of thing provokes some kind of response; sympathy, usually, and aid - people willing to try and end my pain rather than prolonging it at my expense.

The sooner men accept PMS as a valid excuse to be a little bit out of it, the better the relationship between the sexes will be. God knows I've put up with enough pseudo-PMS and some thoroughly non-pseudo consequences of such from boys. I made an honest mistake that day, a mistake anyone would have made if, I don't know, if a classroom's fucking empty and all the lights are fucking switched off and there's a note on the fucking door. And what exactly is the problem with standing outside the library for a grand total of about three minutes? I fail to see what the big deal was that you had to give me that much crap about it.

You know, there are some really nice boys out there. Boys who lend me pens and buy me drinks. There is nothing remotely appealing about the boy I know for a fact spent most of high school messing around before suddenly becoming all intellectual and picking up Ancient History in an attempt to be sophisticated; the kind of boy who spews economics and politics he barely understands in an effort to seem cultured. I am cultured, okay? I always have been; for me, at least, it's not a charade. You look like a shark out of water and you have the attitude to match, you're foul and your friends are worse, and as someone once put it, it's an idiot who pisses me off.

But back to PMS. Why are people so goddamn squeamish about this? Sure, it's blood and sex and babies, but it's a little hypocritical that we live in such a gun-happy, polluted shithole but all the taboos are normal, natural things.

Periods are routine. They come, you cry, you get over it. Girls talk about it all the time - it's only boys that are babies about it. It's only boys who are horrified at the prospect, treat you like you've got the plague. I've been there, done that, you know - when I was eleven the boys ran around the playground screaming that I'd gotten my period; when I was fourteen a (rather pathetic) pickpocket saw a colourful plastic wrapper in my bag and opened it for everyone to see.

I'm not afraid to talk about it. Because whether I talk about it or not, it happens, and I have to deal with it. PMS isn't a contaigious disease, and it's definitely not something made up. And now that some things have started rolling and other things have not, it's kind of like turning on the gas when the ignition is broken. So take my advice; give me some space, don't follow me, and unless you want me to write your full name and address and all your dirty laundry in bold font on this blog, from now on do not. piss. me. off.

You know what's hilarious? Boy bitch fights. I didn't even know they existed; they always used to say that boys simply didn't give enough shit to be bitchy; I didn't know that one boy could have a moral objection to another and that that boy would take umbrage at that. And it's delightfully hilarious to know both sides of the story, if you don't mind me saying.

I would like to say that if there was an off switch for all of this, I'd take it. I'd be numb and apathetic and indifferent to everything and everyone, just like everyone else is. Sometimes I think I wish I could pretend that things meant nothing to me, that people and places don't affect me the way that they do. But there's a reason why I haven't jumped off this rather confusing and sometimes heartbreaking rollercoaster. Most of it is because I can't. But some of it is because I don't want to.

So there you go. That was a very confusing, non-linear discussion of my strange week of very good highs and very bad lows; in lieu of a much more boring recount of all the things that made me laugh like a madwoman and burst into tears.

A Thousand Thousand Fearless Things #24

Now Playing: Ain't Staying Alive (The Aztec Priests) by Horrible Histories

#187: It's kind of like turning on the gas when the ignition is broken. Eventually, some tiny spark is going to make a big bang

#188: What are you guys talking about? NOOOOOTHING!!!!!!

#189: Dear future child: you just made me cry over being five seconds late for politics class. Thanks a bunch, pal. 

#190: When in doubt, wear vintage. 

#191: That horrible moment when you thought you came top in psych, only to realize that...half the class came top, too...

#192: Unfortunate side effect of being a cyborg: Wires. Fucking. Hurt.

...More to come. 

the second loss of innocence

Now Playing: The Hardest Part by Coldplay

They say the first loss of innocence is when you realize your parents aren't God.

True. It's a little shattering when you realize that your parents aren't perfect.

But the second loss of innocence? When you realize that love isn't enough.

I think I'm losing the idealist in me. And it's for that I cry.

I used to think that love can conquer all. That all you needed was to love someone, and if things were meant to be, they would love you back and everything would all fall in place. It's given me great patience and courage, the quiet thought that my love can make miracles.

But I've realized that it's not enough. I can love someone beyond reason, and even if he somehow, someday, somewhere, returned the favour, it wouldn't be enough. I understand now, how and why people can walk away even from those they love dearly. It is strange to never have had much at all but to realize that you need so, so much more.

Nobody has ever tried harder to make things work. Not just what people think I want - I'm not even sure I want it anymore - but even a simple friendship has just become beyond complicated. Every day I fall asleep knowing that I need more, I want more, from someone, anyone. Every day how I think and feel drains so much from me and I get so little in return.

When we've escaped the prison of high school and the undeniable influence of distorted reality and petty playground politics, what will happen? Now is not the time and place to forget anyone, not when with every step you take away from someone is a step towards someone else. But what happens next?

Maybe, later, we will be the kind of friends that I want to be. But maybe all I'll have are a few precious memories. And I'll be okay with that, either way. There is a difference between losing and letting go.

A Thousand Thousand Fearless Things #23

Now Playing: Wuthering Heights by Hayley Westenra

#176: Hormonal spatz No. 521996: blubbering into Claire's shoulder over nothing.

#177: Mock trials. In which I play a man and he plays a woman.

#178: Getting lost in the city (Supreme Court? I thought you said London Court!)

#179: 'I wash my windows every day. Sometimes twice.'

#180: I'll buy you a drink

#181: SUGAR RUSH!!!

#182: You just lost your witginity! (????)

#183: 'Tom, stop staring, you haven't got a chance with a Penrhos girl' 

#184: What an intelligent ex I have

#185: The Great Feud of 12H

#186: Oh God, I miss my Porsche...

...More to come. 

quod me nutrit me destruit

I have said
What I shouldn't have said

And I have never uttered
Half of what I should have told you.

What do you do
When the cure is worse than the disease?

I curse my own naievete

You've chained
metoyou
With my own vulnerability

You saved me from fire
Only to trap me in ice.

And I cannot walk away from nothing
There is nothing to ignite
And everything to ignore
And I'm too in love to let it go. 

Next time,
I swear
I'll be braver
I'll be my own saviour

I am indebted
Eternally

But the price is not worth the pain.

The most important thing I've ever learned.

Now Playing: 'All I Ask of You' from The Phantom of the Opera 

One of the most important things that I've learned is learning to accept compliments graciously.

When I was younger I was taught - by society - to immediately dispute any compliment. Pretty? I look like a troll. Good at writing? Jesus, this is nothing. Talented at piano? I'm no prodigy.

Which, I thought, was pretty standard. But now I know, from experience, that when you pay someone a compliment the best thing in return is a gracious answer. A smile, a nod, a thank you, a compliment in return.

Easy.

And since learning this, I've learned to really find joy in even the smallest compliment. Too often we take umbrage at compliments, because we feel like we're forced to deny something, or heap favours onto someone. Why are we so scared of our natural gifts? It's not a crime to be good at something, or to look a certain way. And if somebody notices, then, well, isn't that a good thing?

I don't know. Nothing melts my heart more than flattery; which is bad, I know. But a little compliment never did anybody any harm. Especially if you know how to handle it.

Now Playing: Balbambalbam by Hong Gwang Ho

How do you dance with someone?

I don't actually know how to dance; not properly, anyway. I know (vaguely) those weird barnyard dances that they forced us to learn in primary school, but since when are two people expected to move in sync with each other?

I've done my fair share of snowballing. It's not that fun. I remember in primary school at discos all the girls used to chase the boys relentlessly (and rather fruitlessly) for a dance. Ah, memories.

First off, I have a rather annoying penchant for crushing on the most popular of boys, who, bien sur, dance with the most popular of girls. More often than not I find myself awkwardly swaying from side to side in the arms of a gangly, nervous dude with a twitch, a constant babble of nonesensical mutter and sweaty hands. I swear to God, if I don't get one decent slow dance before graduation I'm going to cry.

Where are you supposed to look? I'm about a head shorter than most guys I know, even in heels, and it is *unbearably awkward* to look up and...gaze into a pair of eyes that are floating somewhere in the stratosphere above your head. I normally end up looking at my feet, at my feet stepping on his feet, or over my shoulder trying to see my friends.

Which has other problems, of course, because it's always me that ends up surrounded by snogging couples. AWKWARD.

 Do you talk? Don't you talk? What do you talk about? Is it polite or insensitive if he starts talking over your head to other people? (actually, people do that to me a lot.)

Why is it in sixteen years that I haven't had one, proper, non-cringeworthy dance????

New iPod. Is Pink. Much Love.

Now Playing: 'On the Street Where You Live' from My Fair Lady

My iPod died a few weeks ago. After what seems like an eternity of wrestling my iPod to behave, enduring countless people unplugging my earphones and metaphorically marooning me on a desert island of silence, I have a PINK iPOD. OMG.

Obviously, my male friends have given me a little bit of crap for that.

My favourite colour used to be purple. I used to go ape shit over purple. If I saw something purple I'd get that kind of stomach turning, shivers-down-the spine thing that now I've come to associate with hugs, intelligent conversation, flirting, six packs, boys in general, heart shaped lips and falling in love. Overreaction much, you may think, but hey, back in the day if a man caught sight of a lady's ankles it was considered deliciously rique. Innocence makes everything exciting.

My favourite colour changed to red at some point. I love the boldness of red. I love how it's good and evil, comfort and danger, masculine and feminine. Enigmatic.

I used to be very anti pink. I don't know why I like pink now. As in, I don't wear head to toe pink and I'm definitely more red lipstick than pink gloss, but I love the prettiness and femininity of pink. Then again, I used to be very anti-boys (gotta love the boygerms stage) but obviously the tables have turned on that, too...

It's fascinating how taste in music changes over time. And I have different phases, too.I was huge into Taylor Swift for a long time, and Paramore, and then I fell in love with Kimbra and all her wacky wonderful weirdness. And I've loved Coldplay since I stumbled across Viva la Vida about two years too late (as you do), but it's only been relatively recently that I dug through some of their old stuff to find a few things I like. I think I only have five complete albums; all of Taylor Swift plus the Deluxe Edition of Speak Now and LeftRightLeftRightLeft, which is Coldplay's free live album thingo. I remember back in the day when you would put on a record (okay, I don't remember that far back), or a CD, and listen to the whole thing from beginning to end, but I don't think we have that kind of allegiance or dedication in music anymore. I mean, I don't see music in terms of albums anymore; just artists, really. I have 60 Taylor Swift songs and 33 Coldplay songs and once you click shuffle it's like one continuous experience. I love how modern technology really lets you mix and match with music. I've got everything from Britney Spears to Danse Macabre.

There are some people who treat music much like we treat fashion - nothing's 'good' or 'bad' just 'in' and 'out'. And I do that, to a certain extent - I have heaps and heaps of miscellaneous pop songs that I just found rather catchy. But good music is good music whether it was made yesterday or fifty years ago, don't you think? You can't think of music as being in season, old fashioned or timeless classics. I can't, anyway.

I know there plenty of musical snobs who think that they're somehow more enlightened than I am because they listen to things nobody has ever heard of. But that's okay. My music is me.

smile.

Now Playing: 'Good Intent' by Kimbra

A stupid side effect of being a lit freak is that I read into things far, far too much.

Which makes me borderline neurotic, slightly paranoid and very sensitive. And it's also why I like things that other people aren't generally a fan of - sarcasm, pour exemple, and flirting. I love flirts. They're the best people around.

There are lots of people I just perceive as being surly/pissed/whatever when they're, ya know, probably not. But immediately a swirl of negative thoughts rear up ugly - was it something I did? Something I said? Something I wrote on my blog? What???

It takes me a little while to step back, realize that people are human, that I'm a psycho sensitive person, and move on.

Honesty. Honesty is the best policy. I don't like people who are too hard to read. I am super easy to read. I laugh, cry, scream - everything is big and loud and open. I don't know how to live any other way. The only time when I'm not like this is when I'm subdued, with both earphones in, listening to an endless stream of Coldplay and Paramore.

I hate how my feelings are so heavily controlled by other people. A long time ago in a galaxy far far away I was a gung-ho superchild; a spunky little kid who didn't give a shit about anything but my beloved Harry Potter books. I know that as a writer I'm supposed to be able to translate every word, every nuance, every tic and habit; but I feel like I'm writing it into my psyche, and it's not really healthy.

Part of it is me. I am the epitome of bubbly at school but privately I am a bit too judgemental and cynical. I can tear someone to pieces in a heartbeat, and I'm secretly terrified if other people do that? Do other people whinge about me to their mom from the front seat? Do other people laugh at me over dinner? It torments me, but I suppose it's a taste of my own medicine? Well, not really, because I doubt it ever occurs to anyone else.

It's an insecurity, I know. But my faith has been shaken, and I don't know if I'll ever have a relationship without these kind of insecurities. It's especially challenging because I'm trying so hard to be myself, to be brave and not censor anything. On the plus side, it doesn't take much to make me giggle and be happy; seriously, sometimes I'll babble to my mother about he said this, she did that and she's like 'seriously? You're over the moon because of that?'. A smile, a hello, a hug, a conversation, a hair ruffle...sometimes I feel like these things are underrated.

Which is why I'm never too tired to hug goodbye or wave. Because I know, somewhere, there's someone out there as bonkers as I am that just needs a smile to make everything okay.

A Thousand Thousand Fearless Things #22

Now Playing: 'Monster' by Paramore

#165: 159cm. I'm a freaking Ewok.

#166: I didn't know my Kotex calendar predicted your PMS as well as mine...

#167: Mademoiselle Claire's casual mental collapse

#168: The multilingual, politically incorrect technicolour minger. Happy 17th, Callistina

#169: My favourite song ;P

#170: Lush.

#171: purple earrings

#172: There are definite pros of the company of the fucking mother fucker you're so fond of

#173: Easter chai

#174: Cougal

#175: Is it sad that the only appeal of Melbourne U is the HOGWARTS HALL????

Big World

Now Playing: 'Cameo Lover' by Kimbra

It's a big world, you know.

Schools would love you to think that the only things that matter in this world is the number on your essays, and what university you're going to go to next year. In primary school, all that counted was the colour of the ribbon you were going to win, or whether or not you handed in your spelling homework.

Why has nobody ever stepped back and realized that, in the grand scheme of things, none of this matters?

It is easy to get caught up in the small-mindedness of the enigma of school. God knows how many panic attacks I've had because of that. It's only when I step back and realize that it's all okay, everythings okay, all is as it should be, that I can find tranquility.

I never handed in my year seven reading homework. So shoot me. It's hardly going to be the headline on gossip magazines.

We are so small, so insignificant. Our problems are so insignificant. Why is our reaction always completely disproportionate to the problem at hand?

random questions on hair

Now Playing: 'Steer' by Missy Higgins

My friends, incidentally, think that I'm bonkers because I wash my hair with...potions.

But I'm good with that ;P

Here are some of the common/weird questions I've gotten.

Don't you attract wildlife? 

Why do we only connect hygiene and cleanliness with toxic chemicals? My hair is clean. The oats I'll admit is a bit of a bitch to wash out, but sugar and honey and applesauce are completely water soluble. My hair smells like nothing once its dry...well, maybe occasionally it'll smell like cinnamon. When it's a bit damp it just smells like apple pie; which you have to admit is pretty cool.

Vinegar? Really???

I have given myself contact burns on occasion with vinegar; random red streaks on my skin that disappear within half an hour. But vinegar is really important in maintaining the ph balance of the hair, and is a natural detangler that makes your hair all soft and nice. And once your hair is completely dry there's no trace of vinegar smell.  

Isn't your hair oily/frizzy/dry/rough/nasty/disgusting/etc?

Bahahaha no...I've only just found out recently that most hair and scalp problems are caused by improper ph balance; this is the theory behind acid conditioners. Hair is typically 'happy' between 4-7 on the ph scale, which is acidic to neutral. I only have two 'conditioning' ingredients in my potion - honey, which is a humectant, and a few drops of argan oil. The rest of the nice stuff is just by maintaining an acidic ph and letting my hair do its thing. My hair is the best it's ever been; it only gets a tad greasy because I keep playing with it...

Didn't you survive using shampoo?

Of course I did. I've dyed my hair, used endless amounts of hairspray and gel and mouse, curled it to oblivion, tried every single brand of shampoo and conditioner out there; been there, done that. I'm not saying you'll die of shampoo. I'm just saying that it's not very good for you and that there are better ways to wash your hair. Shampoo in China, for example, have traces of carcinogens in it, and chemicals in shampoo have been linked to birth defects.

Cinnamon and tea won't actually help with dandruff/hairloss...

We live in a world where we expect immediate results without caring about the consequences and side effects, and everything has to be 200% scientifically proven before we believe anything . Natural remedies take time, but I'm convinced that by only using natural ingredients and freshly-made potions I'm doing my hair a favour.   

Isn't it massively time consuming?

Yes and no. I have all the ingredients where I need them. The rosemary vinegar did need two weeks to steep, but it took about five seconds to make it and then forget about it. When I get home the first thing I do is steep two bags of tea. The shampoo only takes about five minutes to make; I just do it all before I go up to the bathroom. Oh, and did I mention it's really, really, really fun?

Why three recipes?

Variety? Well, not really. There are pros and cons for each recipe I use. The oats give amazing gloss and shine, but washing it out is pretty hardcore and it might damage my hair if I do it every day. I think the honey/sugar scrub is best and cleansing (no more scritching, which was pretty gross), but honey mixes with water to create oxygen bleach that is slowly lightening my hair; which is not bad, but not something that I want to happen too rapidly. Applesauce is best for softness, but some consider it more as a detox than something to be used every day. A little bit of everything.  

But you had nice hair anyway...

...erm...no...

A Thousand Thousand Fearless Things #21

Now Playing: 'Close Every Door' by Ryan Bunney

#155: C'est tres jolie, ma petite

#156: Helping a friend in need

#157: It's funny that we disagree on anything and everything but we both like the same Coldplay album.   

#158: Tights and shorts

#159: Hello, darling!

#160: Playing in the rain

#161: Metaphorically weeing on a locker???

#162: Why does my Kotex calendar feel like the harbinger of doom?

#163: Jubbsy hugs!

#164: I've run out of peanut butter :( 

#165: Right on cue, Yellow comes on XD

...More to come.  

a paradoxical paradiggim of prejudice.

Now Playing: 'Speak Now' by Taylor Swift

'Justice is a male...para...diggim. What's a paradiggim?'

Just another fantasically talented student of Perth Modern School.

Part of being a writer is being a shameless, nosy, eavesdropper. So I sidled closer to hear this particular conversation, hoping for a giggle. Instead I felt quite burned by what they said about my work, which had been tacked onto the wall. Here they were, a bunch of ignorant tools who don't even know what a paradigm is, making the person who came top in English feel like dirt. I mean, how is that fair?

Whenever I won anything in primary school, I was always told to keep it under wraps. They didn't want the other children to feel hurt, they said. But I've realized it's the sore losers who do more damage than a stuck-up winner ever could. 

I hate how our natural reaction to someone that has something that we want but can't have is one of violence, cruelty, aggression, spite, etc. All the people who have ever tried to pull me down are people who have wanted something that I have. When I was six I proudly showed off that I was a princess (my family were considered nobility during the Joseon monarchy) and all the white kids who resided haughtily in the mansions and quasi-palaces that lined our foreshores turned green with jealousy, because they'd been raised from the cradle to think that there was something about their doll eyes and porcelain skin and fluffy blonde curls that was so much better than the working-class Asian in hand me downs. That was some of the worst bullying. Over what? Nothing, really. Nobody's going to kowtow to me and call me 'Your Grace', but the jealousy is still there when you think, as a six year old, that someone is a 'princess' and you are not.

I don't understand this, to be honest. I probably have plenty of reasons to be intimidated. I can barely count, and all my Asian peers gleefully poke fun at this. One of my friends is 6'4" and ruffles my hair as I walk past, but I'm pretty sure I don't have Tom Cruise syndrome. There are so many people I know who know so much more than me, there are so many people I have to concede defeat to, all the time, but I just see it as a chance to learn, grow, debate, talk.

People only feel the need to pull you down when they're beneath you. Remember that.

people in poetry.

Now Playing: 'The Scientist' by Coldplay

I don't know how to write poems that aren't about people. Put it that way.

I love the larger than life characters in history. Potemkin, Catherine, (sorry you guys didn't get to see that), Sir Thomas Wyatt...there's just so much to write about. There is so much poetry and music in their lives, we could probably sing it in two part harmony.

Maybe not.

I've always been fascinated with the six wives of Henry VIII; it's not often where you get presented with that kind of psychological, moral, religious, sexual etc dilemma. The two wives I particularly focus on are Katherine and Anne, simply because their feud was so long and violent, but because they're both fascinating women are are fascinatingly similar. And I feel like all women can relate to one or both at some point in their lives. I'm also fascinated as to how Anne of Cleves is portrayed in popular culture; she wasn't ugly, as far as we can tell, and she's one of the first instances where we just have to admit that there was no chemistry. But was she the lucky wife? I doubt it. A crime of passion is a passion nonetheless; to live and die unwanted and alone is the greater punishment.

But then there are the people I know. All the people I write about mean a lot to me, and I don't always mean it in a good way - sometimes you have to write about the people who cut deep and leave a scar. I love the anonymity of poetry, but nontheless I will say that The Girl Called Beauty is a girl I know, and also features - sort of - in kai su, teknon, He Who Was Never Mine and My Dear Rochester.

And then there are the people I will meet. The people I will love, one day; the people that will convince me that somehow all the ups an downs of life have meaning, have purpose. The people I love so unconditionally I love them even before I know them, even if I will never know them.

And then there is me. There is only one muse you can trust; and that is yourself.

As for the song influences, I don't know of any poets who actually do that. I love music, and much of the music I listen to I listen to for the lyrics; I love song lyrics. The first time I did this was The Only Exception, and I loved it. Music is a wonderful inspiration. The level of influence varies, of course - sometimes I will quote lines directly, whilst other times a song just triggers something deep within. I love that. It's beautiful.

Most of the time I write my poems in a spur of the moment. Other times I will scribble down something in the middle of the night (yes, I do have a pen and paper next to my bed), and I'll edit and publish it the next day. Sometimes I spend days and days mulling over one idea, a few lines, a particular song. Sometimes I'll go back and edit things, or delete things entirely. Poetry is a bit like that. As for structure...I don't really pay attention to meter and that. I love verse libre, and I love modern poetic structure. My favourite poets are T.S. Eliot, e.e. cummings and Sylvia Plath, although I certainly write a lot more poetry than I actually read; I never read poetry at all, really, until last year. Now I love it.  

I have two poems that I have written for this blog, but haven't published - Potemkin, and one inspired by Turning Tables by Adele. It's the first time I've felt the need to keep things private. Isn't that weird?

Yellow

It is not just women who bring forth.
I love men who lock themselves away

And then
Unveil their craft,
Their heart.

Call it a painting, a poem, a song.
Call it art.

I surrender the pieces of my heart to you. 
Turn it into something beautiful for me.

You and I
Can be artists together

We can come together
And create anything

Call it a house, a child, a tree
Call it love.

You see,
My love

I am an artist, too

I can play God
And paint my own universe
In pen-ink and tearstains

In my world
The stars all shine for you.

Inspired by 'Yellow' by Coldplay

gender and morality

Now Playing: 'Decode' by Paramore

What is the impact of gender on morality and moral development?

According to Kohlberg's work, females were initially thought to be slower in moral development tha males. This was completely dissed by Kohlberg's female colleague Gilligan, who said that Kohlberg's work (which was primarily centred around young, educated, Western males) and the concept of justice in general is severely male-oriented, and that women show equal or greater moral development in more feminine topics, such as pregnancy. It has since been suggested that male moral development is justice-oriented and female morale development is care-oriented.

Hmm. Food for thought.

I happen to talk to a lot of boys. I also happen to talk to a lot of boys in psych class. And because we go to a nerd school, we always pose random dilemmas to each other, like our views on abortion and euthanaesia and stuff. And I must agree with Gilligan.

I used to think that I had a very strong sense of justice; but now that I think of it, I am super soft. It doesn't take much to make my heart just melt. I am also much more likely to be more sympathetic on moral dilemmas, especially compared to my male colleagues who have said, amongst other things 'I think I'd go crazy if I had twins', 'I'd make her sign a contract cancelling any parental responsibility before sleeping with her' and 'I think I'd give up my Down Syndrome kid for adoption'. Harsh, yes, but it's honest teenage opinion. It will change, I am sure, as they get older and wiser (and cuter? Stubble?)  but nonetheless the men I know are not prone to be very sentimental about things that aren't particularly close or relevant to them.

I'm not saying that I'm weak and mushy and they're cold and heartless. It's important to have the two elements to balance out each other. Because, after all, the law is written in cold hard words and we're not robots; but we do need people to sometimes make the hard decisions.

So my verdict?

Win-win.

A Thousand Thousand Fearless Things #20

Now Playing: 'Cameo Lover (Live at Sing Sing Studios)' by Kimbra


#144: New pretty lacy things

#145: Just casually...dying of embarassment...

#146: Just because I'm tired, in school uniform, listening to music and off with the fairies DOESN'T MEAN I CAN'T SEE YOU STARING

#147: I. Hate. My. Email. Address.

#148: Ryan and James: Same height, same weight, same ethnicity, same gender, same psych class. Coincidence!? I think not...;P Love my clone. 

#149: Both earphones in: I love you, leave me alone. Universal language known to all but The Grown Ups. 

#150: You were supposed to agree with me


#151: The French/English/PNG/Australian girl born in Texas. 


#152: Pretty babies. Cute. Pretty baby clothes. Cute. Adult diaper in the Reject Shop. Creepy. 


#153: Holy tights. 


#154: We've lost the purity of the pursuit of knowledge. One of the headings of my notes today was 'What Is In The Test'. 


...More to come.

A Thousand Thousand Fearless Things #19

Now Playing: 'Victorian Invention Song' by Horrible Histories

#136: You are amazingly talented at getting people back on speaking terms with you.

#137: The Girl Named Beauty

#138: My legs (copyrighted to my mother) + tights + favourite heels + fluffy party dress = vavaVOOM. Just sayin. 

#139: A blouse, a pencil skirt and a visual illusion...

#140: Contact burns. On my face. No fun.

#141: Casually dissecting one of those 'Australia Day' koalas. Did you know that some of the members of 1D apparently contracted chlamydia from a koala that peed on them?

#142: Birthday soup, birthday noodles and birthday cake

#143: A little taste of something sweet and naughty...

...More to come.

The Girl Named Beauty.

I had forgotten
How lovely you are.

Forgive me

You will never ask,
And I will never tell,

But I apologise.

You do not know
How much I know

I am sure we have cried ourselves to sleep
For the same reasons;
For the reasons we dare not speak of.

It is strange,
I suppose,
To know so much

Yet only mention it
In passing...

I suppose
Katherine and Anne
Never had much to say to one another.

I never wanted to love him
Or hate you.

I envy you,
Truly.

I envy your beauty
That sparkles even in your name.

A Thousand Thousand Fearless Things #18

 Now Playing: 'Yellow' by Coldplay

 #128: PACES English

#129: Papercut

#130: The most decadent beef rendang

#131: Reading Korean. 

#132: V for Vendetta

#133: The name is Bond, James Bond

#134: I'm officially in love with Chris Martin. Sorry Harry. 

#135: My sister's 18th.

..More to come. 

random musings and non sequiteurs..

Now Playing: 'Danse Macabre' by Camille Saint-Saens 

I have really cold feet. Not metaphorically; literally. It's something I inherited from my mother. I'm so inefficient at heating up all five feet three inches of yours truly.

Despite my weight problem I've always had really tiny hands, and wrists, and ankles. When I wore a Medic Alert bracelet (I don't anymore, mostly because it's *really annoying* for people to say 'I didn't know you had a peanut allergy!') I had to wear the baby size until I was about ten years old. My penchant for rings (I wear two; a turquoise from my mother and a Celtic knot my mother bought for me in Scotland) comes mostly because I couldn't wear rings for a long time because I couldn't find any small enough. (My uncle stretched my Celtic ring before I died of gangrene, but when I bought it I was estatic because it was a perfect fit).

I'm fascinated by wedding rings. I love men who wear wedding rings; my father doesn't, and to me it epitomises his completely unromantic nature. 

People are shocked that I'm rather ambivalent about death. To me, death would be a bummer, but it's not really something I fear. I'm more frightened of pain. 

I don't listen to the radio. It just seems like a really inefficient way to listen to music. Right now my iPod is driving me crazy because when I'm not at my computer I don't have any control over what it plays. Despite all this, I always go spastic when I hear a favourite song on the radio.

I give myself pen tattoos occasionally, for no apparent reason. I always have fearless written on my leg (you'd have to be very nice to me to see that, boys), and I have Aspasia written on my right forearm. Before my lovely stretch marks I always thought I'd get a tattoo on my hip; I always used to put temporary tattoos on my hipbones. Mind you, I'm so chicken that I'll probably just stick to henna ;P

I've known more Maddys and Ryans than any other name. Isn't that weird? Oh, and Thomas'. There are millions of Thomas' in our grade. And Eleanor.

I am an insatiable gossip. Despite this, I can never for the life of me keep up with who's with who. Because I go to a high school. Social hierarchy collapses and regroups approximately every six seconds.

For the first time in my life I want someone to buy me books for my birthday. I would love to get Belle de Jour's books - and yes, I know they're about working girls.

I come from a very large, crazy, slightly dysfunctional but very loveable extended family. I think I am closest to my aunt (my father's brother's wife), because I lived with her for three months when I was eight.

What the hell have they done to children's cartoons? Bananas in Pyjamas and Angeline Ballarina...sob...

I much prefer learning than teaching. It's why I love spending time with older people. I love people who know more than I do. That being said, condescension is worse than any other character or physical defect.

There was a particular person who didn't even cross my mind as I packed my bags and galumphed around Asia. Now that particular person is always in my mind. Isn't that weird?

The Bold and the Beautiful. I swear, if my life was half as interesting/incestuous...

The most traumatic vaccination was the cervical cancer shot in year seven.

I'm living in a vacuum.

High school is an enigma.

In one sense, we live to study. We are living for one single purpose; a number, at the end of it, to tell you whether you're alright or just trash. At the end of every year, I throw away most of my hard work; my notes, my worksheets, the handouts. They mean nothing. It's another year of wasted work.

That's not to say that I don't value my academic career and achievements, but we're living in a vacuum. There is more to life than this, and I feel like something is being postponed, held back. Can't we do it both? Can't we plan for the future but live in the moment?

Do I even know anyone at school? School twists our characters and our personalities so much that maybe all I know are distortions. I know the people who only know me at school don't know me, not really. And the people who do know me, mostly pretend not to.

One day I will be an old woman. I hope I don't look upon this time as the wasted years. 

my mother.

Now Playing: 'Fix You' by Coldplay

I love my mother twice as much as anyone else I have ever loved in my entire life. I will always love my mother above anyone else.

I was raised by a working-class woman; and people judge her for that, all the time. I know people think that my mother put her career ahead of me when she put my sister and I in daycare when we were just a few months old. I know that I have sometimes resented that she never read to me, sometimes she wasn't home when I needed her, that my mother would only very rarely do the other things other mothers did at school. That was when I was younger, and much more selfish. And I believed what some of those housewives said.

It is only very recently that we would have been considered reasonably well off. I grew up in a school full of posh white kids who treated me and my old-fashioned, hand-me-down clothes like dirt. But even though I would have liked to have been a pretty white kid with fluffly blonde curls, playing in a nice house with flashy toys and an indulgent mother who devoted all her time and energy to her kids, nothing and nobody can replace my mother. She is my mentor, my teacher, my sister and my best friend. 

I don't have anything against housewives. I wouldn't mind being one for a few years. But you can't claim that my mother hasn't done everything she could for me. My mother is a true modern woman; but she is first and foremost my mother, and I don't think people respect that enough.

My mother gave up raising her own children by herself so that she could make ends meet. My mother has made great sacrifices in her career for us, and for that, I love her. Although she has always worked full time and I've often felt lonely without a constant, domestic presence, I've never doubted that she would do anything for us.

My mother is my greatest inspiration. She is the most loving person I know. She is the only person I have ever loved that has loved me back, equally and unconditionally. When I was little, she would tell me every day that no matter what she or I did or said, she would always love me. Nobody else has ever said that to me. Even when we fight, when we shout at each other and don't look each other in the eye, I always know that she loves me.

I am much closer to my mother than most girls my age. My mother is the most intelligent and funny person I know. She's someone I can really talk to, and she instilled in me a great admiration for intelligence and intellectual equality. She's not afraid to let her hair down; and for that, I love her. She's fearless. She doesn't care if she looks like a woman who's only had two hours sleep, because that's who she is, and she is supremely confident that her husband and children love her despite the superficial details. 

I've learned a lot from my mother, and from her mistakes and regrets. It's because of her I am devoted to giving myself the best education, and seeking new opportunities, reaching new heights. My teachers accuse me of obsessing over marks and being overly ambitious, but it's for my mother. I don't want to let her down. I know my mother is incredibly proud of me; and I want to do her pride justice. 

My mother has reached a crossroads in her life, and in her career. It's a turning point for her as a careerwoman, as a wife and as a mother. And I will support anything she does, from the bottom of my heart, regardless of the consequences. Because I remember, always, that she said that she would love me despite anything I said or did. And I will return the favour.

I love you, mummy. Remember that. This is your choice, because this is your life. And whatever you do or choose, I will love you, always. Whatever happens.