Typoe

Now Playing: Two Way Street (Live at Sing Sing) by Kimbra (you wake me from the slumbers of my head, from the slums of loneliness)

I've just noticed an absurd amount of typos and other random things on my blog.

I'm sorry :(

I hope you guys are all smart enough to get the gist of what I'm trying to say, even with typos and random half finished sentences.

I don't have an editor - I fly JetStar, how many servants do you think I have? I type really, really fast, often with frozen fingers and formerly on a very temperamental wireless keyboard before I caved and switched avant-garde for FUNCTIONS NORMALLY (granted, it is hard to expect any keyboard to function normally when you've got your back to your computer and it's balanced on your knee whilst you wrestle the dog away from your ramen noodles. Oh, the things I got up to when I was fourteen...) That and the fact that I'm nearly always doing something else whilst I'm blogging; listening to music, downloading music, playing solitaire, writing an email, doing the homework, absent-mindedly surfing the net, doing open heart sugery...Further, the writing process begins before I sit down and start writing; I just collect ideas in my head, in a little virtual notebook; if you see me mumbling to myself (silently, because I have been beaten up for that before) I'm normally wrestling with wording, as in how to word the ideas in my head into something coherent enough for my blog. But by the time I get home, all I have are half-formed jokes and unfinished trains of thought and rather mindless rambles and it's all rather...convoluted. It takes a lot of thinking, a lot of experimenting, some surreptitious Googling,  a lot of cut copy paste (of my own work! I do believe in academic integrity!) of paragraphs (if ideas get a bit extra-chronological it's because I had a moment of 'wouldn't it be clever of me if I stuck this paragraph here!), and a lot of backspace-key-raping to get something I'm happy with, and even then, I've never been very good at proofreading until after I've clicked 'publish' - the irony is, I never really use the 'preview' button. Ever. So out of this process, it's actually quite amazing that, most of the time, my posts are vaguely readable.

I learned what little I know about html from my lovely nerdy Wikipedia-editing days; I'm still not very good at it, but the html required for blogger is really not that hard...until it fucks up. If there are random huge gulfs between paragraphs, or other random thingies, it's because I've tried and failed to wrestle with html. Italicizing, putting things in bold type...it works at the click of a button...never at all, actually. There's a little glitch in the system and it's bloody annoying.

Oh, the irony. I'm tacking this paragraph on the morning after. This post ended a little abruptly, eh?

Well, I'm still multitasking. In a weird moment of nostalgia I bought Coco Pops for the first time in ages, and now I'm sitting here feeling like a six year old with no concept of BMI. ;)

The Gay Marriage Debate

Now Playing: I'm Not Calling You a Liar by Florence + The Machine (and when you kiss me I am happy enough to die)

Think about the gay marriage debate this way.

It doesn't matter if you 'agree' with it or not. It doesn't matter if you think homosexuality is 'good' or 'bad'. It doesn't matter if you're religious or not, or if your religion forbids or tolerates homosexuality. Gay marriage should be legal.

You know why? Because it is a legal matter.

I am not religious. I don't see myself converting to any religion at all at any point in my future. Obviously, that might change. But for now, I am very happy as an atheist. I am at peace with my own personal beliefs and values, and I've never violated them. As part of this, when I get married, I would get married in a civil ceremony; i.e. a marriage that is legally, but not religiously binding. It's still a marriage. It's still a wedding. It's still husband and wife. Marriage is still very, very important to me; I'm just like any other teenage girl in that I've always dreamed of a beautiful wedding. I just don't want to be dragged down an aisle like a cow at a market and given away like a pretty posession, or forced to endure hours and hours of sermons from a religion that probably doesn't approve of my existence.

I was shocked when I realized that very few people understand the concept of civil marriage. I guess it's a reflection of the ridiculously heavy Judeo-Christian influence on Australian society, but you don't actually have to get married by a priest, and you most definitely don't have to get married in a church. Can you believe I actually had a massive fight with someone over this that only ended when he googled 'civil marriage' and sheepishly conceded defeat? The reason why marriages - all marriages, from all religions or from no religion - is recognised is because there are two parts to a marriage; the religious part, and the legal part. You are religiously married when you say 'I do'. Somewhat unromantically, you are legally married when you sign on the dotted line. Why else do you think there is the Signing of the Registry?

Why am I harping on about this? Because marriage can be considered as a purely legal matter. It is everyone's right to marry whomever they choose, and marriage confers upon someone the rights and responsibilities every couple has the right to enjoy. And because there is no legal objection to homosexuality, there should be no legal objection to gay marriage.

There are some people out there who say that they agree with 'civil union', but not 'marriage' for gay people; something that just reinforces the fact that people still only consider marriage to be a religious convenant, and that people don't understand the concept of civil marriage. There is no real difference between 'civil union' and 'civil marriage', just as there is no real difference between 'marriage' and a 'de facto' relationship; not under Australian law, anyway. But it's a matter of human dignity. If you want to get married, get married, and call it 'marriage'. I don't see anyone trying to convince conservative Christians to live in sin under the pretext that there isn't much difference between a 'marriage' and a 'common law marriage'.   

As for people who say that they don't agree with homosexuality, or gay marriage, it...really isn't any of their business, to put it frankly. Put it this way. Legally, I am allowed to live with someone, and have premarital sex or whatever; and I know some people don't believe in that, and that's fine. We're not forcing anyone to sleep around, just like we're not forcing anyone to be gay. But these people shouldn't have a say in another person's personal life; as citizens, we don't have the right to choose who other citizens can and can't marry.

As a matter of religious freedom, I respect the right of religious groups to refuse to conduct gay marriages. It doesn't matter what you think, or believe, or feel; as a matter of human dignity, gay marriage should be legal, everywhere.

A Thousand Thousand Fearless Things #51

Now Playing: What Makes You Beautiful by One Direction (being the way that you are is enough)

#431: Sleep deprivation. Makes me regress into early childhood. And giggle at absolutely everything.

#432: For the love of peace, my loveable motherfucker, I was only stretching! 

#433: English speech. Shaky. 

#434: STOP PUTTING PAPER IN MY TEA WOMAN!!!!

#435: Such is the power of lace that it doesn't even matter if nobody sees it but you. 

#436: I don't know if I can accurately describe the exquisite agony of getting apple cider vinegar in a papercut. 

#437: Today was not the day to forget my leaver's jumper. Freaking. Cold. 

#438: I am an English student, not a standup comedian. This was assessed work, not some joke. Don't you dare heckle me ever again. 

#439: ATAR predictions. The world's biggest scam.

#440: Breakfast with the boss cancelled. We're all heartbroken. 

#441: I believe you now.

#442: I haven't had oysters in aaaaaaages. Not that I really need them, you know, but...  

What Makes You Beautiful.

Now Playing: Believe Again by Delta Goodrem (I lost my faith in love, tonight I believe again.)

If you've told me that I'm beautiful, I didn't believe you.

I'm sorry, but I can't.

Most people don't know this, but when I'm not around people I'm very quiet. I keep to myself, in my own world. And I am plagued, tormented,  by insecurities. We all are.

It's a product of being me, seriously. I was bullied a lot when I was little. I never felt like I was good enough compared to all the rich white girls destined for poshy private schools, I could never compete with them for any boys I liked. I was short, and Asian, bookish but very loud at the same time. I think boys back then were a mixture of intimidated and disgusted by me; they looked up to me and pushed me down all at once, and it was pretty damn confusing. I never felt pretty, growing up. And then I went on a downward spiral: I got chicken pox for the first time at the ripe old age of eleven, and I still have loads of scars,and then hormones kicked in and I had horrible acne, and stretch marks, and then on top of that I started piling on weight...

I knew I was smart. I knew I was destined to be a scholarship girl, or else just one of the many Asians in one of the many overcrowded public schools. It seemed to me to be a pretty bleak future, especially when hormones kicked in. I never wanted attention so badly; I wanted to be admired, adored, I wanted to be able to pick and choose like all the other girls. It was shallow, I know. But I was so very young, and so very insecure and unsure of myself.


I've always liked to think of myself as substance over style, but to be perfectly honest, I don't know many people who are with me on this. And I'm not the kind of person who could say, in a blase way, that they would be attracted to a troll if he had a nice heart; because I wouldn't be, I know myself too well. I hope this post doesn't sound ridiculously petty, or that it comes across that my mental state is entirely based on how people perceive me, but I've always been an aesthetic, sensory kind of person, and I'm not afraid of physical attraction even if everyone else seems to be. This sounds ridiculous now that I think about it, but I remember, being thirteen, being let down by a friend; a boy I loved beyond reason. I let him get away with anything, I let pretty much anything slide, because I thought I wasn't good enough. And my looks...was a large part of that.

Not many people have said to my face that I am pretty - I'm not that cocky! (or that popular...but that's another story) But when they do, I feel like they're being mean. Insincere. Don't say it if you don't mean it, you know? It never occurred to me that anyone could mean it, not after all the horrible things so many people have said to me. I never for a second believed it. Even now, I don't really know if anyone thinks of me as pretty. It is much easier for me to think that people find me, I don't know, nice. Funny. Smart. Engaging. I could live without beauty if people thought all of that about me.

This year has been weird. I'm still trying to kid myself into believing that I am 'happily' single, when I'm not; it's that last, unticked box on my wishlist that has never ceased to cause me pain. But I've changed, physically, at least - I'm not an awkward little girl anymore, or a dumpy depressed pre-teen. It is bewildering to be considered attractive by people you've always thought of as being inhumanly beautiful; disorienting, confusing, at times heartbreaking but, dare I say it? Supremely flattering. For the first time I have some kind of solid proof that I can have an effect on people without brandishing a report card. And...I'm starting to believe it. A little. For the first time I can look at myself in the mirror and say 'You know what? You look okay.'

And that's one of the many things that's made me okay with it all. For a long time I felt like it was never coming; that I would never get my teenage dream unless I really scraped the bottom of the barrel. Which is a pretty silly thought, considering that I am sixteen, after all, and I'm not deformed and I do know how to dress to impress and there is, I hope, so much more to me than the transitory posession of physical beauty, but when I had depression I would dwell on it endlessly. I was losing self-respect, fast. But now...I'll get there.

A Thousand Thousand Fearless Things #50

Now Playing: Good Intent by Kimbra (step into the dwelling of the liger's mouth, peer into the panic for a kick and swell)

#422: Today was the day my hair decided to throw a tantrum and not give a damn about my self esteem. I know I should have washed it yesterday but hair, like boys, horses and heels, need taming a little, a bit of breaking in.

#423: This morning I took one look at my bottle of foundation and just went 'Meh. Nah. Sorry.'

#424: Sugar rush!

#425: There's something very endearing about the way you brush against my shoulder with all the grace of an ox. Sends me off balance in more ways than one. 

#426: Could I just be 'the girl who got the English award' and not 'the Asian who got the English award'? Please?

#427: You can see me, but you cannot touch me. I have everything you tried to take from me.

#428: It is so very nice to have a little kindness after an eternity of being pushed around 

#429: I took one look at my red singlet in the laundry hamper and burst out laughing. That shirt, I swear, is magic...

#430: 'Is that a gun in your pocket or are you just...happy to see me?' (Mae West. Now that is a real woman.)

    

emotional attachment. is good for you. trust me.

Now Playing: Close Every Door by Ryan Bunney (click here)

It's weird how modern society is terrified of emotional attachment. I guess it goes along with the cartharsis and apathy and all round anaesthetic effect of modern society these days, but it's still very sad, and I think it reflects in the tenuous and fragile nature of friendships these days, as well as high divorce rates and other domestic issues. We keep people at arms length, we don't let them in, we're so afraid to fall that we never move mountains with someone special.

Humans...are social animals. It is the core of human psychology; introvert or extrovert, a loner or everyone's best friend, we rely so heavily on others just to get through the day. Humans are entirely dependent on their families for years and years and years; why do you think we are the only animals to do that? I don't know of any human baby who's able to go of on their own at the ripe old age of eighteen months. We have evolved to become dependent.

Which might sound funny, coming from the girl who has openly confessed to growing up, essentially, alone; working alone, playing alone, spending a lot of time in my own company. But I felt like I was more or less forced to do that; I couldn't get along with other people no matter how hard I tried, and I couldn't work with people who wouldn't or couldn't think along the same wavelengths as I do. I couldn't form the kind of friendships, the kind of relationships, that I wanted, and every day I craved it more than any drug addict could possibly crave anything.

I don't do things halfway. I hate a lot of people. I hate them so much that I burst into tears at the thought of them; I can taste the rage, bitter at the back of my tongue. Conversely, I love a lot of people, too. There are some people who mean the world to me, people I would do anything for. And, for the most part, both have been rather one sided. Nobody really...feels the way I feel. Passion. Emotion. Intensity. It's all rather alien to the high school chums and bored suburbia inmates I live with. 

Which is rather strange, considering that most pop culture idols manipulate this; they show the emotion that we refuse to let ourselves even dream of. Think about it! Katy Perry, Taylor Swift...you don't think of them this way, because they are buying in to the fickle whims of the masses. But they do that by channelling emotion. Trust me.

Until quite recently I'd never met someone as interested in people as I am. I've become rather...paranoid. I'm always afraid of pushing things too far. I've never understood words like 'too much' or 'enough'. How can you have too much of a good thing?

People completely unaffected by the hypocrisies of morality and religion, like me, live for the sensory pleasures; the aesthetics of things. Which is not to say I won't look twice in anyone's direction if they aren't topless and showing of a six pack, because that's not what I mean by aesthetic or sensory. It's hard to explain without sounding incredibly corny...but I don't know. The indulgence. The experience, the sheer luxury and selfishness of it, getting lost in a touch, or a taste, or just a particularly heady emotion. It's why I love food, and clothes, and boys. There's nothing shallow about it at all; in fact, the people who can find genuine pleasure in intimacy, or even something substantially less dramatic like immersing yourself in a really good book, are the only people who truly live. Living in the moment. All I have is now.

It is incredibly vulnerable, to open yourself up to this kind of sensory overload. Bad things happen, when you're lost in the moment; and believe me, I know. But I am the kind of person who can't help themselves; I dive in without thinking too much about consequences. Which is, you know, good and bad...but I'm never really content with just 'okay'... 

I've become rather altruistic. I extract so much joy out of a smile, a little sigh of contentment, doing people favours. Not with everyone, I'm still rather self-centered, but there are a few...I'd smile at them even if I were burning on a pyre.  I guess I've gotten used to giving and receiving nothing in return, even if the tables have turned on that somewhat.

So go on. Be brave. I challenge you. Don't be afraid to let someone in; it's scary and dangerous and reckless, but it's the only way you can really be close to someone; as a friend, or otherwise. Be fearless.

A Thousand Thousand Fearless Things #49

Now Playing: A Thousand Years by Christina Perri (I have died every day waiting for you, darling don't be afraid, I have loved you for a thousand years, I'll love you for a thousand more)

#411: I wonder what my current obsession with solitaire says about my current frame of mind? (I've never had much patience with real cards, but I do like klondike)

#412: Cheeky ;P

#413: Something I legitimately had to write in my ancient history notes: Revolt of Lesbos, NOT Lesbian Revolt

#414: If the joll troll does that again I might actually sink into a permanent state of cartharsis. 

#415: I'm an aesthetic kind of person; I like things, and people, who appeal to the senses. Without a handful of people school would just be like a massive dose of anaesthetic and, trust me, I should know.

#416: Last day of laser tag :( 

#417: My revenge is complete. So there, an Asian can come top in English. 

#418: Despite not having any brothers I have mastered the art of calmly making my way home, making a beeline for the fridge and stuffing my face with anything remotely edible. I haz skills. 

#419: It's not how big they are, darling, it's what you do with them. ;P

#420: Return of the Belephant

#421: Skye has taken hostage a frisbee from Target. Oh, the irony of a dog dragging around a target...

 

Spilt Milk Tears

Now Playing: Hallelujah by Kate Voegele (andeven though it all went wrong I'll stand before the Lord of Song with nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah)

One of my worst habits is that I swallow a lot of my pride, a lot. Which might seem like a good thing, but it means that I often let things that hurt me slide, and let people get away with intentionally or unintentionally hurting me. I pretend that I'm okay when I'm not, I forgive and forget when I'm still reeling, I fake a smile even when I'm silently seething.

To cut a very long story short, I once had a friend who constantly told me off for making a fuss over nothing. That I was becoming a whiney, naggy, oversensitive...maybe it's politest not to continue on that vein. I used to feel horribly guilty about getting upset, and wheedling apologies out of people; I was more worried about the inconvenience it was causing them than the pain it was causing me. In retrospect, that was just his way of dodging confrontations; whether or not he believed he did something wrong, he didn't want to talk about it and was just very defensive, and preferred to blame it on me.

Although, in fairness, we were very young. He probably thought that I was trying to play a blame game, or was just being attention-seeking and making a fuss over nothing, when all I needed was to get over a little hurt. I used to throw massive tantrums, I was big into spilt milk tears: I hadn't quite mastered the art of more subtle things like 'cold shoulder' or 'bitchy rhetoric'. I was also one of those girls who expected guys to, um, read minds - the whole 'well if you don't know then I'm not going to tell you'. Which is probably not fair, but a steady diet of rom coms and chick lit had kind of convinced me that if a guy doesn't know that he's screwed up, then he doesn't care that he's screwed up. What can I say? I'd like to think that I've grown up a lot between thirteen and sixteen, and my friends are now all seventeen and are more grown up, too. So we all like to think, anyway.   

I know I am very, very sensitive. I know I get really upset over things that wouldn't really affect people that much; but nonetheless, it's not my fault. I can't control that I get hurt over the things I get hurt over. I don't even blame people for some accidentally callous or tactless or insensitive thing; I'm normally pretty good at judging intent, it's the lit student in me. And sometimes it's not a particular incident per se; sometimes I'm already in a dodgy mood and something will rub me the wrong way and tip me over the edge. What can I say? I'm crazy, I know I am. But I'm not afraid to bring things up, talk things over, and be genuinely cool with everything before all the forgive and forget jazz. Anyone who can't put up with that can go screw themselves. Seriously. I am so glad I have friends who put up with my weirdness, I don't need some immature freak who can't eat humble pie occasionally.

Have I mentioned how scary it is for me to do all of this? Friends are so few and far between sometimes I feel like I should just let things go all in the name of friendship. But I can't. I have to love myself enough to say that I can't settle for anything less than love from the people that I love dearly. It's part of being...fearless...

A Thousand Thousand Fearless Things #48

Now Playing: Fix You by Coldplay (when you love someone and it goes to waste...when you're too in love to let go) 

#401: You were a douche today. Seriously. 

#402: If there was ever anything to get me to wake up...that would be it. 

#403: Why are university campuses so damn big?

#404: Whole day of English lectures. Exhausting. 

#405: Bombshells! Three! In one day! Too much to handle!

#406: It's a very, very small world. 

#407: Being a guilty pleasure is not as fun as you might think.

#408: How on earth do you expect me to like you when you never let me have fun?

#409: It's fascinating, the impact people can have on one's behaviour. With some, you're an angel. With others, you're scum, even to the people you're usually angelic towards

#410: The most incredible things happen when you least expect it. 

  

 

A Thousand Thousand Fearless Things #47

Now Playing: Tied Together With a Smile by Taylor Swift (and no one knows that you cry, but you don't tell anyone that you might not meet the golden one)

#389: I don't regret making a good friend. I don't even regret pushing things too far. At least nobody can say that I didn't do my best, I didn't try my hardest. 

#390: I might not have deserved it, but I was totally asking for it. 

#391: You can fix anything with pink lipstick and a big floppy hairbow. 

#392: At least that's the only time I'll ever get whacked by maths spec ;P

#393: I feel like one of the big kids now. I've learned a lot. I think I know what I'm doing.

#394: Please don't look me in the eye and call me cute. Please. It's really really weird when you say it. And I'm not sorry that I wouldn't mind some other people saying it, because that's just how it is and it would be cruel to you to pretend otherwise.

#395: Dear breakout. This is really not fair. You can't even blame hormones.

#396: Freezing cold fingers inhibiting my normal multitasking ninja skills...

#397: Yes, I know I have an embarassing email. Yes, I know I probably should change it. 

#398: Black tea is an acquired taste, and acquired only by the unavailability of milk safe for human consumption. 

#399: It wouldn't be fair on you to let on...

#400: I take my hat off to you because I understand why you won't do the same. We all think you're so brave, and you're still so beautiful.     
 

Fearless.

"Fearlessness may be a gift but perhaps more precious is the courage acquired through endeavour, courage that comes from cultivating the habit of refusing to let fear dictate one’s actions, courage that could be described as ‘grace under pressure’ - grace which is renewed repeatedly in the face of harsh, unremitting pressure."

- Aung San Suu Kyi

The hardest thing in the world is to be yourself. 

For a long time I have struggled like many other girls have struggled: with body issues, and a deep, unsettling insecurity. This has been compounded, hugely, by my struggles with my weight, and with depression and bullying.

I'm not saying that my whole life has been gloom and doom. I am immensely thankful for everything that I have. But it hasn't always been easy. I've been bullied pretty much continuously throughout my entire schooling career, and when I was in my early teens I became very depressed and put on a lot of weight. My weight is now under control and I haven't lapsed back into depression, but the pressure is sometimes hard to take, and it shows. I have the most horrible mood swings, I can hardly stand it. I swing from deliriously happy to completely, heartbreakingly crushed; if I'm in the middle I'm not just mildly happy or indifferent, I'm just numb.

Bullying is normally advertised as something big and dramatic; and in some cases, it is. But bullying can be very subtle, too - the kind of psychological mind-fuck that can make you completely break down in a fit of paranoia. I started believing that I wasn't good enough, never good enough, once it had been kicked in hard enough. 

Earlier this year I made a promise to myself to just be who I am; to be fearless. I was tired of pretending; a charade of perfection is exhausting. I was tired of people loving me for something that I wasn't, and running away when they realized that there's more to me than meets the eye. It is the hardest and scariest thing I have ever done, and I feel so incredibly vulnerable and insecure and paranoid. I lapse, constantly, but I've kept doggedly at it; I am me, I always have to me. And, in a way, it's paid off. For the first time in my life I feel like I have friends who really understand me, who love me for who I am, who don't get freaked out and realize that I don't get freaked out too easily, either. Some things have worked out that would never have worked out if I hadn't had the courage to put my foot down, to say what I think, and to talk about things that are hard. I'm not afraid of losing people because of who I am anymore, because once you get into that position you've lost them anyway.    

The people who know me know that I don't like to lose; there is nothing worse, to me, than defeat, having to concede that someone else is better than me, and letting them take my place. Because it just sends me spiralling out of control. For a long time my only source of comfort was winning, coming top, being the best, exacting revenge. For a long time I believed what people said; that I'd be lucky to make friends or to get a relationship. That people are doing me a favour by spending time with me. It is strange to have someone say the complete opposite, and even stranger still to believe them. It's people like that who give me the strength to keep going. Things haven't entirely worked out in my favour, but some things are better than I ever thought possible.

I don't think anything in the world could have prepared me for the ups and downs of this year. But I feel like I've grown up a lot. I don't regret things anymore, I'm not afraid of things anymore. I'm okay, I'll be okay. Thank you.

A Thousand Thousand Fearless Things #46

Now Playing: A Drop In The Ocean (Cover) by Michael Schulte (a drop in the ocean, a change in the weather, I was praying that you and me might end up together)

#381: I've never really understood why every time you win a game of Solitaire all the cards commit suicide. 

#382: Sometimes it's not the things you do, but what you mean by them that count.

#383: I think I've perfected the art of being enchantingly funny even when the last thing I want to do is laugh

#384: Now you know what I want for my eighteenth birthday ;P

#385: One day you and I will both get what we want. I promise. No matter how horrible high school boys are, Prince Charming exists for you and for me. 

#386: Maybe I should start thinking of the consequences a little more

#387: I wish I could bury the hatchet and make it a loving cup, but I can't. Not by myself. I couldn't face you by myself. I swore I would replace you, but I think I've gone one better; I've gone above you. You wouldn't understand that, though. 

#388: I've never had much success in things that involve luck, and people, and patience. 
    

A Thousand Thousand Fearless Things #45

Now Playing: Wide Awake by Katy Perry (I wish I knew then what I know now, I wouldn't dive in, I wouldn't bow down. Gravity hurts, you made it so sweet, until I woke up on the concrete)

#369: Random whipped puppy whimpers walking up the stairs. Seriously, I hate Thursdays.

#370: How very interesting...

#371: You've always struck me as the kind of person who's not really sure what he wants

#372: Don't put her happiness over yours, or mine

#373: Whole day of English. My kind of heaven. 

#374: I never thought that, once I had all this, I would still want so much more.

#375: Being attractive hasn't filled the void as well as being accomplished has

#376: One week without my Belephant :(

#377: JC Burke

#378: I am glad you have finally reconciled yourself with who I am. I never stopped being your friend, even when you stopped being mine.

#379: Adorable baby in a noodle shop that would make Dracula clucky. 

#380: I never thought I ever asked for too much. All I ever wanted was boy meets girl.  

The Martyr

I guess it makes sense
That the girl who cried over nothing
Should die over nothing.
  
I guess it's your happiness
Over mine.  
I'll forgive and forget
Even when I am burning on the pyre.

How long must I forfeit?
How long must I deny myself

How long must I take the blame
And pay the price?

How long must I fight back tears
And bite my tongue;

How many more sleepless nights
of fevered prayer
And stifled shrieks,

How long must I look you in the eye
Smile,
Laugh,
And lie?

Goodnight, my love.

I am so very tired.

Click here for a discussion of The Martyr

A Thousand Thousand Fearless Things #44

Now Playing: Speed of Sound by Coldplay (how long before you decide? Before I know what it feels like?)

#361: You'd think a blogaholic like me would have this blog saved somewhere, but honestly, I find it like everyone else. God bless Google. 

#362: Best hug ever ;P

#363: Don't you just love it when your dog starts questioning your sanity?

#364: ZONE 3 HIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIGH

#365: heart shaped lips. 

#366: korean alphabet in advocacy

#367: You still can't pronounce my name right. 

#368: thunder in ancient history. Pericles is pissed at us for botching all the facts. 

 

A Thousand Thousand Fearless Things #43

Now Playing: The Hardest Part/Postcards From Far Away by Coldplay (the hardest part was letting go, not taking part. You really broke my heart.)

#354: A Streetcar Named Desire

#355: Calvin. Klein. Lipstick.

#356: Bipolar weather, much?

#357: I will never apologise for being myself. 

#358: Couch talk. Are you my Freud?

#359: Some things never change. I've been running to school since I was six years old.

#360: Beauty is a transitory posession.  

A Streetcar Named Desire

Now Playing: Born to Die by Lana Del Rey (come and take a walk on the wild side, let me kiss you hard in the pouring rain, you like your girls insane)

Lately I think I've been giving people the impression of being a bad feminist.

Which is true, in a sense. I am ruled far too much by my heart, by my emotions; by hormones, if you will - I am sure it will pass. I was a very clear-headed child.

For some reason people confuse gender equality, and feminism, with a complete lack of interest or respect for masculinity. I've always liked the kind of buff, somewhat crass guys. I've liked guys with a brain, guys who exude character and charisma. And as much as I like the dark French poetry type, and as much as I love boys who walk curbside and open doors for you, I don't really like girls who seem to think that just because women can vote men have to become doormats and slaves to your every whim. I've neve really been impressed by wimpy, shrimpy guys. It's just not part of evolution. I like a guy who can assert himself, to say what he likes and to act on impulse a little. I think a lot of men dislike the concept of feminism because they feel like it's robbing them of their right to be, well, men. That really shouldn't be the case.

People often use this against me. 'I thought you were a feminist' has become almost as common as 'what do you mean, you're not good at maths?' and the many, many variations of my name. For the love of peace, people, I'm sixteen! I'm ruled almost entirely by hormones. I'm a woman; I like men. Nice guys finish last because nice guys are too afraid to get what they want and make an offer I can't refuse. Feminist or not, it's, um...kind of a fact of life.

Which is why I like Stanley Kowalski. In English we're reading A Streetcar Named Desire, and I immediately grabbed the role of Stella. I love Stella. I can relate to Stella. I can relate to being so crazy in love you'll pretty much let anything slide. I'm not saying that's a good or bad thing, or a good or bad feminist thing, that's just human nature. I'm not condoning domestic violence or rape. Stanley Kowalski is a seriously flawed character. If I met Stanley in real life, I'd probably be attracted to him - MARLON FREAKING BRANDO, PEOPLE - but then I'd be put off by his chauvinism, like any modern girl would be. But out of Blanche and Stanley, Blanche has deeper flaws - which is a highbrow way of saying she's a pain in the ass and seriously, seriously annoying. If Stanley Kowalski had one redeeming quality it would be his honesty; he doesn't hide who he is. Stella knows exactly who he is, and what she's getting into. Blanche is all lies, all lies, and I couldn't stand that in anybody. I love Stella and Stanley; their honesty, their passion, their total acceptance of each other. I love the intensity and crazy attraction between them. It's like Kiss With a Fist. It's the sort of thing I would love to have.

People are only distant because it's a social requirement. When I'm with people I really know and I'm not around people who are quick to judge and even quicker to spread a nasty word I can be really fearless. I hate how I constantly have to fight everything I want to do because it isn't okay for me to be dependent on anyone; it isn't okay to not want to be alone. Love isn't an accident; you have to go out there and make it happen - and I don't know what's wrong with that. If you want something, you have to go and get it; what is the point of waiting for some freak accident or act of God? I don't understand people who keep lovers at arms length, who constantly require space, space and more space. I don't mean lovers should be joined at the hip and be considered two halves of a whole rather than two separate people, but I always need that emotional attachment. I am so afraid of being perceived, by people I know, as being...I don't know, human. Human, that's the word. Because we're all clingy, and we shouldn't be afraid of it. It should be an honour, and a privilege, to be needed, and wanted. To be the kind of person people love and trust completely. Why do we abuse that? Since when has it been such a bad thing to care for someone, and to show them how much you care? When people want what they don't have, they're picked on for being jealous. When people have it, it's all okay. It's the other person that makes everything fine; we need another person to justify human impulse. I hate that. It doesn't matter who I am or who I'm with, what I want doesn't change. When you love someone, you lay your dreams at their feet. All you can ask is that they tread softly.     

I am impossible to weird out. People can tell me anything, say anything, and even if I'm freaked out at first I can handle anything people throw my way. I don't judge, I try so hard to never, ever judge people for being who they are. I am the last person in the world to complain someone is becoming too attached; unless they're actually physically following me. I don't mind emotional attachment, because I think we're all like that; I am, anyway, and I'm not a hypocrite. The only time I'll be bitingly cynical, and utterly unsympathetic is when they're full of shit; when they put on a charade and are too scared to pull off the mask. When they pretend to be something they're not and pick on you like they have some kind of moral highground. People look down on me because I am all too eager to drop pretences. For me it's a straitjacket, a cage, and I'm hunting for the key; for other people it is the glue that holds them together.

I have nothing but the highest respect for human nature. But if there's one thing I've learned, in psychology, from just being in high school or even just in the world we live in, we are distorted by normative influence, so heavily affected by he said, she said. I love it when people genuinely don't give a shit; when people say 'who cares!', snatch my hand and dance in the rain with me. If someone could just do that, I would be happy.

Nostalgia.

Now Playing: Fifteen by Taylor Swift (back then I swore I was going to marry him someday, but I realized some bigger dreams of mine.)

Today was a very weird day.

At the back of the Thomas St. Building, which is the English block, there are two sets of three stairs; a little hard to explain. If you sit on them you can see the tarmac used as a carpark, now; but when I was a little year eight it was where all the year nines used to hang out. You can see the small green oval and the big tennis court I havent set foot in for at least a year. I used to sit on those steps, a lot. I remember sitting on those steps comforting someone who was, at that time, my best friend; we fell out, and now when I see her we are perfect strangers. I remember sitting on those steps with a boy I liked, and watching him turn green with jealousy as I watched another boy I liked throw his head back and laugh, surrounded by the same people who continue to surround him now. The boy next to me stole sandwiches out of my lunch box and told me gleefully that that boy would never look twice in my direction; I nodded miserably and when I went home that day I wrote a rather depressing short story which you could probably hunt down on my blog somewhere.

A lot of things have changed since year eight. A lot of things have changed since last week. I don't think about it that much; the past is not always pleasant to relive. But sometimes I go back to these places and it all comes flooding back; and suddenly I am a thirteen year old with skin issues all over again, as if these three years of self-discovery, of making new friends and losing old ones, never happened. 

You gotta love nostalgia.

Speaking of nostalgia, the first time I skinned my knee was when I was...seven. I was running to school because I was really late (people who know me will know that I haven't really changed much since I was seven). And then when I was eight I rode my bike into a tree (long story) and skinned both knees so bad they're still scarred. What can I say? I was a clumsy kid.

That being said, despite a brief stint of being an ice skater (ice skaters fall down. A lot.) I haven't actually drawn blood from a fall for a long time. And there's an odd moment of nostalgia, when you're washing sand out of a gravel crush. Mind you, when I was eight I'm pretty sure the first thing that popped into my head every time I fell over wasn't 'damn...I won't be able to shave my legs tonight...'

A Thousand Thousand Fearless Things #42

Now Playing: Breath of Life by Florence + The Machine (Who's side am I on? Who's side am I?)

#346: I got my red lace eventually...

#347: metaphysical girl talk

#348: Who let Dita von Teese loose on Target lingerie? They hardly count as clothes. 

#349: Growing Up Asian in Australia. Seriously. Good. Book.

#350: I'm sure Sir Grant Hughson will rock somebody's world...

#351: peripheral vision. acquire some. 

#352: How can you not like Philippa Gregory? 

#353: You gotta love girlfriends. Specifically, you gotta love being pounced on every time you so much as look at a guy.   

learning Korean.

Now Playing: Paradise by Coldplay (when she was just a girl, she expected the world, but it flew away from her reach, so she ran away in her sleep.)

I am what they call a second-generation immigrant. I was born here and my sister was born here, and my brother is buried here, but my parents were born overseas. There are too many hyphens in my nationality/ethnicity: I am a Korean/Chinese-Singaporean - Australian. I normally tell people I am just Australian or that I am Korean-Australian, and sometimes I mix it up by just saying I'm Korean. All of the above confuses people, actually, because if I say the first they wonder why I'm not White or Aboriginal, when I say the second they wonder why I'm so dark and not the demure, quiet Asian girl, and when I say the third they babble away in Korean or speak to me in very, very slow dumb-dumb English and all I want to do is drown them in Shakespeare quotes.

When I was little, I was a little superchild. I couldn't write a word (ironic, no?) but I could read anything you put in front of me and I was fluent in two languages (or as fluent as a two year old can be in any language): Korean and English, and I could sing a few Chinese songs.

People pick on me constantly for being monolingual. Which is not really fair, because I am Australian, and just because I look Asian doesn't mean I have had the perfect opportunities or environment to suddenly pick up any language. Learning a language in Australia is really, really hard; the LOTE program in the education system sucks, everyone here speaks English and there aren't that many people to talk to in a foreign tongue. To compound this, I am not Chinese; we don't speak Chinese at home and I don't have any emotional connection to China other than the fact I made my ballgown there. My father is Korean, doesn't speak Chinese, and Korean is very very different to Chinese; conversely, my mother can speak Mandarin and Cantonese but neither are in any way related to Korean, and so English is our only common language, just like most other households in Australia. I can really only communicate in English, although I can understand very basic French if it's said very very slowly and clearly (well, I get the gist of it), and I know the Korean alphabet, and I can understand and speak very, very basic Korean. But for all intents and purposes, I can only really get ideas across to people in English.

I don't remember learning English. I was never read to, never forced to read, never actively taught to read and write. It just all comes so naturally to me, as easy and instinctual as breathing; and every day I learn a little more, get a little better. I get so infuriated with people who don't notice patterns, don't pick things up, don't teach themselves things, don't read things, notice little nuances, and save them for later. 

Another thing is that I love English. I love the language, how it sounds, how it is constructed. It is a beautiful way to communicate. I can manipulate the language to say anything, to articulate my deepest, darkest thoughts, and write them with a flourish. English is my passion. I'm a bit of an Anglophile, and I love England. But it's the language that is my first love.

I talk a lot. I write a lot, too. I love communicating; I really cannot keep secrets. I love telling people things and I love being told things. I love the social interaction of talking, and my opinion of people is based largely on what comes out of their mouths (light travels faster than sound, which is why some people look smart until they start talking). I can only really do this in English; I feel intensely uncomfortable trying to talk to people who don't have a sound grasp of English, and I cannot express myself in any other language. English is my only outlet.

I used to be very (ridiculously) proud of being monolingual. I just didn't feel the need to learn another language. I had little opportunity and no motivation. I got so angry with people being so shocked that English is my only language; it's not exactly like I was born fluent in Cantonese, you know, and most of the people who pick on me are monolingual themselves, and I have a better grasp of English than they do. I wanted people to respect me for my talents in English; I am a damn good English student, but it's only very recently that I've gotten the kind of respect I've constantly strived for; finally, I am an English student, not an Asian try-hard. For far too long my Asian heritage has clouded people's opinion of me, so I became a bit resentful of that. I also grew up in an area where Asians were not exactly the richest or most socially-elite, and so I spent far too much of my childhood wishing that I was some rich white private-school girl. No second language necessary.

Last summer I went back to Korea and spent a lot of time with family. I lived for three months in Korea when I was little and didn't really like it; I was very homesick, and I didn't pick up the language and so I really struggled to communicate, or relate to people who are "family" but I didn't know them at all. I've been back twice since then, and every time I go back I get more and more familiar with my family and with the country, and I've picked up quite a bit of Korean. I can read Korean, and I know the alphabet - if you're really nice I can write down your name in the Korean alphabet for you - and I can speak a little. But for the first time in my life I really feel the urgency to learn Korean. I want to be able to speak to them, get to know them, understand them. I want to be able to go to Korea - incognito, for once - and know the ropes. I look forward to the nerve-racking but exciting trip when I take someone special to Korea and introduce him to a very important part of my cultural heritage and identity.   

Learning another language was one of the many expectations forced upon me as an Asian second-generation immigrant. I'm tired of people taking one look at me and making all sorts of assumptions. I can speak English. I can probably speak English better than you can. I can't speak another language, but then, neither can you, probably. I want to learn another language, and not because people expect it of me or because it's some sort of mandatory obligation of being slitty-eyed, but because I want to, and it's something very personal.

BSC dialogue.

Now Playing: Hallelujah by Kate Voegele (you don't really care for music do you?)

When I was twelve I was madly in love with a boy called BSC.

He wasn't actually called BSC; I don't actually know why he was called BSC. But if you look at my earlier posts (like, 2008, and they're in illegible blue for a reason) he was around.

We weren't really that close, now that I think about it. I've definitely had closer friendships; I definitely have closer friendships, now. I think I was too much to handle for a twelve year old boy; he never would have understood me, and he never tried. And he liked other girls.

I've always liked a type. I've never actually liked an Asian guy - I have really racist hormones, I'm so sorry! I like white guys who are charming and intelligent and charismatic; in short, I like the kind of guys that most other girls like, too. And so I always lose out. I went to a primary school that was like a waiting room for private schools. There's no way in hell a girl like me has any chance against some rich private school girl. I know that, all too well.

My love of conversation and intellectual equity has been somewhat recent; BSC bored me to tears with his obsessions with god-knows-what (seriously, I cannot for the life of me remember what he rambled on about. I just smiled and nodded. The only thing I remember was that he liked girls. A lot. Just not me.) and K used to (and still does) just babble on about basketball. I know basketball. I love basketball. I used to play basketball, and I have basketball medals and a trophy. Nonetheless, no girl likes being talked at about NBA for hours and hours on end). But now I've really put my foot down. I can only really like someone (as a friend, or otherwise) if they have something interesting to say.

I have some very fond memories of BSC - he was a big guy, like a teddy bear; he laughed a lot, he was very smart, and funny. He loved food; I remember he would devour my lunch, his girlfriend's lunch, his own lunch, and then scab money off us to raid the canteen. He had a big, loud, exuberant personality, and he radiated charisma. He was only at my primary school for a year but every girl in the grade was in love with him.

But I still remember that I had to cut him a lot of slack. I cried a lot, that year. He was insensitive and tactless; guys still are, and I've grown a thicker skin but sometimes their tactlessness and selfishness really hits where it hurts. Ever since BSC I've been juggling friendships with boys I've loved to distraction and sometimes it gets really hard. I look back at some of the random comments we flipped back and forth and even then, I was still terrified of being perceived as too pushy, I was still struggling to maintain a facade of effortless platonicity and forcing myself to smile as I watched him Casanova around all my friends. It is not easy, being the girl come second, the girl best mate. He would treat me exactly how he would treat all the boys, and I hated it. He was a good friend, but he never stood up for me. His girlfriends, and his reputation, was more important than little old me. It was very obvious to me then, and especially now, that I was much more attatched than he ever was.

But that was the first time I'd ever been viewed as competition. I wasn't as patient as I am now, not nearly as tolerant; I hadn't quite learned the art of flirting, of being provocative; I was a little...violent when I was twelve. Nonetheless, he and I were close enough for one of his girlfriends - a big, tall, athletic girl about twice my size - to gang up on me and tell me to keep my distance.      

I go to a high school quite far from where I grew up, and I've moved to the other side of town, and in year eight I promptly fell in love with two very different guys somewhat simultaneously (weird, I know), so BSC hasn't been in my mind for a very long time. I ran into him once, in year eight (just after I dyed my hair bright red) but I didn't encourage conversation and I've never made any attempt to keep in contact - in fairness, neither did he. I don't really think he misses me all that much.

It's strange, taking these little nostalgic trips down memory lane. In some ways, I've changed immeasurably from the good old days. But in other ways, things haven't changed at all. I still cry myself to sleep. I'm still ridiculously weird and ridiculously shy about letting people in to the inner sanctum of my introverted self. I still play with fire and I still get burned. I still fall in love knowing nothing will come out of it. I still try to keep friendships with people I love dearly who love other people. I'm still the girl come second, still the girl best mate, still having to settle with what ifs and could bes. I still have to swallow my pride and watch on in fits of sheer jealousy. I still struggle enormously with fears and insecurities and emotions. But it's okay. I was only twelve then, and I'm only sixteen now. Nobody said anyone had to have everything figured out at sixteen.

A Thousand Thousand Fearless Things #41

Now Playing: Princess of China by Coldplay ft. Rihanna (you're holding in your hands the two halves of my heart)

#333: I love how I have to stretch on tippy toes to hug you

#334: You hit me! Don't hug him! He hit me!

#335: STOP RIPPING THINGS!!!!

#336: 'Get a stress ball'
'My hands are too small for stress balls' (true)
'Get a small stress ball. Cut a stress ball in half. No, that wouldn't work.'
'It might help with the stress, though.'

#337: A sense of the ridiculous

#338: I don't like being low priority.

#339: I'm in my element.

#340: over the knee

#341: STELLA!!!!!! STELLA!!!!! HEY STELLA!!!!!!

#342: I don't understand why it's so hard to find red lace.  

#343: Hmm. Cut on my thumb. Can't remember how that got there. 

#344: Forgive me for eavesdropping, but how could you not know that Jim Parsons was gay?

#345: You are divine, said he. You are mine, said she. 
 

A Sense of the Ridiculous

Written by my psychopathic loveable friend (what else is there to do in lit class when something is due very very soon?). All characters are fictitious and any resemblance to ANY PERSONS, living or dead, is PURELY, COMPLETELY AND UTTERLY....coincidental....

A Sense of the Ridiculous
By Belephant.

Once upon a time there was a beautiful lady named Kalamata.
She was in love with Sir Grant Hughson, though she believed, “I have not a chance.”

Sir Grant Hughson was also in love with Kalamata, but at the same time, Grant had playboy characteristics and truly desired every woman he saw between the ages of 13 and 47.

Kalamata was an oriental princess of the highest order, with hair of Apple and eyes of diamante. Grant saw her apple hair and diamante eyes and became perplexed and astonished with her buoyant ways.

He told her one day that her buoyancy pleased him, indeed.

He then embraced her apple hair and washed it with his tears over his stinky affection with other women getting in the way of their true love.

Lady Princess Kalamata told Grant that he must truly choose – her own luscious apple hair, or the love of others. Sir Grant was shocked – he had never been asked to choose before!

Sir Grant fell to the floor, fainting with the horror of such an idea.

Kalamata was appalled with his weakling-like behavior, knelt to the ground where he lay and slapped him across the face in repulsion. With this, Grant awoke suddenly, being calmed by the furious, passionate face of Kalamata that he loved so well. “It is you that I choose, lady Kalamata. Your fire lights my soul with fire.”

But Kalamata was not to have it. “Sir Grant, you art an undesirable man, due to your complete and utter lack of dignity and integrity. Thou hast fainted at the thought of choosing me!” And with that, Lady Kalamata walked away from her knight in shining armor.

But Grant would not allow his heart to be broken thus. He climbed upon his white steed, chasing Kalamata down the hill. He grasped her by the clothes and lifted her upon his steed. Making use of his chocolate brown eyes of the puppy dog, he embraced Kalamata in a passionate hug. He halted his steed, dismounted, and knelt to the ground. “Kalamata, it is you who I love. None other can compare. Wilt thou marry me?”

And in view of his melty-welty ways and Kalamata’s softy-wafty heart, the Lady Princess was softened. She too dismounted, meeting her Knight’s lips in a deep love that would last forevermore.

persona.

Now Playing: In My Place (Live) by Coldplay (if you go, if you go, leave me down here on my own, then I'll wait for you)

I think sometimes people confuse me with Lady Solitaire.

I hope that doesn't sound weird, but Lady Solitaire is a persona. It is just a part of me. Somewhat angrier, a little bolder, much more cynical. It's a projection of my very dry sense of humour and my rather dramatic personality.

Most of the stuff I write about is true; things I notice, opinions I have, emotional rollercoasters. Some things, you must understand, are part narrative. Writing is all about being engaging, and if I just gave you an account of day to day life, well, that would be a little boring, wouldn't it? So some things are exaggerated, compressed. People in my life are pulled apart and teased up with my own analysis, my own observations and things I just infer and imply. Sometimes I compress time elapse, or combine two things that may have happened into one, or just pick things out for effect. It's not lying, not really. I'm the one with the blog, so it's my version of the truth that is out there. 

I've just gotten my English exam back, and I'm in the middle of one of my highs, exacerbated and prolonged by just a little gloating ;P. A lot of people are afraid of English exams, because they are very difficult to prepare for and it's hard to anticipate what to expect. But I love English exams. I work very hard in them and they are quite intense, but they're refreshing and...I have so much fun writing them! I guess I've just gotten to the stage where I'm willing to take risks, and those risks pay off.

Being a blogger definitely helps. It's helped me develop the kind of writing people wish they have, or think they have, but don't - the ability to be engaging, to break the rules, to write something people are willing to read. I always keep that in mind; somebody has to read my exam, I might as well make it as entertaining as possible. This is especially true in the writing section where, if you choose the right question, you can write whatever the hell you want. It's super fun! I...normally write blog posts.  I'm in my element, not many people do it, and it's not cliched or boring. I can make it interesting.

At some point after the school year ends I will be publishing some English stuff I have done. Mostly because English assigments are really interesting, and I always aim to write interesting stuff in English assignments. Partly because I would like to have examples of what standards are expected of a high end (I'm not being glib, just...honest) student, and to give other students advice and inspiration; I'll pull it all apart for you. When I write in exams, I simply aim the write the best that I can, and I'll draw from anything to get that.

If I mention anyone, or anything, in any of my writing, and you know I've fudged the details, cut me a little slack. I'm a writer. I see things the way I see things, and I write things the way I write things. I would never invade anyone's privacy; everything is anonymous. So, please, let me have my fun.  

hug ban???

Now Playing: Warrior by Mark Foster, A-Trak and Kimbra (they wanna take our light, make us fight, but never cry for the ones you love)

A school in Victoria has imposed a temporary (well, they say temporary, but it's more like 'indefinite') ban on physical contact. Which means, unbelievably, no hugging, no high fives - the pupils aren't even allowed to play tiggy.

WTF!?!?!?!?!?

Physical contact, and physical intimacy, is part of everyday life. I don't even approve of schools who ban holding hands and kissing, because, ya know, in the big bad world skin on skin isn't exactly illegal. I'm short, and Asian, and a nerd, and a girl. I got pushed around a lot. I survived. Kids are kids, and no blood, no foul.

The school says that this is in response to injuries sustained by rough play. There is a difference between rough play and giving a friend a hug. A teacher should be able to tell the difference between what is friendly and what is not, and to rectify bad behaviour. No. Instead, we are depriving children of the opportunity to develop interpersonal skills and strengthen relationships with touch.

It's the teachers, that's the problem. Teachers are afraid of getting down and dirty, they don't think it's their duty and responsibility to ensure safety in the schoolyard. Responsible supervision, and a graceful acceptance that kids will be kids and boys will be boys, is the only way to prevent injuries, not banning children from touching each other. I remember when my primary school was refurbished and some tables and chairs were put in around the grounds (before then we had to eat on the floor, outside, which I personally find a little distateful) we weren't allowed to eat at them, only to 'play on them' (who plays on tables and chairs when there are playgrounds!?). The reason? The teacher on duty for first lunch, which is when we all have to stay seated, didn't want to walk ten steps to supervise the tables. It is unbelievable how unbelievably fucking lazy teachers are getting. In other cultures, being a teacher is a privilege - you have the right to educate the next generation, to raise and nurture somebody's beloved children. It's not just standing at the front of a classroom talking to a group of stunned kids and then failing all their homework. It is so much more than that.

We are social animals. Physical contact is natural, but it's only ever associated with violence, or sex. I love hugging people. I'd never say no to a hug, or to a high five or a fist bump. I love how so much is said with such simple gestures. When boys say hello or goodbye it's hardly with words at all; I love all the cute salutes and half bows and nods and knowing smiles. I'm a woman of many words, but I've always been amazed how what we do, rather than what we say, speaks mountains on our behalf. We walk down corridors holding hands or linking arms. It's normal and natural and, dare I say it? Healthy. Physical proximity is part of the human experience. 

so I guess I'm not such a history bug after all.

Now Playing: Teenage Dream by Katy Perry (no regrets, just love...we'll be young forever.)

So I guess I'm not such a history bug after all.

I've been in love with history since forever. I've always loved reading about different people, what they did, how they thought, who they were. I love Elizabeth I and Catherine II and Lucrezia Borgia. I love Servilia Capionis and Cleopatra and Aspasia of Milesia. I love Joan of Arc and Anne Boleyn and Giulia Farnese.

Can you see the trend happening ;P?

It's not just women. It's people. I love studying people. I love studying how people interact, how a particular socio-historical context allows this to be heroic but that to be demonized. I want to know what people wore, what they ate, how they worshipped, how they expressed and celebrated love, rage, grief. I want to know how cultures evolved, how empires rose and fell. And I don't want to put a damn date to it, and I don't want to spend my life as a historian bitching about how other historians could have done their job better. I feel like historical context is being used to teach, as opposed to being taught history - you know what I mean? I don't care how to write a document study evaluating the validity of this or that historian, especially as the questions change every semester. History, in my experience, has just been about sucking up to examiners and trying to sound clever, or as clever as you can when you're a stressed high school student challenging the published works of an esteemed university professor.

I've never really been able to read purist history. I can't always do it. Even Catherine II's memoirs, which I adore, can get tedious at times. I get the basics of a particular era online; chronology and context and so on - and then I dive into historical fiction; I don't like revisionist history, and sometimes the anachronisms and inaccuracies of historical fiction can set my teeth on edge, but historical fiction does what a history textbook cannot; it delves into the psychology of historical figures, their personalities, their desires. That's the interesting part. Colleen McCullough is my favourite author because she never actually changes anything - she takes what we know, which is somewhat limited given the Masters of Rome series is set so very long ago - and then provides a real psychological analysis of the characters, elaborated by riveting dialogue and vivid prose. History, in my head, plays like a movie. It's beautiful.  

For a long time I thought I would study history. I thought history was truly my calling. Turns out...it isn't, not really. I love history, but only for the people, and how what they did impacted and was impacted by the greater social, historical, political and economic context. And I love how people and cultures change and adapt in the here and now, too.

I don't really think MEMS is my thing. I looked long and hard at the course and realized that most of the units I liked I could do as part of my English degree, or as electives. Other than that, it's not really my passion. I've never been one to remember dates or to pick apart historians. I want to study people, understand people. People are my passion.

This isn't really a change of heart. I've always known what I've wanted to do, I just couldn't put a name to it. I thought MEMS would have done it but it just won't do. At the moment, aside from my beloved English and English Literature, I study Ancient History, Modern History, Politics and Law and Psychology. Aside from the first two, I can hardly say I am brilliant at any of them. I keep getting told off for going off topic, whereas for English, I am in my element. And I know why. In English, especially in the creative writing sections, I write about people. I know people, I love people. I get people. Whenever I try and study for psychology I always drift off into sociology; the one essay I did really well in wasn't really psychology at all, not the neurobiology element of it; it was all sociology. I fell in love with sociology without realizing it. Finally, I gave in and searched for 'sociology' on the UWA website; my university of choice, and voila! I found Anthropology and Sociology. I was flipping through the UWA Course Outline and I absolutely fell in love with Anthropology and Sociology, which is a BA major. Within this degree, I can study anthropology, social anthropology and sociology. Anthropology is the academic study of humanity; sociology is the scientific study of society. HOW COOL IS THAT???

It looks really interesting, and I think it will go really well with the English degree I'm planning to do.

Things change. I can change, and I can change things.

indellible ink.

Now Playing: Cameo Lover (Live at Sing Sing Studios) by Kimbra (I don't want no other, you're my cameo lover, only here for a moment or two...)

If I smiled at you like an idiot it's not because I'm in love, or because I'm high - I AM HAPPY!!!!!!!!!

It's amazingly cool to feel good on a bad hair day.

Don't believe me? I got coconut oil in my hair, plus last night was not a washing-hair day (it was still a tea rinse day but my hair is still complaining) and I got caught in the rain. I looked like Snape.

I don't care. The goop will wash out tonight with a little applesauce. But the 92% on my English paper? That, my friend, is indellible ink. 

Hardest of Hearts

One of the things that I hate about myself is that I don't always have the confidence to stand up for myself and tell people that this is not right, this is not fair, that you've hurt me and I deserve better. I feel like I let people get away with far too much sometimes, because even when they apologise I'm always the first to brush everything aside. The biggest part of this is that I get hurt by the most unintentional and, often, irrational things; and because I know how petty my complaint is and how disproportionate my emotions are to things, I've learnt to keep my mouth shut for better or for worse. This is probably exacerbated by the fact that I hang out with a lot of boys, and it's mostly boys and the silly tactless things they do that can sometimes cut deep. But I'm terrified of confrontations or, worse, losing what I have. I'm silently seething at most people I know, but I only bring up things that I feel are really justified.

Cut.

Now Playing: Hallelujah by Kate Voegele (it's not a cry you can hear at night, it's not somebody who's seen the light, it's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah)

A really clever and powerful advertisement by Women's Aid, a British charitable organization to raise awareness and money for victims of domestic abuse against women and children.


Domestic abuse isn't part of the deal in relationships. It's not part of any marriage contract. Every day women from all across the globe, in every sector of society, are abused and discriminated against. 1 in every 4 women experience domestic violence, 75% of sexually abused children are female and every week 2 women die in the UK at the hands of a current or former partner.

Incidentally, this ad was censored by British television, as the final scene was considered too confronting, even for the post-watershed audience. Are you kidding me? I've watched post-watershed tv, and if they can handle that, they can handle anything. Besides, how can we censor what is such important information and what is, essentially, the truth? This stuff happens, completely real and uncensored for some people, and we're not even allowed to tell the world about it. 

I know people keep saying that feminism is out of touch and irrelevant to the here and now and that I'm wasting my time, but I know I am not. And this is why.


I am not endorsed by or affiliated with Women's Aid.   

A Thousand Thousand Fearless Things #40

Now Playing: Settle Down (Life at Spotify) by Kimbra (she's got a fancy car, she wants to take you far from the city lights and sounds deep into the dark)

#323: Temper tantrum

#324: A hug. You and your way of making me forget what was wrong, it should be illegal. 

#325: Why was I the one saying sorry?

#326: I beat a teapot. It's harder than it sounds.

#327: ZONE 3!!!! I SUCK!!!! WHO CARES????

#328: What would Katherine say to Anne if she knew Jane was on the rise?

#329: 'Gettin' my Ps. Life is just so very hard, you know.'

#330: Girl talk in Ancient History ;P

#331: Boys. You can't live with them, you can't live without them.

#332: You gotta love the buses we're forced to use at school. It's like carefully architected genocide.  

A Thousand Thousand Fearless Things #39

Now Playing: Shake It Out (Acoustic) by Florence + The Machine (and I am done with my graceless heart, so tonight I'm gonna cut it out and then restart)

#319: Nothing says 'me time' like the smell of acetone...

#320: Cousin mine, muchos love <3

#321: Russell Howard's Good News

#322: The calm before the storm 

teenage dreams.

Now Playing: Speed of Sound by Coldplay (Where to, where do I go? If you never try, then you'll never know.)

It's weird, not being in love. I've been in love for more or less...half my life.

When it first happen it really shook me up a little. I was so very young, but more than that...I was a bit of an asshole, when I was little. Cocky. Confident. I was supremely confident of my charm, of my innate ability of getting things my own way, of the unshakeable knowledge that I could do anything, be anything, if I tried hard enough. I had never failed in anything, never tried to get something or be somewhere and not succeeded. Love screwed me over. I grew up pretty quickly.

I have only ever been judged on the academic scene. It is all I know. I know what to do, I'm in my element. I'm competitive, and I'm good at what I do. I know the ropes, and I know how to take risks, gamble a little. People don't consider me in any other way, other than as a mentor or as a rival. If I ever let the other side show, my other, non-educational dreams peek out, people are taken aback. It's like I can have brains or boobs, but not both. As if someone like me doesn't have the ability, or the right, to love and be loved in return.   

Last year I fell out of love for the first time. No apparent reason. No fight, no nasty breakup, no tears, no angry rants or hateful glares. Nothing happened, nothing good or bad came out of it - maybe that was it. I just gave up, but I was supported, protected. I felt a little empty, a little hollow, but I didn't...really miss it. I was enjoying being indifferent, ambivalent. Content. It was all based on assumptions and wrong conclusions, but hey, ignorance is bliss.

I've fallen out of love again, but this time it was more a conscious decision. Something I had to do, something unavoidable and not entirely pleasant. But it's okay, I'm okay, because this time it's different, again. I've had to settle. Second best for the second best.

It's weird not being in love. I miss the rush, the butterflies, the bubbles and the giggles. I miss the gravity shifting, I miss the little smiles and flirts and winks and the unsteady thrill of he loves me, he loves me not. I love the possibility, the potential, the what ifs and could bes, being on the cusp of that moment of inception...not that that moment has ever actually come, but sometimes the anticipation is as good as, or better.  

I don't do things half way; before now I fell in love in the same way I went about everything else; all or nothing. Things would completely consume me, and I know that my passion and intensity is too much for the pettiness of being a teenager. It freaks people out, scares them. But now...I've learned the art of taking a compliment and thinking nothing of it. Of flirting for the sake of flirting. My friend doesn't approve, but there's a very great appeal in someone with whom you were only ever mildly in love with; sometimes the beauty of it all is that it is only a very vague attraction. I never let it get to me.

I'm not a very patient person. I'm not very good at waiting. The anticipation is killing me. It got to the point where it was past humbling and just plain humiliating. I couldn't face anyone with the sheer incapability of not being able to be seen as attractive, or appealing, and I've done some stupid things to try and fix a problem that wouldn't have existed if I wasn't so damn insecure. I know why I was left on the shelf, I know exactly why. 

I don't want to have a history with someone. I don't want to be with anyone I've ever liked before now, because then I'd only ever be the second choice, and I'm tired of settling for second best. High school is high school; I've made a few friends and lost a few more. But that's all I ever want it to be, just friends, because I don't want to add to any pre-existing complications. I am not the same person I was three years ago when I was young and silly and naive. I just want a clean slate. I've had a little tiny taste of what it might be like to really get to know someone, someone who understands you completely, someone who will tell you anything and know that you can handle it, someone who will hear anything and bear it all. Next year I want someone to just catch my eye and I can live out a very belated teenage dream, and then, maybe, that person will be the one who can finally say 'I get it. I understand. It's the same for me, too.'