In Pursuit of Eternal Boredom

Normality is a mere 10%, or even less, of our personality, our character, our soul, that we have in common with the rest of the world. It is not something in itself, it is just an ever-changing collection of attributes that are common and therefore mediocre. In the pursuit of normality, you become that 10%. You lose the rest. Do you understand? 90% of who you are, who you were born to be, what you could become, just lost in some fruitless battle to be accepted. You lose yourself, what makes you lovable, detestable, admirable, memorable. You just become one of many. Your soul shrinks, and sometimes, it even dies.

There's less and less to write about now. D'you think Austen and Bronte and Shakespeare would have become so famous if they wrote about people like you? You inspire nothing but pity in me. Your fear and your contempt for the unknown - we are the species who discovered the universe, but let me tell you, it was not people like you who discovered and created what makes our civilization great. 2,000 years ago Caesar fell in love with Cleopatra, and it was not because she spent her whole life in pursuit of eternal boredom. The people who rattle the bars, the people who dare to be different, the people who make a stand...they are the people who are remembered. Love, hate, passion, lust...these are the things that write history. Conformity is admirable, but a forgotten quality.

I suppose this really hit home in the latest catfight at school. I might hate being lonely, but I cannot help but feel like I am losing a piece of me when I try and be like one of them. I told someone once that my greatest fear was living a life I didn't love, in a house that was not a home with a man who was not my love. I guess that was how I felt for those few months when I belonged, when somebody could slap a label on me. I wasn't living a life that I loved, that group was not for me and they could never love me and I could never love them. The alternative is not all that much better, and I'm still trying to cope with that.  But at least I have escaped the pursuit of eternal boredom.

Mixed Messages.

Love, for a boy, is straightforward. Boy meets girl. Boy asks girl out. Girl says yes or no. That's about it.

Boys love the chase. Girls are meant to be chased, not do the chasing. But how can you help it? Being in love pulls you in like a magnet, and it's hard to run away from that. Why are we accused of being suffocating, being desperate, when we're just doing what we want all the boys to do to us? I hate how we have to play games to get what we want.

When a boy says no, it means no. When a girl says no, it can mean anything. I hate how we don't have the same kind of finality that boy does. If girls are expected to play hard to get I wish boys were born with the ability to recognise when a girl is playing and when a girl really doesn't want anything to do with you. How many times have I said no no no and it gets interpreted in some deluded boy's mind as yes yes yes?There are only so many variations of 'just friends' that I know.


Why is it that when a girl likes a boy and he doesn't return the favour, nobody thinks he has anything to do with it? But when a boy likes a girl and she doesn't like him, the rumours tell of a more mutual story. Why are girls meant to fall over every boy who looks twice at her, but boys get to pick and choose?

that's what you get when you let your heart win.

I have never liked anyone that I have known to like me. Isn't that weird? There are so many guys that I have liked, yet it is the ones that I dislike/hate/am indifferent to/wasn't aware of their existance/thought they were gay/just friends with that choose to decide that I'm not a freak of nature.

I don't resent people for not liking me. Well, that's not entirely true. I think we all resent the disappointing result after that thrilling, surreal time of he loves me, he loves me not. But I have never blamed someone for it, never been really angry about it. When you love someone and they don't love you back, well, that's what you get when you let your heart win. For some unfathomable, unfair reason, they can wipe their hands clean and walk away. But to be angry is like being angry at God. Anger won't make them love you back. It's futile and a waste of energy.  

I have never felt guilty for not reciprocating those rare specimens of life who choose to enjoy my company. I cannot choose who I love - if I could, I wouldn't have fallen in love until, well, later...and I would have chosen a bit more wisely. But I never would have chosen any of the people who have liked me, and that's not an insult to them or me. It would be as pointless as trying to set fire to the ocean.

I resent what people I love do to me. Being in love is such a vulnerable position, and every single one of them have taken advantage of that. Could they not just take the compliment and walk away?

When you're as bitter as I am about the whole institution it is so tempting to stage some kind of revenge, to be cruel and unsympathetic. Sometimes you cannot help but feel a little disgusted, a little offended. It is so tempting to be angry about the awkwardness and embarassment they can cause. You forget that you could have been the cause of awkwardness and embarassment for so many other people. But I was eight when I first realized that love isn't always a two way street. Eight years later, nobody has proven me wrong, and if love is a gamble I would be so ridiculously in debt for the amount I have given to receive so little. I don't really have any sympathy for any boy my age who gets in that position. It's part of growing up, and quite frankly, it should have happened a long time ago. It happened to me a long time ago.

But then I remember. I remember what it's like to be rejected. I remember what it's like to be passed over for someone prettier, skinnier, smarter, blonder, better. I remember all those times that I gritted my teeth and accepted that the whole world cannot love me, but wishing, just wishing, that they could be a little nicer about it.

I don't make any rash promises like I used to. I can't promise to love everyone and anyone who comes to me. I won't say 'yes' when my heart says 'no'. But I promise I will be kinder than the boy who passed me over for my best friend. I promise I will be kinder than the boy who dumped me, online, three days after asking me out. I will be kinder than the boy who spent last summer flirting and then forgot all about it. I will be kinder than the countless boys who laughed at me, yelled at me, wanted nothing to do with me, just because I paid them the ultimate compliment.   

When I was little, I was taught to treat others how you would like to be treated. I have never been treated how I would like to be treated, how I deserve to be treated. But this is one thing where I can put aside my bitterness and my complete lack of sympathy, and be, for once, altruistic. When you want so badly for people just to be honest and kind, you can't be a hypocrite. 

I must say that I am impressed that you could be so selfish. I am impressed that you can have a person's unhappiness on your conscience.

I do not have the heart to be such a bitch.

I try not to think about it - but it's hard to do that, at school, when the march from locker to class to locker to home is one long lonely march. But when I think about it too much, I start to cry. I cry like I cried over K, over rochester. I did not think this would cut so deep.

I knew that I would never be able to fully crack into the group. I knew that after high school we would part ways and probably never see or speak to each other again. I knew I would never have what my sister has, even now after her friends have taken their own paths. I knew that you would organize party after party, event after event, and overlook my invitation. I knew all of that. But beggars can't be choosers - I thought I could endure that, in exchange for a little company, a little kindness, just until graduation. I never knew that you had it in you to be so heartless.

You got rid of me easily. I have no intention of crawling back, begging. But you know I'm the kind of person who has to talk to heal. So I'm going to keep talking.

there are so many things that could be said.

Specifically, there are so many things that have been said. There has been so much dialogue between us. I remember each word said about you, to you, with you, against you.There are things that you know, and I don't; things that I wish I could scream at you, instead of smiling blandly. There are so many things I can never say.

Maybe not for you. But for me.

I told you, words mean everything to me. It is so strange that they seem to mean nothing to no one. Without words, I am nothing. That is why I mean so little to my so-called friends, to you.  

It is so hard to pretend like we are perfect strangers. Is that all we are? It seems like such a waste. When what has been said has been said, how can we go back to something so banal?

I do not like being in love. It has never given me a moment of joy. I am the most useless at gambling, at playing. If I could I would turn it off, just for a little while, and let myself get on with my life. I know people think that I am aiming too high, but the truth is, I am not aiming. I know you are too high, and if this were a rational, reasoned decision none of this would ever happen. I never intend any of this bullshit to happen; it just does. I wish I could be indifferent to you. I am indifferent to so many others, so many others who have been much kinder to me than you have been.

In eight months you and I will go our separate ways. I have spent half my childhood in a university, and I know just how big it is. I'll lose myself in it, and I doubt I'll see you again. There is nothing to miss about you except the little patter of my heart and the wealth of foolish things I have said and done. It is hard seeing you everywhere. You seem to be absolutely everywhere I go. It will be easier when you and I are out of sight, out of mind. Because, knowing me, it doesn't matter what you do or what you become; I am just being silly and irrational.

I was almost indifferent to you. I was almost at the point where you were nothing more than a pleasant acquaintance. You ruined that, and no amount of deleting or forgetting or whinging is going to erase that completely, not yet.

I am sure you did not mean it. You're careless, but not cruel. But you got into my bubble, and now I am in a world of hurt.

spirallingwhitelily

i am the crowned queen
of no-man's land
princess of
nothing in particular.

can you see my coronet
sparkle in the candlelight?

i am laced
tight
in bright white light
and silver lace
curling
softly

down the arches of my back
and hips
and breasts...

a creamy waterfall of
white silk
and an obsidian tumble of
black curls

i am a porcelain doll
made of
caramelandhoney

of rouge
and roses
and champagne.

my darkhawkeyes
are hidden
behind
lace, sparkle and silk.

without my kohl
and black satin

i am not the lady of the night.

just for one day

i am just an innocent
spirallingwhitelily

dreaming of nothing

darker
or more sordid

than a knight in shining armour.

and, perhaps,
a kiss.

they all stop and stare

at me

and the boy who has me
on his arm.

they whisper to me
and amongst themselves
what they should have said
could have said

long, long ago...

i take his hand
and his, and his

as carefree
as a barefoot milkmaid.

come with me

come dance.

self portrait at the ball

The 2012 Perth Modern School Presidential Elections

First of all, this is not an attack on either of the candidates of this year's elections. I know them both reasonably well and they are the nicest, smartest, most capable young men. Both would make perfectly good presidents. This is not a critique on the outcome of the elections, but how the elections were run and how they will continue to be run if we don't stand up for our rights. This is not to say that one is better than the other, or that we want one more than the other. What we want is a fair election to prove that we get the properly-elected candidate as our school president.

Last year we held elections for the 2012 School President - the leader of the Student Council and the representative of the student body. The elections were run by one of the politics teachers, and the votes were counted and scrutinized by students. The results were public, and we had a president fair and square.

Then, this year, admin insisted on the year elevens voting for School President as well - this has not been done before for as long as anyone can remember, and is hardly fair seeing as both the candidates are year twelves and do not have much to do with the year elevens, who have their own student councillors.

The year eleven voting was supervised by admin. It was online, not compulsory or even properly advertised, there was no real, proper campaigning, and the results were not publicized. All we know is that suddenly a new president was announced, and he has not been allowed to step down or share responsibilities with the other candidate.

This has, obviously, caused some problems. We don't know how the year eleven vote has affected the result, but we're not worried about that; we're worried about whether the admin has had any influence on the result. For us, it is no great tragedy, because both candidates are amazing and either would do a great job in representing us. But this is a matter of integrity. The role of school president is one that is supposed to be democratically elected by the graduating class, not decided by bureaucracy. In our eyes, both candidates are equal and had an equal chance of winning; but there has to be a fair and square winner, and at the moment there is not. What are the consequences if we allow admin to continue to meddle in student affairs?

As a student body, we have the right to choose who we want to represent us. We have the right of majority rules, not admin rules. We have the right to transparent, fair, democratic elections. We want the year eleven vote to either be dismissed completely, or redone properly. We want the results to be public, fair, and transparent. Then, we will accept whoever has been properly elected.

I don't know how long it's going to take to feel okay.

I don't know how long it's going to take before I stop feeling like a short tubby eight year old with a snotty nose and scabby knees and nobody to talk to.

I have no qualms about guilt tripping you. I'm not going to fake a smile and let you walk away from me, guilt-free. I'm not going to pretend that I'm okay with all of this. I'm not. I put so much love and energy and time into this, and now I feel robbed. You have no idea what it's like to have an empty inbox; no invites to the millions of parties that were on this weekend. You have no idea what it's like to realize that out of the million ball pictures, not one of them has you in it. You have no idea how fucking humiliating it is to plan things, then realize you have nobody to invite.

Don't you dare tell me that it'll 'take a little while to get used to'. I had sixteen years to figure that out. Don't look so shocked when I tell you that I have no-one else. You know that I have no-one else. Some of the people in our grade have been friends for nearly a decade. It's year twelve. It's too late to gatecrash now. You never get used to being alone, being lonely, feeling little and lost.

You have never respected me as a friend. You have never respected me as a person with equal say, with feelings and opinions. You have never treated me like you treat the others.

But now, you barely respect me as a person. 

some people that i used to know.

It wasn't supposed to be like this.

Friends slip through my hands like a wet bar of soap. Sometimes it's my fault. Sometimes it's not. Either way, friends come and go like boats at a dock.

It wasn't supposed to be like this.

I'm sixteen, and graduating. I wasn't supposed to be so alone. I wasn't supposed to be walking down the hall in my leavers jacket, saying hi to a bunch of faces who ignore me. I wasn't supposed to be fighting back tears and forcing myself to pluck up the courage to talk to people who have 'go away' written all over them.

Pour mon ami, mon rochester et ma mère:

I know and you know that you won't choose me over them. I'm not a fool. Society means more to anyone than I ever could. What do I have to offer? Obscurity. Loneliness. Ostracization. Nobody would want to be alone as I am. I don't want to be alone as I am. But here we are. You have a choice, and you're taking it. I don't.   

You said that you'd always be there for me. In my world, stuff like that means something. But you were the first person to run for the hills, and I was the one who had to cut the cord. I didn't believe you for a heartbeat, not really; but for a very, very brief moment I would have been content to lay aside what I wanted for so long for a humble friendship. For once I really need someone, anyone. I miss my Tom Riddle's diary, even all the empty promises and the meaningless flirting and insincere flattery. But you're here but not here.

I honestly don't know why you have stuck with me for these last sixteen years. I used to run out the front door and race to school to escape the house, but now I find myself wishing I was back at home, eating your food, forgetting who I am in your embrace. You're never there when I need you the most; you're never with me to fight in the battlefield that school has become. The other girls who call their mothers a bitch don't realize what it is to have no friend like your mother, no friend but your mother.

Why am I so out of place? Why do I constantly have to censor and edit myself? Why is it, despite these revisions, retakes, and an endless, endless forgiveness, am I still left in the dark? I cut off and hide away so much of myself, and yet still...still I cannot even pretend to be normal. But I'm tired of pretending to be someone to make friends, to find love. You do not see one tenth of the darkness, the passion, the hate that is locked away, for now. I don't have the courage to let that fly, not yet, anyway - not now that I have been crushed.

I was born who I am. I don't think I deserve this, for that.

pretension and mediocrity.

if you're goIng to do someThing, give it your all. be pasSionate about what you do; be pasSionate abOut living.

people are terrified what other people think about them, and it makes them pretentiouS. i hate people who go All alternative just for the hell of it, rather than actually believing in what they're doing. the kinD of people who boycotT the 40-Hour famine becAuse poverTy has become trendy or something, or labellIng themselves as anti-feminists just because it's suddenly become Hip to pick on feminists. being alternAtive for the sake of being alternatiVe is actually thE most ridiculous thing. i can be pretty weird sometimes. i don't use shampoo anYmore, becausE i've done my research and i've decided i don't wanT such a cocktail of chemicals so close To my brain. i listen tO alternative music because i like alternative music - that being said, i used to like justin bieber, and i have no problem with the fact that i have 50 taylor swiFt songs on my ipod. I am what i am, alternative or maiNstream or whatever. people are so quick to label, judge, conform. why? why why why?

meDiocrity. whoever thinks that pretending that you don't like thiS, don't knOw that, is cool, is an idiot. there is no shame in being aMazingly awesomE at something - it makes yOu an amaziNgly awesomE person. they don'T give out prizes to the most Reluctant person, or the most average person, or the person with the best i-don't-wanna-be-here-this-is-lame face. the world only remembers the best and the worst. the people in the middle are forgotten; they vanish, into a void.

everyone has become one and the same -  one-dimentional, conformist mediocre. it feels like a crime to be different, a crime to be genUine, real, passionate. i feeL like people look down on me, like i have no self control or something. but why should i trY and change who i am? how will i ever get self-satisFaction or pride or lovE or acceptAnce, if i pretend to be something i'm not? how will i be able to live as someone else how will i be able to live, being loved not foR me, but for a mask? how do people Live with that?

it takes couragE to be different. but it takeS even more courage to be yourSelf.