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.
Friday, June 15, 2012
Thursday, June 14, 2012
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Wednesday, June 13, 2012
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 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.
#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.
Sunday, June 10, 2012
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
#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.'
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.'
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