I'm back to good ol' Perthy after a month of galumphing around Asia and yeah, it's good to be back - back to my own bed, my own computer, internet that actually works...
More later when I'm less pooped.
Friday, December 30, 2011
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
monsoon dreaming.
Inspired by Kuala Lumpur, my home for the last few days. Tomorrow I embark on the final leg of my journey - Singapore, my mother's childhood home. Missing belephant and smelly belly.
the sky cried on the streets today.
smoke and steam.
muddy puddles.
motorbikes.
pay-by-the-hour hotels.
smell,
spike,
crack,
eat,
lick.
heaven stinks.
literally.
men stare.
sweat like diamonds
on brow, back and breasts.
i'm pretty sure you-know-whos aren't Sharia.
and then
drip
drip
drip
splash.
run.
the sky cried on the streets today.
smoke and steam.
muddy puddles.
motorbikes.
pay-by-the-hour hotels.
smell,
spike,
crack,
eat,
lick.
heaven stinks.
literally.
men stare.
sweat like diamonds
on brow, back and breasts.
i'm pretty sure you-know-whos aren't Sharia.
and then
drip
drip
drip
splash.
run.
The definition of atheism.
The dictionary definition of atheism is the rejection of the belief of the existence of deities. Clear as mud, huh? Well, I'm an atheist, and this is my take on what atheism is.
This isn't the ONE AND ONLY definition of atheism, and is certainly not the one and only CORRECT definition of atheism. This is just one atheist telling it how she ses it. So no hate mail, please.
As an atheist I reject the existance of a God or gods plural. I do not reject the possibility of the existence of deities, nor do I affirm the impossibility the existence of deities. So, to put it simply, I do not know or believe that the existence of deities is either possible or impossible. I simply believe that, in this world and in this life, there is no God.
There are other kinds of atheists out there. Some believe that deities can exist, they just don't, whilst others preach the impossibility of God. Others believe there might be something out there but it is not sentient, or at least uncaring of human activity.
The primary thing that atheists reject, however, is not God or gods plural, but religion. Religion is restrictive, confining and, to an atheist perspective, a futile sacrifice and, at times, at odds with human rights and human nature. I believe that we have evolved into intelligent, powerful, dangerous, sexual beings and religion suppresses what we are and what we are meant to be. Religion makes me ashamed to be a woman, to be a person, when I am on this earth as a person wholly in charge of my destiny, a bringer of life, put on this earth for a purpose and taken away when my existence becomes obsolete. Religion is a label, and to me, a prison. I cannot find peace in an institution which may have good intentions but is so vulnerable to corruption, violence and suppression. To me, atheism is freedom - freedom to be who I want to be, do what I want to do. I feel that I am a better person as an atheist, because I am free of guilt. I was not born a sinner, and I will not die a sinner. Death feels a little like a dead end, but there is nothing wrong with that. If there's no heaven and no hell, then the only thing death will bring me is a legacy, and if I am remembered as I want to be remembered then that isn't all that bad.
This isn't the ONE AND ONLY definition of atheism, and is certainly not the one and only CORRECT definition of atheism. This is just one atheist telling it how she ses it. So no hate mail, please.
As an atheist I reject the existance of a God or gods plural. I do not reject the possibility of the existence of deities, nor do I affirm the impossibility the existence of deities. So, to put it simply, I do not know or believe that the existence of deities is either possible or impossible. I simply believe that, in this world and in this life, there is no God.
There are other kinds of atheists out there. Some believe that deities can exist, they just don't, whilst others preach the impossibility of God. Others believe there might be something out there but it is not sentient, or at least uncaring of human activity.
The primary thing that atheists reject, however, is not God or gods plural, but religion. Religion is restrictive, confining and, to an atheist perspective, a futile sacrifice and, at times, at odds with human rights and human nature. I believe that we have evolved into intelligent, powerful, dangerous, sexual beings and religion suppresses what we are and what we are meant to be. Religion makes me ashamed to be a woman, to be a person, when I am on this earth as a person wholly in charge of my destiny, a bringer of life, put on this earth for a purpose and taken away when my existence becomes obsolete. Religion is a label, and to me, a prison. I cannot find peace in an institution which may have good intentions but is so vulnerable to corruption, violence and suppression. To me, atheism is freedom - freedom to be who I want to be, do what I want to do. I feel that I am a better person as an atheist, because I am free of guilt. I was not born a sinner, and I will not die a sinner. Death feels a little like a dead end, but there is nothing wrong with that. If there's no heaven and no hell, then the only thing death will bring me is a legacy, and if I am remembered as I want to be remembered then that isn't all that bad.
Monday, December 05, 2011
sharing food with the dead.
Broadcasting from Korea!
This is my last day in my father's hometown, Suncheon - tonight we take the bus back to Seoul for a few days before flying to Malaysia. Sorry I haven't updated in a little bit, but we are, ironically, suffering from prehistoric technology here.
One of the first things we do whenever we come is visit the graves to pay our respects. The most important grave we visit is that of my great-grandfather, who died when my father was four years old, and my great-grandmother, who died the year my sister was born. I don't know whether you've seen a traditional Korean gravesite, but it's actually very beautiful. An area is cleared out on the mountain, which is covered in dense forest, so that the dead can have a nice view. They are buried a few metres into the ground in simple wooden coffins and then it is covered in a mound of earth aout a metre high and two metres wide. Thatchy grass grows on the mounds as the years turn, and there is always a marble table in front of the grave with the deceased details etched onto it in Chinese. Some people, like my great-grandfather and great-grandmother, are buried side by side - spouses bound for eternity as they become one with the earth together. When we go we set up the small table with all sorts of food, and the thing I've always found funny is that it's all of my uncle's favourite foods - rice wine, rice punch, rice cakes, choco pies, chips, fruit and other miscellaneous junk food - because after bowing several times to the graves, the food becomes afternoon tea. Waste not, I suppose.
In other cultures nobody would dare eat the food offered to the dead, but to me it's almost spiritual. The Koreans love their food, and food is a big family thing. Food is shared, passed from parent's chopsticks to the rice bowls of their beloved children and nieces and nephews, heaped into huge portions and offered to the elderly. I've never met my great-grandparents, but somehow, there's something very nice about sharing a choco pie with them. It's how things should be.
This is my last day in my father's hometown, Suncheon - tonight we take the bus back to Seoul for a few days before flying to Malaysia. Sorry I haven't updated in a little bit, but we are, ironically, suffering from prehistoric technology here.
One of the first things we do whenever we come is visit the graves to pay our respects. The most important grave we visit is that of my great-grandfather, who died when my father was four years old, and my great-grandmother, who died the year my sister was born. I don't know whether you've seen a traditional Korean gravesite, but it's actually very beautiful. An area is cleared out on the mountain, which is covered in dense forest, so that the dead can have a nice view. They are buried a few metres into the ground in simple wooden coffins and then it is covered in a mound of earth aout a metre high and two metres wide. Thatchy grass grows on the mounds as the years turn, and there is always a marble table in front of the grave with the deceased details etched onto it in Chinese. Some people, like my great-grandfather and great-grandmother, are buried side by side - spouses bound for eternity as they become one with the earth together. When we go we set up the small table with all sorts of food, and the thing I've always found funny is that it's all of my uncle's favourite foods - rice wine, rice punch, rice cakes, choco pies, chips, fruit and other miscellaneous junk food - because after bowing several times to the graves, the food becomes afternoon tea. Waste not, I suppose.
In other cultures nobody would dare eat the food offered to the dead, but to me it's almost spiritual. The Koreans love their food, and food is a big family thing. Food is shared, passed from parent's chopsticks to the rice bowls of their beloved children and nieces and nephews, heaped into huge portions and offered to the elderly. I've never met my great-grandparents, but somehow, there's something very nice about sharing a choco pie with them. It's how things should be.
Thursday, November 24, 2011
jumping the gun a bit.
As I make my way to my second to last year eleven finals, I have in my head resolved that next year I will do things a little differently.
All in all, I'm proud of how I've done this year. I've seen so many overconfident year tens crash and burn under the pressure of senior school, but I've borne the brunt of it and walked away relatively unscathed. Sure, I get tired and lazy and addicted to YouTube at times, but I've managed to get through the year in the good books, without failing too many things.
To me it was very important that I keep myself calm and relatively untroubled by year eleven. Too many people freak out and are burnt out by too many overnighters by the time year twelve hits - and that, my friends, is the big cheese. I took it easy. Tried not to obsess over marks. And I think it's paid off. I look forward to year twelve with much excitement and energy, and that was the main goal of year eleven.
Next year I will study more. Blog less. Work harder. Set more academic goals. Get iTunes set up again so that I can listen to music without the temptation of videos (ATM I listen to all my music on YouTube).
Next year I hope to:
1. Walk and get some fresh air at least once, if not twice a day (at least twice on weekends).
2. Set up to-do lists for each study session.
3. Only go on YouTube AFTER to-do list has been exhausted.
4. Write practice essays for each of my subjects at least once a fortnight (I have been very lazy about this, but I know it will help my Modern History.)
5. Use more sites other than Wikipedia (my Ancient History teacher warned me that the year twelve ancient history teacher has zero tolerance for Wikipedia)
6. Go to bed at ten. Sharp.
7. Wake up at six to study in the morning.
8. Continue to obsess about 90s for English and Lit (it is good for me. It doesn't sound like it, but it is. Trust me.)
I think that's it!
All in all, I'm proud of how I've done this year. I've seen so many overconfident year tens crash and burn under the pressure of senior school, but I've borne the brunt of it and walked away relatively unscathed. Sure, I get tired and lazy and addicted to YouTube at times, but I've managed to get through the year in the good books, without failing too many things.
To me it was very important that I keep myself calm and relatively untroubled by year eleven. Too many people freak out and are burnt out by too many overnighters by the time year twelve hits - and that, my friends, is the big cheese. I took it easy. Tried not to obsess over marks. And I think it's paid off. I look forward to year twelve with much excitement and energy, and that was the main goal of year eleven.
Next year I will study more. Blog less. Work harder. Set more academic goals. Get iTunes set up again so that I can listen to music without the temptation of videos (ATM I listen to all my music on YouTube).
Next year I hope to:
1. Walk and get some fresh air at least once, if not twice a day (at least twice on weekends).
2. Set up to-do lists for each study session.
3. Only go on YouTube AFTER to-do list has been exhausted.
4. Write practice essays for each of my subjects at least once a fortnight (I have been very lazy about this, but I know it will help my Modern History.)
5. Use more sites other than Wikipedia (my Ancient History teacher warned me that the year twelve ancient history teacher has zero tolerance for Wikipedia)
6. Go to bed at ten. Sharp.
7. Wake up at six to study in the morning.
8. Continue to obsess about 90s for English and Lit (it is good for me. It doesn't sound like it, but it is. Trust me.)
I think that's it!
archiving is embarassing.
I honestly have no idea what was going through my head as a twelve and thirteen year old. I'm nearly sixteen, and quite frankly, the person I was four years ago is ridiculous. How could I have called all those people friends? Why did I write this and that? Why did I think I was being so witty and clever and funny? And WHY OH WHY did I fall in love so hard and so fast? Okay, I still do, but at least words like 'phwar' don't pop up too often now here. Except for Mathew Baynton. Phwar. But it's okay, because I'll never ever see him. 'Phwar' is not an appropriate word for a person you have to spend lots of time with.
I wish there was a polite way to tell a younger, innocent self that I might as well be a nun for all the luck I've had in love. Nothing is fair in love and war.
I wish there was a polite way to tell a younger, innocent self that I might as well be a nun for all the luck I've had in love. Nothing is fair in love and war.
Friday, November 18, 2011
to my, like, wonderful readers LOL
I don't, um, really live in the world of like ROFL like LOL.
I mean, I like, live in it but I don't really get it. LOL.
This isn't really, um....a blog 4, like, peeps who don't know how 2 like, y'know, talk properly. Gottit? gr8. I like, um...don't really care if you, like, know my like ex-bf or whatevs man because y'know what? We, like, go 2 the same skool so I can, like, see all of U laughing and shiz. I mean, like, whatevs man. Totes not cool. Sum peeps don't like telling the whole world that they a) can't talk properly and b) don't understand anything.
Ok? TTFN!
I mean, I like, live in it but I don't really get it. LOL.
This isn't really, um....a blog 4, like, peeps who don't know how 2 like, y'know, talk properly. Gottit? gr8. I like, um...don't really care if you, like, know my like ex-bf or whatevs man because y'know what? We, like, go 2 the same skool so I can, like, see all of U laughing and shiz. I mean, like, whatevs man. Totes not cool. Sum peeps don't like telling the whole world that they a) can't talk properly and b) don't understand anything.
Ok? TTFN!
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
I may possibly take a leetle weetle break...
Exams + vacation: possibly inactive Lady Solitaire.
I don't know how much time/access I'll have to this blog in the coming weeks, so I might take a summer snoozer. December 2011 may be the first time in THREE YEARS OF BLOGGING I have failed to post anything!
To keep you busy, here are my personal favourite internet haunts (I don't spend all my time here, you know):
Dirty Diaper Laundry - don't get put off by the title. Kim Rosas is a work at home wife and mother, and a super awesome environmentalist/cloth diaper advocate. You could watch the 200+ cloth diaper reviews but if you're not having babies then that's just a bit weird - she does have a personal blog which is baby related, but not so much. Kim is so not your average WAHM - she's funny, insightful, intelligent and down to earth. Also check out oatmealr, which is a YouTube channel dedicated entirely to her cute-as-pie sons, Fletcher and Everett.
Mama Natural - One of my all time favourite vlogs - Genevieve Damascus posts twice weekly on natural living, parenting, and life with her GORGEOUS baby GriffyD (CUTEST BABY I HAVE EVER SEEN) and her hubby, Mike. Warning: following this blog may lead to GWS (Griffin Withdrawal Syndrome) as the cute bub doesn't appear in every single video...nooo...
Karen Cheng - A Perth favourite. Food, fashion and family life.
Charlieissocoollike - I don't actually know any teenage girl who doesn't follow/obsessively stalk this Brit. Seriously.
HORRIBLE HISTORIES - Just type in 'Horrible Histories' into YouTube and go MAD! It's CRAZY FUN! (yes, I did just do about 20 links to Horrible Histories.)
Kurthugoschneider - Uh-May-Zing.
MetroDad - he doesn't post often, but when he does, it's gold.
Nigahiga - because nerdy Asianness isn't just skin deep.
Megan Nicole, Savannah Outen, Caitlin Hart, Tiffany Alvord - internet talent, sans Autotune. Good times.
So...probably adieu...for now...
I don't know how much time/access I'll have to this blog in the coming weeks, so I might take a summer snoozer. December 2011 may be the first time in THREE YEARS OF BLOGGING I have failed to post anything!
To keep you busy, here are my personal favourite internet haunts (I don't spend all my time here, you know):
Dirty Diaper Laundry - don't get put off by the title. Kim Rosas is a work at home wife and mother, and a super awesome environmentalist/cloth diaper advocate. You could watch the 200+ cloth diaper reviews but if you're not having babies then that's just a bit weird - she does have a personal blog which is baby related, but not so much. Kim is so not your average WAHM - she's funny, insightful, intelligent and down to earth. Also check out oatmealr, which is a YouTube channel dedicated entirely to her cute-as-pie sons, Fletcher and Everett.
Mama Natural - One of my all time favourite vlogs - Genevieve Damascus posts twice weekly on natural living, parenting, and life with her GORGEOUS baby GriffyD (CUTEST BABY I HAVE EVER SEEN) and her hubby, Mike. Warning: following this blog may lead to GWS (Griffin Withdrawal Syndrome) as the cute bub doesn't appear in every single video...nooo...
Karen Cheng - A Perth favourite. Food, fashion and family life.
Charlieissocoollike - I don't actually know any teenage girl who doesn't follow/obsessively stalk this Brit. Seriously.
HORRIBLE HISTORIES - Just type in 'Horrible Histories' into YouTube and go MAD! It's CRAZY FUN! (yes, I did just do about 20 links to Horrible Histories.)
Kurthugoschneider - Uh-May-Zing.
MetroDad - he doesn't post often, but when he does, it's gold.
Nigahiga - because nerdy Asianness isn't just skin deep.
Megan Nicole, Savannah Outen, Caitlin Hart, Tiffany Alvord - internet talent, sans Autotune. Good times.
So...probably adieu...for now...
Saturday, November 12, 2011
Vanity vs. Morality
I am now a size six, 32DD. Mwahahaha....
....not really.
A few weeks ago I was a model for one of my friend's photography project, in which she was making fake Levi jeans adverts. The photoshoot involved me, then nearly 60kg, prancing around in baggy jeans (jeans and I don't have the best working relationship) and very unflattering tank tops. I didn't mind too much because a) I should not be judged by my spare tires and b) I knew it would be edited to oblivion anyway.
I saw the end results and I must firstly say that my friend is very competent at all this photography editing stuff. Looking at the pictures, you'd probably think that the model was a spot free, size six, 6 foot model with a nonexistant waist. But it's not. It's a heavily edited picture of a short, spotty, dumpy teenager.
I am fundamentally opposed to photoshopping adverts. I have been all too often a victim of the portrayal of unhealthy body images and, as a sufferer of depression, I take attacks on self-esteem very seriously. Young girls these days have too many things to worry about.
But, this is where my vanity kicks in. I am just a normal, hormonal, teenage girl. I have my insecurities, but more importantly, I have my own vanities. I love looking good. I love how I look in those photos, even though I know if I were that skinny in reality I would be very, very unhealthy (and I wouldn't have such big jugs). But I can't help loving how I look in those pictures. I've been brainwashed. I'm still opposed to photoshop, but I can't help but like how I look with photoshop. You can't win.
So I'm a hypocrite. I know. But at least I'm hot.
....not really.
A few weeks ago I was a model for one of my friend's photography project, in which she was making fake Levi jeans adverts. The photoshoot involved me, then nearly 60kg, prancing around in baggy jeans (jeans and I don't have the best working relationship) and very unflattering tank tops. I didn't mind too much because a) I should not be judged by my spare tires and b) I knew it would be edited to oblivion anyway.
I saw the end results and I must firstly say that my friend is very competent at all this photography editing stuff. Looking at the pictures, you'd probably think that the model was a spot free, size six, 6 foot model with a nonexistant waist. But it's not. It's a heavily edited picture of a short, spotty, dumpy teenager.
I am fundamentally opposed to photoshopping adverts. I have been all too often a victim of the portrayal of unhealthy body images and, as a sufferer of depression, I take attacks on self-esteem very seriously. Young girls these days have too many things to worry about.
But, this is where my vanity kicks in. I am just a normal, hormonal, teenage girl. I have my insecurities, but more importantly, I have my own vanities. I love looking good. I love how I look in those photos, even though I know if I were that skinny in reality I would be very, very unhealthy (and I wouldn't have such big jugs). But I can't help loving how I look in those pictures. I've been brainwashed. I'm still opposed to photoshop, but I can't help but like how I look with photoshop. You can't win.
So I'm a hypocrite. I know. But at least I'm hot.
Tuesday, November 08, 2011
eating a very, very humble pie.
I have absolutely no problem in saying that I am cocky. I know what I am good at, and I'm damn proud of what I'm good at. We all have a right to be so.
However, I'm not too proud to concede defeat. I'm not the sort who cannot fly a white flag. I'm not scared of admitting that I've stuffed up, and asking for a second chance. I know my faults, and I know where I go wrong. My ego's been deflated but it's a learning experience.And now I am eating a very, very humble pie.
I remember vividly the very first essay I got back when I first skipped a grade. I was fresh out of primary school and I had no idea how to write an essay, no concept of academic writing. I gave it my best shot and prayed for the best. At that time I was a very cocky kid, terrified of failure. At least, that's what I thought.
I must tell you that I set very different standards for myself than other people, and I have very different standards for some subjects than others. For example, for all of my subjects I am perfectly happy with 70s and 80s, and so are my teachers. But for English and Lit I will fight tooth and nail to get 90s. It's just how I work.
Anyway.
I got this first paper back, and it was a 73%. 22 out of 30. This was a top class where a good half of them were getting 31 (English teachers are not known for their mathematical skills). An utter failure for my standards. Even now, I still cry a little when I don't get a 90. But back then I didn't feel shocked, or sad, or try to justify my failure with 'I've just skipped a grade'. I had lived for eight years getting nothing less than perfect for my reading and writing. It made me restless - knowing I wasn't yet a good writer, but not knowing how to make myself better; knowing I didn't yet deserve perfect scores, but getting them because teachers couldn't be bothered, or simply couldn't, dig deep and pull out some flaw. I had lived for eight years helping teachers mark work, helping teachers mark my own work, writing and working without a single praise or critique. And here was a teacher willing to scribble out page after page of what I didn't do, what I did wrong, and what I could do better. Nothing was harsh or cynical or judgemental. It was you suck the big one, but in a nice way.
I left year nine, as a year eight, a perfect 30 student. Every essay I got back that wasn't perfect, there was always help and guidance, and more importantly, an internalized drive to do better.
I realize now that I have lost this. I'd gotten lazy, overly confident that I wouldn't slip too far even if I didn't put the work in. Don't get me wrong, I did work very hard on this particular disaster, but hard work is futile if you haven't got the bitterness of failure on your tongue. I was fighting against failure, but I had forgotten what failure was like. I'd forgotten what it was like to fall short of my own expectations.
I could have endless, perfectly-valid excuses as to why I had missed the mark. I have skipped a grade, after all. What I did end up getting is more than most people dream of. It's not such a bad mark, and, in the grand scheme of things, English isn't going to count towards anything, Yeah, that's true. But I didn't take English so I could flunk it, and waste my time. I took English because I love it, because I'm good at it, and because I grow and learn so much in English. And yes, the mark I did get isn't so bad. In another subject, I'd probably very happy. But I have my own standards. I know what is good and bad for me, and state averages aren't much of a comfort to me. An Olympic swimmer isn't going to be satisfied with what I would consider a fast lap time, but he'd probably take my essay scores, even my 'bad 'ones, anyday. All I know is that I normally do better, and now I feel bad.
So I'm going to do it again. I'm going to take a break, catch my breath, and throw myself into it. Just like I did, a long time ago, as a scared year eight girl out in the big world.
But for now, I have to finish my very, very humble pie.
However, I'm not too proud to concede defeat. I'm not the sort who cannot fly a white flag. I'm not scared of admitting that I've stuffed up, and asking for a second chance. I know my faults, and I know where I go wrong. My ego's been deflated but it's a learning experience.And now I am eating a very, very humble pie.
I remember vividly the very first essay I got back when I first skipped a grade. I was fresh out of primary school and I had no idea how to write an essay, no concept of academic writing. I gave it my best shot and prayed for the best. At that time I was a very cocky kid, terrified of failure. At least, that's what I thought.
I must tell you that I set very different standards for myself than other people, and I have very different standards for some subjects than others. For example, for all of my subjects I am perfectly happy with 70s and 80s, and so are my teachers. But for English and Lit I will fight tooth and nail to get 90s. It's just how I work.
Anyway.
I got this first paper back, and it was a 73%. 22 out of 30. This was a top class where a good half of them were getting 31 (English teachers are not known for their mathematical skills). An utter failure for my standards. Even now, I still cry a little when I don't get a 90. But back then I didn't feel shocked, or sad, or try to justify my failure with 'I've just skipped a grade'. I had lived for eight years getting nothing less than perfect for my reading and writing. It made me restless - knowing I wasn't yet a good writer, but not knowing how to make myself better; knowing I didn't yet deserve perfect scores, but getting them because teachers couldn't be bothered, or simply couldn't, dig deep and pull out some flaw. I had lived for eight years helping teachers mark work, helping teachers mark my own work, writing and working without a single praise or critique. And here was a teacher willing to scribble out page after page of what I didn't do, what I did wrong, and what I could do better. Nothing was harsh or cynical or judgemental. It was you suck the big one, but in a nice way.
I left year nine, as a year eight, a perfect 30 student. Every essay I got back that wasn't perfect, there was always help and guidance, and more importantly, an internalized drive to do better.
I realize now that I have lost this. I'd gotten lazy, overly confident that I wouldn't slip too far even if I didn't put the work in. Don't get me wrong, I did work very hard on this particular disaster, but hard work is futile if you haven't got the bitterness of failure on your tongue. I was fighting against failure, but I had forgotten what failure was like. I'd forgotten what it was like to fall short of my own expectations.
I could have endless, perfectly-valid excuses as to why I had missed the mark. I have skipped a grade, after all. What I did end up getting is more than most people dream of. It's not such a bad mark, and, in the grand scheme of things, English isn't going to count towards anything, Yeah, that's true. But I didn't take English so I could flunk it, and waste my time. I took English because I love it, because I'm good at it, and because I grow and learn so much in English. And yes, the mark I did get isn't so bad. In another subject, I'd probably very happy. But I have my own standards. I know what is good and bad for me, and state averages aren't much of a comfort to me. An Olympic swimmer isn't going to be satisfied with what I would consider a fast lap time, but he'd probably take my essay scores, even my 'bad 'ones, anyday. All I know is that I normally do better, and now I feel bad.
So I'm going to do it again. I'm going to take a break, catch my breath, and throw myself into it. Just like I did, a long time ago, as a scared year eight girl out in the big world.
But for now, I have to finish my very, very humble pie.
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