Melancholic Reflections;

Betrothed unto the enemy

2011-09-08T04:56:00.001+10:00

I cannot, and will not, ever be satisfied. Satisfaction comes from completion and wholeness, like when you finish a painting or an essay, and you look at it and feel a sense of achievement. Complete is something I will never be. Not even close.
I will always be the traitor. I will always be drawn to betrayal, like those insects fly towards the bright, burning light. Only difference is that they don't know that it will kill them; I know it kills me. Whether I want to betray myself or not, I always will. That is who I am, and long ago I was already given over (but it is not an excuse).

There is something too strong that always pulls me away from what I feel should be right, and it separates me from achieving that right.

Instinct tells me that there should not be two sides fighting inside me. I should not be a contradiction.

Ever wondered why you're still searching? There's ~~your~~ my answer.

BATTER my heart, three person'd God; for, you
As yet but knocke, breathe, shine, and seeke to mend;
That I may rise, and stand, o'erthrow mee,'and bend
Your force, to breake, blowe, burn and make me new.
I, like an usurpt towne, to'another due,	5
Labour to'admit you, but Oh, to no end,
Reason your viceroy in mee, mee should defend,
But is captiv'd, and proves weake or untrue.
Yet dearely'I love you,'and would be loved faine,
But am betroth'd unto your enemie:	10
Divorce mee,'untie, or breake that knot againe;
Take mee to you, imprison mee, for I
Except you'enthrall mee, never shall be free,
Nor ever chast, except you ravish mee. - John Donne

Beauty is in the eye of the (conditioned) beholder

2011-09-07T06:43:00.001+10:00

I know I could probably be prettier if I made the effort.

I could probably be less frumpy, be more daring, make a statement (hopefully a good one) with what I'm wearing.

But that requires effort.

Wearing contacts for a day at uni is just not worth it.

I'm happy for you guys to see me in my hobo/grandpa jumpers.

Nice clothes are nice, but they're only nice because you get to wear them when you feel like dressing up, right?

You know how there are girls that always wear makeup, but you don't really notice it until one day they don't? Yeah you've been conditioned to appreciate them with makeup on. Truth is, when you know someone well and see them often, you either

a) think they're really pretty all the time or
b) don't even notice how they look anymore.

It's just one way our brains simplify all the information they receive.

If I wore makeup on a regular basis there would be too many days where I'd feel lazy and not wear it, so I'm conditioning you guys to see me without it (and you don't even notice I'm doing that). And hopefully you will be pleasantly surprise by how much improvement there can be when I do make the effort.

On the odd occasion when I want to feel pretty.

Mistakes and wrongdoing

2011-07-29T09:24:00.004+10:00

How do we define what is "wrong"? Furthermore, how do we define morality? Why do we just roll our eyes at some mistakes, while we're crushed by others? Why does there seem to be a set of (sometimes unspoken) rules that govern what is "right"?

We all make mistakes. On the one hand, there are mistakes that don't really matter. We forgot to bring an umbrella. We couldn't execute that sonata perfectly. Whatever. There are some things where we expect perfection of ourselves. We expect that we should be able to do it flawlessly, but we know that we can never get it right 100% of the time, because that's just the limit of control we have over our actions.

On the other hand, some mistakes have the ability to rip us apart. Like unfaithfulness in a marriage. Obviously.

Obviously? I don't think so. It's obvious when we say it like that. Stealing is bad. Lying is bad. Killing is bad. It's obvious that certain mistakes are "bad" when we state it on its own. If a speaker we up the front saying something like that, this would be the appropriate time for us, and everyone around us to agree and nod sagely.

How do we define "bad"? Mostly, we go by consensus- "If the rest of the world would disapprove, then it's bad". In the most extreme cases, we judge how big a mistake we have made based on how we might be punished in a court of law. But who makes a decision in the court of law? A judge (a person), based on what the rest of society (people) think. What if people changed their minds over time... as they have?

When we start judging an act against how would be treated for it, I think we've missed the point. Our lives start becoming about our actions. Yes, life is made up of actions, and we choose them carefully, but I find it impossible to achieve satisfaction in actions (...coming from a girl who studies with all that she has to get the best marks she can). No matter how much I do, I can't feel successful unless my heart is in it.

Back to mistakes. Stealing is bad. Lying is bad. Killing is bad. The 10 Commandments say so. Yay, more rules. This time, bad is put forward as something that God says is bad. And if God says it is, it must be. It is authoritative and therefore must be followed (otherwise we will all be rejected and commanded by God to burn in hell).

Again, I think we've missed the point. When we start reading the 10 Commandments as rules of what we must not do, our purpose becomes to stay away from those actions. Which is not a bad goal, except that that's just not the point. Our lives should not revolve around the actions we should and should not do, and therefore the actions that we choose to do and not to do. Actions are a result of thoughts and values, and all those things we cannot see except by actions. Sometimes, different thoughts and beliefs can lead to the same actions, but can leave us with completely different aftertastes.

Example 1, where life is about staying away from actions that are "bad". We are so focused on actions that we do not consider our thoughts, but the process happens anyway.

Thought: Stealing is bad. Society/God says it is bad, and therefore that is the measure by which I will be judged. I will be resented for my actions, and therefore I will not steal.

In this situation, I would feel... restrained. Disregarding whether or not we want to judge the action of stealing as bad, I would feel that I wasn't allowed to do what I really wanted to do, and there would be bitterness and anger at those who didn't allow me to get what I wanted, bubbling below the surface.

Example 2, where we understand that actions are a result of our thoughts and values.

Thought: People value their possessions. I value my possessions. If someone stole something that I valued, I would be heartbroken. Therefore I will not steal.

I come away from the situation at peace, even though I probably wouldn't even think twice about what happened.

When we start to think like this, we start to consider the heart. The heart is something so precious within each of us. Each mistake or wrongdoing costs someone. When I steal from you, it costs you that possession. When I lie to you (yes, even white lies), it costs me the trust between us. I want my actions not to hurt your hearts, and to do this I need to use my own heart, because thoughts lead to actions, and at the end of the day, thoughts are values are that which we hold close to us, and we need to use our hearts to believe them strongly.

God understands people's hearts. He values them, and it pains him to see us trashing others. And so he judges wrongdoing against how much it damages each of our hearts and the hearts of the people around us. We don't live by rules that govern what we do, we live by holding each other in the highest regard and protecting their hearts, and aligning our thoughts and actions accordingly. He doesn't want us to pay for our wrongdoings- He wants us to realise His wisdom.

Let me finish by explaining my point above about achieving satisfaction through actions only when your heart is in it. I study hard, I don't think that surprises anybody. But as much as I do, I cannot do the action of studying simply for the sake of it. The heart that goes along with it is the will to do everything I can with the intellect that I have been given, so that I can honour the giver. When I do, whether or not I achieve the grades I want to- although the blessing usually comes in the form of good marks- I am satisfied. I cannot do anything (well) unless all of me is in it.

Things you should know by now: How to say no to catching up

2011-07-25T20:53:00.002+10:00

"Sorry, I'm really busy at the moment."

"Yeah sure." *gazes out into space*

"Sorry, but my parents/boyfriend/spouse/partner wouldn't be happy."

"Yeah, text me."

"Sorry, but I have to take my grandmother/little sister/long lost cousins to the museum/city/convention for people who collect star wars figurines/world championships for people who can stand on their head the longest/*insert other outrageous event here*

"Yeah, in the holidays."

"Sorry, I'm broke."

"Yeah how about *this time when I know you're never free*?"

"I'm (not) sorry, I DON'T WANT TO."

Just like you

2011-07-16T15:56:00.005+10:00

I know you, because I'm exactly like you.

You don't believe it, do you? I tend to do a really good job of being seen as the definition of "good" (I know this because you tell me), while at the same time I know I can't be, all while fighting my own pride to show that at the end of the day, I'm just like you.

I know what it means to be insecure. I know how many times those words they said are replayed in your mind. And even when they don't say it, I know how you say it to yourself for them, and you damn yourself for it, over and over again.

You're never good enough, are you?

Those words are powerful, I know. And you don't forgive yourself easily, either.

You aren't ready to open up to them. You don't want them to see you as you are, because don't want to give them anything to use against you. You don't want them to be able to count your failings when they're deciding whether or not to trust you again.

I may be incapable of fully loving you, but I love you, because when I look at you, I can see myself, weak and vulnerable and broken, struggling to break free of the words that weigh you down. I know that while it's not what you're willing to say you need, you need it, because I do too.

Please let me in.

I can't promise that I will never hurt you, because I'm just like you, and you understand how sometimes you lack the courage to love instead of hurt someone. As much as I would like to, I will not let myself promise never to hurt you. I will always try to show you how much you're worth, but I know that I'm not capable of making you whole.

Happy Birthday Jane

2011-05-07T13:04:00.003+10:00

Dear Jane,

Happy Birthday.

I haven't seen you in so long.

Whenever I think of you, it's like I'm 5/6/7/8/9 again, running around backstage in Dewan Sri Pinang, dancing a bit better to make sure we get selected, getting ready for our ballet exam, gossiping under my dresser, stressing out about exam results, crouching down and staring at some poor dying worm, sharing everything we knew about the world.

Remember your 8th or 9th birthday at McDonald's Green Lane? Yeah when I got home I kept that balloon you gave me in between my bed and the wall until it shrivelled up completely and there was no air in it anymore.

Now you don't have birthday parties at McDonald's anymore, now you don't care about dying worms anymore, now you've finished ballet, now you can drive, now you have a boy, now you're almost not a teenager anymore.

You're so pretty now, and whenever I see photos of you and your boy, of you and the girls going out to dinner with the guys, at parties, I kinda wish I were there with you.

I miss you heaps.

Jia Tian

For the love of humanity

2011-04-17T14:37:00.003+10:00

Perhaps no other in the world feels like this, or perhaps the words are simply seldom uttered. Whatever the case, I shall try to articulate these intricate, deep-seated emotions, as to try to increase the pool of writings on this subject.

Of late I find myself increasingly dwelling upon the love that exists between common humanity- not specifically that which exists between a man and his wife, or a parent and a child, or even the members of a nation. This love extends far beyond any association- it is more pure and simple than that, and closer, I believe, to what ought to be.

This love simply treasures all that is human. Accepting of various imperfections, it always strives for something more honourable. It believes that the present state of being need not be so, yet embraces all that is good. It continues to hope, and perseveres until that good comes to be. It commands respect, yet does not demand it. It holds dear precious thoughts when apart, and manifests itself in unexplainable joy of company.

Though often expressed in words designed to warm the heart, this love is by nature fierce. If need be, it has the courage to defend to the death for what is right, for it is as strong as death itself.

I love you.

Household economics

2011-03-06T20:28:00.004+11:00

Economics: -n, the study of incentives, rational decision making and allocation of resources, from the Greek 'oikonomia', meaning 'household management'.

Economics, the system within which resources are allocated, depends on individuals acting rationally in their own self interest, according to incentives. Economic policy is therefore the tool with which incentives can be manipulated, thereby dictating the behaviour of individuals, assuming they act in a strictly rational manner.

Okay now take a snapshot of what I've just described and stop that train of thought right HERE. This blog post is titled 'Household Economics', not 'Economics' (LOL made you look. Anyway). Here's where the "household" bit comes in: we can take the Greek meaning of economics of 'household management' literally, meaning that we can draw parallels between an economy and a household, and therefore transpose and apply the principles of incentives, decision making and allocation of resources into a household setting.

Children are perhaps the prime example of individuals who make decisions based on their own self interest. (They, like many adults ~~and politicians in particular~~, have not yet learned the joy and graces of sharing in the good of the general population.) Children live in households. Children live in households in which it is sought that their behaviour be controlled. In normal sentences- Children, because they act in their own self interest, often misbehave, or do not observe the house rules. The task, and often challenge, of parents is to try to raise the child in a way that the child makes the decisions that the parents would have made for them anyway. Effectively, the parents get their way, but because the child made the decisions that they did.

The problem, and therefore solution, often lies in the incentives that exist for the children in the household. If children act in their own self interest and they are acting in a particular way, then rational decision making tells us that there has to be some incentive for them to allocate their resources (time, energy etc) in that particular direction.

Adults are, in effect, the "policy makers" of households. Parents are given free reign in the way they structure their little 'economy'. They allocate- and even control- most of the resources in the family, and have the power to ingrain a way of thinking based on incentives. This is essentially the government's job in managing the economy. This is 'household management'.

Let's give an example of where a manipulation of incentives (or lack thereof) could prove to be an effective way of dealing with an issue. A common problem in households is messiness. Take for example, reusable plastic food storage containers. Yes, trivial, but it illustrates a point. Picture the cupboard in your kitchen that stores the containers- all of different shapes, sizes and depths. When you open that cupboard...stuff generally all comes tumbling out, right? The fact that this cupboard in our house is always messy is a constant source of complaint from my mother. No one in my house bothers to keep that cupboard tidy anymore. Why? Because there is a disincentive to keeping it tidy. That cupboard in my house is below the bench, and therefore fairly deep because it extends the width of the bench. It is also in a corner where my front loader dishwasher opens in front of it (ie when you open the dishwasher, you can't open that cupboard). And because the dishwasher is there, the door of the cupboard actually can't fully open. Even if you don't know my house and can't picture it, here's the point: the disincentive of keeping that cupboard tidy is that you actually need to get down on your knees and stick your head into the cupboard to see what's in there. And when you want to stack a container on top of another one, you need to take that container out onto the bench, stack the one on top, and put the stacked containers back onto the shelf. Effort, right? When someone in my house weighs up the cost and benefits of that action, the costs outweigh the benefits, and therefore they don't bother. Simple economics. The solution, as I pointed out to my mother today, would be to have a big, deep drawer, not next to the dishwasher, so that firstly, everything can be seen (our containers are generally clear). Secondly whenever someone wants to keep a container, they will make the decision to stack it on top instead of just chucking it wherever, because now the cost of doing so has been reduced. She shook her head at me and said "rubbish". If she trialled it, however, I think she would find that the result pleases her- and she wouldn't even have to nag.

There are a billion simple things like that in a household, we're just too lazy to actually think about it. We'd rather sit around and complain about it. Next time, don't wonder why no one does the dishes. Think about where the incentive in is doing those things. Think about the costs and benefits, try to reduce costs and/or increase benefits, and any rational individual will make the decision to allocate their resources there.

So all this is basically just to say that if and when I have a household of my own, I will structure incentives in a way that results in the most efficient household management. As is expected from an economist.

Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again

2011-03-03T10:46:00.002+11:00

I hate dreams.

They are a twisted reality. Almost real, but never quite. There are always two of you, the character on the set, and the one watching. You watch yourself do things, say things, that you normally wouldn't. There's always a part of you that isn't usually there, a part that the actor can't quite emulate. Their mannerisms are so uncharacteristic of you- the fact that you notice is proof. As you walk out of that theatre you remember it, and it plants a seed which grows as you ponder.

Dreams remind you of the past, of the things you don't want to remember. The things you thought you put behind you always come back. Those things are- and will always be-a part of you; you can't change it. You've cut that scene but the actors still remember their lines. You have to watch the nightmares of the past over and over again.The worst of the worst of the worst of what has been, always shoved to the back of your mind, makes its appearance. Then its encore. Then its re-enactment, to the point where it comes to you all by rote- you can't forget it anymore.

They let your thoughts wander- beyond what you would allow yourself in your waking hours. You have lost all control of your own life. There's a screenplay and it cannot be changed. In your mind you scream, "NO!", but it's hopeless. You wish you could, but you can't unthink what has already been thought. You fight the thoughts during the day, but they always win at night. Nothing can stop the thoughts coming, to interrupt the scene...

...except blessed morning

To see him in pain

2011-02-19T19:39:00.002+11:00

...is the most heart-wrenching thing. In the ideology you've created in your mind, there is never such a scene. The big, strong guy who gives massive bear hugs, who has the integrity of character to fight to the death for what he believes in, who has made you smile when you're down... should not be on his knees, hiding his face because he doesn't want you to see the pain.

You want to rush towards him and make it all okay, but he shoots you a look of determination that says it has to be this way.

It's at that point that you realise that he knows, and has always known, and is willing to accept, that he is not infallible. The pain reminds him that he cannot be perfect. He knows that when he is weak, the answer is to choose to get rid of his pride and surrender. He allows himself to be humble, then asks for what he wants- more than this. The ability to do something greater, to be something greater. He knows that he will get it, because he has already been willing to be the least of the least.

Watching him do that to himself may be heart-wrenching, but it is also awe-inspiring. Here is the person who uses his weakness and turns it into his greatest strength.

Settling for existence

2011-02-02T20:28:00.002+11:00

You know what's scary about us these days? We're pulling away from each other. It's not that we're pushing each other away, but neither are we attempting to draw each other closer.

Quite frankly, I don't like it.

Maybe it's part of growing up. Maybe as we enter adulthood we feel the need to be somebody, to have some sort of pride in this world. Well guess what? Pride involves composure, which involves not being vulnerable, which involves faking it.

I know I'm guilty too. I know I go for the blase "how are you?" that we all see through so easily, rather than making you feel like you're the only one in the world when I ask that question. Right about now, I'm going to start giving all the usual excuses that I know just aren't good enough, but hey, (if you matter enough to me) I do try.

Are we cheating ourselves a little bit as we fake our way through life? Sure, we have our pride, but at what cost? We try to be so self sufficient that we try pretend we don't care. We lie to ourselves and probably do convince ourselves that we don't care. We go through the motions, numb because we don't care, not caring because we're numb. The worst part is that when we suddenly find ourselves alone, we shrug our shoulders and move on, satisfied with being dissatisfied.

Perhaps our pride even blinds us to the point where we no longer see how artificial our lives are. Why do we settle for existence, rather than striving to live life to its fullest?

Somewhere inside me there is still a little child wanting to share everything with her friend up in the cubby house.

Please don't retreat into your own shells. Life is not worth living alone. For those of you who- well, you know who you are- you know that I care. I care enough to tell you all that I've just told you. I don't want you to get to the end of this and feel like you cheated yourself of the lives we could have had together.

Where it all began

2011-01-03T12:16:00.002+11:00

Love. That's where the world began, because the one who made it was Love itself. The intimacy between its three parts was such as no other relationship has experienced, or will ever fully experience, and this was called love.

Love is such that it cannot contain itself. It always reaches out, it is always wanting to express itself. And so humans were made out of the dust, as the sole object of the Soveriegn's love. Yet even such authority could not bear the idea of it's love unrequited, and made humans with the capacity to choose to reciprocate that love. To choose to reciprocate, because it is choice which makes love worthwhile.

From here, you all know the drill. The people mistreated that love, chose to trash it, eventually dug themselves a hole so big that the only way for Love to redeem its intentions was to die on that cross. Blah blah blah, familiar story.

In fact, so familiar that we have a propensity to miss its most poignant element. For Love to have sent its Son, there was a risk.

God risked himself. Again. Knowing full well that you had the capacity to choose to walk away again, at any time. It was not a flippant decision, it was a sacrifice which hurt the giver, who loved so much to give away, knowing that it may never be returned.

The opposite of love is not hate, it is hurt. Love completes, love heals, love makes whole. Without it there is emptiness and despair, and uncertainty and searching. The result of these is an indifference to love, an inability to risk and be vulnerable. Only those who, during times of hurt and despair, turn to love for completion, who know how much has been given to them, and they are the ones who hold on the tightest to Love. They are the ones who can love most, and will certainly hurt most, but they know that Love will always have their back. They know that love believes in them, and will always take the risk to pursue their wellbeing.

You see, the story of love, where it all began, is that you are worth it. My God will take the risk and bear the hurt of you choosing to walk away, because to Him, the reward of choosing to accept his love, the permission to make you whole and to watch you live a complete life, is worth far more than anything. You are worth far more than anything, because he loves.

Abstract nouns make things so much more complicated

2011-01-01T10:46:00.003+11:00

There was once a man and a woman. They lived together in a nice big house on a nice little street. They had good jobs and good cars and a good TV. They ate well and dressed well.

~~And they lived happily ever after, the end.~~

Then they started to get tired because of their good jobs. They would come home from work and just be tired and grumpy with each other, and sit at opposite ends of the couch not talking.

He started to get annoyed at her because she would never have dinner ready early enough. She was tired when she came home from work and just wanted to sit down for a while before cooking. But he got angry because he was really really hungry and wanted some food.

She was sad because he never told her that he loved her anymore, and when she told him that she loved him he just grunted and pushed her away to the other side of the couch. And she wanted to talk to him, even if she had to sit at the other end of the couch, but he never said anything except yes or no or "hmph". And so she was sad that they never had good conversations.

He didn't like it because the house was too messy, and he tried to clean it. But she always complained that he didn't do it right, and so he stopped cleaning and let her do it the way she wanted.

She was always nagging him to fix things. Things didn't work and it made things really inefficient but he never had the time to fix it, and she was sick of having to put up with things that didn't work.

He wanted to have sex because he still loved her, but she didn't know that because he never told her that he loved her.

So they fought all the time. They fought about how she was so lazy, how he never showed her that he loved her, how she was too fussy, about how all he wanted was sex. They didn't like coming home from work anymore, and if they did it was because they wanted to go to sleep. But they didn't go to sleep because they had to cook dinner and talk to each other and clean the house and fix things and have sex, and so they fought.

Then they remembered that they were a man and a woman. And as long that remained, they continued to live together, married, in their nice big house on their nice little street with their good jobs and good cars and good TV, eating well and dressing well.

The end.

Artistic Freedom

2010-12-08T20:10:00.005+11:00

I often wonder what it's like to be an artist. Or at least to have a vocation somewhat related to the arts- an actor, a painter, an authorm, a musician, a lyricist etc.

Art, by nature, is an abstract concept. It creates beauty out of an often harsh reality. It romanticises, softens and expresses emotion. It is logical then, that the person creating the art- the artist- has the responsibility of depicting that beauty. They have to draw inspiration from the world, from observation and experience.

I have a question, though. Do people bother artists about how their abstract depictions relate to their own lives? Where a piece of art expresses emotions, one cannot help but wonder where or how the artist gained insight into such things. Do lyricists get asked who they are in love with when they write songs about being invisible to the one they love? Do blonde actors' relatives cringe at how ditzy their relatives appear? Do people who know authors ask them where the hell they learnt to so intricately describe sex scenes, and how the hell they are so willing to put it on paper?

I never really pursued my artistic side. Yes, there was piano, and a couple of good stories from school, and the random song here and there, and then, of course, this blog (which could be said to be an attempt to be artistic, but mostly ends up contributing to the ramblings of this world). I think part of the reason was this: I was just too scared.

Somehow, despite inspiration which may produce a beautiful piece of art, I'm unsure if I actually want to try. Not because I'm afraid of failure- sometimes, I just feel a bit too cramped in this space. I'm not willing for people to know where and how the idea came from. Of course, those who know me well enough can see right through me, but that's not the point. I'm just too introverted to let that many people in (which leads to a whole other discussion about artists and emo artists being introverts, but we won't go there). Perhaps I'm just not brave enough to take the risk that people will attempt to pry into my private life.

But maybe people just leave you alone when that's your actual job.

Inspirational people

2010-11-12T10:05:00.003+11:00

My life is full of inspirational people.

People who melt my heart, just because they are made just the way they are. There are the ones that can make music the way I wish I could. There are the ones who speak and communicate exactly what I want to say, except that I can't find the words to say it. There are the ones who open up new worlds to me because of their high-level intellect. There are the ones whose artistic ability astound me. I see these things around me everyday.

These people are simply amazing. I could get jealous and wish I had those things. They have everything I wish I had. The thing is though, that these people in my life are so genuine. They aren't putting on a performance of what they can do. They're just... doing it. They probably don't even realise that they are a source of inspiration. They're just getting on with their lives, just like everyone else.

This is why I find myself so in awe of them. You can't get jealous of people who radiate so much love for what they do and who they are. They are better than me and I know it, and I acknowledge it and I let them be. In fact, I would rather look up to them, because it grounds me in who I am. It brings me back to reality. It keeps me humble. It gives me something to strive for. When I see something that I would or could not have produced of myself, I am reminded that I have so much more to learn, that I have such a long way to go.

It teaches me that this life is not about me. If I were the person I knew who was the best at everything, there is the potential that I would become incredibly self centred. I would idolise myself, which wouldn't be so bad, except for the fact that I will fail myself. I say this with absolute certainty, because I know that I am not perfect. To think so would be dangerous territory, and I am not willing to take the risk.

So everyday, as I go about my life, watching the people around me, I am reminded that each person is made with the gifts they've been given, but it is the heart with which they do it that gives a perspective of how life should be, and that is the source of my inspiration.

Fat girl, skinny girl

2010-10-28T14:44:00.005+11:00

If two girls were wearing the same clothes (for this illustration, say tights and a tank top, just so you have a picture in your head), but one were fat and the other were skinny, why are our reactions to their clothes different?

We may cringe at the fat girl's choice of attire. Tell her that we just don't want to be subjected to seeing that. "Honey, the clothes you're wearing just doesn't suit your body type". We would tell her that she should just wear something else because her presence in those clothes is an eyesore to the community. We probably wouldn't even mention modesty. We'd be so busy trying to imply that she just shouldn't wear it because it is unappealing.

(forget the niceties of "oh but you're beautiful just the way you were made" and just go with it for a moment, okay?)

Then there's the skinny girl. The skinny girl may be told wear something else too, just like the fat girl. But this time, for a different reason than that which we told the fat girl to dress differently. She may be told that it is not modest enough, that she is being a temptation, that she should know better than to wear what she's wearing. We might tell her to cover up, simply because she is attractive. Remember that she is wearing exactly the same clothes as the fat girl. Does this mean that we punish girls for being attractive? We are imposing limits on what this girl can wear, just because she was given a good body, which is really not something she can help.

Back to the fat girl. In order to try and be comforting and accepting, we say "don't feel limited by your size, we're going to make plus size clothes attractive. We're going to have plus size models too, we're going to send the public the message that fat girls are beautiful too, and you can wear all the attractive clothes that skinny girls can wear."

Except that when skinny girls wear those attractive clothes (except umm...in a smaller size), they are told that they cannot wear it.

Dreams of youth

2010-10-09T18:14:00.005+11:00

Isn't it funny how we're so ambitious when we're young? We dream so big. We make massive grand plans and get really excited and start planning it all, and wish the time would just come already.

We're just so damn optimistic. We're going to have that house, that car, that job, that...whatever. That perfect life*. We have it all sorted in our heads.

Out of the thousands of ideas we have, how many do you think actually become something real? When the excitement of something new dies, and we actually have to put the effort in to see our dreams realised, and we see how much hard work it is... we are just a bit lacking in the perseverance department, aren't we? Or maybe we're just lacking in time. Or the ambition to time ratio is just a bit too tight. Or even the ambition to opportunity ratio. We only get one life, one chance to be every age. Want to get a bit more educated? Say goodbye to young motherhood. Or maybe the plans made by our 15-year-old selves just don't seem that grand when we get to 50. One way or another, as we make our choices, the paths of life get narrower and narrower, and we end up living just one of the many ideas we once had.

Or we could try a bit of everything. But then we don't get to settle down, do we?

Hmm... dreams. Sometimes I wonder why I have so many dreams; how I get inspired to live every single one, knowing it will never happen. Then again, what's life without dreams, hope and ambition? Whether they become real or not, they are the hopes that pull us through life. They are the things we think we are working towards, and we need to believe them.

*Perfect is defined not necessarily as an objective state of harmony, rather the harmony between the state in which one finds oneself, and that at which one would be satisfied to find oneself, which is not necessarily as strictly defined as the former.

The Last Straw

2010-09-20T19:29:00.002+10:00

The room is hazy with the smoke from my cigarette. I'm sitting on the couch, watching TV, letting my mind wander. Work was hell. Those new kids we hired were hell. Sigh, this life is hell.

She walks into the room and the air turns icy cold.

"What's for dinner?"
"Nothing."
"What do you mean, nothing?"
"I mean that if you want something to eat, get it yourself."
"What are you talking about, woman? I should be able to reasonably expect that I get dinner in this house."
"Nope."

She walks out the other way into the hall.

I sit here fuming for a few seconds. How hard can it be to just make me some food? Why should I be expected to make my own food? I roll my eyes and shrug it off. I'll go out and get something later.

She walks in again. Stands in front of the TV.

"You really shouldn't do that", she says as she looks at me in the corner of her eye.
"What?"
"You really shouldn't smoke." She nods towards the cigarette in my hand.
"Why not, huh?"
"Cos it's bad for you. You're gonna die early."
"And why do you care? You don't even wanna feed me. I might die right here of hunger."
"Don't be stupid."
"Who's the one being stupid and not feeding me?"
"That's not the point. Quit it."
"Nope."
"Look at THIS," she says, picking up the ashtray.
"Hmm," I shrug nonchalantly.
"LOOK at it. It's literally clogging up your body."

She toys with it for a while, and a smirk creeps around the corners of her mouth. "I'll smash it."

"DON'T YOU DARE, WOMAN." Now she's done it. She will NOT smash that ashtray, at least not without a fight. Why am I even IN this. That ashtray is the only this that keeps me sane in this goddamn marriage. She will not destroy the only thing I have left. My fists clench. I get up and eyeball her. "BREAK IT AND I'LL END ALL OF THIS..."

She starts to yell, and half way through her first sentence her voice breaks and she's crying. "YOU NEVER LISTEN. YOU NEVER PAY ATTENTION. YOU..."

I don't even know what she's saying anymore. My head fills with all the thoughts I want to say to her, no, at her, and suddenly there are two voices yelling over the top of each other. The smoke seems to have thickened. I don't even see her. My body is in this house, but my head is somewhere else. I see the two of us from above, I see her still holding the ashtray, still screaming, still crying. I see myself standing up over her, the coffee table between us. Then the sound that brings me back to earth is the sound of glass smashing.

Sold

2010-09-10T08:29:00.005+10:00

We were 15 again, sitting in the grass on a large open plain. Out in the country somewhere, I think. Talking about...MSN. Romantic, right? Haha but we weren't even thinking about all that romance stuff. We were just children...being children. Being friends. Just chillin'.

We were so so so innocent. So uncorrupted, so pure, but in our ignorance we did things unknowingly. Things that should have meant so much more than what they did at the time. It was not wrong, there was no mens rea. But the actions were there all the same.

We were 17, and by that time you'd hurt me many many times. Somewhere along the line, something had gone wrong. We kept trying, and sometimes it was so difficult to talk to each other it was almost to much to bear. But giving up was just not an option. Giving up meant living without loving, shutting off from emotion, and that was too dangerous.

There were times when our synchronisation was just a bit out, when I wanted to hug and you didn't, when I was busy and you weren't, when you wanted more from us but I didn't.

There were the awkward times.

There were times I said things, when it probably wasn't my place to say them.

There were still the beautiful times, but I've almost forgotten them.

Somewhere between that time, our growing up started to show in the practical side of things.

We were 18, and this time, we were gonna do things right. Wearing our hearts on our sleeve, being big kids and talking things out. This time there was intention, and things were the way they were supposed to be. Still pure, still uncorrupted, but this time with knowledge.

Today, you stand before me. The white dress, the church, the flowers. You're somewhat different, but still the same. I've known you for years, and I've learnt about myself too over those years. I can't see what lies in the future, but I couldn't see myself living any differently. Sold.

A sisterly conversation

2010-08-26T21:59:00.003+10:00

Me: "I'm going to Tim Irvine's wedding in January! And I bought a dress for $8 from the op shop. Portmans!"
Soph:Why are you telling me all this useless information?"
Me: "because it's exciting in my life"
Soph:"Well your life sucks. Find a boyfriend. Then i'll be interested"
Me:"But i dont want a boyfriend"
Soph:"Have a baby"
Me: "I dont want a baby."
Soph: "I want you to have a baby"
Me: "Yeah maybe in like 10 years"
Soph: "10 YEARS?!?!? You'll be infertile by then!"

Our principles of life

2010-08-20T22:37:00.003+10:00

When times get busy, when times get tough, when life gets messy, we get tired. We're only human, and we become weary, worn out. We get stressed and we start to lose it. We let go of things, because it's easier. It's just that much easier not to clean our rooms, not to keep up with things, and to just let life get messy.

We justify it and tell ourselves that it's "just for the moment". Just for the moment, because we're tired and we have no time. We let the rest of our lives slip while we focus on the one thing in the way, just for the moment.

Then we either forget, or we purposely venture beyond the principles that hold our lives together. They don't matter to us anymore, because we've let it slip from our attention. We decide that they're too much effort.

Yet at the end of the day, it is these things which shape us, and it is these things that, when changed, change our very core. What is the point of having principles of life if we can simply change them when we don't want to adhere to them? Why bother having them if we disregard them when it matters?

This is when it matters. When life is unstable and emotions are volatile, our principles are the only that we have to steady us.

[Found amongst the many things in my top drawer, dated 8/3/10. And edited a little bit]

Love economy

2010-08-08T21:57:00.004+10:00

Imagine if everything was done for love.

Imagine if love were all we needed. Some would argue that it already is all we need, that having found love, life takes on more meaning and more purpose (remember that purpose, as we have discussed before, involves a goal to which we strive, and humans need purpose. Refer to Purpose). This line of thought would argue that if people need purpose, and love gives us a higher purpose, then love is all we need. Right?

How about those who do not yet know what it means to love? They are still alive, which tells me that the prerequisites of having life have been met. The higher purpose of love should not be confused as the sole need for human life, or rather existence.*

(If we were to talk about an economy, as we are doing right now, then I guess the word "existence" suffices to convey "life", because economics does not care about qualitative aspects of life such as happiness. It merely need to be assured that there is existence, that there are humans as resources and demanders.)

Hmmmm back to the point. In my love economy, everything is done because of love. Labour would be rewarded not with wages, but with the encouragement of employers. We would not pay a price for goods and services, but our love for the seller would be payment enough. Note how I said "because of love" rather than "for love". The love economy, in fact, is not an economy at all. It is what would be if our economy, as it is, did not exist.

This is because love is never done in exchange for something. In our capitalist economy, every transaction is an exchange. Love expresses itself...just because.

I know I'm dreaming, but just bear with me as I try to reconcile my intellect with my being.

*See how I can argue both sides? This shows that our truth is not what actually is, but what we believe it to be. Which means that each person's truth, or even the meaning of the word truth to each person, cannot be the same. Wow, I'm really liking this going round in circles thing today.

ps. I'm tired. Sorry if this doesn't make sense to anyone else apart from me. It started off well, right? And then it kind of disintegrated into non-clarity in communication. Uhhh yeah... love economy. It would work in an ideal world. Remember that.

Eternal youth

2010-08-06T22:52:00.006+10:00

She was still young, the future was bright, and she had yet many years to enjoy.

She'd known nothing but goodness her entire life. She was blessed with beauty and intellect, talent and the ability to learn. She was living it up. There were a thousand people that adored her, fans which lined up for hours to see her, cameras that loved her. She had no responsibilities, no reason to settle down. She loved being her; she loved being her age.

What was age anyway?

Age meant seriousness. Age was restricting. She associated age with boring. Age meant health checkups and pills, eventually being needed more and more often. Age was...

She didn't want to know. She didn't want to have to go through it- waking up every morning and finding the signs that you were dying a little more everyday. She wanted eternal youth- to be remembered at her best- the life of the party, the belle of the ball.

So she took one last breath, closed her eyes, and jumped.

Watching from above

2010-08-02T09:18:00.003+10:00

Sometimes I picture God looking down from Heaven when he works some magic on earth.

Like when two people discover for the first time that they're in love, or when parents get to hold their new baby.

I wonder if, before it happens (and he knows it's going to happen), he gathers the angels and says, "Watch this". I wonder if they all then crowd around and look on with satisfaction.

And I can see it in my mind- when God sees what's happening, despite already knowing it all and having planned everything in advance, he looks down and smiles.

History

2010-07-30T22:33:00.004+10:00

A history is a series of events that have happened in the past which contribute to a present state.
History is something to look back on. It is something we like to look back on, because in our inability to foresee the future with certainty, the option of looking back is much more comforting. We like stability, whether or not we like what actually happened.

The past is certain. It has already happened, and nothing we can do will change it or erase it. Memories have already been formed and etched into our minds. We can only be a bystander of history, not the actors, be it our own or someone else's history. We dream of time machines, but at the end of the day, it is done, factum est. History begins to record itself the moment time begins, and is just as unforgiving towards our mistakes as time itself.

We learn from history, for lack of ability to do anything else with it. We look back at our mistakes, study them, analyse them, form judgements about them, and resolve not to make them again. We look at the successes of history and try to emulate them. We examine history under a microscope, tease it to shreds and extract allevery last drop of wisdom we can from it.

Yet in the process of gaining knowledge and the so-called wisdom, we fail to understand.We fail to understand that history encompasses relationships which can never be told or put to paper, or even into words. We forget that there are countless mutual understandings between parties that a telling of history omits, and a judgement of the present state, even with the knowledge of history, do not give consideration to these.

In saying all this, let us not forget that everyone we know has accumulated a history.

Grandma's to-do list

2010-07-15T15:10:00.003+10:00

I remember the day of my grandmother's funeral. There was all the usual stuff- the relatives all dressed in black, the flowers lining the aisles of the church, the casket in front of the pulpit. There were the eulogies that sounded hollow and the sniffles that echoed and were amplified in the cold, stone building.

Arriving home from the church that morning, I remember acknowledging my grandmother's slippers that still waited for her inside the front door. Past the couches in the living room was still the chair in which she had always sat while watching TV, and more recently, all day long. The coffee table beside that chair had all her bits and pieces: a few mugs, her glasses case, trinkets, bits of envelope and paper.

I sunk into that chair and began to toy with a necklace of hers. One by one I picked up everything on that coffee table, playing with it in my hands until I decided it wasn't worth much, then dropping it on the floor on the other side.

The very last thing, buried underneath the pile of knick-knacks, was a piece of paper. It didn't look like much. It was crumpled round the edges with coffee stains on it.

At the top it read:

"To do list"

It was written in ink pen. The actual list itself had dissolved with whatever liquid it had touched, so that there were smudges everywhere with only a few letters to be made out. Nonetheless, it was her to-do list. Chills ran down my spine as I held it; the items on this list had commanded enough attention that my frail, half-blind grandmother had summoned the energy to write them all down. There had been a sense of urgency that formed the imperative to write these things down. Perhaps my grandmother had intended that some day, she would take this list with her and carry out all the tasks listed.

Now, it was only the list that remained.

Facebook generation

2010-07-04T11:54:00.002+10:00

Stop making us sound like we've been brought up in a generation that has lost all values, a superficial generation, a generation that only portrays ourselves on internet pages the way in which we want to be perceived.

Don't try to say that we've lost our social skills. That we spend hours in front of a screen, carefully crafting our image, so much so that when we aren't given the time and opportunity invloved in internet social networking, we are at a loss as to how to communicate and make ourselves understood. You forget to look at the nature of the communication tool we use. When we choose to use Facebook, we aren't exactly given the option of face-to-face contact, are we? The choice to use a commonly accepted way of communication in which we cannot communicate in certain ways could not possibly be a fault of our own.

Furthermore, the choice to use such channels of communication doesn't decrease our need to be with each other, physically, in the same room. We know that the two aren't substitutes. We can feel and see the difference, because, like you, we too are people. We do realise that interpersonal skills are essential, that internet etiquette is not a substititute, and that the earlier cannot be learned over the internet.

You've confused a way of expression with a way of life. An expression is simply a part of the way we make ourselves known to the world. In the business world, you express yourselves in a formal way, slightly distant to those around you. You know you have a highly visible position, and so you are cautious. Does that make you cold? Does that make you immoral, or do you lose your integrity because of it? Your work is a part of your life. It isn't your life, and it shouldn't define you. In your workplace, you find a way that is suitable to communicate, given the constraints of the environment. And so it is with us. We use Facebook express what is appropriate in the environment. We are not fake. We show the part of our lives that is appropriate. (And just by the way, if we did begin to try to put into words everything that we were on the internet, you would almost certainly find fault with us). Facebook is not our life. It is a part.

An escape? Only if that is the purpose for which the individual has chosen to use the social networking site. It has the potential to be one, but it is not even worth worrying about. Humanity has always had an imagination, and the princess in the tower has always had to be rescued.

Yet after all is said, don't you try to tell us that it doesn't matter what the world thinks? You try to teach us to be self sufficient, to rely only on ourselves, to be strong in ourselves and let everything else fall away. Using that logic, then it shouldn't even matter what goes up on our pages if we already truly know ourselves.

We do know ourselves. We know who we are, because we see every facet of our own lives. We know the purposes for which we use our social networking sites. You, on the other hand, have looked at our profile pages collectively on Facebook and hastily passed judgement on what you have assumed our lives to be.

Purpose

2010-06-16T12:46:00.006+10:00

People live for purpose. Purpose is defined on dictionary.com as "the reason for which something is done, made, used", and is synonymous with words such as "intention", associated with words like "significance" and "meaning". It is an abstract noun which has created the potential for complication.

Purpose tries to define an ideal state. It tries to capture something normative, something that should be. It is a projection forward in our imaginations. Clearly, a purpose denotes something that is important, or else there would be no reason to allow it to influence our imaginations. In our perfect worlds, everything that would exist has a reason for being so.

If there is an ideal state, then there is a gap between that ideal state and current reality. If they were the same, there would be no need for purpose. There would be no notion of something not being up to scratch. Everything would be as it is, and stay as it is, for it would be what was meant to be. Yet it is not.

The concept of purpose fits together so nicely with human thinking, because we all live by ideologies. The fact that we uphold views, values, beliefs and perceptions is testament to the way in which we are conditioned to think, and therefore behave accordingly. The upholding of values means we recognise the gap and seek to minimise it, if not eliminate it completely.

This is the precondition on which humans thrive. We strive to achieve our purpose. Purpose is a motivator, an imagined state in which needs are met. It is a goal. When we have goals, we know where we want to go, and only when we reach that will we be satisfied. 46,278,720 minutes in a 70 year life? We use it to try to create what we believe should be.

Therefore, success depends on purpose. Success occurs when a purpose has been achieved. If you had no motive, no reason for doing, then what you have done cannot be measured against what needed to be done. You would not have even allows yourself the chance at success. Furthermore, if you have no motive, you probably wouldn't ~~get your bum off the couch and~~ actively do ~~something~~ anything.

We all need purpose, because purpose creates motivation and allows success. We need it, not for the ability to boast of our successes (because what other people think of us never carries the same weight as what we think of ourselves), but for the intrinsic satisfaction it brings when we know we've done what is significant, and that makes us feel that life is worth living.

More than just names

2010-06-12T13:05:00.008+10:00

She walked through the graveyard, staring for a second at the name on each of the tombstones.

Names on tombstones are just that. In themselves, they are names. But each they represent something. They each represent a person that once lived and breathed, a person who had friends and family, emotions and intellect, a unique personality, their own manner and handwriting.

She sat on the couch and flicked through her yearbook. Ran her finger over the names of all the people she'd graduated with.

I think it's healthy to sometimes just take a moment to reflect on the people that have been a part of your life. In fact, it's essential that we remember the people who have, even if it was a long time ago, put their heart and soul into being our friends. It is important that we don't let those people fade into mere names in our memories.

She clicked through the hundreds of names on her Facebook profile.

Your friends aren't just a list of names. They are people. I dare you to scroll through your list of "friends" and see whose name conjures a person who is somewhat vague in your memory. There are a lot of them, aren't there? And it is impossible to keep up with them all. I know.

It's somehow so shallow the way a name tries to encompass and convey everything that its owner is. Yet, that's the way it is.

Bear in mind, too, that as you are reading this, there is someone out there to whom your name is probably a distant memory.

Every once in a while, try to give people the credit they deserve by being someone, not just a name.

Waiting

2010-05-25T12:04:00.008+10:00

There's something delicate about girls and waiting.

A girl will wait for you. Although, of course (in case some are already beginning to feel offended) waiting is not strictly limited to girls. This preliminary statement is simply to make a true observation about a particular behaviour, the reasons for and implication of which are the subject of this blog post.

Anyway.

For the sake of an example in the most practical sense, she waits for you to come home every night, the table set, dinner laid out. Just picture it: she sits at a small table, the evening sun barely lighting up the room through the small window. She sits, elbow on the table and hand supporting her face, and smiles as she thinks of you. She waits.

Waiting tests her, but she does it because she knows it will be worth it. The minutes pass and the small smile turns tense, her eyes start examining the patterns made by the wood with which the table is made and her finger starts tracing them. Yet she knows that the satisfaction she feels when you finally walk through that door and take her into your arms is worth all the nervous fidgeting, worth counting down the minutes while staring at the clock on the oven. Waiting is lonely, but it's also where she learns and discovers the value of patience. The value of her patience is in the reward she gets, and it's priceless.

She learns while she waits. She learns self control- not to imagine the worst, not to pick up the phone and dial your number, not to give up hoping. She uses that time as time she would not have otherwise, which forces her to just keep waiting.

In turn, she waits because she still hopes. Even if you're late in coming back, even if you don't come back, through all the tears that eventually come, she waits because she believes in you. She wants to believe in you, because she's faithful to you. She holds on. She will stay just where she is, just in case you come back. And she hopes you will.

Don't break her heart.

"But in the lonely homestead, the girl shall wait in vain."
-Henry Lawson, "The Ballad of the Drover"

An epiphany of growing up

2010-05-14T08:58:00.003+10:00

This one is to prove Arman wrong, who says that when you turn 18, you don't have an epiphany of what it means to be grown up.

Yesterday it occured to me that there is no longer a right and a wrong.

When you are a child, you are taught right and wrong. Doing certain things, behaving in a certain way is just wrong, and you should never, never do these things, because if you do, you are a disgrace to your parents and society, and no one will accept you. When you are a child, you live in a black and white world, and everyone else determines what is black and what is white.

So when you're an adult, you get to decide what is black and white. And in having the choice, there is effectively no right or wrong choice. There's just what you do and what you don't do. You decide how many drinks you wanna have in a night. You decide if you want a relationship. Adulthood consists of sending messages about yourself through your words and actions. You create the norms.

Ten Minutes

2010-05-12T09:16:00.003+10:00

I had ten minutes. Ten whole minutes in which I would do nothing, and under normal circumstances, would be deemed a waste of time. Yet today, it wasn't.

I'd just got off the tram and walked across the park. Today wasn't a special day, in fact, it was an incredibly normal day. I was still carrying my bag and laptop, dressed in my everyday attire, comprised of a jacket over a t-shirt, skinny jeans and boots. The typical picture of me.

I'd just walked across the park, a large expanse of green that stretched behind me, one side fenced off to make an oval. I was early and there was nothing to do. Well, as always, there probably was, but there was nothing worth doing in this place and time. The wind was strong and the air was cold. Taking out a book to look over was just asking for the pages to be blown around. It was still a nice day, though. The sun was shining, saturating the green of the grass and making it almost illuminate.

So right where I was, I sat. I sat so that the wind would be against my face and would blow my hair back, but so that I would not be looking directly into the sun. I opened my lunchbox and ate the leftover cookies for morning tea.

That's all. There was nothing else, nothing exciting. I didn't get stalked by some potential murderer. No annoying dog/kid/person came to annoy me. For 10 minutes, I sat there in silence.

Those 10 minutes were the longest I've had in a while. It was as if God pressed the pause button on my life, and allowed me, just for a brief moment, to breathe.

Burden of trust

2010-05-07T09:21:00.011+10:00

Here's the dilemma: you need someone to talk to, but you don't know who to trust.

The thing is, when crises hit, it actually doesn't matter how many friends you have, or even how many close friends you have. This is because, when all is said and done, you really only need one.

I think it would be fair to say that all friends expect a degree of trust. Trust goes both ways, not just that two people have to trust each other, but that each has to live up to the other's expectations of what this trust entails.

When I trust you, I put in your hands a piece of myself. The harsh reality of my expectations is that you take care of that piece, because no one wants to lose themselves bit by bit like that. In fact, no one can afford to do that with themselves, because once you do, you take double the amount of time trying to find it, and I really don't think I need to go into the details of how that feels.

How much do I trust you to avoid this?

I know, as friends, because that's what friends do, you want me to trust you. But I don't want to ask too much of you. I don't want to ask you to bear so much of my burden of trust that I expect so much of you. That's not fair on you, and unless you ask the same of me, it's just not a fair deal.

Do you see where this is heading?

Something like this cannot be taken lightly. We are dealing with real people, real relationships and real emotions. I cannot flippantly whinge to you, because in doing so, I am already trusting you.

There's still a problem though. I cannot expect you to know my expectations before I decide that I trust you enough to tell you (still following?). Put another way, I am not secure enough to let you know what I expect of you until I trust you, but once I'm at that point, I've already given you my burden of trust without your permission. The only solution thus far has been to talk about it, but that works better with some.

Something else- I cannot whinge to you, you and you. Not do I only need one person, I think I can only handle one. And I think that the one person should have the right to expect that they are the only one.

*presumptions in this piece include that your closest friends are of the opposite gender

The guy who cleaned the glass

2010-04-26T17:57:00.002+10:00

I was sitting at the bus stop. The station was pretty dead, and as I looked to my right at the row of bus stop that stretched out behind me, there was a guy at the far end, dressed in labourers' clothes, cleaning the glass on the side of the bus stop where the ads are put up. In one hand, he had one of those sponge things you use to clean your car windscreen, and in the other, he had a square bucket of soapy water.

He cleaned every bus stop, moving in my direction, and finally he'd done all the others and came to clean the one I was sitting at.

"Thank him for cleaning the glass," the voice whispered to me.

I froze. I wasn't sure I'd heard clearly. You don't just talk to strangers like that.

He had his back turned to me. I watched him clean as the voice persisted. Just say thank you. Say it. Do it. Say thank you.

And then my own voice, "Are you stupid? JUST SAY IT. You're not even being asked to do all that much." It was stupid. He was just cleaning the glass. What harm would it be just to say thank you?

Still I couldn't move. I watched him and remained silent.

He finished cleaning and moved onto the next one. After he was done with them all he walked back and forth past me a few times.

After that, I never saw him again.

Hey Boy

2010-04-13T19:46:00.002+10:00

Dedicated to a boy

Hey boy,
The sky's a velvet blue tonight,
But it's no use,
If I can't share it with you.

Hey boy,
I don't know who you are ,
But if you're there,
Could you please show yourself?

Hey boy,
I'll have to spend this night alone,
But if I wait,
I'll get to see the morning sun.

Hey boy,
I have all these plans for us,
But they ain't complete,
I'm gonna need your help.

You're a million miles away
And I don't know where.
All I can do is look up to the sky
And stare.
And hope someday I will find you,
Hey boy.

Hey boy
I'll try to be patient
Don't keep me waiting in the dark
I'm praying, Oh I'm praying
To this wishing star

That soon you'll be here by my side
You'll take all I am in your stride
And this dark velvet blue will turn light

Hey boy

The world you know

2010-03-25T09:48:00.003+11:00

Everyone lives in the world they know. It is the realm in which they routinely move, made up of friends, family, values, beliefs and interests.

It is only when you do something out of the ordinary that you start to realise how limited your world has been, because, when left to ourselves, we fill up our time with the things we know, the things we are comfortable with, the things we do as a matter of habit. We get so busy with these that our own worlds seem so big. It seems obvious, but we don't know what we dont know. How does a person know that these letter and symbols you read are to be read, if they have never been taught so?

Next time you have a chance, go do something different. It doesn't have to be crazy and radical, just something that you don't do in your normal routine. Go to a community meeting, even if you couldn't care less about the community. Find an international friend and let them take you to the places they go. Go for a drive to somewhere you never go. And if you really, really, want to, go skydiving.

It is not the activities themselves that will open your eyes to the side of the world you have never known, it is the people you meet and interact with. You know what inspirational speaker's do? They inspire. They talk, but they don't just talk. They talk about something they are passionate about. They speak of a world you may have known about, or even known, but they open up a new side to it. They show you the excitement they experience when they do something, and they pass on that excitement. That's inspiration.

But someone doesn't necessarily have to be an inspirational speaker to inspire. Anyone, talking about something they love, communicates passion. They allow you to see what you are missing out on, and it makes you want to try it out. Maybe, you'll find something you love too.

There is only one world, but there are many facets. Know that the world you know is small, and that there is always, always, something new to try out there.

Something I haven't done for a while

2010-03-23T15:24:00.007+11:00

Thanked my friends for being...them.

These are the ones who understand how the newspaper gets divvied up, who washes and dries the dishes, who sleeps last and wakes up first, who is likely to know what, who tells who the secrets.

I'm learning that the ones you grow up with are the ones you never lose, because, like it or not, they know you. The time in between is getting longer, but I find myself saying things, doing things, and thinking how they're habits I learnt from you. I know this sounds really lame and corny, but in a way, I carry who you are in who I am.

Just like you guys know the ugly side of me, we can't lie and say that there isn't an ugly side to who we are together. But guess what. That's okay, and I've decided you guys are keepers. (uhhh...keepers as in people I'll keep, not that you guys have to be my keepers)

You know who you are, and I'm saying to you once, again, thank you.

xx

Vulnerability

2010-03-10T17:03:00.004+11:00

A writer of stories has to be willing to display a certain degree of vulnerability, for stories are contexts in which emotions are of particular importance, bringing to life what would otherwise be a very bland piece of work.

A good story may perhaps be defined as one with which readers can connect, a story which, though may obviously be a work of the imagination, contains an aspect of reality that is fundamental to the human condition. Many of these stories, simply because their content reflects that of the existing world, are simply overlooked by the average audience, and yet for the writer, everytime pen goes to paper, it is a risk.

What seems to be misunderstood is that the writer's task is not necessarily to recall experiences. Hence, the success of a writer does not necessarily rest on their accumulation of experiences from which they can draw. The writer simply has to create a physical and emotional setting, conveying the latter in such a way that is perhaps a little too close to home for readers- it is what allows the story to be described as "touching".

Yet the implications of such a story are profound. Whether or not the said emotions have been personally experienced by the writer is of no significance; it is the knowledge of such a circumstance that the writer has to admit. Put simply, to be able to describe an emotion is not necessarily to have felt that emotion itself, but to know how it could or would be experienced, which in itself may force the removal of some facade of purity, morality or even ignorance.

Therefore, apart from the most obvious criteria that a writer has to have the skill and ability to produce a story, there is a question of their willingness to produce such a story- whether or not they are willing to be vulnerable.

The boundary of freedom

2010-02-25T14:34:00.002+11:00

He stood on the boundary of freedom and contemplated the meaning of the word. Freedom. The ability and permission to do as he pleased. The absence of limits. Yet here he was, at the limit.

He stood on the precipice; he was sure to lose his life if he chose to take even the closest step forward, but he wanted to show the world that he still had his freedom. He wanted them all to know that the power to move forward was his, even if he never saw their reaction.

Another part of him screamed not to move. He froze for a moment and allowed self gratification to fight common sense, taking a step back as the latter won out. Suddenly, he realised that the cliff edge in front of him in fact surrounded him, forming an island on which he stood. Any which way he turned, he could see the boundary of freedom. Sometimes it seems far away, but it was always visible.

The grass that surrounded him was a lurid, almost unnatural green, and it sometimes seemed almost impossible that somewhere in the distance, this luscious grass simply disappeared into thin air.

He understood now that the ground on which he stood was vast and sturdy. The grass was his to enjoy, the sun was his to bask in, the cool wind was his to feel.

He understood something else: that as long as he lived here, the boundary would always be there, tempting him.

One last thing he also knew, that as long as he stayed on the grass, he had freedom and he was safe.

Rhythms

2010-02-12T20:20:00.002+11:00

Life has rhythms, not just the obvious ones like the ones in songs and music, or the ones that annoying drummers keep tapping on everything they touch. The rhythms of life extend to the more subtle, but they are there, waiting to be noticed, and they are beautiful.

The sun rises, the sun sets. It rises to set so that it can rise again. If it were not to rise then it would not set and it would have no reason to rise again.

Inhale, exhale. Even babies dont need to be taught that.

The daily grind, anyone?

For those who grew up in Chinese schools: Didn't you ever make a rhythm with all the strokes when you wrote lines of new words?

Spring, summer, autumn, winter.

Expansion, boom, contraction, recession.

Life has rhythms. When you understand them, you realise the whole and complete way in which the earth has been made. You catch a glimpse of the mastermind who created them, and stand in awe. Learn the rhythms of life, know them and tap along to them, and you add to the beauty of the earth's song.

Chased by the dogs

2010-01-31T17:05:00.004+11:00

Once, when I was 7 or 8, I went for a walk by myself around the neighbourhood. I only managed to enjoy the tranquility of the afternoon for a few minutes, because about three houses down, two stray dogs sat on the side of the road. They watched me as I pretended not to be scared of them. I walked past them as calmly as I could, and breathed a sigh of relief when I'd walked past them. It wasn't until I heard one of them growling that I turned around, and noticed that they had begun to follow me.

My heartbeat quickened and my pace increased accordingly. First it was a brisk walk, then a jog, and in time I was running as fast as I could. The only thing I could think to do was to continue walking. All I wanted to do was to be back in the safety of my own home, but I couldn't turn back. I knew that if I kept walking, the street would eventually loop back on itself. It was my best chance.

The dogs chased me all the way home. I remember the relief that washed over me when I finally reached hom, shut the gate behind me and leaned against it.

I am reminded of this because, these days, I get the same feeling walking down the street. Only, these days they call them humans.

Delicate

2010-01-27T10:46:00.003+11:00

My arm is around you as I feel your chest heaving and I hear your sobs. Far out, you are so amazingly delicate. You're half my size. I fear that if I pull you in any closer, I risk crushing your tiny frame. Yet you fit so comfortably; you're just the right size to sit snugly under my arm. I love that about you.

Don't cry, please. I hate it that I can't make you stop. I can't do anything except hold you here, and even this can't last forever. I want this to last forever. I can't stand seeing you like this. I don't want anything to ever make you cry. I want to be the one who has the power to stop this kind of pain getting to you. Stop, please.

I swear, two seconds ago we-well you- were giggling about something silly. Then I blinked and you were crying. When did that change? You moved too fast. Girl, you really gotta be treated with care. I'll make sure of that.

You know, you remind me of a butterfly, one moment your here, the next, you've moved on. When I listen to you talk, I can't believe how swiftly you carry the conversation from one topic to another. I can't believe how gracefully you walk around the house, into dinner parties, down the street. I could sit for hours finding new ways to be awed each minute.

But girl, for now, please stop crying.

The things of life

2010-01-22T18:55:00.005+11:00

Family, friends, relationships, society, contacts, accomodation, jobs, impressions, presentation, physique, religion, time, car, insurance, schedule, organisation, money, information, decisions, debt, education, qualification, experience, politics, plans, ambitions, understanding...

Did someone say starving children in Africa?

How do I love thee

2010-01-18T12:55:00.003+11:00

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee with a love that no mistake, sorrow or despair can lessen,
a love which time cannot wear away,
nor distance intrude.
I love thee with all the
kindness, gentleness and warmth
that God allows my person.
I love thee with everything I have, everything I am.
I share all your life,
every ray or happiness, drop of darkness, hint of anger,
every smile, every simple action of the day.
I love thee.

Inspired by Sonnet XLIII, Elizabeth Barrett Browning, 1806-1861

The wishlist

2010-01-16T10:12:00.003+11:00

The creation of a wishlist entails the listing of items wanted but not necessarily needed, wanted, albeit not very much, and wanted, though can never or will never be attained.

The wishlist- comprised of items for which one wishes, a work of fancy and fantasy, satisfying that which in reality cannot be. The limitations are too restricting. The world is too unchanging. The wishlist remains.

It's purpose could not be to have in one's possession the items listed, rather, to have a compilation of hope. For many a wishlist-item has been received, only to be banished to dark cupboards after the initial period of possession. It is not the items themselves that are in want, rather, the wishful thinking with which these are associated.

Alternatively, it's purpose may be for joy. For though the excitement of ownership may wear with the passing of time, it is heightened during the reception of the said items. As short at time as it may be- for it varies between persons- the mind may be satisfied in the realisation that something has been achieved.

The wishlist may be the bridge between the imagination and the present circumstance. In any case, everyone has one.

A mother's love

2009-12-27T21:48:00.010+11:00

My first memory involves my mother, and is an event which happened when I was two years old. She was driving down the main road, on the way home, with me strapped into my baby seat in the back. She glanced at me in her rearview mirror.

"Don't break my heart, little boy," she said.

She thinks I've forgotten. Or rather, she never thought I'd even understood. Can't blame her for thinking so, seeing as I couldn't talk yet. But sixteen years down the track, I remember and I understand, though sometimes I wish that I didn't.

The rain pelts down as I make a dash from the front door to my car, wetting my hair and clothes quite substantially considering I only spent 2 seconds in the rain. I hop into the car and turn on the ignition. Ten minutes later, I am in front of Karen's house. She's been looking out for my through the window and waves even before I can honk.

She runs out the front door using her coat to cover her head, opens the car door and slides into the passenger seat.

"Hey." She kisses me on the cheek.

She's beautiful. As she takes the coat off her head, her straight brown hair sweeps loose over her shoulders. She runs her fingers through it to loosen it further. Lame as it sounds, her hair reminds me of those shampoo/hairdye ads, except, of course, she is much much prettier than any of those models could ever be.

I pull out of her driveway and we drive in silence for the first thirty seconds. The sun is well and truly setting, and we turn onto the main road, enjoying the view of the pinkish orange sky, afforded by the sudden open space from the wide road. I'd refused to tell her where we were going tonight. It was a secret, I'd said, but that hadn't stopped her from asking.

"So you gonna tell me where we're going, mister?"

"Nope." I try to keep my face expressionless, but I see her pout in the corner of my eye and a smile escapes.

"Tell me!" she insists.

"Nope."

"Hint?"

"Nah uh. You ain't getting anything outta me, girl."

"C'mon! Tell me!" She starts poking my arm just below my shoulder.

We turn left onto a quiet street, and just to distract her from asking any more, I purposely turn the corner wide and swerve back in.

"Matt!" she shrieks, as she clutches the seatbelt. I smirk at her.

"So, where are we going?" she resumes. I sigh. She's not going to give up, is she? Well I'll show her who's in charge, I think to myself as I raise my eyebrows at her. The sky gets darker by the minute, and I wind through the residential streets at a speed above the limit, accelerating as I turn corners.

"Matt! Stop it!" she yells at first, giggling and pretending to be offended by my terrible driving. When I don't stop, she begins to get annoyed.

"Stop it! Drive properly! Daddy's never gonna let you take me out again!"

"Do you wanna kill us?"

"MATT!" Her voice is more forceful now.

"MATTHEW!"

"MATTHEW! Stop the car RIGHT NOW! I'm NEVER getting into your car AGAIN!" She's hysterical now, and I turn my head to look her in the eye, to tell her that it's okay, to ask her to calm down.

"MATTTTTTTTTT!" she screams, as I still have my head turned. Her eyes are wide, as if she's seen a ghost. It only takes me a split second after seeing her expression for me to I turn my head back onto the road to see what she's looking at, but by then it's too late. The road bends and we're heading straight for a lamp post. I hit the brake hard.

I open my eyes and stare into space while two identical images of a white flourescent light blend into one. Everything is so...white. There are machines and beeping noises and harried people in white bustling about. I'm in a bed and there are tubes attached to me. The hospital.

A thousand questions rush to my mind. What happened? Where's Karen? My brain explodes with questions, but they are all contained within me. I cannot even find the energy to sit up.

I turn my head to my left. My mother sits on the chair beside my bed, and though I can only see her in my peripheral vision, I can tell she is crying.

I understand, although sometimes I wish that I didn't.

I caught my mother's eye in the rearview mirror. I won't, I thought to myself.

The things that never change

2009-12-23T22:16:00.008+11:00

I got older, bigger, stronger. I learnt to utilise my resources. I'm no longer the girl you auditioned ~~two~~ ~~three~~ four years ago (has it really been that long?). But have I really changed that much?

As we advance in years, I don't think we change so much as we learn to hide. We filter our thoughts so that only the cleanest and purest escape our lips. We learn what's considered rude, or just simply, what is the done thing, and behave according to social conventions. Why is the cutlery in a kitchen always in the top drawer?

We learn. Learning has been both a blessing and a curse. A blessing, obviously, because it increases our ability to reason and the result is efficiency. Yet a curse, because it takes away innocence. Learning is the acceptance and the ability to adapt to that which we cannot change. When we accept that there are things outside of our control, we change the only thing we can: our behaviour. And when everything has to go through that system, we have lost the quintessential human spirit (or at least, its appearance in the public arena): our childish innocence.

People who have known us since we were born tell us that we've grown up. That we're now so tall, that we look so much like our parents. Of course we've changed physically.

But somewhere inside us are still the traits of children. Those are the things which never change. Think about how the Cold War started. Each country wanted to be the best, so in the most simplistic, childish manner, they embarked on a mission to outdo each other. Now, we look back and wonder how they could have been so primal. But if you were in their shoes, what else was there to do?

97.40

2009-12-16T22:20:00.003+11:00

At six forty-five AM, on Monday the fourteenth of December, two thousand and nine, Cordelia Foo indifferently roused herself from sleep in the room she was sharing with Sonya Morton at Allansfield on Phillip Island, where she was taking a holiday with Team 12.

She did not care much for the two text messages on her phone waiting to be read and was happy to continue sleeping, but seeing as the rest of Team 12 had eagerly awaited the arrival of these text messages, and were hence convinced that they should all open their respective messages at the same time, she dragged herself, in her sleeping bag, to the lounge room in the little cottage at the back of the property where the boys slept.

"3....2....1...."

Cordelia looked at her phone through half opened eyelids. The first message read:
"Results 2009. VCE: S ENTER: 97.40.
EC03: A+, A+, A, Study Score: 39
EN01: A+, A+, A, SS: 39
LO10: A+, A+, A+, SS: 39
LO48: B+, B+, A, SS:30
P1/2, VCE"

She stared at it for a second, the information not having yet been transmitted to her brain. Her first thought was that she didn't get any 40s. Then she wondered which LOTE was which. Then, after seeing the scores of each, it became quite clear.

The second message read:
"Results 2009 P2/2
MA09: A+, A, A. SS:37. VCE"

While the rest of Team 12 began exclaiming excited and calling their parents outside where the was reception (and mosquitos), Cordelia dragged herself back to the big lounge room at the front of the house, dropped her phone beside her head (out of tiredness, she hadn't been holding it all too tightly all the while anyway), plonked her body in a prostrate position and fell asleep on the couch.

97.40. It didn't get her into the course she had wanted, but it didn't really matter anyway. Of course she would have to reconsider her uni preferences. But as far as Cordelia was concerned, her work was done here. For one year, she had worked the hardest she could, and she was not going to have any regrets or wishes or jealousy of others' ENTER scores.

So she slept peacefully for another hour and a half or so until her mother rudely interrupted...i mean...called and asked what she had got.

Summerrrrr

2009-12-03T10:11:00.003+11:00

Let's start by saying, I love summer.

Yes, I know summer actually started on the 1st of December, making me circa 2 days late, but I haven't had time. I have never remembered summer to be so tight with time. Summer has always meant lazing around for hours, even to the point of being bored, but now, more and more, I realise that being bored just isn't an option. Because there are so many things left to do.

Gone with the wind. Hard Times. The Pact. My Sister's Keeper. The Duchess. Beach. Bake. Photog. Photoshop. Driving lessons. Music theory. Guitar. Singing. Piano. Clean the bathroom. Clean my room. Housework. Find a source of income. Sew. Scrapbook. Knit. Parties. Dinners. Catchup. Pack. PI. Unpack. Decide.

Clear the clutter that assumes the shape of my life.

The glass maze

2009-12-01T11:39:00.004+11:00

There was once a huge maze, whose walls were made out of thick slabs of glass that reached the sky. In this maze lived people, billions of them, lost, wandering up and down, trying to find their way to the haven in the centre, for it was known that the centre was where the fort of glass surrounding them on all four sides (except for the doorway) would keep them safe. Little did the people realise that although it was the safest place they knew, it was still not safe. For glass was glass, and thick as it was, it was still easily shattered, just as glass is. They knew nothing, only that the more they had around them, the safer they would feel.

The transparent walls allowed no privacy. Nothing could be concealed. The human eye could easy through those walls, but the scenery blurred with distance due to the cracks and imperfections in the glass, and the culmination of layers of glass that made it difficult to see into the distance.

The people could see each other through those transparent walls, but they couldn't hear each other. They tried to signal to each other the ways they had come to warn them where not to venture, but it was pointless. They saw faces, bodies, actions, expressions, appearances, but sound, feeling, and the articulation of thoughts would not penetrate those walls. It was as if it was all just a pantomime. It was difficult to know each other, for there was no way of removing the barriers between them. They couldn't communicate properly or efficiently, creating misconceptions, misunderstandings and fractured relationships.

The glass was deceiving. It made it that much harder for the people to find their way. Often it would look like there was a way out, and they would rush to it, only to discover that there was a wall of glass they had not seen, an obstruction they had not anticipated. Though sometimes, it wasn't that they couldn't see those glass walls. It was that they did not want to believe that they would not get through. It was better to hope. It was not until they physically felt the glass walls stopping them that they would accept that they had to find another way.

And thus the people in the glass maze passed their days in this fashion.

No one wins a war

2009-11-11T17:56:00.006+11:00

The war was over. There should have been celebration and rejoicing, the sound of trumpets and dancers in the street. There should have been the excited buzz of anticipation of the future. There was nothing more to fear, no more uncertainty of how bad things would get. They could start rebuilding their lives, the physical as well the emotional state. When the war had raged outside their homes, when the perpetual sounds of bullets and the low rumble of machinery had been the only constant in their lives, they had wished and wished and wished for the day when all this would finally cease.

It was here now, but apart from the knowledge that they had been successful, nothing much had changed.

It was then that she realised: no one wins a war. Even the winning side had lost many lives, made many sacrifices in order to be victorious. Even the side that won had to bury their dead. It was impossible to ignore how the very public war, broadcasted all over worldwide news, had affected each of their personal lives. They had suffered the loss, and now they too grieved.

She thought about the enemy. How much the children of her generation had been brought up to hate them. They had always been portrayed as the evil ones, yet now it dawned upon her that they were people just like her, with the same needs, the same emotions, the same human nature. She pictured a girl, just like her, on the other side of the border, sitting in a lounge room as she was now, grieving over the fathers they had both lost.

Her own people had inflicted the pain, but here she was wanting to apologise for it all. They had been the enemy, but they were still people, and through this the two were united. They were one body. How was it that they so easily fought themselves? Why were the rules of compassion and love void towards this one group of people? How was it expected that they would not share the burden?

How had humans become so capable of causing so much pain?

Do me a favour

2009-11-07T17:40:00.001+11:00

Take my blog posts at face value.

See them for what they are- fragments of my imagination, attempts at expressing a notion, stories.

Don't base your view of me on them, except to judge my level of ability regarding my written expression, knowing that they are pieces of writing created by me.

Lastly, choose carefully as to what you want to believe.

I don't want to cry anymore

2009-11-06T17:57:00.003+11:00

My tear glands hurt. Can you use your tear glands until they don't work? I really hope so. I hope that tear glands wear and tear, until you have to throw them out. And when I have to throw mine out, I'll never get new ones. They cost too much. I can't afford them.

I can't keep my eyes open. They're always tired. I want to sleep. I want it to be night. I always want it to be bedtime. Bedtime used to be a time when you whispered things in my ear. You used to want to hold me as I fell asleep.

Now I fall asleep alone. Still, not really. Not really, because you're always there. You always remind me that you're still there. I can't pretend you're not there, because you are.

What happened? I think I missed it. It all happened so quick. Please sir, can you tell me what happened?

Erreichbar

2009-11-04T11:55:00.004+11:00

Gestern, als ich fast schlafen gegangen bin, hat mein Handy vibriert. Sie war eine SMS von einem Freund. Naturlich hat sie mich aufgewacht, und mit nur eine Augen oeffnen schickte ich ihm eine Antwort. Danach konnte ich nicht zurueck einschlafen, und als ich im Bett liegt, habe ich darueber gedacht:

Warum muessen wir immer so erreichbar sein? Warum musste ich an dieser Zeit die SMS antworten? Koennte mein Freund nicht bis Morgen warten? Nach allem ist es ueber kein Wichtiges gegangen. Er wollte nur mir klagen, dass er gelangweilt war, und hoffte, dass ich nicht im Bett war.

Fast jeder in dieser technologiebewusster Zeit hat ein Handy. Und fast jeder schlaft mit dem Handy unter dem Kissen. Warum?

Ist es nur, um selbst sich wichtig zu fuehlen? Fuehlen wir uns gut, wenn jemand im Mitte der Nacht uns anrufen muss? Warum wollen wir von Anrufe und SMS aufgewacht werden?

Oder sind wir nur Sklave unserer Gewohnheiten?

We lived dangerously

2009-11-03T18:05:00.002+11:00

We lived on the edge, trying to make our own world, trying to defy everything that the world taught us. It was our secret. We made it knowing that it was us against them, and if they ever had the chance, they'd take it all apart.

We pushed the boundaries, seeing how far the human condition could hold us together. We tested our strength against ourselves. We made promises that bound us, promises whispered in the dark, promises that never saw daylight.

In the end, we knew one of us was going to get hurt, but for the time being we kept going. It was fine as it was. As it was. We lived for now, tomorrow would deal with itself. We knew that it had the potential, to one day all come crashing down- but that wasn't happening yet, was it? It was all so precariously held together, but held togehter nonetheless. And so we kept going. We did what we did. It was dangerous, but we kept going.

We kept going.

Made to last?

2009-10-27T17:29:00.004+11:00

Were we made to last,
Is this all going to pass?
Does it make us stronger,
Are we bending under the pressure?

The tide sweeps us out
Further and further away
Further and further out from the bay
How did it become this way?

The first signs are
The cracks in the walls
- [long before anything]
Before the water seeps in
And floods the halls.

Wish the rain would stop
Evaporate drop by drop
Now, nevertheless
We're in this mess.

No turning back.

Were we made to last?

Conference call

2009-10-23T09:56:00.002+11:00

*beep*
"Dude how many people are in this call?"
"It's free."
*beep*
"I studied AD and AS last night."
"Ya get it?"
*beep*
"Chris Brown you're gonna die of lung cancer before Thisal dies of an STD."
"Gosh you guys are amusing."
*beep*
"How many do you usually have at a party?"
"He can't count that high."
*beep*
"Why are you whispering?"
"My daddy's gonna kill me if he finds me still on the phone."
"I CAN'T. HEAR YOU."
*beep*
"Steering wheel...*something* V8...*something* V6..."
"I am SO not getting into a car with you. Ever. That's suicide."
"Yeh back then I was young and stupid."
"Yeh and now you're old and...still stupid."
*beep*
"So what time we gonna visit Arman tomorrow?"
"9 o'clock isn't early, you lazy sh-"
"Udhayanan, who's driving?"
*beep*
"Pragash, they have no dirt on you."
"You are THE new angel."
*beep*
"I can't hear you when you guys are talking OVER each other."
"You tell her."
"Nah you tell her."
*beep*
"I'm always the only girl."
"Nah man you got Chris Brown."
*beep*
"Yeh but Chinese eyes are like...straight. And Viets' are slanting."
"My eyes slant."
"Exactly"
"But I'm Chinese."
"Oh sh-"
*beep*
"Man this call's costing you heaps."
"Yeh, but..."
*beep*
"Aiight seriously, I gotta go."
"Night Cords."
"Night Cords."
"Goodnight Cordelia"

Surreal

2009-10-21T16:33:00.003+11:00

Suddenly, you're more than just a nice guy who I hang out with sometimes. You're someone I absolutely love, and would hate to lose.

The silent room with perpetual beeping in the background and the occasional rush in the corridor. The silence in the room that didn't even matter, because it was comfortable silence, in which more was exchanged than words could ever express.

Is it normal that I cry everytime I hear your name?

I'm not glad it happened, but I love the fact that it's made me realise how much I love you.

How Far We've Come

2009-10-20T06:57:00.004+11:00

I made myself a note at the start of the year to blog about how far we've come, but now actually coming to do it, there doesn't seem to be all that much to write.

JOKES.

No but really, there's nothing much to write not because we haven't progressed much (though some would argue otherwise), but more because I can't write it all down, and it would be incomplete if I just selectively retold a few stories of our high school years.

The photos will tell their own stories; I don't need to put them in words.

Mount Waverley Class of '09, I will miss you. Even if I didn't really know you or hang out with you, you contributed to the general feel of the place. Seriously. I don't think I will ever again have a group of 300 whose voices and expressions I recognise without having to look up, and unless we organise a time to meet, the probability of meeting any one of you ever again is significantly less, not to mention that not all of us will be in the one place.

I thank you for all the things I've taken for granted.

But for now, MUCK UP DAY!!!! Party hard guys, and don't let the media ruin your day.

Attention Deficit Disorder

2009-10-15T22:51:00.004+11:00

Attention Deficit Disorder, abbreviated as ADD, is a mental disorder in which victims have trouble concentrating for extended periods of time. It is commonly found in those belonging to Generation Y, caused by excessive amounts information being available at all times, such that there is no need to be forced to focus on only one thing.

Symptoms include feeling incredibly bored, despite being extremely affluent, with multiple alternatives available as entertainment. Yelling "I'm bored!" when there are clearly a set tasks is also an indication that one is vulnerable. Other symptoms include walking out of a class or information session and realising that your time has been spent thinking about one's next appointment.

Effects include staring at a microwave that's counting down the seconds, "10...9...8...", and wondering why it is so slow, constantly clicking "refresh", searching for new notifications of the events of cyberspace, getting frustrated at relatively slow internet and, in the long term, developing an inability to remain in one tertiary course, with one partner, in one career or in one physical location.

If any of these relate to your life, it is highly probable that you are under the age of 20 and living in the developed world. It is recommended that you do not consult your highly qualified specialist or highly technical resources such as the computer or the internet, rather you should purposely stand in the longest queue at the supermarket, and think about what you have become.

Tracing back

2009-10-10T15:40:00.004+11:00

This is my attempt to trace all the people that I have hung out with in school over my high school years:

Imogen, Alexia, Jess Gilby, Alex Chiu, Mel Boyle, Caitlin Bates, Caitlin Duncan, Emma Cavanagh, Steph Dix, Gemma, Katerina, Helen, Maddie McDonald Danieka, Paul Thompson, Shaun, Ollie, Gwyn, Kat, Louise, Lizzie, Kade, Emily, Felicia, Simone, Jess Sarpi, Kelly, Farida, Amy, Rachel, Nat, Krishna, Harry, Paolo, Daeyoon, Ken, Charlotte, Steff Ho, Georgia, Christian, Kaitlyn, Samantha, Lakshimi, Stephen Buckle, Alex MP, Gwyn, Nat, Kat, Kade, Monique, Patricia, Lauren, Harry, Paolo, Nathan, Evan, James, Serry, Taco, Michael, Emily, Kat Geake, Gemma, Katerina, Talia, Chey, Mel See, Ally, Navin, Peter Tan, Aris, Ben, Gumji, Billy, Kat, Evan, Harry, Paolo, Felicia, Emily, Skaras, Emmema, Kiwi, Shirley, Thisal, Sas, Udhayanan, Tienyi, Lynn,Yih Rue, Fiibaaa ... and still Kat and Evan and Harry and Paolo and Felicia and Emily....

I can't draw lines as to where I started hanging out with any one group- the groups just seem to have... evolved/increased/reduced/changed as time has gone by. There are also the people that have always been somewhere in the background (guess who?). There are people who have come and gone, and many, I'm sure, whose names I have forgotten. There have been bitchfights and disagreements, sudden fallouts and converging and reconverging. There have been fun times being stupid and laughing until we cry, and then times of just moving from one group to another because we've been sick of the sidelines, because we're not talking to someone or just coz they did some stupid small thing that annoyed us. And then now, it's just got to the point where it doesn't even matter whose "group" we belong to anymore...

This has been interesting. I hope you learnt something about me.

I'll add to this list as I remember the pieces.

Friday night; such a beautiful night

2009-10-06T22:55:00.005+11:00

Friday night was her favourite night of the week. She associated it with watching the clock in her office change from "4:59" to "5:00", rushing down the double flight of escalators in the city's underground train stations, sliding her phone up and down as she sat restlessly on the train, counting down the stations.

Friday night was date night.

Even though she had now been married for 10 years, Friday night still held the same thrill as when she had first started spending it in this way. It brought with it magic and fresh excitement. Despite the stresses that had come as they had progressed in life, Friday night remained to be set apart; it was their night.

The night was warm. Smells of toasted focaccias and coffee wafted from cafes; jazz music drifted through the air. It was certainly busy- people filled the restaurants, lingered outside and on the sidewalk. Having finished dinner, they walked along the row of shops, her hand around his waist and his on her shoulder.

"Let's go to the park!”

"Sure."

Friday night was not restricted to certain activities, there was no routine. They did whatever they felt like; it was one of the things that made it so special.

They lay on the grass, staring at the stars. The music was distant in the background. There was no one else around. They lay on their backs, side by side, with a comfortable silence between them.

"How did you know?" she asked.

"Hmmmm? Know what?"

"That you were meant to marry me." She was surprised that she had never asked him this before. Now, lying here, the world their oyster without the pressures and demands of their daily lives, there was a sudden urge to find out why they had ended up here, next to each other. More importantly, she wanted to hear his side of the romantic story of their meeting that she had in her mind.

"I didn't."

"Then how come you did?"

"I just did."

"How did you just do it? Didn't you know? Wasn't there something that told you, like, spoke to you so clearly, that you just knew you were going to marry me?"

He thought about it for a while.

"Nope."

"Hmmm?" She didn't understand. She sat up a little, turned towards him and tilted her head.

"Let me tell you a story." He drew a deep breath as she lay back down, looking straight ahead. "Remember when we first started going out? Yeh, well. There used to be a girl."

"Yeh, yeh I know. You were highly sought aft-"

"Listen. You wanted to know, so I’m telling you. This wasn’t a girl I went out with. About the time I met you, we were good friends.”

“And?”

“Well, then, we became good friends”

“And?” she asked, although she was beginning to see where this was heading. He heaved a sigh of impatience, as if it hurt him to have to say it all out loud.

“This girl...we were very close friends. We knew everything about each other and well…there was a possibility that I could have married her instead.”

“Then why’d you marry me?”

“Because after I started getting to know you…I had to choose one…I couldn’t manage two incredibly… intense friendships. And after a while…she felt like I couldn’t either, and it became clear that she wasn’t interested… in anything.” The words came out as jagged, short expressions.

“So you only married me because I was in the right place at the right time?”

“NO! That’s not what I meant.” He was struggling to defend and explain himself. “I love you and I love everything we have. But I had a choice to make. I had two completely different, but realistic and viable alternatives that I was given to choose from.”

“So why me?”

“I can’t explain this, hun.” He closed his eyes, wishing he’d steered clear of this whole topic. “All I can say is that it was something I had to do.”

“So you chose me because you had to, not because you loved me more than you loved her…right?” There was no malice in her voice, only curiosity. She still didn’t understand. What about love? Wasn’t that what people married for? And somewhere, in the back of her mind, she had always presumed that the person you married had been planned for you from the day you were born. Yet innocently questioning as she was, he couldn’t help but feel as if he needed to shield her from the harsh truth of his life.

“Honey don’t you see?” His voice was fragile, delicately balanced. “It was one or the other and… well if I’d chosen her, I have a feeling this conversation would be had with her right now. We created this life for ourselves. Aren’t you glad we spend our Friday nights like this? Aren’t you glad that I give you all I am and all I have?” He took a breath after every sentence. “I can only be this to one person, and…it’s you. The night I proposed to you I thought to myself, ‘This is it. This is my final decision. No turning back’. I’ve never regretted it, but when you question me how I knew…I just don’t have a good reason.”

“Oh.”

Now she saw. She realized that her heart was thumping in her chest. The pre-ordinance her female mind had made a given did not exist. There was no romantic fairy-tale of how he knew. Her world had deceived her. Somewhere between her last question and now, a part of her had been broken with this realization, but somehow there was still comfort in knowing that as long as he remained here beside her, lying and gazing at the stars side by side on a Friday night, it didn’t even matter.

Happy

2009-10-04T21:40:00.003+11:00

Right now, I would describe myself as happy.

Right now, I would also describe myself as sleepy, tired, scared, uncertain, confused, annoyed, and tentative.

The storm has well and truly raged. Not everything is going right, actually, some things have gone oh-so-wrong. That is, wrong according to the plans that I had. There's so much I don't know (and still trying to figure it out), and there's so much missing in my life.

Yet I can still be happy, because I believe that happiness goes beyond being in a good mood, smiling and laughing.

For me, happiness is found in knowing there is always a way, a right way, a way that makes sense, and knowing that there is one even if I don't know what it is yet. Knowing that there is a purpose that I haven't had to make up for myself, just to make myself feel like I'm working towards something.

I know I don't have to worry about myself, even though everything is telling me to. Happiness is not having to worry about myself. I came with nothing and I will leave with nothing, but I will work with all I have for everyone else because I have been blessed.

Happiness is having a constant in my life, where the only other constant is change.

Did we exist?

2009-10-01T18:19:00.003+10:00

For all we had together, there is nothing to prove that we ever existed.

There is no tangible thing that shows you ever meant something to me.

If someone I didn't know were to walk into my room, examine the photos on my walls, search my letters, raid my cupboards, your name would barely catch their attention.

I wonder if you did this on purpose. Entered my life, but always cautious of what you left behind, just in case.

Perhaps if you were erased from my memory, I might as well have never met you.

Sometimes I do wish I had something to remember you by.

Though it doesn't matter now, does it?

Stop looking

2009-09-30T22:35:00.002+10:00

Do you not trust me?

Why do you continue to search?

It's as if you've said I can have it, but you keep looking back just in case.

If you want it, take it back.

It was your choice in the first place; It had always been a choice.

If you still want to trust me, trust me and stop looking.

Jehovah Jireh, my provider.

Fast forward

2009-09-27T15:32:00.002+10:00

Sometimes, I want to press the fast forward button on my life, so I can look back and find the answers.

Who did I marry?
Where did I live?
Then depending on the answer, what language did I speak?
How many kids did I have?
What job did I have?
Did I keep in touch with old friends?
Did anything about me ever change?

Most importantly though: What did I do with all that God gave me? Did I give my life away for Him? Did I listen for His voice and obey it?

Did my life matter for Him?

The Kite Runner

2009-09-26T13:48:00.003+10:00

Re-reading "The Kite Runner" brings back memories.

It reminds me of the time when I was the one who lived in the large two storey mansion, where all the large parties were held, where the broad driveway, flanked by coconut trees, split into two carports, holding 6 cars in total.

In our house we had two sets of everything: bathrooms, bedrooms, crockery, cutlery. One for us, and one for the people we hired: the servants, the driver, the gardener, the various construction workers or maintanance people.

I remember Kakak going in to her room a few times a day to pray, and fasting during Ramadan.

I remember Uncle Hassan or Uncle Ravi or whoever our driver happened to be at the time, waiting for me outside the school everyday. (They weren't really my uncles, we just called them that). And after they drove us home, they would say goodbye, mount his motorbike and I'd see them the next day.

I never saw where they lived. I hardly saw any of the houses my friends lived in, because whenever we met, it was always my house.

I was the one who had servants and only talked to them when I had something to ask of them, or when I was bored. I even complained about the way they tidied my room. Every Christmas, I remember feeling guilty about all the things that they'd done for me, and I'd go to the pasar and buy them a necklace or something nice.

Who am I to judge if Amir is self centered?

I was once in his shoes, and it wasn't self centeredness. It was just the way things were, and everybody accepted it. When you're brought up like that, you don't know any different.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

On a slightly related English note, I cannot seem to write anything in English these days. Today I spent a whole hour writing and introduction and a paragraph of a text response essay, then sighed and just gave up.

This is also the reason I haven't been blogging.

I almost think that I've given up thinking (what a paradox), that I've just left it to my muscle memory and automatic responses to pass my exams for me.

Hopefully.

My Hero

2009-09-16T13:57:00.003+10:00

I remember the first time I realised that you were not infallible.

"YOU DIDN'T" I said, eyes wide.
"Yeah, I did." You continued to stare at the floor.

The air was still and room was quiet, but a crash roared through my world. At that moment, I realised that you were not, and had never been, the perfection I thought you were. Somewhere in the back of my mind I had always known, but all the signs had always been insignificant enough to dismiss, to pretend they weren't there.

Then I wondered why I had tried so hard to get that information out of you. Maybe it was your deliberate vagueness that just drove me to find out all I could?

I realised after I knew that I had never actually wanted to know. It would have been better that way. Ignorance is bliss, they say.

I loved you anyway, but with the knowledge of what you had done, you were now on the same level as I was. No better.

From you I learnt that people need their heroes. They need something to aim for, someone to strive to become.

So for those who look up to me, I promise to play the part well. For your good.

It's finding a way to express it.

2009-09-14T20:30:00.006+10:00

This is my love for you:

It's not getting tingles up my spine everytime I see you.

It's not losing my ability to think whenever you're around.

It's not sneaking looks at you whenever I can.

It's definitely not trying to put myself on show.

It's not just thinking about you in everything I do.

It's not just wanting the best for you.

It's not just trying to make you happy.

It's not just being hurt more whenever I hurt you.

It's staring in awe at such a wonderful creation.

It's being my first thought and concern when I wake up.

It's resolving everything that comes between us.

It's wanting you never to hurt again.

I'm still finding a way to express it for you to understand, but I love you.

The dream I dreamed

2009-09-06T21:35:00.003+10:00

I dreamed a dream in time gone by

There was a time, when she was very young, that she believed that everything could be perfect. There was one person, a boy, that had planted that idea in her head, and he had promised her that it would all happen, one day when they were old enough.

When hope was high and life worth living

It gave her something to look forward to. Everytime she thought of him she would be reminded of this promise, and it motivated her to live her life to the full, to do everything with enthusiasm, preparing for her life ahead and hoping that everything she did would accumulate enough life experience that would deem her mature enough, and make the time go faster.

I dreamed that love would never die

The one constant in her life was his love. He had promised that it would be hers and hers only. She remembered those vows that people said at weddings -"til death do us apart." Didn't that mean that his love would always be there, until she died? Didn't that in turn mean that she would never have to live without it?

I dreamed that God would be forgiving

All this hope and promise reiterated the idea in her head that God was forgiving. It didn't matter what she had done in the past, there was a future to look forward to. It had been promised to her that there would be a future with him. There was hope.

Then I was young and unafraid

She didn't know any better. She was young, inexperienced, taking everything that came her way, taking risks she didn't even know were dangerous. She gave her heart to him, not even thinking twice. Not thinking that this one simple move could be so fatal. She was unconcerned that he could, any day, at his discretion, turn around and change everything she had ever known, and she would be in his hands.

And dreams were made and used and wasted

Looking back, those dreams did seem made and used and wasted. Though there was nothing she could do about it now. They were gone. They were exactly that, wasted.

There was no ransom to be paid

She'd done nothing wrong. Yet. She was still innocent. She was still whole, a precious piece of China that, though still fragile, had never been broken, chipped, even scratched before. She had hardly even lived. There was no need to be redeemed, cleansed, purified, for there were no wrongdoings.

No song unsung, no wine untasted

She took every opportunity that came her way. She did everything, anything that allowed her to experience life. He encouraged her. He slowly but surely coaxed her out of the corner that had been her life, he led her into the sunlight and showed her the amazing beauty of the earth.

He spent a summer by my side

It wasn't just a summer, it was much, much longer, but whenever she thought back on those times, it always seemed to be summer. The sun was always shining, she was always warm when he had been around. There was always a comfortable air, lazy and relaxed, at the same time exciting, for summer was always the time when the most unexpected would occur.

He filled my days with endless wonder

Every moment spent with him was another adventure. He made her laugh, he showed her new things, he taught her what he knew, but most importantly, he had given her a new perspective on life.

He took my childhood in his stride

He understood her. He seemed to understand all of her upbringing that made her who she was today. He embodied all that she had always imagined would be in the person she married.

But he was gone when autumn came

The weather turned cold as he began to recede into the background of her life. Exactly like summer turning into autumn, the process was slow and almost unnoticeable. The leaves fell from the trees one at a time, so slowly that it was not until the leaves began to gather at the tree roots that she noticed that the season had changed. By then, he was long gone.

And still I dreamed he'd come to me

He was gone, but she'd find herself daydreaming, thinking of those times when he was around. In her dreams she he was still there. Even when he was in front of her could she believe that he was still hers, and it wasn't until he left each time that she had to force herself to think that he was still loyal, that he would come back.

That we would spend the years together

She hoped, clung onto the wearing thin thread, that some day he would come to his senses and realise that she was still there, waiting for him.

But there dreams that cannot be

He had promised her. He always kept his promises. Would this be the first time that he didn't? No, she knew him, he wouldn't do this to her. Though it seemed that he was. He only came back once in a while. Yet he still came back. Didn't that show that he was still there? Wouldn't he come back. A voice came into the back of her head. Not this time, it said.

And there are the storms we cannot weather

Not this time. She wasn't that strong. Even he wasn't that strong. They couldn't fight this battle, even together. The dream was well and truly dead. There was no possibility of it ever coming to pass. She hated herself for the innocent person she had been, for it had been her very nature that caused her to suffer now. She might as well give up hoping, because her dream was never, ever going to come true

I had a dream my life would be,
So different from this hell I'm living,
So different now from what it seemed,
Now life has killed the dream

I dreamed.

In my weakness

2009-09-03T17:52:00.002+10:00

In my weakness
Your mightiness shows
Your light shines through
Ever stronger
In the empty space

The things I cannot do
You give me strength
The words I do not have
You place them on my lips

I have but nothing
If you choose not to give

Use my offering
To place yourself on high
For I live
To see you glorified

I like the metaphor of an almost finished bottle of shampoo. Just when you think that there's nothing left, there's always just enough.

Bits and pieces

2009-09-02T21:20:00.004+10:00

Today happened in bits and pieces.

HBD Paolo Lorenzo Tarray, PAOLOLOLOL, Pablo, Paola, Raffie, Ms Solis, Bro, whatever. Eighteen :)
~~~~~~~~~
"You know when someone says something, and it's so heavy that it feels like the air in the room just thickened, or like someone just dropped an invisible bomb? It happened more than once."
~~~~~~~~~
"There are people in here who actually want to do silent study." I concur.
~~~~~~~~~
"Everyday you grow more and more attractive. Maybe it's the fact that I'm just getting to know how beautiful you are on the inside."
~~~~~~~~~
Printing marathon. Guilty much?
~~~~~~~~~
"I swear I used to know someone just like you."
~~~~~~~~~
My bffl came looking for me. I feel loved.
~~~~~~~~~
"It's not everyday that something out of the ordinary happens. When it does, it's really out of the ordinary."
~~~~~~~~~
I wasted so much time, but somehow it was relaxing.
~~~~~~~~~
"I think I'm ready to love without hurt again."
~~~~~~~~~
There is a glut of strawberries because of the hot weather in Queensland. Not in this house. Today, we ate 3 punnets of strawberries.
~~~~~~~~~
"She explained it so well, because, in actual fact, she wasn't pretending or imagining."
~~~~~~~~~
Instead of doing German homework, I wrote a song. Update later.

Something familiar

2009-08-30T10:36:00.009+10:00

I wish I could give you all of me,

...even if only for the sake of you knowing that I love you.

I wish I could show you how much I love you,

...because it hurts me everytime you don't feel whole.

I want my love to wash away all your insecurities.

I want to carry your burden, because I don't want you to suffer like that. I see the thing that you can be, beautiful and complete.

Furthermore, I want the same thing in return.

Though I'm still human; I can't run on an empty tank. I can't do this without the promise that you'll do the same for me, because the things you need, I do too.

The only thing that binds us are our promises,

but somehow that's not enough, because people change. People change and their choices change with them. You'll change, and I'll just be left here.

It seems like I've been here before.

This scene is somewhat familiar. I recognise it from somewhere. Perhaps it was long time ago, maybe it was a dream, I'm not sure; the memory is fading, but there's enough left to remind me of it. Except that in the memory, I'd gone past this point. Everything had been perfect, until the very last moment.

This time I know what's coming, and I'm not making the same mistake.

I have, I have done this before. I remember now. That was what left me knowing that I can't do what I wish I could.

Happy days

2009-08-26T22:39:00.004+10:00

Today I received a very sweet message from Tienyi.

I got good feedback on my English imaginative piece.

I was mentioned in two blogs- Harry's and Tienyi's.

My bffl and I both had a rant about improper English. Purely co-incidental. Though not really, because we're both pedantic like that. One of the 1000000 reasons we're bffls <3>
I walked around Vermont South Shopping Centre handing in my resume.

On the way, I saw a 2009 diary for sale for $1, so I bought it.

I just remembered something you probably don't even remember. The first nice thing you did for me was pick up my hat. Do you remember? Yes, you.

I don't care that no one else cares, I care.

2009-08-26T22:01:00.004+10:00

Okay so this is would be me, having a rant about the imprecision with which we use our language.

My economics exercise book, in which I copy down Ms Kishore's notes, it says:

"Weaknesses of using Monetary Policy to achieve Domestic Economic Stability

1. Conflict between objectives."

(by the way, something similar also appears in the textbook)

I'm oh so terribly sorry, but the conflict between objectives is not a weakness of using Monetary Policy to achieve them, it is a weakness of achieving them itself.

It doesn't matter what I use, the achievement of these objectives will always be conflicting. Hence that point does not belong under the heading of "using monetary policy" to achieve them.

The weakness of me using a fork to eat a lolly isn't that the lolly is unhealthy, it is that I am not operating in the most efficient way possible.

See how ridiculously illogical it has become?

我从来没有爱你

2009-08-25T16:59:00.006+10:00

我最大的害怕是
如果我爱你
你不会爱我。

我要紧紧地抱住你的时候，
你不要抱我。

我要问你心情怎么样的时候，
你不要跟我说话。

所以
我已经决定了
不要爱你。

因为这样
当你找到一个女人的时候，
当你从早到晚说她多么完美无暇的时候，
当你说你们永远会在一起的时候，
我可以对自己说
我从来没有爱你。

My biggest fear is that
If I love you,
You will not love me.

When I want to hug you,
You will not want to hug me.

When I want to ask how you're going,
You will not want to speak to me.

So
I have already decided
Not to love you

Because like this,
When you find a girl
When you talk from dawn to dusk about how perfect she is,
When you say you'll be together forever,
I can tell myself
That I never loved you.

(It sounds so much prettier in Chinese)

Struggle

2009-08-20T22:16:00.002+10:00

I have never truly struggled at school.

I periodically find something very hard, and often have to think deeply to understand it. Sometimes it may take going home and reading that part of the textbook a few times, or doing a few extra questions to practise.

However, I have always grasped the basic concepts, or at least understood part of it and seen how it makes sense.

I have been blessed with the academic abilities above that of the average person. I will admit that one.

I can't just rely on that anymore.

This would be me, for the first time, not getting any of it.

Now I understand how it feels.

Today, I am not studying.

2009-08-17T18:00:00.002+10:00

Overeducation and Indifference

2009-08-15T16:11:00.004+10:00

We are the most overeducated generation thus far.

There are endless sources of information at our fingertips, books, thesis', essays, newspapers, teachers, and of course the internet. However, as good as that is, with all the benefits of convenience etc., it has a major negative side effect.

Indifference.

We are bombarded with all kinds of (both useful and useless) information, pictures, speeches, movies, music, intellectual teachings, and life philosophies, that we simply don't care anymore.

Terrible as it sounds, I watch promo vidoes for things such as the 40 hour famine, and pick out all the persuasive and film techniques. And I bet I'm not the only one.

Don't blame me, blame my education.

(This is not to say that I disapprove of or do not support the work of organisations such as World Vision; I am simply intellectually cynical about its promotion and efforts to rally participation.)

There are so many things out in the world, and only a handful of those actually mean something to me. You can try to convince me to join this club, support this cause, donate money to this charity, but in the end I may only be doing it for doing's sake.

Jealous Lover

2009-08-13T19:28:00.003+10:00

He was the focus of her world. He was the subject of every thought and worry. Every one of her actions were in order to care for him.

"Take a jacket with you tonight, yeah?"
"Why?"
"'Cos it will be cold. And you're sick."
"Meh. I'll cope. I'm a big boy." He gave her a childish grin.

They were sitting in the courtyard, on the steps that led to the entrance of the building. She moved closer to him, put her arms around his waist. Leaned her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes. Hearing loud footsteps approaching, she opened them.

A girl stood before them. She knew of her, had even exchanged some small talk, but such were the personalities that it had never gone beyond that.

She disconnected herself from him; it wasn't fair on the girl that they remained as they were.

He and the girl began an animated conversation, one of which she was obviously not a part. She flicked her eyes at the girl, and the girl reflexively returned the glance.

She turned her head away and looked at the floor, the grass, the trees, anything to occupy her mind. She thought about him, and reached for his hand in his pocket.

What she tried not to think about, was the harsh nature of love, understood and exchanged between her and the girl in that single moment past.

Beneath the surface

2009-08-11T22:16:00.003+10:00

Somewhere, beneath the pile of rubble which she felt constituted her life, despite the changes of circumstance and attitude and character for the worse...

...lay her initial intentions.

The way she was perceived was still the way she had tried to define herself.

As a never ending channel of love.

And that made her smile.

Auβenseiterin

2009-08-11T20:50:00.003+10:00

Being an outsider is a disorientating feeling.

You hear them, but you don't know what they're saying.

You listen, but after a while you realise that you haven't actually learnt anything.

And sometimes, you even understand, but then try as you might, you cannot repeat it back in the words you heard them.

You feel like you're a rock in a stream. While everyone around you is rushing past, you continue to be stationary.

Why don't you let me help?

2009-08-10T21:28:00.002+10:00

After I talked to you, all I could do was sit there and cry.

You have no idea how much it hurts me not to be able to do anything to make you happy.

It's horrible when you talk like you want to be how you are. Like the world is coming to an end and you're just going to accept it.

And it's even worse when you don't talk at all. Because then I wonder if it's something I've done.

Why can't I do something that will help?

I'm so sorry.

I feel like doing something creative

2009-08-09T10:01:00.002+10:00

At 10 o'clock on a Sunday morning, I do not want to be doing hw.

I actually feel like doing something creative.

Like photography. Looking at Collette Dinnigan Bridal Collections gets me inspired and in a creative mood.

Or baking+decorating. But I already baked on Thursday. AND last weekend.

Or even rearranging the posters on my wall. But my room is messy enough as it is, and if i remove posters they will probably never make it onto my wall again, and end up littering the floor

Something. Anything.

But then again, with exams less than 3 months away, I should get cracking. I've wasted enough time already.

xx

When?

2009-08-08T16:36:00.003+10:00

When did I become such a bitch?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In other news, here's something on http://jane-yuying.blogspot.com/ that made me cry today:

"Thursday, August 6, 2009
to this special friend
i still remember the day
when we were going to be standard 3 the next day
i called and your grandma picked up
so startled i was to hear you're not coming back and i was calling
so intoxicated wanted to ask you to go recess togetheri
ran to my mom and said she's not coming back and ran to my room
i know a lot of things had changed
we've grown up
no longer the little girls we used to be
so naive and immature
but there's one thing that will never change
you are my best friend
from the day we knew each other
dancing in the studio,going to school,
sleepover and everything we've shared
are still in my mind vividly
because there's this space meant for you
that became my long term memory
i still remember the place where we played our barbie's and the garden we played ice man
you're still and will always be in the top most rung of my list like how it used to be"

It belongs to a girl I've known for a very long time, and who also has a special place in my heart <3

一段对话

2009-08-06T19:43:00.006+10:00

刚才我突然想起了六年前和我好朋友之间的一段对话。

那时我刚搬到了澳洲，第一次回到马来西亚度假。

“嘉恬，你说你长大了以后会回来马来西亚吗？”
“我不知道啊，可能会啊。”
“你说我还是你的好朋友吗？”
“是。”
“你在澳洲有没有好朋友？”
“有。”
“那我还是他们之间最好的朋友吗？”

I think there's a reason that particular conversation has stayed with me, even after all these years.

I so terribly wanted to say yes. But I couldn't. Or at least I couldn't say it and mean it.

I can't remember how I replied, but I have a sinking feeling that I lied, that I said yes, just so I wouldn't hurt her feelings.

But in truth, I had moved on. I just didn't want my mind and heart to be in a country where I was no longer.

A sacred half hour

2009-07-31T21:10:00.005+10:00

And now there was just one short half hour left, before they would come home and bring with them the noise and movement of the world, and it would start all over again.

Acknowledging your gifts

2009-07-30T22:50:00.002+10:00

Most often, when you acknowledge something which you are good at, you are seen as proud, up yourself, or overly self confident.

But I think that rather the exact opposite is true.

Knowing that you have certain talents is an act of humility, because it is knowing that what you have is not something of your own doing. It is a gift, something that has been freely given to you.

Even in things that have resulted from your hard work, it is the due to the qualities you have been given that you have achieved them.

Naïveness

2009-07-30T18:25:00.004+10:00

Amid all the media talk about teen suicides because of peer pressure, including to go partying, drink, do drugs, sleep around etc, even the harmless things like getting tattoos and piercings (and some would include swearing in there), I find myself thinking that none of this actually affects me.

Sure, some of this stuff is around me, but it's just...there. I just don't feel the need to get involved.

I don't think badly of the people that do the things I don't- that's their own decision, and they are entitled to that choice.

This is just to say that I am quite satisfied sitting at home and doing what I want to do.

Maybe all this makes me naïve. Maybe you think I don't that I have a life because I'm not like that. Maybe you think that I should get out more. Or even that I'm boring. Or maybe you would hate to be me.

But, funnily enough (or not), I like my life.

Suffocation

2009-07-27T17:35:00.002+10:00

I wish sometimes people would know when to leave me alone, and when to just shut up.

Why can't I try to work hard in school without the world trying to stop me? Why must they try to persuade me to leave my desk, or continually interrupt me? Why don't some people understand personal space and personal decisions, and to stop trying to make me do things I dont want to? Or to stop me from doing things I want to?

When every minute of my time is being demanded, what happens to the things that I want to do?

Or maybe they don't realise, because theres only one of me and so many of them. Maybe they don't realise that while they surround me and I try to please them all, they're actually suffocating me.

Someone

2009-07-26T22:01:00.006+10:00

I wish there were somebody, a human being, who knew me inside out. Who knew what I wanted and how I was feeling, and who knew what to do, without me needing to say anything.

Someone who would just know when I needed a hug.

Someone who I wouldn't need to try to make conversation with, because there would be no need to try.

Because if there were someone like that, I wouldn't always have to try to articulate feelings. Or at least I wouldn't have to tell someone something was wrong, and I wouldn't feel like I was always just complaining to them. They would ask what was wrong.

There have been times when I thought there was someone, but not anymore.

Sometimes, I hate being a crowd pleaser.

I need your permission.

How do I get people to see my point of view?

Kudos to anyone who can piece together and make sense of this blog.

Lockdown

2009-07-24T16:58:00.004+10:00

Henceforth, I am in lockdown mode. Lockdown to study.

Because today in mentoring, I had an epiphany. I am going to do Commerce/Law at Monash University next year. The catch is, it requires a 98.2 ENTER.

And I have decided that I will try my best to get that 98.2 Of course I have (many)backup plans, seeing as that is an incredibly ridiculously high aim.

So I will study. If I don't come to whatever you invite me to, it's not because I hate you, it's because I need to study.

And don't you even try to tell me I don't need to.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

On a related note, today I thought about how hypocritical the world is.

We encourage people to aim high, to do their best and to put in 110%. We put our heroes, sportsmen etc. on a pedestal and say "Look, they deserve to be where they are. They worked hard and achieved success. Hard work pays off, and if you work hard you can enjoy the results."

Then somewhere along the line, we turn around and go "Oh. But make sure you party hard, because you've only got one life. Don't study so much, because that makes you a boring person. Be more social, come hang out."

So I will refuse to listen to the world. I can make my own decisions, tyvm.

Love is an action

2009-07-22T22:26:00.018+10:00

My mother once told me that love is an action, not a feeling.

I think my German dictionary sums this up quite nicely:

lieben: (v/t) to love

To love is a transitive verb. For those of you non grammatically knowledgable, a transitive verb is a verb which requires and object in the sentence, for example, to annoy.

"Cordelia's sisters annoy her."

In this sentence, the subject is "Cordelia's sisters", the verb is "annoy" and the object is "her". The verb "to annoy" requires an object to make the sentence complete.

As opposed to an intransitive verb, which does not require an object, for example, to vanish.

"Cordelia vanishes."

This would suffice as a complete sentence. An adverb may be added, ie "Cordelia vanishes periodically", or even a place, ie "Cordelia vanishes from her room", but inserting a noun after the verb would be grammatically incorrect, such as "Cordelia vanishes her sisters".

Yeah just...no.

So back to the point, love is a transitive verb. Which means that it always requires an object that is to be loved (hence why transitive verbs can be used in the passive construction, whereas intransitive verbs cannot. But that's a grammar lesson for another time). So if love is a transitive verb and transitive verbs require an object, love must require an object.

You always love someone. Or something. You never just love.

Love always finds an object, and a way to express itself to that object. Hence, love is an action.

Taking the time of a Sunday morning

2009-07-19T09:51:00.003+10:00

Actually, it doesn't even have to be of a Sunday morning. Just taking the time is a pleasure in itself.

This morning, I sat at the table and took 45 minutes to eat my breakfast. It was good not having somewhere to rush to, somewhere to be, someone to meet. It was enjoyable just to sit down and flick through all the rubbish newspaper magazines while eating my pancakes.

It just seems that these days, every minute I have means I am available at that time. No dears, just because I'm not doing something specifically does not make me free to do something. What if I just wanted to lie on the grass and watch the clouds go by? Or if I wanted to sit on my top bunk and admired all the photos of my friends on the wall for half an hour?

Besides, time always fills itself. You can fit in 3 exercises of maths in the same time you will do 1, if you only had that one to do.

They say that our generation is inundated with information through ease of technological communication. Not only that, I think that we are also inundated with notification of events through the same technological communication, and the ease with which these events can be publicised only encourages their creation.

I have been late to church several times, left countless things undone, postponed many events and rejected numerous invitations, just because this life is a pressure cooker and the fire can be turned off at any moment.

But I guess, without these, just sitting and taking as much time as I want doing something would not be quite as meaningful.

In the end, we die...so what?

2009-07-15T23:04:00.003+10:00

There seems to be a reoccuring theme going around lately that goes something like this: "I live, breathe, make friends, go to school, go to uni, go to work, marry, have kids and grow old. And in the end, I die, and I die alone. What's the point?"

May I, in the most gracious way, point out a massive flaw in that argument. Of course we all die in the end. It's inevitable. But if we're going to ask what the point of living is, it defeats the whole purpose of doing everything which enables us to continue to live. For example, eating, sleeping and staying healthy.

Within each of us, there is the urge to survive. Starve yourself for long enough and all you want to do is eat something. This is normal human behaviour. These are the things that we don't even need to have second thoughts about. Our minds can't control the constant thought of food coming to the forefront of our mind; It does not have the power to control the things that are engrained into our nature.

So if we have the urge to survive, clearly we are meant to experience life as we have it. It's contradictory and totally absurd to have our bodies wanting to survive, but our mind set on death. And if we can't change what our bodies want, the mind has to yield.

Questioning the point of doing all of the things mentioned above is, essentially, implying that you don't want to do them. Which is, in turn, implying that you don't want to live. Which is the exact opposite of how we were meant to function.

Now to rectify the condition of the mind: Learn to love your life. There is absolutely no point in finding reasons to hate it (because hating it implies that you dont want it which implies that you dont want to live which is the opposite of human nature, remember?). Don't complain about the things that go wrong, do things that will make it better. Build relationships and shower love on people. And if all else fails, just work with the circumstances.

In the end, we die. But the destination is not the purpose of our lives. We already have life. There are wonderful and not-so-glamorous aspects to it, but that's just the way things are. Above all, find the things in life that will enthuse you.

Almost

2009-07-15T22:20:00.005+10:00

As he walked towards his group of his friends, she was standing close by, eating her lunch.

She looked up as he approached, a reflexive action.

Their eyes met. He almost walked towards her, parted his mouth as if to say something, reached out his hand as if to wave to her.

But then, on second thoughts, he retracted. He didn't know to break the awkwardness that already existed between them. Besides, he had nothing to say to her anyway.

He turned away and joined his cluster of friends.

okayokayokay

2009-07-13T22:51:00.002+10:00

OKAY so I haven't blogged for aaages!

So. Here goes. The mood will change dramatically as I blog through the entire holidays, so just bear with me here.

SURGE CAMP 27/06-3/07
Wow so much happened that week. God taught me heaps:
1. Need to read my Bible more and actually KNOW WHERE THINGS ARE. The number of times I have wanted to make a point (even if it's just to myself) and have not remembered the full verse or where it comes from...not helpful.

2. God: "Errr...hello? I believe I am the one in control here? And just to prove it, I am going to cement your legs right....HERE" Me: "GOD I WANNA MOVE LET ME MOVE LETMEMOVE LETMEMOVE!...fine I give up. Youre in control"

3. His yoke is easy and his burden is light. Remember that.

Surge band, my musical family: Love you guys, awesome as always, as musicians and as people. I know the sound system was terrible, but doesn't matter. Remember always that it's worship, not a concert. The fact that we worship with music is essential, everything else is a bonus.

Fun times with Team 12. Late night beach, not going to games to study...or at least try...*ahem*

And a bonus: I got to have my bffl there!

CUPCAKE DAY 6/07
Baking cupcakes with Gumji and Tienyi was awesome. Yay for icing and colouring. I was SMART and wore white. Luckily no colouring got on it. And The Lion King! "He's actually really hot for a lion". Yes, Tienyi, sure.

For pictures and stuff, go visit Gumji's(http://kylin-k.blogspot.com/) and Tienyi's(http://rainbows-and-cookies.blogspot.com/) blog. And yes i don't know how to hyperlink the pro way.

DONCASTER 8/07
Transformers, lunch, and "enjoying the ambience of a new shopping centre." Anticlimax much? But I did enjoy spending time with the Mount kids

CITY 9/07
We walked around aimlessly!

(notice how the paragraphs are getting shorter...shows how much I JUST WANT TO GO TO BED. This WAS meant to include lots of other stuff and d&ms, but i guess that will have to wait)

SICK 10/07-
So I was sick. And I dont know if it was swine flu coz I didnt actually go to the doctor's. Friday and Saturday were the worst, and included spending all day Saturday in bed and not being allowed to go to Ally's. *cries*. Still have a sore throat and need to carry tissues everywhere, but i'm getting better

AD2 12/07
The Crossway PM1 band is hereby known as AD2 (All Day, week 2 of each month). Well that actually changed LAST month, but i didnt sing, so it doesnt count. HAHA. So EARLY EARLY rehearsal at 7.15, managed to drag myself out of bed somehow, rehearsal, prayer, 9am service, 11am worship set (no response song!), leave at 11.30. Back at church at 5, worship set run through, 6pm service, 6.30 HOME! Crash.

12 WEEKS OF SCHOOL LEFT
This piece of news, which Emily kindly announced, is met with mixed feelings. Relief that it will finally be over. But then again, leaving stuff behind. Going different paths. Sigh.

omgomgomgomgomgomgomgomgomg i got through the entire holidays. well most. TIME FOR BED!

NO TIME!

2009-07-09T09:05:00.002+10:00

SO BUSY.

1001 THINGS GO THROUGH MY HEAD, NONE OF WHICH I CAN ACTUALLY REMEMBER.

LIFE'S STILL PRETTY SWEET THOUGH.

NOW I'M OFF TO CHANGE AND ALL THAT TO CATCH A BUS TO GO TO GLENNY TO DO SOME SHOPPING TO GO INTO THE CITY.

It will probably be the weekend before I can even sit and relax, let alone blog about something d&m

Tell me.

2009-06-26T23:42:00.004+10:00

I don't care how stupid what you have to tell me is. Or even how trivial, shameful or heartbreaking it is.

Because ultimately, I love you too much to stop now, and I'll love you no matter what you do. Please don't even think for one minute that anything you do will cause me to despise you, because that's not how I roll. I may not like what you did, but I will always love you.

I may not be able to make things right, but neither can I show you how much I love you if you keep things from me, the very things that need extra care and attention. You say you're too cowardly to be honest, but what courage is needed when there is no possiblity of rejection?

It doesn't matter that in 10 years I may only see you by coincidence. The effort we put into our friendship in the past can never be reversed, and the love, the foundation of our friendship, lasts a lifetime.

A split second

2009-06-23T17:47:00.004+10:00

I used to think that...well I didn't use to think it. It was just always there, this philosophy that life was foolproof, your parents told you that you had a great life in front of you, and you gained the thought that things were already planned out for you, your job, your husband, your future, everything, and you just had to live it.

But I've since learnt that that's not true.

The things that happen in a split second may change the rest of your life.

For the purposes of this exercise, let's focus on the idea of marriage.

What if you were always told that there was someone out there made for you since the day they were born? That someday you would meet them, and you would just know, that they were yours?

But what if they were right there in front of you, and you didn't know it was them? Or, what if you'd thought about it, but just dismissed it? Or, what if you knew? Maybe a simple mistake would cost you the friendship, there'd be fight, someone else might come along, and you'd never have them back.

Maybe a decision that was made while in a rush, a situation that you only gave half your attention, one that was made without thinking, would be one that you regret for the rest of your life.

Humans are fickle beings, easily swayed and with delicate emotions. How have we expected any more of the lives they live?