No, I have not been a fan of Christmas since I reached the age of fourteen. That was round the time I developed a brain, and began to form my own opinions and reach conclusions based upon my own observations. But anyway, here are a few reasons to support my feelings as to why Christmas is my least favourite time of the year:
Statistically, it is the time of year when families get together and argue the most, and when the most suicides occur. The pressure to 'have a good time', and 'be with the ones who you love' are often more than we can live up to. Often, the people with whom you would most like to be with, you can't because of the familial obligation. I myself was stung by that sorrow - my dearest husband (facebook, that is) was shackled to his family, and I to mine.
Christmas carols are probably the most hideous sounds ever to be labeled music - including Mahler (sorry, that was a nerdy music joke). Listening to the banal tunes piped through every single store in existence beginning in October makes me want to top myself, if I'm being gentle. I don't know what it is about Christmas music, but the tunes are always, So. Bad.
Because there are so many people at the gatherings, I find myself disappointed with the food - so many people create the pressure to provide for everyone, so the food is of a lesser quality. And then there is also my personal trap of falling into trying the potato salad. One lady who comes to Christmas always brings a potato salad, and I always try it, thinking that it will be good this year, and I always end up with a mouthful of unsatisfactory potato salad.
Christmas is the idea of taking a religious festival and turning it into some corporate money-making scheme. I love presents as much as the next person,but unless I get damn good presents, I feel like somebody has wasted their money giving me a gift because 'that's what you do on christmas'.When I ask 'why?', the response is simply 'because that's the tradition'. Oh, and in the search to get other people good presents, I inevitably send myself broke. Damn.
Rest assured, there are more reasons, but I'm going to go and find myself a piece of satisfying chocolate. That's what I want for Christmas. Oh, and world peace, and another trip to Bali, and somebody with whom I can happily spend the rest of my life.
And to all a good night.
Saturday, December 25, 2010
Friday, November 19, 2010
Swimsuit shopping: the perfect torture
Today, I went swimsuit shopping. And wasn't it just merry hell.
I often find myself hating any form of clothes shopping as you invariably end up feeling utterly horrible about yourself. But I have a special hatred reserved for bra shopping and swimsuit shopping, in fact, pants shopping as well, but that's more because my natural laziness is frustrated by the amount of effort that is required to go pants shopping. Take off pants, put pants on, repeat.
But. Swimsuits. They are in the same category as bras to my mind. The shop itself is a small warehouse of swimsuits, and decorated with pictures of these horrifyingly thin, tanned, and cheerful women who have most likely been airbrushed to hell and back on the walls. For those of us who do not have the body of a supermodel, the constant reminder of your inadequate body is reinforced by theses posters that decorate the walls.
Then the swimsuits themselves. Sorted in colour, style, brand, stripe, type, and everything in between without the assistance of a handy shop person you sort of wander around the store in this dazed confusion, picking out things which catch your eye at random.
That's the easy part. Then comes the actual trying on of the swimsuits. You go into this small cubicle, and take off your clothes. Rather confrontingly there is a mirror right in front of you, exposing every single piece of skin you cover with clothes so you don't wish to see it. As I was staring in the mirror today, I thought, 'I can't possibly be that proportioned - I look like some form of troll'. So the mirrors themselves are the sort that make you look well, let's face it, fatter than you actually are.
Then you are trying on these swimsuits. This didn't happen to me today (thank god), but the worst feeling is when you have to ask for the next size up. You invariably pay money for this particular experience.
Although it the experience was somewhat tempered for me by the fact that in the changing stall next to me, there was a small child chucking the mother of all tantrums. It was truly spectacular, and I was privileged enough to hear it escalate into the hysterical mode from mere whinge. I was texting my friend about it, as we have this thing where we love to see small children chucking hissy fits, as we both stand there and think 'thank god that isn't me having to deal with it'.
Anyway, that is the end of why swimsuit shopping is torture.
I often find myself hating any form of clothes shopping as you invariably end up feeling utterly horrible about yourself. But I have a special hatred reserved for bra shopping and swimsuit shopping, in fact, pants shopping as well, but that's more because my natural laziness is frustrated by the amount of effort that is required to go pants shopping. Take off pants, put pants on, repeat.
But. Swimsuits. They are in the same category as bras to my mind. The shop itself is a small warehouse of swimsuits, and decorated with pictures of these horrifyingly thin, tanned, and cheerful women who have most likely been airbrushed to hell and back on the walls. For those of us who do not have the body of a supermodel, the constant reminder of your inadequate body is reinforced by theses posters that decorate the walls.
Then the swimsuits themselves. Sorted in colour, style, brand, stripe, type, and everything in between without the assistance of a handy shop person you sort of wander around the store in this dazed confusion, picking out things which catch your eye at random.
That's the easy part. Then comes the actual trying on of the swimsuits. You go into this small cubicle, and take off your clothes. Rather confrontingly there is a mirror right in front of you, exposing every single piece of skin you cover with clothes so you don't wish to see it. As I was staring in the mirror today, I thought, 'I can't possibly be that proportioned - I look like some form of troll'. So the mirrors themselves are the sort that make you look well, let's face it, fatter than you actually are.
Then you are trying on these swimsuits. This didn't happen to me today (thank god), but the worst feeling is when you have to ask for the next size up. You invariably pay money for this particular experience.
Although it the experience was somewhat tempered for me by the fact that in the changing stall next to me, there was a small child chucking the mother of all tantrums. It was truly spectacular, and I was privileged enough to hear it escalate into the hysterical mode from mere whinge. I was texting my friend about it, as we have this thing where we love to see small children chucking hissy fits, as we both stand there and think 'thank god that isn't me having to deal with it'.
Anyway, that is the end of why swimsuit shopping is torture.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
5 reasons why feminism is bad
(a satirical look into why the women's rights movement has been detrimental to our society)
So I have been wondering about why there are so many people in the world who say that women should not have rights. I have been trying to understand why oh why this could possibly be thought to be the case. Over the course of my mental meanderings, I made some realisations, and came to the conclusion that yes, feminism is of course a plague in our society, a veritable scourge that has brought suffering to those around us. Here are the top five reasons.
1. Leggings (and short shorts really). Yes. With the growth in women's liberation came women shunning their traditional 'COVER YOURSELF YOU LOOSE WOMAN, I CAN SEE ANKLE' ideas, and donning pants. And the pants got tighter. and shorter. and tighter. and shorter. Until the age of the 'leggings as pants'. No. Society at large has spoken, and there is only a teeny tiny percent of people in the world who can actually pull off the pants as leggings look. I am going to say one word and one word only 'jiggle'. I think that this explains my point. To a lesser extent, this is also the case with short shorts. I think the best way to illustrate my point is the comment made to me by a friend today: 'I think there should be a limit at what size short shorts are made to.'
2. Bimbos. Accompanying the movements for women to be heard, is the women who are heard. Oh dear. Some people should really just not speak. Now, I am not sure about who the 'real' Paris Hilton is, or what she actually does...- in searching for the following quote I read claims that she actually works quite hard doing...whatever she does - but. Let us examine Paris Hilton. Did she change her name to 'Perez'? Someone whose image is that of a blonde twit. I came across this quote which I think proves my point perfectly: 'I first wanted to be a veterinarian. And then I realised you had to give them shots to put them to sleep, so I decided I'd just buy a bunch of animals and have them in my house instead.' ...dunno how to tell her this, but what about when her animals get old and sick and die?
3. Women appearing onstage. Yeah, in the time of Shakespeare, all the parts were played by men. Saucy man-on-man action was had. Now, women are everywere. I want to see some socially acceptable same-sex love going on in a performance forum damnit!!
4. Gimps. Yes you heard me. Ever since pulp fiction, gimps have been a popular part of pop culture. But more importantly, they exist within a subcultre of society. Why? Well obviously because with the empowerment of women, has come the emasculation of men. How has this manifested? Gimps, clearly. The need to be dominated by a man, and the need for a male to regain his cojones by utterly dominating someone, because the women are the ones in power, it obviously isn't going to be them. Enough said.
5. Sandwiches. How many times have I been told 'women make me a sandwich'? Quite a few. And I have a problem with this. Because frankly, sandwiches aren't that great. I mean sure, you can have some really decent sandwiches, but what's the fuss. Clearly, this has impacted our society by narrowing our cultural focus. How many times have you heard someone say 'woman! make me a medium rare steak in a creamy mushroom sauce with a side garden salad - perhaps with some croutons'? Exactly.
The very fabric of our society is clearly under threat. Be aware.
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Names and Stories
I was reflecting upon the concept of a name. This was brought on by a conversation I had with the person whom I mentioned in my last post. He demanded a codename - although I attempted to explain that I don't actually make use of code names per se. I genuinely use names that I call these people, all nicknames.
But what is in a name (a rose by any other name might still smell as sweet)?
I just turned to my trusty friend Google, and apparently my name means 'noble' (and is a variation of Adelaide, which ironically was my great grandmother's name translated from Hungarian). I have no idea what point I'm making with this, however those of you who know me, feel free to jump in with a comment.
There's a story behind so many of the names that I call people though. Here are a few for example.
'Soccy' - this came about because he calls me Princess (how fitting considering my name apparently means noble). But Soccy comes from an abbreviation of Socrates, which is relevant because he studies Ancient Greek, and is as wise - in my eyes- as an ancient Greek philosopher, Socrates, for example.
Another example is 'Status'. This is so because of a rather humorous story I told him some months back about someone's status. The name stuck in screaming it out across the yard as a memory booster whenever we saw each other.
I think the names we give each other are important, as they do tell a story about a friendship, about a relationship, or a bond that is formed.
I often wonder what drives parents to choose a name for their child (or even people for their pets). I have a cousin who goes by her middle name rather than her given name. Have you ever played the game where you tried to guess someone's name and said 'no, he doesn't look like a Bernard, more of a Manny' (and props if you get the Black Books reference there). What prompts that suggestion?
Anyway, I'm going to attempt to write a history essay. God save us all.
But what is in a name (a rose by any other name might still smell as sweet)?
I just turned to my trusty friend Google, and apparently my name means 'noble' (and is a variation of Adelaide, which ironically was my great grandmother's name translated from Hungarian). I have no idea what point I'm making with this, however those of you who know me, feel free to jump in with a comment.
There's a story behind so many of the names that I call people though. Here are a few for example.
'Soccy' - this came about because he calls me Princess (how fitting considering my name apparently means noble). But Soccy comes from an abbreviation of Socrates, which is relevant because he studies Ancient Greek, and is as wise - in my eyes- as an ancient Greek philosopher, Socrates, for example.
Another example is 'Status'. This is so because of a rather humorous story I told him some months back about someone's status. The name stuck in screaming it out across the yard as a memory booster whenever we saw each other.
I think the names we give each other are important, as they do tell a story about a friendship, about a relationship, or a bond that is formed.
I often wonder what drives parents to choose a name for their child (or even people for their pets). I have a cousin who goes by her middle name rather than her given name. Have you ever played the game where you tried to guess someone's name and said 'no, he doesn't look like a Bernard, more of a Manny' (and props if you get the Black Books reference there). What prompts that suggestion?
Anyway, I'm going to attempt to write a history essay. God save us all.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Intimacy
So I was looking through my weekly love, postsecret, and I came across this. Really got me thinking. There's something about some of the things people write up there that just get to me. I also like the EMTs one (first if you go to the initial page btw).
This got me thinking. I had a conversation with a friend (not a friend who I've referenced before actually), about intimacy, and how often there is almost a willingness to reveal secrets and have soul-revealing talks with people who we barely know.
It's safer that way.
I suppose this links into 'alone', but I'm taking the tangent further.
Let's look at my good friend the dictionary. It tells us that intimacy is: a feeling or atmosphere of closeness and openness towards someone else. Although the dictionary (ok it was google) also says that it is the fourth studio album by American pop singer Jody Watley, released in 1993...
Intimacy are those moments when you open yourself up to another person, when you share something, and it leaves you vulnerable. Sex, to me, doesn't come into this particular equation. Intimacy is when you can cry in front of someone (something I very rarely do), or let them see you weak, and still be ok with that. That's what it is to me, at least.
Thinking about the most intimate experience I have had in the recent past, it was when I was staying over at my friend's house, and we were lying in bed (we had been drinking). She possibly won't remember this, but we had a very deep, and very meaningful conversation. And I still remember that sensation of lying in the dark talking.
Before that the one that springs to mind, is when I went over to a friend's house, and I was sobbing, and there were just hugs (and maltesers), nothing else. And that was, frankly, all I needed.
And forgive me for a moment for sounding a touch mushy, but I think a truly intimate moment is when all the layers go, when you catch a glimpse of someone else's soul.
That's all from me.
This got me thinking. I had a conversation with a friend (not a friend who I've referenced before actually), about intimacy, and how often there is almost a willingness to reveal secrets and have soul-revealing talks with people who we barely know.
It's safer that way.
I suppose this links into 'alone', but I'm taking the tangent further.
Let's look at my good friend the dictionary. It tells us that intimacy is: a feeling or atmosphere of closeness and openness towards someone else. Although the dictionary (ok it was google) also says that it is the fourth studio album by American pop singer Jody Watley, released in 1993...
Intimacy are those moments when you open yourself up to another person, when you share something, and it leaves you vulnerable. Sex, to me, doesn't come into this particular equation. Intimacy is when you can cry in front of someone (something I very rarely do), or let them see you weak, and still be ok with that. That's what it is to me, at least.
Thinking about the most intimate experience I have had in the recent past, it was when I was staying over at my friend's house, and we were lying in bed (we had been drinking). She possibly won't remember this, but we had a very deep, and very meaningful conversation. And I still remember that sensation of lying in the dark talking.
Before that the one that springs to mind, is when I went over to a friend's house, and I was sobbing, and there were just hugs (and maltesers), nothing else. And that was, frankly, all I needed.
And forgive me for a moment for sounding a touch mushy, but I think a truly intimate moment is when all the layers go, when you catch a glimpse of someone else's soul.
That's all from me.
Saturday, October 30, 2010
babies; the scarier STI
Yesterday I went over to my neighbour's house. To meet their new baby. She let me hold it.
I kid you not, it was actually the scariest thing I have ever done in my entire life. Babies terrify me.
I used to say that one of the things I feared most was herpes. Not anymore. Number one on my list right now, is babies. Following this was a conversation with my friend, where we decided that yes, babies were indeed the scariest STI (or STD as I still call them), because for herpes, you can take medication to control the itchy burning flare-ups, but once you have a baby, there is no medication that makes it go away (and if there is that's infanticide and highly illegal).
So what is it about babies that scares me so?
Let us examine, they are small, highly breakable, completely dependent (dear god no!!!), and they stare at you. Oh, let us not forget the crying, which becomes like some form of sick mystery game where you have to figure out what the reason is for crying, be it hunger, fatigue, or the dreaded possibility of you holding them wrong and causing them pain.
Perhaps it is also the fear that as a female, I am the one who would carry the thing for 9 months (watching what I eat, how I walk, how I sit, what I inhale so as not to harm bubs), and then going through the delightful experience of birth. This follows hot on the heels of me doing some bio study and seeing a rather graphic picture of birth - to my mind not a necessary inclusion in my bio textbook, but thank you biozone for giving me more reasons not to get pregnant. Ever.
However, to amuse myself, I will often play a little game where I imagine what psychological torments I could inflict upon my children. It's quite a fun game. You should try it. It has often given me many times of fun distraction, imagining up the disturbed psyche of my hypothetical child would be.
Anyway, that's all from me.
On a slightly unrelated note, I find this hilarious, and a strangely good song. But we shouldn't make fun of rape. It's a serious thing.
I kid you not, it was actually the scariest thing I have ever done in my entire life. Babies terrify me.
I used to say that one of the things I feared most was herpes. Not anymore. Number one on my list right now, is babies. Following this was a conversation with my friend, where we decided that yes, babies were indeed the scariest STI (or STD as I still call them), because for herpes, you can take medication to control the itchy burning flare-ups, but once you have a baby, there is no medication that makes it go away (and if there is that's infanticide and highly illegal).
So what is it about babies that scares me so?
Let us examine, they are small, highly breakable, completely dependent (dear god no!!!), and they stare at you. Oh, let us not forget the crying, which becomes like some form of sick mystery game where you have to figure out what the reason is for crying, be it hunger, fatigue, or the dreaded possibility of you holding them wrong and causing them pain.
Perhaps it is also the fear that as a female, I am the one who would carry the thing for 9 months (watching what I eat, how I walk, how I sit, what I inhale so as not to harm bubs), and then going through the delightful experience of birth. This follows hot on the heels of me doing some bio study and seeing a rather graphic picture of birth - to my mind not a necessary inclusion in my bio textbook, but thank you biozone for giving me more reasons not to get pregnant. Ever.
However, to amuse myself, I will often play a little game where I imagine what psychological torments I could inflict upon my children. It's quite a fun game. You should try it. It has often given me many times of fun distraction, imagining up the disturbed psyche of my hypothetical child would be.
Anyway, that's all from me.
On a slightly unrelated note, I find this hilarious, and a strangely good song. But we shouldn't make fun of rape. It's a serious thing.
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Musings on a playlist
I've done something like 4 essays today. I'm quietly proud of myself - don't ask me what they were because that makes it less impressive.
Just to quickly clear something up - my nickname for Canard comes from a discussion we had about insults in french, and the fact that the french for 'duck' I mistook to be a truly filthy french insult. So now I call her that all the time.
Well dear reader, I'm going to try something a bit different today.
To escape from the mundane nature of schoolwork, I've put on some music (for now the Red Hot Chili Peppers), and I'm going to engage in a creative exercise. Again, I completely understand if you decide this is not worth reading. I'll write something more interesting soon, I promise.
I'm going to call this experiment, 'the evocation of sound'. Links are duly attached if you are interested (stress free blog-reading with attached soundtrack, I'm so good to you guys).
So what does 'Californication 'make me think of?
-the destruction of purity and innocence by the corporation's desire to make money off it.
-the attraction of some to the mass-market deconstruction of a personality simply into an icon, and the accompanying petrification at the concept of aging
-*guitar solo is simply awesome*
-it conjures up the image of the setting sun for me actually, don't ask me why
-globilisation and the fact that perhaps its not always a good thing
'Beat It' - Michael Jackson
-moving on....
'Islands' the XX
I said to a friend (who is awesome and who actually introduced me into them) that whenever I listen to the XX, I always simply visualise a room full of apathetic people simply shuffling in time to a beat. That being said they touch something within me (in a non-sexual assault way).
-the idea of two people finding something within each other that makes them feel connected. I'm possibly getting this from the title, which makes me think of Hugh Grant in 'About a Boy', talking about the idea that no man is an island.
'Someone Saved my Life Tonight' Elton John
This is actually one of my favourite songs. It's quite beautiful.
-a story on two levels, a toxic love affair, and the entrapment of an individual within the corporate world, and the loss of self that accompanies both of these things, and the rediscovery of the self, and subsequent escape
(Although this view is possibly tempered by the fact that I happen to know it is about his suicide attempt where he turned the gas on on his stove, and left the windows open)
'No Mountain' The Cat Empire
One of the few love songs that the Cat Empire has written.
-the improbability of finding someone, and the evocation of that feeling, the utter giving up of yourself to someone 'there is no option anymore, alone with you'. There's almost an understanding that there is inperpetuation (yeah I just made that word up) within the relationship, yet the desire to still pursue it.
Anyway, that's it from me. Except I'll leave you with my favourite song of all time - also by the Cat Empire. It's called 'Lullaby'. It will always cheer me up (assuming I put it on). This interpretation is up to you.
If you chose to click the links, I hope you enjoyed listening.
I'll leave you with a quote (I seriously love quotes), again from the Cat Empire.
Just to quickly clear something up - my nickname for Canard comes from a discussion we had about insults in french, and the fact that the french for 'duck' I mistook to be a truly filthy french insult. So now I call her that all the time.
Well dear reader, I'm going to try something a bit different today.
To escape from the mundane nature of schoolwork, I've put on some music (for now the Red Hot Chili Peppers), and I'm going to engage in a creative exercise. Again, I completely understand if you decide this is not worth reading. I'll write something more interesting soon, I promise.
I'm going to call this experiment, 'the evocation of sound'. Links are duly attached if you are interested (stress free blog-reading with attached soundtrack, I'm so good to you guys).
So what does 'Californication 'make me think of?
-the destruction of purity and innocence by the corporation's desire to make money off it.
-the attraction of some to the mass-market deconstruction of a personality simply into an icon, and the accompanying petrification at the concept of aging
-*guitar solo is simply awesome*
-it conjures up the image of the setting sun for me actually, don't ask me why
-globilisation and the fact that perhaps its not always a good thing
'Beat It' - Michael Jackson
-moving on....
'Islands' the XX
I said to a friend (who is awesome and who actually introduced me into them) that whenever I listen to the XX, I always simply visualise a room full of apathetic people simply shuffling in time to a beat. That being said they touch something within me (in a non-sexual assault way).
-the idea of two people finding something within each other that makes them feel connected. I'm possibly getting this from the title, which makes me think of Hugh Grant in 'About a Boy', talking about the idea that no man is an island.
'Someone Saved my Life Tonight' Elton John
This is actually one of my favourite songs. It's quite beautiful.
-a story on two levels, a toxic love affair, and the entrapment of an individual within the corporate world, and the loss of self that accompanies both of these things, and the rediscovery of the self, and subsequent escape
(Although this view is possibly tempered by the fact that I happen to know it is about his suicide attempt where he turned the gas on on his stove, and left the windows open)
'No Mountain' The Cat Empire
One of the few love songs that the Cat Empire has written.
-the improbability of finding someone, and the evocation of that feeling, the utter giving up of yourself to someone 'there is no option anymore, alone with you'. There's almost an understanding that there is inperpetuation (yeah I just made that word up) within the relationship, yet the desire to still pursue it.
Anyway, that's it from me. Except I'll leave you with my favourite song of all time - also by the Cat Empire. It's called 'Lullaby'. It will always cheer me up (assuming I put it on). This interpretation is up to you.
If you chose to click the links, I hope you enjoyed listening.
I'll leave you with a quote (I seriously love quotes), again from the Cat Empire.
'music is the language of us all'
Saturday, October 23, 2010
My most meaningful relationship
Some days I think the only truly meaningful relationship I will ever have is with my cat (and possibly Canard - and this isn't a codename either because I actually call her this, because I'm talking to her right now).
*Actually I'm going to insert a disclaimer right here, because I'm talking to Canard, who is a rather wonderful person, who makes me say some rather hilarious, but strange things.*
Seriously though. My cat is a constant in my life, warm (that's very important for me as I get cold easily), lovable, and she (I actually have two cats but for the purpose of this post they are one) sleeps with me nineteen nights out of twenty (also important because I am not a fan of sleeping alone).
When I am sad, invariably, the only person who I will allow anywhere remotely near me is most of the time, my cat - possibly because they can't talk and tell me how to feel better, all I have to do is cuddle her, which is quite soothing.
Ok, I realise this may sound a little unusual, but think about this - there is a silent understanding between my pet and I that means that she (or he) is a silent companion who is quite simply always there for me. How many relationships do you know that have this kind of bond and understanding? I watched 'The Last Station' last night, and found myself drawn to the relationship between Tolstoy and his wife - despite all of the obstacles which made them fight so furiously, they had such an amazing connection, and relationship, and an understanding, despite the social and political problems which frequently drove them apart. Now that is a relationship I envy...without the bit where he goes off as he's dying and it's only just before he dies that she ends up with him again (sorry if you were planning to watch it and I just gave you spoilers, watch it still coz that's only one part of the story).
So to make this blog slightly less pet-focused, broadening this idea, what do you look for in a companion dearest reader?
For me, evidently, it is someone who bears remarkably similar traits to a cat.
I know this is a short blog post, but Canard is distracting me far too much, and I can only think of things to write that connect to cats.
UPDATE. I was reading through a friend's blog (Canard's actually), and she provided this link, which I will now link here.
Just proves that there is someone out there for everyone <3
*Actually I'm going to insert a disclaimer right here, because I'm talking to Canard, who is a rather wonderful person, who makes me say some rather hilarious, but strange things.*
Seriously though. My cat is a constant in my life, warm (that's very important for me as I get cold easily), lovable, and she (I actually have two cats but for the purpose of this post they are one) sleeps with me nineteen nights out of twenty (also important because I am not a fan of sleeping alone).
When I am sad, invariably, the only person who I will allow anywhere remotely near me is most of the time, my cat - possibly because they can't talk and tell me how to feel better, all I have to do is cuddle her, which is quite soothing.
Ok, I realise this may sound a little unusual, but think about this - there is a silent understanding between my pet and I that means that she (or he) is a silent companion who is quite simply always there for me. How many relationships do you know that have this kind of bond and understanding? I watched 'The Last Station' last night, and found myself drawn to the relationship between Tolstoy and his wife - despite all of the obstacles which made them fight so furiously, they had such an amazing connection, and relationship, and an understanding, despite the social and political problems which frequently drove them apart. Now that is a relationship I envy...without the bit where he goes off as he's dying and it's only just before he dies that she ends up with him again (sorry if you were planning to watch it and I just gave you spoilers, watch it still coz that's only one part of the story).
So to make this blog slightly less pet-focused, broadening this idea, what do you look for in a companion dearest reader?
For me, evidently, it is someone who bears remarkably similar traits to a cat.
I know this is a short blog post, but Canard is distracting me far too much, and I can only think of things to write that connect to cats.
UPDATE. I was reading through a friend's blog (Canard's actually), and she provided this link, which I will now link here.
Just proves that there is someone out there for everyone <3
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Faith
So many things to blog about.
Grand final debate tomorrow (die opposition, die) for which I am about as nervous as a virginal bride, not that there are too many of those around nowdays, study study study (or procrastination thereof), and of course sex, that old chestnut.
Actually I could pretty much dedicate a blog to the wonders of cake should I so choose, but I decided not to, on the fact that by the end, I'd just want moar cake, which would just end in me sobbing about my waistline.
But let's think on faith. The reason I bring this up is because of the advised topic that is "Islam" for tomorrow's debate, which of course got me thinking about our different faiths and diversities.
Religion is one of the baser divisions within our societies, within our lives. Perhaps one of the governing forces in the way our lives are constructed (to me the ultimate governing force is sex, but that's another post entirely).
From the earliest we have records, there has been some form of faith that is interwoven with our lives - a belief in a higher power.
I label myself as an atheist, but the truth is I'm not quite sure. Atheism is the belief in nothing other than now - which opens the door to a hedonistic mindset - and I don't necessarily believe in absolutely nothing else, just not in anything definite. I also reject the ideas that somebody else is going to use a prescribed set of rules to tell me how to live my life, far better to develop my own ideas and moral code and live by that, because that at least means I've thought about it.
But there is something beautiful in the faithful. Not that I would ever want to be one of them, but the ability to believe, the trust that is within that, I occasionally find myself envying. It's so...absolute.
I think, for many reasons, this is why I find the religion of Islam attractive. The emphasis placed upon education, and the pursuit of knowledge is high, and the idea that the koran itself is so beautiful as to be the miracle of Islam, are things that I find not only intriguing, but also quite lovely.
While I would never choose to veil myself (although I highly respect those women who choose to do so), I think there is something to be said for the Islamic approach to the body. Think of the bombardment that is within our culture - of stick-thin women with perfect skin. I was looking at a magazine, and the article that jumped out at me said '8 ways to love the bits you hate' - implying that there is something wrong with your body, but you can overcome it with persistence.
I enjoy learning about religion, it is a fascinating thing, and I respect people for their beliefs. There is something to be learned from every religion, so long as it is not simply followed, which I believe many people simply do, rather than looking at a teaching, deconstructing it, examining it and thinking 'yes, yes I believe that, and agree with this, I will incorporate this into my lifestyle.'
Anyway, I must end this post now, as there is a time limit to work to (oh the things I do for those I love).
But I shall leave you all with this thought.
What do I have faith in? My loved ones of course.
Thus ends the lesson.
Grand final debate tomorrow (die opposition, die) for which I am about as nervous as a virginal bride, not that there are too many of those around nowdays, study study study (or procrastination thereof), and of course sex, that old chestnut.
Actually I could pretty much dedicate a blog to the wonders of cake should I so choose, but I decided not to, on the fact that by the end, I'd just want moar cake, which would just end in me sobbing about my waistline.
But let's think on faith. The reason I bring this up is because of the advised topic that is "Islam" for tomorrow's debate, which of course got me thinking about our different faiths and diversities.
Religion is one of the baser divisions within our societies, within our lives. Perhaps one of the governing forces in the way our lives are constructed (to me the ultimate governing force is sex, but that's another post entirely).
From the earliest we have records, there has been some form of faith that is interwoven with our lives - a belief in a higher power.
I label myself as an atheist, but the truth is I'm not quite sure. Atheism is the belief in nothing other than now - which opens the door to a hedonistic mindset - and I don't necessarily believe in absolutely nothing else, just not in anything definite. I also reject the ideas that somebody else is going to use a prescribed set of rules to tell me how to live my life, far better to develop my own ideas and moral code and live by that, because that at least means I've thought about it.
But there is something beautiful in the faithful. Not that I would ever want to be one of them, but the ability to believe, the trust that is within that, I occasionally find myself envying. It's so...absolute.
I think, for many reasons, this is why I find the religion of Islam attractive. The emphasis placed upon education, and the pursuit of knowledge is high, and the idea that the koran itself is so beautiful as to be the miracle of Islam, are things that I find not only intriguing, but also quite lovely.
While I would never choose to veil myself (although I highly respect those women who choose to do so), I think there is something to be said for the Islamic approach to the body. Think of the bombardment that is within our culture - of stick-thin women with perfect skin. I was looking at a magazine, and the article that jumped out at me said '8 ways to love the bits you hate' - implying that there is something wrong with your body, but you can overcome it with persistence.
I enjoy learning about religion, it is a fascinating thing, and I respect people for their beliefs. There is something to be learned from every religion, so long as it is not simply followed, which I believe many people simply do, rather than looking at a teaching, deconstructing it, examining it and thinking 'yes, yes I believe that, and agree with this, I will incorporate this into my lifestyle.'
Anyway, I must end this post now, as there is a time limit to work to (oh the things I do for those I love).
But I shall leave you all with this thought.
What do I have faith in? My loved ones of course.
Thus ends the lesson.
Sunday, October 17, 2010
Family
I'm trying to write an English practice essay. As you may have guessed, it's going pretty well.....(oh well)
Family (I only just decided on this now, so bear with me if I don't ever get to a point).
I often find myself cringing at my family - they are loud. Oh so loud...I have an uncle (great-uncle actually, but who cares) who has a habit of telling everybody what to do (yes, yes, don't say it, I'm working on 'suggesting' less), in a rather abrasive manner. I have another great-uncle, who despite being a massive source of inspiration for me artistically, has battled (and in my opinion not successfully) alcoholism and prescription drug use, and who has a wife who in my opinion enables him.
And that's only on my mother's side.
My father's family is equally strange, although in different ways, being a distant and not particularly emotionally communicative bunch. I was on the phone to my sister many months ago about an ongoing problem I have with my father (not a particularly nice partner), and she said to me 'I love you so much'. And that is one of my treasured memories.
Yet.
My sister came to my art show on Tuesday, and was so overwhelmingly pleased for me when I won an award. She also made this amazingly awesome birthday lunch for me yesterday, and is sewing a dress for my valedictory for me.
My uncle and aunt will often take us out for lunch when my grandparents are off traveling (in their 70s and 80s and still driving around Australia), and his son was the previous owner of my car (oh my god I have a car!!!). Before they handed the car over to me, my cousin (or cousin once-removed, I get confused) made sure the car was buffer rinsed, they put champagne in it (don't worry kiddies, I didn't drink and drive), and created the bow that went on the bonnet.
My other aunt and uncle came in despite living in the country, and being octogenarians - and feeble ones at that because it was my 18th birthday (despite possibly causing more problems in coming in but it's the thought that counts).
Do you see what I'm getting at here?
My friends also, I consider the family who you simply find in life (they're slightly less mad than my family). They are the ones who came over to my house on the morning of my birthday to feed me cake and make me pancakes (they're awake at 3am texting each other the new plan for coming over to feed me cake and pancakes because the old plan failed). They came over in the day to drop off a present even though I was seeing them that night. They're the ones who have stayed up until three in the morning with me because I was upset over something and needed the support. They're the ones who simply say 'I'll be there in 15 minutes' when I'm feeling down, or bring me chocolate because I broke up with my boyfriend and may be upset about it.
Getting the picture?
And yes, with friends, you have problems to, when you sort of think, 'I wish they hadn't done that'. But that becomes unimportant in the face of what they DO do that matters, that is hugely, wonderfully amazing. And it's the same with blood relatives.
This is a piece of advice my mother (god bless her and my hugely bi-polar relationship with her) gave me. "You have to accept people the way they are, and love them despite their faults, because everything that they do do for you balances this out." And as much as I hate to admit it, although it's ok to, because I don't think she has ever read my blog, or indeed, knows where to find it, she is right.
And I think I have a pretty goddamn awesome family.
Family (I only just decided on this now, so bear with me if I don't ever get to a point).
I often find myself cringing at my family - they are loud. Oh so loud...I have an uncle (great-uncle actually, but who cares) who has a habit of telling everybody what to do (yes, yes, don't say it, I'm working on 'suggesting' less), in a rather abrasive manner. I have another great-uncle, who despite being a massive source of inspiration for me artistically, has battled (and in my opinion not successfully) alcoholism and prescription drug use, and who has a wife who in my opinion enables him.
And that's only on my mother's side.
My father's family is equally strange, although in different ways, being a distant and not particularly emotionally communicative bunch. I was on the phone to my sister many months ago about an ongoing problem I have with my father (not a particularly nice partner), and she said to me 'I love you so much'. And that is one of my treasured memories.
Yet.
My sister came to my art show on Tuesday, and was so overwhelmingly pleased for me when I won an award. She also made this amazingly awesome birthday lunch for me yesterday, and is sewing a dress for my valedictory for me.
My uncle and aunt will often take us out for lunch when my grandparents are off traveling (in their 70s and 80s and still driving around Australia), and his son was the previous owner of my car (oh my god I have a car!!!). Before they handed the car over to me, my cousin (or cousin once-removed, I get confused) made sure the car was buffer rinsed, they put champagne in it (don't worry kiddies, I didn't drink and drive), and created the bow that went on the bonnet.
My other aunt and uncle came in despite living in the country, and being octogenarians - and feeble ones at that because it was my 18th birthday (despite possibly causing more problems in coming in but it's the thought that counts).
Do you see what I'm getting at here?
My friends also, I consider the family who you simply find in life (they're slightly less mad than my family). They are the ones who came over to my house on the morning of my birthday to feed me cake and make me pancakes (they're awake at 3am texting each other the new plan for coming over to feed me cake and pancakes because the old plan failed). They came over in the day to drop off a present even though I was seeing them that night. They're the ones who have stayed up until three in the morning with me because I was upset over something and needed the support. They're the ones who simply say 'I'll be there in 15 minutes' when I'm feeling down, or bring me chocolate because I broke up with my boyfriend and may be upset about it.
Getting the picture?
And yes, with friends, you have problems to, when you sort of think, 'I wish they hadn't done that'. But that becomes unimportant in the face of what they DO do that matters, that is hugely, wonderfully amazing. And it's the same with blood relatives.
This is a piece of advice my mother (god bless her and my hugely bi-polar relationship with her) gave me. "You have to accept people the way they are, and love them despite their faults, because everything that they do do for you balances this out." And as much as I hate to admit it, although it's ok to, because I don't think she has ever read my blog, or indeed, knows where to find it, she is right.
And I think I have a pretty goddamn awesome family.
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
Apathy
This week, with the return to school has seen me at the height of my apathy towards well...the world in general really.
Today as I sat numbly in English, wondering if there really was a point to the dissection of Friel and Shaffer's plays, it hit me that while we may say passion, love or anger (to name but a few examples) were the sentiments that were the most effective in terms of things that are done as a result of them, apathy is more powerful than any of them (to my mind at least). Not because of what it achieves, but really, because of what it doesn't achieve.
Being apathetic means that you don't care. More than that, it mean's that you can't be bothered. Or at the very least, that is what I believe it to mean.
While things are achieved, or done, because of rage, or anger, even joy, things are not done because of apathy. Things aren't spoken out about enough, or at all because of apathy, ideas are left unvoiced because 'I cbf', or even to relate it back to my week so far, study is not done, because not doing anything is so much easier.
I'll probably have people on my back, telling me that I've mis-defined apathy. But this is how I interpret it to be inaction because action itself is simply too hard, and not enough energy can truly be mustered to complete an action, because ultimately it is not judged to be overall beneficial enough to be worth doing.
Often used to describe my generation is 'apathetic', because let's face it, we're comfortable where we are, we don't really feel the need to do that much extra. I have a friend who supports very much youth action and youth involvement, and I think (although I could be wrong) one of the reasons why, aside from the fact that yes, this is her generation, is because she recognises the growing apathetic nature amongst us.
Apathy is powerful also because it is sneaky. We don't necessarily realise it is there, because it has no direct results. And yes, while it often goes hand in hand with sentiments such as complacency and perhaps even depression, it is still there, and I think we do not recognise it enough.
Anyway, I'm too apathetic (see?) to check over this or end it properly, and dinner is being served, and it's tantalising aroma is distracting me far too much.
Just thought I'd give you some food for thought.
Be good and eat your veggies.
Today as I sat numbly in English, wondering if there really was a point to the dissection of Friel and Shaffer's plays, it hit me that while we may say passion, love or anger (to name but a few examples) were the sentiments that were the most effective in terms of things that are done as a result of them, apathy is more powerful than any of them (to my mind at least). Not because of what it achieves, but really, because of what it doesn't achieve.
Being apathetic means that you don't care. More than that, it mean's that you can't be bothered. Or at the very least, that is what I believe it to mean.
While things are achieved, or done, because of rage, or anger, even joy, things are not done because of apathy. Things aren't spoken out about enough, or at all because of apathy, ideas are left unvoiced because 'I cbf', or even to relate it back to my week so far, study is not done, because not doing anything is so much easier.
I'll probably have people on my back, telling me that I've mis-defined apathy. But this is how I interpret it to be inaction because action itself is simply too hard, and not enough energy can truly be mustered to complete an action, because ultimately it is not judged to be overall beneficial enough to be worth doing.
Often used to describe my generation is 'apathetic', because let's face it, we're comfortable where we are, we don't really feel the need to do that much extra. I have a friend who supports very much youth action and youth involvement, and I think (although I could be wrong) one of the reasons why, aside from the fact that yes, this is her generation, is because she recognises the growing apathetic nature amongst us.
Apathy is powerful also because it is sneaky. We don't necessarily realise it is there, because it has no direct results. And yes, while it often goes hand in hand with sentiments such as complacency and perhaps even depression, it is still there, and I think we do not recognise it enough.
Anyway, I'm too apathetic (see?) to check over this or end it properly, and dinner is being served, and it's tantalising aroma is distracting me far too much.
Just thought I'd give you some food for thought.
Be good and eat your veggies.
Saturday, October 2, 2010
Definitions
I have a friend, who lectures, and is particularly concerned with the adolescence of my generation. He will often challenge these lecture groups, saying 'the next time someone tells you that they love you, ask them "what exactly do you mean by that?"'
IT is a question that i have thought often and long about, as I think (and I'm not the only one to say this) that we throw the word 'love' around frequently.
This is I guess, a continuation of sorts on my post on love (which I was really pleased with thankyouverymuch), and I suppose I wanted to clear up how I view love.
I would also like to preface this, with the fact that I use this term for everybody. Being in a relationship, to me, doesn't mean that this changes in any way.
When I say to someone, 'I love you', what I mean by that is:
-I might think that what you are doing right now is the stupidest thing ever, but you know that I will stand by you if it goes wrong (and one person in particular knows exactly that I'm saying this to them on this particular morning)
-Even though I might not support what you are doing right now, I will support you. Always
-If there's something wrong, you know I'll do anything to fix it
-Spending time with you is one of my favourite things to do, irrespective of what we're actually doing
-I don't know where I'd be without you
There's probably more, but you get the general idea.
What I'm trying to say, is that when people say 'I love you' to each other, I often feel it's like they're using a phrase that they don't actually know what it means - the best I can compare it to is when somebody uses big words, when they only have the barest of ideas as to what the words actually mean, in order to sound more intelligent.
I am often guilty of speaking and then thinking (although I must admit, it's quite fun to then back up a point you haven't really thought about, and realise halfway through you don't actually agree with), but I will never tell somebody that I love them, unless that sentiment towards them in genuine love, according to my definition.
I think perhaps one of the reasons why we have people saying 'I love you' without any real meaning behind it, its because the idea of 'love' varies from person to person. However, I think everybody should at some point sit down, and figure out at least basically, what 'love' means to them.
Why? Because aside from everything else, heedlessly flinging a term like that around is sloppy use of the English language, which upsets me. But for a reason that is perhaps more beneficial to society, understanding what love is to you, means that you understand yourself better.
IT is a question that i have thought often and long about, as I think (and I'm not the only one to say this) that we throw the word 'love' around frequently.
This is I guess, a continuation of sorts on my post on love (which I was really pleased with thankyouverymuch), and I suppose I wanted to clear up how I view love.
I would also like to preface this, with the fact that I use this term for everybody. Being in a relationship, to me, doesn't mean that this changes in any way.
When I say to someone, 'I love you', what I mean by that is:
-I might think that what you are doing right now is the stupidest thing ever, but you know that I will stand by you if it goes wrong (and one person in particular knows exactly that I'm saying this to them on this particular morning)
-Even though I might not support what you are doing right now, I will support you. Always
-If there's something wrong, you know I'll do anything to fix it
-Spending time with you is one of my favourite things to do, irrespective of what we're actually doing
-I don't know where I'd be without you
There's probably more, but you get the general idea.
What I'm trying to say, is that when people say 'I love you' to each other, I often feel it's like they're using a phrase that they don't actually know what it means - the best I can compare it to is when somebody uses big words, when they only have the barest of ideas as to what the words actually mean, in order to sound more intelligent.
I am often guilty of speaking and then thinking (although I must admit, it's quite fun to then back up a point you haven't really thought about, and realise halfway through you don't actually agree with), but I will never tell somebody that I love them, unless that sentiment towards them in genuine love, according to my definition.
I think perhaps one of the reasons why we have people saying 'I love you' without any real meaning behind it, its because the idea of 'love' varies from person to person. However, I think everybody should at some point sit down, and figure out at least basically, what 'love' means to them.
Why? Because aside from everything else, heedlessly flinging a term like that around is sloppy use of the English language, which upsets me. But for a reason that is perhaps more beneficial to society, understanding what love is to you, means that you understand yourself better.
Friday, October 1, 2010
Assumptions
This is sort of part 2 to expectations, so I completely understand if you, dear reader, choose to skip this entirely.
I think we make too many assumptions.
We assume if we act a certain way, or do certain things, then this will elicit a particular outcome. The assumption is (when stripped bare) that 2 + 2 = 4.
Tonight, I'm going to only deal with the way in which we assume about people. Basically, because of an assumption that was made about me recently, and it got me thinking (and writing).
We assume that if we dress a certain way, then we will belong to a particular label. Or, to put it another way, we assume that because someone is dressed a certain way, they act a certain way. I said a similar thing last night, when I spoke about the expectations we place on people. If someone dresses in all black with chains, we assume they would fit into the 'goth' or 'emo' stereotype, and then expect them to behave a certain way, or within certain parameters. Similarly, if someone is dressed in skinnyleg jeans, with a t-shirt under a checkered shirt, they fall under the broad range of 'indie' (although I would argue that they are mainstream indie, and therefore equal to scum as they destroy the entire concept of indie. butmovingon).
Do you see what I'm getting at here?
We label people, and make assumptions about them. I think this is a trait we, as humans, have. We like to place labels on people, to mentally place parameters around what we believe they will and will not do, what they do, and do not like, so then we have them 'figured'.
Tonight, someone said to me, after weeks of being covertly aggressive towards me, and blaming me for things that I did (and while I make no apologies for my actions I do feel I should set out that I explained why I was doing this the way I was doing, and they said that it was understood), they were ready to get back to being friends with me again.
God, typing that makes me feel like I'm back in primary school again.
But, the ludicrous nature of this aside, the assumption was made that I was ready to 'go back to being friends'. I think, my post on forgiveness also sort of comes in here, but pushing that aside from one moment, this really has made me wonder about my own assumptions about the people around me.
For example, someone (who I do not know, which made it all the more flattering) posted a comment on my second and third blog, complimenting and commenting on the content. I assumed that he still would read my blog - yet I could be wrong (if I did assume correctly, I don't think I ever thanked you for your comments, so thank you, they were much appreciated).
Similarly, I assume that if I cut my hair a certain way, people will react a certain way. Yes, I did get a hair cut this morning, which I why I used this particular example - it is quite short.
I basically make the assumption that people think I either have something to prove or (well I'm going to be brutally honest here, and say it), that I am a raging lesbian. However, I could be wrong. Maybe people look at me, and think 'hey, that looks like a really convenient haircut, which flatters her pretty neck' (NB I dont actually think my neck is that special, but this hypothetical person/people is particularly complimentary - I was just encouraged to be a little narcissistic). Just to clear it up though, the reason I cut my hair is a combination of reasons, I mentioned a couple before, but ultimately it's because I like it (shocking I know!).
Oh, and it just occurred to me, I think the biggest assumption that I make that I can use right here, is that I assume people read my blog! Ok, that's not quite true, because I have this little counter that shows me how many times my posts have been viewed, but I assume people read it....AND ENJOY IT! :O (first and last emote on here, I promise).
So the moral of the story is that assumptions are often wrong, so you shouldn't set them in stone.
Be good!
I think we make too many assumptions.
We assume if we act a certain way, or do certain things, then this will elicit a particular outcome. The assumption is (when stripped bare) that 2 + 2 = 4.
Tonight, I'm going to only deal with the way in which we assume about people. Basically, because of an assumption that was made about me recently, and it got me thinking (and writing).
We assume that if we dress a certain way, then we will belong to a particular label. Or, to put it another way, we assume that because someone is dressed a certain way, they act a certain way. I said a similar thing last night, when I spoke about the expectations we place on people. If someone dresses in all black with chains, we assume they would fit into the 'goth' or 'emo' stereotype, and then expect them to behave a certain way, or within certain parameters. Similarly, if someone is dressed in skinnyleg jeans, with a t-shirt under a checkered shirt, they fall under the broad range of 'indie' (although I would argue that they are mainstream indie, and therefore equal to scum as they destroy the entire concept of indie. butmovingon).
Do you see what I'm getting at here?
We label people, and make assumptions about them. I think this is a trait we, as humans, have. We like to place labels on people, to mentally place parameters around what we believe they will and will not do, what they do, and do not like, so then we have them 'figured'.
Tonight, someone said to me, after weeks of being covertly aggressive towards me, and blaming me for things that I did (and while I make no apologies for my actions I do feel I should set out that I explained why I was doing this the way I was doing, and they said that it was understood), they were ready to get back to being friends with me again.
God, typing that makes me feel like I'm back in primary school again.
But, the ludicrous nature of this aside, the assumption was made that I was ready to 'go back to being friends'. I think, my post on forgiveness also sort of comes in here, but pushing that aside from one moment, this really has made me wonder about my own assumptions about the people around me.
For example, someone (who I do not know, which made it all the more flattering) posted a comment on my second and third blog, complimenting and commenting on the content. I assumed that he still would read my blog - yet I could be wrong (if I did assume correctly, I don't think I ever thanked you for your comments, so thank you, they were much appreciated).
Similarly, I assume that if I cut my hair a certain way, people will react a certain way. Yes, I did get a hair cut this morning, which I why I used this particular example - it is quite short.
I basically make the assumption that people think I either have something to prove or (well I'm going to be brutally honest here, and say it), that I am a raging lesbian. However, I could be wrong. Maybe people look at me, and think 'hey, that looks like a really convenient haircut, which flatters her pretty neck' (NB I dont actually think my neck is that special, but this hypothetical person/people is particularly complimentary - I was just encouraged to be a little narcissistic). Just to clear it up though, the reason I cut my hair is a combination of reasons, I mentioned a couple before, but ultimately it's because I like it (shocking I know!).
Oh, and it just occurred to me, I think the biggest assumption that I make that I can use right here, is that I assume people read my blog! Ok, that's not quite true, because I have this little counter that shows me how many times my posts have been viewed, but I assume people read it....AND ENJOY IT! :O (first and last emote on here, I promise).
So the moral of the story is that assumptions are often wrong, so you shouldn't set them in stone.
Be good!
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Expectation
This was a topic suggested to me by my wise and wonderful friend. And it got me thinking.
We all have expectations, and, let's face it, most of the time we don't live up to the expectations we so often have.
Right now, there are two sorts of expectations, those that we find in the world around us, those we see in people, and those that we see in ourselves. Whoops, that's three.
The expectation we see in the world around us is, from what I understand, when we expect things to go our way.
With ourselves, the best example that I can think of is in relation to academia. You might expect yourself to get straight As with all your subjects ( although conversely, one might have very low expectations, and expect to fail everything).
Yet it is with other people that I thin we have the highest rate of failure in terms of them meeting our expectations.
Often, when we look at others, after labeling them (which, let's admit it, we all do), after deciding how we shall categorise them, we then accordingly place expectations on them. Which more often then not, they do not necessarily live up to. It is on this that I would like to talk a little.
I think this is partially the reason why the majority of relationships do not work out.
I have often reflected that when you first get to know somebody, they are a perfect person, because of the potential that they have. You do not yet know them, and therefore they are full of potential to be everything you think they could, or rather, should, be.
Particularly in a romantic relationship, everything goes downhill from there. Every fault is revealed, every character flaw is slowly exposed. I have found that what once seemed compatible, turns out not to be.
And the reason is, because I expected this person to be a number of things. And they are not.
Similarly, people fall into the trap of constructing an 'ideal' partner. The problem with this, is that it simply leads to one carrying a mental checklist. When somebody does not match up to this checklist of 'requirements', they cannot meet the requirement.
I think the point that I'm trying to make, is that we call go around with the expectations of how other people will act, how the world should be, and in the end, these expectations are more often than not, unmet. Sometimes, they are though. And I find it is with friends. It is my friend's (not the one who suggested the topic) 18th birthday today. I think there is no better way to explain how she has so exceeded any possible expectation that I could have had for her as a person, and as a friend than what I said to her just now: 'I'd move oceans for you'. The thing is, it's true.
This brings to mind a wonderful saying (I'm starting to think I have a thing for sayings and quotes). While the word is 'plan' instead of 'expect', I think that it has effectively the same meaning in this situation:
We all have expectations, and, let's face it, most of the time we don't live up to the expectations we so often have.
Right now, there are two sorts of expectations, those that we find in the world around us, those we see in people, and those that we see in ourselves. Whoops, that's three.
The expectation we see in the world around us is, from what I understand, when we expect things to go our way.
With ourselves, the best example that I can think of is in relation to academia. You might expect yourself to get straight As with all your subjects ( although conversely, one might have very low expectations, and expect to fail everything).
Yet it is with other people that I thin we have the highest rate of failure in terms of them meeting our expectations.
Often, when we look at others, after labeling them (which, let's admit it, we all do), after deciding how we shall categorise them, we then accordingly place expectations on them. Which more often then not, they do not necessarily live up to. It is on this that I would like to talk a little.
I think this is partially the reason why the majority of relationships do not work out.
I have often reflected that when you first get to know somebody, they are a perfect person, because of the potential that they have. You do not yet know them, and therefore they are full of potential to be everything you think they could, or rather, should, be.
Particularly in a romantic relationship, everything goes downhill from there. Every fault is revealed, every character flaw is slowly exposed. I have found that what once seemed compatible, turns out not to be.
And the reason is, because I expected this person to be a number of things. And they are not.
Similarly, people fall into the trap of constructing an 'ideal' partner. The problem with this, is that it simply leads to one carrying a mental checklist. When somebody does not match up to this checklist of 'requirements', they cannot meet the requirement.
I think the point that I'm trying to make, is that we call go around with the expectations of how other people will act, how the world should be, and in the end, these expectations are more often than not, unmet. Sometimes, they are though. And I find it is with friends. It is my friend's (not the one who suggested the topic) 18th birthday today. I think there is no better way to explain how she has so exceeded any possible expectation that I could have had for her as a person, and as a friend than what I said to her just now: 'I'd move oceans for you'. The thing is, it's true.
This brings to mind a wonderful saying (I'm starting to think I have a thing for sayings and quotes). While the word is 'plan' instead of 'expect', I think that it has effectively the same meaning in this situation:
Sometimes things don't turn out the way you plan...they turn out better.
Ultimately, the scope of your expectations can only factor in so much. Yes, 99.9999999% of relationships will not work out, and I believe that underlying that is because expectations simply could not be met, but then things do work out, and beyond your wildest dreams. If someone would have told me, one year ago, who I would now unthinkingly nominate as the three people in the world who I hold in the highest esteem, I would have told them that they were being ridiculous. But knowing them, they are, in my eyes, beyond anything that I could possibly ever hope for in people, and friends. And all three of them have been mentioned in my blog (clearly the highest form of recognition, and everybody's life goal).
I will leave with only one final comment. Sometimes, not expecting anything can create the most amazing results.
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Confrontation
I think most of us are scared of confrontation in one form of another.
There is the confrontation of fears (eg spiders), and confrontation of other people. To me, these are the main types of confrontation that we are humans face, and are terrified of.
With phobias and (relatively) inanimate things, or rather, concepts, it is easy to understand this desire to avoid confrontation. Spiders was the example I used earlier, so let me continue with that. Spiders are creepy, let's just face it. They scuttle along with their ridiculous number of legs, close to the ground with their hairy bodies, and there are many which are poisonous. Say there is an ugly black spider in your house, leering at you from the walls. Would you want to touch it? I think not. This is why, dear readers, when a spider (or even a creepy-ass cockroach) scoots along into my line of view, I hop as far away from it as possible, calling for whoever is in the house with me (usually my Mum) to come kill it. True story. If there is nobody in the house, I will leave. And when I return, I like to pretend that it left my house.
Perhaps a slightly more substantial example is the fear of failure. Many people (and I do realise I am generalising) will not attempt something if they think they will not be able to achieve it. I was in this position. All of my life, I have been well, rather bad at drawing. I had accepted this and moved on. For this reason, I shied away from the elective of art at school, as I knew that I simply could not achieve the outcome that I wanted. However, two years ago, when the time came for me to choose my subjects for year 11, due to a number of factors, I ended up choosing art as one of my subjects. And it has become my favourite subject. Dare I even suggest it, I'm quite good at it.
Had I never tried it, I never would have found something I love so much.
But confronting people is a far more difficult task. People are less predictable, and there are entire social circles to be factored in when confronting a person, or the actions of a person.
I have mentioned it twice so far, this accusation leveled at me indirectly through the medium of...Facebook. After the apology that was offered (and accepted), which I wrote (what I hope was a touching and moving) blog about, I thought it was the end of it. However now, something else came up, and while names have not been mentioned, the veil is thin, if not non-existent. The phrase 'being used' was again, bandied around. I do not view this as confrontation. Rather, I think it is a way to side-step the issue of confrontation. I would have appreciated it far more, and found it a much better display of character on the part of this person, had they come straight out to me and said 'I feel like you used me'. But alas, no.
Readers, the point which I am making here is very simple. Sitting and feeling angry or upset at someone for something they did is all good and well, but confronting the issue, going up to them and actually saying 'this is why I am upset' is so much more brave, and so much more productive. I think this is why general 'bitching' exists, because people, rather than confronting a person about something which frustrates them, instead go to others to let this opinion be heard. Granted, it is the easy option, but in the long run, I don't think anybody really respects people who bitch.
Not only that, but life does not reward people who simply sit and feel. There are only ever results if you actively go out and do something. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.
And wouldn't you rather try and fail at something than never have tried? Don't tell me that yes, you would rather simply have. I won't hear it.
There is the confrontation of fears (eg spiders), and confrontation of other people. To me, these are the main types of confrontation that we are humans face, and are terrified of.
With phobias and (relatively) inanimate things, or rather, concepts, it is easy to understand this desire to avoid confrontation. Spiders was the example I used earlier, so let me continue with that. Spiders are creepy, let's just face it. They scuttle along with their ridiculous number of legs, close to the ground with their hairy bodies, and there are many which are poisonous. Say there is an ugly black spider in your house, leering at you from the walls. Would you want to touch it? I think not. This is why, dear readers, when a spider (or even a creepy-ass cockroach) scoots along into my line of view, I hop as far away from it as possible, calling for whoever is in the house with me (usually my Mum) to come kill it. True story. If there is nobody in the house, I will leave. And when I return, I like to pretend that it left my house.
Perhaps a slightly more substantial example is the fear of failure. Many people (and I do realise I am generalising) will not attempt something if they think they will not be able to achieve it. I was in this position. All of my life, I have been well, rather bad at drawing. I had accepted this and moved on. For this reason, I shied away from the elective of art at school, as I knew that I simply could not achieve the outcome that I wanted. However, two years ago, when the time came for me to choose my subjects for year 11, due to a number of factors, I ended up choosing art as one of my subjects. And it has become my favourite subject. Dare I even suggest it, I'm quite good at it.
Had I never tried it, I never would have found something I love so much.
But confronting people is a far more difficult task. People are less predictable, and there are entire social circles to be factored in when confronting a person, or the actions of a person.
I have mentioned it twice so far, this accusation leveled at me indirectly through the medium of...Facebook. After the apology that was offered (and accepted), which I wrote (what I hope was a touching and moving) blog about, I thought it was the end of it. However now, something else came up, and while names have not been mentioned, the veil is thin, if not non-existent. The phrase 'being used' was again, bandied around. I do not view this as confrontation. Rather, I think it is a way to side-step the issue of confrontation. I would have appreciated it far more, and found it a much better display of character on the part of this person, had they come straight out to me and said 'I feel like you used me'. But alas, no.
Readers, the point which I am making here is very simple. Sitting and feeling angry or upset at someone for something they did is all good and well, but confronting the issue, going up to them and actually saying 'this is why I am upset' is so much more brave, and so much more productive. I think this is why general 'bitching' exists, because people, rather than confronting a person about something which frustrates them, instead go to others to let this opinion be heard. Granted, it is the easy option, but in the long run, I don't think anybody really respects people who bitch.
Not only that, but life does not reward people who simply sit and feel. There are only ever results if you actively go out and do something. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.
And wouldn't you rather try and fail at something than never have tried? Don't tell me that yes, you would rather simply have. I won't hear it.
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Love
So this post was going to be completely different (same theme, different everything else), but as they say 'shit went down' at my house tonight, that made me a) completely unmotivated to finish revising what I had just written, and b) really, really hate what I had just wrote.
Love. One of my friends rather eloquently (although she would beg to differ) wrote a blog on the imprecision of the english language, and its use of love. For there are many different forms of love, and only one broad term. But how does this relate to the 'shit that went down'?
Here is what happened:
Year 12 is a notorious year for many reasons. One of them (particularly for females) is weight gain. My mother, out of some misguided love noticed my weight gain within recent weeks, and decided that in order to 'help' me, she would make me losing weight her personal crusade. Never mind the gentle, and not-so-gentle suggestions from myself and my grandmother (who I love beyond words), that this was possibly not the best time for her to begin this mission. The reason for why the timing is so astronomically bad is thus: I love food. I truly do. There are probably several underlying reasons aside from the fact that it just tastes amazing, not the least of which was discovered in a conversation I had with my friend (questioned as to why I loved food so much, I responded with, 'it is a constant'). So. I like food. Food is my go-to, when I am stressed...see where I'm heading here? Year 12, is high stress.
My mother, constantly telling me that I need to watch my weight, is not conducive to a less-stressful working environment in the six weeks or so leading up to my final exams (oh god).
So, back to the story.
Tonight culminated in me getting really, really worked up at my mother, after she got me to try on some clothes for a particular occasion. They were her old clothes, from when she was disgustingly thin (ie before childbirth and the dreaded middle aged spread that widens the hips etc etc etc). Needless to say, they were not the best of fit, and not only did it contribute to my ever-dwindling self-esteem, it got me thinking about this weight-loss crusade. And I made that decision to get angry.
I think the worst part about this, is that my mother honestly believes that she is doing what is right for me, that she is helping me (when in fact, as my friend so eloquently put it, she is systematically eroding my self confidence). It's like the religious fanatics who send their son off to un-gay camp, telling their gay son that he is leading a wrong lifestyle (ok, so perhaps slightly extreme example here, but you get what I mean). They love their child, and they honestly don't want their son to go to hell. My mother loves me, and she has decided that this is the way that will help me best. She is wrong.
I managed to drive my mother out of the house, I was so worked up and borderline aggressive. So I sat down and had a little cry for a minute, and then I called up my Grandmother, because I needed someone to talk to, and basically, tell me that it would be ok. God I love my grandmother. She is the epitome of elegance and love.
Then I started talking to my two best friends. Both of them were simply there for me, each in their own ways. And their love meant so much.
Without these three people, I would have probably been hysterically curled up in a corner sobbing, when my mother returned. As it was, I was far more collected, although when I tried to explain to her why I was so upset, it didn't quite get through. She doesn't get it, yet she honestly believes that she is trying to do what is best for me. Needless to say, she went to bed, and I am here, calming myself down (again).
But this outpouring of love from my friends, it is something that literally, was like a blanket enfolding me, letting me know that, yeah, I could deal with this, and get back to that study!
To illustrate my point:
Z: is there anything i can do?
Love. One of my friends rather eloquently (although she would beg to differ) wrote a blog on the imprecision of the english language, and its use of love. For there are many different forms of love, and only one broad term. But how does this relate to the 'shit that went down'?
Here is what happened:
Year 12 is a notorious year for many reasons. One of them (particularly for females) is weight gain. My mother, out of some misguided love noticed my weight gain within recent weeks, and decided that in order to 'help' me, she would make me losing weight her personal crusade. Never mind the gentle, and not-so-gentle suggestions from myself and my grandmother (who I love beyond words), that this was possibly not the best time for her to begin this mission. The reason for why the timing is so astronomically bad is thus: I love food. I truly do. There are probably several underlying reasons aside from the fact that it just tastes amazing, not the least of which was discovered in a conversation I had with my friend (questioned as to why I loved food so much, I responded with, 'it is a constant'). So. I like food. Food is my go-to, when I am stressed...see where I'm heading here? Year 12, is high stress.
My mother, constantly telling me that I need to watch my weight, is not conducive to a less-stressful working environment in the six weeks or so leading up to my final exams (oh god).
So, back to the story.
Tonight culminated in me getting really, really worked up at my mother, after she got me to try on some clothes for a particular occasion. They were her old clothes, from when she was disgustingly thin (ie before childbirth and the dreaded middle aged spread that widens the hips etc etc etc). Needless to say, they were not the best of fit, and not only did it contribute to my ever-dwindling self-esteem, it got me thinking about this weight-loss crusade. And I made that decision to get angry.
I think the worst part about this, is that my mother honestly believes that she is doing what is right for me, that she is helping me (when in fact, as my friend so eloquently put it, she is systematically eroding my self confidence). It's like the religious fanatics who send their son off to un-gay camp, telling their gay son that he is leading a wrong lifestyle (ok, so perhaps slightly extreme example here, but you get what I mean). They love their child, and they honestly don't want their son to go to hell. My mother loves me, and she has decided that this is the way that will help me best. She is wrong.
I managed to drive my mother out of the house, I was so worked up and borderline aggressive. So I sat down and had a little cry for a minute, and then I called up my Grandmother, because I needed someone to talk to, and basically, tell me that it would be ok. God I love my grandmother. She is the epitome of elegance and love.
Then I started talking to my two best friends. Both of them were simply there for me, each in their own ways. And their love meant so much.
Without these three people, I would have probably been hysterically curled up in a corner sobbing, when my mother returned. As it was, I was far more collected, although when I tried to explain to her why I was so upset, it didn't quite get through. She doesn't get it, yet she honestly believes that she is trying to do what is best for me. Needless to say, she went to bed, and I am here, calming myself down (again).
But this outpouring of love from my friends, it is something that literally, was like a blanket enfolding me, letting me know that, yeah, I could deal with this, and get back to that study!
To illustrate my point:
Z: is there anything i can do?
me: just keep talking to me :)
Z: okay, if you want me to do anything other than talk to you let me know :)
and:
A You are beautiful and lovely and not fat. I will not allow you to sink into apathy and/or despair
I hope they know how much I love them.
Now. My original point.
How many times was love used in my above story?
And how many meanings did it have when relating to the type of love expressed?
Now think of love, just on its own. When you, dear reader, read the title of my post, you probably (and kudos if you didn't), thought it was going to at least make some mention of romantic love.
And did it?
See what I'm getting at?
Monday, September 27, 2010
Alone
I thought long about what to write. I felt what I wrote today had to be of a high standard because of a comment on my last post left by someone who I have never met (I think), and who I don't know. Yet they commented because something in my post compelled them to. I like to think it was my beautifully crafted paragraphs, each sentence a work of art in its own right. I am slightly more realistic than this though.
Somewhat ironically though, this gave me the inspiration for today's post.
We are, as humans, quite alone.
In the twenty-first century, we have the internet, mobile phones, land lines, social networking sites, blogs, all creating a 'communication network' that means we can interact with each other, post our very souls up for the whole world to see should we so choose it. Yet in some ways, we have never been more isolated.
Look around you the next time you are on public transport. Everybody is tucked away in their own little world, a barrier around them, constructed from the music they plug their ears up with, the phones they hold in front of their faces so nobody would dare interrupt them, even the books they bury their noses in (although I'm inclined to say books are the least "go away" of all of these).
I think in many respects, technology has exacerbated this phenomenon of shutting us off. We may be able to communicate with someone (or many people) over a chat medium, or put up every detail of our lives on facebook, but because of that lack of person to person contact, these tools of 'communication' simply become means to distance ourselves from the rest of humanity. We are more closed off than ever.
I think perhaps this is because, at some core level, we are afraid of each other. Afraid of what rejection others might level at us. I think the perfect example of this was today, when I was at a French revision course (which is actually the wrong course that school enrolled us in). The other three girls in my class were also there, along with eight other students. Everybody stuck tightly to whom they knew, reluctant to attempt to enter into a conversation with strangers. And it struck me that the reason why is because we were all afraid of being rejected, being told that we were not 'up to scratch'.
I often find it interesting to see that so few people smile at each other. I try to make it a point that if I catch the eye of a stranger, I smile at them. Costs me nothing, and I often get a smile in return, which makes me feel happy.
This was what surprised (and delighted) me most about the comment left by this stranger yesterday. There was no need for him to write to tell me he had read my blog (and I hope appreciated it), yet he did. It was so unexpected.
I suppose what I'm trying to say is that reaching out every now and again to a stranger, to say something, to even simply smile at them. Because there's something horribly lonely about our society today, something sterile.
Now I'm going to watch a french film about someone pretending to be gay in order to keep his job.
Somewhat ironically though, this gave me the inspiration for today's post.
We are, as humans, quite alone.
In the twenty-first century, we have the internet, mobile phones, land lines, social networking sites, blogs, all creating a 'communication network' that means we can interact with each other, post our very souls up for the whole world to see should we so choose it. Yet in some ways, we have never been more isolated.
Look around you the next time you are on public transport. Everybody is tucked away in their own little world, a barrier around them, constructed from the music they plug their ears up with, the phones they hold in front of their faces so nobody would dare interrupt them, even the books they bury their noses in (although I'm inclined to say books are the least "go away" of all of these).
I think in many respects, technology has exacerbated this phenomenon of shutting us off. We may be able to communicate with someone (or many people) over a chat medium, or put up every detail of our lives on facebook, but because of that lack of person to person contact, these tools of 'communication' simply become means to distance ourselves from the rest of humanity. We are more closed off than ever.
I think perhaps this is because, at some core level, we are afraid of each other. Afraid of what rejection others might level at us. I think the perfect example of this was today, when I was at a French revision course (which is actually the wrong course that school enrolled us in). The other three girls in my class were also there, along with eight other students. Everybody stuck tightly to whom they knew, reluctant to attempt to enter into a conversation with strangers. And it struck me that the reason why is because we were all afraid of being rejected, being told that we were not 'up to scratch'.
I often find it interesting to see that so few people smile at each other. I try to make it a point that if I catch the eye of a stranger, I smile at them. Costs me nothing, and I often get a smile in return, which makes me feel happy.
This was what surprised (and delighted) me most about the comment left by this stranger yesterday. There was no need for him to write to tell me he had read my blog (and I hope appreciated it), yet he did. It was so unexpected.
I suppose what I'm trying to say is that reaching out every now and again to a stranger, to say something, to even simply smile at them. Because there's something horribly lonely about our society today, something sterile.
Now I'm going to watch a french film about someone pretending to be gay in order to keep his job.
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Forgiveness
So I'm back. Yay. I know life without my posts was dull and dreary (at least for a certain person who cheerfully informed me I was now aiding them procrastinate from study). Away time was lovely, I indeed did a lot of work (finally something productive study-wise), and i went bushwalking. I briefly contemplated dedicating a blog to how during one of my walks I attempted to channel my inner aboriginal to do a little climbing over a stream, but really that's as much as I need to say. It was a successful channeling in case you were wondering.
I thought a lot about what my next blog should be about (I had lots of thinking time), but events seemed to have unfolded for themselves.
As those of you clever enough to deduce from my rather cryptic title, forgiveness has been preying on my mind of late. Personally there have been a couple of events which have led me to become estranged with friends. One in particular whom I am thinking of right now. I shan't go into the details, but let me say that communication basically broke down, and a divide between us grew, and we went from being quite close friends to people who simply did not speak to each other any more. I had said to myself 'I suppose this is the way it's going to be', I could see no way for the friendship to be rebuilt, and then, out of the blue, I got a call from this person. They explained to me what had been happening with them and told me how much the loss of my friendship had upset them. Things which had been done which upset me were brought to the surface, where previously they had been swept under the rug and festered, further destroying the friendship, and apologies were offered. Of course, that was all I really needed. It was such an incredible gesture on her part, to call me after so much had happened, and to try to fix this.
Similarly, today, I received an apology of sorts for something that was done to me a few days ago, an event in fact, mentioned in my first post (Facebook statuses, indirect accusations, to jog your memory). Now this person I do not have as long a history with, so such mending of bridges is not as easy.
In both of these scenarios I had the choice to forgive. The option was there to tell them where they could stick it, although depending on my level of ire, with several verbally colourful additions. I was seriously considering it with the second apology, however I was talking to my friend, someone who I hold in the highest esteem, and he said a wonderful thing to me. "Princess [this is his pet name for me]. Remember Audrey Hepburn. Be gracious."
Wasn't it somebody terribly famous who said once, and is forever quoted for it, 'to err is human, to forgive, divine'?
I suppose the point that I am trying to make is that there is nothing ever really gained from witholding your forgiveness. It doesn't necessarily mean the same level of trust or intimacy has to be reached as previously, but, aside from everything else, doesn't that make you the better human being? I know several people who are not speaking to others because of transgressions or conflicts. While I understand that sometimes there are things that mean a friendship cannot be rebuilt, I would suggest that leaving something like that on such hugely negative grounds can affect you as a person. It is there, always lingering in the back of your mind. I could be wrong, it is possibly just me. But I do think it is something to think about.
This is the lesson for today. Go in peace.
I thought a lot about what my next blog should be about (I had lots of thinking time), but events seemed to have unfolded for themselves.
As those of you clever enough to deduce from my rather cryptic title, forgiveness has been preying on my mind of late. Personally there have been a couple of events which have led me to become estranged with friends. One in particular whom I am thinking of right now. I shan't go into the details, but let me say that communication basically broke down, and a divide between us grew, and we went from being quite close friends to people who simply did not speak to each other any more. I had said to myself 'I suppose this is the way it's going to be', I could see no way for the friendship to be rebuilt, and then, out of the blue, I got a call from this person. They explained to me what had been happening with them and told me how much the loss of my friendship had upset them. Things which had been done which upset me were brought to the surface, where previously they had been swept under the rug and festered, further destroying the friendship, and apologies were offered. Of course, that was all I really needed. It was such an incredible gesture on her part, to call me after so much had happened, and to try to fix this.
Similarly, today, I received an apology of sorts for something that was done to me a few days ago, an event in fact, mentioned in my first post (Facebook statuses, indirect accusations, to jog your memory). Now this person I do not have as long a history with, so such mending of bridges is not as easy.
In both of these scenarios I had the choice to forgive. The option was there to tell them where they could stick it, although depending on my level of ire, with several verbally colourful additions. I was seriously considering it with the second apology, however I was talking to my friend, someone who I hold in the highest esteem, and he said a wonderful thing to me. "Princess [this is his pet name for me]. Remember Audrey Hepburn. Be gracious."
Wasn't it somebody terribly famous who said once, and is forever quoted for it, 'to err is human, to forgive, divine'?
I suppose the point that I am trying to make is that there is nothing ever really gained from witholding your forgiveness. It doesn't necessarily mean the same level of trust or intimacy has to be reached as previously, but, aside from everything else, doesn't that make you the better human being? I know several people who are not speaking to others because of transgressions or conflicts. While I understand that sometimes there are things that mean a friendship cannot be rebuilt, I would suggest that leaving something like that on such hugely negative grounds can affect you as a person. It is there, always lingering in the back of your mind. I could be wrong, it is possibly just me. But I do think it is something to think about.
This is the lesson for today. Go in peace.
Thursday, September 23, 2010
So I've sunk this low, and other introductory matters
So this is what is has come to. At 9.59pm on a Thursday night - the Thursday before I go away for a couple of days, might I add, in the depths of my loneliness and desperation to avoid schoolwork, I have started a blog.
It is also probably no coincidence that I have started a blog as I come up to my final exams (dear God help me).
So tonight, I think I shall address three points, no more, no less (this is a debating trick I'm trying to learn for semi-finals, so I do apologise if it seems a touch pretentious). The first, why blog? The second, the title, and the the third...well I'm not quite sure, but I'm sure I'll find a third point (if you're interested, this is generally how I get up with my points as well...hence why I need to learn the technique).
So, why blog? Well, I guess what was preying on my mind tonight was an accusation I'm fairly certain was leveled at me, albeit indirectly (facebook status if you must know...I'm sure I'll get to my view of facebook, which I fully understand if you choose to skip over it in another post). I thought to myself 'hey, starting a blog would be a great way to present my roundabout response to this'. And then I thought to myself 'don't be a wanker'. So why did I go ahead with it? Somewhere in some dark corner of my mind there was probably the vague hope that my fascinating, insightful, and masterfully written blog would be an internet sensation, and I would make an obscene amount of money out of it. Don't worry, I realise this will never happen...I think. Possibly my other reason was that I could do something other than study, which certainly would be welcomed, because the only other thing I have done, is music, oh, and watch ridiculous amounts of television, some highly intellectual (Mad Men), some quite trashy (Vampire Diaries, how I love it).
Secondly, why the title I hear you ask. Ok, I don't, and you probably never will, but I'm going to pretend it crossed your mind, and answer your question. I have been playing music since I was the tender age of three (and what a gorgeous three year old I was, everything went downhill from there). It has always been a part of my life, and several things have recently happened to me in a musical sense, that have made me realise what a huge part of my life it is. I decided to audition for Opera Victoria in November, a snap decision after singing (and, oh joy, being paid for it) for someone to. Singing is something that comes so naturally to me that I think I take it for granted, so perhaps it is an avenue I should explore. But I digress. Aside from singing and violin, there is the piano, to which I have returned since I started hard-core (or medium-core really) study, finding it a place all of my own to go to escape the world of academia. On top of this, I have noticed increasingly the way I tend to analyse music to which I am listening. Therefore, the only conclusion I can come to...music nerd. I know all the terms, I have perfect relative pitch (not that I'm bragging), and while I am the first to admit that there are many, many people who are far more advanced in music than I, I know a lot.
Ok I don't have a third point, and I just realised this is probably longer than necessary (and what you are willing to read). So I think I shall simply make my third point this: I know some truly incredible people. I don't see any of them nearly often enough, and I truly regret this, as within all of them are qualities I admire so deeply. I shan't name names (and I refuse to use codenames in this blog), but I like to think that they know who they are. If you aren't sure, ask me, although be warned, I shall be brutally honest (sorry if you don't rank :P). These are the people who have touched my life, and who I don't tell enough (sometimes because I don't think they could handle the emotional intensity that accompanies this - you know who I'm talking about) how special they are, how much they mean to me, or how utterly screwed I'd be without them. So if you are reading this, and you know you rank among them, thank you.
So on that rather emotionally charged note, I shall finish writing, mess around with the blog template some more, and then prepare myself for a few days away...with the bigass stack of study that I have packed. My life is so awesome right now. Thank you for bearing through this first post, I promise to make subsequent ones shorter (or if the same length, completely enthralling). Get ready for some exciting posting upon my return, about the amount of study I got done. You know it will rock your world.
Here ends the reading.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)