As much as we shouldn't, we all know the gist. Boy meets Girl. Girl breaks up with boy. Girl finds Man. Boy hates Man.
Key word: BOY noun
1. a male CHILD, especially one LESS than 18 years of age
2. a young man who lacks MATURITY and JUDGEMENT
BOYS are too immature to accept the fact that she's moved on. BOYS are too stubborn to accept that she's happier with someone else. BOYS are selfish enough to interfere with her new relationship. BOYS are barbaric enough to think that forging violence against her new Man will win Girl back.
According to American Scientist Online – The Lions Mane, male lions will 'jealously guard her and prevent her from mating with his companions'. They even go so far as to kill the offspring of another male – accounting for 25% of all cub deaths. Before you start getting any ideas, let me remind you that we're human. So save your violence for your reincarnation.
If you'd rather her be unhappy and with you, than happy with someone else – was it ever really love in the first place? Even if you succeeded in scaring off her new Man, how could you admit to yourself that she's only with you because you made her? Wouldn't your relationship be more reassuring knowing that she returned to you on her own accord? You wouldn't want someone reigning in on your parade; so in the spirit of Australian mateship, give the other guy a fair go.
And I know it's easier said than done. I've discovered that when you love someone, it's hard to imagine that anyone, even her boyfriend, can love her more than you already do. Remember that it's hard on her part too. No sane person relishes being fought over. She has to live with the guilt that she couldn't please everyone.
And it's in such spirits that I hereby propose a fifth Geneva Convention (noun. a series of international agreements... establishing rules for the humane treatment of prisoners of war and of the sick, the wounded, and the dead in battle). That no physical violence be forged between parties on the grounds of fighting over a girl. It might take two to tango, but it takes three to rumble. Prior to such altercations, both males must have been given a reason to fight, and the incentive of reaping a reward ie. the Girl, who must have led both on.
Sometimes, I think the world would be a better place if there were no such thing as love. But then I think to myself that used the right way, the happiness it brings makes life just that little bit more worth living – and when lost, worth searching for again.
As children we're taught that one girl falls in love with one boy once in their lifetime. Drawing from both personal and indirect experiences, I've learnt that life's not like that, at least not anymore.
Love is a tangled network more messed up than our country's current rail system. People don't just fall in love once anymore, they fall in and out of it, sometimes with the same person, sometimes with more. Like peak hour trains, sometimes they love too late, eventually arriving only to find the other person at someone else's platform. And as much as you want her, you keep from derailing for the sake of your passengers – the friends and family you hurt and drag with you.
Wednesday 28 November 2007
Saturday 24 November 2007
Leave Britney Alone!
Who's your biggest celebrity idol? Jessica Alba? Justin Timberlake?
Now picture them suddenly associated with more scandals in a week than the pairs of undies you go through per year:
Wild parties.
Wardrobe malfunctions.
Drug addictions.
Drunken behaviour.
Nervous breakdowns.
Unexpected pregnancies.
Marriage breakdowns.
Depression.
Weight gain.
Oh, and on top of that, they're now homosexual.
Still their biggest fan? It's funny how human weaknesses most prevalent in western society can alter our perception of public figures. Is that to say, that we only look up to people when they're at their best? Some fair weather fans we are.
But is the aforementioned list any different to what happens to your neighbours, to your friends, to your family members, to your work mates… even to your own self?
Add a shaven head to the equation and you get my biggest celebrity idol: Britney Spears. Over the past few years, it became something like mission impossible to pick up a magazine that didn't splash her across their pages.
Flicking through, I glimpse the trashy pictures and skim the infamous headlines. I see an artist who became a victim of her own success. I am reminded of friends who became mothers and fathers in their teens. I am reminded of my own parent's divorce. And whether or not Britney is really lesbian, I am reminded of my homosexual friends and their constant struggle for respect. I am reminded of my friends who take every opportunity to party hard and drink harder. But most of all, I am reminded that all of these could easily be me.
I believe that every human being is entitled to as many downfalls required for them to make and learn from their own mistakes – even if it's doing them the longest, hardest, most dangerous way possible.
HYPOTHETICALLY, should I ever smoke marijuana throughout my pregnancy and call my child Weed-Girl (even if it's a boy), put on an extra 150 kg yet wear the same size 6/8 clothes, claim to be a witch doctor and start my own cult, try to perform liposuction on myself using a butter knife and vacuum cleaner and shave my head before being admitted into a rehabilitation centre…
In the same way that I anticipate the day Britney Spears comes clean, I'd like to hope that there's at least one blog reader with enough faith in me to know that I'll pull through, and anticipate the blog entry where I can again speak with clarity and wisdom from the traumatic experiences that plagued my troubled years.
Now picture them suddenly associated with more scandals in a week than the pairs of undies you go through per year:
Wild parties.
Wardrobe malfunctions.
Drug addictions.
Drunken behaviour.
Nervous breakdowns.
Unexpected pregnancies.
Marriage breakdowns.
Depression.
Weight gain.
Oh, and on top of that, they're now homosexual.
Still their biggest fan? It's funny how human weaknesses most prevalent in western society can alter our perception of public figures. Is that to say, that we only look up to people when they're at their best? Some fair weather fans we are.
But is the aforementioned list any different to what happens to your neighbours, to your friends, to your family members, to your work mates… even to your own self?
Add a shaven head to the equation and you get my biggest celebrity idol: Britney Spears. Over the past few years, it became something like mission impossible to pick up a magazine that didn't splash her across their pages.
Flicking through, I glimpse the trashy pictures and skim the infamous headlines. I see an artist who became a victim of her own success. I am reminded of friends who became mothers and fathers in their teens. I am reminded of my own parent's divorce. And whether or not Britney is really lesbian, I am reminded of my homosexual friends and their constant struggle for respect. I am reminded of my friends who take every opportunity to party hard and drink harder. But most of all, I am reminded that all of these could easily be me.
I believe that every human being is entitled to as many downfalls required for them to make and learn from their own mistakes – even if it's doing them the longest, hardest, most dangerous way possible.
HYPOTHETICALLY, should I ever smoke marijuana throughout my pregnancy and call my child Weed-Girl (even if it's a boy), put on an extra 150 kg yet wear the same size 6/8 clothes, claim to be a witch doctor and start my own cult, try to perform liposuction on myself using a butter knife and vacuum cleaner and shave my head before being admitted into a rehabilitation centre…
In the same way that I anticipate the day Britney Spears comes clean, I'd like to hope that there's at least one blog reader with enough faith in me to know that I'll pull through, and anticipate the blog entry where I can again speak with clarity and wisdom from the traumatic experiences that plagued my troubled years.
Saturday 3 November 2007
The Silent Requital
ENGLISH EXTENSION
CRIME FICTION - GENRE
It was the worst painting Bryan had ever seen: Pierre Swarofski's impressionist painting of the human heart. He always thought artists were a bit deluded. No wonder the left ventricle was unproportioned.
'For the fraction of you who will graduate, success will come from following your gut instinct. There are some things a good doctor can detect that a good pulse oximeter cannot. And like Swarofski, you too might end up making millions of dollars… or at least save millions of lives' bellowed his favourite professor.
The eager students, few of whom were dedicated to saving lives, and the rest of whom were dedicated to making money, were suddenly beckoned to use the right side of their brain, when it was the left that got them there.
--
'Three operations… aortic coarctation…'
Bryan raved about himself for the same amount of time it took the waitress to take their order, allot her number to a flirting customer and retrieve a bottle of red wine for the newly engaged couple on table nine.
'At least someone's getting married tonight. Hasn't this guy ever heard of open ended questions?' she wondered.
A long pause ensued. She forced a smile before excusing herself to the bathroom. They both knew she wasn't coming back.
--
Ted was Vernfield's most highly acclaimed psychologist. Marriage breakdowns, mid life crises, depression – Ted had seen them all.
'Dr Bryan Kobe'. Ted turned the name over and over in his head, rubbing his cleft chin as he often did when deep in thought. The receding hairline and the slightly hunched back that accentuated his slim build all struck a chord of familiarity.
'Oh yes, that's right!' The newspaper image of Dr Bryan Kobe lurched its way into his memory. The article read something about a new clinical trial. In a follow up story, Ted was certain the baby did not live long. The see-saw-ing of guilt and bliss at losing and saving a patient often took its toll on doctors.
'How can I get a woman to marry me?'
A long pause ensued. He felt like he was on a date again.
'This is Ted's office, right?'
Most clients liked to introduce themselves, talk about their friends, family and pets before delving into why they were there. Taken aback by Bryan's straightforwardness, Ted concluded he was 43, a medical surgeon, and believed himself overdue to start a family. STAT.
--
The Stanbourg University which Bryan attended was absorbed in racist upheaval. Not a day was he spared racial insults. 'Low life Nigger' 'Black Bastard'
'Study now. Revenge later' was his mantra. Peers and lecturers would catch him mumbling incoherently down the hallway, and laugh. He always seemed a social outcast anyway.
Like a star shining against a polluted western sky, Professor Cromblin was proof that the dream of a black man making something respectable out of himself was possible.
In his final year of study, Professor Cromblin was shot dead. Three of Bryan's white peers were charged with murder a week later.
The events above were delivered to Ted methodically and in sparing detail.
--
Ted lay flicking channels, as his wife romped into the bedroom sporting new lace underwear. She began kissing at his neck. He could feel himself go hard.
'Next in breaking news, Hollywood heartthrob Ryan Harppe dies due to a drug overdose. Dr Bryan Kobe said there was little hope by the time he arrived…'
'Hold on honey'
'But-'
'Shh!'
By the end of the report Ted had lost his erection. Patients died all the time, but this was the second headline in the past month featuring the death of one of Dr Bryan Kobe's patients. Ted started rubbing his cleft chin.
--
Bryan met with Ted for their usual 5:00 Friday appointment. The real Bryan came out on their last session.
'So, tell me about your childhood'
'CHILDHOOD? I'm paying you good money to help me find a wife, not talk about my bloody childhood. Any bet you're just out to pump money out of me. Typical white bastard. You're all the same. BETTER OFF DEAD, I SAY!' shouted Bryan vexedly and stormed out.
Finding a wife became the least of his problems, Ted made note to help Bryan through his racial issues. But something about the way he said 'BETTER OFF DEAD!' unsettled Ted. The words clung to him like a foul stench.
In his hurried exit, Bryan left his folder behind. Picking it up, Bryan's Stanbourg Yearbook fell onto the floor. Flipping quickly through the black and white pages, hints of red caught Ted's eye. Fingering back through the pages, Ted found that Bryan had violently crossed the faces of three individuals. He started rubbing his cleft chin.
--
'Thank God it's Friday'
Bryan had one more operation to perform. He skimmed the patient profile: John O'Timmons. 64. Caucasian. Fatal condition. Requires cardiomyopathy.
'Perfect, easy as pi' chuckled Bryan to himself. He made note to share the pun on his next date. After all, Ted said that women were attracted to humour.
Within minutes John O'Timmons was declared dead. In theory his body had rejected the donated heart. But in practice Bryan had left a 3mm gap in reconnecting the aorta.
Revenge is a dish best served cold, and under the façade of a good willed doctor, Bryan was a cold blooded murderer.
Every white patient that died on his operating table resembled someone who called him a 'Low Life Nigger' a 'Black Bastard', or someone who murdered Professor Cromblin. Only the black patients died from genuine medical conditions.
'Shit' Bryan almost forgot his appointment with Ted, as he reached his pocket for the car keys.
'DR KOBE! EMERGENCY!' From the rear view mirror, Bryan could see one of the interns running short breathed after him.
--
Ted suffered a stroke while at work. He could not move, but could see and hear everything around him. The secretary. The ambulance. The hospital. The nurse. The Doctor.
'Not to worry Ted, it's me, Dr Bryan Kobe'. As the morphine kicked in, Bryan's wink was anything but reassuring. ©
CRIME FICTION - GENRE
It was the worst painting Bryan had ever seen: Pierre Swarofski's impressionist painting of the human heart. He always thought artists were a bit deluded. No wonder the left ventricle was unproportioned.
'For the fraction of you who will graduate, success will come from following your gut instinct. There are some things a good doctor can detect that a good pulse oximeter cannot. And like Swarofski, you too might end up making millions of dollars… or at least save millions of lives' bellowed his favourite professor.
The eager students, few of whom were dedicated to saving lives, and the rest of whom were dedicated to making money, were suddenly beckoned to use the right side of their brain, when it was the left that got them there.
--
'Three operations… aortic coarctation…'
Bryan raved about himself for the same amount of time it took the waitress to take their order, allot her number to a flirting customer and retrieve a bottle of red wine for the newly engaged couple on table nine.
'At least someone's getting married tonight. Hasn't this guy ever heard of open ended questions?' she wondered.
A long pause ensued. She forced a smile before excusing herself to the bathroom. They both knew she wasn't coming back.
--
Ted was Vernfield's most highly acclaimed psychologist. Marriage breakdowns, mid life crises, depression – Ted had seen them all.
'Dr Bryan Kobe'. Ted turned the name over and over in his head, rubbing his cleft chin as he often did when deep in thought. The receding hairline and the slightly hunched back that accentuated his slim build all struck a chord of familiarity.
'Oh yes, that's right!' The newspaper image of Dr Bryan Kobe lurched its way into his memory. The article read something about a new clinical trial. In a follow up story, Ted was certain the baby did not live long. The see-saw-ing of guilt and bliss at losing and saving a patient often took its toll on doctors.
'How can I get a woman to marry me?'
A long pause ensued. He felt like he was on a date again.
'This is Ted's office, right?'
Most clients liked to introduce themselves, talk about their friends, family and pets before delving into why they were there. Taken aback by Bryan's straightforwardness, Ted concluded he was 43, a medical surgeon, and believed himself overdue to start a family. STAT.
--
The Stanbourg University which Bryan attended was absorbed in racist upheaval. Not a day was he spared racial insults. 'Low life Nigger' 'Black Bastard'
'Study now. Revenge later' was his mantra. Peers and lecturers would catch him mumbling incoherently down the hallway, and laugh. He always seemed a social outcast anyway.
Like a star shining against a polluted western sky, Professor Cromblin was proof that the dream of a black man making something respectable out of himself was possible.
In his final year of study, Professor Cromblin was shot dead. Three of Bryan's white peers were charged with murder a week later.
The events above were delivered to Ted methodically and in sparing detail.
--
Ted lay flicking channels, as his wife romped into the bedroom sporting new lace underwear. She began kissing at his neck. He could feel himself go hard.
'Next in breaking news, Hollywood heartthrob Ryan Harppe dies due to a drug overdose. Dr Bryan Kobe said there was little hope by the time he arrived…'
'Hold on honey'
'But-'
'Shh!'
By the end of the report Ted had lost his erection. Patients died all the time, but this was the second headline in the past month featuring the death of one of Dr Bryan Kobe's patients. Ted started rubbing his cleft chin.
--
Bryan met with Ted for their usual 5:00 Friday appointment. The real Bryan came out on their last session.
'So, tell me about your childhood'
'CHILDHOOD? I'm paying you good money to help me find a wife, not talk about my bloody childhood. Any bet you're just out to pump money out of me. Typical white bastard. You're all the same. BETTER OFF DEAD, I SAY!' shouted Bryan vexedly and stormed out.
Finding a wife became the least of his problems, Ted made note to help Bryan through his racial issues. But something about the way he said 'BETTER OFF DEAD!' unsettled Ted. The words clung to him like a foul stench.
In his hurried exit, Bryan left his folder behind. Picking it up, Bryan's Stanbourg Yearbook fell onto the floor. Flipping quickly through the black and white pages, hints of red caught Ted's eye. Fingering back through the pages, Ted found that Bryan had violently crossed the faces of three individuals. He started rubbing his cleft chin.
--
'Thank God it's Friday'
Bryan had one more operation to perform. He skimmed the patient profile: John O'Timmons. 64. Caucasian. Fatal condition. Requires cardiomyopathy.
'Perfect, easy as pi' chuckled Bryan to himself. He made note to share the pun on his next date. After all, Ted said that women were attracted to humour.
Within minutes John O'Timmons was declared dead. In theory his body had rejected the donated heart. But in practice Bryan had left a 3mm gap in reconnecting the aorta.
Revenge is a dish best served cold, and under the façade of a good willed doctor, Bryan was a cold blooded murderer.
Every white patient that died on his operating table resembled someone who called him a 'Low Life Nigger' a 'Black Bastard', or someone who murdered Professor Cromblin. Only the black patients died from genuine medical conditions.
'Shit' Bryan almost forgot his appointment with Ted, as he reached his pocket for the car keys.
'DR KOBE! EMERGENCY!' From the rear view mirror, Bryan could see one of the interns running short breathed after him.
--
Ted suffered a stroke while at work. He could not move, but could see and hear everything around him. The secretary. The ambulance. The hospital. The nurse. The Doctor.
'Not to worry Ted, it's me, Dr Bryan Kobe'. As the morphine kicked in, Bryan's wink was anything but reassuring. ©
Tuesday 25 September 2007
Halfway to K.J.
A few hours ago I was at my high school graduation ceremony. It was meant to be a 'magical moment.'
Yet, I was not overcome with emotion like many of my teary eyed peers. With all the screaming and jumping around, you'd think we were a geeky uniform clad mosh pit… And I was the one who accidentally bought tickets to the wrong concert.
For my own reasons, the fact that I will never see most of these people again delivered me relief rather than dismay. There was a time when, and place where I felt a sense of belonging with my immediate friends and the school body as a whole –which was lost somewhere between the transition from an all girls school to a co-ed (combined education) one.
And it's not that the thought of graduation hasn't 'fully sunk in', because I've been feeling like this for a while now.
I just don't think high school was my scene. Hello world.
Third Eye Blind - Jumper
I wish you would step back from that ledge my friend
You could cut ties with all the lies that you've been living in
And if you do not want to see me again I would understand
I would understand
The angry boy a bit too insane
Icing over a secret pain
You know you don't belong
Youre the first to fight
Youre way too loud
Youre the flash of light on a burial shroud
I know somethings wrong
Well everyone I know has got a reason
To say put the past away
I wish you would step back from that ledge my friend
You could cut ties with all the lies that youve been living in
And if you do not want to see me again I would understand
I would understand
Well hes on the table and hes gone to code
And I do not think anyone knows
What theyre doing here
And your friends have left you
Youve been dismissed
I never thought it would come to this
And I, I want you to know
Everyones got to face down the demons
Maybe today
You could put the past away
Yet, I was not overcome with emotion like many of my teary eyed peers. With all the screaming and jumping around, you'd think we were a geeky uniform clad mosh pit… And I was the one who accidentally bought tickets to the wrong concert.
For my own reasons, the fact that I will never see most of these people again delivered me relief rather than dismay. There was a time when, and place where I felt a sense of belonging with my immediate friends and the school body as a whole –which was lost somewhere between the transition from an all girls school to a co-ed (combined education) one.
And it's not that the thought of graduation hasn't 'fully sunk in', because I've been feeling like this for a while now.
I just don't think high school was my scene. Hello world.
Third Eye Blind - Jumper
I wish you would step back from that ledge my friend
You could cut ties with all the lies that you've been living in
And if you do not want to see me again I would understand
I would understand
The angry boy a bit too insane
Icing over a secret pain
You know you don't belong
Youre the first to fight
Youre way too loud
Youre the flash of light on a burial shroud
I know somethings wrong
Well everyone I know has got a reason
To say put the past away
I wish you would step back from that ledge my friend
You could cut ties with all the lies that youve been living in
And if you do not want to see me again I would understand
I would understand
Well hes on the table and hes gone to code
And I do not think anyone knows
What theyre doing here
And your friends have left you
Youve been dismissed
I never thought it would come to this
And I, I want you to know
Everyones got to face down the demons
Maybe today
You could put the past away
Wednesday 19 September 2007
When I was 8 I wanted to be a paleontologist.
Like that life defining moment when you can turn the lights on without standing on your tip toes. Like that life defining moment when you first did your own shoelaces.
I have recently experienced another one of these life defining moments. The one where friendships are put to the test and the people you most expected to be there for you, were the first ones to bolt.
I don't know what hurts more. The fact that they didn't mean to hurt me. Or the fact that it came naturally to them.
And yet, I still have the strength to say "It's okay". Because like the paleontologist sifting through dirt, this experience has revealed to me the friendships actually worth their weight in gold, or should I say skeletal remains, or is that fossil traces? … you know what I mean!
So to all the people who supported me over the past few days: THANKYOU! THANKYOU! THANKYOU! You all know who you are.
I have recently experienced another one of these life defining moments. The one where friendships are put to the test and the people you most expected to be there for you, were the first ones to bolt.
I don't know what hurts more. The fact that they didn't mean to hurt me. Or the fact that it came naturally to them.
And yet, I still have the strength to say "It's okay". Because like the paleontologist sifting through dirt, this experience has revealed to me the friendships actually worth their weight in gold, or should I say skeletal remains, or is that fossil traces? … you know what I mean!
So to all the people who supported me over the past few days: THANKYOU! THANKYOU! THANKYOU! You all know who you are.
Monday 17 September 2007
Ode to Old
Without history there would be no such thing as mystery: it casts shadows in broad daylight that cannot be seen; and even when you're grasping it in the palm of your hand - you can never really hold all of it.
Growing up, my first dictionary was a battered old thing. The edges were worn, the paper was creased, the pages were yellowed and the cover was fading. I don't know where it came from, my whole life it was just there. Even my parents couldn't comfort me with an explanation. It looked less like something you'd find in Angus & Robertson, Borders and Dymocks – and more like something you'd find on the bookshelf of a haunted castle.
Adding to this already stoic quality, the first page bore the words 'This book belongs to Amelia Butler'. The words were of an untamed, messy quality – kind of like mine at that age.
The name haunts me – and yet only a part of me wants to know who Amelia Butler is. The rest of me is addicted to the mystery. And I think this is what gave birth to my fascination with op-shopping.
Where other people see smelly, cheap old things – I see beautiful vintage just waiting to be bought, begging me to add my own history. And to think, some of these things have probably been around longer than I have been alive.
I love knowing that I can never really own the old books, jewellery, clothing or handbags that I buy. Rather, I am sharing it with the ones that came before me, and the ones that will hopefully come after. I feel connected to the past through strangers who share my taste.
I am lucky to have a friend who shares in my sentiment, and we have vowed not to make the same mistake of our mothers by throwing old stuff away. Now, or should I say later, our kids will be the coolest!
If the best things are life are free, op-shopping comes second, with capitalism in third place.
Growing up, my first dictionary was a battered old thing. The edges were worn, the paper was creased, the pages were yellowed and the cover was fading. I don't know where it came from, my whole life it was just there. Even my parents couldn't comfort me with an explanation. It looked less like something you'd find in Angus & Robertson, Borders and Dymocks – and more like something you'd find on the bookshelf of a haunted castle.
Adding to this already stoic quality, the first page bore the words 'This book belongs to Amelia Butler'. The words were of an untamed, messy quality – kind of like mine at that age.
The name haunts me – and yet only a part of me wants to know who Amelia Butler is. The rest of me is addicted to the mystery. And I think this is what gave birth to my fascination with op-shopping.
Where other people see smelly, cheap old things – I see beautiful vintage just waiting to be bought, begging me to add my own history. And to think, some of these things have probably been around longer than I have been alive.
I love knowing that I can never really own the old books, jewellery, clothing or handbags that I buy. Rather, I am sharing it with the ones that came before me, and the ones that will hopefully come after. I feel connected to the past through strangers who share my taste.
I am lucky to have a friend who shares in my sentiment, and we have vowed not to make the same mistake of our mothers by throwing old stuff away. Now, or should I say later, our kids will be the coolest!
If the best things are life are free, op-shopping comes second, with capitalism in third place.
Wednesday 5 September 2007
Long Term Monogamy vs. Short Term Polygamy
So like, here I am writing from my pre-birthday present – THE Macbook. Thanks Mum. I feel so Carrie Bradshaw – with relationship dilemmas to match.
For me, my first long term relationship signified a personal 'coming of age'. I learned that with love comes an element of surrender. I experienced how it felt to be a part of someone else's life, so much that I even have my own spot at his family dinner table. Moreover, I also know how it feels to slip into the routine of things. When things stop being spontaneous, is one supposed to feel a sense of security – or is it an indication that the relationship has developed into a habit harder to break than your thumb sucking, nose picking and bed wetting days put together?
In one of those rare occasions where I watch a movie from start to finish, a particular line from Kinsey (2004) burned itself into my memory. It made the point that the only absolute truth concerning sexually producing creatures is that man + woman = baby. Anything other than that – including homosexuality and bisexuality is relative. Therefore making relationship etiquette and 'normal' sexual practices a socially - not universally constructed ideal.
From a scientific perspective, we're supposed to lose interest and/or attraction in our significant other after about nine months – just enough time to bear a child. Our body reduces the release of a feel good chemical, serotinin. Not feeling the butterflies anymore? That's probably why. Coincidence? I think not. Perhaps humanity's primal penchant for sexual satisfaction, via numerous sexual partners is only beginning to be recognised, practiced and normalised through media portrayal; accommodating the rise for such shows as Sex & the City, Californication, and how could I forget? Brokeback Mountain.
Long term? For me, it's just a label. Sometimes a couple that just got together are better suited than the pair bordering on three years. So whether you're a fornicator or saving it till marriage, whether you've mastered the art of monogamy or addicted to the exhilaration of polygamy – who's to criticise? If enough people do something, does that make it normal?
I believe that relationships should be rejuvenating and challenging, with an element of spontaneity; which I take as signs of growth, maturity and stickability (ability to stick together) against different pressures. And until it starts feeling more like a chore and less like a roller coaster with its ups and downs, will I consider setting south with the butterflies.
For me, my first long term relationship signified a personal 'coming of age'. I learned that with love comes an element of surrender. I experienced how it felt to be a part of someone else's life, so much that I even have my own spot at his family dinner table. Moreover, I also know how it feels to slip into the routine of things. When things stop being spontaneous, is one supposed to feel a sense of security – or is it an indication that the relationship has developed into a habit harder to break than your thumb sucking, nose picking and bed wetting days put together?
In one of those rare occasions where I watch a movie from start to finish, a particular line from Kinsey (2004) burned itself into my memory. It made the point that the only absolute truth concerning sexually producing creatures is that man + woman = baby. Anything other than that – including homosexuality and bisexuality is relative. Therefore making relationship etiquette and 'normal' sexual practices a socially - not universally constructed ideal.
From a scientific perspective, we're supposed to lose interest and/or attraction in our significant other after about nine months – just enough time to bear a child. Our body reduces the release of a feel good chemical, serotinin. Not feeling the butterflies anymore? That's probably why. Coincidence? I think not. Perhaps humanity's primal penchant for sexual satisfaction, via numerous sexual partners is only beginning to be recognised, practiced and normalised through media portrayal; accommodating the rise for such shows as Sex & the City, Californication, and how could I forget? Brokeback Mountain.
Long term? For me, it's just a label. Sometimes a couple that just got together are better suited than the pair bordering on three years. So whether you're a fornicator or saving it till marriage, whether you've mastered the art of monogamy or addicted to the exhilaration of polygamy – who's to criticise? If enough people do something, does that make it normal?
I believe that relationships should be rejuvenating and challenging, with an element of spontaneity; which I take as signs of growth, maturity and stickability (ability to stick together) against different pressures. And until it starts feeling more like a chore and less like a roller coaster with its ups and downs, will I consider setting south with the butterflies.
Thursday 16 August 2007
Give and Take
Both optimists and pessimists contribute to our society. The optimist invents the aeroplane and the pessimist the parachute - Gil Stern
I love the dynamics between my group of girlfriends, because we're bonded less by what we share in common and more by the things that set us apart. Some of us have loved every boyfriend we've ever had, some of us are loving for the first time, and some us have yet to love. While some of us have planned wedding days, children's names and dream homes with our significant other - some of us have taken a vow of chastity against it. As you can see, you have your mix of femme-fatales and femme-inists.
In confronting them with a relationship dilemma, I can predict who will tell me that the fat lady is singing, and who will tell me it's only the intermission.
Gabrielle* came down from Perth to Sydney to live for a few years. During that time she met Adam*. Every day of their relationship brought them a day closer to her due departure for Perth. Deciding against a break up due to circumstances beyond their control and the pangs of a long distance relationship; it was decided that Adam would leave his family, his friends, everything he had ever known - and go with her.
Flabbergasted by the news, I was left speechless. And the words that did eventually surface were not all the optimistic:
ME: I could never do that. I'm too selfish.
BF: Ok. I'll talk to you later selfish girl.
ME: laughs. Hey! You wouldn't do that for me either.
BF: Yeah, I know.
My boyfriends honesty comforted more than offended me; because although the degree of our love did not meet that of Gabrielle and Adam, ours was just as mutual. And that's what matters.
Some people are just naturally more giving than others. Some people are just naturally more taking than others.
Have you ever seen two people accidentally approach the end of a line at the same time? Only to watch them spend ten minutes insisting that the other person go ahead? Or maybe you witnessed a debacle of two people claiming to have been there first.
Well at the end of the day it doesn't matter who's doing more of the giving and taking - as long as Adam's need to give is balanced with Gabrielle's need to take.
Monday 6 August 2007
Black Cat Killed the Curiosity
I was never scared of clowns. I loved them.
I don't believe in ghosts or monsters. I believe in the power of imagination.
I don't have a fear of heights. I want to go skydiving.
I think sharp shoots of pain are fun. You name it: needles, piercings, waxing and stitches. I love them.
I walk under ladders and in between double poled road signs, I think black cats are equal to white cats, and to me Friday the 13th is good as any other day.
For these, people might call me brave (maybe even so far as stupid). But I have a confession: I fear people. I fear my family. I fear my friends. And I probably fear you.
Why? Because it's mortal, tangible, visible creatures like you that have the most ability to hurt me, and each other.
I fear betrayal, only people like you can do that to me. I fear being jealous of other people; because I indicate to myself that I am not being grateful for what I do have. I fear loss: of trust and of respect.
You can have as many fears as you want. But I've learnt that after seeing a black cat and winding up abducted by aliens… after walking under a ladder to find a zombie waiting for you on the other side… after encountering a giant moth and having a sook…
Make sure you have people, or maybe just one person who's sure to either
(a) save you, or
(b) comfort you after you've saved yourself
They're better than band aids, Panadols and cough syrup put together.
P.S. Yes, I am dreadfully scared of moths!
I don't believe in ghosts or monsters. I believe in the power of imagination.
I don't have a fear of heights. I want to go skydiving.
I think sharp shoots of pain are fun. You name it: needles, piercings, waxing and stitches. I love them.
I walk under ladders and in between double poled road signs, I think black cats are equal to white cats, and to me Friday the 13th is good as any other day.
For these, people might call me brave (maybe even so far as stupid). But I have a confession: I fear people. I fear my family. I fear my friends. And I probably fear you.
Why? Because it's mortal, tangible, visible creatures like you that have the most ability to hurt me, and each other.
I fear betrayal, only people like you can do that to me. I fear being jealous of other people; because I indicate to myself that I am not being grateful for what I do have. I fear loss: of trust and of respect.
You can have as many fears as you want. But I've learnt that after seeing a black cat and winding up abducted by aliens… after walking under a ladder to find a zombie waiting for you on the other side… after encountering a giant moth and having a sook…
Make sure you have people, or maybe just one person who's sure to either
(a) save you, or
(b) comfort you after you've saved yourself
They're better than band aids, Panadols and cough syrup put together.
P.S. Yes, I am dreadfully scared of moths!
Friday 13 July 2007
Four seasons of reasons
People come into our lives; some for a reason, some for a season and some for a lifetime… it is important to know the difference - Linda Oprica
I've comforted enough friends after fallouts with their ex boyfriend, ex girlfriend or ex best friend to tire of a certain excuse.
'If you know you deserve better, then why are you still with him?'
'Because we've been through so much together'
'If you know she's manipulating you then why do you put up with it?'
'Because we've been through so much together'
'If you don't love him then why are you still with him?'
'Because we've been through so much together'
So you get the drift - but I get the tidal wave. Is it just me, or was I sleeping under a rock when it became an unspoken rule that
Thou shall put up with people and their shite if 365 suns hath set.
If you think you're the only one suffering mistreatment, think again. As supportive friends, we suffer with you. It hurts us to see that someone we love can't stand on their own two feet, and use them to walk away. A sane person wouldn't jump in a pool of piranhas, and nor would a sane person allow someone to drain them mentally, emotionally and spiritually. Just because he/she has been doing it for the past year doesn't mean that it 'might as well' keep going for more.
Some people hoard rubbish, some people hoard people. Just because you've escaped the headlines on A Current Affair and Today Tonight, doesn't make you any better than they are. So before you ask yourself why people suffering from Obsessive Compulsive Disorder hoard broken furniture, food scraps and old newspapers - what kind of skeletons are you hiding in your closet?
Letting go of someone does not make you a user-abuser. It's realising that some relationships weren't meant to last forever. Sometimes the best gift anyone can give you is a lesson - and not the hanging around.
Thankyou to my primary school friend Jessica Tearal, who taught me in kindergarten that you're allowed to play with the people in year two, and that your best friend can also be a boy. Thankyou to Emma Grabowski who gave me the opportunity of going on a holiday to Terrigal, and the memory of mastering a dance routine from Bring It On. Thankyou to Brooke Clarke who continually reminded me that I was skinny - no matter how fat I thought I was in year eight, who showed me how interesting the deaf community can be, and the memory of buying identical glittery gypsy tops of a different colour from Supre. Thankyou to Orathine Gaybian (I forgot your real last name) who taught me that timing can determine everything. I no longer, or barely talk to all of these people.
Who remembers doing clay work back in art class? I remember my teacher telling me that over working the clay can cause it to become 'tired'. There comes a point when it will crack in places you try to smooth down, no matter how much water you add. A good artist knows when to stop playing with the same piece of clay and move on. The same goes for people.
Friday 6 July 2007
Celebrate Singledom
I love writing. But it has its limitations. If words could say it all, there would be no need for art, no need for music. It could be the crescendo or diminuendo of a song, a particular drum line, the syncopation of a jazz beat… that tug at our heartstrings and bring to life a montage of graveyard memories; with a movie like quality, and yet recognised as our own. Yet the songs that conjure up such memories are proof that just because we buried them, doesn't mean they're dead.
Take the song All My Life by KC and JoJo. It reminds me of those teeny bopper relationships back in junior high school. All my life I prayed for someone like you. And I thank God that I finally found you. At this stage the boys were just sprouting their first underarm hairs, and the girls were still giggling about the pros and cons of tampons. I think that for the sake of adolescence, someone should compose a rendition titled All My Infancy.
Then I have the songs that remind me of ex/boyfriends and their ex girlfriends. Just because the song was ruined by you and your failed relationship with her, why should I stop belting it out on karaoke, as I sing in the shower, as I walk around the house looking for the remote? And that's when I promised myself that come future relationships, I will not deprive my partner the joy of singing randomly. Because to speak of it would give the song an importance that it should no longer have.
You know you've moved on when you can listen to the song without setting fire to the stereo, bash your head against the wall, or dart to the other side of the world. So before deeming yourself ready for a new relationship and burying the old one (and the songs associated) - please make sure it's dead. Because new girlfriends don't appreciate zombies calling you in the middle of the night, bawling their eyes out claiming they still love you.
I've heard of boyfriends that refuse to have their girlfriends listen to Irreplaceable by Beyonce. Are you that insecure that she'll gain the confidence to leave you? It speaks volumes about the trust of your relationship, sorry - I mean relationSHIT.
So you get my point. But I bring this up because listening to Never Again by Kelly Clarkson made me wonder why songs like that aren't released just when I need them most. It's just my luck that my breaks up periods are filled with the chart release of lovey dovey anthems. Hence, I struggled during my Seven Stages of Grief - especially when it came to the Anger stage.
So not to miss out on an important life experience, (the one where you build a strong connection between break up experience and Australian music chart) would you believe that I considered breaking up with my boyfriend? As I considered myself a lunatic over the next couple of days, I found comfort in a statistic while listening to the radio:
After listening to a song, 1 in 10 people surveyed ended their current relationship.
And you know what I thought? Good. On. Them. I'm sure that it was not the catchy tune that caused them to break up with their partner, but because the song externalised everything that was already on their mind.
Maybe I was taking Nelly Furtado's All Good Things too personally or too literally - the line 'lovers to friends, why do all good things come to an end?' angering me. What if they're better off as friends anyway? What if the guy was violent? What if the girl didn't appreciate him?
Upon bumping into old friends and inquiring about their love life, my immediate response to the news of a break up was always 'Awww' - purely because I didn't know any other way to react. Why aren't we congratulated for ending relationSHITS with Queen Bitch or Sir-Sex-A-Lot? Why are break ups treated as a tragedy? Surely half of them should be the cause for celebration.
So, today I am turning over a new leaf. And to anyone whose experienced a recent break up, or embracing singledom with open arms…
CONGRATULATIONS!
Take the song All My Life by KC and JoJo. It reminds me of those teeny bopper relationships back in junior high school. All my life I prayed for someone like you. And I thank God that I finally found you. At this stage the boys were just sprouting their first underarm hairs, and the girls were still giggling about the pros and cons of tampons. I think that for the sake of adolescence, someone should compose a rendition titled All My Infancy.
Then I have the songs that remind me of ex/boyfriends and their ex girlfriends. Just because the song was ruined by you and your failed relationship with her, why should I stop belting it out on karaoke, as I sing in the shower, as I walk around the house looking for the remote? And that's when I promised myself that come future relationships, I will not deprive my partner the joy of singing randomly. Because to speak of it would give the song an importance that it should no longer have.
You know you've moved on when you can listen to the song without setting fire to the stereo, bash your head against the wall, or dart to the other side of the world. So before deeming yourself ready for a new relationship and burying the old one (and the songs associated) - please make sure it's dead. Because new girlfriends don't appreciate zombies calling you in the middle of the night, bawling their eyes out claiming they still love you.
I've heard of boyfriends that refuse to have their girlfriends listen to Irreplaceable by Beyonce. Are you that insecure that she'll gain the confidence to leave you? It speaks volumes about the trust of your relationship, sorry - I mean relationSHIT.
So you get my point. But I bring this up because listening to Never Again by Kelly Clarkson made me wonder why songs like that aren't released just when I need them most. It's just my luck that my breaks up periods are filled with the chart release of lovey dovey anthems. Hence, I struggled during my Seven Stages of Grief - especially when it came to the Anger stage.
So not to miss out on an important life experience, (the one where you build a strong connection between break up experience and Australian music chart) would you believe that I considered breaking up with my boyfriend? As I considered myself a lunatic over the next couple of days, I found comfort in a statistic while listening to the radio:
After listening to a song, 1 in 10 people surveyed ended their current relationship.
And you know what I thought? Good. On. Them. I'm sure that it was not the catchy tune that caused them to break up with their partner, but because the song externalised everything that was already on their mind.
Maybe I was taking Nelly Furtado's All Good Things too personally or too literally - the line 'lovers to friends, why do all good things come to an end?' angering me. What if they're better off as friends anyway? What if the guy was violent? What if the girl didn't appreciate him?
Upon bumping into old friends and inquiring about their love life, my immediate response to the news of a break up was always 'Awww' - purely because I didn't know any other way to react. Why aren't we congratulated for ending relationSHITS with Queen Bitch or Sir-Sex-A-Lot? Why are break ups treated as a tragedy? Surely half of them should be the cause for celebration.
So, today I am turning over a new leaf. And to anyone whose experienced a recent break up, or embracing singledom with open arms…
CONGRATULATIONS!
Tuesday 19 June 2007
Self validation
SINCE WHEN did it become acceptable for bright, young girls to portray themselves so proudly in a negative light?
Let's get one embarrassing fact out of the way. We're all suckers for Myspace. Even the people who don't have an account, either…
* had one and deleted it
* use a friend's password to get in
* restrict themselves to browsing public profiles
Is it just me, or is there a growing trend of girls degrading themselves conceitedly on Myspace profiles? Things such as…
"I'm a quarter Filo, half Spanish, an eighth German, two thirds of one sixteenth Chinese…half a fifth Peurto Rican"
(If only you spent half as much energy doing your maths homework, as you do concocting a very creative family history. You've just redefined the term lowest common denominator in my books!)
"I enjoy the simple things in life; by the way here's my wish list…
$43789658643 Tsubi frying pan… $4534576 Gucci toothpaste…"
(I think the word you were looking for is materialistic!)
"I love God… so who's ready to get Smashed at Joe's 21st on Saturday night, anyone know where I can get fake ID's?"
(Which God? I'm sure the other lowest common denominators are just dying to know!)
"Ewww I'm so ugly!"
(Yep, that explains why you've posted forty photographs of yourself, thirty nine with cleavage. Nice job!)
It seems as though self respect was lost somewhere between logging in and personalising one's profile for the first time. Who are they trying to please? Claiming to be the 'life of the party' and 'queen of the dance floor' doesn't stand too firmly when there's another million girls declaring the same title. And if so, my dream scenario would be hosting 'The Annual Life of the Party and Queen of the Dance Floor Party' – and watch all these female ego maniacs fight for attention with one another.
And then there are the people who literally name their friends like a shopping list, with a little dedication to add some sense of credibility. There's a girl I know. Let's name her Tammie*. She was a few grades above me. She was polite and shy – to the extent that I had never seen her face produce more than three facial expressions. That was then. Now she hangs around party goers, clubbers, luvos, drinkers, smokers, druggers. Which makes me wonder, was she always like that, and just dominated by other girls in her group? Or has Tammie transformed herself, and befriended herself with people who don't know the girl she was, or secretly is? What does it say about someone's loyalty to their new best friend of two weeks, having recently forsaken their high school bestie of six years?
After our clubbing years are over; and by the time our grandkids have managed to produce a style of unheard of music; by the time wrinkles have gotten the best of us; after realising that Insight doesn't stock sleeping gowns for the elderly…
While the nerds have billion dollar companies, investment homes, and a good credit history - let me ask you this: where will you be?
Still chasing for the latest runway trends? Still partying? I wonder if the young ones would approve of Piss-Ups-For-Pensions.
I believe that for every criticism, the individual is compensating for at least two insecurities of their own. I am not criticising – but merely sharing observations. I'm not the dance floor diva, and I'm not the self confessed bitch… so someone's got to be the observant wallflower, right? And in this instance, that person is me.
For all you know, panning people on Myspace is the only thing that gets me through my struggle for identity – wanting to go to the very parties that the lowest common denominators go to, and angry at myself for lacking the willpower to stop reading eight hundred page novels.
Let's get one embarrassing fact out of the way. We're all suckers for Myspace. Even the people who don't have an account, either…
* had one and deleted it
* use a friend's password to get in
* restrict themselves to browsing public profiles
Is it just me, or is there a growing trend of girls degrading themselves conceitedly on Myspace profiles? Things such as…
"I'm a quarter Filo, half Spanish, an eighth German, two thirds of one sixteenth Chinese…half a fifth Peurto Rican"
(If only you spent half as much energy doing your maths homework, as you do concocting a very creative family history. You've just redefined the term lowest common denominator in my books!)
"I enjoy the simple things in life; by the way here's my wish list…
$43789658643 Tsubi frying pan… $4534576 Gucci toothpaste…"
(I think the word you were looking for is materialistic!)
"I love God… so who's ready to get Smashed at Joe's 21st on Saturday night, anyone know where I can get fake ID's?"
(Which God? I'm sure the other lowest common denominators are just dying to know!)
"Ewww I'm so ugly!"
(Yep, that explains why you've posted forty photographs of yourself, thirty nine with cleavage. Nice job!)
It seems as though self respect was lost somewhere between logging in and personalising one's profile for the first time. Who are they trying to please? Claiming to be the 'life of the party' and 'queen of the dance floor' doesn't stand too firmly when there's another million girls declaring the same title. And if so, my dream scenario would be hosting 'The Annual Life of the Party and Queen of the Dance Floor Party' – and watch all these female ego maniacs fight for attention with one another.
And then there are the people who literally name their friends like a shopping list, with a little dedication to add some sense of credibility. There's a girl I know. Let's name her Tammie*. She was a few grades above me. She was polite and shy – to the extent that I had never seen her face produce more than three facial expressions. That was then. Now she hangs around party goers, clubbers, luvos, drinkers, smokers, druggers. Which makes me wonder, was she always like that, and just dominated by other girls in her group? Or has Tammie transformed herself, and befriended herself with people who don't know the girl she was, or secretly is? What does it say about someone's loyalty to their new best friend of two weeks, having recently forsaken their high school bestie of six years?
After our clubbing years are over; and by the time our grandkids have managed to produce a style of unheard of music; by the time wrinkles have gotten the best of us; after realising that Insight doesn't stock sleeping gowns for the elderly…
While the nerds have billion dollar companies, investment homes, and a good credit history - let me ask you this: where will you be?
Still chasing for the latest runway trends? Still partying? I wonder if the young ones would approve of Piss-Ups-For-Pensions.
I believe that for every criticism, the individual is compensating for at least two insecurities of their own. I am not criticising – but merely sharing observations. I'm not the dance floor diva, and I'm not the self confessed bitch… so someone's got to be the observant wallflower, right? And in this instance, that person is me.
For all you know, panning people on Myspace is the only thing that gets me through my struggle for identity – wanting to go to the very parties that the lowest common denominators go to, and angry at myself for lacking the willpower to stop reading eight hundred page novels.
Wednesday 2 May 2007
Only some boys will always be boys. The rest become Men.
Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall.
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.
All the kings horses and all the kings men…
Called up their Big Brothers, Asian gangsta's, Fully Sick Wog's, and Islander mates to come down as quickly as possible, and bring as many cousins along with them as possible.
If anything, fairytales are the old wives tales about how their husband used to read their kids stories like Goldilocks and the Three Bears, The Three Little Pigs and Humpty Dumpty before going to bed. Because these days it seems that we're bringing up a generation of smart asses. And as if that wasn't bad enough, we're teaching them the fine art of death staring other smart asses - so they can meet up at hotspots like Redfern, Cabramatta and Macquarie Fields to stab each other (or so the news tells me).
I was on the train once, and these old men started fighting about who Australia belonged to - the Aborigines or the Europeans.
'Go back to your own country'
'This is our country now so f*ck off!'
Another time, a big, buff guy was assaulting a smaller, skinnier guy for 'staring' at him. He went as far as pushing the guy down the stairs and smashing a window, of which the glass almost injured a lady sitting nearby. (Unless the guy had eyes on the side of his head, I could have sworn that there was no staring whatsoever).
It just goes to show that we haven't come very far from our barbaric ancestors.
Abner Doubleday invented baseball in 1939. He'd be ashamed to see that in 2007 we're using baseball bats to 'f*cking smash the f*cking cunt over the f*cking head'.
Two million years ago it was most likely a woman who invented the knife! Of which, was given to her husband as a birthday gift for conveniently stabbing other men who posed as a threat. Oh sorry, that's nowadays. It was mainly used for preparing food.
The side that gets their older brothers to fight their battles is no better than the side who decides to use knives. As far as I'm concerned, they're both as pathetic as one another. It defeats the purpose of gaining respect nor revenge; it becomes a matter of which side can out-power the other. And in the end, respect becomes an even farther cry and revenge is only fuelled. It just goes to show, you can't fight fire with fire.
People are too busy living in their own little self absorbed worlds, too selfish, and too damn concerned about the East and the West, Liverpool Boys and Bonnyrigg Boys, Asians and Aussie's etc; that they can't see the bigger picture. So picture this. And feast your mind on a world with problems bigger than yours: Pollution. Disease. Poverty. Starvation. (Yes, world! Not a playground, a park, or an alleyway).
I can't wait till age forces people like these to grow up. So when they know what it's like to have kids and want to protect them from the harsh world, they'll know the fear they struck into the friends and families of the victims they targeted. So when they have a mortgage to pay, mounting debts, school fees and taxes - they'll get a taste of the poverty they never cared to notice before. So when they know what it's like to lose someone dear - they'll know what it was like for friends and family of their victim, see someone they love robbed of the qualities that made them alive: happiness, security, potential.
At the same time, pity stops me from hating anyone. I'd like to think that each and every one of us has a good side and a bad side. It's just that some people let their bad side get the better of them. I'd like to think that for every vengeful gang member, there's a death that was never properly grieved. I'd like to think that for every violent aggressor, there was a tough childhood. I'd like to think that for every alcoholic, there's a weakness, a fear of dealing with reality any other way.
Thankyou Martin Luther King. I couldn't have said it better myself.
And people wonder why attaining world peace is so difficult; we refuse to even get along in the suburbs. So God help the innocent victim, but more so the aggressor.
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.
All the kings horses and all the kings men…
Called up their Big Brothers, Asian gangsta's, Fully Sick Wog's, and Islander mates to come down as quickly as possible, and bring as many cousins along with them as possible.
If anything, fairytales are the old wives tales about how their husband used to read their kids stories like Goldilocks and the Three Bears, The Three Little Pigs and Humpty Dumpty before going to bed. Because these days it seems that we're bringing up a generation of smart asses. And as if that wasn't bad enough, we're teaching them the fine art of death staring other smart asses - so they can meet up at hotspots like Redfern, Cabramatta and Macquarie Fields to stab each other (or so the news tells me).
I was on the train once, and these old men started fighting about who Australia belonged to - the Aborigines or the Europeans.
'Go back to your own country'
'This is our country now so f*ck off!'
Another time, a big, buff guy was assaulting a smaller, skinnier guy for 'staring' at him. He went as far as pushing the guy down the stairs and smashing a window, of which the glass almost injured a lady sitting nearby. (Unless the guy had eyes on the side of his head, I could have sworn that there was no staring whatsoever).
It just goes to show that we haven't come very far from our barbaric ancestors.
Abner Doubleday invented baseball in 1939. He'd be ashamed to see that in 2007 we're using baseball bats to 'f*cking smash the f*cking cunt over the f*cking head'.
Two million years ago it was most likely a woman who invented the knife! Of which, was given to her husband as a birthday gift for conveniently stabbing other men who posed as a threat. Oh sorry, that's nowadays. It was mainly used for preparing food.
The side that gets their older brothers to fight their battles is no better than the side who decides to use knives. As far as I'm concerned, they're both as pathetic as one another. It defeats the purpose of gaining respect nor revenge; it becomes a matter of which side can out-power the other. And in the end, respect becomes an even farther cry and revenge is only fuelled. It just goes to show, you can't fight fire with fire.
People are too busy living in their own little self absorbed worlds, too selfish, and too damn concerned about the East and the West, Liverpool Boys and Bonnyrigg Boys, Asians and Aussie's etc; that they can't see the bigger picture. So picture this. And feast your mind on a world with problems bigger than yours: Pollution. Disease. Poverty. Starvation. (Yes, world! Not a playground, a park, or an alleyway).
I can't wait till age forces people like these to grow up. So when they know what it's like to have kids and want to protect them from the harsh world, they'll know the fear they struck into the friends and families of the victims they targeted. So when they have a mortgage to pay, mounting debts, school fees and taxes - they'll get a taste of the poverty they never cared to notice before. So when they know what it's like to lose someone dear - they'll know what it was like for friends and family of their victim, see someone they love robbed of the qualities that made them alive: happiness, security, potential.
At the same time, pity stops me from hating anyone. I'd like to think that each and every one of us has a good side and a bad side. It's just that some people let their bad side get the better of them. I'd like to think that for every vengeful gang member, there's a death that was never properly grieved. I'd like to think that for every violent aggressor, there was a tough childhood. I'd like to think that for every alcoholic, there's a weakness, a fear of dealing with reality any other way.
Thankyou Martin Luther King. I couldn't have said it better myself.
The ultimate weakness of violence is that it is a descending spiral begetting the very thing it seeks to destroy. Instead of diminishing evil, it multiplies it. Through violence you may murder the liar but you cannot murder the lie, nor establish the truth. Through violence you murder the hater, but you do not murder hate... Returning violence for violence multiplies violence, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out darkness, only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate, only love can do that.
And people wonder why attaining world peace is so difficult; we refuse to even get along in the suburbs. So God help the innocent victim, but more so the aggressor.
Sunday 8 April 2007
Soulmates: Fact or Fiction?
Up until the age of seven, if I wasn't eating, crying or sleeping - I was watching Disney videos of The Swan Princess, Snow White, Cinderella, Aladdin, Robin Hood, Beauty & the Beast, etc. Which believe me, is more than enough time for a girl to convince herself that soulmates were the person you married. That was until I grew up. Come the 21st century with divorce rates and promiscuity on the rise; combined with the growing acceptance of both - I couldn't help but think otherwise.
So when you do the maths and 1+1 still equals 1 (one man + one woman = one soul), the prospect of landing on a single definition of 'soulmate' doesn't look too promising.
Under the concept of Greek mythology, humans had four arms, four legs, and one head with two faces. Zeus (God of sky and thunder) divided each creature in two, condemning humanity as we know it, to a life long search for their other half. It was the act of intercourse that made them 'complete'. Taking this from a religious angle, Lana said that 'when God made us he made someone to match, sort of like Adam and Eve'.
For argument's sake, let's say that we're all destined for one person out there. Based on the chances of probability, a few good million are bound to die due to car accidents, disease, murder etc. What if your soulmate is one of them? What then, is the point of living if the person meant to 'complete' you is no longer alive?
I on the other hand, used to take offence to such a belief, which placed romance as the border between a meaningful and meaningless life. I thought it substantiated single people to feel worthless and committed people to act clingy.
But now I realise that like alcohol, this notion has the potential to be destructive. For example, I'd never date Mr. Suicidal, or encourage girls in abusive relationships to stay with her boyfriend in the name of 'love'. Hence why I believe that there is nothing more admirable than a person who, regardless of how much they love their partner, love themselves enough to leave a bad relationship.
Have you ever locked eyes with a stranger but felt like you've known them your whole life? Why of course not! That crapola only happens in the movies right? Well hear this… In accordance to the Hindu notion of karma - couples are reincarnated in order to resolve problems carried over from their previous life. So if you and your partner still have issues outstanding from your past life, destiny will unite you together again in the hope of reaching a resolution or learning a lesson. So maybe the reason why you're so in love during this lifetime is because you didn't love each other enough before. But being the 2 minute noodle generation that we are - expect everything to be as instant as powdered mash potato. So if you're in one of those on-again-off-again relationships, who's to say your love life won't flourish in the next?
I was rather awakened to my senses when Danny said "If you had a soulmate why would you fall in love with other people? Wouldn't you just fall for the person who's your soulmate?". In a society where you can fall in love with more than one person, how do you differentiate between a multitude of lovers and your ultimate soulmate? Perhaps we've got it all wrong. Maybe this whole soulmate thing is a 'state of mind'. Aileen says "you can have that soulmate connection with a couple of people during your life".
Why is that with bumping into old friends 'it's a small world'? But when it comes to finding your soulmate the world is suddenly big again. Amanda said that finding "one person out of a population of 6billion is farfetched". In agreement, John believed in soulmates but perhaps "they're on the other side of the world, you have to travel the world to find them". So what hope does that hold for us who can't afford to fund such a search? (Applying for next season's The Amazing Race is sounding like a good idea!).
In the brutally honest words of Joseph and Jasmin: "when you're single or in a bad relationship you tend not to believe in soulmates… but when you're in a good relationship you're more likely to believe in them again".
And me? Well, I believe in the ability to love more than one person in your life, even a few at the same time. Because people change. And sometimes you find yourself forever in love with someone's old self. I'd say that my friends are the closest things I have to a soulmate, and even then - it's still not forever. I believe soulmates are merely an extreme form of monogamy. I believe that I am complete in all my wholeness, and lovers are there to accompany you on this wonderful thing called life!
So when you do the maths and 1+1 still equals 1 (one man + one woman = one soul), the prospect of landing on a single definition of 'soulmate' doesn't look too promising.
Under the concept of Greek mythology, humans had four arms, four legs, and one head with two faces. Zeus (God of sky and thunder) divided each creature in two, condemning humanity as we know it, to a life long search for their other half. It was the act of intercourse that made them 'complete'. Taking this from a religious angle, Lana said that 'when God made us he made someone to match, sort of like Adam and Eve'.
For argument's sake, let's say that we're all destined for one person out there. Based on the chances of probability, a few good million are bound to die due to car accidents, disease, murder etc. What if your soulmate is one of them? What then, is the point of living if the person meant to 'complete' you is no longer alive?
I on the other hand, used to take offence to such a belief, which placed romance as the border between a meaningful and meaningless life. I thought it substantiated single people to feel worthless and committed people to act clingy.
But now I realise that like alcohol, this notion has the potential to be destructive. For example, I'd never date Mr. Suicidal, or encourage girls in abusive relationships to stay with her boyfriend in the name of 'love'. Hence why I believe that there is nothing more admirable than a person who, regardless of how much they love their partner, love themselves enough to leave a bad relationship.
Have you ever locked eyes with a stranger but felt like you've known them your whole life? Why of course not! That crapola only happens in the movies right? Well hear this… In accordance to the Hindu notion of karma - couples are reincarnated in order to resolve problems carried over from their previous life. So if you and your partner still have issues outstanding from your past life, destiny will unite you together again in the hope of reaching a resolution or learning a lesson. So maybe the reason why you're so in love during this lifetime is because you didn't love each other enough before. But being the 2 minute noodle generation that we are - expect everything to be as instant as powdered mash potato. So if you're in one of those on-again-off-again relationships, who's to say your love life won't flourish in the next?
I was rather awakened to my senses when Danny said "If you had a soulmate why would you fall in love with other people? Wouldn't you just fall for the person who's your soulmate?". In a society where you can fall in love with more than one person, how do you differentiate between a multitude of lovers and your ultimate soulmate? Perhaps we've got it all wrong. Maybe this whole soulmate thing is a 'state of mind'. Aileen says "you can have that soulmate connection with a couple of people during your life".
Why is that with bumping into old friends 'it's a small world'? But when it comes to finding your soulmate the world is suddenly big again. Amanda said that finding "one person out of a population of 6billion is farfetched". In agreement, John believed in soulmates but perhaps "they're on the other side of the world, you have to travel the world to find them". So what hope does that hold for us who can't afford to fund such a search? (Applying for next season's The Amazing Race is sounding like a good idea!).
In the brutally honest words of Joseph and Jasmin: "when you're single or in a bad relationship you tend not to believe in soulmates… but when you're in a good relationship you're more likely to believe in them again".
And me? Well, I believe in the ability to love more than one person in your life, even a few at the same time. Because people change. And sometimes you find yourself forever in love with someone's old self. I'd say that my friends are the closest things I have to a soulmate, and even then - it's still not forever. I believe soulmates are merely an extreme form of monogamy. I believe that I am complete in all my wholeness, and lovers are there to accompany you on this wonderful thing called life!
I like the word soul. I like the word mates. Other than that, you got me! - Mr. Big in Sex & the City
Tuesday 6 March 2007
Suck Up, She Wrote
I've never been the girl to greet the faces of ten familiar acquaintances, just walking the dog. Nor was I ever the girl who had zilch number of playmates. My identity lay somewhere in the vastness between them. And I was satisfied understanding that much. Until recently.
Having graduated from MSN-aholics Annonymous about two years ago, I know a thing or two about display names. Thus far, I have come across five major kinds:
(1) The girl who advertises her blog site. Yes, that would be me!
eg: love-NOELINE.blogdrive.com
(2) The Plain Jane displaying just their name. They're so popular they need not any artificial fonts, colours, dots, brackets etc. to have people talk to them.
eg: John
(3) The goons addicted to Character Map. Their names are so hard to read I'd have more chances deciphering ancient sea scrolls.
eg: (I'm not even going to waste my time making one up, but you all know what I mean!)
(4) The social chameleons. Just as the chameleon will alternate their colours in a lifetime, these people will change their display names in a day.
eg: BARRY IS A CHAMP. FRED IS MY BEST FRIEND. HANNAH YOU'RE A BABE. DAN I'M ALWAYS HERE FOR YOU NO MATTER WHAT.
(… two minutes later) SALLY AND I ARE PARTY FREAKS. DOMZKIE IS A LOSER! DW I STILL LOVE YA. SHANNON AND JOHN AND MARY MAKE A HOT THREESOME.
(5) The smitten, head over heels in puppy love - type people. Most will flaunt an extravagant arrangement of love hearts (<3 and s2), anniversary dates, lyrics from love songs etc. Fret not, for this method does have it's advantages!
Gone are the days where it could take as long a year for people to realise the end of your coupledom… when you've got an MSN nickname for all to see?!
eg: Mary s2's John 24.4.03 [forever and ever babe] No one else comes close to you.
to
Mary
Having always been most intrigued by display name numero 5, I decided to conduct an experiment of my own. I always wondered whether the last example worked. Would genuinely depressed people post such a thing on the internet? (If so, I suggest that all accounts be compulsorily fitted with a contact from the Kids Helpline!) I couldn't help but perceive these people as attention seekers. Their real life counterparts are the idiots who cut themselves and flaunt it like the new black. Is that a paradox I can smell?
And do all of ones contacts really 'FUCK OFFFFFF'? Because like you're average classroom, there's that kid that will do exactly the opposite of what is asked of them.
A few weeks ago, as some of you may be aware, my display name went from example number 1, to example number 5 - and then some. My display names were along the lines of
"YOU COULD HAVE BEEN THE ONE. I HATE MYSELF. I JUST WANNA DIE! I FEEL SO DEPRESSED!" to "THE PAST 15 MONTHS MEANT NOTHING TO ME! I HATE YOU! EVERYONE JUST FUCKING LEAVE ME ALONE PLEAAAASEEEE!!!"
…all whilst annoyingly signing in and out simultaneously.
In the span of one minute I had 17 random people instigated a conversation with me. Not friends. Randoms! The kind of people who pulled my email address from the magician's hat, or friends of friends I don't talk to. These people were suddenly regurgitating phrases like 'I'm always here for you' and 'Tell me what happened, you can trust me'.
And that's when I realised that these 17 'trustworthy' randoms were only there for me for reasons beyond (or should I say below?) genuine concern. They did not care about the status of my relationship, geez they didn't even know the name of my boyfriend. Like the tabloid hungry paparazzi, most of these people just wanted to be the early bird on the latest gossip.
"THANKYOU TO THE 17 RANDOMS WHO ASKED IF I WAS OK. I KNOW WE HARDLY TALK BUT IT'S NICE TO KNOW I HAVE 'FRIENDS' IN CASE I'M EVER EMO"
So here's my verdict. Real friends have your phone number, not just your e-mail address. Real friends are there for you when you're distraught; and even more so when you're jubilant. The social experiment taught me that not only are there fair weather friends, but also gloomy weather friends. Watch out for both.
Having graduated from MSN-aholics Annonymous about two years ago, I know a thing or two about display names. Thus far, I have come across five major kinds:
(1) The girl who advertises her blog site. Yes, that would be me!
eg: love-NOELINE.blogdrive.com
(2) The Plain Jane displaying just their name. They're so popular they need not any artificial fonts, colours, dots, brackets etc. to have people talk to them.
eg: John
(3) The goons addicted to Character Map. Their names are so hard to read I'd have more chances deciphering ancient sea scrolls.
eg: (I'm not even going to waste my time making one up, but you all know what I mean!)
(4) The social chameleons. Just as the chameleon will alternate their colours in a lifetime, these people will change their display names in a day.
eg: BARRY IS A CHAMP. FRED IS MY BEST FRIEND. HANNAH YOU'RE A BABE. DAN I'M ALWAYS HERE FOR YOU NO MATTER WHAT.
(… two minutes later) SALLY AND I ARE PARTY FREAKS. DOMZKIE IS A LOSER! DW I STILL LOVE YA. SHANNON AND JOHN AND MARY MAKE A HOT THREESOME.
(5) The smitten, head over heels in puppy love - type people. Most will flaunt an extravagant arrangement of love hearts (<3 and s2), anniversary dates, lyrics from love songs etc. Fret not, for this method does have it's advantages!
Gone are the days where it could take as long a year for people to realise the end of your coupledom… when you've got an MSN nickname for all to see?!
eg: Mary s2's John 24.4.03 [forever and ever babe] No one else comes close to you.
to
Mary
Having always been most intrigued by display name numero 5, I decided to conduct an experiment of my own. I always wondered whether the last example worked. Would genuinely depressed people post such a thing on the internet? (If so, I suggest that all accounts be compulsorily fitted with a contact from the Kids Helpline!) I couldn't help but perceive these people as attention seekers. Their real life counterparts are the idiots who cut themselves and flaunt it like the new black. Is that a paradox I can smell?
And do all of ones contacts really 'FUCK OFFFFFF'? Because like you're average classroom, there's that kid that will do exactly the opposite of what is asked of them.
A few weeks ago, as some of you may be aware, my display name went from example number 1, to example number 5 - and then some. My display names were along the lines of
"YOU COULD HAVE BEEN THE ONE. I HATE MYSELF. I JUST WANNA DIE! I FEEL SO DEPRESSED!" to "THE PAST 15 MONTHS MEANT NOTHING TO ME! I HATE YOU! EVERYONE JUST FUCKING LEAVE ME ALONE PLEAAAASEEEE!!!"
…all whilst annoyingly signing in and out simultaneously.
In the span of one minute I had 17 random people instigated a conversation with me. Not friends. Randoms! The kind of people who pulled my email address from the magician's hat, or friends of friends I don't talk to. These people were suddenly regurgitating phrases like 'I'm always here for you' and 'Tell me what happened, you can trust me'.
And that's when I realised that these 17 'trustworthy' randoms were only there for me for reasons beyond (or should I say below?) genuine concern. They did not care about the status of my relationship, geez they didn't even know the name of my boyfriend. Like the tabloid hungry paparazzi, most of these people just wanted to be the early bird on the latest gossip.
"THANKYOU TO THE 17 RANDOMS WHO ASKED IF I WAS OK. I KNOW WE HARDLY TALK BUT IT'S NICE TO KNOW I HAVE 'FRIENDS' IN CASE I'M EVER EMO"
So here's my verdict. Real friends have your phone number, not just your e-mail address. Real friends are there for you when you're distraught; and even more so when you're jubilant. The social experiment taught me that not only are there fair weather friends, but also gloomy weather friends. Watch out for both.
Saturday 27 January 2007
Just because
Have you ever seen a Miss-Drop-Dead-Gorgeous on a date with Mr-Ugly-With-Bad-Fashion-Sense and said to yourself "Why him?".
Have you ever seen your ex-boyfriend looking happy with his new girlfriend and for personal reasons asked yourself "Why her?".
… And suddenly we're that annoying little kid that questions everything.
I've noticed that most people will automatically search for the answer in all the wrong places: in the new girlfriend. We let the assumption that she's prettier, skinnier, bustier, funnier and smarter than us get to our head to the point that we undervalue ourselves.
So that my friends is my version of how Miss-Drop-Dead-Gorgeous wound up with Mr-Ugly-With-Bad-Fashion-Sense.
My boyfriend asked me whether I'd get offended if an ex looked at us and asked "Why her?" (insinuating that my boyfriend could do better than me). Surprisingly, my reply was 'No'; without myself knowing why - especially when most people would take something like this to heart.
Then, in one of those moments where a Miss Universe finalist gracefully answers an ordinary question from the top of her head (excluding "World Peace!" followed by an arresting smile) I expressed:
"Why me and not her? The answer would be you"
And that's when I realised that my answer lay not in my attributes compensating for her flaws - but in my boyfriend's change of heart.
Okay, so it's common sense that after breaking up with a liar and a cheater that you'd seek out someone honest and loyal. That much is true.
But their worth as a human being does not change. Because every partner will hurt you through some way or another - and ultimately the one you settle down with is someone who's worth the pain.
Have you ever seen your ex-boyfriend looking happy with his new girlfriend and for personal reasons asked yourself "Why her?".
… And suddenly we're that annoying little kid that questions everything.
I've noticed that most people will automatically search for the answer in all the wrong places: in the new girlfriend. We let the assumption that she's prettier, skinnier, bustier, funnier and smarter than us get to our head to the point that we undervalue ourselves.
So that my friends is my version of how Miss-Drop-Dead-Gorgeous wound up with Mr-Ugly-With-Bad-Fashion-Sense.
My boyfriend asked me whether I'd get offended if an ex looked at us and asked "Why her?" (insinuating that my boyfriend could do better than me). Surprisingly, my reply was 'No'; without myself knowing why - especially when most people would take something like this to heart.
Then, in one of those moments where a Miss Universe finalist gracefully answers an ordinary question from the top of her head (excluding "World Peace!" followed by an arresting smile) I expressed:
"Why me and not her? The answer would be you"
And that's when I realised that my answer lay not in my attributes compensating for her flaws - but in my boyfriend's change of heart.
Okay, so it's common sense that after breaking up with a liar and a cheater that you'd seek out someone honest and loyal. That much is true.
But their worth as a human being does not change. Because every partner will hurt you through some way or another - and ultimately the one you settle down with is someone who's worth the pain.
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