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.
Tuesday, 19 June 2007
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.
Saturday, 30 December 2006
WARNING! This entry may contain coarse rudity
There's a fine line between having the resilience to find your true love and being just plain rude.
After a whirlwind relationship, Sally Strawberry and Peter Peaches decided to call it quits. Quits to the life, the kids, the house… pretty much everything they planned to share while living out their perfectly concocted image of coupledom in foreverdom.
Later, Sally Strawberry moved on and started seeing a new guy – Gareth Grape. Everything was going well until Peter Peaches decided he wanted Sally Strawberry back.
So, Peter Peaches would call Sally Strawberry every now and then. He would bring up how good things used to be, how happy they made each other, asked why things couldn't go back to the way they used to be and where they'd be had things been done differently - 'hypothetically speaking', of course.
And how could we forget? The all so casual inquiry about the new person on the scene. How's… that guy, by the way? Or: Hope everything works out with that chick… whatever her name is. When they very well know what his/her name is. Probably even his/her nationality, school, age and reputation by asking around.
Some of us may relate to Sally Strawberry, caught between the intentions of an unrelenting old lover, and the innocence of a possible new, if not greater love.
Maybe you're a Gareth Grape, to have your chances rudely disrupted by someone's emergency case of: "I just realised he/she's The One so if you could get lost that would be great".
Others may identify with Peter Peaches, who will do anything, I mean anything for love.
But at what point does Peter Peaches stop being a ruthless romantic who would do anything to win back a soulmate, to a down right rude jerk who won't give the likes of Gareth grape a fair go?
I believe that the battlefield of love is a lot like a parking lot. And since most of us reading this are on our L's, even on our P's – the concept shouldn't be too difficult to understand. I don't care if you've parked here for a minute before me. I don't care if you've parked here for a year. I don't care if your ancestors have parked here for three consecutive generations. You took off and lost your spot. Why should relationships be any different?
So what's suddenly given rise to these hooligans thinking they can walk in and out of a relationship as they please?
Maybe it's the sight of seeing them happy with someone else. Maybe it's the realisation that what used to be is actually meant to be. In any case, it all comes down to one thing. RUDITY.
Rude because you've shitted all over the clean slate your ex partner has started with someone new.
It parades a lack of respect towards the new comer – who struggles to form a stable relationship because you refuse to let another one close; with your suggestive comments, desperate pleas and shifty reminiscences.
It stamps the word selfish on your forehead. You wouldn't want it happening to you, so why do it to someone else?
In the name of true love: move mountains, walk a thousand miles and cross the oceans all you like… but by all means DO NOT interfere with an ex until the coast is clear.
BE FAIR, OR BE SQUARE!
After a whirlwind relationship, Sally Strawberry and Peter Peaches decided to call it quits. Quits to the life, the kids, the house… pretty much everything they planned to share while living out their perfectly concocted image of coupledom in foreverdom.
Later, Sally Strawberry moved on and started seeing a new guy – Gareth Grape. Everything was going well until Peter Peaches decided he wanted Sally Strawberry back.
So, Peter Peaches would call Sally Strawberry every now and then. He would bring up how good things used to be, how happy they made each other, asked why things couldn't go back to the way they used to be and where they'd be had things been done differently - 'hypothetically speaking', of course.
And how could we forget? The all so casual inquiry about the new person on the scene. How's… that guy, by the way? Or: Hope everything works out with that chick… whatever her name is. When they very well know what his/her name is. Probably even his/her nationality, school, age and reputation by asking around.
Some of us may relate to Sally Strawberry, caught between the intentions of an unrelenting old lover, and the innocence of a possible new, if not greater love.
Maybe you're a Gareth Grape, to have your chances rudely disrupted by someone's emergency case of: "I just realised he/she's The One so if you could get lost that would be great".
Others may identify with Peter Peaches, who will do anything, I mean anything for love.
But at what point does Peter Peaches stop being a ruthless romantic who would do anything to win back a soulmate, to a down right rude jerk who won't give the likes of Gareth grape a fair go?
I believe that the battlefield of love is a lot like a parking lot. And since most of us reading this are on our L's, even on our P's – the concept shouldn't be too difficult to understand. I don't care if you've parked here for a minute before me. I don't care if you've parked here for a year. I don't care if your ancestors have parked here for three consecutive generations. You took off and lost your spot. Why should relationships be any different?
So what's suddenly given rise to these hooligans thinking they can walk in and out of a relationship as they please?
Maybe it's the sight of seeing them happy with someone else. Maybe it's the realisation that what used to be is actually meant to be. In any case, it all comes down to one thing. RUDITY.
Rude because you've shitted all over the clean slate your ex partner has started with someone new.
It parades a lack of respect towards the new comer – who struggles to form a stable relationship because you refuse to let another one close; with your suggestive comments, desperate pleas and shifty reminiscences.
It stamps the word selfish on your forehead. You wouldn't want it happening to you, so why do it to someone else?
In the name of true love: move mountains, walk a thousand miles and cross the oceans all you like… but by all means DO NOT interfere with an ex until the coast is clear.
BE FAIR, OR BE SQUARE!
I love Cameron Diaz, so I don't have a crush on Justin Timberlake. It's rude. I wouldn't like it if people had crushes on my boyfriend - Paris Hilton in Cosmopolitan (Feb 2007 issue)
Monday, 18 December 2006
My big fat greek Philia
Philia, means friendship in modern Greek, a dispassionate virtuous love, was a concept developed by Aristotle. It includes loyalty to friends, family, and community, and requires virtue, equality and familiarity.
They (including my art teacher) say that a boy and a girl can never be just friends. That since the pair get along so well, are bound for something more – a romantic connection down the road. I believe it's all a bunch of poppy-cock. Whoever said that was making friends with wrong members of the opposite sex.
I don't believe in Santa Claus, Fairies, Ghosts or Soulmates; but I do believe in the possibility of a heterosexual best friend relationship.
Men may come from Mars, and women may come from Venus – but here on Earth they can be seen walking down the street side by side – now how smashing's that eh?
A disadvantage is that you STILL cannot check out other guys. All you'll get is the usual "I don't know, I'm not gay!". Yet if there's a fat slob with snot running down his face, toddling with a more than visible ass crack will say: "Now there's one hell of an ugly mo'fucka!", without even being asked.
Now to the overweighing advantages. Drumroll please. You can ask all those simple and not no so simple questions about the male anatomy and receive a clear cut answer in return. For example:
> Is it true that the bass from a stereo can make your balls tingle?
> Do boys really get turned on by having his balls sucked
So on and so forth. Topics of which would cause a group of teenage girls into hysterics – you'd think they were betting on shares at Wall Street.
You also gain a boy eye perspective on things. They'll admit whether a girl is attractive, stuck-up or… beautiful. Like, how often do guys use that word – beautiful unless they're describing their mother's home made spaghetti? I speak on behalf on most girls out there that we regurgitate the word like no tomorrow. We meet some girl once and think she's beautiful. Another girl is beautiful because she thought we had a nice pair of killer heels. Don't even get me started on the word hot. Girls will call each other hot all the time to each others face and wn't even mean it half the time. It's like "Woops, I accidentally called her hot, I'll go bitch to my friends about her weird hair, her flat chest or her fat legs".
But the most important thing I've learnt from having a male best friend is this kind of love and concern that supersedes the romantic, sexual kind – it's somewhat purer and reassuring. The phrase 'I love you' is handled more responsibly then that in a girlfriend boyfriend relationship. In the times that they're said, are made without doubt, malice or regret. In the same way a couple will claim that they just know when they're in love, best friends will just know that it's nothing more, nothing less.
He won't treat you chivalrously, as good or bad as that may sound. To him you're one of the guys, and to you he's one of the girls. He'll grapple with you over something clenched in your hand until it hurts to fight back, will carry your bag if need be, but won't object to letting you carry his jacket while he walks around the auto show like a kid in the confectionery isle.
If a boyfriend told me never to speak with my best friend, along with other close guy friends, I'd tell him to find some mindless bitch who actually does everything her boyfriend would demand. Because if you date me, you date the whole caboodle – the family, the girlfriends and the best friend. There's no competition, the boyfriend and the boy friend are in a different race altogether.
They (including my art teacher) say that a boy and a girl can never be just friends. That since the pair get along so well, are bound for something more – a romantic connection down the road. I believe it's all a bunch of poppy-cock. Whoever said that was making friends with wrong members of the opposite sex.
I don't believe in Santa Claus, Fairies, Ghosts or Soulmates; but I do believe in the possibility of a heterosexual best friend relationship.
Men may come from Mars, and women may come from Venus – but here on Earth they can be seen walking down the street side by side – now how smashing's that eh?
A disadvantage is that you STILL cannot check out other guys. All you'll get is the usual "I don't know, I'm not gay!". Yet if there's a fat slob with snot running down his face, toddling with a more than visible ass crack will say: "Now there's one hell of an ugly mo'fucka!", without even being asked.
Now to the overweighing advantages. Drumroll please. You can ask all those simple and not no so simple questions about the male anatomy and receive a clear cut answer in return. For example:
> Is it true that the bass from a stereo can make your balls tingle?
> Do boys really get turned on by having his balls sucked
So on and so forth. Topics of which would cause a group of teenage girls into hysterics – you'd think they were betting on shares at Wall Street.
You also gain a boy eye perspective on things. They'll admit whether a girl is attractive, stuck-up or… beautiful. Like, how often do guys use that word – beautiful unless they're describing their mother's home made spaghetti? I speak on behalf on most girls out there that we regurgitate the word like no tomorrow. We meet some girl once and think she's beautiful. Another girl is beautiful because she thought we had a nice pair of killer heels. Don't even get me started on the word hot. Girls will call each other hot all the time to each others face and wn't even mean it half the time. It's like "Woops, I accidentally called her hot, I'll go bitch to my friends about her weird hair, her flat chest or her fat legs".
But the most important thing I've learnt from having a male best friend is this kind of love and concern that supersedes the romantic, sexual kind – it's somewhat purer and reassuring. The phrase 'I love you' is handled more responsibly then that in a girlfriend boyfriend relationship. In the times that they're said, are made without doubt, malice or regret. In the same way a couple will claim that they just know when they're in love, best friends will just know that it's nothing more, nothing less.
He won't treat you chivalrously, as good or bad as that may sound. To him you're one of the guys, and to you he's one of the girls. He'll grapple with you over something clenched in your hand until it hurts to fight back, will carry your bag if need be, but won't object to letting you carry his jacket while he walks around the auto show like a kid in the confectionery isle.
If a boyfriend told me never to speak with my best friend, along with other close guy friends, I'd tell him to find some mindless bitch who actually does everything her boyfriend would demand. Because if you date me, you date the whole caboodle – the family, the girlfriends and the best friend. There's no competition, the boyfriend and the boy friend are in a different race altogether.
Tuesday, 28 November 2006
Girl Power?
There are two defining moments in a girls life. The first time she admits she's finally made real friends, and the first time she admits to herself that some of them would rather spend time with their boyfriends over her.
In primary school our best friends were the girls you played handball and netball with, the girls you belted out songs by the Spice Girls with, while puppetting mini Cabbage Patch Dolls on a stage made out of lunchboxes. By graduation, have we lost the plot?
Whatever happened to the dream of the girls only road trip? It was traded in for the vision of endless nights of undisturbed quality time with the boyfriend.
We've become a society of dumpers. Dumped the family for the friends who are so much cooler. Dumped the friends for the boyfriend who calls you beautiful. Funny thing is, your friends have been calling you just that for years. Being cheated on by a boyfriend sounds like spilt milk compared to this kind of ultimate betrayal. It makes me not want to make a new friend again.
Don't get me wrong. I'm happy for the friends in love, the friends who've loved and the friends anticipating love. But personally, if love means that I'll subconsciously end up abandoning my family and friends – no thanks, maybe next lifetime.
I've never been one to make my boyfriend my best friend. So maybe I've risked my chances of ever finding a 'soulmate' but the comfort of friendship is so much more reassuring to me.
I'm safe when I'm in a relationship and know that if we broke up, I'd have someone to call in the middle of the night who'll listen to me through sobs about why it had to come to this.
Romeo and Juliet ain't got shit on Romy and Michelle.
In primary school our best friends were the girls you played handball and netball with, the girls you belted out songs by the Spice Girls with, while puppetting mini Cabbage Patch Dolls on a stage made out of lunchboxes. By graduation, have we lost the plot?
Whatever happened to the dream of the girls only road trip? It was traded in for the vision of endless nights of undisturbed quality time with the boyfriend.
We've become a society of dumpers. Dumped the family for the friends who are so much cooler. Dumped the friends for the boyfriend who calls you beautiful. Funny thing is, your friends have been calling you just that for years. Being cheated on by a boyfriend sounds like spilt milk compared to this kind of ultimate betrayal. It makes me not want to make a new friend again.
Don't get me wrong. I'm happy for the friends in love, the friends who've loved and the friends anticipating love. But personally, if love means that I'll subconsciously end up abandoning my family and friends – no thanks, maybe next lifetime.
I've never been one to make my boyfriend my best friend. So maybe I've risked my chances of ever finding a 'soulmate' but the comfort of friendship is so much more reassuring to me.
I'm safe when I'm in a relationship and know that if we broke up, I'd have someone to call in the middle of the night who'll listen to me through sobs about why it had to come to this.
Romeo and Juliet ain't got shit on Romy and Michelle.
Sunday, 29 October 2006
My creative writing task for English Extension
Topic: Australian mateship, spirituality and identity.
Rantuk lies devastated on the dirt floor. A worm wriggles its way out of the sockets of a rotting bird only a few metres away. The land around her is still, where there used to be children frolicking only a few hours prior. Her piercing wails speak on one level too many. Not only did no one dare to intrude on her moment of agony, but even the wind dared not to blow too hard. For it was evident she was going through enough pain as is. She asks 'Why?' in her native tongue, but no one is there.
3,300 miles away, Bertha tells the kids to hurry up before their father 'loses it'. After all, church with the mumbly-jumbly priest - as her son Aroona would put it, begins in ten minutes.
- - -
I hate shoelaces. I think they're stupid. Mum won't let me wear my slip ons because we have to enter the house of God in our Sunday Best. More like Sunday Stupid if you ask me.
Dad beeps the horn. The bloody horn. That's when I know he's real cranky. But it aint my fault I'm only darn five years old. It's not my fault I can't feel as well as they can!
I can't wait to be a grown up. No one to boss me around. Bein' old should be easy-peasy-japanesey.
Inside the church the mumbly-jumbly priest jabs on. I dunno if he's using big words or just talking funny. It takes ages and my bum starts to hurt.
But I'll let you in on a secret. If ya listen real closely, and ignore them old people breathing loudly, or the one time I heard someone snoring – I like to listen to the birds outside. And the rustling of the trees in the wind.
But sometimes I listen a lil too closely. You see, I start hearing this voice. A woman. She sounds upset.
- - -
Come to me. To where you belong. Come outside.
- - -
Sometimes I tell her to go away. Other times I ask her what she's talking about. But then my big brother Aarron tells me to shut the flamin' hell up. Then mum tells him to shoosh.
- - -
Ssssson! Come to meee pleassssse. Pleasssse. Before it'sssss too late.
- - -
I thought about finding the snake. Maybe it was lost. Bugger it, I thought. It was just my imaginalem… imagilation. What was that word again?
In the morning the snake was gone. Thank God. But the bread for breakfast tasted stale and yukky. Dad sad to quit complaining because other kids like me have no bread to eat, that I'm luckier than them.
Mum told him to 'quit while he's ahead'. I dunno what she's going on about. First blasphemy and now this.
I wonder what dad meant by 'like other kids'. Maybe it's because they don't have shoes with shoelaces or a Sunday Best.
After breakfast I go outside and take my shoes off from the house when I reach the grass. I love the feel of the grass under my feet. It tickles!
Mum says it's dirty. Dirt schmirt. I dun' care.
I don't like the games Aarron plays. I think balls and paper aeroplanes are boring. He says I'm too stupid to understand flying.
I hear the voice again. I follow it. 'I'm coming!' I say. She probably needs help.
- - -
Son, you're almost home. Please come. Before it's too late.
- - -
Two nine year old boys approach Aroona.
'So you hold him down, while I do the work?' says one familiar voice.
'All's fair in rock-paper-scissors', says another.
'Hurry up, he's already walking away', says the first voice.
Aroona is thrown to the ground and feels a sharp pain in his back. There is rustling, not of trees but of struggle.
Die you stupid blind Abo! Die! Die! Die! Another voice laughs.
- - -
Aarron, is that you?
- - -
The two boys, Aarron and his friend hear the loud wailing of a woman. They look around. No one is there. Scared, they flee, leaving Aroona to die.
- - -
Aarron, is that you? What's a blind Abo? Can you call mum, I don't feel too good. What's a blind Ab… Ab…
- - -
If you listen closely outside you can hear the wailing of a woman, mourning the loss of her son. 'WHY?', she cries. But no one is there.
Rantuk lies devastated on the dirt floor. A worm wriggles its way out of the sockets of a rotting bird only a few metres away. The land around her is still, where there used to be children frolicking only a few hours prior. Her piercing wails speak on one level too many. Not only did no one dare to intrude on her moment of agony, but even the wind dared not to blow too hard. For it was evident she was going through enough pain as is. She asks 'Why?' in her native tongue, but no one is there.
3,300 miles away, Bertha tells the kids to hurry up before their father 'loses it'. After all, church with the mumbly-jumbly priest - as her son Aroona would put it, begins in ten minutes.
- - -
I hate shoelaces. I think they're stupid. Mum won't let me wear my slip ons because we have to enter the house of God in our Sunday Best. More like Sunday Stupid if you ask me.
Dad beeps the horn. The bloody horn. That's when I know he's real cranky. But it aint my fault I'm only darn five years old. It's not my fault I can't feel as well as they can!
I can't wait to be a grown up. No one to boss me around. Bein' old should be easy-peasy-japanesey.
Inside the church the mumbly-jumbly priest jabs on. I dunno if he's using big words or just talking funny. It takes ages and my bum starts to hurt.
But I'll let you in on a secret. If ya listen real closely, and ignore them old people breathing loudly, or the one time I heard someone snoring – I like to listen to the birds outside. And the rustling of the trees in the wind.
But sometimes I listen a lil too closely. You see, I start hearing this voice. A woman. She sounds upset.
- - -
Come to me. To where you belong. Come outside.
- - -
Sometimes I tell her to go away. Other times I ask her what she's talking about. But then my big brother Aarron tells me to shut the flamin' hell up. Then mum tells him to shoosh.
- - -
Ssssson! Come to meee pleassssse. Pleasssse. Before it'sssss too late.
- - -
I thought about finding the snake. Maybe it was lost. Bugger it, I thought. It was just my imaginalem… imagilation. What was that word again?
In the morning the snake was gone. Thank God. But the bread for breakfast tasted stale and yukky. Dad sad to quit complaining because other kids like me have no bread to eat, that I'm luckier than them.
Mum told him to 'quit while he's ahead'. I dunno what she's going on about. First blasphemy and now this.
I wonder what dad meant by 'like other kids'. Maybe it's because they don't have shoes with shoelaces or a Sunday Best.
After breakfast I go outside and take my shoes off from the house when I reach the grass. I love the feel of the grass under my feet. It tickles!
Mum says it's dirty. Dirt schmirt. I dun' care.
I don't like the games Aarron plays. I think balls and paper aeroplanes are boring. He says I'm too stupid to understand flying.
I hear the voice again. I follow it. 'I'm coming!' I say. She probably needs help.
- - -
Son, you're almost home. Please come. Before it's too late.
- - -
Two nine year old boys approach Aroona.
'So you hold him down, while I do the work?' says one familiar voice.
'All's fair in rock-paper-scissors', says another.
'Hurry up, he's already walking away', says the first voice.
Aroona is thrown to the ground and feels a sharp pain in his back. There is rustling, not of trees but of struggle.
Die you stupid blind Abo! Die! Die! Die! Another voice laughs.
- - -
Aarron, is that you?
- - -
The two boys, Aarron and his friend hear the loud wailing of a woman. They look around. No one is there. Scared, they flee, leaving Aroona to die.
- - -
Aarron, is that you? What's a blind Abo? Can you call mum, I don't feel too good. What's a blind Ab… Ab…
- - -
If you listen closely outside you can hear the wailing of a woman, mourning the loss of her son. 'WHY?', she cries. But no one is there.
Thursday, 26 October 2006
Now Hiring
Hello HSC year!
Amidst the joy of doing well, the disappointment of doing poorly, and the absolute thrill of passing when you barely tried (ring any bells, two maybe?) – there comes a time when we need to GET REAL.
GET REAL because top marks won't determine the rest of ones life, may that be to a persons relief or disappointment. In my point of view, the marks I leave year 12 with are merely an INFLUENCE on my future.
I remember reading an article that said employers are more impressed by a candidate's outgoing personality, enthusiasm, manners, neat presentation and social skills – rather than the UAI mark, degrees and qualifications. That is unless you're applying for the secretary position of Hermits Limited.
I'm not telling every reader to stop turning up to class nor deprive themselves of homework. If it wasn't for those primary school title pages I'd never have established my love for art. I'm saying that if you genuinely try your best at school and haven't turned out to be the new Aristotle, Newton or Einstein your parents had long hoped you'd be… NEWSFLASH: ITS ALRIGHT! If everyone was academically inclined there'd be no such thing as talent.
I know it's easier said than done because of my supportively 'cool parents'. I still go to parties. I still go shopping. I still talk on the phone. I still have a part time job. And the fact that I can still manage my studies without the enforcement of their boundaries is a skill all in itself.
So set aside this mumbo jumbo (because even I haven't grasped the concept of them yet) about ranks and scales of up and scales of down. I mean, does anyone know exactly how it works? Because at the moment it's all a game of Chinese whispers in the playground about what one teacher against another, about what someone's graduated sister said against someone else's graduated cousin. If such a formula about ranks and scales existed, why haven't we received a newsletter about it? They can update us monthly about incorrect uniform but they can't inform us about the scaling/ranking system.
Geez, if I was that kid that didn't talk to anyone, I'd never have heard about it. But heck, at least I'd have a chance at that secretary position of Hermits Limited, right? SCORE!
I say your best bet is to try your hardest in the subjects you've chosen. Because only Tryhards are allowed to say 'At least I tried my best'.
No matter what you do, NEVER be too busy to have a nice big laugh, to listen to a friend in need, and attend to those boring family trips to the middle of nowhere. Don't be the person who gained a career but lost all else. Because with your $50 000 pay and your one-man mansion, the joke's only on you.
Good luck to all readers undergoing their HSC, and the others counting it down a year from now.
Amidst the joy of doing well, the disappointment of doing poorly, and the absolute thrill of passing when you barely tried (ring any bells, two maybe?) – there comes a time when we need to GET REAL.
GET REAL because top marks won't determine the rest of ones life, may that be to a persons relief or disappointment. In my point of view, the marks I leave year 12 with are merely an INFLUENCE on my future.
I remember reading an article that said employers are more impressed by a candidate's outgoing personality, enthusiasm, manners, neat presentation and social skills – rather than the UAI mark, degrees and qualifications. That is unless you're applying for the secretary position of Hermits Limited.
I'm not telling every reader to stop turning up to class nor deprive themselves of homework. If it wasn't for those primary school title pages I'd never have established my love for art. I'm saying that if you genuinely try your best at school and haven't turned out to be the new Aristotle, Newton or Einstein your parents had long hoped you'd be… NEWSFLASH: ITS ALRIGHT! If everyone was academically inclined there'd be no such thing as talent.
I know it's easier said than done because of my supportively 'cool parents'. I still go to parties. I still go shopping. I still talk on the phone. I still have a part time job. And the fact that I can still manage my studies without the enforcement of their boundaries is a skill all in itself.
So set aside this mumbo jumbo (because even I haven't grasped the concept of them yet) about ranks and scales of up and scales of down. I mean, does anyone know exactly how it works? Because at the moment it's all a game of Chinese whispers in the playground about what one teacher against another, about what someone's graduated sister said against someone else's graduated cousin. If such a formula about ranks and scales existed, why haven't we received a newsletter about it? They can update us monthly about incorrect uniform but they can't inform us about the scaling/ranking system.
Geez, if I was that kid that didn't talk to anyone, I'd never have heard about it. But heck, at least I'd have a chance at that secretary position of Hermits Limited, right? SCORE!
I say your best bet is to try your hardest in the subjects you've chosen. Because only Tryhards are allowed to say 'At least I tried my best'.
No matter what you do, NEVER be too busy to have a nice big laugh, to listen to a friend in need, and attend to those boring family trips to the middle of nowhere. Don't be the person who gained a career but lost all else. Because with your $50 000 pay and your one-man mansion, the joke's only on you.
Good luck to all readers undergoing their HSC, and the others counting it down a year from now.
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