newborn writechild

www.stainedfingers.wordpress.com

I'm still unsure of the survival potential of today's birth.
I'm floating in and out of blogs trying to find myself as well as a "correct" way and place to write and type and love and hate. I don't know very much of late, only that I learn much more when I observe those around me who I do and don't know. But as opposed to judging from my observations, I'd like to think I am instead constructing new/different or building on old understandings of people. We are a strange species, and one I couldn't be more in love with!

reassurance reacquainted

So finally these many waves
Crashed upon my plastic caves
Tell me why they wouldn't hold
These pressures are a little old
These broken shards of plastic shields
These obsolete and aging fears
These mechanisms of defense
Impersonal, fearful immense.

But wash me over salty waves
With songs and Psalms to make me brave
You whispered love, swiftly disarmed
Validating me without need of charm
Your concrete truth, I hold to tightly
Shared passions urge me, keep on fighting
I find in you my greatest peace
You bought my life for yours released.

Tell me what I would ever gain
If all I did was run from pain.

never ever clever

I stacked atop the mini wheelbarrow because I tried to transport more junk than the little tike could comfortably manage when it got caught in a crack in the concrete and my momentum carried me forward... my left shin still feels the repercussions twelve hours later. I just thought you'd like to know.

Apparently my emotions seem to mirror this awkward, clumsy, somewhat accidental yet self-inflicted amusement forwardslash annoying bruise pain. I don't know what to do with myself and I don't know why I do this to myself. I think I'm much too susceptible to a little bit of...I wouldn't even call it charm or chivalry, but somehow whatever it is encompasses both. Black and white or sepia? I can't decide.

Not a fan of wine (red)
Though I like nightime's navy blue
Bedtime's getting later
I also like playing with staples and glue.

Challenge this!

I have the best friends

in
the
world.

Rhyme and rhythm of she incoherent

Late shower
Hair dryer
Dry skin
Sleep in

Thoughts on fire
Dreams expire
Distinguishing, truth from liar

Waiting, wanting
Temporary
Finding, minding
Those worth caring

Smiles and handshakes
Syrup, pancakes
Firm but fluffy
Tell me nothing

What if we all
Never looked for
Love or told you
"You are beautiful"

Love aint
For the faint
Look hard
Junkyards

The truth felt like overheated concrete on my naked sole.

Matthew was right, we're in love with the concept of falling in love, not the person who acted as stimulus for such drama. Hi again, it's your favourite frigit, romance critic. I haven't vomited such opinion in a while so here's to the fresh revisit to why we might never find the one. I was talking to Joshua yesterday about entertaining such notions of who and how, and two sentences in, he begins kicking sand onto my small hopeful bonfire. It's funny how our best friends have capabilities to irritate us with truth. I suppose wishful thinking is for the unprepared, for those who prefer to worry about foreseen and obviously upcoming complications only upon confrontation and not a moment sooner. If you see a glitch in a car you want but know it won't have any apparent problems within the first year and only after, would that not effect your decision to buy it? Why then would I give any less consideration and judge with any less scrutiny if the decision was as potentially permanent as the person I'm to marry and be with for the remainder of my life?

Seriously nic, your young, ambitious and very...immature. I think I scare myself with talk of marriage. I'm twenty, fresh out of teenage years, with thin knowledge of how to party and little root in common knowledge and social government. Which is probably a good thing in an awkward way.

I'm still curious though, about love, true love between man and woman. I'm just too unimpressed with generation Y's embedded narcissism (and mine, being part of said generation) to wonder when I will start to truly care about somebody without the need for return. Not because of the attention or the physical attraction or any self-revolving reasons satisfying ME, but for reasons of the ideal picture-perfect marriage print. Oh, and when did purity come into it and does it still exist? Imagine being in love and pure, it's unheard of in the twentieth century western world's sex-selling, body-abusing and media obsessed temperament. I think sexual purity scares me because desensitisation has come into play since childhood was introduced to the beloved magic box within which sex is reinstated again and again and begins to promote itself on the walls of the street and the talk of the town.

I suppose it's a relief we don't spend forever on this purposeless and cracked moral earth. I want more, I want so much more than I currently hold. I don't want everything quantifiable either. I want things that cannot be seen. I want to care, I want to be generous (alas, funds I have little), I want wisdom to enrich my words, I want the things I do to ripple into challenging those around me, I really want to get over myself, I want not the superficial worries of skin deep perfection to poison my priorities. I want my life to have meant something, as totally cliche and daggy as that is, if I look good now, it won't change the fact that I will age, I will grow old and those pimples I previously fretted over simply marked a memory over which to reminisce. I'd go so far to say, however, that every person on this planet, from all manner of peoples and places wants the same, wants better for somebody else, usually their children. But whoever cares little about anybody else should re-evaluate their standing in humanity.

I don't know what to do when a ten year old girl tells me she thinks she's fat.
I don't know what to do when I see her critiques as consistent to what mine were only earlier.
I can't stand how insecurities ruin everything.

Have I told you, you'll look wonderful tonight.

i didn't mean to be so vain

i've just exhausted myself with five to six hours of plastic laughs, sucking in, sore feet and a huge zit on my lip. Both the models I requested couldn't turn up today, as planned, as arranged and disarranged within 12 hours prior. So my faithful photographer (Sammie, bless her soul) and I exhausted ourselves with 27 different items of clothing and such.

I'm actually really embarrassed about having myself modelling all the clothes I planned to sell. I was really hoping for an array of bodies when fortune would have them whom i'd requested unavailable at the last minute. I was really hanging on passing out this site to everybody for them to boast on my behalf and to cover a greater radius for publicity, but now i'm considerably more reluctant...

But if i were to have delayed the shoot, i'd never have started, so here's to beginning. Here's to facing this with half a face. I'll keep you posted. I'm darn nervous and pretty freakin' excited!

It's funny I seek the limelight, of sorts, and upon finding myself there, freak out and wish I weren't there alone...This is all nervous chatter...God'll light up my path and I'm sure this wont be half bad. it's about time I materialised one of the hundred thngs I said I'd like to do but couldn't gather half an ounce of initiative to do so. SO here. Here's a justification for my hobby/obsession for op-shopping/shopping/thrifting/finding...

ahhhhh'm gonna stop yackaty-yackin now. I hope you like it. (If I look good, Sammie digitally edited the photos;)

what's yours?

no there's nothing to loose and there's nothing to prove

Things are working out to be pretty odd.

http://lookbook.nu/look/68650-a-million-ways
I love this. I love these. There's a different sort of impressive that solidifies upon the average person's persona, making said person not so average. It is, to me, the marriage of unashamed creativity and a contentment not having conformed to the typical "barbie". Such a person so sealed with an indifference yet amusement regarding superficiality to not be affected by it, I admire, unequivocally.

I am as rich as I perceive with the acknowledgement of my monies in banks totalling $42.75. Apparently I'm along with a carload of asian girls to asian night at a renown asian club coming friday. Planning to wear my aasics. I'm feeling restless enough to cut my hair right now...but I can't reach the back so I think I'll be calling upon Mother's hand since she mercilessly snipped against my will for the first half of my life. Anyway, if it turns out a screw up, I'll appreciate it with serves of humble pie. Whoever doesn't like me after this, didn't like me before and I'm can deal with that.

He made her famous, she made him loved.

Pablo Picasso and Henriette Theodora Markovitch, alias Dora Maar were together as a couple for a decade through the 1930s and 40s. The stunningly beautiful French photographer, poet and painter, was most famously known as Picasso’s private muse, model, companion, and intellectual partner.

Their relationship was wild, stormy, and unconventional. Maar greatly suffered from Picasso’s mood swings but her love for him was unconditional. Picasso, who was known for the pain that he caused his lovers, often painted and depicted Maar in grotesque, appalling forms. Maar would often deny Picasso’s ethereal love for her by saying, “All his portraits of me are lies. They’re all Picassos. Not one is Dora Maar.”

(Above text, cut & pasted: http://culturazzi.org/review/art/10-paintings-on-women-immortalised-by-famous-artists)

There's something about this piece that absolutely draws me. Perhaps, it's her beauty, perhaps her colour, perhaps the refreshment of seeing beauty outside convention and the story behind it.

nothing says sorry like change.

untitled, insignificant.

I've just spent the last hour completely lost in reminisce.
I like remembering
who I used to be, what I've left behind.

I don't know what to tell you, so nothing will be told.

currently obsessed with Beyoncé

I'm not sure how much more beautiful a woman can get. She's got an amazing voice and success to match. She's defied the ruthlessness of changing charts and has yet to fall into the artiste obsoletes category, selling out concerts and wowing audiences worldwide, I've wager she's never disappointed at her concerts.

My today is a big fan of Beyoncé. I'm mindlessly hypnotised by her videos at the moment.

Hopefully I'll be able to afford her next concert...

oh crumbs! my incredible edible.

Say Hello to the newest baked cheesecake advocate in town.

& while you're saying hello, say happy birthday to Father (17th oct).

ps: my dad's a genius, nobody has a handier hand, a greener thumb or a more atheistically pleasing backyard. Bite me.

The real deal

Today I happened upon an organisational clutch with a little bit of character.


This baby contained a faded receipt dated 11-08-96, a small red comb and three coins: two 2c pieces and one 1c piece.

I thought it was a pretty sweet deal for $2. So the $2 I spent, along with another $18 which included 2 necklaces, one earring, one keychain bottle opener, two vintage-ish (I presume and hope are leather) bags, one vinyl, a collar-less jacket, an old-school cardigan and a strangely shaped "sweet good girl" looking retro jumper. Sort of the thing you could imagine Sandra Dee wearing whilst she was naive and innocent.

I've been accumulating a separate wardrobe lately, and have run out of coat-hangers. If you care, I accept donations of coat hangers.

I'll shut up and drive now.

Consider a couple of men and inhale appreciation.

He's a handsome sort of bugger with a little bit of charm
Had I already met him, I'd be on his arm.

Having glanced a photo of a friend of mine (yes, facebook is great for the mindless browsing of photos), I was amused by my sudden realisation that this said friend of mine had a very handsome face, which reminded me of my grandfather. In the last family trip to Malaysia, upon reunion with my father's father, I was astonished at how handsome my grandfather was and wondered how I'd never noticed before. It made me wonder how he must have looked in his youth. Allow me to regale my last memory of him: a sun-spotted, heavily-tanned, soft but wrinkled skin, forever singlet clad, well endowed with generous sort of beer-gut, neither short nor tall, fat not thin sort of man. I just know that his life, as expressed by his 80 something nature was riddled with pain - and every visit sort of sank my heart. He was imprisoned by his heavy dependency for assistance as his body lately manifested complaints from a lifetime of hard labour, confining him to his bamboo chair in front of hours of television. He was not happy, he was just existing. And although it sounds harsh of me to have drawn this sort of conclusion, I'm sure he would agree. He was respected but not loved, not nearly enough. I've never faced such a hard life as I imagine he has. I've heard snippets of my parent's lives and can hardly begin to understand that of my grandparents. Perhaps I should, it would probably make me appreciate the much that I have considerably more.

Life is vain, save the moments we spend reflecting on the lives of our predecessors and successors. I'd say it is these moments that fuel our desires to improve, to evolve, to make worthwhile changes so that those who lived before us can be justified and so those who come after us can have better.

Well, this post turned out nothing like I expected it to. Oh, the words take on a life of their own!

I love the Roses Are Red, Violets Are Blue variations-ens-ens endlessness.

When insecure and vulnerably malleable, I find myself envious of a few people I know little about. I'll mention one, because he's hardly troubled and often given beautiful opportunities I could never imagine. He is superficial as superficial sells and as suave as necessary to engage his audience. So I will dedicate this poem to him:

Your row-s are read
Uncouth yet cool
They make me wish
At times I were you

"hey do you have the time? and umm, will you marry me?"

y'know today there was a chance I walked passed my husband-to-be. Just getting it out there, you never know!

I emailed my lecturer today asking what would happen if i failed this subject...



I heard this on the radio today and it made me laugh!

To whom it may concern: my father is wonderful, he's been working so hard to keep the family in order while the mother holidays in Malaysia (truly asia). I watched "The secret millionaire" with him today and think I'll watch beauty and the geek with the sister when she returns from work.

updates

I started cleaning up my bedroom floor today....slowly organising my books and the junk under my bed, dumping a handful of discovered clothes into the laundry pile, tying up a bag and a half of rubbish and gathering piles of paper to send along the recycle, all the while sitting deep in daydreams. I also managed to take a squiz at the saturday paper. I hardly read the paper nowadays. A year ago I used to flick eagerly through the moth gray pages with scissors in hand, intent only on cutting out interesting headlines- that strange obsession eased up because I didn't quite know what to do with the headlines once they were cut so they sit dormant in a green manilla folder to this day.

Anyway, these things I only do when I have better things to do. It seems my assignments can wait. Why is it like this? I'll see my children tomorrow. I went to a really good sale today but because I was so rushed I hardly got time to revel in my victorious finds.
ps: I weigh 57kg according to my electronic scale :) I'm about 3kg away from my desire to acquaint myself with the sixties. "Oh, she got meat on her, this one!"

Oh yes, and I've found the make-shift dress I think I'll wear to Elton&Nila's wedding. Cost me a buck. I'm getting real good at being poor yet without having to relinquish frequent shopping habits, but I won't deny I miss being completely financially independant and being able to afford eating out without tasting remorse, but that's just crumbs of humble pie that go down very smoothly :)

I've started organising christmas! It's been a great procrastination task! I figured if I do it gradually, the pinch won't be so painful come december and I'll have time to be creative and thoughtful about gifts. whoo! Last christmas I earned more than I ever had in the history of my life, but I retained none of the nine hundred and something. I was very unwise in my spendage. So the challenge this year is how to keep christmas controlled, thoughtful and similarly generous without exceeding three five oh or forgetting the real reason for christmas.

I'm going to read up on what assignment 2 of 3 is about.

I'll see my kids tomorrow. I'll also be seeing my God.
I'm excited...

but not about these assignments.

Moodrings and slippery fingers.

Bollywood slow-jams make me want to fall in love.
I'll write something worthwhile later.

vanity vintage

I did mini shoot yesterday with my cousin's girlfriend (THANK YOU SAMMIE!). I paid her in a necklace and $4 pizzas. I treat my people well, oh yes I do.

I've decided that since I op shop excessively, and am willing to dig through mountains of musk and pre-loved junk - I might as well make an income of it, selling them at inflated prices to the rest of the vintage loving world.

Here is our account of friday the 25th september @ Sister Bella.

.

.

ps: the toilet scene was ridiculously fun!

The prices are still reasonable I promise.

.

.

Bookworm jacket: $20AUD

Snow-white top: $10AUD

Faker-skirt black shorts: $15AUD

Humble off-white skirt: $15AUD

Oh, and I might add, Sammie's camera makes everyone look good, so I look half-decent here :)

i think it makes sense

& when my very being cried out to him to be held

he whispered "give", he whispered "go".

Unfortunately, the comfortable and the preferable doesn't at all resemble the solutions we wish they were. This weekend was testament to that.

When you're cold and find yourself in the headspace where solitude becomes most familiar, all you want is to be found in the warm and welcoming arms of someone who would understand. So I told him, "I just want to be held, that is all I want while I am here". Yet what would that have achieved but satisfied one (young and selfish) girl's self-prescribed cure? He had intended more, and so sent me to provide that which I felt lacking in my own. He made me focus instead on attending the wounds of others, knowing that in my concentration - awareness of my own uncomforts and splinters would be drawn away from the forefront of my memory.

In my state of exhaustion, I propose my current cure to brokenness.
Apparently the cure to brokenness is the desire to want to put everyone else back together. Because in wanting such- an inevitable belief is conceived that reasons: although my own hands are a little bruised, I can still bandage their wounds. Therefore declaring, "I am not broken enough to be helpless but able enough to help and available because I want that much to", hence our brokenness is hardly a fatal break but an empathy and common ground for understanding. With this in mind, brokenness devolves into an experience and no longer remains a hurting brokenness that complains individual pain; but rather, is stimulated by identifying others in like situations, throbbing memory and itching aggravation into doing something about it.

So my nonsensical tip for the day: when you're feeling mighty broken, find somebody to help. Because in doing so, you distract yourself from your own pain, not to mention how helping heal them helps to heal you or something like that...I need to sleep, I have fifteen things I wrote down that I need to do tomorrow.

Goodnight.
ps: if you're at In Between, I'm here too- think I may be here for a little longer, perhaps we could catch up?

romona was a waitress

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-Cz0Dd6bxhk
i dont need these arms anymore
i dont need this heart, not alone
i dont need this skin and bone

perhaps i'm in love.

perhaps i never will be the way i'd like.

All she ever wanted was enough money to buy a love.

The opposite of poverty is not wealth.
The opposite of poverty is enough.

I never seem to have enough love/money, but the little love/money I possess, I spend recklessly or take for granted. So that when I don't have enough love/money, I remember when I did and didn't realise. Then I'll save up, be bold enough and have enough and somehow loose it again.

May I just express my appreciation of how much my friends spend on me, love and money. It's more than I can afford, and I can't believe the hopes they've risked on me. I love them, I haven't made that clear of late, but if they ever visit here...

mothers don't know everything

This morning I laughed, because today Mother Dear learned of the uses for a handkerchief. Prior to this morning, she never inquired about one - she never needed to, she had never owned one herself. Today, when I mentioned how Dad hadn't yet seen the handkerchief I drew messages on for Father's Day at Sunday School, I asked whether dad used them.

"Nope"
"Do you think he even knows what it is?"
"...I don't know."
"Do YOU even know what it is."
"...Nope"
"You don't know what a handkerchief is? Where people blow their noses into it instead of using tissues?"
"Oh YUCK! People BLOW THEIR NOSES INTO IT?"
"and sometimes carry it around with them for the day"

She was unbelieving and when the fact was eventually sunk, she appeared unequivocally shocked and mildly disgusted at the thought of having a washing machine filled with little squares of cloth with variable discharges of snot. It was the definition of you-had-to-be-there!

Very laugh worthy, my Mother. She's the best.

"How do you NOT know this? Isn't this in your time!?"
"Ooow yuck."

Oh yes, and while mentioning my mother, be impressed that on the 11th of the 11th, 2000 and 11, my Mother turns half century :) We thought it was cool. We're gonna throw the baddest party in town!

showers with a late change

so my chipped laptop on a stained black coffee table with a transparent air-tight jar with one thin layer of almonds where gravity can't sink deeper. cross legged in my black patterned stockings, mother's dark grey halfway leggings and father's light grey 'perfect thickness' socks. on my orange 3 seater sofa harbouring 10 year old fluff and the 52 inch tv remote controller sliding down the crack on the right. program guide to my left, first year university reader between it and i. hair behind my ears and eyes open halfway i left my smile upstairs and forgot my motivation when i got off the train. 83minutes until the assignment's due and no intention to finish it today. having survived the weekend the momentum's got me disorientating the stationary. this is my insecure.

if you'd even only pretend like you're having a good time, i'd be jealous.

so glad i'll see them tonight. i'll be seeing my friends tonight. and i'll forget today was remotely insecure. oh yes, and nobody knows i found it, but i've located the jars of gold. cashew nuts by their hundreds.

i'm feeling much more comforted now.

no really, it was the junk food that massacred my friends!

So, starting monday, is the better eating of this trying tightrope walker. I've decided that since the decisions I make in life require me to balance stupid items and heavy delicates, I can no longer afford for even my diet to effect my already precarious balancing- not even slightly. Anyway, apparently I'm supposed to be taking this high cholesterol thing seriously...

What has food got to do with the decisions I make and the attitudes I carry? Well firstly, if I can hardly practice self-control with edibles, how can I call upon it like a trained discipline if the discipline, I have not yet trained? Yes, yes, I've watched those "what are we really feeding our children" news episodes where you see a wild child of a rugrat tamed in a week by the feeding of healthy (yet tasty and appealing) foods- and I believed every word of it! So because my week turned a little sour by the end of it and I ate considerable quantities of foods that live in the top sector of the "eat little and infrequently" part of the food pyramid- I've now associated lots of junk food with it ends badly.

I've been a crabby cow this weekend (yeah-try that for a visual! A crab and a cow produced me for this weekend)- and I'm so sorry if you got the rear end of me, i've been foul! I'm so sorry if i've chewed your head a little or wrenched your arm out of it's socket. I'm the hulk of a raging selfish when my fuse is short and frayed- it doesn't help to be surrounded by lovely gorgeous candles...

I'm a fool.
and if your foolish enough to still hang around and be the fool's friend, you deserve an award...and a get out of jail free card.

It's weekends like these we need. They act like glass prisms which refract our white-light mannerisms, separating them into visible intentions: sometimes beautiful, sometimes ugly (most times ugly) intentions.

y'know I despise my hypocrisy. y'know i can see it when i want to. y'know i need you to be brave enough to show me where i've missed.

alas, the wasteful book gluten, i am.

I am not sure what to make of this demented epiphany. I have this exasperated greed for preloved books. Sort of the cadence that sings: I am cultured; I am knowledge hungry; I am literate! This arrogance I wear in thin plastic smirks everytime I make boasts of my exuberant collection. I do not, however, read any of them. I haven't finished a book since high school - yet began my selfish storage after establishing my skewed refusal to drink in the binded forms of ink riddled pages (save the occasional children's picture book). Yet I frequent second hand book stores and charity op shops at least weekly in the hope of purchasing well-versed and purty pages; consequently depriving a willing reader of an enriching opportunity - simply because I think it'd look handsome among the piles of similarly neglected books forlorn on my bedroom floor.

I even have the audacity to say loudly - that I know a good book when I see one. I know it when I fan the pages from front cover to back, inhaling the musky sighs of an eloquent book. And like a cruel new master, I buy them off forgotten shelves to pretty up the humdrum of secluded life where no other lover would chance to find them: in the chaotic labyrinth that is- my hoarded "stuff".

I tell myself I'll read them when I'm older, have more time and/or retire. I hope I do. I'd like to one day do them the justice deserved them, treating them as more than decorative pretties. But all that later. I am young and selfish, yet it hardly matters... because you are too.

thank you Ashes.

I've just discovered the beauty in the controversial sport: cricket. Like licorice, you either love it or hate it or care nothing for it.

My fondness for cricket is conditional. I believe that it belongs in Australian summer. Were it not for my Sister's passionate devotion to it, I wouldn't know it was remotely alive the rest of the year. The past few days since The Ashes commenced, the house has been awake later and full of moans, laments and repremands by couch coaches.

There's nothing more heartwarming (with hint of jealousy) than watching the Mother and Sister converse eagerly about LBW's, wickets, the wisdom of declaring so early, the intimidation of England's fielders huddled around our dear (poor in form) batters and Ponting's form as captain. Since Father's been away for 3 weeks, the females of the Fong residence have condensed and bonded sufficiently to make us all glad that Father was out for a little...well I think anyway. When you remove one part of the family equation, the remainders try harder to balance. Ultimately, however seasonal the Ashes Series is, the bonding established is the securing sort of reinforcement, requiring heart-breaks and hurts to fight harder to tear us apart. The walls of absence are quickly eroding. Thank you Ashes.

roots.

Had a very heartening, informing, interesting and curious exchange with Mother Dear this morning on the drive up to uni. Amidst a boast of my ability to live off a dollar a day, in my latest adventure of "poverty" (which actually was more of a discovery of how much I actually have rather than not), we begin to exclaim who's life was harder. Then Mother enriches my knowledge and experience of poverty with her own- a stark contrast- my present and her past. Hers, much less rich, fortunate and sheltered as mine. Allow me to share with you a glimpse of what Mother shared with me. She didn't vomit out her life story but mentioned mainly how her mother worked herself deeper than the bone to lift her children up to the "satisfactory" standard, where they themselves took flight and tamed success bearing new and old scars of trial and error.

My mother was the second youngest of nine children. Her father died when she was ten. It cost 15c one way to take the bus to school on any given day since the distance would have been back-breaking to walk. However it was becoming an overwhelming burden for the travel expenses to be met and the children to go to school. Mother mentioned how she and her siblings would line up at the nearby orphanage at lunchtime for free lunch. Nothing remotely luxurious, of course. She couldn't count how many different jobs her mother had had or had changed. Anyway, there was a hero- apart from my grandmother. The priest at the catholic church was kind and compassionate. He took my grandmother to the public transport head office, and somehow managed an audience with the CEO, who, as any CEO, was balling off his brains and couldn't see the harm sympathising with one poor woman. Because any hard-working person can recognise another hard-working person coming to wits end. He gave her four monthly tickets, for each of the four children still attending school, with the only condition that they collect the tickets monthly for as long as they attend school, which for my mother meant 7 years of free transport to and from school. Even if the distance to the public transport office was as stink to walk.

Mother actually recalled how she had resented grandmother's work and being forcibly required to help distribute a display of food and noodles and lunches upon bicycle. A food cart for most of the year was the predominant occupation...if I'm not mistaken.
Starting about September, my grandmother would work morning till nigh making biscuits for Chinese New Year which wasn't usually till january. Apparently the average per day was 400 units, making 4 tins which would sell for $7/tin. $28 a day. She was renown around the area for her cooking and her devotion to making, and so was never short of clientèle, resulting in relative success, but she hardly got by for the large family she never intended to groom by herself.

How this family became so suddenly established is very unclear to me. Something about the children growing up and getting jobs and something more about my uncle winning the lottery of a couple of thousand, which apparently helped them out of the rented place into a house of their own, which replaced rent money (dead money) with loan repayments.

Then Mary met Michael, as they both worked in a bank in Malaysia and tied the knot. Father studied at Monash University's Clayton campus and taught Mother how to drive around in the carparks there on the weekends. They lived very earnestly and owned a milkbar, then sold it and had a German Shepard, then gave it away because lo, I was born and they thought it'd eat me. Then my sister came and I learned how to fight...and how to cower. I think this last paragraph is out of order. I can't remember when they migrated to this brilliant desert of a land, but glad as heck am I that they did. Because I live the life of luxury as a middle-upper child of very hard-working former children of poverty.

When Father returns on Monday from his visit to Malaysia, I'll ask him about his side of the family. He was the eldest son of seven children. Go figure half of Malaysia is related to me.

My children will hear horrific stories of how I lived on a dollar a day under the roof of my parents' newly built home, driving a car I didn't pay for and my father's credit card for buying uni books and transport.

Now I just need to collate properly the histories of my beloved parents and bind it into a book that will be passed down from my generation till ever, so that children never forget appreciation, and gratitude and to do away quickly with complaint and laziness. Because only the resilient fly over and beyond the circumstance dealt them. Only my parents could have paved such a life for me... Maybe I'll pretend to be poor for the first half of my childrens' lives so that they learn character richer than dollar signs.

Maybe I'll learn myself.
Maybe...I'll never know.

who me?

y'know being a cool kid is hard. which is probably why i'm going to stop convincing myself i am. i figure, if you're a loser, you have rungs of coolness to ascend and a contentment about your current position. however, if you're the cool kid, you have reputations to keep and a loong way to fall, in the case of missing a step. with shame i confess i used to frequently look down upon people for all manner of reasons, convinced i was, somehow and magically better than them.

it's been about the length of a week that i've come to terms with my uncoolness, and i'm totally rocking it! amidst my lisp, dagalicious laughter and lameness beyond comprehension, i've come to see that people around me are so much more beautiful than, yours truly.

i'm not all that. i'm not the one with a kazillion friends or a fashionesta's way of strutting a beautiful body. i'm the complain-at-the-wrong-time and the ask-about-the-obvious. i'm the trip-over-myself and opposite of photogenic. i'm the too-keen-to-get-to-know-new-people and the accidentally-make-encouragements-sound-sarcastic-or-condescending. i'm the only-get-my-cool-clothes-from-the-op-shop and the i-still-blush-profusely-at-age-20. i'm the parachute pants and the never been kissed fridget.

but i'm totally glad i'm not a cool kid - because then i'd never be perfect enough.

as a loser, i'm the poster girl.

bright eyes

i'd trade your company for my goldfish, anyday!

sorry for doubting

An infant believes everything seen. For example, playing with a ball could result in the ball rolling away and disappearing under a couch, suddenly unseen. The infant would recover from a few seconds of bewilderment and accept that the ball is now non-existant. Time to find a new object of entertainment.

I want to apologise to my dearest friends who don't even know how bewildered and disappointed I just was, for accusing our friendship of dying or being non-existant. You're so much more than I credit you for. I'm just missing you. Sure we have our differences, and I throw pity-parties when you don't invite me out. You're still closer than many to me, we're just not as close as we used to be. Seasons wash in and out and it's time for this here child to grow up. I'm sorry I doubted this, us. But it's true that gold is refined through fire and I appreciate you a little more now. I really do have the best friends in the world. Full stop.

she wrote to me 2months and 5days ago

I got a letter from Emmanuella today! Apparently, as mentioned in the title, it took 2 months and 5 days for the honey dipped well wishes and encouragements of my nearly 5 year old to grace my letterbox from Haiti. Just wanted you all to know, she's doing brilliantly!

Glory Sunshine! The sun made an appearance this morning and I reveled in the confused crisp of the morning; strutting around in a singlet, jeans and boots, allowing the accusing eyes of other early birds, wrapped in trenches, inquire with frowning gazes if I was cold. No. Actually, I wasn't. And I loved it! I'm going to do a little research on an well positioned abandoned building today. See what I can do. I started dreaming ideas for it two days ago. However, I know I know, I need first to finish the little projects I swore devotion to prior to these new ideas of trying to resurrect a large abandoned building on the outskirts of the city, where I intend to lure my generation into social experiments and realisations of urgent issues regarding humanity- or the lack thereof.

I really need to be faithful with the little before I'm trusted with larger amounts. This has nothing to do with financial figures (I've now learnt to live on $50 a month) and everything to do with my ambitious dreams of countering some of the horror Gen Y and our predecessors have unleashed on planet earth and our poor children. All this while completing uni in a passable fashion, being a decent daughter, supportive sister, attending and being church and trying to sustain a life complete with the best friends in the world (yes, mine are better than yours).
All glory to God, who is the strength and hope and love I could never be alone.

OH HUMANITY!

Sometimes, when you're quiet and curious you'll hear somebody sigh. Sometimes that somebody is beside you. Sometimes that somebody is you. But most times, that somebody is somewhere they didn't need to be. Most times, that somebody was the unfortunate victim of preventable sorrow. Some sighs are like gale force winds, violently shaking the white washed walls of a hospital wing or spiraling up elevator shafts because humanity forgot how to be human. We, Generation Y in particular, have traded skins of vulnerability for shields of greedy gain. Somehow self-preservation was tortured past recognition and renamed narcism. It's ironic though, how we torture ourselves with insecurities and inaccessible desires. That we would dare to want and want and want and scarcely get, yet we desperately grip onto the lifestyles that burn our souls and let our wants cost others when the taste of these wants makes us sick!

Sure, it's one thing to say all this. But what on earth am I doing about any of it? Hopefully I'll be accredited and approved to teach CRE soon. Which is a small step to implementing what I believe is one of many beautiful opportunities to demonstrate love, hope&joy. All of the invisible qualities humanity is both drawn to and sceptical of. But I'm not here to reel out my boasts of charitable acts: of which I have little anyway. I just really need to know I'm not the only one in here realising I wake and walk daily through this deceived planet, imagining petals on a dried stalk. This world is in ruins, and the reality is that we've become so desensitised to heartbreak, or we've become so patterned to our own pain that we forget most of it is preventable. PREVENTABLE! I have much and much and much to learn about acting like a Christian and caring half as much as Jesus did. But it would be a heck of a lot easier if I wasn't the only coffee bean trying to flavour my vicinity. I'm trying to help. But I actually need help helping.

Oh Humanity! I thought we agreed on this!
"Everyone has the right to a standard of living adequate for the health and well-being of themselves and their family, including food, clothing, housing and medical care and necessary social services, and the right to security in the event of unemployment, sickness, disability, widowhood, old age or other lack of livelihood in circumstances beyond their control."

-Universal Declaration of Human Rights

oh boy,

I've been reduced to a dim-witted love hopeful teenager. Courtesy of the fairytale British flick Angus, Thongs and Perfect Snogging. Oh Em Gee, Brits are undeniably beautiful to watch. Topless and with accent. Bloody Hell.

I'll be over it by morning. I hate chick flicks for this reason, although I'm not usually so susceptible to symmetrically ideal yet rubbish plots. Except this one had dreamy boys and hilarious one liners.

Like I said, I'll be over it by morning.
Anyway, It's out of character for me to have a celebrity crush on the character of a beautiful pansy. I like the butch charmers like Hugh Jackman and Brad Pitt, or the dorks like Rupert Grint and Josh Thomas. Where the bloody hell did Brits spring from? All I know is screw asians, I'm getting a British husband.

the beautiful kind of poison

Hello sunshine,

It wasn't meant to be this bad. Things weren't meant to go this wrong. We weren't supposed to compromise. But y'know what? It did and we did. Regardless, it's time to throw these stale regrets off the thousandth storey of our buildings and to start making new regrets. I'm ready to jump and, daresay ready to fall.

Trial run soup kitchen this coming thursday. Children's puppet play to be downpat in two weeks. Charity event Sep 5th. Getting there. Beginning to care. My steps become lighter and flights become longer. Drops of care are taking effect- poisoning the selfish child in my deep. I think. One could only hope.

Chin up, Sunshine. I'm doing it for you.

what if the children are dying?

I wrote something a while ago, when I was passionate about my influence on children. When I remembered that the few hours I see my 20-30 children each sunday was all I currently had to work with and to teach them how to be resilient.

Because I don't know them outside of sunday school...sadly enough. I don't know their struggles, their hurts, their joys. I don't know whether they are happy, excited, sad, angry, alone. But the most heartbreaking unknown is that there are far more fears outside the church now, than there are joys. It is a brilliantly terrifying life of new age and modern, or "compromising" beliefs. I need to make sure my children are safe. I need to make sure they know how to rise above sorrow. Because most of my children are not yet secure enough, in their identity. A few of my children know brokenness and some, broken families. Yet I cannot protect them everyday nor hour nor minute that they taste fear. But I need to try harder to teach them resilience, joy and hope. I need to love the hell out of them. I need to be stronger...for them- I cannot cave to my own frustrations anymore! These children may be dying, and they are much too young too! Such a dark awareness has clouded my skies this past week. I'm so afraid I'm about to loose a loved one, or many.

This is what i wrote earlier this year (about March) regarding my perspective and hope and dream:

strange indeed is the call to choose to love in the most inappropriate of times, just because it can be done. stranger still are those who decide to answer this call and attempt to defy the selfishness of human instinct in a culture of narcism.
So we love, or we try to. And we teach the children how to love, or to try to.
Because love changes everything...and children change the world.

And all thy children will be taught of the Lord and great shall be the peace of thy children. ISAIAH4:13

rebellion.

Tomorrow I'd like to throw myself off the Rialto and close my eyes during free-fall for the 20seconds it'd take to reach ground level- gradually slowing my rush to the bottom, make contact gracefully and walk back to uni. I don't need anybody to see me. I don't need anybody to witness or to know my invincibility. I'd just like to do it because I'm pretty sure It'd make me laugh and smile til at least the next day. Because the gravity of common sense, the government of media and the protocol of social conventions are too heavy. They've kept my feet chained to the surface of this earth when all i want to do is fly. Or even fall.

I'm going to start breaking rules.
I not going to be like you.

Freedom is something we do not understand. Just because one prison cell is one metre by one, we call it third world conditions and feel sorry for them five times a year. The remainder live fed and clothed and sometimes spoilt, yet unaware they are detained in a ninety mile radius. We are all prisoners here, to concrete ideas, traditions and mindsets.

I haven't tasted freedom for more than days in a row.
If I leave though, I'll miss you.

I'll write.

rewind

Did i say Johnson Street?
I meant Johnston Street.

i only dream big when i have little

One thing I want to do, of little significance and little priority, is to walk down Johnson Street- which is through the suburb of Fitzroy. The only reason I can't do it now is because I think it'd pain me too much to know I couldn't buy or even afford any of the curious little items in those curious little shops that captured my longing. I think it'd be a right of passage, if anything. Johnson Street is the street I will visit once clearing the debt owing to my dearest parents, having attained a hopefully consistent income.

The current times have brought me the distressing news of having to live off approximately $50 each month...

This goal is one of the selfish desires my habitual shopping tendencies have produced. Self control is something I have little of. The giveaways are my eating habits and my shopping habits. Mind you, I'm a great shopper! I'm a bargain hunter and considerably op-shop wise, having worked at one for a month now and shopped at others since...forever or a couple of years. Eating wise: I eat and eat and eat, whatever's in my view will be eventually be devoured by me, though I try to resist.

Anyway, all I wanted to tell you is that I want to walk the stretch of Johnson Street, and if the day is permitting and the mood-good, probably a trek up and down Brunswick Street too! Followed by the eventual R&R at a cosy little bar with the friend or few who accompanied me in reckless window shopping. This spree will be the exploration from the perspective of one who is...rich...or at least a couple of hundred up...which is...rich.

First Johnson Street,
next,
Japan.

charmed, i'm sure

I expect of love,

nothing less obscure or eccentric.

how long must the obvious stare us in the face before we realise it was obviously true...yet we only learn them through the most obscure occasions.

There is nothing more beautiful than my sister.
I say this because she's beauty beyond compare and a strength I could only hope to acquire. She's robust and cluey, wary and of ferocious fight.
She's here for me (a certainty I often forget) & I for her.
I am ever so insecure at a time like this. Enters her, and she just kicks sand over this roaring furnace of tilted paranoia. She adds to it sometimes, but on a whole she does more good than bad.

I feel a little selfish. I'm going to Phillip Island. I'm crashing her holiday. I'm just afraid that if I stay at home, I'll fall apart. I really, really don't want to fall apart. I just want to be around friends, because I've just discovered they're preciously valuable (hello Captain Obvious, cape and all!), and they make up the bulk of my worth.

I just want to waste time with the people I love. Although, someone inspiring did quote "time spent with friends is never wasted". Argue if you will, but I'm certain that time wasted with friends is better than time wasted alone.

the road to home

Tell me you wouldn't want to drive home with a view like that? I just want to keep driving, and read a book and drink homemade lemonade at the same time!
Today's the most marvelous thing since colour tv!

Have I told you lately that I love you?

gold like rain

I feel like I've been picking up gold nuggets like leaves in autumn. I've not only picked up a handful or six of valuable 4 hour O-Week shifts for the next two weeks, I have also upgraded my phone 9 months early thanks to a loophole in the system (much to my favour), walked a decent walk in the crisp cold including loudly laughed moments with a cousin, shared a conversation with lovely Les - the big issue seller of Melbourne Uni and enjoyed the pleasant company of Mother Dear to the tune of a very satisfying (flavour intensive) lunch at a cafe/restaurant I can't remember the name of but will definitely return to.

I am undoubtedly feeling fresh, without having deserved a cent of it! Soon my cousins will call me having finished their orientation day for the introduction to university on a desert continent and we'll kill time like a slaughterhouse in overdrive. I'll later proceed (with the cargo of 3 other stunning girls) to the designated house for GIRLS NIGHT IN, which has been forever postponed and a couple of years overdue; and there drink in reminiscent memories, braid new laughs into my hair and act like a girl -as I was born.

Yet what have I achieved today? When could I afford just blessing, such beauty, and pleasant surprise? Smiles like helium balloons have lifted all over my sky and hit power lines- exploding into sparks above me!

So today pours gold like rain from wisps of cloud. Tomorrow I'm hoping no balancing will be required so I won't be crippled by all hail and brimstone!
They say "grab life by the balls" - in a same thought, demand that tomorrow bring us better than today!...and if it refuses, go and make it better yourself!

Today's strangely solemn for a day of unplanned pamper.
Love you plenty,with the little I have!

today is for success so tomorrow can be conquered

OH JOY!
perhaps I'm counting my eggs before they've hatched- but I've been short of a job for the fifth month approaching...and a handful of minutes ago, I got a call from my not-most-favorite company asking me if I would be interested in promoting them since I'd done well enough representing them in the previous two O-weeks at universities because I like being loud and the like. (I think that was a too long sentence, and I English poverty excitement rendered sillily stringed)

Anyplace, if I am not mistaken, I'll get two weeks of work almost everyday at a reasonable price for my time! Now? Just to find a safe to place my earnings; as even in my apparent poverty - i manage to find avenues for throwing greens off bridges. I need to survive off this til a young man comes to my rescue or until i make good of my idea to become a small-scale entrepreneur.

Are you with me?
I've stumbled upon a small fortune. I've never been so grateful for employment. I love promoting. I love yelling, being the centre of attention and the earning of monies for acting as a human megaphone.

Hello sunshine, the future started looking a little less meek and a little more eternal. Like maybe for a month, I won't be so concerned with my funding for life as a university student. I love not needing money. I also love spending when I have little. I like being able to afford being generous. I like much, I have much. I have little money, but that never solved life like love did.

I want to hug you and celebrate. I want to tell you the least of my worries are now, momentarily silenced. Life is ours to be conquered! Smile, chump!

the knife, the spoon & an awkward tune.

There is no relationship as awkward as that between the knife and the spoon. I say this because they are very jealous of each other, especially having to share the fork. A spoon and fork compliment each other. A knife and fork compliment each other. The fork is lovely, cooperative and yet independent. The spoon and knife require the fork for smooth and eloquent uses (with the exception of soup spoons, desert spoons and butcher knives).

However, the knife and spoon have no use for the other. With one spoon in hand and a knife in the other, coordination is fruitless, driven to shame as the tools just do not suit!

Nothing can or will change the fact that the spoon and knife were not made for each other and have no reason to get along. Could this be true with people? Could two individuals never get along as they cannot compliment each other and only share the common grounds of being both alive and human?

Honestly, I don't think so.

Cutlery cannot change itself or else loose it's name and intention. On the contrary, people are allowed to change and still be alive and human. I think all people could - them willing - get along and bring out a usefulness in the other. The case is not so hopeful for the knife and spoon They can, at most, acknowledge the use of the other, but not work with...not more efficiently than their dance with the fork.

skip to my lou

Hear ye, hear ye!
As of this new financial year, I have begun the newest (hopefully most sustainable) fitness regime! Two days in and I'm feeling mighty fine, but not too inconvenienced! My days of hosting this overhanging gut are over! Goodbye guilt and shameful baby belly! Hello Boogie Wonderland!

"So, what is this magical idea, sisterr?" You ask.
"Skipping" I reply.

Everyday my only goal (for fitness) is to skip non-stop to the party song of the 70's: Boogie Wonderland. What's more is that the songs following track two on my '70's Super Disco' cd are just as stimulating, for the day when my stamina cries "More! Challenge me further!".

Yesternight I skipped as well as I could (not non-stop, as I was tripping over myself more frequently as the song wore on) to the 4minute, 50second song. It is no easy task, I assure you! After a break, I proceeded to skip to halfway through Lady Marmalade, rewarding myself after with a movie with Suzanne, which was sad. Very, very sad. I managed to reclaim easy breathing halfway through the 88 minutes of Studio Gibli, sympathising more and more with the two beautiful characters in "Grave of the Fireflies" and crying through the last 20minutes- not sobbed, cried silently, so I could still hear the movie. I felt deathy sad afterward, and so proceeded to watch the anime that began my love for Gibli, "Naussica and the Valley of the Wind". I may be a terrible story teller (please excuse the anticlimax recollection of my yesternight, I usually have a point).

Oh oh, here's a nifty little site for bloggers and crafters alike. The latest entries are quite patriotic to Amercia (not that that's a problem), they just lovely crafts and ideas for the restless and hungry: http://www.skiptomylou.org/

all things shiny,
your sisterr.

run amuck carefree ideas

Only look back when circumstances aren't regrettable.

• Love while you're young, lest you become a hagged old thing who cannot remember how to.
• Stop trying to impress the opposite sex.
• Buy a small single edible item (eg: chocolate) and then give it to the person at the register, just because they might have been there for a while and they need a surprise, preferably pleasant.
• Forget political correctness and speak your mind for once (eg: "I do not support gay marriage")
• Thank a friend earnestly for something trivial (eg: "Thank you so much for that joke, it was the most stupendously idiotic thing I've heard today, so thank you. I think I love you")

You may end up smiling, because when your not, you look like a chump.

Chump as defined by dictionary.com:
1. a stupid person; dolt
2. a short, thick piece of wood.
3. the thick, blunt end of anything.

...you probably don't want to look like a chump.

much love
(or whatever it is I feel for you),
your sisterr.

glory sunshine

i see

of you

something wonderful.

be strong,

my love,

steady on.

we'll find a cure

we'll prevent pain

we will belong.

.

dearest beauty

beyond compare

take my hand

come, we'll stand

you are restless, very young.

I'm alright, I don't mind. I'm just running into something bigger than the something that I left behind.

if you loved me, you'd buy me junk:

If it's anywhere as brilliant as his last album "these streets", then whoever i'm with when listening to this, i might just fall in love with. If you've never heard this beautiful 22yo. I suggest you do so. Tell him I love him, tell him to tour Australia!

she succumbed

I have this obsession with books.

I don't even read most of them. I can't remember the last time I finished a book - yet I collect them as though I were...cultured!

The library's grown by 9 since Monday at the price of $14.45.

Books are beauty and my lack of self control leaves me penniless! Yet still the library has grown. Oh yes, on the note of growing collections, I counted my vinyls, I've 31 (Yes, just imagine me beaming with pride).

The sadder story is that I have only twenty six dollars exactly to last me til the end of the month. Impossible, you say? I will painfully defy this impossibility by evil plans to expand another collection: that of my monies!!

not cold enough to be cool

An epiphany of sorts has landed with a thud upon my way! I'm not exactly the coolest of humans. Hey now, let's not be cruel. So now I'm just going to try - with all my might- to be the coolest loser possible.

I think I'm a little too eager and easily excited to be cool, though I try. I like my stupid, immature friends and I don't exactly dress smart.

Take this little beauty for example! If I could be a fraction of her cool, that would be enough! I mean, seriously, why be pretty when you can be hilarious? I suppose I hope to be both. But heck, I also hope to pass tomorrow's exam!

maybe tomorrow?

Today, I did something I barely do. I appreciated the company of all those in my proximity of conversation (except one stranger, I confess - who lost me in his attempts to impress me with conversations of sex coupled with insufferable attempts at small talk- resembling instead: a broken record; whom my poor "coffee" date was forced in her lovely nature, to smile and "laugh" politely in response to). Apart from him, those I usually don't have time for, I wanted to know about. It was as if I had caught a glimpse of gold thread and become curious about a beauty I hadn't seen before - laced neatly into an unsuspecting friend. It was fresh. As it turns out, other people are breaths of fresh. I finally realised (probably temporarily) that I'm not ridiculously cool, and that knowing others adds to the measure of my day.

Sadly, it probably won't take long for this she-narcissist to wake up again expecting the world to wait upon her every wish and command; at the ready to pout and host pity-parties at the detection of supposed injustices dealt her.

I'm trying to condition myself to appreciate tomorrow. It's terribly hard to though (if not impossible), when your whole life you've expected tomorrow without a doubt.

But tomorrow does not belong to me,
and having a "next time" to see you is no guarantee.
I hope...we'll have a tomorrow, together.

Wahaha! Now you're wondering if I'm dying, incredibly sober or very christian. So while I'm here, yes, Jesus loves you!

sisterr loves the sound of local!

So the first half of the day had eluded me and by 2:30pm I left the house early having predicted a craving to drive - anywhere away from home. I was 5 minutes earlier than necessary and sat outside (in the car I drove only because the keys to the usual metal molds were nowhere in sight). Parked on Kings parade, feeling rather like the pauper, I waited for the kid without the guitar to exit his house for a short jam sesh @church. The day had been...droll to say the least. Then on rolled this song, & my day took a turn for the better. Witty, whimsical, beautifully chill and dipped in hilarity. I may even have nerve enough to deem this romantic!


It reminded me of Pez's beloved Festival Song, which I was delighted now had a video clip to accompany it! Reminisce summer with me, I dare you.


Kudos to Triple J, whose advocacy for local music has my ears very pleased! I heart Aussie Hip Hop. There, I said it. Tell me which other sounds evoke satisfied smirks and smiles from such stupid/stupendous ideas. Go on, tell me!

i'm afraid your fears are many.

Hippopotomonstrosesquipped is the scientific term for the fear of long words, whilst the fear of everything is simply: Panophobia.

Speaking of fears, I seem aptly capable of frightening those unaccustomed to my abstract comments and wisecrack confessions of love. If you ask me, most of you may be philophobics (no, it doesn't mean your afraid of Phillipinos, it is in fact, the fear of love)!

Knock yourselves out with the phobia list: http://phobialist.com/

It will, no doubt, humour you to find such strange fears worthy of scientific terms. Here are my favourites from of the A-phobias:

Alliumphobia- Fear of garlic.
Anglophobia- Fear of England or English culture, etc.
Apotemnophobia- Fear of persons with amputations.
Arachibutyrophobia- Fear of peanut butter sticking to the roof of the mouth.
Asymmetriphobia- Fear of asymmetrical things.
Atomosophobia- Fear of atomic explosions.
Autodysomophobia- Fear of one that has a vile odor.

...and just one from the Z-phobias:
Zemmiphobia- Fear of the great mole rat.

thank you, sunshine.

There's nothing more solid than when the two strangely closest yet strangely furthest from you, tell you - in their subtle, slightly unflattering manner- that you look good.

I don't feel like

a million dollars.

I

own

the

printing

press.

excuse me, I don't appreciate your negligence.

I would hate to be homeless in Melbourne with all the messed up weather and all.
Actually, I'd hate to be homeless, period.
Kinda makes you wonder when your obsessing over who next to facebook stalk, that there are people out there basking or begging to get their one meal for the day. There are others who'd jump at the opportunity to study , let alone study at university.

Here I am taking for granted, everything.
Suck it up, sister, finish your overdue essay.

don't be afraid.

strange, softly sung pleasures

Sweetheart, you have blood on your shirt where your heart's meant to be.

Love ain't for the faint hearted.
Yet for the faint hearted, love is the only hope, lesson, rock solid consistency that can keep their feeble hearts from crashing. Dismiss Disney's "love at first sight" and "true loves kiss". Nothing truly good was ever so easy (Christianity included).

Down to the knitty-gritty, I've never fallen in love in the romantic sect. Never. I've come very close, in my immature and childish infatuations, twice. That's it. The fridget inside me flirts but refuses commitment to anyone I'd even doubt: namely everyone (geez louise, she'll never find it).

But love, the silent hero love, beaten and bruised and still as unrelenting as freshly begun; completely unrelated to forbidden infatuations and infedelities and trivial sexual intimacies. That, I am familiar with. The love that hits the dirt and grabs the flame you're about to douse yourself in; the love that watches me walk away and still insists to be where I left it when I feel like returning; the love that wants to be returned but doesn't have to be. The love that wouldn't run away with me but would remind me of the necessity to fight for the things worth fighting for. Love ain't a coward, nor is it selfish.

Sweetheart, lift ya head a little, looking at the hole in your chest ain't gonna grow a heart. We better start looking for it now. It was ripped out pretty hard wasn't it? Well where did you last see it? That needs to heal.

That's the love I know... and the love I've been shown.

Where is yours?
I'll help you look for it.

Procrastination: Spending about two hours creating this blog and facelifting the other blog forgetting that I have a 2000word essay due tomorrow that I've yet to begin.

-relative to ignorance, but mostly initiated through distraction.

Forbidden Love: love cultivated in darkness to satisfy selfish reason; not likely to survive in the light (for long).

-relative to infatuation as forbidden love usually is just the former.

Symptoms: one or both lovers are required to keep in hiding or maintain a lie(s) in order for the relationship to continue.