Friday, 24 April 2015

Social Skills?

Ever since I started working this has been a question.  Well, actually, it's kinda always been on my mind since like last year when I had some sort of personal revelation, but now it's a question of which philosophy to follow.  How do people do it?


Social skills.  It's a matter of how easy you are to talk to, how much people enjoy your company, how normal you are, how society sees you, based on the way you interact with people.

I'm telling you now, at the age of 12 I had no social skills whatsoever.  I think it's a self confidence issue.  You see, at 12 I had none and pretty much thought I had to follow along because I was always wrong, but then, at like 13 or 14 I realised that no, I'm just as right as the rest of them, and I think that's when I developed myself a little.  So yeah, the first step to being able to communicate with other human beings appropriately is to have some self confidence.  Realise you're just as amazing as everyone else, if not more amazing.


But now it's a matter of your personality, and how you convey that personality.  Like, what do you do?  What do you say to be funny, or fun, or just nice to have a chat with?  I don't want to just be plain old boring normal.  I want people to be able to label me, to have a thought on me.  What am I?  Who am I?  What does the way I interact say about me?

This is where work has come in.  Working at a cinema actually requires a lot of socialising.  Mostly with co-workers but also through customer service I guess, but then you don't really meet the customers for more than a few minutes at most so they don't really count.  I'm talking about the co-workers, who you spend full 5 hour shifts with, here.


Let's analyse the other trainees first.

One of them is like a "best mate" I guess you could say.  She laughs a lot and is really good with the guys.  She likes zombies and xbox and Fast and Furious and that kind of thing, and she's simply confident and is able to talk.  I'm not sure what she does or how she does it or how she's able to find stuff to laugh about.  But honestly, when I'm working with her it makes me look fun as well.  So that's a bonus, but what is she doing that makes the overall environment this way?

Another one is really bubbly.  She's just really really sociable, from what I've seen of her anyway.  I find her easy to talk to, but she also said she was like totally silent on her first shift.  I wasn't, but maybe she's exaggerating a lot?  Anyway, I only spent about a half hour with her, but she's kinda like the nice slightly ditzy one, and people like that, but I'm not that.

The other girl is just really popular.  Everybody knows her.  Like literally everybody in the entire city, or north side anyway.  She's been to three different schools and people already knew her before she got hired, and I'd even heard of her before she got hired.  From the time I've spent with her, I know she's easy to talk to as well, and she's really good at knowing how to act in any situation.  But how does she do it???

The one guy that got hired with us is confident, but possibly in a bad way.  He's kinda weird because he already asked the "best mate" girl out (who rejected lol).  Yeah, but he enjoys being good at everything, and organised, and having a plan.  A few co-workers have told me he's kinda weird to talk to.  But what makes him weird to talk to?  What is he doing wrong?


And if I were to categorize everyone else I've managed to meet, they're all so socially apt.  I'm just hoping I'm just as great at this as they are.  I am, right?  Nobody's called me weird and everyone is talking to me alright, so I must be doing something.  What's my overall impression, I wonder.


There's the older people who talk about uni and phones and music.

There's the slightly younger people obsessed with night clubs and bars and drinking and drugs and social media.

There's the other group of younger people who aren't.

And there are those in between.

There are the bossy people no one likes.

There are the people I haven't met yet or can't remember, who all seem so perfectly normal.

And then there's me.  I don't know what to think about me.


What should I be?  How are my social skills?  What should I say or do and how should I act?  I can technically make myself be anything.  I'm a person to be moulded but what do I do with myself?  And how do I learn to perfect that person?

Maybe I should just continue doing what I'm doing, being pleasant and somewhat funny?  Or am I boring?  What even am I?

It's frustrating.

Maybe I'm overanalysing things too much.

Love,
M

Tuesday, 21 April 2015

A Family Trip to Sydney (the usual)

Dear Diary,

I'm incredibly irritated at the world right now.  Daddy won't stop singing in that ridiculously high stupid voice, Mummy won't stop saying "shhh" and grabbing her ears like a 5 year old when she knows I'm right or started an argument and doesn't want to finish it, and E won't stop pretending to be a goody-two-shoes baby.  All I can hear is them in this cramped hotel room because they won't shut up even though it's past midnight.

...

Oh look at that.  The family is talking about how rude and argumentative I am again.  They're talking about why I don't appreciate E's "cuteness" while she's gloating.  And finally I've said something funny so E has to go along and say, "no one cares", while Daddy laughs his head off and Mummy eventually goes on about how we have to be quieter, as if she's not being loud herself.

...

Now Mummy's snoring like a whistle through her nose, or maybe it's a zipper being pulled slowly.  And now she's awake telling me to turn off the light, probably having been woken up by her own snoring, as I will be by Daddy's very early this morning.

So we got in the car to Sydney very late on Thursday morning, about two hours later than we planned to leave.  Daddy had been cycling outside for two hours just to make the point that yes, he was on time.  And maybe we all would have left an hour earlier if only he'd come inside and I don't know, helped for once?

In the car was the radio debate.  Basically, that's where my sister and I in the back say, "Could someone please turn on the radio?", and my dad goes, "I don't know how." even though it's literally this one button that we've been pointing at for like a minute now.  And then my mum goes, "Be patient girls!" as if it takes freaking forever to just press that stupid button.  So eventually my sister simply takes off her seatbelt, leans forwards and presses the button, and gets back in her seat again, all within 5 seconds, which causes my mum to start yelling about how we can't even wait five minutes.


In Sydney we do the usual.  We check into our usual hotel.  We sit in the hotel room for what's meant to be ten minutes but is actually an hour because apparently we need a rest even though we've been resting for three hours in the car.  And then we head straight to Mamaks as usual, which by the way is this amazing Malaysian restaurant in Chinatown that everyone should go to, and order the roti canai, mee goreng and nasi lemak like we did.  My sister would return to this shop every night of our trip, and for lunch once more as well.

After a productive afternoon of shopping, we went to see Les Miserables the musical which was absolutely amazing.  We had the songs stuck in our heads for the entire trip up until now, and wow.  I actually love that musical so much.  Just so you know, Eponine is my favourite character and that prissy-man-boy Marius doesn't deserve her anyway.  Maybe she should go end up with Enjolras in heaven.



The next day was kinda rainy but we went to The Gap anyway and took some lovely little photos.  The car ride there wasn't so pleasant though.  My mum kept going on about how my dad was going on his phone too much and was like "what's the point of you being here if you're going on your phone", and then he said that her brothers always do the same thing, and she started going off on a random tangent as usual and talking about how she hates it when he uses her brothers as examples.  And he was still trying to stay on the topic of how it's okay to go on his phone for a while if there's something important going on at work, but she was already going on about a new argument because she kinda can't focus on the real topic ever, and at this point I was telling her to stop being unreasonable and E was too, but nobody listens to E because she's just a 'dumb lazy baby'.



So yeah we acted like a happy family for the photos when in reality we were pretty much just walking alone and asking each other to pose or be photographers, and then yelling about how pathetic each other's photography is, or about how we don't want to pose any longer.






And that night I went off the rails at my dad for deleting the photos from his phone when I explicitly told him not to, meaning I would now have to transfer everything via email on my irritating continuously freezing laptop if I wanted any of these photos on my camera roll.  And after a twenty minute tirade on the petty issue of photos I wallowed in my PMS misery with a ginormous choc fudge sundae from the Lindt CafĂ© on Darling Harbour.



On Saturday I literally only left the hotel room for a buffet breakfast and a quick walk before sitting in the hotel room on my phone while the family went out to Mamaks for what they said would take about an hour but ended up being two and a half.  I did watch a nice movie with my sister later though, on our new Netflix account which I am absolutely loving, although I wish we had the American library because the Australian one is seriously pathetic in comparison.  The movie we watched was the Spectacular Now which was pretty great.  I love Sutter as a character.  He's so perfectly complicated, the definition of putting on a smile and hiding the troubles inside, the perfect philosophy on whether living for the moment is the correct mantra.


And that night we drove for an hour to visit relatives, where my dad told them jokes about how self centred I am, as usual.  I feel like he's trying to create a negative identity out of me.  There probably is some truth in what he's saying, but go to anyone he hasn't painted this picture of me to, and they think I'm perfectly nice, probably because I act polite-ish to everyone outside my family, and simply atrocious to those within.  But seriously, I only started actually thinking I'm selfish after my dad told people and me so over and over again.  And then I started acting along to complement his jokes.  Maybe I am selfish now.  But who made me think so?  Who made that who I am?  Maybe if he'd just back off on telling me I'm rude and selfish and that's who I am, then maybe I'd stop acting that way in front of him.  Maybe I'm not even acting so anymore.  Maybe he's just gotten so biased that he can't see me in any other light.  That sounds like my dad, honestly.  And he has this way of making everyone believe he knows what he's talking about, when really his opinions are just as clueless as everyone else's.


On Sunday morning we went for a nice long walk where my dad kept trying to direct us on his rigid route when really, all we wanted was to walk to get food.  So that's what we did, and then we went with him.  Sometimes I walked alongside my dad, and sometimes with my mum and my sister.  That's the thing.  My dad always says we're having "family time" when all he does is walk like 100m in front of us while we stroll along behind.  He never slows down.  He hates strolling.  He doesn't really spend much of the walk with the family at all, to be honest.

Family time happens when we're eating.  We'll be stuffing our faces with Yum Cha from that really nice place with the ridiculous queue, and my parents will be happily discussing what to get while we're eating ourselves to the point where it physically hurts to shove anything else down our throats.  Except for my sister of course.  It's either sticky rice, mango pudding or nothing.  But for the rest of us, it's let's try a bit of everything and eat some more and then steal my sister's food while we're at it.

And somehow, when we're about to go home after Yum Cha, my dad, sister and I get stuck fetching the car.  It's too bad my dad has the worst sense of direction because E and I are literally yelling at him to turn left but he doesn't and then we're all lost.  And even when we give him directions that are clearly correct or from the map, he'll be like "No.  It's definitely this way." and get us all lost again.  So what should've been a 2 minute drive from the parking lot to the hotel took almost half an hour.


But we made it.  And my mum loaded her 25 plastic bags into the car, because she's just too cool for a regular luggage like normal people.  And we were off.  This time my dad had no problem turning on the radio to listen to sport, and I was fine with that.  I took out my phone and plugged my earphones in, and my sister did the same, so we had three different people listening to different things, and my mum listening to her snoring, because anything is better than talking to each other.

Love,
M

Wednesday, 15 April 2015

Secret Blogger

To all you bloggers out there, I'm interested to know: How many people in your personal life know about your blog?  And is it better that they do or they don't?


For me personally, I wish I were a completely secret blogger.  Not for deceitful reasons like Gossip Girl (no matter how cool, and wrong, that is), but more to stay anonymous, to be able to speak my mind as much as I like on here without feeling awkward or worried that someone I know is reading my thoughts.

I mean, that's what a blog is meant to be, right?  It's meant to be like an online diary as such.  Obviously I do want people to read this diary, seeing as I'm posting it on the internet. But couldn't these people not be people I see at school, or at home, or anywhere?  Why can't these people live in England or Africa or Antarctica for all I care?  I love hearing you guys' comments and having you all reading about what some random Asian Australian is thinking.  I think that's cool and also gives me some worldly opinions when you expand on my posts.  But what about people I actually know?

When I decided to create a blog, I had this lovely little anonymous corner in mind.  It was going to be my guilty pleasure, my secret hobby.  The only person who would know would be June, who was the inspiration for my blog in the first place.  Unfortunately, that's not how it all worked out.

So I made my blog on a sick day.  I was bored at home and was like, "Hey June.  I think I'm gonna make a blog today."  And I did.  I made one, and sent her the link, but stupid me forgot to tell her I wanted it to be a secret.  So before I knew it most of our group knew.  And that was okay.  I mean, I have fantastic friends who wouldn't judge and probably wouldn't care enough to update themselves on my blog anyway.


And then the next people to know were my parents.  My mum was wondering why I had been so completely obsessed and secretive with my laptop lately (I guess I'm not the best at hiding stuff from my nosy parents), and so I decided to tell her so she wouldn't think I was doing anything drastically wrong, because she honestly expects the worst of every secret I keep.  And of course once I tell my mum something, the entire family will know.

It started with my dad and sister, who I don't think care one bit because they're kinda self obsessed.  Or well, my dad is anyway.  I have the sneaking suspicion my sister has been quietly reading my blog, seeing as I've caught the tabs open after she's used the computer.  It's a sweet gesture I guess.  After my immediate family came my uncle and aunty, who started talking about it when I went to Malaysia and had me all confused, seeing as my mum promised she hadn't told anybody.  And I'm pretty sure some of my grand uncles and aunties, and other uncles and aunties, and second uncles and aunties know about my blog too.  Stupid family.

And I guess you could say this is all endearing that so many people care about the random ramblings that go on in my head, but I'd really rather they didn't have access to any of it, or know that I enjoy writing stuff out in the first place.


It's probably really stupid of me to be writing any of this here, seeing as quite a few people at school know of my blog now, but you know what?  I'm going to anyway because if I want to keep the enjoyment I gain from the honesty of my blog alive, I'm going to need to get through it and not care who's reading this.  I doubt too many of them are reading this now anyway.  I mean, I'm not that interesting to read about.  But if you are reading this (I'm looking at you TN) then HII!!  Please don't take this too judgementally because you're probably one of the people I don't mind reading this.

The uncomfortable thing about people from school knowing about your blog is that they'll probably talk about it, or possibly be on it in the middle of school.  And it's not someone else's fault if they overhear or see it.  It's very likely that some of your other friends will find out about it, or even people who are mere acquaintances, half friends?  And it's no one's fault really.  As soon as one person knows, others will probably know too.  It's life, and it sucks when you're trying to maintain an anonymous blog.

The really awkward part is when they recognise themselves in your blog, both negative and positive.  For example, if you took a lovely little photo and they happen to be in it, even if their face is completely wiped out.  They might go on about being scared about where you're putting their photos, even if they're barely even in it.  Like they think you're so super obsessed with them, or they're just a little paranoid.  I mean, wouldn't it be better if they just didn't know about it?  It's not like you're breaching privacy or anything.  Nobody reading my blog is going to stalkishly stare at their invisible face and be like, "I want to find that girl."

And then, if you're doing one of your rants and something they did becomes a negative example.  It's not like you hate them or anything.  It's not like you think they're wrong or bad people.  You're just mad at the world and it happens, but it doesn't look that way when they read it, and that can cause some awkward sticky situations.  Sometimes they won't address it and it'll just be a white elephant.  But otherwise, they might talk about it indirectly, through other people, or in the best circumstances, to your face.  Everyone has different reactions, and I'm sorry if you found something negative about yourself in this blog.  I really didn't mean it.

And even those regular rambles about nothing in particular.  Like how you're wishing for the holidays to start, or your thoughts on how lonely you felt the other day... Who would want someone they actually know to read that?


I can already feel myself starting to censor what I write on here.  I need to alter the experiences I write about to not be about them.  I've been feeling like writing less and less lately because I'm not sure what to write about without feeling judged anymore.  I'm feeling judged now.  Blogging is becoming more like Instagram and Facebook than a diary.  It's feeling like a place to share polished highlight moments rather than posting for comforting words and outside opinions.

But I'm not sure what to do.  I must say, in the 8 months I've had my blog, it's become a part of my life, and I don't want to give any of it up.  Maybe I should go with the whole "Don't let the haters stop you from doing your thang" thing.  And no I don't think you guys (who I know in real life) are haters as such, but please stop laughing at that haters description, especially the 'thang' bit.  I have the urge to backspace it right now but nope... I'm leaving that there.


And my advice to all you bloggers reading this: Be a secret blogger.  Keep your blogging life completely separate from your real life.  It'll be like your little corner to have a little chat.  It'll be like your personal advice column, because some of the advice readers give based on your posts are amazing.  But you've gotta be honest to get any of that advice.  And trust me, you'll get a lot more honesty out if you know nobody you see face to face is going to discuss any of it with you.

Love,
M

Saturday, 11 April 2015

Malaysia - A Creative Piece

So in English this term, we were meant to write a creative piece that was sort of like a recount, but sort of not.  As in, we had to describe a place or person or event we were familiar with, through a story, and not necessarily in chronological order. 

It was actually due yesterday, so I'm just hoping for a good grade on this, and I have to admit, I'm actually pretty proud of my piece, which is why I'd like to share it with you.

I chose to write about Malaysia, and if there's any Malaysian relatives reading this, I hope you enjoy.  That also goes for the rest of you.  Here it is:


I have a love-hate relationship with Malaysia.  On the one hand, I love seeing the Asian relatives, eating oily foods every day, and escaping the vast and boring continent.  On the other hand though, I hate the heat, I hate the constipation but, most of all, I eventually feel the excruciating need to leave the country’s havoc behind.

The moment I step outside the deceptively air-conditioned airport into the sweltering heat, I know I have officially arrived at my second home:  The humidity hits me like a wall, blocking any cool clean air from entering my nose.  I’m already drenched in sweat, that energy-sapping, body-wilting sweat (partly due to the leggings my mum insisted I wear on the plane), my legs are stuck in place and trembling from the heat (partly due to the leggings my mum insisted I wear on the plane), and I feel like I’m being trapped in a furnace (yes, again, partly due to the leggings my mum insisted I wear on the plane).  We stand amongst the unorderly stream of cars, the irregular aggressive honking, and the smell of pollution, waiting for my uncle who is half an hour late as he is every year.

“Don’t wander off, girls,” my mum warns my sister and me. “Malaysia isn’t like Australia.  People will kidnap you and sell your organs or use you for prostitution.”

“We know, Mummy.”

An hour later we’re driving past restaurants with no doors, no walls, and no sense of hygiene, anticipating the delicious food.  The streets, filled with open drains, reveal odious brown water to the nonchalant population.  Cars and motorbikes, crisscrossing in a chaos with no direction, all selfishly try to find the best place to illegally park.  It couldn’t be more foreign from Australia, with its clean cut roads and green trees, with its perfectly polite population and consistent predictability.  Malaysia is bustling with outlandish people, selling pirated movies in plain sight, ignoring the assortment of rogue animals inhabiting the streets.

As we turn the corner between the shanty houses, the first thing I see is the makeshift clothing line.  Then comes the rusting white gate, groaning open, and finally we are parked on the tiled driveway of grandma’s house.

“Ayah.  Look how much you’ve grown M.”  My grandma waddles towards me, arms wide open.

“Why you so big one.” 

“She’s Aussie.  That’s why.”

I feel like a giant amongst this family offshoot of midgets, much like I do out with the wider population.

No matter how much I need to go to the bathroom after a full day of travelling, I don’t.  I’m not ready to deal with the perpetually damp, mouldy bathrooms, which have no shower stall but rather a basin and a bucket.  Instead I stay outside in the balmy Malaysian night, making small talk with the relatives.

“Who wants roti canai?” my grandpa finally asks.  The words roti and canai send my sister and me dashing inside.  We’ve been waiting for this moment for 11 months.  Our mouths are watering in anticipation of the oily scrunched bread, dipped in curry that is uniquely associated with Malaysia.  I have an almost spiritual connection with the bread, once even being diagnosed with a throat infection for eating too much of it.

Food is one of the fundamental reasons as to why I love Malaysia, which is why I get annoyed at the utter lack of appreciation my native cousins have.

“You’re so lucky,” one of them says as we jump over a drain to enter the ridiculously air-conditioned mall.  “You get to eat steak every day.”

“I don’t like steak.”

“How can you not like steak?  You’re Australian.”

“I just don’t.”

“Well I love western food.”

“I do too,” my demanding younger cousin chimes in, which is how we end up eating at Pizza Hut rather than Roti House, against all the adults’ wishes, and mine.

The shop has a surreal smell, like it’s pizza but at the same time it’s not.  When I see that five waitresses are needed to serve the massive quantity of dishes on the counter, I know the food belongs to us.  I’m considerably surprised and delighted, though, to see that my pizza is covered in Asian spices, served with a side of rice, looking like an Asianized distorted pizza, not ‘western’ at all.

“So, did you hear about Andy?  Such a naughty boy that one,” my aunty says.  And the gossiping has begun.

“Who’s Andy?”

“He’s your father’s sister’s husband’s brother’s son lah.  Surely you must know him one.”

I shake my head.  “How’s he naughty?”

“Ayah.  He sneaks out at night, gallivanting with his friends doing who knows what.  He failed third year three times.”

Always playing video games.  Never studies one,” an unknown relative adds, three hours later.  By this time our dishes have long been cleared off the table and the restaurant staff are giving us death glares, but conversation is still in full swing, among the adults at least.  Us kids aren’t complaining too much either, preoccupied with the free wifi supplied in this restaurant, along with every other shop in the country.

The next morning I wake up feeling pregnant with toxic gases, oil, and pizza from the night before.  This isn’t unusual as I’ve been waking up bloated every single day I’ve been here, and every single day I’ve still managed to scoff down a massive breakfast of fried rice, fried chicken and fried chili.

“Why doesn’t Malaysia have any healthy food?” I complain.

“What do you mean?  We got loads of healthy food,” my aunty says, handing me a bowl of fried vegetables swimming in oil.

Well, it’s the best I’m gonna get I think to myself, gingerly spooning the vegetables onto my plate.  “So, what’s the plan for today?” I gurgle, my mouth full.

“We’ll probably go to the mall,” as we have every single other day.  I inwardly roll my eyes.

My cousin and I jump over the drain to enter the mall, passing the threshold between extreme heat and freezing cold.  I’m still unsure as to how I haven’t caught the flu yet.  We clutch our bags, wary of pick pocketers in this freakishly dangerous country.  “I want western food!” my younger cousin demands yet again, causing us to end up at Nandos, where they serve all chicken with a side of rice.  My massive extended family takes up the biggest table in the restaurant, inconsiderately yelling over every other customer.

“Ayah, that boy Andy…” my aunty begins.  And here we go again.

I just want to go home.
 
 
And that was my creative, but just note that a lot of the descriptions were slightly exaggerated.  Just slightly.
Love,
M

Wednesday, 8 April 2015

Disconnected

Do you ever feel the urge to be like an ice queen?  Unfeeling.  Aloof.  Disconnected.  Or just a floater, oblivious and uncaring to the world around you, depending only on your inner thoughts.  Is it like reaching your utmost point of being and self awareness, being completely centred.


I'm honestly so sick of the daily repetitions of life right now.  I know school ends in two days, but could this week pass any slower?  It's gotten to the point that I don't really care about anything anymore.  It's a matter of showing up, being disconnected, and coming home again.

There's no more over thinking.  There's no more analysing of every situation.  I don't care what people do.  I don't really care what the teacher is saying.  I just want to go home.  I just want life to change.  I need variety to keep me connected to the world.


But do I want to be connected?  Is it better to not focus on the little things, to not get upset over the little things?  Shouldn't I try to be this uncaring all the time?  Isn't it great being disconnected?

As soon as new people come into the picture, or something changes, the floater leaves and in enters the green eyed monster.  It's exhausting and unnecessary and causes so much angst.  I need to train myself to be an ice queen on the inside, permanently.

I reckon it's important to rely on yourself.  It's important to realise that the relationships between others and what they do is none of your business.  Unless someone involves you or you're able to involve yourself if you really want to, then why waste brain space on something?


Disconnect yourself from the world and spend time in your own mind.  Let them talk without wanting to join in.  Let yourself miss out on a few things.  You need to stop needing them.  You need to stop needing approval.

If you stop continuously thinking about what every single other person's thinking, and start focusing on your own thoughts, or this present moment, then wouldn't you be a happier person?

That's exactly it.  Focus on the present moment, every moment.  Focus on yourself in the moment and think, how can I make this moment more worthwhile?  If it involves being productive, go be.  If it involves joining that conversation, go join.  Whatever it is, stop wondering what other people are doing and start wondering what you're doing.


Disconnect yourself from everything else and be self aware.  Be centred.  Be focused on the now and your experiences, because after all, they're what really matters in the end.

Love,
M

Friday, 3 April 2015

Getting a Job


I've literally been obsessing over this for weeks.  So I'm sorry to anyone who has been hearing me go on and on about my job (even when I hadn't started yet).  It's been a bit like word vomit.  I can't stop updating people even when they don't want to be updated.

Getting a job at 15 is a very controversial topic in my family.  Being classic Asians, all my relatives' ethic is that working is bad because it takes time away from studying, which I wasn't spending much of my time doing anyway.  They all think I'm going to be so enamoured with easy money that I'll skip university and become a hobo, because yes, I would just love to live off $10 an hour for the rest of my life.  They also have this weird obsession with the fact that I'll be meeting weird people and start going off and ruining my life or something.  I don't know.  Back in Malaysia people don't work until they've done their degrees overseas, and their first job is like becoming an engineer or lawyer or doctor or something.  I guess they don't have the opportunity at 15, or maybe school is just harder for them. 

The only people on my side are my mum and like every other Australian person, because they all think it's a good experience, which it is.  I mean, I'm learning social skills through customer service, and I'm learning how to deal with money, and I'm learning what working is actually like, and I'm getting stuff on my resume.  I don't see any of my cousins doing that, even the ones living in Australia.  They're all too busy studying 24/7, going for tution or taking random tests to get into ridiculously streamed schools (they will actually kick you out if you get bad grades).


So yeah, my family is totally against me, but that was okay because when I started applying for jobs none of them thought I'd actually get one.  They kinda just laughed and were like, "She's too young." or "She's not street smart enough to actually get a job by herself."  Which is why it was so cool when my local cinema decided to call me about a group interview 20 minutes after I submitted my resume.  I was literally freaking out.  I probably sounded like such a retard on the phone because the call was completely unexpected.

Honestly, the group interview felt like a classroom.  There were about 25 of us sitting in a cinema, with the manager, or the 'teacher', sitting at a desk at the front.  She got us to get to know the person next to us, like you would in a school camp or something.  I was sitting next to some guy who said he liked computers and had a band, which was cool.  He didn't get the job though.  And then she asked us questions, like in an interview, except we had to listen to 25 different answers.  I had to leave the group interview early, which made me really nervous, but it was all good and I apparently got to miss a maths test ;)


And then I got called in for an actual one on one interview, which I was surprisingly not all that worried about, until we were on our way there anyway.  I was just really polite, and acted super confident, and I honestly can't remember what happened but I must've been okay.  They did ask me this one question, "What was the last movie you watched?"  The last movie I had watched was Fifty Shades of Grey as a joke with a few of my friends that day, so it was still in my mind, but fortunately I managed to answer with The Theory of Everything.  And luckily I did that, because their follow up question was, "What would you say to someone to get them to watch that?", and I have no idea what I'd say about Fifty Shades of Grey... Laters Baby?


AND THEN I FOUND OUT I GOT THE JOB!!

So I went to the induction, which is basically where I sign papers, get a tour and get paid for being there.  There were 5 people there.  5 people from the group interview managed to get the job.  The first person I met was actually already my Facebook friend, but I didn't mention that.  We both knew it though.  They're all my age, which was refreshing, but also gave me a little social anxiety because I'm really starting to think I have social problems.  But yeah all the people were nice, and we swapped numbers, and the social anxiety I felt there was nothing compared to my first shift.

My fellow trainees may have been my age, but the people I worked with on my first shift last night weren't.  They were all 18-21 and I had no idea what to say, but I managed, and now I'm wondering what they thought of me.  But I shouldn't wonder because if I want to be myself and stop acting either pretentious or dorky, I need to not continuously think about it.

Working is actually way harder than I thought it would be.  What I have to do is less structured and takes more common sense than I thought.  And I was doing the easiest job.  They said I was learning fast but I feel like they say that to everybody, and it was a busy night.  Let's just say I was physically drained and tired by the end of it, and work sure won't ever be boring.


My next shift is on Sunday, but this time I'll be with another trainee from the induction.

Wish me luck!

Love,
M