Wednesday, 30 November 2016

Where you lead, I will follow

A television show is just a television show.  It is the product of talented writers who create the story as they go, letting the characters take them wherever they may, designed for bored people who crave escapism, such as ourselves, to binge watch over a nice fat bowl of yellow popcorn.  Yet, Gilmore Girls feels like so much more than just a television show.  This show has been with me for around six months now.  The adventures of Lorelai and Rory Gilmore have taken a constant place in my brain for half a year.  How can a simple script and a few actors have such a considerable impact on a person?

Set in Stars Hollow, Gilmore Girls was always the best feel-good show.  Rory Gilmore had exactly what any sixteen year old girl could want.  She had a mother who may as well have been her best friend; she had a best friend who, in today's time, would've been the coolest, most hipster friend a girl could have; she had a whole town of people who absolutely loved her; she had wealthy grandparents willing to pay for her education, as well as adding some spice to her life in the form of family drama; she had perfect grades at a perfectly elitist school, giving her such a bright future; and she had the hottest boyfriends.  Who wouldn't want to watch this show as a form of escapism?

But at the same time, Gilmore Girls was so much more than that.  There were countless occasions where I would think very seriously about how much I wanted to be more like Rory, or Lorelai.  Rory was always so genuinely nice.  While always succeeding in every way possible, she was still so matter-of-fact about it all.  Unlike Paris, she didn't feel the need to act superior, or prove her achievements to everybody.  She was never one for trying to seek approval, or sharing her personal life when unnecessary.  She was always so... perfect.  And I think that in some ways, Rory made me want to be more humble and private.  She made me consider the fact that success and relationships are a personal thing, and it is possible to thrive in happiness without everybody else needing to know.

Then there was Lorelai.  She was independent and always carried herself with a kind of aura that made everybody want to talk to her.  She was never awkward.  She sparkled.  In the way that she conducted herself, I realised that it was possible to get what you want by simply saying exactly what you feel.  Always be nice, always be respectful, and always be too honest - that is the key to being a charming, genuine person - as taught by Lorelai Gilmore.

As Rory grew up and her life was no longer so seemingly perfect, Gilmore Girls became less of a feel-good show.  Rory dropped out of Yale just as I was beginning to study for my own testing week, and this may be a coincidence, or I may be reading a lot into this, but this was around the same time that my own grades began to fluctuate downwards.  I'm not saying that Gilmore Girls caused this, but I'm saying that I was finding her predicament somewhat relatable.  "You don't have it."  That's what Michum Huntzberger told Rory that sent her crashing down.  "You don't have it."  All those things you thought you were great at, what if you're not?  What if you're not as smart as you think you are?  What happens when one thing that makes up a huge part of you is simply taken away?

Then, as Rory is about to graduate from Yale, she has no idea what the future holds.  At some points she drives herself crazy, having mini meltdowns and receiving setbacks.  It is a stressful time, not receiving what you would like to receive to make your dream possible.  An internship was her gateway into the New York Times, a scholarship is my ticket out of this city.  The fact that everybody was working so hard for what they wanted, unless they were like Paris and taking the safe route through grad school after school after school, made me realise that life is not about always receiving what you apply for.  It is possible to thrive with a rejection.  There are other pathways.

Rory described her future as open.  She was excited.  She wasn't pinned down to one plan.  There were so many opportunities out in the world for her to seek.  Sometimes knowing exactly where you are going is not what is right, no matter how completely stable it may sound.  Sometimes it is nice to leave your options open, to work towards something while also allowing that something to have many possibilities.  To know exactly where you want to be, with all its little details and avocado trees, is not important, and once that is realised this huge weight is lifted off your chest.  You can be 16 or 20, and the future is just as exciting as it was before.

So back when I spoiled the ending of Gilmore Girls for myself, back when I was upset that Rory does not end up with Logan, I was wrong.  Bon Voyage is the perfect goodbye.  Rory is being sent off to conquer the world, Lorelai has finally found love, and the whole town is celebrating in the quirky way they always have.  The final shot pans out from Luke's diner on the morning of Rory's departure, exactly like the pilot in a classic come-full-circle, so full of hope and and possibilities

At this point, we can imagine Rory crossing paths with Logan again.  We can imagine her becoming the editor of a famous newspaper, writing articles that change the opinions of the world.

Well, we could imagine until they decided to release the Revival, which I am frankly too scared to watch.  I know how it ends, and I know how everyone's lives turn out, and it honestly ruins everything.

So here I am, sitting on a high of one beautifully written tv show.  Maybe I'll give it some time before watching a few hours of footage that could ruin everything.  Maybe I'll never end up watching it at all.  Maybe I will finish with Rory's future open and leave it at that, because if her dreams are crushed, I think mine may as well be too.


Monday, 28 November 2016

The Unattainable Disconnect

They say that the only way to stop this addiction is to go cold turkey.  Delete all the apps.  Hide your phone.  God forbid, deactivate all your accounts.  Now, what would you become?

I've noticed these holes in the knowledge I've been able to obtain.  There are certain groups of beautiful, skinny girls in beautiful, skinny clothes containing six known faces with archives of who they are and who they know only one click away, and then one girl, with no tags, no profiles, nothing.  This girl is an absolute mystery.  Her friends know her.  Her family knows her.  Her pretty face appears occasionally in pretty group photos.  Yet, strangely enough, those of us who do not know her personally do not know her at all.  We have no judgements to make and no way of making any without speaking to her.  What would it be like to be this girl?

We are all voluntarily upkeeping these self-branding profiles of ours.  This isn't an assignment.  It isn't a mandatory form of identification in our society.  We choose to do this.  How liberating would it be to see something wonderful, taste something delicious or have an experience so genuinely funny, and want to keep the feeling all to ourselves?  Sharing is an addiction, and once you have a platform to do so, going back seems utterly ridiculous.

It is because of this that we are all trapped and connected in this huge database overflowing with unnecessary information.  We want everyone to know all these qualities about us.  We want them to know who we associate with, what we find important, what we look like - and we try with all our might to make them care about us.  We are forever wielders of the camera, culprits of recording moments and seeking external validation.

While all this is happening we are also handing over our validation with envy.  We spend hours pouring over the highlights.  People have nice clothes, nice shoes, forever seem to be having the time of their lives, and watching them is just as addictive as making them watch us.  We become influenced and inspired to be just like them.  This huge database is a brainwashing box bursting with culture.  What must this girl be like without it?

If she isn't spending hours pouring over her own narcissistic profile along with everyone else's, what is she doing with her time?  

I imagine myself waking up and getting dressed up for the day.  I don't pick up my phone and spend an extra half hour in bed.  I don't pose for the camera in the mirror once my hair has been adequately brushed.  Instead I go downstairs, eat breakfast, and gather my daily dose of culture from a magazine full of colour and beautiful, expensive things.

I imagine myself with more brain cells and a higher capacity for concentration.  There are no distractions.  There is no way for me to know what everyone else is doing.  There are no outlets to voice any complaints about maths assignments and television shows.  There is just knowledge in a looming pile of printed notes sitting on my desk.

I imagine myself with project after project.  Perhaps I'll always have a word document open in the background.  It'll be a piece I'll be proud enough of to edit until perfect.  I'd have a blog or an archive full of well-thought-out opinions, full of essays worth reading.  Perhaps that's what I'd do with all my extra hours.

It is unfortunate that to disconnect is something that I could never do.  This need to share, this need for knowledge, it overcomes me.  I will never experience the liberation of being free of the constraints of constant connection.  

There is a balance.  Perhaps one day this connection will stop being a necessity, and instead morph into something positive.


Tuesday, 15 November 2016

A post without a point

I probably should be studying but I thought, I haven't posted in a really long time, so why not?  I'm currently sitting at the glass dining room table in a sunny room, and I've accidentally caused an orange to roll onto the floor while erasing too furiously.  The table is strewn with papers everywhere, a Vogue magazine and an Asian cookbook buried underneath piles of chemistry notes.  The clock ticking on the wall is becoming increasingly annoying, but hey, such are the quirks of sitting here.  Utter silence would be even more irritating, in my opinion.

Of course my laptop is sitting on top of this mess of a table, and for once my phone is nowhere to be seen.  I've been oversharing lately.  I made one of those spam Instagram accounts, and despite my efforts to stay off social media by cutting off access to the time-sucking, life-distracting snapchat, posting is an addiction.  There is just so much in my life to share and document - no matter how mundane - or feelings to let out via posed selfies.

I've been following all these quirky models lately, with envious lives and that cool individuality vibe going on that's actually not all that individual.  I love their funky jackets and fringes, and all the pink!  But seeing them jet off to India or wear fancy clothes in London, or seeing girls in my own city imitating this look and doing it well, it makes me a little... jealous.

I read somewhere that you know when you're happy when you see someone thriving in some way, and you feel happy for them.  Jealousy is a sign that you're simply not content with something in your life, or else you wouldn't be feeling jealous, would you?  So perhaps it's this testing week.  Perhaps it's the fact that I've locked myself in all weekend, trying to study but feeling miserable, alone and ugly while doing so.  I read somewhere this morning that 'Another woman's beauty is not the absence of your own', and however cheesy that is, read it again.

I've been reading different books lately.  It's as if I've strayed away from those young adult novels and moved on to what they call 'literature'.  It's not so much that I actually enjoy this literature.  In fact, I don't think I paid the first quarter of the book I'm reading any attention at all.  It's just that when I try to read a feel-good young adult book, I feel like I'm watching a really bad movie.  I feel as if the characters don't make sense because they're simply not realistic, and as much as reading is supposed to be a sort of safe haven in a fictional perfect world, I can't help but feel irritated.  I want to read about realistic people who make realistic decisions and are put under realistic circumstances - because it makes the world I'm reading about seem more persuasive.  While I didn't pay attention to the first part of the book I'm reading, and while the story isn't as drama-filled and interesting, the characters and their relationships are like a painting of how the author sees people in real life, and maybe it'll teach me a thing or two.

I've lost my safe haven in Gilmore Girls.  For five whole seasons their lives were practically perfect, and now there's a rift.  For seven episodes Rory will be making bad decisions, which is unheard of, and she and her mother will be fighting.  I don't feel like watching a show where Rory has no direction.  Gilmore Girls has lost its warm and fuzzy feeling, and I don't know what to do.


Friday, 28 October 2016


It's just six weeks.  That's what I've been telling myself.  I have to do these six weeks properly.  I'll put my head down, work hard, and then I'll be free for two months.  The weather will be warm and I'll be able to wear nice clothes.  I'll go for jogs and enjoy them.  I'll eat nice food for every meal.  I'll be in Malaysia and Japan.  I'll be seeing something completely new for the first time in, well, not that long a time.  I deserve it.

My month so far has been constant assignments, and all hell has broken loose on my desk as I spend strenuous hours trying to perfect them.  I've been going through constant cycles of being happy, then moody, then happy again.  Some days I think that I'm a disgusting, bloated slob, and others I thank my genes for giving me the fittest body I could've possibly asked for.  All these days are blending into one nice buzz of routine, and somehow the constant work and repetition have made time pass a little faster.

It's like I'm floating, waiting.  I used to think that in order to be happy I would need something to be excited for every week; but look at me.  It's a Friday night and I just took a very long shower - so long that the heater I had on melted my moisturiser.  I'm now writing for the first time in three weeks, and then I will watch yet another unrealistically pleasant episode of Gilmore Girls over a nice fat bowl of popcorn.  Tonight I will sleep early after reading a feel-good book my friend lent me, ready for a six am start tomorrow morning.  This must be the most relaxing night I've had in... months, actually.

This floating feeling of just being has left me in a state of having psychological habits.  Lately I've been trying to be the best I can be by not trying.  I've been rather condescending towards anybody for any reason.  I've been unaware of my subconscious conclusion that I'm simply not good enough for people.  I've reached another stage in my cyclic life where I've decided to turn a new leaf once again.  I'm working on it.

And I'm content with this life I'm currently being in.  I watch the girls a year older than me three weeks away from graduating, and I anticipate being them soon enough.  I am excited, but I can also wait.  Time is passing at an optimal speed for once, and I'm not harping over the things I have and haven't done yet, for once, as well.

I want to be as self-aware as I can be before I leave high school, and I think I'm on my way.
It's just one more year.  I have to do this year properly.

Wednesday, 5 October 2016

Snail Mail

Lately I've been obsessed with letters and postcards and all things with stamps that travel across the globe with a message.  I've always loved the idea of letters, actually.  I know that when I was younger, every time I would hear of a school pen pal project, or of a friend who was writing to someone in a different country, I would wish I could do that too; not so much for cultural education, but more to get to know someone through writing on a tangible piece of paper.  I'm just infatuated by this impersonal personal friendship.  You know the person, but you don't really.  You've never seen them in person, and you may not ever see them in person, yet they directly tell you personal details and emotions and opinions about their everyday lives, and you do the same.  There's something unnaturally special about that.


I started writing letters when I was about 10 years old.  It started when my friend from school told me that she collected stamps, and I wanted to do the same.  We thought that a quick way to collect lots of stamps would be to write each other letters.  Surprisingly, somehow we would still manage to think of things to say, despite seeing each other every day at school.  We would write about school piano recitals and movies we would like to see, and we would decorate our letters with an array of stickers.

Some time in 2010 or 2011

Dear M,
You can't actually send letters for 55c.  Yesterday I went to Sydney, I got a soft toy, he is a little doggy, but I haven't named him yet.
Yeah, my signature is cursive writing with a line through it.  It's preaty random, but I don't mind.
Has anything interesting been happening at your house lately?  See you tomorrow! (I think)
From A

Somewhere along the way, after we'd moved to different schools, we stopped writing to each other.  The other day though, due to my newly found letter obsession, I wrote to her again.  She did write back, and it's nice to know she hasn't changed too much in the last five years, and while I have, it's nice to realise that my personality hasn't changed all too much either.  In some ways, writing letters is like a time capsule.  Or maybe that's just what it's like communicating with someone from your past.


Dear M,

I was so extremely happy to receive your letter!  It really has been such a long time!

In all honesty, I too have stopped collecting stamps, but I've never really admitted it because people keep giving them to me, and I'd feel super guilty otherwise.  I just kinda shove them in an envelope on my bookshelf and leave them.  I've been thinking I should start a new envelope, since the old one is getting a little full...

You've probably noticed that my handwriting is as messy as if always was... yours hasn't changed that much, it's still really tidy!


In a frenzy of boredom and a weird sudden desire for a pen pal, I signed up to some dodgy website as a joke during a science class, and somehow got myself a not-so-dodgy pen pal from the Czech Republic.  When writing that first letter, I felt so open.  I felt as if I could tell her things I would only ever write in my diary, because I knew that she wouldn't be able to tell anyone else.  She would just be there, on the other side of the world, knowing these things about me that nobody else does.

The problem I've found with snail mail though, is that it takes forever to arrive.  By the time a month has passed and she has received my letter, my world has completely changed.  I no longer care about the things I was concerned about a month ago.  I no longer even think about it.  So, this girl on the other side of the world is reading a version of me from the past.  She's keeping this time capsule of mine, and may have it forever, even when these fragments of my life are long forgotten.  There really is something unnaturally special about that, isn't there?

And the thing is, I'm receiving the exact same thing back from her.


Dear M,

First of all, thank you very much for the long letter!  I was really happy when I was reading it!

I'm in my grandparents flat now.  I'm going to sleep here tonight because I didn't want to be at home. My dad invited our neighbours for a barbecue yesterday.  They have three kids and I don't want to look after them when they will be there.  Their daughter (about 10 years old) overslept in my room when they came last time.
However, my grandparents are really pleased every time I come to visit them.  When I was younger and was going to school in my hometown I used to visit them before and after school every day.  It was quite strange that I woke up early because of that.  I went with my mum who was going to work at 6:30am.  She dropped me and our small dog Nata'lka (Natalie) in front of my grandparents house. I ate breakfast and learnt some of my subjects there.  I came there again after school and waited for my mum who took me and Nata'lka home.  I go there just about once a week since I'm attending a grammar school in a different town.
Oh, I wrote quite a lot about this, sorry...


The wall of my room above my bed is ever-changing.  It's gone from a huge collage to quotes to artworks to free postcards... and now it's just postcards from all across the world.  An epiphany hit me that while I was finding many of the same free postcards on racks in cafes and art galleries, I could be sending them off and getting postcards from strangers across the world in return.  I found this website called Postcrossing while searching for that dodgy pen pal website during that science lesson.


Hello M!  Greetings from Kirov!  I'm a furniture designer and student of University.  Fyodor Dostoyevsky is my favourite writers.  I like Dostoyevsky for the deep storyline.  Have you read Crime and Punishment?  "Gia" is one of my favourite movies.  You have to watch it.  The story is of the life of Gia Carangi, a top fashion model from the late 1970s.  It's a really sad movie.  On this card depict the Spasskaya St.  It's a heart of the city.
Have a nice day!  Good luck!

And you know what?  If you'd like to send me a letter, email me.


Wednesday, 28 September 2016

On this blog

I don't like my blog name.  I haven't liked it since the day I turned a year older than I was when I concocted it up at the awkward, clueless age of 14.  I remember lying in bed the night before I decided to create this blog, deciding on all the details of my first post and the logistics of the design.  For some reason the name was already decided at this point.  I must've spent a solid 5 minutes on it.  At the time, I guess, The Life of Little Me had a nice little ring to it.

Now it just sounds childish and unprofessional.  It sounds like the kind of blog a 14 year old girl would make to tell you all about her latest read of 'The Fault in Our Stars'.  It sounds like the kind of name that belongs to that tacky looking blue blogger design this blog first had.  I don't like being 'little me' because little seems so demeaning.  I don't like this being 'the life of' because it can only be a fragment of what I do and am.  I certainly do not like the link 'thelyfof...'.  It sounds like a 14 year old trying to be cool.

But at the same time, I don't know if I want to change it.  The Life of Little Me is a name that has been here from the beginning.  I wouldn't be able to associate this space with anything else.  I wouldn't know what else to call it either.  In some ways, while the name may seem immature, I think it's managed to grow with me.  I can look at it now and see this blog as it is, the things I share as they are.  The Life of Little Me isn't so much five different words strung together to form a cute little informative title.  Instead it's this one word, one string of letters, and it's my blog.

And yes, my URL is absolutely atrocious, but hey, what can you do.  Trying to change it would be too much hassle.  Here's hoping nobody notices.


This blog has been through two designs.  The first was very very blue.  It could be compared to the 2006 version of Microsoft Office in my opinion.  It was clunky and clashy and awkward.

On my blog's one year anniversary I decided to become inspired again (but evidently, not inspired enough to learn how to code).  I googled the first remotely attractive free minimalist blog design and copied and pasted the html code - it was an incredibly smooth transition that took no thought whatsoever.  This blog design could be more comparable to the 2013 version of Microsoft Office, which is a big step up from 2006.

But now here I am deliberating whether to change it up again.  I've been loving the blogs with huge images which make their minimalist designs look less monotone.  I've been loving the blogs with only fragments of their posts on their home page, asking you to click to read more.  I've been loving the blogs without sidebars, leaving a wider screen available to showcase their actual content.  The problem here is that I don't have enough images, or the skills to actually code such a design.

This blog is also more writing based than image based, and frankly, I don't have the time or the interest to take beautiful photos for every post.  I would like the flexibility to position such photos where ever I would want in whatever size I would want though, but these are the limits of not being a tech-savvy blogger who would never pay for her own domain.


Over the two years I've been here my content has never changed.  I may post less often and about different things, but effectively it's all still me sharing stuff I care about with you.

This blog has always been flexible.  There are no labels here.  There's no purpose.  There's no editing or drafting or planning.  I've always been able to post what I want when I spontaneously want to.

I read so many posts about bloggers who are concerned about their followers and making their lives look perfect.  I hear so many people come here with the intent of becoming famous somehow, without actually knowing what their blog is for or what they're here to write about.  But who am I to judge?  We all blog for different reasons, and I'm just thankful that while my 14 year old self didn't have the best judgement with names or designs, she did have the idea to start this blog.

I'm thankful that this blog is still here as my little me project, and probably always will be.


Wednesday, 14 September 2016


I reached the last page of my diary today.  The pretty brown and gold notebook is now completely filled with my continuous stream of thoughts since last November.  It's like the end of an era; I've hit the last page, I've hit a brick wall.  I've documented and documented and large fragments of my identity are scattered in this one book of lined pages.  I say fragments because there is no way the essence of my thoughts could be perfectly articulated into words.  No matter how hard I try, no matter how much I wish to be able to understand myself - it feels impossible.

I was reading through my diary and a common self-talk conversation came up intermittently, especially at the beginning of this year.  Don't succumb to influence, I told myself again and again.  You don't need to be validated by other people.  Be carefree.  You're better than that.  These thoughts, this mantra of sorts, has been being inwardly repeated for months and months, and it is now September.  My diary is proof of this.

As a result, over 2016, I've become less accepting of others and more judgemental.  I don't want to "succumb to influence" so I won't try this new thing, I won't embrace this or that.  I am my own person so there is no need to follow any form of trend, to follow anyone else's idea but my own, right?  Instead I'll judge others who do.  I'll think I'm too good for them.  I'll think I'm too good for everyone who hadn't made it onto my sacred list of friends before this cut off date, where I decided that self-actualisation came in the form of closing myself off to anything new, because if I'm truly being me then I shouldn't pay attention to anything else, right?

By recording everything, by writing this blog, in a way I'm defining myself without really understanding who I am - and that's dangerous.  I'll think I'm making sense of everything, I'll think I'm discovering myself by reading my thoughts on a page - but these words aren't accurate depictions of my thoughts.  I'm writing down what I already know, and I'm limiting myself to just that by thinking these words are who I am, and that's all there is to me.

It's like once the words are written on a page, they're definite.  I no longer have the flexibility to change that thought or opinion, to redefine myself in that sense.  I'm stuck and I'm limited.  That's the danger of curating your own personal brand.  If you've already defined yourself, how do you change that definition?  How do you expand to possibly discover and become something new if you've already decided what you are, and you've posted and posted fragments of this identity you've created for yourself for everyone to see.  There's no going back now.  There's no room to change.

It's a trap.  It ruins the fluidity of a being.  We've been moulded and shaped by our own selves through our words and our photos, and that has then seeped into our personalities and our interests, and now we've created identities that we don't want to stray from, because it just seems unthinkable.  We already know who we are, so what's the point, right?

On Sunday I realised that something that had been taking up a lot of my mind-space actually didn't matter too much to me after all, and so the cogs in my brain started working again, and I thought that as of Monday I should join in more.  I would be more accepting, I would be more pleasant, I would embrace ideas and conversations I would have inwardly rolled my eyes at and been condescending about only a week before.  I defied this self-proclaimed society-view I had written down and made definite, and it felt good.  

I had taken the self-defense mechanism of believing other people didn't matter, that embracing new things didn't matter, out of fear of rejection.  I had taken this and convinced myself it was self-actualisation.  I had made this view a part of my identity and it limited me from living properly.

It seems as if we all only want to know what we want to know about ourselves, when it isn't so much about knowing rather than creating.  Some people want to be super political, they want to seem bigger than themselves and their little bubble.  Some want to be super artistic, going through the most extreme efforts to do something unique (yet I find that most of this 'artistic' stuff has the same vibe as all the others, so most of it really isn't that unique at all).  They all want to discover that they are political or artistic or whatever they wish to be, and day by day they make themselves more so, because they are creating themselves this way, not discovering something that was already there.  But now they are trapped.  They have limited themselves to this 'political' or 'artistic' personal brand they have been nursing into existence.

And I think we should just be aware of these limitations we are inflicting upon ourselves.  We should be aware that our identities are fluid, not fixed, forever changing if we let it do so.


Saturday, 3 September 2016

Week 7

Monday to Friday and it's the weekend and then it's Monday again.  I've been through this seven times over in a row.  Sometimes there's assessment, sometimes there's not.  Sometimes I do something Friday night, sometimes I don't.  I've been through short-lived phases of boys, makeup, classical books, braiding, postcards... Here's week 7:


There's a massive 3000 word physics research report due on Thursday and I'm only 2000 words in.  Yet, instead of writing those final paragraphs, I decide that obsessively finishing my maths homework is the priority.  I work all through my free period, trying to concentrate and listen to music in vain while people are talking and laughing all over the room.  I work all through recess.  I skip PE and work through all of that too.  There's another girl in the room who disturbs me every five minutes or so.  She contributes to my study playlist and we name an album after her in my iTunes library.

By the end of Monday I have two more paragraphs to go.


The brass section of the orchestra are playing this really loud piece to open the school's special concert this year, so in the morning we rehearse on the balcony.

We drive past the parliament house every day on our way home, and today there is a seating.  There are military guns and tanks on display, and various tourists are taking photos.  My mum stops the car, says, "these are the perks of living in the capital,"and I am delayed from getting home against my wishes.  I run up to the majestic looking building in my heavy school uniform in desperate need of the bathroom.  We go inside the parliament house in search of free postcards, but of course there are none.  I am rude to a group of school kids on an excursion in my attempts to get out as quickly as possible.

In the evening I spend a good six minutes walking to the post box to deliver a postcard to the Philippines.  I'm listening to some song from a really nice movie soundtrack.

By the end of Tuesday my report is finished and the majority of it has gone under vigilant editing.


I spend my double free referencing my report.  I then spend all of English referencing my report.  And all of the next period too.

There is a massive argument in my physics class about the unknown requirement of in text referencing, which is only worth half a mark of our report, but which is still a considerable amount.  My teacher doesn't deal with it very well and everyone hates him more than they did before.  The argument went way too far, in my opinion.

My driving instructor picks me up from school and I learn how to park and give way, but my concentration just isn't there.  He ticks off zero competencies.  Hopefully next week will be better.

I have my first shift at work in over a week and it's nice.  I teach a girl with a Malaysian boyfriend a little bit of Malay, we discuss the perks of being invited to weddings in the break room, and a lanky guy explains that the reason he now has stubble is because he's growing it out to 'intimidate the opposition' in his grand final game.  He tells me that he reckons at my school I'm a nerd who hangs with the cool kids, whatever that's supposed to mean.


My physics report is done and gone and I am relieved.  I can now relax.  I watch Gilmore Girls for the first time in days and go for a jog.


It rains all day and I'm forced to take a fifty minute bus from school to work.  I come to the realisation that some of the people I talk to on snapchat, I really don't talk to in real life, even if they're right over there.  My bag is heavy and awkward and when I get to work I'm practically tumbling up the stairs.  People ask me if I'm okay.  At work a nice girl starts to seem self-obsessed, a guy isn't who I thought he was, I see a friend I haven't seen in ages and I'm wearing matching outfits with this guy in every which way.

After work I find my dad playing basketball in the opposite arcade.  He's somehow managing to get every single shot in with quick one-handed throws.  I have a go and get almost every shot in with two-handed throws.  My mum then has a go and pretty much misses all of it.


And I am now spending my weekend studying for Week 8.


Friday, 19 August 2016

Quotes from the last few months

I do this thing where I copy down quotes into my diary.  It breaks up all my constant ranting and leaves a passage where there are words written by someone other than myself for a change.


"For she was one of those happily created beings who please without effort, make friends everywhere, and take life so gracefully and easily, that less fortunate souls are tempted to believe that such are born under a lucky star." - Little Women (p279)

"My heart is constantly tethered between 'I need more routine and stability in my life' and 'I crave endless messy and honest conversations, getting lost in the middle of nowhere, falling deeply in love and travelling the world and living each day wildly, honestly and intentionally.' Forever caught between a strong mind and a fragile heart." - Unknown

"Being alone feels like a problem that needs to be solved." - Sherry Turkle

"While these internal revolutions were going on, her external life had been as busy and uneventful as usual." - Little Women (p385)

"#whitewashedOUT means being told as a kid 'you talk like a white person' and feeling guilty for being glad of it." - Lori M. Lee

"Well I'm glad I don't have to go and be with all those frightening people and think of things to say." - Little Women

"He was sea-dreaming.  Imagining things that would hurt him later.  Now, even." - The Winner's Kiss (p179)


"like when you draw a picture of a friend and it's almost right but not quite, and the face on the sheet gives you the creeps." - Never Let Me Go (p116)

"Sometimes I act a lot older than I am - I really do - but people never notice it.  People never notice anything." - The Catcher in the Rye (p10)

"The goddamn movies.  They can ruin you.  I'm not kidding." - The Catcher in the Rye (p113)


"It will happen to me as to them." - Thomas Mann

"The moment you admit to loving someone is the moment you admit to having a lot to lose." - Unknown

"Students think that their environment is diverse if one comes from Missouri and another from Pakistan - never mind that all of their parents are doctors or bankers." - William Deresiewicz


"So when you look at yourself,
tell me, who do you see?
Is it the person you've been,
or the person that you're
gonna be?" - Greg Holden


Monday, 15 August 2016

Self Absorbed

I feel as if I'm trapped inside this cloud of I's.  I I I I me me me me... the first person pronoun is swimming in the air around me; it's my whole world - and what I want to find out is if I'm the only one.  Is everyone else just as self absorbed as I seem to be?  Or is it just me?  Or is it just this generation?

And what about social media?  We're creating profiles to showcase ourselves, to effectively create a brand.  Like me, follow me - is external validation another way to feed our self absorption?  And I don't know about you, but I know that I stalk myself more than I stalk all other people put together.  Social media is this surreal, addictive world of narcissism, and when you sit back and think about it for a while, the reasons we have behind everything we do online are absurd.

It's not only online though... think about what happens when you talk to people.  Are you more concerned about what you say, or about what they're saying?  When they talk, are you busy thinking of your response, or are you actually listening?  How much do you talk about yourself?  I know that I fail in the selfless aspect of every one of these questions.  How did I appear today?  Do they like me? Do they?  Oh what I said there was so stupid.  This entire train of thought is stupid.

There's this girl who seems all cutesy and dog-loving and funny and all that, but lately I've gotten a little irritated every time she tells a story about some funny failure she had, or when she butts into a conversation and diverts it to being about herself.  She seems to over-dramatise everything for the sake of attention.  Like, you know those people who say they love something cute like Disney Channel and suddenly it becomes on the verge of an obsession and they're buying merchandise and continuously posting snapchat stories and diverting conversations so they can laugh about it and act all cute?  Or those people who, when they have nothing else to say, say things like "I'm dying" or "I'm having one of those days", and it happens almost every day.  Well, she does all these things  What worries me though, is that while I'm sitting here being annoyed by her, I'm prone to doing the exact same thing.  I'm prone to wanting to look a certain way and diverting conversations to myself and overdramatising things for the sake of attention.  A lot of people are.  Have people always been like this?

And then there's the whole inner self worth thing as well.  The other day we were discussing this girl who blatantly changes topics so that she can boast about how smart she is, or all the co-curriculars she excels at - and the question came up as to why she does that.  Sometimes having a big ego is a good thing, because it makes you feel as if you don't need other people.  You become immune to that feeling of exclusion and missing out, if only because you think you're too good for everyone else.  Maybe being self absorbed is another way of coping emotionally in society.

But when you stop thinking about how you're going to wear your hair tomorrow, what the next story you're going to tell is, or how hipster you are; you have more time to listen to other people's stories, read a book maybe, appreciate this thing we call the Olympics.  I've just been getting really distracted with all these really self-focused thoughts lately, and it's been detrimental to how big this bubble I live in is.  Right now it's very freaking small, and I think I needed to write this post to remind myself that it's time to expand it.


Tuesday, 19 July 2016

Back At It

I'm currently sitting in a huge empty room at school and there is absolutely no one around.  It's the first time I've felt at peace since school started yesterday.  I don't know what it is about being alone in a place that I know is full of people.  Upstairs they're learning or studying or making memories - and here I am.  It's nice.

Maybe this has to do with that whole over-stimulation thing I watched in a TED talk the other day.  Apparently some people thrive from being stimulated by conversations and crowds, while others can't be stimulated too much or they'll feel overwhelmed.  I think that's what's happened to me over the holidays.  I've been so used to one-on-one conversations, and now suddenly there's crowds and people everywhere.  I can't take it.

Sometimes I panic.  People will talk to me and I'll know that everyone else is listening, so I'll automatically say whatever it is that I think will make me sound better.  And then later I'll analyse and analyse what I said, and it'll sound so so stupid.  I think that's what stimulation does.  It gives you more material to get anxious over, when really I should throw all these pages of analysis in the air and not give a care in the world.

What I hate and love about school is the routine.  It's two days in and the early mornings are getting to me.  The next few weeks are looming in front of me like a huge shadow on my life.  They're full of homework and assessments and planned extracurriculars.  It's like once the school term starts it consumes me.  I envision it consuming every moment of my life, to the point where I can't do exciting things.  I can't have a nice meal with a friend.  I can't laugh and be free as I was a mere week ago.

But I can.  Just because school has started doesn't mean my life is all work and commitments.  Sure, school will take up most of my time, but I want to be busy, don't I?  I love being occupied without a single moment of boredom, even involuntarily.  It's not like I have tests and assignments and a growing pile of homework all the time.  I have free time, and I don't know why I'm under the delusion that I don't.

Sometimes school just makes me feel so weak.  When it's not around I'm able to successfully separate school and life.  My life is not school and school is only a part of my life.  That's how it is and that's how I should see it.  But when I'm here 5 days a week, it starts to feel like it's everything.  I no longer seem to make plans with people outside of school.  I don't work as much.  School and all the cookie-cut people inside of it are all I have, and I can feel myself shrinking as I walk onto the campus.

But it's not so bad.  It's not nearly as bad as I make it out to be.  In fact, sometimes I absolutely love my life with school in it.  Either way, this routine is my life now, and I'd better love it or I'm going to be utterly miserable.


Wednesday, 29 June 2016

A Bedroom Grows

After watching this really interesting documentary (CLICK HERE), I thought back to all the different phases my bedroom has been through.  A bedroom really is a reflection of personality.  The objects kept show what the inhabitant holds as special, what they're interested in; the room decoration gives the person a certain vibe.  My bedroom, is not, by any means, super tumblr or exotic or hipster.  In fact, it's quite understated and random.  I just find it interesting - all the little eurekas of room decor I carried through, or the drastic change in furniture at the beginning of this year.

So let's start in 2012.  That was the year 12 year old me put up the giant M collage on her door.  I don't have any photos of it, so let me paint a picture for you: At the very top of this door was a little paper-made wheel with four options; 'please knock', 'stay out', 'no boys allowed' and 'come in'.  It was coloured in with four different coloured pencils and each word was written in messy bubble letters.  Underneath this wheel was the huge collage consisting mainly of quotes, a couple of memes, photos of Taylor Swift and Katy Perry, and photos of cheezels and pringles and other logos of stuff that I really liked.  All these photos were printed on paper, cut out and blue-tacked onto the door in the shape of a giant M.

This was probably my favourite quote at the time:

and here's one of the memes I used to find exceptionally funny:


Describing my room in 2013, it was pretty much exactly the same as it was in 2012.  My door was still exactly the same.  I was having arguments with my mum about the corner of my room she had claimed to store an old doll house, a box of barbies and a stocking full of stuffed animals.  My room had it's fair share of stuffed animals anyway though.

I had these two shelves, filled with the book series I was obsessed with at the time: Divergent, The Hunger Games, The Mortal Instruments, and a bottom shelf full of notebooks and diaries.  On top of these shelves were laid bandanas from the zoo holiday programs in red, blue and yellow, and on top of these bandanas sat all the stuffed animals I couldn't bring myself to throw away.  By this age I had grown out of them and was slightly ashamed, but I kept them there because I couldn't bear to have them gone.  Somewhere inside me I thought that they had hearts and souls too, and that they deserved to be cared for.  That's what watching Toy Story does to you.

I remember I started becoming more organised as well.  I have this 3x3 pigeon hole shelf thing where I would categorise each compartment.  I wrote labels in blue texta for both this and my two bookshelves, and stuck them on each bottom ledge with blue tack.


2014 was when all the drawings came up.  That was the year I started to sketch things in lead pencil, rather than the cartoony looking people I had drawn prior.  Back then I didn't have a sketch book and I no longer used my folder entitled "M's Drawings", so every time I finished a drawing I would hang it on my wall.

As you can see I was still very much into books.


When we got back from Malaysia in 2015, I had decided to have a major room makeover.  I was very into pineapples at the time.

I had started using the polaroid camera my friends had given me for my birthday, so I made a string of polaroids, with pineapple pegs of course.

Above these polaroids were some DIY painted quotes.

Adding to the tumblr-ness of this room, I also added fairy lights that didn't stay up for very long.

Then there was the top of my shelf, which I finally cleared of the stuffed animals, which left me more space for other things.

The drawings also came down and were replaced by the inconvenient sticky notes instead.

This sticky note wall was forever changing.  When I realised that I wasn't updating my to-dos and to-be-reads, I decided to put up hand-written quotes instead.

And then it was the massive collage, which I made straight after tearing down the M on my door, which was way overdue.


At the beginning of 2016, my parents decided to take a trip to IKEA.  I was going into Year 11 so I needed a new desk to replace the old, tiny, messy one I had at the time.  While there, we also bought two new bookshelves, double the size of the two mentioned earlier.  This obviously changed up the layout of my room.

As well as this, my giant collage was torn down, replaced with paintings bought in Italy and little things from previous adventures found on the bottom of my shelf, where all my memories were kept and are still kept.  That's one thing about my room that has never changed.

As you can see, one toy didn't get the cut

 So, how has your room changed over time?


Tuesday, 7 June 2016

I recommend you click on these

It's a Tuesday and my final and hardest test begins at 11:15am tomorrow, yet here I am blogging instead of studying.  It's spontaneous and at a majorly inconvenient time as usual.  I can't even think straight because my sister is playing the trumpet in her bedroom next door.

Anyway, here's a post full of lovely reads and obsessions and stuff worth seeing.

A Girl's Guide to the Internet

Oh my lord, this was a good piece.  CLICK HERE to read about this ambiguous thing we call the internet.  Here's a little sneak peak:
No one checks your Facebook profile as much as you do.  The internet is basically a person standing alone in a huge, mirrored room looking at endless reflections of themselves.
It also says this thing about how you, in a way, don't exist if you're not on social media.  Based on the amount of time we spend looking at who's tagged in what in our feeds, or snapchatting people because we're bored - often the people who enter our minds are the ones present in our phones.  I've forgotten all those people I once knew in primary school who don't have social media, yet I remember all the ones who do, who I follow or befriend online.  But in a way it also doesn't matter, because these people I'm talking about are distant in my past and probably shouldn't be wasting my time, entering my mind.  So in a way, all this social media business is about creating a nice narcissistic little profile for yourself so that other people will remember you.

And now my sister is playing 'I know you, I walked with you once upon a dream' or whatever song those lyrics came from.  I can practically hear Aurora singing them in my head and it's driving me crazy.

To JK Rowling, from Cho Chang

Watch this video to listen to the best slam poem you will probably ever hear.  Asians in mainstream media is an idea that has been entering my mind a lot lately.  As I've grown older, I've begun to find answers as to why I spent years of my life unknowingly resentful of my cultural identity.  Looking the way I do, of course I've encountered people who assume things about me before they've even met me, based upon stereotypes of people who look like me.  In fact, with the nuances of my life being affected by these stereotypes on a daily basis, I've become very familiar with them.  I've even unknowingly gotten into the habit of seeing other people of my race with the exact same assumptions based on stereotypes, which makes me a hypocrite.  I need to fix that.  And where do you think these stereotypes came from?  The media of course.  There's never an Asian in the media, and whenever there is, they're always served in the form of a big fat stereotype.

Update: My sister has finally stopped, which means I have no excuse to not be studying, but whatever...

The Old Disney Channel

Okay, I know this isn't really a link, but I've been weirdly obsessed lately.  Check out THIS ACCOUNT on Instagram (@childhoodmemorie.s) and you'll see what I mean.  Back in the day, Hannah Montana, the Suite Life of Zac and Cody, Wizards of Waverley Place, That's So Raven, H2O Just Add Water, Sonny With a Chance and a whole bunch of other shows were such an important part of my life.  And now, five years later, I just want to watch it all again.  I want to live it all again.  They were truly good shows and I don't understand how I was able to forget them so easily for so long.  I don't think you can ever grow out of good memories.


Okay, so this girl who used to go to my school is a model, and she shared this link on Facebook of an article she was featured in, called 'Up and Coming Australian Models' or something like that.  One of the girls in the article was this girl Kawani (CLICK HERE for her Instagram) and she is honestly gorgeous.  It's weird because I see this girl who used to go to my school, and this girl Kawani, and they're the same age as me except they're also models who see themselves on walls when they walk into shops.  This girl Kawani has even walked for Chanel in New York or Paris or something and that's just crazy.  It's also weird seeing how the modelling world is a small world after all, with all the people being somehow related to each other if you stalk them on Instagram for long enough, and they're all also somehow related to the girls who were on Australia's Next Top Model as well.  The thing is, they also have the most awesome discovery stories.  Like apparently the girl from my school was approached while she was getting frozen yoghurt, and Kawani was discovered while swimming at a BBQ?  Wow I have too much time, and clearly my procrastination skills are great.  Too bad my study skills aren't.

Never Let Me Go - Kazuo Ishiguro

The first time I encountered a version of this text, I saw it on a list for chick flicks.  Boy, was that misleading.  It's definitely not a chick flick, is what I'm saying, and going in thinking it was, of course I came out not liking the movie one bit.

Then I watched it a second time out of curiosity and a weird craving to do so, and I'm not sure what I thought about it, but I certainly didn't think I would ever encounter it again.

Now my English teacher is asking me to read the book.  I started it a few days ago and I couldn't put it down.  I'm not going to tell you what it's about, because if you read it you'll be surprised the same way I was when I watched the movie.  The blurb gives nothing away and I'm not about to.  I just recommend you to read this, and you'll feel a lot of feelings.  Trust me.  It's good.

And I think I'll leave it there.  Good night.  I'm going to study now.


Wednesday, 18 May 2016

Life vs Time

Lately I've been looking back at the past events of the last year, and I can't help but wonder whether I've done enough.  Have I changed enough?  Change is the key word here.  I base my entire value on how much I change, because if I'm not changing, then what am I doing?  If my lifestyle isn't changing, then how pointless and boring must my life be?  I want to have phases.  I want to have completely new values that are constantly updating.  Am I changing fast enough?

Time seems to move so slowly, yet it passes in the blink of an eye.  Today is Wednesday.  I had an early morning band rehearsal.  I had classes.  It feels as if it's been a long day.  But I swear Wednesday just happened.  Last week I had a band rehearsal, and I had one the week before as well, and the week before that.  Each Wednesday ends, and before I know it it's Wednesday again, and nothing has changed.  My routine is exactly the same.

I visualise a graph, much like the ones we draw in my many physics and maths classes.  Distance vs Time, Velocity vs Time, Height vs Time.  How about Life vs Time?  Is my gradient of change great or small?  Will a huge change hit me like a brick wall, a sudden spike up in the graph?  Will I hit a restricted domain with a new equation, completely turning my life upside down?

I want this line graphed to be more than straight.  I want it to be curvy, pointy, random; with the most complicated, unpredictable equation needed to define it.  Looking through my photo-of-the-day book, reading my diary, I feel partially discontent.  I don't know how to describe it.  I don't know how much I have to change for myself to be satisfied.  I just feel like time has passed, and the line I've graphed over this time is too straight, too gradual.

It's like school straightens this line out.  The routine is constant, occasionally broken up by a slight bump or curve, an anticlimatic event, because I will always find something in the next few weeks to look forward to - and nothing ever happens.  As the words in pink marker on the broken clock in my maths classroom say, "TIME IS PASSING, ARE YOU?"  No.  No, I don't seem to be.

I feel so unscarred and blank.  My line has a mundane past.  Will a day come when there will be a single thought of a single moment that will immediately trigger tears?  Do I want a chip on my shoulder to make myself more interesting?  Do I want to hit a long, lasting lesson that will split my graph with an asymptote?

I have all these unchecked boxes, rites of passage, firsts I know I will encounter at some point in my life.  I just don't know where they're plotted, whether they'll come sooner or later.  Will there be a lead up to these points, or will the straight line of my life suddenly jump to accommodate them?  What will happen to my line once they've passed?

Today I watched a TED talk about this project, called "Before I die I want to..." (click here because I honestly love the idea of art that prompts the public to contribute their opinion) but death is a little dark and puts everything into a more meaningful context, so let's zoom in on my Life vs Time graph a little.  Let's zoom in to the unknown domain of the present, whether it be the next 6 months, year or 5 years.  "Before I reach the end of this domain I want to..."  What do I want to achieve?  Which boxes do I want to check off?  Is this a healthy way to think?  Should I be placing deadlines and expectations on things I wish to happen, but shouldn't force?  I want to grow up and change more quickly, but I don't want to go against nature, the equation laid before me.  I don't want to be disappointed, but I can't stop thinking about what's to come.  I can't help but feel as if it's not coming fast enough.

If I zoom in to clearly see what's graphed within the scale of each day, hour, minute; there I am copying down notes in class, there I am with my head on the desk because I'm exhausted, there I am on my laptop, there I am eating, there I am watching Suits.  That's how my days go.  But then, if you zoom out a little, you'll see that occasionally I'm dancing, laughing, shopping, singing, bowling, running, discovering something intriguing, and you'll see that I'm often happy.

So should I just enjoy life at it's gradual pace?  Should I stop putting pressure on change, and making that graphed line complicated, inconsistent?

I can't stop thinking about what's to come and when.  Maybe I should start reading my horoscope, and by reading I don't mean scanning words on screens and paper.  I mean reading, interpreting, taking everything literally.  Maybe I'll make that my equation for the future, and let's see how I go.


Monday, 18 April 2016

My Memory Museum

I've come to realise that I'm the kind of person who very much lives in the past, who hoards memories as if they're sacred.  I keep diaries, I find everything sentimental, I take bucket loads of photos and pride in having them neatly stored in my laptop.

I saw a post like this on Rookie the other day and I thought I'd make my own.  On the bottom shelf right behind me in particular, here are some of the items I've kept over the years.  Welcome to my memory museum.

Half a Friendship Necklace

I don't remember when exactly this necklace was bought, but when I was three I met my first ever best friend, and we stayed that way until I was six and my family decided to move cities.  Being practically toddlers, our friendship was very much based on our parents, who would take us on outings, plan our first ever sleepover and buy us these expensive looking, formal friendship necklaces which even came in their own boxes!

Takeaway the Glass Whale

This whale came from my first ever successful bargain ($1 off), which I was very proud of at the time.  I was probably around eight or nine, and we were in some markets in Perth.  For once our parents had let my sister, my incredibly vivacious friend and I roam around alone, and we were having lots of fun watching a glass-blowing display.  When I bought the whale it came in one of those chinese take-away noodle boxes, hence the name.  At some point that day I also broke Takeaway's tail, which I remember being quite devastated about.

Anna the Bear and the Rubber Owl

These two are remnants from birthday parties.  Anna came from a party bag of a friend I looked up to at the time, and now that I think about it, a miniature bear is a strange thing to put in a party bag...

The rubber owl I made myself at a friend's house, and to be honest, I don't quite remember anything about either of these days.

The Blue Candle

I made this candle myself at one of the many holiday programs I went to.  I remember being scared of the hot wax because I knew that if I touched it, it would sting my hand.  I guess I've kept this item because it's one of the only remnants I have left of those holiday programs, which were both a hated and loved part of my childhood.

A Pterodactyl Plaster

This is the first thing I ever really won, thanks to my dad helping me out in our school's first ever 'science day'.  If I remember correctly, my project had something to do with mammoths.  When I received this prize, I thought it was oh so valuable and a real fossil.  Now I guess it's valuable for a different reason.

A Book of Stamps

I used to collect stamps because I used to like the idea of getting letters.  It always felt so romantic, so much more real than the emails we used to send back in the day, and the stamps could come from anywhere in the world.  I liked the idea of them having been many places, having been through an entire postal system.  Plus, I could add stickers to letters.  I had this one friend from school who also collected stamps, and we decided to be pen pals.  We even made a news report about collecting stamps for one of our class projects.

Year 6 Compliments

At the very end of primary school we did my favourite activity. Basically, everyone has to write compliments about everyone, and in this case we then stuck every compliment about ourselves onto a big piece of poster paper.

Kanye West Glasses

In my first year of high school our house music theme was Kanye West.  House music is this thing my school does where each house makes up a themed dance routine and on the day we all perform in the hall, and it's really really loud.  These glasses were part of the costume.

A Box of Polaroids

For my 15th birthday a bunch of my friends chipped in to buy me a polaroid camera.  I used it a lot in the first summer, and sporadically from then onwards.  Every single polaroid, Photo Booth strip and printed photo I've taken since then is in this box.

A Wall of Movie Tickets

At some point in the last two years I began collecting my movie tickets.  Now, looking at the movie titles, I remember each movie, how it made me feel and who I went to see it with.  There's A Royal Night Out, which I saw with my mum and sister, and while it was supposed to be a happy movie, it made me sink into this bittersweet depression.  There's The Visit, which I saw with TN and made us laugh and joke about being scared of old people.  There's Ted 2, which is the first movie I saw with a boy.  And there's Batman vs Superman, which is the most recent movie I watched 3 days ago.  It's funny how much my mood can fluctuate in 3 days.

The Somersby Visor

We were eating at these food trucks when it started pouring, and just for the heck of it we thought it'd be a good idea to run out into the rain.  It was.  We found this pile of green visors abandoned in one of those construction crates, so we stole four and put them on.  Although at first, being wet means you're cold, after a while you get used to it and suddenly you feel. so. free.

Blinky Bill Ears

This was one of those more novice days at work when I first met A.  It was one of those days where I felt sort of like I belonged there.  We decided to put on some of these free promotional ears and I remember her trying to get some of the boys to put them on too.

A Blue Corsage

Because I like the idea of keeping dead flowers from a dance already passed.

So last night I went down to the garage because I've wanted to read Little Women for a few days now - since I watched Joey reading it on Friends - and, well, let's just say it took a while to find it.  Our garage is filled with boxes of stuff we haven't used in around ten years.  My mum has six boxes of books alone, and right on top I found some old musical and concert programs.

To be honest, I think I belong to a family of hoarders.