The Dream Diaries

I have began (begun?) to dream again!

Let me explain myself. Everyone dreams, right? But some people don't remember their dreams, oui? Well, I was one of those. I haven't been able to for the last who-knows-how-many-years, and it distressed me, because Star can remember hers. I don't mean just remembering you had a dream - but actually remembering details. 

This hasn't been always, though. I remember a 'nightmare' I had when I was little. It was a 'nightmare' because it scared me, but it wasn't the kind that I'd wake up crying or anything. Basically, this nightmare took place around my house. My older sister, mother and I were inside, and outside, soldiers were patrolling. They were everywhere, and I remember it was like a game. The game was you had to stay away from the windows - under them, or to the side, or in a room without windows altogether, because if the soliders saw you, they'd shoot. It was scary, but nobody ever got shot. This 'game' just went on throughout the night, and I'd wake up and all would be well. Yeah, I don't know how to explain that.

The last nightmare I remember wasn't so much the nightmare itself, but my waking up after. It's the only time that's ever happened to me. It was in Sri Lanka, not the last time I went, but the time before that - I must've been... 12. Yeah. I had just watched like one or two or three 'Resident Evil' movies with my cousins, and the funny thing was, I hadn't the slightest idea what was actually happening because the movies had been translated. But I had the visuals, clearly, and I knew it was about dead people walking. And that night, I randomly woke up in cold sweat, and before my eyes a dead-person-walking was standing in the doorway, near the foot of my bed, and the only thing keeping it back was the mosquito-net around the bed. Then I blinked, it was gone, and that was the end of that.

Since then, sleeping has been oblivion. I like it, sometimes, but other times I want an adventure. Star has these awesome crazy dreams. I can't explain them because they're so illogically funtastic that it's impossible for me to describe personally. But right now, the point is, I'VE REMEMBERED SOME DREAMS.

Yes. Me.

I have a dream and a nightmare to share.

So the dream - some two nights ago - I'll admit I can't remember exactly how it started. But it came to a point where I was at school, after-school I think, and it was grey, it was raining, and the carpark was emptying. Star was with me, but she was acting a little crazy (for one with crazy dreams, Star is not actually that crazy - and I mean this in a hyperactive crazy way.) Anyway, she wanted me to go with her and her bro, but then, lo and behold, her cousin shows up! In this snazzy black car. Mind you, I've never met her cousin, just heard a lot about her. So there she was, and I couldn't see her face properly, but she had black curly-ish hair, and I just knew it was her. She offered me a ride, and being the daredevil that I am, I jumped in. 

It's funny, because as I was sharing this dream with Star, before I even proceeded from this point, she was laughing, saying that if Aleks (her cousin) were to drive, it would be like a maniac. Whaddaya know? In my dream she was driving like a maniac. I was totally chill with this. She sped like crazy, and some of the turns were really sharp and for some reason she ended up flying. Flying cars!! How epic, right?? Maybe I'm over-excited because I haven't had one of these experiences in ages.

Anyway, so Aleks, she drops me off at my family friend's house, for some inexplicable reason. Except the house is actually my aunty's house in Lanka, occupied by these family friends. Okay, so my sister was there, and we were just hanging about, and the girls' brother rocks up. I don't know if I've told you about him before, but he's the 'mystery guy'. Despite practically growing up with these girls, we've almost never spoken to this guy, and when we asked his sisters about him - his very own sisters, blood-related and all - they admit they don't know much about him at all. It was all very fascinating, but in my dream, he was talking to me! And he was asking me polite questions and stuff, like have I been to their house before, do I like the renovations (they renovated their house to my aunty's village house???!) and then my alarm went off and I woke up.

Is this boring you? I'm sorry. If I haven't said it before, I'll say it now: this blog is like my journal. Or diary.  I like to write about significant things here, and it excites me when my diary (you all) responds, but if it doesn't, never mind, I'm good.

SO. My nightmare. This one is pretty straightforward, and downright chilling. I was sitting for my Literature exam. It was horrible! So indescribably difficult! I was writing an essay on Macbeth (but I studied that in yr 9? This year's Shakespeare was Hamlet, and I'm not even going to write on it anyway?) and I was bawling my head off. I started off writing a story, and it turned into an essay half-way through. My maths teacher was te one supervising the exam, and it seemed to be taking place in a hut or ... portable classroom. It was frightening. I hope this isn't a sign for the end of the year, or I shalt be devastated.

But with great something comes something. I think the quote was 'with great power comes great responsibility', but that has nothing to do with what I was going to say.. hm. Okay, but what I was going to say is, with this new 'remembering my dreams' thing, I seem to have developed... a sleep-talking habit o.O

Funnily enough, this too used to happen when I was a kid. I remember this one time - though I don't remember myself doing this, but I remember my father reiterating for me straight after. Basically, he woke up early once, and walking past our room - my older sister and I used to share - he called out, just to see if we were awake, and apparently I responded, from under the sheets. He asked me if I wanted breakfast or something, and apparently I agreed to bread and butter and sugar. I have no memory of talking in my sleep, at that time itself, and so we deduced I had been sleep talking.
 

And recently, I think two days ago as well, my sister, who stays up sometimes in the rumpus room (next to my bedroom), said she heard me talkinging nonsensically when I was asleep. I know for a fact my little sister, who I share a room with, talks in her sleep, but my older sister distinctly heard me.

So with great dream remembering skills comes weird and humiliating sleep talking habits.

I'm in a fabulous-ish mood. Maths is still my sore point, admittedly. I'm behind, though not as much as others (everyone's behind, but now it's a matter of how behind are you?), and I can't say anymore if it's my own mental block or actual lack of understanding that's making this difficult for me. And it this textbook is so irritating because it doesn't tell you what you're supposed to do by hand, and what you're supposed to do with calculator! And the examples they provide are so conveniently on the easiest of questions, where the actual questions are ten times more difficult! I'm loving the logic guys. Keep it up. I'm learning a lot.

But worst of all, my tutor has left me. He went to America for a business/holiday thing, and he returns next week. Not so bad, right? Yeah, well, about three days ago, his mother died. Of cancer. 

I don't know how to handle death. I'm not quite sure what to say. I've never met his mother, though I saw her once and she was in the prime of her... illness. She looked awfully weak, and I was scared to look any more. But though I didn't know her, from the way her son behaves, I think she was a good person. My tutor - Mish - is awesome. He's just a lovely spark of inspiration, logic and hyperactivity. He's strange and kind and sympathetic and smart and... how about I give you an example of why, rather than just loading the praise on?

Okay, so before he went on his holiday, he happened to be in Star's neighbourhood (oh, side note: he's her family friend). Anyway, so he was in the neighbourhood, he goes to her house and knocks on the door. Star's mum answers. 

He says: Hey, do you remember that snow trip we went on suchandsuch years ago? I was 7.

She says: Uh... no?

He says: Well, on that trip, I was really rude to you. I was disrespectful where you were only concerned. I want to say sorry for that, please forgive me.

[Twas something like this. I forgot the exact wording of the exchange.] 

He was 7 then, and he's twentysomething now.  Who does that? No one that I know of, especially on not being prompted. Heck, I would excuse myself on the basis of being young and stupid. But Mish, Mish is an awesome guy. And I think I have the right to say his mother can take credit for raising an awesome son. But now she's gone, and I don't know how he'll be. He's a bright spark, alright, but what now? I remember when Star first told me about him, before he was my tutor. She told me when this family friend of hers first got cancer, he made it his duty to know everything about cancer, more than the doctors even knew. At the time, he was studying some kind of engineering course in Uni, but after a while, he dropped it on the basis that, after this cancer thing, he didn't 'believe in it anymore'.

We don't know how to interpret that, but I'm so worried. I don't want him to lose his spark, I don't want to see him deflated, and I just don't know how to handle death. What are you supposed to say? How is he going to be? I don't like seeing men cry. Maybe I'm internally sexist or something, but for me, seeing a man cry is not just... heartbreaking, but scary too. And I don't know what to do.

And I really need him to tutor me, but I don't at the same time. He makes everything so simple, and he's so motivating, but if he's depressed, what am I to do? Gah, I'm selfish, I know. Hm.

I love how I started this episode saying 'I'm in a good mood', or something to that effect. I won a competition! I just had to answer the question of what I would do in the event of a zombie invasion, and my response was:

If you can't beat 'em, join 'em, right? As I have absolutely no idea how you're supposed to defeat  the undead, I'd probably just paint myself green (are they green? If not, I'll just try on my sister's makeup, looking ghastly will come naturally), roll about in the mud, stop bathing, then stagger around groaning and salivating and ... doing whatever zombies do. Then, after everyone has been eaten, or whatever zombies do to people, the zombies will starve to death, or get bored and run off to a different planet, and voila, off goes the disguise and I'll be queen of the world myself... even if there's no actual kingdom...

I realise you can Google that, and it'll lead you to the website where I entered and all, but a) it doesn't say my name or username, and b) please don't. I like this blog because, besides Linch, no one knows me 'in real life', and yet here is where I'm really me. Like, the 'real me'. And I would hate to have to start censoring my thoughts from my 'diary'... though admittedly, I've done that before, because I like to lie to myself on occasion.

So, the point is, for that competition, I got two books! One is Peeps, by Scott Westerfeld (who I love, so I hope I love this book), and the other is Disharmony, by some chick called Leah Giarratano (and the blurb starts with 'a psychopath', so I hope to like this too). I'm so happy. Two more books! I haven't received/bought any solid books since... since... since last year? Since the beginning of the Mysis Family Financial Crisis. So this is great. This is fabulous. I'm resisting the urge to run around in circles.

(I notice you guys like les pictures on the sides? I'd like to say thank you, but I didn't make any of them... so yeah ^^ But have you noticed I'm colour-ist? Only pictures with blue - or green, black or white - can go there. I just can't change that... o.o It's beyond my control now.) 
(And thank you for the many compliments on the cakes ^^ I think the only reason I don't think they're as awesome as they seem to be is because I keep comparing them to the pro. Comparing sucks. Don't do it. Slap people who do. Like me.)

ATM:

Reading: The Fault in Our Stars. John Green. Recommended by so many of you, and I was thrilled to see it on my school library shelf. I'm only about three chapters in, and I love this guy's voice. So far, so good :)

Writing: Imagination Tyrant. Tis what I'm calling it, for a school competition. Sadly, it was inspired by that awful Mr Carey, but... whatever. Hmph. It won't be nearly as disgustingly disturbing, thank you very much.

Listening to: Prends garde à ta langue. Zaz. Means 'Watch your tongue', and it's soo snazzy.

Feeling: Like running around in circles. Yes. I'm doing that in my head, multiple times.

A translation:

Ouch, ouch, how gullible you can be
To these dishonest people who promise you the moon
Giving up your power to them so they manipulate you
With your precious freedom and even your dough sometimes

How crazy - you think you're safe
You mess everybody about and look down on them
Way too clever to be caught in that trap
You lie to yourself and the following happens

Won over by the gold out of his mouth
You deliciously drink ladlefuls of his words
Can't you see that crazy man's squint as he spatters on you
With his leering look and says his rubbish?

http://lyricstranslate.com

http://lyricstranslate.com

Peace in, 

Laila

Oh Happy Day

EID MUBARAK! 

to those who celebrate. To those who don't, whaddup? I think I said that last time, but whatever. And I think we may be ahead for time - I always hear people say 'it's tomorrow in Australia', so maybe this is early for you guys. But yeah, be happy, have a wonderful day.

Admittedly, it started off awfully. As usual, it was my mother v. moi on clothes. Because of our financial crisis, there was no Eid shopping for new clothes, and we had to improvise. I'm all for old comfy casual. My mother wanted me to dress up in the traditional gear with colours so bright it would be blinding.

I hate it.

I wanted to wear my abaya, but my mother said it was old, and people would talk. 'Sif I care if people talked. But my sister had this brilliant idea to wear one of my mother's, and I was like, yeah, okay, me too. Now, my sister is pretty. I try not to tell her too often, 'cause she has a big head, but she is. She could pass off for Arab, or Afghan. I couldn't. I'm not attractive, and... while everything can be made to look good on my sister, there are some things that just don't go with me. Like: bright colours.

Okay, back track to l'abaya. So I agreed to wearing one of my mother's, and I asked my sister to pick one out, 'cause I didn't know which one. Mine are all that soft black material, but my mother's are this thick kind, in different colours - like dark blue and stuff. So I trusted my sister to pick one. She did. Then it came to the headscarf. 

My sister says that because I don't wear makeup or much jewelry, I have to compensate for my mother's sake by wearing something bright. She says this is the reason why my mother likes to have me imitate the teletubbies. So for this abaya she picked out - black - I have to wear a bright scarf.

I had a bad feeling, but I'm like, okay. She gets out this purple one. It's pretty nice, but I just know it won't go with me. But my sister's like: 'Ugh, please, you're so fussy. I'll put it on for you.'

So I agree.

It was all WRONG. It was a massive shawl shape - I'm used to squares, or sometimes smaller shawls, but not LARGE ones. And it was this stretchyish material, so I couldn't have a peak, and with the shape of my head, I need  a peak. But me, I trusted my fashionista sister. 

I should not have. She didn't do it, in the end, and because my dad was paranoid we'd be late, she told my mother to do it. My mother is just as beautiful, so anything looks good on her. She put her scarf style on me, and it looked hideous. As if I'm not tubby already, now I just looked like an oversized grandma. The abaya was too big and thick, and it had shoulder pads. I hate shoulder pads. HFLAKJDHFADF.

But I pulled myself together, thought I'd be okay. It was not okay. I felt like the ugliest girl in the world. Everyone at the Eid prayer in the Uni basketball stadium looked lovely. Graceful, elegant. Some of the in rich outfits, others in really simple (and my mother can compliment them for it, but if I imitate that style it's like NOOO YOU LOOK LIKE A BEGGAR!). Their hijabs were neat, flowy, pretty. And there was dumpy, lumpy, ugly me. No exaggerations. At all. And my hijab was falling apart and I wanted to cry. Actually at our community breakfast, I did cry, but I managed to make it look like I had something in my eyes. And my dear Cow Girl friend was there, and she just made me feel better without realising. She's just so funny and sweet and I missed her dearly :')

And then there were the cookies. My sister made cookies. I had a feast afterwards. By God, it feels great to eat in the day again.

That's the only thing I'm looking forward to in growing up, though. I want to pick my own outfits. I want to wear abayas and maxi-dresses and short dresses with jeans and skirts and all that jazz almost everywhere, and I don't want to look like a frilly mutant from Sesame Street. I want dark colours, and I don't want to be decked top to toe in glitter and sequins. I know I'm not the prettiest in the world, and I don't mind, really, but when I know I can look better and feel more comfortable, why can't I take that option? So yeah, mummy dear, I won't miss your wardrobe choices.

On a brighter note, d'you guys - for whose been here that long - remember the cake from last time? Well guess what?! I have TWO more to show you. And guess what even more?! Does that even make sense? Who cares! 

WE MADE THE CAKES.

Did I tell you my sister takes icing classes with our old neighbour (i.e. lady that made the cake from last time) and I was envious? Well, my sister has been strutting her stuff, and she got two orders. Being Curry, they handed those orders in late, so it didn't turn out as well as it could have. Being a money hungry moron, my sister didn't want to turn them down.

So she enlisted (i.e. forced) my help, and we made two superawesomeokayfineamateur cakes. Granted, we didn't get to eat them, but whatever.

I'm going to show you the ugly one first, because it's made of superheroes. The lady told us Spiderman, and then she told us to add Ben 10 and Batman. After we worked out the colour scheme and everything. It looked ugly, I hated it, I'm going to kill any superheroes I see any time soon, so beware:

I did le web and les letters :) My sister did everything else (the superheroes are on edible paper....). Please remember we're (particularly I) amateurs. My sister's only been to less than ten classes, and me: none.

And now for the prettier one that to me is awesome, but maybe that's just my pride blinding me...

Heh heh heh. I did the fondant flowers and the letters, again, and my sister did all the buttercream. Clearly in the second picture you can see how... unpolished I am, but still. So whatchu think? If you're worried about all the colour, note that both cakes were for kids' families, who were throwing kidsy parties.

Other than the never-ending clothes wars with my mother, Eid is such a beautiful event. Particularly this year, where I think most communities were on the same day. There's something about having a few dozen communities crammed into the one hall, the throaty thrum of the takbeer being called out in unison, filling every inch of the stadium. The hugs and kisses, the little kids and babies in adorable new outfits. How generously the adults share out lollies and stuff. 

... yeah.

That is all. Have a wonderful day, may it be filled with cookies and cake, love and laughter, and trouble and turmoil to pick yourself out of for some triumph. Don't worry, be happy ^^

ATM:

Writing: Still that Girl. Surprise surprise, based off Britt Nicole's song, it's a shorty long :)

Reading: Collected Stories. Peter Carey. Haven't had time, and can't find the motivation. It's awful.

Listening to: Stand. Britt Nicole.

Feeling: Nostalgic. I miss my family :/

When I feel like giving up,

When the heart has hurt too much,

Feels like I've reached the end

No I won't turn and run,

This battle will be won

So I stand, stand, stand....

Peace in,

Laila

You raise me up

I've fallen in love with writing and reading again.

Maybe it sounds weird, but the truth is, I was losing... it. That obsession with writing and reading. School, you see, takes the fun out of things. I had this habit of saying 'I'll start this book after this SAC', and then, 'okay, this SAC is too important', or 'the SAC in four months is huge, don't want to dive into a new book or story now', and it went on and on until I realised it would never end. Not for these two years, anyway. And if I didn't pick up my reading habits, I'd be one of the statistical university students who never picked up a book for leisure ever again.

*shudders* So help me God, I never want to be them.

But now I'm thinking this obsession is dangerous? I have a million story ideas milling about in my head, I get so distracted and my fingers itch to start typing, or planning in my... planning book. Or I'd want to go to bed early, to figure out the fine details of a plot, or imagine a new one, or .. just read! Arianna's write-off got me going, and I can't stop.

When I say read, I mean crazy blog stalking, and books. The thing with books went kind of on a hold again, though -_-' It's because of Literature. I have to read the book I mentioned - Collected Stories by Peter Carey, and the first story was okay, but then the content got... explicit.

Okay, I understand that at this age, we're 'mature' enough to handle... that kind of content (*cough* *cough* some of us, clearly not I) but I don't see why that means we must, if you get what I mean. It's like, okay, at this age, you can legally make the decision to drink - as in alcohol - but that doesn't mean you have to drink. Just because you can, doesn't mean you should. 

So I don't get this set of stories. Most of them are so revolting! I... ADJFALKSFALJDSHFALKDF. I can't describe it - it's just too feral. Yeah. So I've slowed down on reading again, because I'm terrified of what the next story will contain.

The deb is next week! Okay, I know, I don't seem like a debutante kind of person, but Star is doing it. So many of my friends are, and I just want to see them, you know, wipe away tears as I watch my little girls grow up... okay, that's exaggerating. But I wanted to go because honestly, I've a little romance in me, and I think it would be cute to watch. Of course, the irony is that barely any of them know the history of it, and me, one who isn't even going as a guest, knows this. And I'm pretty sure not all of them can wear the white dress of 'purity'. Tsk tsk.

Why am I blogging? I don't even know why! I had a point, but I lost it. It flew out the window, with my sanity, when I started working on this Literature SAC. Shakespeare, folks, is clearly not my friend. OH. Question:

So I have a friend (actually, I have a few, surprise surprise ^^) who's in my Literature class. Okay, she's in many of my classes. We work together, no problem. We help each other out. If her class does the Methods SAC before mine, she'll give me details, and vice versa. We share answers for history. We read each others essays for English. And in Literature, we always discuss things to help figure out our respective essays. 

I'm okay with this, clearly it helps me too. But Literature is... difficult. How do I explain this? Well, I got perfect results for my first two essays, and still A+ standard on my third. But if you ask me how I did it, I'm going to have to say 'I don't know'. I have ideas, I write them down, I hope for the best. Our teacher - Mr H - is amazing, I adore him, but at the best of times, you need a dictionary to understand him. My friend and I generally understand him, and we make notes. He taught us in year 9, like the rest of our accelerated class, so we have an advantage, I suppose. But most of the work I do for him is just ... stuff. There's no formula to it, I just write and pray to get good results. Masha'allah, so far it works.

But I cannot advise people on Literature essays. I don't know why I do well. And so when this friend asks me to read hers before a SAC (she writes hers beforehand, memorises it and then writes it in the SAC), when I finish giving all the critique to the best of my abilities, I usually end with a 'yep, this is wonderful by my standards'. Why? Because I cannot judge by his standards. Mr H, he finds awesomeness in things I don't even think about, and things I find particularly fantastic has him, well, not noticing it.

But to my friend, when I say that, she goes: 'Well, why? How can I get a better result?'

And I say, honestly: 'I don't know, you'll have to ask him. To me this is an A+, but I don't know how his mind works, so ... yeah.'

And she gets a little frustrated. But when I get a better result (remember, I don't know why), she radiates this anger. It's passive-aggressive, because she won't confront me, but she has this way of making me feel guilty. When the next SAC comes around, she'll be like: 'Okay, you have to help me get full marks!' And I'll say, 'yeah, I'll try', and.. once again, passive-agressive anger radiation.

But I can't just lie. I can't say, 'WOOOO THIS IS EPIC YOU'RE DEFINITELY GOING TO GET 100%', because I don't want to give people false hopes, and I don't want to jinx things. I don't want to say things certainly if they're not. But I can't get out of this! She makes me feel bad for getting a better result (mind you, she gets stupendous results too, just one or two marks off), like I'm hiding some secret information that's preventing her from having the same. 

And I can't be nervous! I'm always nervous before SACs, but for Literature, if I look jittery, they just roll their eyes at me and say, 'you have no right to be nervous. You got perfect marks.' So what, now I don't have the right to be - uh, human?

But I sincerely don't  know how! And why can't I enjoy my marks without feeling guilty?? Why won't they - well, particularly she - understand that when I help her, I'm doing the best I can?? This is difficult. So I was wondering if anyone had any ideas on how to deal with this? Find a win-win solution? Maybe I should just go see a psychiatrist.

So who's been watching l'Olympics? I love the Olympics. I have many childhood memories of our family, and some others, staying up late to watch the Opening/Closing ceremonies, eating pizza and drinking fizzy drinks. And the races - always my favourite - would always get us hyperactive. Usain Bolt!! ♥ Awesome guy. And there was a hijabi from Palestine too! Her attire wasn't completely perfect, but baby steps, right?

I feel so sorry for the Aussie athletes though. Okay, I'm mean because I always go for other countries - I just like going for the African and South American countries. I just like their bubbly attitudes. But I have some serious sympathy for our athletes. I know that universally, all athletes probably have serious pressure on them, but ours... are getting a lot of crepes.

There's their personal ambition, and yes, I can understand that. Some swimmers, some bikers, I donno - they got second, third, and they were unhappy. Devastated. Teary. And although some people say 'GET OVER IT, YOU GOT SOMETHING. BE HAPPY,' I still kinda understand what it must feel like, after four years of training, aiming for gold.

The thing that worries me though, is the country support. Okay, for some reason, my homepage is the UK ninemsn. And every time I open it up, there's always some joyful report on Team GB. No matter what position they get, the internet, at least, sounds ecstatic for them. The pride they have, just for having an athlete in an event, is just sweet.

Australia should be the same. They are, until, as I've found recently, the results are less than gold. It's so... shockingly disappointing. So I'm not sure who this athlete was, but he/she lost by 0.01 of a second or something, and still got silver. But the first question they were asked by some Aussie interviewer was: 'So what went wrong?'

Where's the 'WOAH, congratulations darling!' Where's the 'You've done us proud, no matter what?' No, of course not, we want to know what's wrong because you got silver out of who-knows-how-many nations.

I do not understand. That's not the only case - there have been headlines with 'Aussie athletes underperforming', etc, but it annoys me to go into it. We're supposed to be a united front, cheering for our country regardless of the results. Instead we whinge because they didn't get the top one. Bleh.

My heart's with them for that :/

Side note: for my cousin. I still don't know what happened, I sent her an email though. The only update is that her wedding has been postponed two months. That's good, right? Ish? Because whatever it is, it's not permanent? That's how I'm viewing it.

Cheers.

ATM:

Writing: Dream story. The collab with Star and I - it's more planning though. There's a long way to go to get to the actual writing ^^

Reading: Collected Stories. Peter Carey. Not. Recommended.

Listening to: You Raise Me Up. Westlife, I think - I love this song O.O I've been listening to countless covers, and I shalt post my favourite (other than Westlife's) down below. 'Celtic Women'. They sound like princesses, they look like princesses. They have that genuinely high, feminine, pretty voice - it's... almost angelic.

Feeling: Tired... tis getting late.

You raise me up, so I can stand on mountains

You raise me up, to walk on stormy seas

I am strong, when I am on your shoulders

You raise me up, to more than I can be

Peace in,

Laila

Love & TouJou Tag

I can't believe how a second can just change everything.

Well, I can, but I don't really think about it. We got a phone call. Two days ago. My cousin, my lovely, sweet, beautiful, trustworthy, charming, wonderful, favourite cousin - she's supposed to be having her wedding in like two weeks. Ish. She got a call from Dubai. Her hubby was in a car accident.

I remember thinking, firstly, no way. Not to her. To my beautiful cousin would that happen. I connect it to The Lovely Bones, the movie, where Susie says:  We weren't those people... ... those unlucky people, to whom bad things happened for no reason.

How naive and stupid. Firstly, what would make my family so special that this shouldn't happen? My cousin is lovable. That doesn't change anything. And the second thing is, well, everything happens for a reason. I'm sure there is some reason to this.

Star says I was like Josie, form Looking for Alibrandi (I was talking to her when I got the news). I forgot how, because I haven't read that novel in ages, but I think part of it comes down to selfishness.

I'm a very selfish person. With those I love. I get possessive. I adore my cousin. Apart from my parents and those that have to come first, she's my favourite person in the world. Ever since her hubby put the ring on her finger, he has unknowingly signed up to being my arch-enemy. I don't even know the guy, because he had to go to Dubai straight after the initial ceremony and therefore we didn't meet, but I have been coveting some serious dislike for him. Why on Earth does he have to take my cousin away from me? Why does he have to be the centre of her world all of a sudden? As if it's not enough that she's already leagues of ocean away from me; when I do go overseas to see family, she won't be there anymore.

GAH. And now this accident. Oh, she's sensitive, my precious cousin. She'll be in tears. She'll be scared. And I won't be there to hug her. I won't be there to just let her cry it out, or bring her tea every time it's made.

I should probably pause here and say he's alive. Um, yeah. But we're so disconnected and they're too busy trying to get to him, they haven't given much information to us. So I don't know how serious it is. I've heard head injuries, back injuries, but that's it. Insha'allah he won't die, but... just how bad is it? I. Don't. Know.

Paralysis has visited my family. My uncle, the oldest one on my father's side, had a fall and was paralysed for a significant amount of time. Only recently, when we went over last/this year, he had some special Chinese treatment, and he's been learning to walk and move properly by himself again.

But my cousin, she's young. She's only 21. She wasn't even properly married yet; they only had the nikkah (contract signing thing), and then he was gone. And she's in love. Head over heels. I think I've mentioned it before, but she Skypes every night with him. Every single damn night, for hours on end (and I'm envious because she can't email ME. ONE STUPID EMAIL.). She has a different ringtone just for him, and every time she finishes talking to him, she's starry eyed. According to the others, she's done a complete 360 turn, and has been forgetful and airy-fairy. I don't want... something serious... to happen to him, because he has to make her happy. All the time. For me. 

But God doesn't give us a burden we can't bear, right? And He has a plan for everything. We're praying, all of us. Them too. We love her too much, and him too. I do want to befriend him one day, but I'm too socially awkward with guys. I need time. It has to happen.

So that's the story of my life for now. I want to be like her, you know. Clearly I don't have the Western path of love paved for me. It may sound weird to some of you guys, but I will have marriage first. Perhaps not completely arranged, but there won't be any canoodling outside of it. 

My mother is so cool though. She is. Despite many Curry-Muslim conventions, my mother has finally admitted that she doesn't care who I marry, as in, what country. My sister pointed out my father may not be the same, but she said she'd handle it. I don't know if you'd understand, but that isn't a normal in our community.

Sad to say this, but I don't want a marriage like my parents. I love them both, I do, but sometimes I think that their marriage doesn't work. As a child, I have fond memories, but not now. My dad's just... too old-fashioned, too 'village boy'. My mother's from the town, she's ready to be the working mother. My dad's too old, my mother was brought up too spoilt. My father enjoys being the hero a little too much, and my mother is too ready to speak her mind. Their situation was awkward. My mother's father died young, and her brothers had to take over. They figured the best thing for their sisters was to have them all married off. Of course these sisters agreed, but it was too hurried, and this is the result. My parents don't really fit. They're both too far away from home, and they argue too much.

We  had a conversation, my cousin, sister and I. It was sad to admit it, but we had to say that we didn't want to be like our parents. I want to have a marriage like my cousin's parents, or my favourite aunty's. With love, but not so dependant, you know? I don't want to be one of those girl's who need to be in their husband's top priority, who expect too much attention. I want to have the love, but freedom too. I don't even know what I'm saying now... guess I'm tired?

One thing I worry is that I've read too many books. I don't really have many expectations of guys, but the few I have, I worry that they're.... too high. Possibly. Or unrealistic. And because of this, I won't get the right one. Why am I worrying about this? Right, we were talking about it today; my friend, my mother, my sister, and I. It was rather hilarious, actually.

Oh, oh oh, my mother has this chant about me getting 99.99 for my ATAR, right? Nothing less, anything more. And she just says it, all the time: 99.9...99.9... 99.9... and it annoys me and stresses me.

So my friend, she gave me the perfect chant back: Aged care... aged care... aged care...

Lawl. So I got tagged! For this thing called TouJou tag? Donno what that is. But if you haven't noticed, donno if you would anyway, but I've been expanding my own blogging universe. My favourite bloggers haven't blogged enough *hint hint* so I thought I should go and explore the world. I found some awesome stuff. I think I made friends. I hope. 

RIGHT. TouJou tag thing:

So here are the rules of the tag:
1. If tagged you must tag five others, giving each a quick sentence as to why you ALWAYS read their posts, and tell them that you've tagged them.
2. If tagged you must post your five favourite words. I know, I know, most people do facts, but facts are hard to think of so...
3. If and only if you want to/can be bothered to/have time to you can put up five questions for the people you've tagged. If and only if you want to/can be bothered to/have time to you can ANSWER the five questions your tagger set. If you want to answer questions but your tagger left none, answer your own questions :)

So from my understanding, you answer the questions, make some more?

I'm gonna tag my first, original, favourite group of bloggers. 

Arvie, you are my sunshine, I love your blog because it's very simple, relatable, and you have a beautiful soul.

Meli, you are my clouds, I love your blog 'cause you are one of the most poetic people I know. You're talented, you're lovely.

Argh, Danny, my highly-irritable-wonderfully-charming skies, you're tagged, I love your blog because you're just strange, entertaining, and also very poetic. Also profoundly beyond my understanding, I think, but yeah.

Linchy goes in here without question 'cause she is the Linchster. She is awesome. That is all. (Not really; she's talented, hilarious, quirky, fantastic, brave, tough, and made of cement.)

And... who else? I think that is just the original lot. I would tag Arianna, because I have a newfound obsession with her blog, but I think there was something about no-tag-backs? In which case, I'll have to pick someone new....

I know who!

ZEBA. One of the new people I am following. Her writing pieces are just stupendous. Indescribable. (I say this because I don't want to attempt to describe her posts because you'll go over there, read them, be amazed, and then think: 'Who does this Laila chick think she is, using such inferior and inadequate words to describe this awesomeness???')

Yeah. You guys are tagged.

Favourite words:

Phantasmagorical: skip the official meaning, mine is that it's beyond awesome. Reserved for special occasions.

Ambivalence: uncertainty or fluctuation, especially when caused by inability to make a choice or by a simultaneous desire to say or do two opposite or conflicting things. 

Paracosm: a prolonged fantasy world invented by children; can have a definite geography and language and history.

Factotum: a person, as a handyman or servant, employed to do all kinds of work around the house. Just sounds funny.

Pietrisycamollaviadelrechiotemexity: The state or condition of not having the faintest idea what's going on.

 (So from my understanding, you just answer all the questions that are asked, then add your own? I donno. That's what I'm doing.)

1. Favourite song lyrics?
It always changes, but right now... 

See the more we hide behind slamming doors, tomorrow surely we'll die

I can't believe that we flee so easily; we ain't love deprived

Girl we just make something divine less perfect, more human with time

Until then I try, so go ahead now

(Outlandish - Feels Like Saving the World)  
2. Pet hates?
I've answered this before. When people use my stuff without permission, then have the nerve to either not give it back, or damage it in some way. Particularly books. So help me, but I love them.
3. If you could change one thing about your appearance, what would it be?
I'd change a lot of things. Hm. But mostly pimples. Take them away, never bring 'em back, please.  
4. If there was one endangered species that you could prevent from being extinct, what would it be?   
You have to ask?? TIGERS!!! A la duh.  
5. What colours appear most frequently in your wardrobe?
Black and blue... white. Grey. Brown. Purple, green. Everything else is minimal.

 

1. Which fictional character do you think you're most like?
This is where I get confused with what I like to think I'm like, and what I'm really like. But I don't think I'm like any one. Most like... hm.... Scout, from To Kill A Mockingbird, and... Emily Iris, from The Year the Gypsies Came. Her sister too. I don't know if I am like them, but when I read those books, I feel I can relate *shrug*  
2. What is your guilty pleasure?
This will sound weird, but The Clique series is my guilty pleasure. I don't read books like that usually, but for some reason that series fascinates me, and I love it.  
3. Name your three utter essentials.
I donno. Is this objects? Yeah, laptop with internet, books, and crayons. I think.  
4. Which famous person would you most want to kiss?
Don't think I'd kiss any. I'm not oblivious to hotness, but I simply cannot fathom kissing anyone I don't know very well, personally. And because I don't know any guys very well, personally, it basically means I cannot fathom kissing anyone. Go figure.  
5. What would be the best ever present?
A plane ticket to Sri Lanka, thank you very much. Or a library.

1) If you were a radio station, what genre of music would you be?

Don't think I have a genre. But I'd make sure all the lyrics were clean :)
2) Which celebrities do you think are overexposed right now? Or which celebs are you tired of hearing about?

Kristen Stewart. Kim Kardashian. Argh, just scandalous ones. You don't even have to read the articles; they're in the stupid headlines and it annoys me.
3) Do you want kids? If so, how many and what gender?

Lawl, a bus. As many kids as possible, whatever gender.
4) Are you watching the Olympics?

Yes and no. I watch specific events. I like the races.
5) Do you have a Pillow Pet? I do. He's a panda named Peter Pan-da.

Aw, no, no I don't. They sound cute though ^^

Now my questions...?

1. Favourite quote [of the moment, if you have too many]?

2. What's your ideal holiday like?

3. If you were walking past a girl/guy getting robbed/attacked in an alley, and there was no one around, what would you do?

4. Weirdest dream?

5. How many skeletons in your closet?

Have fun :)

ATM:

Writing: 'Write Off story 2'. Apparently there was some cheating involved in the last round, and so I don't want to put the title up in case I inspire some more... o.O

Reading: Collected Stories. Peter Carey. Those rumours were right. It's turning out to be rather unlikeable.

Listening to: Too tired to listen to anything.

Feeling: Meh. 

Quote:

Be angry, you have that right. Be hurt, that is your right also. Yell, break something, cry, shout, stomp your feet, slam a door… whatever helps. But don’t forget that Allah is all Merciful and everything works according to His planning. There is not a bomb that drops or a tear that falls that He doesn’t see. Innocence may be lost and hearts may be broken, but Allah will mend them all with His love. Prayer works faster than cursing those that have hurt you. Turn to Allah and ask Him to comfort you. For now, that’s all we can do. One day justice will be had. Sabr is a virtue.

(http://beautifulqalb.tumblr.com/)

Peace in,

Laila