These Are My Favourite Things #3

When my little sisters and I form a reading club, splayed across my room, or the rumpus, heads stuck in books under the golden hues of the lamp.

The sky, because: People observe the colors of a day only at its beginnings and ends, but to me it's quite clear that a day merges through a multitude of shades and intonations with each passing moment. A single hour can consist of thousands of different colors. Waxy yellows, cloud-spot blues. Murky darkness. 

Being stuck in traffic with Panda. Singing like crazy to whatever song she has playing - songs I wouldn't listen to on my own, just with songs. Me singing badly, her trying to sing badly, but really, she always sounds lovely. The way she squeals when there are trucks in the vicinity, and contemplates whether or not to give someone room to overtake.

Baking. Sugar.

My older sister and I sharing clothes. We're sort of comfortable now. She has the best taste in the universe. No, I will never wear makeup like she does. Yes, I am a little bit skeptical about some of her clothes. But I know they always look good on her, and while I won't wear everything of hers, or look nearly as good, there's still something in it for me.

My Kiki, and her patience.That cat. She tolerates so much.

The way my dad gets so excited when he buys us something. Something as simple as mangoes has him calling us from our rooms, and regardless of whether we like it or not, or we're hungry or not, you have to indulge him, for the enthusiasm alone.

The way Star and I just fit. No matter that we're in completely different courses and we don't see each other nearly as much - we still have an appreciation for similar things, and our minds are still on the same wavelengths. It's real friendship, solid, unbreakable.

Public transport. Buses and trains, to university, to placement, to the city, to meet friends. Everyflippingwhere. With or without music, with or without company. Long or short. Even the wait. I love it all.

Hugging my mum. The way she always exhibits annoyance - flicking me away, squirming, making grumpy noises. It's adorable.

Castro, my whale. Yes, named after good ol' Fidel. Previously known as Whaley, before Jazz gave him to me. What kind of name is that? You may as well call me Girly. Anywho, he's a great reading buddy.

Sri Lanka. I know that within the family, people don't take that seriously from me. To them, my love for the country isn't as important as theirs, because I wasn't born there, and I don't do Skype. I can't explain it to them. I won't. But I love that country, so very deep down, it aches. I miss my family, I miss the green.

Walking. Bike riding. Just moving, especially outside. Hard work. Anything that gets my muscles straining after a while, and just that awesome feeling you get after you tire yourself out. 

Books. It seems like they're one of the few constants in my life. Of course there are intervals where I may not be reading one. Of course there are times where I'm struggling to find the time. But I always come back to them. Cliche, yes, but they offer escape, and adventures I can never have. I guess our relationship is a little bit bittersweet.

Peace in,
Laila

Phat

I'm pretty sure I first... well, I only ever, read this word in The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants. At the time it was just a quirky way of writing the other version of the word, but it has since evolved in my mind. I've decided this word, 'phat', refers to the special kind of phat that girls talk about. Although you wouldn't realise it, it being homophonous, it's actually what girls say when they say 'Do you think I'm phat?'

It's not about real solid, adipose-tissue fat, in excess, or obesity. It's the kind of phat that you see when you look in the mirror and you suck in your tummy but you can't make that slightly ginormously convex curve look a leetle concave. It's that feeling of frumpy, dumpy, heavy, bloatedness. It's a little real and mostly imaginary. It's the reason why you don't eat your whole meal, or skip one here or there. It's why you can't always walk out of the changing room to model the outfit for your friends. And although you know, you know, that beauty isn't a single standard, that everyoneisprettyintheirownway, why is it that the skinniest girls always seem to look the best? If they can be that thin, why can't you?

The other day, after studying for some of our final exams, my uni friends - Jazz and Panda - and I decided to go for our traditional drink at Ocha. On the way out, Jazz asked us, simply: 'Hey, you guys would tell me if I was phat, right?'

And as sort-of surprised as we were, Panda and I agreed in that vague kind of way.

When we were paying for parking, on our way out, Jazz threw out her drink.

"Wait, did you finish that?" I asked, horrified. "You didn't, did you?" I just can't do that. Like, no matter how sick I am, I always finish food. It's just... It's a rule. You can't do it. Kids in Africa, man.

"Yep," she said, noncommittally. 

"You can't do that!" I can't help getting a little self-righteous and bossy about my friends. "That's a waste. Kids in Africa."

"I was feeling phat,." she shrugged. And that was that. Me: stumped.

How do you deal with this? 

I dealt with this by pretending I'm above it all. I'm a good liar, to myself. I deal with fear by pretending I'm not scared. I deal with phat by pretending I don't care. It worked for ages. I got through most of high school. A lot of people I know think I'm cool because of it. I feign nonchalance, I roll my eyes, and when my sister does her jokey 'you're phat and ugly', it bounces off.

It doesn't. I calm the inside by maintaining the outside, but I know it's not real. 

I don't throw up in toilets, or obsess over grams and calories. I avoid scales and mirrors. I tell myself I'm covered.

But I still measure myself against all my friends. I still cringe when I don't fit into my sister's clothes. And yeah, on occasion, I skip meals. Maybe a lot.

And yeah, it's a major contributing factor to why can't be in photos. I just don't like seeing myself.

I'm so scared of being anorexic or bulimic. All the avoiding I do is to avoid going there. But in this weird way, I'm ending up there. I read Wintergirls. What scared me, for the first time, is that I kind of related. But I didn't want to. Maybe it's not surprising, but you need to understand - I'm so sure that I've got myself covered. And yet I'm not.

I like to think I'm above it all. But I'm not.

Yet, what you need to realise is: you know all those 'everyone is beautiful' philosophies? Dove Beauty Sketches and all that jazz? I believe it. I believe it all. All the way down to my soul. I insist and impose this on everyone I know. This post I wrote - I meant it. And I find beauty in everyone.

But why is it so hard to apply it to yourself?

Ohkay, I did not start with the intention of going down this path. So let me try steer it back.

When is phat actually fat?

I really think I'd tell my friends if their weight was a health hazard. Thus far, alhamdulillah, none of them look like that. But let's say... say someone like Jazz. She's gorgeous, of course. But the skin over her abdomen isn't stretched taught. When she sits down, you can see a belly.

Does that matter? Am I supposed to tell her that? Is the phat I'm supposed to notify her of her version, or my version? Because in my version, she's still a doll. But maybe in her version, that's exactly what she doesn't want. Are we trying to achieve a personal standard of beauty, or everyone else's version? Isn't our version shaped by everyone else, anyway?

And what about me? Am I phat or not?

Have you seen that picture of the stick thin girl who looks in the mirror, and her reflection is overweight or something? I live in a perpetual fear of this, of seeing a lie. But couldn't it work both ways? If it's possible to see yourself as phatter than you actually are, then couldn't you see yourself as a lot skinnier? So who's to say - despite what others say - who's to say I'm not seeing a sugarcoated version, honeyed even more with people saying what you want to hear, and maybe I really am fat.

How do we get ourselves out of these rabbit holes?

Please give me some food for thought. Not real food; I don't want to get phat ;) Bad joke? Ohkay. 

Peace in,
Laila

potentially anywhere-but-here

I'm nostalgic about things I've never experienced. Is that even possible?

I miss times I didn't exist in, and places I've never been to.

I know that it sounds like I just want to be anywhere but here, but it's not a want. Really. It feels like I've been there and then, and I want to go back. I mean it.

For example, France. I've never really harboured any desire to go there - I guess it's just so mainstream. Despite studying the language throughout high school, it was never really a passion. You guys, if you've been here a while, know how I feel about that class. But listening to Zaz has made me long to be there. Not just France in the here and now, but France... France in that time. Right after the end of WWII. Which I think was only building on the feeling Rose Under Fire left me with.

But more than France, South Africa calls me. You know one of my favourite books. Well, I read it again. And I want to go there again. Apartheid Africa. That's sort of sick, isn't it? But I long to be there, again, just to experience it, support the people who need it. I'd go to Africa now, of course, but I miss another time.

I also want to specifically go back to their childhood - Sarah and Emily's childhood. I miss childhoods. I miss mine, but also, the kind of childhood you see in old movies, you know, My Girl and Now and Then. The kinds that seem to be stuck in a perpetual summer, where the neighbourhood kids roam the vicinity, explore the woods or some kind of wild that always seems to be in the background. It's a small world, but a big one too. They grow up dramatically, but in a kind of innocent way. Not a phone or computer in sight. Even To Kill A Mockingbird has that feel.

I miss it. I don't just want it - I want to go back. It sounds the same, but it's not. But it is. But it isn't,

And I miss a certain kind of weather too. A summer tropical storm. There were just a few words in The Lovely Bones about it. Just one fleeting part, and I think I've experienced it, it's really vivid in my head. And I want it again.

Does this make sense?

Maybe it is a kind of 'anywhere-but-here' syndrome. But life doesn't feel so bad at the moment. I'm floating on top of it. Sometimes, I guess, I feel like I'm  not quite here. But not in a bad way. Just... I don't know. Do you sort of maybe get it?

Peace in,
Laila

'the man shot dead'

I know this guy. 

I use 'know' very loosely here. He went to my school. We've been in the same class. He walked the same halls as me. Talked to people I knew. I've spoken to him.

He's my age.

It's just so close to home. I don't know what to do.

It doesn't feel real.

Just how. What. What.

I have to admit, I had a reaction I'm not proud of. I mean, after the initial shock, I was just... Like... I wasn't angry or contemptuous, but I just initially accepted he was in the wrong. It's so mean, right?

I just didn't have the best impression of him, personally, in my goody-two-shoes way. He was a bit obnoxious in my French class. He used to always argue with this girl - she was provocative too - but the thing is, they would shout and swear, and that just makes me nervous.

But I've been thinking about it... All day... And there are just so many dimensions and I'm so confused and frustrated and absolutely very completely ... Listless. It's just bizarre. 

Like... I'm not sure what I can say here, because I don't know if people can find this stuff and so... I can't spill secrets, I don't want to compromise other people or be involved... But I really... I feel like I'm going to explode.

It's just that I don't know what to believe and I don't know what to think but I don't think I need to find a stance like it's not really my place to find a stance on this but then how do you not have a stance and I knew him and how is someone the class clown one day and compelled to stab policemen another day and then just dead and what if the police are lying what if the media are lying what if we're all just lying and was it a malicious act was it just stupidity was he scared or was he angry was he really so threatening and did the police really have to shoot or was it just like an instinctive reaction or were they hateful and how does this happen and how skeptical are we allowed to be about things how can you believe everything you hear but then how can you not just believe everything I mean I

JUST

DON'T

KNOW.

What I do know.

He's not an 18 year old man, terror suspect. He's a boy. Maybe he was into stupid things, but he had time to change and grow up.

Peace in,
Laila

Socially,

University  is overrated. I had to say it.

Before I started uni,  everyone gushed about the... no The University Social Life.

Like OMG, you're gonna meet more sophisticated people and they're going to be like you and you're gonna hang out and have coffee and it's going to be so mature and cool and not like the trash you have in high school and blah blah BLAH BLAH BLAHHHHHH.

IT'S A LIE.

It's just... not as they say, although I might just add that it may be specific to the individual/course/campus.

For example, my campus is teeny tiny, and my course is pretty small too, so between all the lectures and tutorials and labs, you tend to see the same faces. However, I've heard that on the Clayton campus, it's very likely that you can meet someone once and never see them again.

What's awesome about my course - Nursing and Paramedics - is that you have to be good at communicating. You have to be nice and friendly. And while I didn't think I was the best at this, everyone else is, so it makes chatting pretty easy. And everyone's just so nice. So that's a perk.

My problem is really with the notion of making the supposedly fantastic 'friends'. Kinda. I mean, I had a crisis and it has since been resolved. Bear with me.

Basically, you may remember that I made a friend on my first orientation day. It wasn't too hard to find her again, but in the meantime, when I couldn't find her for a moment, I made another friend. And before long - give it a week or two - we had this group. It was fun. I liked it.

So uni goes by, you have the assignments, you have the mid-semester stuff, la di da. Late  in the semester, I thought: we've been hanging out for a while. We like each other. Why not try to take our 'hanging out' outside of a university context?

So I suggested we have a picnic, after one of our 'big' assessments.

Okay, so picnics are a bit of a weird suggestion. I figured that out after the laughs and odd looks. I can't help that I grew up with extraordinary friends. But at the time, I was a little miffed, and I started thinking. Thinking about certain things usually takes me downhill.

I started realising how reluctant everyone was just to hang out. Most people drive at uni, they have their own cars. As soon as a lecture is over, they just feel the need to rush home. None of my driving uni friends ever feel interested in just staying back a little, having this so-called traditional coffee. No one feels like just talking about stuff not really related to uni. What's their excuse? I'm dependant on buses, as are some of my other friends, but the drivers - why? 

During this crisis, I talked to a lot of other people, different courses, campuses. They kinda all said the same thing. People just come to uni when they have to, then leave ASAP. I guess a part of it is just all the studying, assignments, and work too... but come on. To have one social gathering every now and again can't be that hard.

I just thought, as a first year, that we were all in that same boat where we're equally lost and enthusiastic, eager to make friends and do this uni thing right. So I was a bit depressed when it didn't turn out that way. I mean, there was also this hype about joining clubs, and people I know who have done that stuff don't even attend the meetings and stuff...

But I guess that was just my high expectations.

So I've realised the value of having a few, meaningful friends, and just appreciating the sort of smile-and-wave friendships for what they are. I guess you can't just expect the same sort of connection from everyone, y'know?

(Late) Eid Mubarak, guys, and Happy (late) Friendship Day (apparently?) ^_^

Peace in,
Laila

Never grow up

I've done four placements for paramedics, and I loved them, but I gotta say that the one-week nursing placement I had last week was the one that really hit me.

Aged care. 

I've always been uncomfortable around nudity and stuff, but... now... I've seen it all. I helped with the bathing, the toileting, the changing, the moving, the feeding. It was exhausting stuff, and to be honest, I don't think I did all that much. I was, technically, just assisting. I can't even begin to imagine what it's like to be the actual one-woman-show on a daily basis. Or two-woman-show. For like, 15 dependant elderly residents.

And I discovered that I'm pretty capable. I didn't cringe or giggle stupidly. I did whatever I was told, because... I donno. It had to be done. It can't be helped, and there was nothing funny about it.

[INTERMISSION:

Okay, so there are some things funny about it - i.e. my favourite resident, Barry. 

Day one, he was hitting on all the female assistants in the vicinity. My mentor went to get him up in the morning, and she was trying to pull the sheets up, but he kept clinging on. She wrestled it off him, and she tried to lift his arm, but he refused.

"I'm holding down my stomach," he insisted.

"Why?" my mentor asked, exasperated.

"So I can look slim for you," he replied.

Smooth, huh?

Day two, he was in a bad kind of mood. He started threatening my mentor because he felt they weren't respecting him.

"I'd love to be your husband for a day or two," he said to her.

"Why, Barry? You were just threatening me, why would you be my husband?" my mentor joked.

"I'd clock you  one every morning," he retorted. When my mentors try to stifle their laughter, he continued. "Women like to be noticed."

Day three, I was allocated to another sector for the night shift. However, we went over to his area because we needed to empty the linen. When we walked past his room, I couldn't help but peek in, and he was awake, and before I could escape, he called me in.

"What's going on out there?" he asked.

"Oh, we're just emptying the soiled linen," I replied.

"Why wasn't I informed?" He had that self-entitled, imperious tone.

"Oh - it's not that big a deal. Just cleaning up, you know?"

"Oh, you would think so, wouldn't you?" he said, peering down at me. I mean, he was below me on the bed, but he has that Dumbledore-peering-over-his-half-moon-spectacles thing going on, although he was more conspiratorial as opposed to wise. 

"Well, I'll have you know..." he started, and went on to describe the various weaponry he apparently had around his room. Apparently he had a pistol under the covers, and the table legs weren't really as they seemed. He asserted that he was prepared to leave the room and shoot everyone in the shins, as necessary... something something... Then he started talking about the girl he loved, Phyllis, who apparently didn't love him back, and his father always said that 'you should never make a woman uncomfortable - if she doesn't want you, that's it'... something something... He was always a 'man of the land, not the administration', because the administration was always trying to change the world according to their beliefs and religion and political ideas, but men of the land just lived... and so  on, so forth.

These are just snippets, really - Barry and I had many conversations, most of them not really making sense, but I donno; I felt like there was some kind of wisdom in there. He's a cool guy. I love him.]

But most of it wasn't funny because... because. Because it's hard to see people who have a great number of years behind them, who must have grand stories, who should appear regal, who ought to be treated with a kind of a reverence... It's hard to see these people so diminished, mentally. 

That was really what confronted me - I can't see people losing their minds.

It scares me and it makes me sick, and it's... so hard to deal with. I don't even know how to explain it. I used to hate aging primarily because I like being a kid. Now I'm just scared of aging because I don't want to end up like that.

My mentor implied that one of the ladies could hold a conversation, so I seized an opportunity to feed her. So I started chatting, asking her some questions - do you have children, grandchildren, are you from around here?

We got to the point where she said she was born in England, but married an Aussie bloke, and she considered herself Aussie. I said, awesome, so when did this happen? As in, when did she come out here?

And then she got teary.

"I don't know, I can't remember! It's too long!" she cried out. And my heart broke a little. Ow.

She's not the only one. I mean, they're all (mostly) sweet, but it's just so hard because theoretically you should speak to them with deference, right? But you end up having to be patronising, and you can't help it. It's so hard. 

So no aged care for me. And I'm definitely not growing up.

Also, I had my first personal encounter with a corpse. On my last night, this guy had just been moved back from hospital into palliative care. They thought he had a couple of days at least. The nurse in charge went on break for 10 minutes, and when she came back, he was gone. I had to help wash him.

They go downhill so fast.

When I left, one of my other favourite residents was in the midst of a fever. She was stripped down, sweating and shuddering, and she kept calling out to God. It was awful. And I had to leave right there. I still don't know what happened to her.

Aged care is not for me. I was told that in order to deal, I shouldn't take things personally, but I can't not take it personally. I joined this profession because I like things personal. It feels so cold being detached. I can't do it.

Yep. 

Paramedic placements, on the other hand, have been a lot less overwhelming. I've had four one day shifts across the semester. Nothing particularly dramatic, so no good stories to share, but I do love 'em. I can't be bothered walking down memory lane for that stuff, so maybe I'll just write about my next one :)

Ramadan mubarak to all my Muslims out there ♥

Peace in,

Laila

Thus far

So I have an exam in two days - my last - and I decided to write up a blog post.

Priorities.

Did I ever comment on your blog with a whiny little plea for you to blog more often, because, you know, I totally understood that you had a life, but I really did miss you and would it really be too hard for you to write a blog every now and again to lettuce know you're alive?

...

I lied. I never understood. Now I understand.

I tried to write a post much before - I really did want to keep you guys updated. This is what it was:

There aren't enough hours in a day.

This post, right here? It's going to be written in the gaps. In little moments that I can steal. Because this is what university life is coming down to. Fleeting conversations with would-be friends between huge chunks of lectures. Hurrying to catch the bus, hurrying to get home. On the bus, trying to fit as many songs in as I can, make that always short period of respite last forever. Those bus rides - the only moments where there isn't something I have to do, pay attention to, or go somewhere, the only place I can just be. And there are assignments that seem so far in the distant, and suddenly they loom up before you. Devoting hours to taking notes on one unit, to pass a weekly quiz that takes 15min. Brief meetings with old friends on a uni campus I don't even attend, only to discuss when we can we can next catch up for a proper conversation. Will it ever happen? I want it to happen. I don't know if they do. But I think we both have to accept that the chances are slimming down, rapidly.

Why do I always come across as depressed?

I am not depressed. I am tired. So tired, always.

How depressing, non?

And it ahbviously failed, because I absolutely could not find the time to write up all the little moments I wanted to. It's been a long, hard road, guys, but I'm happy to say I love where it took me.

So. UNIVERSITY.

I really donno how to condense this, and even though I am going to condense this, it's still not going to be so condensed. Oh well.

Let's start with the course. In summary, I FREAKING LOVE IT. SO. SO. SO. MUCH.

Paramedics and Nursing. One of the best decisions I've ever made.

So this semester, I had to do four units. One was Anatomy and Physiology, which is kinda the overlap between Paramedics and Nursing. You can imagine the grief this unit caused me; I've always been an Arts/Humanities girl - science is not my thing. The funny thing is, I think the coordinators of the unit knew what a pain their unit was, so even though it was still my hardest unit, it was the easiest to study for, and the assignment was really straightforward too - they made everything so clear cut and everything, and therefore, ironically, I ended up liking the unit.

I also had two nursing units. I call one Real Nursing, and the other one Boring Nursing, because it was stupid. Boring Nursing is something to do with 'scholarly communication', and I can see how it might have been relevant in second or third year, but as a first year, I think it was stupid to teach us about research and all that jazz when none of us knew anything anyway. The only good thing, really, was Boring Nursing had no exam, just three assignments. I had one of my First Bad Experiences with this stupid unit, and for the sake of important university memories, I'm gonna write it out for you, but I'm so over it. But feel free to call me out if I'm being bratty ^_^

Bad Experience Uno

So for this first assignment, it was only an online submission. As a typically studious, terrified first year student, I put in my all to get the assignment done on time, and went over it pedantically only a billion and one times. I have this thing where I can't submit an assignment or leave an exam early, because I would just die if I realised a second after that there was something I did wrong/could have done better. It's one thing where you had no time to fix something, but when you have plenty and you can't fix it... agajhdgkaj, you know?

So it was due on a Friday at 2pm. I uploaded my assignment on Thursday night after much fretting, and then phew, sweet relief.

Five days later, at the Boring Nursing lecture, our lecturer told us that she was concerned because about 100 of 300 students had yet to submit their assignment.

"Can you all just make sure you pressed the submit button, instead of just uploading?"

You can imagine the mini-freakout. So in that lecture, I submitted the assignment, but I wasn't really anxious, because a) the lecturer/unit coordinator didn't sound too fussed, and b) I think I just assumed if 100 students made the same mistake, they wouldn't penalize us.

But y'all know this is a Bad Experience, and hence you know there ain't no happy ending. When I got my assignment, I was initially elated to see that I had received a High Distinction. And then, right next to that, it said my mark had been halved because it was 5 days late.

And by halving my mark, it had essentially become a fail.

Like a backhanded compliment.

I didn't really break down immediately; I was just stunned, I guess. As I was with a whole bunch of friends at the time, they were all really calm and insisted that it was no big deal.

"Email her [the lecturer/unit coordinator]," every single person in the universe said. "You're just a first year, heaps of people made the same mistake, and it was just a genuine silly little mistake, she'll change it." I don't mean just other students; the people at the nursing office said it too. So I emailed her. And she basically said no.

Cue the water works. It wasn't so much the fact that she refused. It was the way her email implied I was slack. I've never been that student, so it burned. That, and the fact it was a fail. I rarely (if ever) fail. I don't always do well, but a fail?!

Moral: Uni staff have no mercy. When fretting over assignment, fret until you're 6000% sure you've submitted it.

As for Real Nursing, I love it because it's the practical side, and it was also about all those fluffy ideals I think of when I think of nurses. Love the lecturers, love the tutors. They're such stereotypes, it's adorable.

And then there's Paramedics.

Gosh. Okay. So how do I explain this?

For all my lectures, tutorials and labs, all the staff have a standard way of introducing themselves: name, qualifications, years of experience, yada yada yada. Nothing spectacular.

Jaime - the paramedics lecturer/unit coordinator - started our first lecture by pulling up a photo of a baby girl on the powerpoint.

"This is Indie," she said. "She's my world."

She went on to say all this random stuff about her, you know, like she doesn't like wearing shoes, and she loves photography, and she's a family person...

Love at first sight, people.

She's just so AWESOME. Everyone loves her. I'm not even exaggerating. For First Years, the university has this program where they have senior students call you up at certain intervals to see how you're doing. A few weeks in, this guy calls me up and asks me how things are, and I was telling him how much I love my lecturer, and he's like: "Is this Jaime?"

And I'm like why yes, who else?!

In this one lecture, she wanted us to do this quick group activity, and she told us to write our answers on a paper, make a plane, and fly it down to her. It was a fail, but still. In this other lecture, she wanted us to do a survey (andnevermindeveryonewouldclimbmountainsforher) and she felt she had to bribe us, so she brought in this massive container of chocolates, and literally strolled around the theatre throwing them at us. Mind you, that's a couple of hundred students. Just saying. Another day, she thought it was a beautiful day, so she made us all go outside to practise practical stuff. Also, she refuses to record lectures, because she says she loves us so much and she wants to be able to see our faces every week, even if she has to force us to get there.

I love her so much. I want to be just like her. She's such a hippy... such a pocketful of sunshine. I'm just a little obsessed with her. We all are.

And that's just her. The Paramedic aspect in itself is just...everythingIthoughtitwouldbeandmore. The practicals, the jumpsuit, the placements - I've had four so far - it's just... amazing.

I'm gonna end this on a picture of the promised jumpsuit photo, and my precious kitties who have, alas, since left the nest... but I've still much to add, so To Be Continued...

ROUND #1:

Kiko

Doughnut

Socks

Princess Fluffy

Salem

ROUND #2:

Fred & George

Odette

Sylvie

Rafaella

Peace in,
Laila

When one asks for a life...

... One ends up the emergency ward of a hospital, amongst lots of other things.

So I started having the semblance of a life, since my last post. I have a casual job - Star's aunty hired us to be office hands every now and again - and I've got two clients to tutor. I went to a couple of friends' houses. On the Friday - I think it was last Friday, I finally got to get together with Lindy-lou. We've been trying to hang out for ayyyges, but she's the polar opposite of me - she has this crazy life that's packed with... lifey stuff. So on the Friday, she had this one break, and BAM, we decided to chill.

We watched Lars and the Real Girl. I think it's a good movie, but we were in the mood to just take the mickey out of everything, so we couldn't take it seriously. Also, she has this adorable kitty who was just so distracting... and yeah. The movie became a background feature. Then we played games - this block tower-y one, Uno, and some brain teasers on her laptop. Her grandmother made us pizza, and I got to introduce her to the wonderful world of Fear of a Brown Planet. It was nice and relaxing and fun, but the whole time, my feet were just freezing. I had my good ol' purple tinged fingernail/toenail thing going on, and no matter how much I tried to tuck them away, I couldn't get the cold out of them. Also, Lindy just giving me cold Coke, and I drank it because I felt obligated to, and it was so hard to swallow... and I knew I was coming down with something.

When I walked home, I sat down, and it was just a downward spiral. My voice was all stuffy, my head was all hot, but the rest of me was freezing, and although I made it through one tutoring session, I missed out on class because I tried to go to sleep - I use 'tried', because it was just this awful haze of tossing and turning, freezing and sweating, and... gosh, it was terrible.

But I think it looked a lot worse, because when my mother was getting me to go to my own bed (I'd settled into hers), I had tears running down my face. I was not crying; it was more like the hay-fever kind of tears, uncontrollable, but not like you're actually sobbing and weeping. But I couldn't tell her it was okay, because, as I said, my voice was stuffy.

So I was forced to go to the doctor the next day, and he said it was tonsillitis. He didn't explain much, like how you get it or anything, he just prescribed some tablets that I was supposed to take for ten days. I thought 'cool', although I had a slight worry here:

A week ago, on the Wednesday, my Islamic teacher asked me if I'd do a speech for the Jewish Christian Muslim Association (JCMA) Women's Conference. I was figuring out the most polite way to decline, because honestly, speeches, though I can do them, if I have a choice, I prefer not to. Also, I need time, and a certain mood to build up some passion for the topic, you know? (The topic was how I (in a religious context) help 'repair the world'). But before I could say no, my charming older sister said YESOFCOURSESHE'LLDOIT, and my mother heard and insisted that there was no point asking me about such things, the key is just to order me to do it. (To be fair, she's right. But still.) So I was roped into doing this speech, and although I sent my teacher a rough draft, the day before the speech she still hadn't sent me the edited version, and I had some nasty tonsillitis.

So it had to get worse, right? At night (my teacher still hadn't sent me the speech), my ... illness... just exploded. I donno, I couldn't breathe, basically - like my nose was stuffed up, breathing through my mouth (i.e. tonsils) just killed, and so as I heaved and choked and those tears just kept pouring (I was not crying), my mother called my daddy and said I had to go to the emergency ward.

First time for everything.

Uhm... basically, it was a lot of waiting. Waiting at the receptionist, so she could fill out details and stuff. Waiting in the emergency ward for the nurse, and then for the doctor. The hours just ticked by. They asked me the same questions, I gave them the same answers, and honestly, between all the waiting, the can't-breathe sensation just died. I could've gone home, but the doctor said I should hang around for the night just in case. I wanted to be all grown up - and okay, I was a little embarrassed, too - so I told my dad he could just go home. It was really hard to sleep, because the hospital was just ... always alive, I guess. I mean, it makes sense. But the lights were on and people were constantly pacing and it felt like day time, and I don't really sleep during the day. This nurse was also constantly checking my blood pressure, and the cannula they had jabbed into my arm was irritating, and... and the lady in the bed next to me - I couldn't see her - but throughout the night, at various intervals, this nurse kept asking her to pee... "Scarlett, I need you to do a wee for me. Scarlett, hon, please get up and wee. Scarlett, you have to wee for me, in this cup. No - Scarlett, you have to wee, you can wee after I get you the drink then. Scarlett, WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!"

Not the perfect soundtrack to fall asleep to.

Anyhow, at 6am, they jabbed some kind of medicine into me (after giving me a lemony icy pole), and kind of fast tracked the tonsillitis curing process, so that I was good to go after. I mean, my voice was still weird, and I think I had a cold still, but the tonsillitis was gone, for sure.

So about 9am, I get home. I had to tutor my other client at 10am. In between, I had to get ready to leave about 11am (though we ended up leaving at like 11:30am.) And I had about two or three chances to read my speech and try to learn what I could.

The conference... was full of old people. I expected more younger girls, so I had an informal kind of speech, with a lot of colloquialisms thrown in. But I think I was the youngest there... and it was awkward. Apparently I did okay (they kind of sold me as some kind of hero, like, oh my, did you know she was in hospital last night and she just got out this morning?), which is fun, I guess, but I hate it when they do it when you're around, you know? I don't do compliments really well, so it was just a whole lot of 'yeah, uhm, thanks'. 

Oh, we met out first Jewish person, this girl called Moriya, and she was so sweet and smiley and she had beautiful eyes. I know that's a bit random, and I feel like I just objectified Jews, but... seriously. I have never personally met Jews before the conference. It was kinda cool :)

So Sunday simmered down and ended well, and on Monday, I had my medical/fitness test. Lemme just say I killed it well and good. I was a little iffy because I didn't feel at the prime of my health, and I always have that typical worry that OMGI'mprobablyoverweightI'msooofat. I, uhm, don't share that with a lot of people, but when the scales come out, it's always at the back of my mind. But when I hopped on the scales, turns out I've actually lost weight since the last time I checked, and regardless, I was fine. Heck, the fitness dude, who was explaining to me when I have to go through this again when I officially start the job, as long as I maintain my 'slender figure', I'll be fine. I mean, I'm pretty sure it's an exaggeration, but I'll take it. I passed the medical stuff fine. The fitness stuff turned out to be okay too - a variety of different sit ups, and push ups, a stretch thing, and - the best part - cycling. Cycling. I do it every morning. 

Basically, for each task, you earn a point, and there are 24 points up for grabs, but 13 is all you need to pass. I got 22, and he said I was one of the highest (it was either I was one of the highest of all, or just between the girls, or officially the highest of the girls. I'm not entirely sure). So that was one off my checklist.

Then... Thursday. University orientation.

I screwed up pretty darn bad. See, I'm going to the Peninsula campus of Monash, but my sister and my cousin and basically everyone goes to the Clayton campus. Hence, when I was on the Orientation planner thing, my automatic inclination was to click 'Clayton', and hence, I ended up getting the wrong date for the general welcome. Thank God I didn't actually miss anything important, but it did mean that on Thursday, I spent a good two hours alone and cold at the Peninsula campus, pretty darn early in the morning (I had to get up at 5:50am). When I did get the one part I did right, it was only a half hour talk by one lady, and she was funny and fun and I like her and she got me all excited all over again. I mean, I still have screwed up some other stuff, which is just thumping on the back of my mind, but I won't write about that because I've come to the stage where I know that talking and whinging or even thinking about it isn't going to change anything -_-'

 I also kind of made a friend. Between all the tall, beautiful white people, I spotted an ethnic and introduced myself, and yep, she's from good ol' Dandenong, where I live. Perfect, right? ^_^ 

Then I took a bus back to Clayton, where my sister and my cousin were hanging about for the club day I think (where all the uni clubs are basically put on show as they try to recruit you). I made another kind of friend - well, she made friends with me. She basically introduced herself, and eventually figured out that we have a whole lot of mutual friends, and I was just like how the heck did you know it was me? because I have never met her before. But she was really vibrant and cute, so yeah, I can put aside the creepyness of our meeting. I got some henna done, got my face painted (brought out my inner fairy, it did), and... it was another nice day.

And throughout, I've made cookies, I've read books, and life is looking up. Things are getting busy again, and I feel like I can stop singing this

 

 AND. My cat had kittens again :') Five more. I WILL POST PHOTOS, of the last litter and the new ones, I'm just waiting on my new laptop, which I'll get sometime in March...

That is all.

Peace in,

Laila

These are the things that Laila misses

Stones and bones;
snow and frost;
seeds and beans and polliwogs.
Paths and twigs, assorted kisses,
We all know who Susie misses...

- The Lovely Bones, Alice Sebold

I miss having a purpose. I don't really miss school as it is - I wouldn't go back to the classes, the stress of SACs and exams, the pressure of expectations, not only because others want you to do well but because you want to do well, and 'well' had to be an exceptional score. But I miss the routine, the going, the knowing what I had to do in order to achieve something. I miss the nudges to stick to the path, I miss the short-term goals that led up to the long-term one, and there was always that impending feeling... it's coming... closer and closer... we're almost there. My routine now is wake up around 8am, feed my cats, go for a bike ride, and... a question mark. Nothing. A wait. I read a bit, I talk to my cousins and sister, we go a-walking, we go places, or we don't, and it just feels like circles. 

It's not that I don't have anything to do. I already mentioned that to-do list that I'm sort of working my way through. University stuff... cat stuff (still have to find two homes, prepare for the second litter, and then organise the desexing :/ )... bank/work stuff... learning to drive... artsy stuff... But there's no drive. It's gone. It's not that I don't want to go to university, or I'm not that excited. I'm just... distracted by the Nothing that's going on.

I miss the effect of prayer. Back in the day, when I had things to do, and prayer was neatly fitted into my timetable, it had an effect. Sure, as the average human, I'd get distracted every now and then. Despite that, having these goals, having a purpose, knowing what I wanted specifically, I had this need to concentrate. I know that sounds so superficial - you want something from God, you pay attention, but when you don't, you forget Him - but I was motivated, and I'd put in everything into concentrating, into knowing what I was saying rather than mindlessly rambling away in Arabic, and there was always this feeling of fulfillment afters. Of satisfaction. Maybe the feeling of being purified or something. But in this weird haze that I'm living in, as I said... I'm distracted by the nothing. I forget to concentrate, and only when I'm finished I curl up in a ball and pray to have it back. 

I miss being a kid. Cheesy, I know. The other day we went to my cousins' house, and I took the littlies to the park. I don't think I ever stopped swinging, but since I've 'grown up', I haven't done the monkey bars. I had a go at them that afternoon, and owwww, it killed, but damn it felt good. I did them twice over, because for once they were high enough so that my feet couldn't touch the ground anyway. I remember in the early years of primary school, how agile we were, how flexible, how much energy we had, as we fearlessly climbed onto the top, flipped over, shamelessly showing off our cute little potbellies. I remember running my fingers over the hardened ridge of blisters on the underside of our hands. We were so tough. And now my hands feel so soft, and it makes me sad. 

I miss singing at the top of my lungs. When I use the word 'singing', of course, I'm using it rather loosely based on what I intend to do, because you know, realistically I can't actually sing. At the beach the other day, I encouraged my little sister to sing 'Let it Go' from Frozen as loudly as she could from the bathroom, and I joined in of course, because I was shielded from the 'audience' in my little shower stall. We ended up starting a sing-a-long with some random little girls that I never got to meet, because they left by the time we got out. But it was a great feeling, until my cousin mentioned that they could hear us outside the bathroom. I used to do it at home, vacuuming, as I once mentioned before, but apparently people can hear me when I do. I'm embarrassed to do it around my cousins, or maybe I just want to spare them the agony, and so I can't do it anymore. But the urge to just let it rip, let it go (see what I did there?), is always there. Just waiting.

I miss the way my family used to be, before the financial crisis. Sure, we weren't exactly Full House warm and fuzzy, but the fights used to be the exception, and it wasn't always so dismal. It goes like this: my father, when we're driving, or just chilling at home, will start lecturing on something to do with using too much electricity or water or just the cost of living in general, and how everything is very bad right now, we need to be careful. When I need something to be bought, I'll mention it to my mother. She'll ask my why I don't ask my dad, and I'll say that I don't want to stress him out. So, because she loves us, she'll go tell him to tone down the lectures because clearly they stress all of us out. Lo and behold: explosion. Tears. My dad will turn on us and start on the appreciation/gratitude speech: Don't I buy everything you need? Have I ever denied you anything? Are you stressed? Why is she saying you're stressed? We're okay, okay? I'm just reminding you not to be wasteful. Nobody is grateful in this house, blah, blah, blah... We robotically agree with him. Finit.

What makes me sad is that for so long we have wanted extended family. For so. Damn. Long. And after all the years of prayer, God, as He does, grants our dua like a backhanded compliment. Sure, you can have your cousins, but I'm going to send them over at the worst possible time, when you're in the deepest of ditches. Because Allah tests those He loves the most, and He never gives you a burden you can't bear. Without those two bits of gold... so help me, I don't know where I'd be.

But my cousins will eventually move out, and I'm stuck because I selfishly want them to stay, but I know it's hard for them to stay because they have to deal with a lot of crap in our house, and so even I think they should go, but then I don't want them to because I want them here and I want it to be Full House.

I miss writing stories. I miss the brief glimpses of ideas that'd flit through my mind, that I'd latch onto, and think and think and think, and come up with something that I'd love for a while and hate later. The many empty notebooks that pervade my desk mock me.

And I miss people. I miss the people at school that I never really spoke to, that I don't even really want to speak to, that I probably never will speak to. I miss their presence, their predictability, their familiarity. Until university starts, I have no established social life, and it feels... lonely. I miss seeing my friends regularly at school, and somehow we always had things to talk about, but now, in all the nothing, even though Star doesn't live so far away, I can't bear to always see her, because sometimes I just don't know what to say. And I don't like texting people. I'm sick of texting my other friends. I want to see them in person, and I want to do things, but everyone's so busy or they have strict families or it's just too hard so all we have is texting and I hate it. I miss my extended family. I haven't Skyped with my favourite cousin or aunt in ages, and I know they're busy, they have kids, my cousin's brother is joining her in Dubai, they too have lives, but I wish I was a part of their lives too. I've upgraded to Whatsapp, because a few more of my cousins and nieces have that, and it's great because they spam me with their photos, but I miss the conversations, where we actually exchange meaningful words and sentences, but they just don't do that over text, and they're so far away, and they're growing up, and there's more of them, and I'm not there and once again, I'm not a part of their lives, and I don't know how to be. I miss my online friends, our superdy long conversations, always random and funny, but also with a lot of soul. My soul, anyhow. I miss Sam, I miss Arvie... I worry for Arvie, because I haven't heard from her since the typhoon in the Philippines, and I'm only taking solace in that it's a question mark too. I miss Meli, I miss Ali, I miss that world.

I realise I may have come across as depressed, but honestly, I'm not really. A lot of this is just whinging, isn't it? I mentioned I have things to do, and some other stuff is just cliché and nostalgia that makes an appearance every now and then. So if you feel the need to console, don't worry about it ^_^ It's what happens when you have too much time. C'est la vie, this too shall pass, life goes on.

This song breaks my heart. I love it so much, I play it on repeat, and I don't know why, because it's not like I've ever experienced 'love'. But I wonder, when it comes to a relationship, whether I'd be the giving tree, or the person who cuts it down to a stump. I don't want to be a stump, nor do I want to be the person who sits on it. 

I wonder if it has to be that way. But then I think of good ol' Jodi Picoult's quote about a relationship never being 50-50, how there's always someone who loves the person a leetle bit more. I wonder...

... too much time -_-'

Peace in,
Laila