So this is what happened.
I was falling apart last year. Maybe you have some ideas why, maybe you don't. But throughout the year, I was gradually losing it, accumulating a whole lot of badthoughts in my head. It's a bit hard to explain.
And then.
I went on placement. Mental Health placement. In the youth ward.
My first placement with patients about my age, and they were crazy.
I don't mean crazy in the sense of prison like setting, residents rattling the bars to their cages, gabbling away, paranoid, eyes darting, mad laughing, that sort of thing. Okay, there was a bit of that, but mostly it was a combination of drugs and trauma, and it was awful. Awful because I collected stories, as I usually do, and these were tragedies. These were dark stories, depressing, scarring, heartbreaking.
I ended up loving the placement, because I was exposed to something I was so uncertain about, something that unnerved me just by me thinking about it. I'm not saying that by the end everything was hunky dory, and I could just live with these terrible things. I just came to the understanding that people who have horrible baggage attached to them do not get better when you run away. They're the ones that need you most.
But, as I said, I was not in a 'good place' myself. I could actually write my own mental health nurse notes. Isolative. Irritable. Flat affect, congruent with depressed mood. Minimal speech. Poor diet. Low self-esteem. Blah blah blah.
It was pretty bad. It was bad enough for my mum to notice. Even though I try to keep this stuff to myself, I suppose some of it cannot go unnoticed. Or maybe it's because she's my mum. But there were nights where I just bit my fist and cried, and I can't explain why. Or I'd just lie still for a long time and not do anything. I convinced myself that I was alone, that no one liked me. Sometimes I felt like I couldn't breathe, that the world was too small, and it was closing in. I was pathetic and hopeless.
(The other thing you need to know is that throughout the whole of last year, I dreamed about going to Sri Lanka at the end of the year. If it wasn't with family, my sister promised we'd go together. She made some elaborate plans. I was super excited.)
But come the end of placement, and despite all my talking, and all my family agreeing, no one had booked tickets to go. My sister bailed on me. And my parents kept saying "We'll go, hang on, just wait." Wait for what?! I was hysterically thought-screaming.
So I kept wallowing, kept falling apart, and finally, my mum said, okay, kid, you can go. You need it.
We found a family friend going, and I booked myself on the same flight as them. (That's about as much connection I had with them for whole trip. I saw them just before I got on, during the transit, and when I landed.)
(My stomach aches a bit when I think about Lanka. Ow. I miss it.)
And I went.
I found my little happy place again.
Like, really. I went on January 14th, arrived back in Melbourne on the 1st of March. And I've been genuinely happy, warm right to the core. I don't know, it's kinda scary. I can't imagine it lasting. But it is. Even though I'mback to the same routine. Even though there are more assignments than ever. Even though I'm still kinda unemployed. I'm good.
So I should probably tell y'all how it all went, but. But I've already done it.
See, one thing Star roped me into before I left was to start a blog with her. And I blogged while I was there. And I feel like I did it my best there. So I'll link ya (here and here), if you really care to know. But I'm not Laila there, so don't use that name if you want to comment. (Come to think of it, neither of us have put our names. Maybe just don't comment at all. I donno. BUT DON'T CALL ME LAILA.)
Anyway, something has really struck me since I've come back.
I've grown up.
Duhhh, you say. You're twenty. You better have grown up.
No, listen.
There are little things. You know, I'm more than halfway through uni, I'm graduating next year. Then I'm in the workplace. My friends are getting married, one by one. Cousins close to my age as well. They all have boyfriends in a more... steady, mature way. I do things a bit more independantly. (I've had driving lessons too. I'm getting there). There's more, though.
When I got back, a few days later, I accompanied my dad to an appointment with a cardiologist. I accompanied him. And after that, I explained to him what was going on. And he told me about some tests he had done while I was away, and he told me how scared he had been, and I comforted him. Since when does this happen? I've never had that explicit role of explaining this sort of stuff to my parents, nor have I ever had the job of reassuring them, having them so dependant on me. And yet, there it was.
And since then, I've noticed all these other little things. How my parents always seem to ask my opinion on how to handle stuff in their lives. How we sit and talk about our day like we're on the same level. I mean, sure, I still feel the need to answer to them, to always tell them where I am, ask permission, etc. But it feels like roles are slowly reversing. They always used to say there would be a day when we'd be wiping their butts, and it really feels like that day is coming.
My parents are getting older.
It's scary.
I deal with patients like this all the time, but now I'm thinking: my parents fit into this group. That's the reality. No, they're not ancient. And they're pretty healthy. But they're still ageing. It's happening. It's real. And I can sense that now, even though I still need them, now they need me too.
And what strikes me more than anything is that for the first time, I feel like I can do it. I can deal with this. I can take care of them. I'm not so scared anymore. It's a bit disconcerting, sure. But it's not incomprehensible, unmanageable. I can do this. I don't know. Is this what it means to grow up?
Peace in,
Laila
Showing posts with label change. Show all posts
Showing posts with label change. Show all posts
Wednesday, March 16, 2016
Wednesday, January 14, 2015
My sincere apologies
I did something revolutionary today.
In my family, we do not apologise. For little, meaningless things, yes. Bump into one of them as we walk by, a reflexive 'sorry' might just make a brief appearance, but really, it's not deep or something to actually be acknowledged.
I mean that in our family, the apologies that we need, the ones that matter, never happen. The ones after a huge fight, where we've said really cutting things that we don't really mean but still have a ring of truth to them, which is what makes them so sharp. Silly misunderstandings that escalate, unintentional damage caused to something that's important to someone else.
Don't get me wrong - I don't think we mean to be so unapologetic, unforgiving, shameless. Prideful. It's just that my family is really, seriously unsentimental. We don't hug and kiss a lot, genuine I-love-you's are rare, we never talk feelings (shudder). We like to be tough, we like to Just Get Over things. We rage, and then we go on as if nothing happened. If we ever try to do something different, it's usually met with suspicion, derision, or just plain discomfort. So we don't.
But ever since I realised this, I've felt bad. I don't mean it constantly plagues me - just, on occasion, it pops into my head, and I feel a little guilty. Particularly if I've done something bad.
I remember, in our old house, the toilet, my dad had this thing on the wall, and among the many important phrases/words, it stated that the six most important words were 'I admit I made a mistake'. (Actually, it was really good food for thought... so I found it again. Here.)
It shouldn't be that hard. It's basically just 'sorry'. One word.
But ohmyGod, how hard is it to do that, to put aside all that pride - not arrogance, just dignity - after all the screaming, the blind defending and attacking, the ranting and raving and I'mrightyou'rewrong-ing, to put it all aside after being so very sure, to admit DEFEAT.
It's so hard. Particularly with my family. I can apologise to friends. But family. Family who can tear you apart and you can't do anything about it (besides tear them apart?). Family you can't just not see again. Family, who no matter how they cut you down and make you hate the whole entire world, are your comfort zone. Family who will never let anything you did go.
But I said I did something revolutionary, and so you know I did it. Firstly, my mama. You know from my last post that she was driving me crazy. There were a few yelling matches. But. But. I said sorry. Two times. And even though it took a lot of self-pep talking, it was worth it. It wasn't a monumental event. My mother just made 'okay' kind of sound, and, as we do best, life just went on.
But it felt good, a genuine, pure relief; a certain kind of weightlessness. It was lovely.
However, I must admit - I don't know if this is just a retrospect thing - but I think that on the scale of people in my family, my mother, while at the hard end, is not the most difficult person to contend with. No, that role would go to my older sister.
We had a fight today. It was a stupid fight (as most fights in my family are). I was defending someone she was annoyed with, she made it seem like I was 'taking their side', whereas, in my view, I wasn't taking any sides - just presenting the other side. But then it escalated, and I said stupid, nasty things that implied she was a bad sister - I wasn't even being logical (though I guess that's pretty typical of a stupid fight?). Regardless, even though I still think a lot of what she had to say was unfair, I was... inspired... to try and apologise.
You do not approach my sister when she is mad. I think I have posted about this occasionally, in the past years. Regardless of whether whatever she says makes sense or not, she just has a tone that can cut you to shreds. That's all it takes. The smart move is to avoid her until the storm passes, and you can resume life like nothing happened before.
But. But I knew that if I waited that long, my apology would become a bit...redundant. I mean, she'd be over it, I'd be too, and it wouldn't feel as valuable.
Yet I could not approach her, in person. I was very much afraid of her capacity to shoot before and ask questions later. So. So. So, I sent her text.
...
Is that stupid? Cowardly? I can't help it. I'm scared of her. She doesn't have to do much to make me cry. This will be an incomplete post, because I only just sent it to her, and I'm awaiting her reaction/response. Whether I upgrade to verbal apologies in the future really depends on how this one pans out. Still, despite my underlying fear - this feeling of waiting in line to be executed - I feel good. It feels good to do the right thing. I know it's cheesy and so goody-two-shoes, but I can't help it.
In a weird sort of irony, I think that putting aside your pride to do something like this only results in it coming back afterwards, more blown up and self-righteous than before ;)
Peace in,
Laila
In my family, we do not apologise. For little, meaningless things, yes. Bump into one of them as we walk by, a reflexive 'sorry' might just make a brief appearance, but really, it's not deep or something to actually be acknowledged.
I mean that in our family, the apologies that we need, the ones that matter, never happen. The ones after a huge fight, where we've said really cutting things that we don't really mean but still have a ring of truth to them, which is what makes them so sharp. Silly misunderstandings that escalate, unintentional damage caused to something that's important to someone else.
Don't get me wrong - I don't think we mean to be so unapologetic, unforgiving, shameless. Prideful. It's just that my family is really, seriously unsentimental. We don't hug and kiss a lot, genuine I-love-you's are rare, we never talk feelings (shudder). We like to be tough, we like to Just Get Over things. We rage, and then we go on as if nothing happened. If we ever try to do something different, it's usually met with suspicion, derision, or just plain discomfort. So we don't.
But ever since I realised this, I've felt bad. I don't mean it constantly plagues me - just, on occasion, it pops into my head, and I feel a little guilty. Particularly if I've done something bad.
I remember, in our old house, the toilet, my dad had this thing on the wall, and among the many important phrases/words, it stated that the six most important words were 'I admit I made a mistake'. (Actually, it was really good food for thought... so I found it again. Here.)
It shouldn't be that hard. It's basically just 'sorry'. One word.
But ohmyGod, how hard is it to do that, to put aside all that pride - not arrogance, just dignity - after all the screaming, the blind defending and attacking, the ranting and raving and I'mrightyou'rewrong-ing, to put it all aside after being so very sure, to admit DEFEAT.
It's so hard. Particularly with my family. I can apologise to friends. But family. Family who can tear you apart and you can't do anything about it (besides tear them apart?). Family you can't just not see again. Family, who no matter how they cut you down and make you hate the whole entire world, are your comfort zone. Family who will never let anything you did go.
But I said I did something revolutionary, and so you know I did it. Firstly, my mama. You know from my last post that she was driving me crazy. There were a few yelling matches. But. But. I said sorry. Two times. And even though it took a lot of self-pep talking, it was worth it. It wasn't a monumental event. My mother just made 'okay' kind of sound, and, as we do best, life just went on.
But it felt good, a genuine, pure relief; a certain kind of weightlessness. It was lovely.
However, I must admit - I don't know if this is just a retrospect thing - but I think that on the scale of people in my family, my mother, while at the hard end, is not the most difficult person to contend with. No, that role would go to my older sister.
We had a fight today. It was a stupid fight (as most fights in my family are). I was defending someone she was annoyed with, she made it seem like I was 'taking their side', whereas, in my view, I wasn't taking any sides - just presenting the other side. But then it escalated, and I said stupid, nasty things that implied she was a bad sister - I wasn't even being logical (though I guess that's pretty typical of a stupid fight?). Regardless, even though I still think a lot of what she had to say was unfair, I was... inspired... to try and apologise.
You do not approach my sister when she is mad. I think I have posted about this occasionally, in the past years. Regardless of whether whatever she says makes sense or not, she just has a tone that can cut you to shreds. That's all it takes. The smart move is to avoid her until the storm passes, and you can resume life like nothing happened before.
But. But I knew that if I waited that long, my apology would become a bit...redundant. I mean, she'd be over it, I'd be too, and it wouldn't feel as valuable.
Yet I could not approach her, in person. I was very much afraid of her capacity to shoot before and ask questions later. So. So. So, I sent her text.
...
Is that stupid? Cowardly? I can't help it. I'm scared of her. She doesn't have to do much to make me cry. This will be an incomplete post, because I only just sent it to her, and I'm awaiting her reaction/response. Whether I upgrade to verbal apologies in the future really depends on how this one pans out. Still, despite my underlying fear - this feeling of waiting in line to be executed - I feel good. It feels good to do the right thing. I know it's cheesy and so goody-two-shoes, but I can't help it.
In a weird sort of irony, I think that putting aside your pride to do something like this only results in it coming back afterwards, more blown up and self-righteous than before ;)
Peace in,
Laila
Wednesday, June 18, 2014
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?
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.
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
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.
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...
.jpg)
Peace in,
Laila
"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 |
Laila
Thursday, January 2, 2014
A Walk on the Wild Side
Nooooooooooooooooo.
Nuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu.
Nawwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww.
Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease.
Pretty pretty pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease?
PLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEASE?
It works well.
I mean, they were right to be concerned. New Years Eve is when the stupidity of YOLO is showcased in all its glory. Public transport is free, so obviously every cheapskate wants to take advantage of it, and all the trains are so packed it's a wonder there's room for oxygen. And, you know, everyone gets drunk, and it being Australia, it is rather common for white people here to welcome the new year by putting on raucous displays of their hatred for... not white people. (You see what I did there? How ironical x] )
So why would I want to go? Because I'm bored. I mean, school's over, I'm on holiday for about three months. I've yet to get a job (I'm trying, okay?), and not having money can really impede your outdoorsy fun options. Not just that, but me being me... I just ... crave adventure, I guess, but not just any adventure... danger. I crave danger. Thrills. Adrenaline rushes. As well as a certain ache, you know, the really good feeling you get after a long run? That. And walking about the city at night, with no parents, on New Years Eve... well, it seemed fitting.
And also, there's a kind of romance attached to it. Come on, the city at night? All lit up? It seems like a dream, doesn't it? It was.
The train ride there was as expected. It was crowded when we got on, and at each stop on the way, it just got more packed. At first I was standing - I kind of prefer standing, because you know how you should give up your seat to the elderly/pregnant/etc? I have this paranoia that one day I'll be sitting down for a good long ride and I won't notice some old person who needs my seat and hence I won't give it up for them until I get off and then I'll see them and I'll feel really terrible for not noticing them and I will forever be plagued by this guilt for putting them through such an uncomfortable ride... it's sort of irrational, but it's what I do. Stand so I don't have to be on my guard.
But this time, as it was packed, where I was standing was getting uncomfortably thronged by guys. Young guys. They were quite boisterous. My cousin -
[Side note: I should, at this point, mention that right now I have two guy cousins in my house. It's kind of sad, right, the first time a cousin came over, I was so ecstatic on this blog, and this time, I haven't done anything? Well, whatever, c'est la vie, now you know. You also know now why my mother wasn't too strict on me not going - two guy cousins to play bodyguards.]
- had been standing in front of a seat, not taking it I think for similar reasons to moi. Noticing that it was getting crowded, he offered me the seat (again, actually, because up til then I was showing some bravado about not needing it) , and I took it. It was a tiny cramped singular one, tucked away. My cousin stood in front, to block me off from any other creepers. I spent the ride trying to figure out where to put my eyes. Have you ever been in this situation, where you're in a crowded space, and everywhere you look, there's a face, and you don't know these people, so you don't want to be caught in that awkward moment like you were staring at them, when you weren't really staring at them? So you sort of look up, but if you're shortish like me, that takes effort, so you look down, but you don't want to look depressed, so you're not looking all the way down, and then, after some time, you realise you're actually staring at... people's derrieres, or their legs, or something like that, and you feel mortified because you think that maybe other people think that you're a creeper, so you find yourself hurriedly shifting your eyes again, looking around to see if anyone saw you...
... and it repeats. That was my ride to the city.
We got there at 7ish, if I remember correctly. It was lovely. So many people, but so few vehicles, because most of the roads were blocked. But people still felt inclined to stick to the footpaths and stuff, and so you just had these empty roads that were so clean, and we just wandered through them.
That's the only thing about us going out. My cousins and I, we go places, but we lack purpose. Everyone's in groups, walking HERE or THERE, you know, SOMEWHERE, and we sort of just drift. But it's a nice sort of drifting, that lose yourself in the crowd, in the city. It was twilight, the sky was a dark blue, still tinted with gold from the sun, and the city was lighting up. It also - despite the crowds - in my head, it felt kind of quiet.
So we walked without purpose, going this way and that, trying to figure out what to do. My parents would probably never let us do this again, so we wanted to make the best of it, but how?
In the end, it was just walking, talking, admiring the buskers, the views, bemoaning our lack of a good camera, just killing time slowly. We looked for the perfect place to view the fireworks, but then got hungry so we left it to find food. We tried to get back to the place, but we were swept up by the crowds, and somehow time escaped us. So we hurriedly found another place, and soon it was those final moments, everyone looking to the sky, just waiting.
I was a little sad because we didn't get to do my favourite bit - the countdown. The few times I've been before, in the final seconds, everyone starts counting down, and its like the voice of the city itself, it's that unified, that loud. But that night, we waited, and the fireworks just exploded out of everywhere.
My cousin, a few seconds before, he said: "Just watch, everyone's going to take out their phones and cameras and start filming."
He was stating the obvious, but I wish he wasn't right. I mean, it's right there guys, right in front of you. That's the beauty of the moment. If you wanted to see it through a screen, you may as well have stayed home and recorded it off your TV. I could do a whole other rant on how meaningless photos are becoming these days, how we're not really preserving memories, because there's really not much to preserve anymore, how the moments that are worth remembering are the ones that stay in your head, and yes, they may get distorted over time, but that's what makes them so worth it - because it's a reflection of how you felt at the moment, not really what happened. But I won't go on about that now.
So we stood there in this crowd, we watched the fireworks, we lost ourselves in the ooohs and aaahs. We bemoaned our lack of a good camera again. It was nice.
Then it was over. People hugged. They loitered. They started to disperse. The paths were clogged, the bridge was blocked, so we could only imagine what the trains would be like. So hung around, leaning against the bridge. This apparently drunk (I couldn't tell) walked by, offering free high-fives, and my cousin leaped forward - literally - and seized the moment. The drunk guy grinned broadly, saying, 'You are a good man. You know what? You get a bonus. You get a discount. You can have a hug.' He then embraced my cousin somewhat passionately.
We found our way to the water again, and just sat there. There's something about that, you know, just sitting there by the water, in the city, at night, and you know, the reflection of the light just glitters on the surface. I don't really consider myself the meditative type, but I could just lose myself in it.
Eventually, at about 2pm, the bridge started to clear, and we walked back to the station, which was still filled up. We couldn't take the first train, and me and one of my cousins were just happy to hang around for a few hours until the whole place cleared up, but the other one (I really ought to give them names, huh?) insisted we get on the second one. We had to wait, of course, and oh, in that time, there was an almost fight - two guys getting all buff and shouting and then their girlfriends interfered.
Then we squashed onto a train, with a whole bunch of others - it really did feel like a kind of wrestling match. I wasn't fussed about a seat - I guess I was in a zombie-state, so I just couldn't care - but my cousin had once again saved me one, and I couldn't care to argue either.
The ride back was that sleepy kind of blur. You know, you can hear the noise, but it feels far away. I remember a group of guys singing that song, 'Rude', and it just kept going around in my head the whole way back... why you gotta be so rude? Don't you know we human too? Why you gotta be so rude? I'm gonna marry her anyway. Someone else kept yelling 'HAPPY NEW YEAR!' everytime the train stopped. People were sleeping. A few times, I closed my eyes, slept about five minutes - could it be longer - and then I'd be wide awake again. An old man in front of me spoke to someone loudly on the phone, and people were laughing, but in a kind of endearing way.
And then we got off, at our station. The body heat made it hard to feel the cold. It was, I think, maybe 3am? The plan was to catch a bus - we assumed there was one, that's what my dad said. Turns out there wasn't. We had the option of calling my parents, my mother did say to, but then... but then I got the YOLO vibe. My cousin got it too. The other one not so much, but you know, majority rules.
We decided to walk.
It's just over 6km. Which is... about 4miles. I don't know if you consider that long or not, but the real importance of what we were about to do lies in this one little fact: we live in Dandenong.
Okay, I can't believe I gave that bit information out. I guess I'm becoming less paranoid? Okay, whatever.
The point is, where I live has a lot of notoriety about it. It's infamous for being thug central. It's a bit of a ghetto. Star's brother, who has done this before, apparently put up an FB status after saying 'just walked home from Dandy station and didn't get shot'. Heck, our whole walk home, we were cracking jokes about drive by shootings. Do you get what I'm saying?
Guys, it was the best way to start the year. I feel like I deserve a badge for Stupidity/Bravery. I guess you know the end of the story - we got home alive. But gosh, it was thrilling. Walking across all these empty roads, past empty houses. Not even the trees shivering, it was that much of a ghost town. Something freaky about all the traffic lights, but no cars. Oh, the occasional car was there, and yeah, that's when the jokes about drive by shootings came up. Long stretches without streetlights, commenting on the possibilities of creepers jumping out of trees. How eerie it was that you couldn't even hear, say, a dog bark.
We got to an intersection where we had the option of going along a more lit up main road, or into a darker avenue. There was a park we'd pass, one that I was told, growing up, was a hotspot for druggies. I made us go that way just for kicks (now I'm wondering why they even listened to me - I mean, I'm the youngest, so they didn't have to... huh, boys). My cousin suggested we take a nap at that park, and I reminded him of the druggies though the park was clearly empty, and we discussed the cunning and cleverness of drug-addicts these days, lurking in the shadows, ready to pounce. We made it to the next main road alive, and then it was just this long stretch home.
Then we saw the thugs.
Okay, initially, I was sure my cousin was just jumping to the stereotype - a group of black guys, jeans hanging low and all that jazz, swaggering down the street. But then - they were ahead of us - they just seemed to be putting on this shifty show, you know, stopping randomly, crossing the road back and forth when certain cars passed, and I too got the shivers. We had to laugh though - somewhat masochistically - because we were all so broke, if they tried to rob us, they'd probably end up giving us our wallets back after putting money in it. The longer we walked down that road, the closer we got to them, and I have a habit of commentating in a really... how do you say it? Darkly humourous way? Morbid. I'm pretty morbid about a lot of things.
[Fun fact: sometimes at night, when I'm under my quilt, I like to imagine someone standing over my bed holding up a knife, poised, ready to plunge it right into my neck. I don't know why.]
But again, you know the end of the story. We got home in one piece, and none of my unhelpful suggestions about how to get out of being shot were put to use.
I know this is the time for reflections, but looking back, it was one of those years that feel short, but in fact, are really long and it's just too difficult to pick out the most significant moments. Right now, I can only remember being at the park a few days ago, and I met this kid. He introduced himself as Yaqub. I asked him where he came from. He said something like 'Gherkos'. I was like, 'is that a country?'
And he replied, 'No, it's a swimming pool.'
He's five. I'll probably never see him again, but he was one great kid.
But it's been a momentous year, I'm glad I came out alive, and really, I don't even know what to expect from the year to come - university, battling marriage proposals,brainwashing tutoring, learning to drive.... it's almost beyond comprehension.
I WISH YOU ALL THE BEST. HAPPY NEW YEAR
Peace in,
Laila
Nuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu.
Nawwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww.
Pretty pretty pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease?
PLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEASE?
This is how I got myself to the city on New Years Eve. An annoying combination of agonised cries for my mother's refusals and incessant pleas with puppy-eyes at every other moment; those elongated vowels, the constant badgering so infuriatingly annoying that one just has to say yes so you can just SHUT UP ALREADY.
It works well.
I mean, they were right to be concerned. New Years Eve is when the stupidity of YOLO is showcased in all its glory. Public transport is free, so obviously every cheapskate wants to take advantage of it, and all the trains are so packed it's a wonder there's room for oxygen. And, you know, everyone gets drunk, and it being Australia, it is rather common for white people here to welcome the new year by putting on raucous displays of their hatred for... not white people. (You see what I did there? How ironical x] )
So why would I want to go? Because I'm bored. I mean, school's over, I'm on holiday for about three months. I've yet to get a job (I'm trying, okay?), and not having money can really impede your outdoorsy fun options. Not just that, but me being me... I just ... crave adventure, I guess, but not just any adventure... danger. I crave danger. Thrills. Adrenaline rushes. As well as a certain ache, you know, the really good feeling you get after a long run? That. And walking about the city at night, with no parents, on New Years Eve... well, it seemed fitting.
And also, there's a kind of romance attached to it. Come on, the city at night? All lit up? It seems like a dream, doesn't it? It was.
The train ride there was as expected. It was crowded when we got on, and at each stop on the way, it just got more packed. At first I was standing - I kind of prefer standing, because you know how you should give up your seat to the elderly/pregnant/etc? I have this paranoia that one day I'll be sitting down for a good long ride and I won't notice some old person who needs my seat and hence I won't give it up for them until I get off and then I'll see them and I'll feel really terrible for not noticing them and I will forever be plagued by this guilt for putting them through such an uncomfortable ride... it's sort of irrational, but it's what I do. Stand so I don't have to be on my guard.
But this time, as it was packed, where I was standing was getting uncomfortably thronged by guys. Young guys. They were quite boisterous. My cousin -
[Side note: I should, at this point, mention that right now I have two guy cousins in my house. It's kind of sad, right, the first time a cousin came over, I was so ecstatic on this blog, and this time, I haven't done anything? Well, whatever, c'est la vie, now you know. You also know now why my mother wasn't too strict on me not going - two guy cousins to play bodyguards.]
- had been standing in front of a seat, not taking it I think for similar reasons to moi. Noticing that it was getting crowded, he offered me the seat (again, actually, because up til then I was showing some bravado about not needing it) , and I took it. It was a tiny cramped singular one, tucked away. My cousin stood in front, to block me off from any other creepers. I spent the ride trying to figure out where to put my eyes. Have you ever been in this situation, where you're in a crowded space, and everywhere you look, there's a face, and you don't know these people, so you don't want to be caught in that awkward moment like you were staring at them, when you weren't really staring at them? So you sort of look up, but if you're shortish like me, that takes effort, so you look down, but you don't want to look depressed, so you're not looking all the way down, and then, after some time, you realise you're actually staring at... people's derrieres, or their legs, or something like that, and you feel mortified because you think that maybe other people think that you're a creeper, so you find yourself hurriedly shifting your eyes again, looking around to see if anyone saw you...
... and it repeats. That was my ride to the city.
We got there at 7ish, if I remember correctly. It was lovely. So many people, but so few vehicles, because most of the roads were blocked. But people still felt inclined to stick to the footpaths and stuff, and so you just had these empty roads that were so clean, and we just wandered through them.
That's the only thing about us going out. My cousins and I, we go places, but we lack purpose. Everyone's in groups, walking HERE or THERE, you know, SOMEWHERE, and we sort of just drift. But it's a nice sort of drifting, that lose yourself in the crowd, in the city. It was twilight, the sky was a dark blue, still tinted with gold from the sun, and the city was lighting up. It also - despite the crowds - in my head, it felt kind of quiet.
So we walked without purpose, going this way and that, trying to figure out what to do. My parents would probably never let us do this again, so we wanted to make the best of it, but how?
In the end, it was just walking, talking, admiring the buskers, the views, bemoaning our lack of a good camera, just killing time slowly. We looked for the perfect place to view the fireworks, but then got hungry so we left it to find food. We tried to get back to the place, but we were swept up by the crowds, and somehow time escaped us. So we hurriedly found another place, and soon it was those final moments, everyone looking to the sky, just waiting.
I was a little sad because we didn't get to do my favourite bit - the countdown. The few times I've been before, in the final seconds, everyone starts counting down, and its like the voice of the city itself, it's that unified, that loud. But that night, we waited, and the fireworks just exploded out of everywhere.
My cousin, a few seconds before, he said: "Just watch, everyone's going to take out their phones and cameras and start filming."
He was stating the obvious, but I wish he wasn't right. I mean, it's right there guys, right in front of you. That's the beauty of the moment. If you wanted to see it through a screen, you may as well have stayed home and recorded it off your TV. I could do a whole other rant on how meaningless photos are becoming these days, how we're not really preserving memories, because there's really not much to preserve anymore, how the moments that are worth remembering are the ones that stay in your head, and yes, they may get distorted over time, but that's what makes them so worth it - because it's a reflection of how you felt at the moment, not really what happened. But I won't go on about that now.
So we stood there in this crowd, we watched the fireworks, we lost ourselves in the ooohs and aaahs. We bemoaned our lack of a good camera again. It was nice.
Then it was over. People hugged. They loitered. They started to disperse. The paths were clogged, the bridge was blocked, so we could only imagine what the trains would be like. So hung around, leaning against the bridge. This apparently drunk (I couldn't tell) walked by, offering free high-fives, and my cousin leaped forward - literally - and seized the moment. The drunk guy grinned broadly, saying, 'You are a good man. You know what? You get a bonus. You get a discount. You can have a hug.' He then embraced my cousin somewhat passionately.
We found our way to the water again, and just sat there. There's something about that, you know, just sitting there by the water, in the city, at night, and you know, the reflection of the light just glitters on the surface. I don't really consider myself the meditative type, but I could just lose myself in it.
Eventually, at about 2pm, the bridge started to clear, and we walked back to the station, which was still filled up. We couldn't take the first train, and me and one of my cousins were just happy to hang around for a few hours until the whole place cleared up, but the other one (I really ought to give them names, huh?) insisted we get on the second one. We had to wait, of course, and oh, in that time, there was an almost fight - two guys getting all buff and shouting and then their girlfriends interfered.
Then we squashed onto a train, with a whole bunch of others - it really did feel like a kind of wrestling match. I wasn't fussed about a seat - I guess I was in a zombie-state, so I just couldn't care - but my cousin had once again saved me one, and I couldn't care to argue either.
The ride back was that sleepy kind of blur. You know, you can hear the noise, but it feels far away. I remember a group of guys singing that song, 'Rude', and it just kept going around in my head the whole way back... why you gotta be so rude? Don't you know we human too? Why you gotta be so rude? I'm gonna marry her anyway. Someone else kept yelling 'HAPPY NEW YEAR!' everytime the train stopped. People were sleeping. A few times, I closed my eyes, slept about five minutes - could it be longer - and then I'd be wide awake again. An old man in front of me spoke to someone loudly on the phone, and people were laughing, but in a kind of endearing way.
And then we got off, at our station. The body heat made it hard to feel the cold. It was, I think, maybe 3am? The plan was to catch a bus - we assumed there was one, that's what my dad said. Turns out there wasn't. We had the option of calling my parents, my mother did say to, but then... but then I got the YOLO vibe. My cousin got it too. The other one not so much, but you know, majority rules.
We decided to walk.
It's just over 6km. Which is... about 4miles. I don't know if you consider that long or not, but the real importance of what we were about to do lies in this one little fact: we live in Dandenong.
Okay, I can't believe I gave that bit information out. I guess I'm becoming less paranoid? Okay, whatever.
The point is, where I live has a lot of notoriety about it. It's infamous for being thug central. It's a bit of a ghetto. Star's brother, who has done this before, apparently put up an FB status after saying 'just walked home from Dandy station and didn't get shot'. Heck, our whole walk home, we were cracking jokes about drive by shootings. Do you get what I'm saying?
Guys, it was the best way to start the year. I feel like I deserve a badge for Stupidity/Bravery. I guess you know the end of the story - we got home alive. But gosh, it was thrilling. Walking across all these empty roads, past empty houses. Not even the trees shivering, it was that much of a ghost town. Something freaky about all the traffic lights, but no cars. Oh, the occasional car was there, and yeah, that's when the jokes about drive by shootings came up. Long stretches without streetlights, commenting on the possibilities of creepers jumping out of trees. How eerie it was that you couldn't even hear, say, a dog bark.
We got to an intersection where we had the option of going along a more lit up main road, or into a darker avenue. There was a park we'd pass, one that I was told, growing up, was a hotspot for druggies. I made us go that way just for kicks (now I'm wondering why they even listened to me - I mean, I'm the youngest, so they didn't have to... huh, boys). My cousin suggested we take a nap at that park, and I reminded him of the druggies though the park was clearly empty, and we discussed the cunning and cleverness of drug-addicts these days, lurking in the shadows, ready to pounce. We made it to the next main road alive, and then it was just this long stretch home.
Then we saw the thugs.
Okay, initially, I was sure my cousin was just jumping to the stereotype - a group of black guys, jeans hanging low and all that jazz, swaggering down the street. But then - they were ahead of us - they just seemed to be putting on this shifty show, you know, stopping randomly, crossing the road back and forth when certain cars passed, and I too got the shivers. We had to laugh though - somewhat masochistically - because we were all so broke, if they tried to rob us, they'd probably end up giving us our wallets back after putting money in it. The longer we walked down that road, the closer we got to them, and I have a habit of commentating in a really... how do you say it? Darkly humourous way? Morbid. I'm pretty morbid about a lot of things.
[Fun fact: sometimes at night, when I'm under my quilt, I like to imagine someone standing over my bed holding up a knife, poised, ready to plunge it right into my neck. I don't know why.]
But again, you know the end of the story. We got home in one piece, and none of my unhelpful suggestions about how to get out of being shot were put to use.
I know this is the time for reflections, but looking back, it was one of those years that feel short, but in fact, are really long and it's just too difficult to pick out the most significant moments. Right now, I can only remember being at the park a few days ago, and I met this kid. He introduced himself as Yaqub. I asked him where he came from. He said something like 'Gherkos'. I was like, 'is that a country?'
And he replied, 'No, it's a swimming pool.'
He's five. I'll probably never see him again, but he was one great kid.
But it's been a momentous year, I'm glad I came out alive, and really, I don't even know what to expect from the year to come - university, battling marriage proposals,
I WISH YOU ALL THE BEST. HAPPY NEW YEAR
Peace in,
Laila
Tuesday, January 1, 2013
Butterbees
I'm going to begin this with an utterly shameless promotion of my artwork, just so you can get a grasp on who I am:
So the closure of 2012 saw Kiko learning to climb. The dawn of 2013 taught him to get down.
Such is life. This too shall pass. Life goes on.
Peace in,
Laila
 |
| Butterfly+bee=...BUTTERBEE!? |
And who was the wonderful person to inspire me to make this? Why, this blog's author! If you haven't, I highly suggest you check out her lovingly inspiring page, The Better View, which is linked somewhere on the side.
Now what can you make up from that artwork that described me? Well, don't bother thinking, here's the answer: amateur artist, wanna-be graphic designer, kick-ass girl full of spunk. Haha, well, I hope that's what you gather. Don't worry, I'm not that new to you guys, I believe Laila has dedicated most of a post (if not all) to my artwork...
*scrolls down*
*sees said post*
*is amazed*
*scrolls back up*
That's right! It's me, Linchy! The only person Laila has met in real life that reads this blog.
 |
| Thaaaaat's me. |
Back to business. What on earth is a Butterbee?
It's an awesomely made title of the typographic piece above. It's also, what I will officially describe Laila as. In so many ways, she's like a butterfly. Innocent, light, fluffy and nice to watch. But her views and her strong beliefs, as well as her subtle stubbornness and truly headstrong heart make her like a bee too. Let's just hope she never has to use her sting, right? Butterbee.
Meanwhile, Laila blushes in a corner.
 |
| Ooooh, stop it, YOU! Seriously, stop. |
Well, that's enough of shameless promotion and ego stroking. As I grab the first post of 2013, I'm going to discuss with you what I did as the last hours of 2012 dwindled.
Nothing. Well, not really.
 |
| I know, it gets better! |
Rather than cook up a storm of a party like many Australians, my family and I spent our Monday mostly lounging around, waiting for 12AM so we would regain our internet data. To pass this, most of us read. Me, well, I completely gobbled up three of the five books I had borrowed from the library that day.
And although I was interested in the fireworks going off, I was mostly disappointed with the display and continued reading. The books weren't that great, but I needed something to pass the time.
While reading, I found that I was very, very content with reading. After all, it was nice and quiet, and it wasn't noisy, and we were all allowed to dwell within our own thoughts. I've never been into going to a party, dressing up...party-like and dancing to psychedelic lights, not to mention having to deal with the BO of numerous other people, on top of that, alcohol and inappropriate behaviour. I'm not just talking about New Year's...I'm talking about every single kind of these parties. I, as I am proud to say, not interested in those kinds of socialising at all.
I don't do much socialising, anyway. I make sure I see a couple of my friends over the holidays, just so we don't drift and we can catch up, but other than that...that's about it. The one time I went to a party where there was alcohol, I immediately backed out. I was not pleased with the party host, who had caved in to the peer pressure.
I'm very, very, very, anti-alcoholic, anti-smoking, and of course, anti-illict drugs. Why would you want to want to make yourself look stupid?
 |
| Observe. |
I'm glad Islam prevents me from indulging from any of the three. I guess, it is alright to have a bit of alcohol or wine for a celebration, as if it was like any other kind of refreshment, but I don't see why you need to get yourself completely drunk. But I believe it's one of those things that should be treated sparingly: once in a while, a blue moon, perhaps a treat. Something really special. Even better, why not become a Muslim and not have it at all!
Hah. That being said, my 'respect levels' plummet down considerably if I find a classmate drinks at a party. I just believe it's not appropriate. What are you doing, training yourself to become an alcoholic?
Harsh. Excessive; I know. But I can't help but think that.
And you know what else bugs me? When I text some precious friend, and they don't reply AT ALL.
I'M SORRY I WANTED TO STRENGTHEN THE BONDS OF OUR FRIENDSHIP!
I'm guilty of late replying, but not responding at all? Really?
Oh yes, and there's Facebook. Not keen on that either. I may lower myself to get it for the sake of my friends...but I'm not budging yet.
Now I've gone off topic. What was I talking about? The new year.
Ahh, yes.
Well, there's lots of opportunities for me in the new year, and lots of things to learn. Hopefully I'll improve as a graphic designer and an artist all together, and learn some new techniques and score with the Adobe Master Collection.
If only. If ONLY I COULD GET IT!
Grr. I also hope to score with numerous books to add to my beautiful collection. Mwahaha. And watch more anime. Hmm.
I'm getting off topic. I guess I'll end it here. It was nice being a guest. Back to you, Butterbee!
 |
| Adios. |
AHAHAHA.
HAHA.
I love Linch ♥
If you don't love her I will stab you.
I'm a Butterbee :O
Okay, sorry, I just read this post and I'm excited.
Before I go, however, I shalt dot point some Things:
- DO YOU LIKE THE BACKGROUND? LINCHY MADE IT. IT'S SO BEAUTIFUL. I LOVE HER.
- So yes, I changed some things. I realised I can't explain 'impossibly-tiger', it only makes sense to me and me alone. So I changed it to 'unjumbled', because I can explain that, but I'm not going to do so now.
- And I got rid of some pictures! Because I feel like it clutters. I may change them time to time, but I shalt not spam and go nutty.
- And I'm going to tag things. Because tagging things seems right.
- And I won't do an ATM thingo anymore, because that annoys me sometimes. I just feel clingy, which is why I didn't get rid of it initially. I sometimes get attached to things for inexplicable reasons. But if you're interested at all in my readings, look/add me here.
- WE MADE IT TO 2013 FIRST. IN OZ. NANANANANA.
- I hope you are very happy.
So the closure of 2012 saw Kiko learning to climb. The dawn of 2013 taught him to get down.
Such is life. This too shall pass. Life goes on.
Peace in,
Laila
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