where your education closes doors, when it should be opening them

I have heard, time and time and time again, how the 'education system is screwed up'. Many times. I've watched the Sir Ken Robinson video, I've discussed it with friends, and the book I'm reading now - 'Linchpin' - skims over it too. And I've always kind of agreed - I remember ranting a bit about it when I did an issues thing in year 9 about the nation curriculum. But there are times when you can talk about something a lot without it really hitting you. Like advocating for the death penalty, until you know someone  personally who's being put on death row. And then it's personal.

Well, this just got personal.

So right now, my sort of excuse for a job is tutoring. I have three students. One is a girl in year 12, for English - let's call her Vera. I have another kid in year 8, who's a family friend, and I'm prepping her to take an exam for a selective entry school (*growl*). She will be henceforth known as Zena. And lastly, I just got a new year 12 student for History, but we won't worry too much about her. Mostly, this is about Vera and Zena.

Selective entry schools. I hate them. With a passion. I know hate is a strong word, but for the amount of unnecessary pressure they cause, I think they can take my hate. I had to try out when I was in year 8. They have a policy where they don't take more than 12 kids from any school, and my school met that limit, so I didn't get in. I know I would have gotten in otherwise, because they sent me a letter explaining this, and they said that if I really wanted, I could apply through another way. But I sabotaged this application, because I had decided that I was not going there, that I could do well in my below-average public school, and  I would prove it. The arguments I had with my mother, the tears - bad memories, man. But I proved it, didn't I?

Yet it came back to haunt me with little Zena. Zena... When she started tutoring with me, she was really quiet and reserved. She's still pretty impassive, but I think it's her natural state. Our relationship has evolved, in the sense that she talks to me more, and she's even brought in her school homework, which makes me giddy because it means she actually thinks that I help her...

Anyway. Selective entry schools. Firstly, they don't do anything. I have friends who have gone to these schools, who have told me that these schools don't do much for them. Really, there's a higher level of competition, but in the end, the school doesn't have to do much because they already handpicked the smartest kids around, so it's sort of guaranteed that they're going to do well. And more often than not, these kids already attend jizbillions of tuition classes, so it's not like they have to put in a lot of effort. So these nerdy kids go into this high pressure environment with a million extra classes on the side, and they get good results because really, they've had it written for them their whole lives, and when it's all said and done, the school looks great because all their kids did well, and they take credit for it, but they didn't actually do much for the kids because those kids were already going to do well anyway.

And then you have All Other Normal Schools that take in all students and cater to all needs, and people think they're not so great because there isn't a 90+ average in VCE, but in fact, these school are just doing their job by accepting everyone and giving them all an opportunity. Selective entry schools are missing the point of schooling in general - it's not about pumping out the highest achievers, it's about giving everyone the foundation of a good education to pave whatever path they want in life. If it's something academic, that's great. If it's not, well, that's just as great.

No matter what people say about my school, and God knows what they say now considering the shooting of Numan last year, the arrest of two more this year, plus the death of one who went overseas to apparently fight for ISIS - all boys I knew personally, two I went to primary school with... this is a whole other crisis... BUT. No matter what they say, I think my school is a good one. I think we are limited in resources, and the students have difficulty seeing it, but the teachers really try to help you get wherever you want to go. They try to help you achieve your personal best. They help you when it comes to academics, they help you get into TAFE, they help you join police academy or whatever. They do it without judgement. And I appreciate that.

Anyway. Selective entry schools are stupid, they serve no worthy purpose, and I hate them. Let me talk about the kind of pressure this puts on kids.

On the weekend, Zena went to one of the specialised tuition centres that train kids specifically for selective entry schools, to sit a practise exam. She brought the exams and results to her next class with me so we could go over them. She was disheartened by her results.

So I know from experience that these exams are pretty harsh. I had to attend tuition a month or so before doing the exam myself, and at first, I was absolutely distraught because I did terribly on each practise test - like, barely scraping 50% at times. And then I learnt that this was pretty average in the class, if, at times, above average. And then I was mortified.

But taking a look at the practise tests now - I was downright horrified. Disgusted. Let's talk about her reading comprehension test. It runs for 30min, with no extra reading time. There are 50 questions. Did you see that? 50. That's already less than one minute per question. But now keep in mind that it's reading comprehension. Now tell, where the Hell is she supposed to find time to read the damn passages before she tackles the questions?

It's basically designed to fail kids. It's impossible to excel. It's just...

It... It...  makes them feel stupid because they don't realise it's impossible.

Can you see how cruel that is?

I mean, it's not even just this tuition thing. Think about VCE. You can't get a perfect ATAR, only close. And that system is all about ranking. I mean, let's say a vast majority of one cohort worked super hard in preparation for an exam, and they all got 90%. Well, that just gets standardised so that when they get their results, it gets scaled down because it becomes average. How is that fair? Why must we take down a generation because so many are smart? Why can't we embrace their effort?

Even university. A few weeks back, I was in a tutorial, and everyone was expressing their frustration over the recent results that had come out. I was feeling quite good because I did well (it's my blog, let me brag ^_^ ), but then I listened to the tutor talk to the others, and ... ugh. Basically, she said that if everyone did well on their exams and whatnot, the higher ups would tell them that their assessment wasn't 'sensitive enough'. So in fact, no one should feel bad about getting an average mark, or a credit, because, well, average isn't bad. And I'm not saying average is bad. It's just that the way this tutor spoke, she was basically saying that they design tests with the expectation that most people won't do particularly well, and we should be satisfied with that. It's that... attitude. That attitude that you can't ever shine, so don't bother.

And sometimes they don't even seem to care about their subjects. In one unit, last year, the staff in our tutorials said at the start that they didn't expect people to show up to lectures or the tutorials, which weren't compulsory. For our assessments, they said that we wouldn't need to put in too much effort - they even told us that we could keep all our notes open when we do the quizzes. I've had similar experiences this year too. Now, how do you expect anyone to be motivated if you can't even fake enthusiasm for your own subject? If you, who teach it, don't value it, why should we?

Do you see what I'm saying, or am I just in an irrational rage about everything?

So let's get back to Vera. For English, you have three main types of written pieces that you do - a text response, a language analysis, and a context piece. A context piece is really a written piece of your own choice, which responds to a prompt about a theme that you've studied for the year - the main ones being Identity & Belonging, Encountering Conflict, and Whose Reality? I don't know if there's another one... But basically, you study them with a few texts, and it's got a lot of philosophical aspects to it.

So my kid is doing Identity & Belonging, which is what I studied. I coached her into writing a creative piece, a sort of made up reflection. Her writing has really improved since I started tutoring her, not because of me in particular... I think it's just that the school she goes to isn't so well off, according to her, and because her peers aren't too bright, the teachers are focused on bringing them up to speed, and they don't challenge them that much. But I've been challenging her, and she's basically risen to the challenge. She has deep ideas. She expresses them well, because I've helped her to expand her vocabulary, and so now she has more words to say what she wants to say. I'm so proud :')

So she does her SAC for context, and she gets her result. It's a B+. It's not bad, all things considered, but we had hoped for more. But then she showed me the feedback. There's literally ticks everywhere, there's positive commentary on the clarity and depth of her ideas... So where'd she lose a whole grade? On the marking rubric, the only 'negative' or 'critical' thing this teacher had to say was that she was too 'wordy'. Well, I didn't know what she meant by that in relation to the piece, because it looked reasonable to me. I know what loquacious looks like. I've tutored kids, and seen peers writing, and believe me, I know loquacious. As for word limits, technically there aren't any for any of the essays you're supposed to do. It's your own judgement call - in the end, they're going to look at your response, the quality of them, and how well you express them. If you can do this in less words, good for you, and if you can do them in more, that's fine. As long as you finish on time. So she can't have taken off a whole grade for it being too 'long', because there's no such thing as too long - if you wrote it within the time limit, well, that's that. Does that make sense?

So I got Vera to ask her teacher what she meant by that. Her teacher basically said that for example, where one person might say 'let's have lunch', Vera's approach was a bit 'when the sun is at its peak on the third day of the week, let us convene under the ancient oak at the park in the corner of the city for a simple meal, yadda yadda yadda'. What is that? That is loquacious.

I understand that. Except this piece wasn't like that. It was a creative piece, for God's sake, so it had description in it. But it wasn't irrelevant or frivolous. It had a point. It was art, and it suited the mood of her piece. Besides - even if you were to write this as an expository, I would think that you would still have to be quite descriptive if you want to break down your ideas for this kind of topic. Identity and Belonging has the potential to be really deep, so you really can't just leave it at 'let's have lunch'. You need to explore it. Heck, that's the whole context title - exploring issues of identity and belonging.

I mean, this goes back to the whole 'schools kill creativity' thing, right?  I don't think all schools do that. Just some schools,  and in particular, some idiotic teachers. When I was in year 12, yes, my teacher was wary of letting kids do creative for context, because he understood that it could be difficult to come up with something brilliant and original on the spot. But he humored whoever wanted to try it, including myself, and let me say it again - I did  well. What's important is that he let us make our own choices, because to him, it wasn't about doing it a certain way to get a certain grade; it was about achieving your own personal best, something you could be proud of. And he was happy if you were.

So I guess this rant touches on many little things to do with schooling and education, a bit here and a bit there. Let me sum it up for you:

1. Don't waste your time with selective entry schools. They suck. 

2. There are some institutions, some schools, some teachers, that just - for whatever reason - drag you down. Sometimes they do it because it's a system they're used to, sometimes it's because they think they're doing what's best for you. Sometimes they don't know what they're talking about. But they suck too.

3. Don't let people make you feel stupid. Wherever you go, whatever you do, put in a 100%, and you may reap the rewards, or you may not. The point is, you need to feel like it's your best, because you can't rely on these systems or people to appreciate you. You need to appreciate yourself. Own your genius, whatever kind it may be. 

Erm... take feedback too. I don't mean that people should always hug you and tell you you're awesome just because you did the work. Sometimes you are wrong, sometimes your ideas have a flaw or two. That's okay. Take it and improve. But don't let people limit you. Don't ever let them hold you back.

Man, it feels good getting that off my chest.

Peace in,
Laila

Let's just die.

I hate people. I hate life. I hate university. I just want to shoot myself.

In summary, I'm a bitter, old hag. Whiny, First World brat. What's new?

I'm doing a mental health unit, this semester, actually. I get the feeling I'm going to end up nuts by the end, self-diagnosed with jizbillions of conditions. I already I think I'm something like manic depressive. My tutor mentioned something along the lines of these people having a tendency 'to internalise all their problems, not discuss it, and just lose it at some point'. Something like that. It sounded like me. Then everything does, when you do this sort of course. I could probably convince myself I'm pregnant. Immaculate conception. 

So I had a bad thought recently. Well, it seemed like a bad thought, but I'd like some feedback. Not dying for it. I've gotten used to you people not saying much. The views increase, but alas, all is silent on your front. I swear there are echoes sometimes.

Anyway, I was in a lecture the other day, and the lecturer was discussing all these statistics about the demographic of Oz and all. She talked about birth rates and death rates. Our birth rate isn't too bad, but from what I could deduce, our population isn't growing due to birth, it's more that we live longer. Hurray.

She then showed us these tables on the top causes of death throughout the last years. It varied some, with us 'curing' stuff and other conditions replacing them. Our lecturer very briefly mentioned that the moral is that we're all going to die of something. You cure one, something else comes along. 

I don't know why, but this just stuck in my head.

My thought, in summary: why don't we just let people die?

I've worked in aged care twice, as y'all know. Two different places - one in an affluent suburb, another in the ghetto that is where I live. It's the same thing.

Old people on drugs being shuffled about in this mind-numbing routine, around a prison like setting. They're not really there. Some have loving relatives that come all the time, but too many just sit and stare their days away. They're washed and changed and fed and put to bed like babies. They don't remember things on a daily basis. I'm sure the nurses and PCA workers care for them - I like to think that most people who go into the profession don't do it for the dough. I don't really know if there is a lot of dough involved, actually. I know I cared. Regardless, even if we assume they do care, the point is, it's still a job. It's hard to appreciate the company if you know they're getting paid. For a relationship to be meaningful, you need to be able to share your burdens on equal footing. You can't have a policy or boss dictate the terms and conditions. And yet, for the most part, that's the only kind of relationships that most of these old souls have.

And what is the point?

Aren't we for quality of life, over quantity? 

It's not that I think that we should just stop taking care of our elderly and let them rot. And I can't bring myself to propose a step back seeing as we've come so far.

There is something beautiful about how we traditionally take care of them. You in the Eastern world know what I mean. We keep good old grandma and grandpa in our big family home, forever and always. They get to watch their offspring blossom and expand into an empire. We take care of them, not an institution. Yeah, they may see the doctor frequently, and get given meds. But they're not freakishly doped up, you know? And we're always there. To the end. No one dies alone in a foreign room, staring at an empty ceiling, attached to tubes.

And when they reach 70, 80, 90, or 100, whatever affliction takes them, it still feels... healthy. Normal. Does that make sense? We fight for the lives of our elderly, but not to the point that they live an almost artificial existence. Our elderly, no matter how they decline, are regal. Not neglected. And in that sense, growing old is beautiful.

It's just not the same here.

But as I said, I don't mean that we should stop the drugs now. I just think that we need to stop trying to cure certain conditions that take old people. Alleviate pain, yes. Prevention, yes. But stop trying to fix 'death'. 

JUST LET THEM DIE, FOR GOD'S SAKE. 

LET THEM GO.

Stop holding onto people who aren't even there.

Is that a bad thought?

It's not just that. I remember in year 11, when I was doing literature, we were just starting on Frankenstein, and our teacher asked us if there was anything wrong in trying to banish death. 

"Who doesn't want to live forever?" he asked. 

I pulled a Hermione, for some bizarre reason, with my hand just shooting up. I was the only one. I don't think it's because I'm the only one who had this view. Perhaps the others just hadn't thought about it, or were smart enough to try and keep their opinions at bay.

Of course my teacher beamed.

"And why not, Laila? How could you possibly turn down immortality? Imagine all the never ending fun you could have."

I don't remember exactly what I said, but I remember floundering a bit. I couldn't find the words, but it just felt wrong at the time. I thought about it later, of course, and I realised that a life with a time limit is a meaningful one. When our days are numbered, every now and again, we wake up and realise that we have to make 'em count. Not always, but you know those random YOLO occasions. In this weird way, if we don't die, we have nothing to really live for. When you feel like you have all the time in the world, you don't really take the time to savour it, right? 

I donno. Just a thought. I realise this post is kind of pointless. No one is going to read this and care enough and nothing will change. 

I think this was just for me to make a mental note: at some point, I have to die. 

At some point, the battle to stay alive isn't worth the fight. 

I'm a nurse in the making, guys. Take a good look at your future ;)

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

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

Where I get excited about dress-ups

I had my uni enrolment day yesterday.

...

It is by the beach. It is pretty purdy. The course still sounds fabulous.

And I get a JUMPSUIT.

ZOMG.

I'm doing Nursing and Emergency Health, the latter of which is related to being a paramedic/reliefpersionwhogoesoverseastohelpoutinwartorncountriesandthoseaffectedbynaturaldisasters. Throughout my four years of study, apparently I gotta do a lot of placements - right in the thick of the action - and therefore I get a snazzy uniform. Part of which is a JUMPSUIT.

(Okay, I can't find a picture, but when I do get it, I'll show you guys.)

I'm super excited. You don't understand. It's the jumpsuit that really gets me, but there's so much I have to prepare. Here, lemme list everything I have to do:

1. Have a uniform fitting appointment
2. Immunisations
3. Fitness test
4. Get a Police Check + Working with Children Check
5. Start timetabling my lectures and blah blah
6. Buy my books

... okay, it doesn't look like a lot, but it is. It's a bit overwhelming. I donno. The thing that freaks me out is how independant I have to be. No cute little forms for me to take home to mummy and have signed. I have to do everything By Myself. It's everything I was afraid of. 

I'm good at following instructions. I'm very happy to be lead. At most, I can be a second-in-command, or someone who gets the ideas but offloads them onto someone else to carry through. And now it's all like "You have to do this this this this and that and then this and this and that", so on, so forth, but there's nothing specific. It's all officially 'in your own time'. It's... scary.

Oh, I should probably talk about people. The suburb where my uni is located is known to be a White People Hotspot, so maybe I shouldn't have been surprised by how many white people there were. But I was. I mean, I expected a lot more ethnics to be in the uni, because it's based on course, not race. I literally saw one brown person and two Asians in my course, and everyone was white. I don't mean like white white in terms of skin - I mean like Aussie. Not even any recognisable Europeans, and no Middle Easterners either...

This might sound a bit weird, right? Having been born and raised in Australia and suddenly being overwhelmed by Aussies? The thing is, I grew up in an Ethnic Central, and yes, I meet Aussies and all that jazz, but they all tended to blend into this brilliant spectrum of People from All Over the World. So I donno, I find it... disconcerting... to be in this place where there are only Aussies. Only Aussies. And they all dress similarly, and I'm a bit worried, because I don't know how I'm going to find someone to bond with on equal footing.

But whatever.

I get a JUMPSUIT. AND A STETHOSCOPE. And this snazzy fluoro jacket and a t-shirt and.... !!!

Okay, that's it for now about that. There's still a Long Way to go for uni to actually start, plus I'm really worried about all the costs and stuff the my scholarship doesn't cover (i.e. the uniform package is over $200, which I need by Tuesday :/ ), so I'll just leave you a little show of patriotism. The 26th was Australia Day, and so here's a little video of what I think about it. Please, do take a look.

 
If he was single, and not that old, and marriage didn't have to be consensual, I'd marry him. Unfortunately, he isn't single, he is (kinda) that old, and marriage does have to be consensual. Sigh.

Peace in,
Laila