Rain, rain, go away, come again another day...

Rain, rain, go away, come again another day...

But not really. It's kinda nice. It makes me want to go outside and sing and dance and get drenched while having the...

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The what? The time of my life?

From what I recall, I started this blog when I was in Grade 11 English, which means this blog is probably six or seven years old. Oh, how time flies.

Rain, rain, go away, come again another day...

Or maybe not at all. That would also be nice. I think the rain is part of why I left Vancouver, though definitely not the entire reason.

It's raining today too. It's almost 4:00PM, but I haven't been able to bring myself to leave the house. I will soon though to get groceries for the week. I had this nice "me" day planned, but I'm kind of too bummed to follow soon. We'll see how I feel after a coffee.

Excuse me while I go peruse the mind of sixteen-to-seventeen year old me. I may or may not be back. Maybe writing is something that I need back in my life. One of the somethings.

Toodles.

How To Obsess

Everyone has some kind of obsession, secret or not. It could range from collecting coins to watching television to making sure everything in your kitchen is labelled with little colour-coded post-it notes. Go figure. People have a ton of quirks you may not know about, but most teenage obsessions fall along similar lines. You know what I’m talking about.

How many teenage girls out there don’t have pictures and posters of hot male celebrities in their bedrooms, wallets, and lockers? I’m not sure how it works with guys, but I’m assuming they do about the same thing with posters of pretty supermodels and actresses. You know you aren’t fooling anyone. Internet is another thing we can’t seem to live without. FaceBook, YouTube, Twitter, MSN, MySpace. The list goes on and on. How do you feel after a couple of days after no computer access? And without your phone? Yeah. That’s what I thought.

There are two types of obsessions: the long term ones and the short term ones. In comparison, long term preoccupations are much easier to deal with. They make take up monstrous amounts of your time, but they don’t completely consume your life, and at least you’re doing something you enjoy. In contrast, short term obsessions are like drugs that you are forced to quit just when you are at the peak of fascination. They become your life, and when it’s over and done with, you feel like there’s nothing else worth living for in the world.

My latest infatuation was the Hunger Games, a popular series by Suzanne Collins. I’m not a big reader, but I literally had trouble putting those books down. I forgot about hunger and sleepiness. All I wanted to do was read. When I wasn’t reading, I was daydreaming about it. Even when I slept, I still dreamt of it. When I finally finished the series, I felt like I had just experienced the worst break-up in the history of break-ups. I stayed in withdrawal for weeks. In fact, I am still recovering because even now, my most anticipated event is the release of the first movie of the Hunger Games. It’s been a difficult time for me.

There’s a fine line between an obsession and a hobby. Both are things that we like to do that make us happy. The difference is that while we indulge in hobbies in healthy amounts, we overdose on obsessions, causing attention-deficit disorders, sleeplessness, lack of appetite, and withdrawal symptoms that include anti-social behaviour and a sense of emptiness. So what can we do about them? Not much. It’s totally normal to experience periods of temporary craze, but just remember that there are better things in life that are worthy of your time.

Interplanetary Dust

November  13, 2011

            Yesterday was like any other day. Well, it was special because it was my big Artona day. I had five days of Artona appointments, but this one held the most promise. I was going to see all my friends all dressed up. Make-up and dresses and high heels. And these were my closest friends. I was right. Everyone was all prettied-up, and it made me happy to see them like that. It made me feel like a little girl, giddy with excitement. It was when I lost my phone that things started to go off-track.

I looked everywhere for it, but it was nowhere to be seen. (I found it a couple of hours ago during another one of my Artona appointments. It was on the road, a little towards the side. Its corpse was a sad sight. I didn’t know if I should laugh or cry. I laughed.) My mood was up and down for the rest of the day. Mostly down. There were times when I forgot about it, but I was still upset. I knew, and everyone else did. It always shows on my face. It’s not like I try to hide it. I started to look progressively worse in the pictures. The photographer nicknamed me “Slouchy Girl.” It was a habit I thought I’d pretty much gotten rid, and I was not thrilled to be reminded of it. At all. People took pictures outside the building. I took a couple of pictures with them, but I squatted in the back to avoid the rest. When lunch time came around, I went to the bagel place with my friends, but I soon returned to Artona to “change my dress.” Which I did. But it was really because I didn’t want to be with them. I didn’t want to see their happy faces. I didn’t want to ruin their fun with my unhappy face.  The photographer persisted in calling me Slouchy Girl. I made it pretty obvious that I was pissed during the last shoot. As we were getting ready to leave, I called my mom to tell her that I lost my phone. I started crying. Oh yes. I did that too. Throughout the day, I broke down too many times to count. So I started crying, and then I asked her if I could go to Chapters to read the last book of a teen fiction series that I’m currently obsessed with. It’s teen crap, really. But I see something in it that other people can’t.

                It’s funny because the instant I entered Chapters was like turning a chapter in that day. Not that I realized it when I walked through the door. It stopped being about me. Not just me. I started to see things. I started to feel things. I started to observe things that I couldn’t before. I was phone-less. I was iPod-less too. I didn’t even know what time it was. I sat in the children’s section with We’ll Always Have Summer. I wanted to sit in the teacup chair, but it was taken. I settled with a coloured plastic chair thing while I waited for someone to leave so I could take one of the beanbag chairs in the teen section. Kids were all around me. I would’ve stayed there just to stare at them if I were not reading. I adore children in a way that is probably extremely creepy. I constantly wish that I had one. They were so adorable. This was all normal. Pretty normal. I read about food in my book. Hot wings. And I wanted them. And just like that, I decided that I would get some before I went home.

                After I moved to my beanbag chair, things got more serious. In my epiphany world. In my book. I teared up when Belly was sad about her mom refusing to go to her wedding. I cried when Conrad loved her so much, but he couldn’t do anything about it. But I don’t even know if it was the book. When Belly was sad about her mom, I was sad about my mom. When Conrad confessed his love for Belly, I wondered why no one loved me like that. It was still about me. It’s my life. It’s hard to make things about other things. But I did. While I was reading, I absorbed my surroundings. Western parents disciplined their children with perseverance and sternness. A lady interrupted me to compliment me on my shoes. One baby girl stood next to me for a while and put her hand on my arm. I smiled awkwardly but hopefully kindly at her. I did that to every kid I saw there. Kids met other kids and made friends. Their moms met and became friends. One mom told the other that her daughter would make a good big sister. They small-talked. People had children. People bonded with strangers at book stores.

When I finally finished the book, I knew I had to buy it. By that time, I knew that this was no ordinary day. I think I fell in love with the feeling that I felt while I was there. It was magical. Hard to explain. But it was extraordinary. It really was. I had to buy it. I needed it as a keepsake. I also felt bad because I had somewhat scratched up the cover, but not so much that I would be too guilty to simply put it back on the shelf. I asked the cashier for the time. (Do you have the time? I think it was my first time saying those exact words. It was like a dream come true. I was never even aware that I wanted to say it.) It was six something. Not even seven o’clock. I hadn’t been there for as long as I thought. Good, I thought. I didn’t want my mother to worry too much. That’s how utterly shit it was. I was being rebellious, but I still worried if she was going to worry. I still asked for permission. I would never be that girl.

The book was hardcover. $20.99. I had a $10 gift card, and I knew when I used it that I was right to have saved it. I felt like I knew every action that I was going to carry out in the next moment. For sure. I had no doubts. And I always have doubts.

I stopped at the Pizza Hut on my way home. When I got off the bus, the driver said the lady behind me looked like she might need a hand, and she did look like it. I asked if I could help in a too-quiet voice. Only the bus driver heard. It turned out the lady could handle it herself, but the bus driver said thank you to me. It made me feel like a million dollars, like I was one of the kindest, sweetest people alive.

Pizza Hut was as I thought it would be. Empty except for the workers. It was a small place. Only about 6 bar chairs and a “bar” facing the outside.  The door in the middle cutting through the so-called bar. It smelled a little like sweat, but it didn’t bother me. I ordered 10 pieces of wings with Mild Buffalo Sauce. It was ready in 10 minutes. And it was just right. The spicy taste was just enough. And there was ranch sauce too. I willed for people to come in. And they did. Only three people, but it’s not like there are a lot of people who pass by the shop anyways. I told them through telepathy that they made the right choice.  I believed that they got my message. I felt more powerful in those moments than I have ever felt in my life. I felt like I was in control.

I stopped by Mcdonald’s on my way home too. I needed one of my coworkers’ numbers because I had lost my phone, and I needed to contact her within a week. I stopped by Shoppers, just because it was routine. I walked home without music. I looked at the night sky. It was beautiful in a way I had never noticed before. The moon was almost full, but there was a slice missing, like there was a cloud covering it, except that there wasn’t. I noticed that my shadow shifted angles as I walked away from the street lamp.

My mom wasn’t mad when I got home. She was just worried. She gave me a hug. She talked about what we should do about my lost phone. She told me to eat. She told me to do math tomorrow. She had told me to not go anywhere after Artona and to just go home and do math.

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I hope that I haven’t ruined the magic of that day by writing about it. I don’t think I have. I needed to write something. It seemed so important. So crucial. I couldn’t just rely on my failing memory to remember it. It was so powerful. So insightful. So incredible. The afternoon and evening were like small epiphanies one after the other. Hopefully, it can be sensed at least somewhat through what I have written. I’ve never been one for expressing myself. Not in a way that others can understand. Because it’s difficult for me to understand myself.

Did I learn anything specific that day about me and what I’m going to do with myself? Do I think that everything is suddenly going to be different? No and no. I know because it’s already after, and I’m just as messed up as before. But I wouldn’t have said so at the time either. Insight happens, but it doesn’t change everything. I learned a long time that nothing changes everything. Not ever. Everything changes, and everything stays the same. But not really. Some things change, and some stay the same. That’s the truth.

I’ve come to terms with the fact that I’m not ready to move on. Why else have I been moping around doing legit nothing? No uni apps. No homework unless completely necessary. What about my no-procrastination plan? This is not just procrastination. This is my sub-conscious mind, unwilling and unable to accept these changes that are happening. I ruined one of my big grad year days. I’ve ruined enough of it already. I wanted it to be great. I was so convinced that grad year was going to be the year of my life. It was going to be so fun. It had so much hope. But somehow I’ve tainted it. I can’t make it right. I can’t pretend that everything’s good. I’m failing. Not literally in school. I could be doing a bit better at school though. Or could I? I don’t even know. Everything’s failing me. My phone is in pieces. Toby Toshiba crashed an hour ago and threatened to leave me too. I feel like I’m a burden to my friends, and I can feel their annoyance towards me. They’re having a great time. They can’t always tolerate my mood swings. I’m PMSing all the time. Except I never do. I’m just completely hormonal.

I wish I could feel the power that I felt that afternoon and that evening all the time. Then I would be able to make choices. I would know what to do. I would have no doubts. I would just know. Things would just be. I could just be. But I can’t.

This belongs in my diary, but it’s something bigger than diary material. Something more. And it’s also too much for me to write by hand, no matter how much I adore writing by hand. And my thoughts are more organized on computers. I didn’t think so before, but I guess they are. 

I want to be better. I really do. I don’t know how to though. I don’t know if I’m trying. I want to. I hate to disappoint. But I’m disappointing. And I’m disappointed. In every way possible.

That’s all for now.

P.S. Interplanetary dust is supposed to mean shooting stars according to We’ll Always Have Summer. I like the way it sounds. It sounds so insignificant yet so majestic. I don’t care about the real meaning. We are all just interplanetary dust. I am interplanetary dust.

--- A speck of Interplanetary Dust

How To Rebel

          Everyone knows that teenagers are all about rebellion. We’re going through a transition period between childhood and adulthood, and it’s a hard time to get through. We’re told that we need to figure out our lives, but we have no idea what we want to do with them.We have raging hormones. We have mood swings. Yes, even the boys. We have temper tantrums. It’s like toddlerhood all over again. Or at least that’s how rumour has it.

          Growing up, I was a good kid. In fact, it was pretty difficult to find a better behaved child. I made my bed. I put on extra layers. I ate my fruits and veggies, andI wore the clothes my mother picked out for me. You couldn’t ask for a more obedient daughter, but I was no angel. I was a scheming child. Oh, yes. Ever since I was a young girl, I had been planning to rebel as soon as I had reached the age of thirteen. “Teenager-hood” was the perfect reason.

          I had it all planned out. I would blast my music. I would wear dark make-up. I would dye my hair into insane colours. I would get multiple piercings. I would get a boyfriend with even more piercings. I would come home at 3AM in the morning. I would run away from home.  I would do the opposite of everything I knew my parents wanted me to do.

          However, the truth is that old habits die hard. When I “ran away from home,” I called to get permission first. When I “dyed my hair,” I picked a colour that would be basically impossible to notice. I only play my music a little too loudly. I only wear make-up that’s a little too dark. I don’t come home later than midnight. I never got any absurd piercings, and you can forget about the boyfriend.

          So, yes, it’s partly true. We all have this nagging itch to rebel a little, or a lot. Some people go all out, but others, like me, just do it enough to make a point. Teenagers are human too. It isn’t our goal in life to completely ruin our parents’ lives, and though it pains me to admit it, sometimes (and only sometimes) parents are willing to compromise if we are too. It is possible for teenagers to be civil, but it is not probable that we will behave like perfect angels. If you’re feeling like you rebel too much, remind yourself that it wouldn’t kill you to listen to your folks once in a while. And if you’re feeling like you don’t rebel enough, just know that sometimes it’s alright to want to turn your dear parents’ lives into living hell.

How To Procrastinate

       It’s an age-old question: to procrastinate or not to procrastinate. We like to tell ourselves that we are doing everything humanly possibleto stop ourselves from postponing our work, but if you examine the issue more closely, you’ll find that you are actually purposely putting off your work. I know you’re already starting to disagree with me, but you haven’t even let me start yet.

            Ever make a to-do list? Just looking at those things make you feel sorry for yourself. Why do you have so much to do anyways? Why you? There’s homework from each and every class, five tests next week, too many extracurricular activities to count, and not enough time to do it all. So, your solution is to give yourself a break. You’re way too stressed out lately. You nibble on a snack and turn on the TV. Before you know it, four hours have passed, and you’ve got to go to bed if you want to have any chance of waking up on time at all.

            Here’s another one. You make a list of “things not to do.” Do not go on Facebook. Do not go on YouTube. Do not play lame games on the Internet. Also, do not Google “how to stop procrastinating.” In fact, do not turn on the computer at all! And you’d think that this one would help you, until you actually try it. It’s surprising how many other ways there are to procrastinate. Do not take a nap. Do not study on the bed. Do not study in your bedroom. And then there are all the others. Do not eat. Do not turn on the TV. Do not leave your phone on. Do not stare off into space and daydream about that someone who might accidentallylook at you for once tomorrow at school. I know it’s not my place to interfere, but you know all those times when your eyes meet with his or hers for a brief yet meaningful moment, and you swear that the two of you are a match made in heaven, and you’re going to get married and live happily ever after? Yeah. That’s just in your head. Life is brutal. Get used to it.

            Now let’s get back on track. If you haven’t noticed yet, list-making doesn’t exactly help when you don’t follow through with your plans. Thinking and planning are good ways to approach problems, but they can also just be other means of procrastination hidden behind friendly masks. Now, if you started reading this article thinking that you would be able to get some handy advice, I hope you’ve realized by now that you aren’t getting any. The truth is that I am in no place to give you any advice. I have no right. I simply speak as a fellow sinner, a friend with a common problem. In fact, right this moment, I am procrastinating from doing my school work by writing this article about procrastinating. How ironic.

            Here’s my take on it. If it makes you feel any better, you can make as many “to-do-lists-that-you-will-not-complete” and “not-to-do-lists-that-you-will-disobey” as you want, but chances are that they won’t help much. Some say it’s better to start with the easiest assignment, and others say finishing off the task of doom is the best way to go. I say: start. It’s that simple. Most of the things we need to do are not actually as scary as they seem in our minds. The more we think about them and put them off, the more daunting they become.

            And also, I want you to remember that procrastination will always be a part of your life. It may be your archenemy, and you may hate its non-existent guts, but it’s never going to go away completely. Your job is to co-exist with it without letting it get the best of you.

Guess who's back?

Me!

Okay, I know that no one cares. It's not like anyone actually follows my blog, but hopefully one day, somebody will. For now, I'll just be writing to myself.

I'm not sure what to expect from myself. I can be pretty random. I joined the school newspaper this year, so I'll probably post my articles from that. Other than that, who knows? I could talk about something as profound as the meaning of life or something as shallow as the colour of nail polish that I'm currently wearing (navy blue, in case you were wondering). Hopefully, it won't become my virtual diary or anything. Hm.

That's all for now. Toodles!

What Has This World Come To?

I walk the streets at midnight
I am the only one
Cold, moonlit avenues
Identical
One intersection every block
Directionless
There is no difference
I am going nowhere
The starting point and the ending point remain constant
What has this world come to?

In forty-three years
This is what our society has become
There is no warmth
No connection between our souls
Television
Machines
Talking police cars
Our brains have been washed
Science over arts
We are new-born machines
Humanity itself is barely existent
What has this world come to?

Is this some sort of utopia?
No crime?
Because we are zombies with a common hobby
It is not perfection that we have reached
It is sameness
What has this world come to?