Returning from abroad is exhilirating. It is energizing. It is exhausting. It is like a beginning to the shining middle and an end to that rotten beginning. It is also rather dangerous because this very illusion of new found hope starts to get you dreaming - dreaming like you might have scarcely dared to before.
It fills you with a vigour upon whose pace you travel with such speed and motivation that it scares even you. That feeling of expanse and a deep connection with the earth, real, hard, terra firma can do that to you. It is rather dangerous, really, all the things you see yourself accomplishing and daring to hope as you might have never hoped before.
Change is a very organic substance and is, I believe, the base of every single thought, phenomenon and action in this world. The difference brought about by change; Derrida, he was on the right track. That idea of difference is the power that change grants and there is no power so heady nor so combustible or useful as change. It fuels originality in thought, in design, in life, really; our need for change makes us think, wonder...so I quirk one eyebrow up and ask the most quitely dangerous question: what if?
What if, indeed. What if - so many things! Where to begin, and where to go once the beginning has been determined? And it has...my beginning has been 20 years in the making...but whence to proceed from here? There are about a million and one possibilities and iterations and I almost wish I could send out a dozen copies of myself to take different tracks and report back to me upon merger 40 years later.
I promised myself that I wouldn't be overwhelmed and inundated; that I would relax and take it as it comes. So far, that is proving to be the right thing to do, even if it is rather (read horriblee) hard for me to do. I keep having to shift my mind away from the niggling thoughts but I think eventually that will become second nature. There is really just so much to tackle: pick your cause. I'm having a hard time (or was) picking mine. Which is funny because no one really asked me to pick in the first place; everyone assumes students will eventually leave their shelter of hallowed halls and change the world in new and wonderous ways. The problem is that I love it all too much. I love it all, I'm passionate about most things and am far too interested and curious for my own good. Also, I don't trust our generation to be the same way; very few of them are and of those few, you must weed through the self-proclaimed, arrogant and pseudo-intellectuals to reach the actual stars. So I feel it is encumbent upon me to pick all causes and save the world - oh, I almost long for the days to come when I'm 28 and disillusioned and bitter like Ryan Gosling in Half Nelson.
I find myself lingering on every sight and sound that passes my way with a new energy that has been missing for almost four years now. It is surprising what a new wardrobe can also do. Filling one's life with only the pieces that make you happy and energized and...important. There is nothing like it. And if I sound unbearingly optimistic, I don't apologize but only hope to re-iterate that I am a realist - who is currently on a high.
It seems strange to say it as a marker of what seems so right these days but my skin seems softer, my sleep feels deeper and hair looks nicer, even if I've tumbled down from bed. Maybe this feeling will fade and maybe it won't but, as of now, I'm not too worried either way. Yes, I am sunk in debt; yes, I am not nearly as mobile as I would like. But...its not like those things seem any smaller; only more doable- more changeable, more manageable. More likely. This life seems more likely, no matter what track.
As a sign, when my mind starts to wander and ponder on the various alternations of futures that could be and makes mini, start-plans as to how to get there, I instantly feel nauseous. But now I am really enjoying going through all the what ifs and thinking further, without the strain of actually trying to make it happen. I guess I am saying - I'm happy to be in the moment, allowing myself that luxury (for once). The what-ifs don't come accompanied by can-dos. They just stay their lovely old states of what-ifs.
What are the what-ifs? Good gosh, too many.
What-ifs to scripts and novel ideas. What-ifs to getting published. What-ifs to volunteering and teaching in Macchu Picchu and exploring the Himalayas. What-ifs to leaving civilization for a few years and changing the face of education and misguided mindsets. What-ifs to writing for Conde-Nast and National Geographic (*faint*). What-ifs to Brown and Rhodes, browsing beaches in Maine, to Carnegie Mellon. What-ifs to street theatre, kathak dancing, scholarships to Delhi. What-ifs to curating or publishing or designing or working at the MMoA/Bartle-Bogle-Hegarty. What-ifs to dual citizenship and splurging rent money on Jimmy Choos. What-ifs to working for idols and invitations to premiers at Leicester Square. What-ifs to changing the face of inspiration. What-ifs to meeting and falling in love to changing lives and healing them. What-ifs coming to terms with all the past and forgiving and moving the fuck on.
So here's to all that was- that can be, that will be and, mostly, that is.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Thursday, July 2, 2009
That Great Philosopher, Mick Jagger
Last night, Singapore time, I was trying to sign up for my classes. And I found that, thanks to some stupid technicality and the fact that I am a mere 3 creds away from being considered a third year student, that I cannot take third year courses. Even though I am a third year student. I kept panicking. I kept trying to call the English Department, I kept getting impatient and angry at their lack of knowledge, their response. That I, the student, had to outline to these dunderheads my situation and then light the path of solution and problems with the solution FOR them. That I had to wait for a response from people who seemingly sit on their ass and do nothing while a whole ocean and several countries or a whole ocean and half of america separate me from Toronto.
So I raged. I cried. I stormed. I left a long, detailed, slightly-shaking-with-anger message on the Undergraduate director's answering machine. After thinking bitter, surging thoughts of the level of incompetency in departmental offices of academia, I fell asleep.
They say everything looks better with sleep, but this is rarely, if ever, true. I was just as angry, just as annoyed and panicking jsut as much in the morning. But the plight of the situation and my own mental neuroticies spurred me to think of another way to reach the same goal. I couldn't do anything; I might as well sit back. I realized, I was re-evaluating, as we must do, when things aren't going our way.
I knew my end goal and decided that, before freaking the hell out, that I might as well see if there were any way to get what I wanted, what I needed, to be done if I took another tack. I'm not going to give up by any means - I am still going to rage and storm and push until they give me third year classes. But...I will be okay and the world will not collapse if, in some bizarre and alternate universe that I don't get these classes.
Mm, perspective, it is a lethal weapon. Would I be able to breathe were in toronto? Would I have ben able to let the matter lie so quickly and decide to search for an alternate solution so quickly had distance and three time zones not separated me? Probably not. I would've charged over there the next day and demanded to be seen, and then using my Inherent SuperPowers of Rhetorical Persuasion (also known as annoying persistence like that of a housefly), I would've gotten what I wanted.
But then I remembered those famous words, bless their drugged british rock hearts: you can't always get what you want. But if you try sometimes...you get what you need.
Which allayed my fears only slightly but worked to calmm me. Speaking to a friend this morning (her night), she updated me on her life. Telling me that she was going to be coming to the same university as me and then outlining her thoughts, her goals. I started to think...gosh, I didn't see that happening. Who would've thunk it? Could I have ever honestly imagined that, a year later, she would be at the junction where I was, a year earlier, emotionally mature and ready to explore? No. Again, time and space grants you many boons; one of them is this. As ecstatic beyond words I am at the fact that she will be in toronto, that I will get to see her and that FINALLY she will be purusing what she wants, I realized again:
What she wanted changed so dramatically. A year ago, if you had asked her what she wanted, it would've been something completely different. And yet, here she was, standing at this crossroads, ready to take the plunge. She tried to plough through...then she tried to change her life. And maybe it's not what she originally wanted. But she got what she needed baby. She got what she needs. I am proud of her - and equally astounded with the veracity of those words.
Seeing this in action...sort of blew me away. Filled me with disbelief and then gratitude that I could see these eternal words in play. Put things into perspective further for me.
Because you can't always get what you want. You can't always get what you want. You can't always get what you want. But if you try sometimes....you get what you need.
Ohhhh baby.
So I raged. I cried. I stormed. I left a long, detailed, slightly-shaking-with-anger message on the Undergraduate director's answering machine. After thinking bitter, surging thoughts of the level of incompetency in departmental offices of academia, I fell asleep.
They say everything looks better with sleep, but this is rarely, if ever, true. I was just as angry, just as annoyed and panicking jsut as much in the morning. But the plight of the situation and my own mental neuroticies spurred me to think of another way to reach the same goal. I couldn't do anything; I might as well sit back. I realized, I was re-evaluating, as we must do, when things aren't going our way.
I knew my end goal and decided that, before freaking the hell out, that I might as well see if there were any way to get what I wanted, what I needed, to be done if I took another tack. I'm not going to give up by any means - I am still going to rage and storm and push until they give me third year classes. But...I will be okay and the world will not collapse if, in some bizarre and alternate universe that I don't get these classes.
Mm, perspective, it is a lethal weapon. Would I be able to breathe were in toronto? Would I have ben able to let the matter lie so quickly and decide to search for an alternate solution so quickly had distance and three time zones not separated me? Probably not. I would've charged over there the next day and demanded to be seen, and then using my Inherent SuperPowers of Rhetorical Persuasion (also known as annoying persistence like that of a housefly), I would've gotten what I wanted.
But then I remembered those famous words, bless their drugged british rock hearts: you can't always get what you want. But if you try sometimes...you get what you need.
Which allayed my fears only slightly but worked to calmm me. Speaking to a friend this morning (her night), she updated me on her life. Telling me that she was going to be coming to the same university as me and then outlining her thoughts, her goals. I started to think...gosh, I didn't see that happening. Who would've thunk it? Could I have ever honestly imagined that, a year later, she would be at the junction where I was, a year earlier, emotionally mature and ready to explore? No. Again, time and space grants you many boons; one of them is this. As ecstatic beyond words I am at the fact that she will be in toronto, that I will get to see her and that FINALLY she will be purusing what she wants, I realized again:
What she wanted changed so dramatically. A year ago, if you had asked her what she wanted, it would've been something completely different. And yet, here she was, standing at this crossroads, ready to take the plunge. She tried to plough through...then she tried to change her life. And maybe it's not what she originally wanted. But she got what she needed baby. She got what she needs. I am proud of her - and equally astounded with the veracity of those words.
Seeing this in action...sort of blew me away. Filled me with disbelief and then gratitude that I could see these eternal words in play. Put things into perspective further for me.
Because you can't always get what you want. You can't always get what you want. You can't always get what you want. But if you try sometimes....you get what you need.
Ohhhh baby.
Monday, June 29, 2009
Love...And Other Disasters.
It seems inevitable. You know that thing...that phenomenon? The one where, as soon as you become acutely aware of something or a realization occurs, that thing starts to show up everywhere? You notice it everywhere you go; or it really becomes that ubiquitous, as though the universe may be trying to setting up Vegas-style neon coloured signs of what to focus on. For me, all signs point to single-girl-dom and city-life.
After sightseeing for a few days, I hunkered down to a spate of movies, courtesy of HBO and Star Movies. I caught Love and Other Disasters. Others may scoff at her but I think Brittany Murphy is a top-class actress and totally underrated. If you look past the blonde locks and breathy voice, you'll see that she nails her characters with an air of unpractised ease. In Love and Other Disasters, she was playing a 20-something American intern at UK Vogue and I thought she pulled off the in-between accent so well. You know, the one that's hardest to do - because she was in the middle of an American accent but aptly stressed the right words with just the right amount of inflection. And she was consistent. Also, her choice of movies = impeccable and interesting.
Anyway, the allure of the movie (besides Santiago Cabrerra...dear god, I could just spread him on a cracker...) was the city of London. Which, of course, is vastly different from New York City. The main practices are the same - fashion, love, sex, nights out, local watering holes, gay roommates and sky-high rent - but the people, the attitudes are worlds apart. Which I thought the film captured silently and particularly well. You could spot it if you were looking at it.
Being in Singapore, which is a perpetual city and damn proud of it, reminds me of the lonliness of being within a city crowd. The consuming ache you feel after you step back on to the curb, after having just been in a crowd of poeple crossing the road and yet wanting absolutely no one to jostle you.
The shopping here is...unbelieveable. I've been to new York so many times now that the shopping just doesn't faze me - plus some of the hype is just that: hype. You have to know where to look, where to shop. And while that is true even of Singapore, where Fendi and Vuitton lives near vintage, somehow, it seems like everything is alot more accessible here in Singapore. Probably because I could catch a ride and cross the country in less than 20 minutes. Me, myself, I've been gorging on the piles of one-of designs and dresses, nameless t-shirts, funky shoes. Appearance here is a huge deal. I'd wager that, on average, Singaporeans spend at least 100/wk on shoes and clothes. Easily. And that is just the low end. Shopping is the national pastime here.
The level of safety is also amazing. I can catch a cab at 2 in the morning, hop up to a eating centre (yes...this is Singapore's second national pastime...and yet somehow everyone is super skiny. You thought French women were elusive...but these people are just magical - or very scary) and not worry about where I am or what time it is. As a chick...it's refreshing. Because, yes, you could hop a cabbie in NY or T.O. but there are always places that you know you shouldn't be going. It's not really like that here.
I don't know if I've spent money wisely perse, but I certainly know that I've bought from the heart. Each and every single one of my purchases has been completely whimsical, instinctual, with the speed of love-at-first-sight, not paying heed to the amount of money remaining until it was all gone. In my defense, I did take the time to feel slightly guilty (also known as Post-Shopper's Guilt Syndrome) but then rationalized that this is what I had set the money out for in the first place. And even though I got a few items for a...larger amount of money, I'd rather have quality than have multiple copies of the same shitty t-shirts. So many dresses! It was every girly-girl's vintage bohemian dream. I really must post pictures of my finds...they're like treasures.
When the money was gone, I spent a day in mourning of all the shoes and dresses and skirts that would never know a home in my closet and then moved on to sightseeing. Not really much to see - this is my second visit here. And the allure of the animal zoos, bird parks, butterfly conservatories has now been replaced with the grown-up 20 year old realization that zoos are hot and smelly (and how many variations of an elephant can you see?), birds poop alot and butterflys are beautiful but giant INSECTS. So I focused more on my surroundings, the people, the places, the smell. The good, the bad, the facades, the lights.
I missed Singapore Fashion Week so the Marc by Marc Jacobs exhibit was gone. But I did pay a visit to the National Museum of Singapore, the Ancient Civilization exhibit and the Singapore Art Gallery. Nothing really compared to the National Reserve Library, though. The nerd in me (which is 99/9% of my being) screamed for joy and was shamelessly and lustfully infatuated by the gorgeous library of glass and mahogany and steel. I finished off some research for my Saudi project, got a few sources. Nothing could parallel the feleing of immense...belonging and peace that settled over me as I got back to academia for three hours. Wow...guess this is proof beyond doubt of my hermitaged future.
I also hit the (Eye of London) Singapore Flyer. I insisted we go at nighttime, because city lights are what my heart soars highest for. Pictures to come, I had a shitty disposable with me so once that gets developed...=( but anyhow, it was nothing short of magical. Granted, I kept trying to super impose my beloved NY skyline on the view at the very top but Singapore is really booming - and beautiful beyond words at night. I reckon that in a couple of years, they'll have a killer skyline of their own. Of course, NYC shall still eternally pwn them. The cabin itself was gorgeous, especially at night, all lit up and spacious. My girlfriend kept telling me with a pang that though she loves being single, she wished had an on-call boyfriend to spend romantic moments like this with. I kept telling her I wished I had a digital SLR for moments like this. She told me my priorities were worrying.
The quiet days are now coming to an end, what with my three younger cousins returning but not before I had a chance to visit Chinatown, wherein I proceeded to buy dirt-cheap crap for friends and Little India (wherein I got stared down by women and ogled by men like the foreigner I am). After some healthy haggling in Pagoda Street, I ended up getting some fabulous kimono-type bathrobes for Mother and I. If I spoke like that I would say that they were really quite a steal - that is a big if, however. In Little India, it started to rain, thankfully, so people ran out of sight and into shops while I stayed out and got drenched but got some lovely shots of alleyways and gaudy Christmas lights strung over shops. Amazing.
I also applied for the TIFF as a volunteer but ended up doing the most effing STUPID thing. I hit the submit button without sending my resume in. So after freaking out for three minutes, I then filled out another application and realized that, if I were the interview people, I'd disqualify me just for erring in such a large way, taking it as an ominous sign of volunteer incapabilities. Fuck man. Fingers crossed though - hopefully, they won't notice; besides, there are so many Sarah's in the world, bless their souls. It's easy to get mixed up, right? That's what I keep telling myself, at least.
OOh! I also got a chance to see the very cool, very hip, soul-pumping, adrenaline-chugging band, Voodoo Singapore. In front of Paragon, a group of six or seven boys smashed the living daylights out of drums and various percussion instruments in an unbelieveable coordinated effort and produced some of the most beautiful music I have ever heard. I'm making it my personal mission to spread the word about them - it was so capturing, like nothing I've ever heard before. It made me wish I was their manager or I was the daughter of some hot-shot music producer or record label head honcho bloke because then I could totally pass on their music. The way they jsut had SO much fun working off each other, working the crowd, killing the beat on those drums - unbloodybelieveable. I'm in love. With music. Again. Sigh. Open air music gigs are alot more fun than those within an arena or club or indoor space. I guess it depends on the bands and their audio acoustics but I could say without fear of argument that percussion was made for an outdoor jam session. Check them out at http://www.myspace.com/VoodooSG. I keep trying to find some vids on youtube...so far a no-go. But the outdoor busking is sure to continue and, like a true groupie, I shall surely follow.
There is alot more to come, I'm sure. These past few days have been quite and lazy. Still, there's to weeks more before I return to reality and do things such as apply to OSAP and argue when I get turned down because my father makes to much, trying to swing the fact that I am an independent and no longer a minor, look for places to live in T.O., and scrounge up money for living. =)
Tune in next time as Sarah tries to look for an internship in 2010 at Conde Nast and Mirabai Films.
cheers.
After sightseeing for a few days, I hunkered down to a spate of movies, courtesy of HBO and Star Movies. I caught Love and Other Disasters. Others may scoff at her but I think Brittany Murphy is a top-class actress and totally underrated. If you look past the blonde locks and breathy voice, you'll see that she nails her characters with an air of unpractised ease. In Love and Other Disasters, she was playing a 20-something American intern at UK Vogue and I thought she pulled off the in-between accent so well. You know, the one that's hardest to do - because she was in the middle of an American accent but aptly stressed the right words with just the right amount of inflection. And she was consistent. Also, her choice of movies = impeccable and interesting.
Anyway, the allure of the movie (besides Santiago Cabrerra...dear god, I could just spread him on a cracker...) was the city of London. Which, of course, is vastly different from New York City. The main practices are the same - fashion, love, sex, nights out, local watering holes, gay roommates and sky-high rent - but the people, the attitudes are worlds apart. Which I thought the film captured silently and particularly well. You could spot it if you were looking at it.
Being in Singapore, which is a perpetual city and damn proud of it, reminds me of the lonliness of being within a city crowd. The consuming ache you feel after you step back on to the curb, after having just been in a crowd of poeple crossing the road and yet wanting absolutely no one to jostle you.
The shopping here is...unbelieveable. I've been to new York so many times now that the shopping just doesn't faze me - plus some of the hype is just that: hype. You have to know where to look, where to shop. And while that is true even of Singapore, where Fendi and Vuitton lives near vintage, somehow, it seems like everything is alot more accessible here in Singapore. Probably because I could catch a ride and cross the country in less than 20 minutes. Me, myself, I've been gorging on the piles of one-of designs and dresses, nameless t-shirts, funky shoes. Appearance here is a huge deal. I'd wager that, on average, Singaporeans spend at least 100/wk on shoes and clothes. Easily. And that is just the low end. Shopping is the national pastime here.
The level of safety is also amazing. I can catch a cab at 2 in the morning, hop up to a eating centre (yes...this is Singapore's second national pastime...and yet somehow everyone is super skiny. You thought French women were elusive...but these people are just magical - or very scary) and not worry about where I am or what time it is. As a chick...it's refreshing. Because, yes, you could hop a cabbie in NY or T.O. but there are always places that you know you shouldn't be going. It's not really like that here.
I don't know if I've spent money wisely perse, but I certainly know that I've bought from the heart. Each and every single one of my purchases has been completely whimsical, instinctual, with the speed of love-at-first-sight, not paying heed to the amount of money remaining until it was all gone. In my defense, I did take the time to feel slightly guilty (also known as Post-Shopper's Guilt Syndrome) but then rationalized that this is what I had set the money out for in the first place. And even though I got a few items for a...larger amount of money, I'd rather have quality than have multiple copies of the same shitty t-shirts. So many dresses! It was every girly-girl's vintage bohemian dream. I really must post pictures of my finds...they're like treasures.
When the money was gone, I spent a day in mourning of all the shoes and dresses and skirts that would never know a home in my closet and then moved on to sightseeing. Not really much to see - this is my second visit here. And the allure of the animal zoos, bird parks, butterfly conservatories has now been replaced with the grown-up 20 year old realization that zoos are hot and smelly (and how many variations of an elephant can you see?), birds poop alot and butterflys are beautiful but giant INSECTS. So I focused more on my surroundings, the people, the places, the smell. The good, the bad, the facades, the lights.
I missed Singapore Fashion Week so the Marc by Marc Jacobs exhibit was gone. But I did pay a visit to the National Museum of Singapore, the Ancient Civilization exhibit and the Singapore Art Gallery. Nothing really compared to the National Reserve Library, though. The nerd in me (which is 99/9% of my being) screamed for joy and was shamelessly and lustfully infatuated by the gorgeous library of glass and mahogany and steel. I finished off some research for my Saudi project, got a few sources. Nothing could parallel the feleing of immense...belonging and peace that settled over me as I got back to academia for three hours. Wow...guess this is proof beyond doubt of my hermitaged future.
I also hit the (Eye of London) Singapore Flyer. I insisted we go at nighttime, because city lights are what my heart soars highest for. Pictures to come, I had a shitty disposable with me so once that gets developed...=( but anyhow, it was nothing short of magical. Granted, I kept trying to super impose my beloved NY skyline on the view at the very top but Singapore is really booming - and beautiful beyond words at night. I reckon that in a couple of years, they'll have a killer skyline of their own. Of course, NYC shall still eternally pwn them. The cabin itself was gorgeous, especially at night, all lit up and spacious. My girlfriend kept telling me with a pang that though she loves being single, she wished had an on-call boyfriend to spend romantic moments like this with. I kept telling her I wished I had a digital SLR for moments like this. She told me my priorities were worrying.
The quiet days are now coming to an end, what with my three younger cousins returning but not before I had a chance to visit Chinatown, wherein I proceeded to buy dirt-cheap crap for friends and Little India (wherein I got stared down by women and ogled by men like the foreigner I am). After some healthy haggling in Pagoda Street, I ended up getting some fabulous kimono-type bathrobes for Mother and I. If I spoke like that I would say that they were really quite a steal - that is a big if, however. In Little India, it started to rain, thankfully, so people ran out of sight and into shops while I stayed out and got drenched but got some lovely shots of alleyways and gaudy Christmas lights strung over shops. Amazing.
I also applied for the TIFF as a volunteer but ended up doing the most effing STUPID thing. I hit the submit button without sending my resume in. So after freaking out for three minutes, I then filled out another application and realized that, if I were the interview people, I'd disqualify me just for erring in such a large way, taking it as an ominous sign of volunteer incapabilities. Fuck man. Fingers crossed though - hopefully, they won't notice; besides, there are so many Sarah's in the world, bless their souls. It's easy to get mixed up, right? That's what I keep telling myself, at least.
OOh! I also got a chance to see the very cool, very hip, soul-pumping, adrenaline-chugging band, Voodoo Singapore. In front of Paragon, a group of six or seven boys smashed the living daylights out of drums and various percussion instruments in an unbelieveable coordinated effort and produced some of the most beautiful music I have ever heard. I'm making it my personal mission to spread the word about them - it was so capturing, like nothing I've ever heard before. It made me wish I was their manager or I was the daughter of some hot-shot music producer or record label head honcho bloke because then I could totally pass on their music. The way they jsut had SO much fun working off each other, working the crowd, killing the beat on those drums - unbloodybelieveable. I'm in love. With music. Again. Sigh. Open air music gigs are alot more fun than those within an arena or club or indoor space. I guess it depends on the bands and their audio acoustics but I could say without fear of argument that percussion was made for an outdoor jam session. Check them out at http://www.myspace.com/VoodooSG. I keep trying to find some vids on youtube...so far a no-go. But the outdoor busking is sure to continue and, like a true groupie, I shall surely follow.
There is alot more to come, I'm sure. These past few days have been quite and lazy. Still, there's to weeks more before I return to reality and do things such as apply to OSAP and argue when I get turned down because my father makes to much, trying to swing the fact that I am an independent and no longer a minor, look for places to live in T.O., and scrounge up money for living. =)
Tune in next time as Sarah tries to look for an internship in 2010 at Conde Nast and Mirabai Films.
cheers.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Fresh Eyes
Being here in Singapore is not merely giving me a chance to explore a new country. It is also allowing me some much required brain space, breathing time, peace and quiet from the regular, tumultuous cataclysms that is my life in toronto.
I keep writing posts and then not publishing them because they are too long-winded, too detailed. And yet, they work; they slowly draw out the emotion into words like pulling at a loose thread in a spool and watching it unravel. The heap of thread is still there...but it is not so tightly wound.
So it is that these words make me feel. Anyhow, something short and sweet; not resolutions but decisions that I have made in my life, about my life that is going to and will change. In no particular order...
I am going to move out. I must. It is essential if I hope to stay alive and not jump off a cliff. This will entail applying for osap, maybe dropping my cellphone service to a monthly top-off, picking up two extra jobs through the summer and applying more rigorously for scholarships, looking for a roomate and starting the house-search now. Buying furnishings and keeping them stocked fro the day I move out. Which will be by May 31st 2010.
I am going to work out, in a strict regime, every single day. Either a workout or cardio or both. Every Monday, Wednesday and Friday. No more stupid, fat, body. It is so unattractive not because thin is in...but because its just a sign of how much I don't give a shit. No more apathy. I still love food...shall always love it. But...time to get healthy and not be a couch-rhino. Basically, the idea is to stop ignoring me; to take care of me. Not be lazy...be proactive. Sounds so New Age, I know, but I've been driving myself into the ground and quietly sitting in bed. NO More! I'm going to pay attention to my hair and skin.
I am going to be more organized. Because, in order for these things to fall in place, to get those jobs and pay attention to me, I must be organized. And I will be. No more age-old procrastinator...still going to be laidback, not uptight or dragon-lady about things. But just...care more. Not put things off.
Be more passionate. Well...express that passion instead of just merely bottling it up. Goodness knows I've got oodles of moxy; moxy is practically pouring out my ears.
Treat myself with something classy every once in a while. Not worry that it is frovolous and materialistic. The day will come, I am sure, when I completely shun society and go to live in the mountains like a monk (goodness knows I've been contemplating that over the last year).
Save up enough to retake driving lessons and get my G.
Not be so elitist. Somethings, however, like Miley Cyrus and the new 90210, are unforgiveable.
Stop running away. Stop being so angry. Or...being proactively angry...not explosively so.
Smile more.
Leave in peace. Live in peace. Try not to get bogged down by stupid family shit. Because, soon, that will all be gone. Or at least, the DVP will separate us.
I keep writing posts and then not publishing them because they are too long-winded, too detailed. And yet, they work; they slowly draw out the emotion into words like pulling at a loose thread in a spool and watching it unravel. The heap of thread is still there...but it is not so tightly wound.
So it is that these words make me feel. Anyhow, something short and sweet; not resolutions but decisions that I have made in my life, about my life that is going to and will change. In no particular order...
I am going to move out. I must. It is essential if I hope to stay alive and not jump off a cliff. This will entail applying for osap, maybe dropping my cellphone service to a monthly top-off, picking up two extra jobs through the summer and applying more rigorously for scholarships, looking for a roomate and starting the house-search now. Buying furnishings and keeping them stocked fro the day I move out. Which will be by May 31st 2010.
I am going to work out, in a strict regime, every single day. Either a workout or cardio or both. Every Monday, Wednesday and Friday. No more stupid, fat, body. It is so unattractive not because thin is in...but because its just a sign of how much I don't give a shit. No more apathy. I still love food...shall always love it. But...time to get healthy and not be a couch-rhino. Basically, the idea is to stop ignoring me; to take care of me. Not be lazy...be proactive. Sounds so New Age, I know, but I've been driving myself into the ground and quietly sitting in bed. NO More! I'm going to pay attention to my hair and skin.
I am going to be more organized. Because, in order for these things to fall in place, to get those jobs and pay attention to me, I must be organized. And I will be. No more age-old procrastinator...still going to be laidback, not uptight or dragon-lady about things. But just...care more. Not put things off.
Be more passionate. Well...express that passion instead of just merely bottling it up. Goodness knows I've got oodles of moxy; moxy is practically pouring out my ears.
Treat myself with something classy every once in a while. Not worry that it is frovolous and materialistic. The day will come, I am sure, when I completely shun society and go to live in the mountains like a monk (goodness knows I've been contemplating that over the last year).
Save up enough to retake driving lessons and get my G.
Not be so elitist. Somethings, however, like Miley Cyrus and the new 90210, are unforgiveable.
Stop running away. Stop being so angry. Or...being proactively angry...not explosively so.
Smile more.
Leave in peace. Live in peace. Try not to get bogged down by stupid family shit. Because, soon, that will all be gone. Or at least, the DVP will separate us.
Friday, June 19, 2009
Saturday, May 9, 2009
Put Your Records On.
Girl put your record on / Tell me your favourite song / You're gonna find yourself somewhere Somehow
(A.D., you're mine. We are already together. Forever. And I'm having the time of my life with you.)
Friday, May 1, 2009
Moving Pictures
I'm very grateful. For music, for art, for pictures, still, moving, for imagination, for creativity, for immportality, for this plane of existence.
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