Mexicana

So this is it.
A whole *period of time* has boiled down to this very moment:
The Final Post Before Jesse Leaves For The Unknown.
It's a little scary, but it only just hit me that HOLY BEJEEZUS I'M GOING TO INDONESIA FOR 5 WHOLE WEEKS. WITHOUT MY PARENTS. ON MY OWN.
It's both beyond wonderful and terrifying.
What if someone plants drugs in my bag?
Worse, what if "someone" plants drugs in my bag?


(I know I've put this one up before, but it seemed so appropriate.)

It's not a holiday. I mean, it is. But it's more of a learning experience where each participant can grow and develop as a person, immersed in a rich, foreign culture that speaks a language we think we sort of know, but oh my- we don't know anything.
I'm not going to promise to post while I'm over there, mainly because I want to get closer to nature and make a scrapbook of my experiences but there also won't be internet available all the time, which might pose a problem. But, I will say this:
My brother is a moron. Seriously, I thought he was the smart, nice one. Again, I am disappointed; does he want me to like the other twin more? Good Lord.
I will also say this, after losing concentration:
I will put up lots of photos (or at least photos of pages of my scrapbook which WILL HAPPEN DAMNIT) when I arrive back safely in Melbourne. Ahh, Melbourne. I miss you already.

As another general note, I want to apologise for my titles. They usually have little to do with what I fail to discuss in posts, especially in this one. But they do have relevance to me; like when I look back on this post a couple of months from now, I'll remember 'Mexicana' as that night I sat eating Mexicana chips paranoid the security guards at the airport would kill me the next day, completely unprepared but pretty much willing to actually go all out and talk as much as possible. Hooray.

Love to you all, happy holidays, and just know Micheru, by the time I see you next, I'll be saying:
I know what you did last summer.

3.58am

I still can't sleep.

I lied about going to bed.

I just didn't want to talk anymore.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AUaWCcDlI5s <--- I enjoyed this.

Everyone needs a little James Dean in their lives.

I had to.

MMM BALDHEADEDNESS

BABY GIRAFFES ARE SO CUTE! If only I could go back in time and unlearn how they reproduce.. it's a severely scarring process. Did you know that apparently 90% of giraffe sex is male giraffes having sex with other male giraffes? And the other 10% is female giraffes running away while the male giraffes try to root them?
I'm glad to be human sometimes.


HARRY. How am I supposed to kiss you if you're constantly covered in smoke?


This should happen all the time. We should train up monkeys to be vets and protectors of the animal kingdom.


THIS IS THE GREATEST MOVIE EVER. I'm kind of exaggerating, but kind of not. I've spent four years wishing I was Kat. Heath Ledger is in it. It's set in the 90s. Joseph Gordon Levitt pre hotness is in it. Need I say more? It's love. Of the non romantic kind. Kat presents everything I want to be; empowered, determined, individual, brutally honest and fluent in sarcasm. I'd marry her! Oh, but wait.. gay marriage is still illegal in the supposedly accepting 21st century. SCREW THE SYSTEM LIKE CHARLES DICKENS!

Two posts in the space of 2 hours! Goodly lord. I was just so excited by these pictures, but I don't think I've done them justice.
Ahh well.

I've been feeling guilty a lot lately. Actually, I think I was born to feel perpetually guilty; it must be some Catholic thing. In English today, we talked about The Imaginative Landscape *freaky, perhaps Star Wars themed music to be played* and I was like woah. I mean, I was like "Oh my God"- my teacher used that phrase more times than is natural. Because I DO want to know what "shaped me"! I think. I think I just like the narcisstic aspects of it. I like talking about myself! I like exploring ideas and finding links and having way too many 'aha!!!!' moments. But GUILT. LOSS OF INNOCENCE. The Pope would not approve. I need to do penance or something.
But what am I feeling guilty about?? Mainly about my grandmother. I really need to spend more time with her, but it's so hard not to get annoyed or frustrated by her. It's not that she speaks slowly or walks slowly or does anything slowly, it's just she talks so much. Me saying 'hi' ends up as an hour long conversation. Tra la la.

I want to learn how to draw.

Micheru. My hair is not short. I just got a trim:D

*takes a deep breath*

Does love even exist?

Bleugh.

Boys smell.

(To not seem sexist, it’s fair to also suggest that not all girls are sweet smelling by nature.)

Hm. I took this quiz once, and it told me that I was *truly, deeply, and completely in love*- all because I said I’d still want to be friends even if they didn’t share my desire for something more.

How bizarre human emotion is.

You know, I never even believed in True Love until recently; it always struck me as being this fantasy dreamt up by ladies trapped in towers, bored out of their minds, or by poets whose sole reason for being was to find a raison d’être in what was once a flat world. Don’t get me wrong, I would have totally done the same thing had I been in their situation. Except maybe something cooler, like feeling threatened by aliens, or, better yet, certifiably insane Russian gypsies. Actually, they probably existed back then.

PIXIES ARE GOING TO MURDER US ALL.

They could SO be real, if only our economic-comfort seeking, supposedly logic-based minds allowed them to.

Just kidding. I’m not crazy.

But here I go again, dwindling between my admittedly hopeful, romantic side and my cynical, humanity-resenting other side as to whether this phenomenon is a part of reality. What do you think? (I so rarely ask anyone else’s opinion, so please, speak now or forever hold your peace:D)

I’d like to own a restaurant called Circuz. And it could have dancing Russian gypsies as waitresses.

Let’s get Sirius. The day I started questioning the existence of love, I also began to wonder if emotions (mainly happiness, because sadness often feels so real- I wonder why that is) were actually real as well. Because, isn’t it true that the mind can be tricked into thinking or feeling things? I think I have psychology on my side here, or maybe I’m just making this up, but I think it’s called conditioning. Who said Ms Bereza was a bad teacher? I clearly learnt.

Where is this rambling going? So I guess I’ve established that love is a confusing topic and my head is running in circles around it trying to understand it, but I doubt I ever will.

I think I’d be happy if someone could just define love for me; just put it in a little square box that I could doodle hearts and flowers around and write the name of my beloved (oh, if only he existed!). That’s not going to happen; I reckon the fortunate ones among us don’t over think love, they just embrace it and give it everything they have when they think they have it. As a chronic over thinker with severe trust issues, I don’t know if this would even be possible, no matter how much I wish upon a star for it. Seriously, when I see a falling star, this is what I hope for, because all I want in life is to be happy, and it seems that love, for the inherently social creature that I am, is the only path to reaching it.

But then I got to thinking. (And this was actually why I started writing this post, I don’t know how I got so off track- it must have been those gosh darn awful pixies again.) Do we fall for the person we want to see? Like in 500 Days of Summer, Tom refused to see the bad bits of Summer, and then his little sister brought him back to reality, thereby making her the most awesome character. Often times we see only that which we want to see, bringing me back to something I said earlier. Is love a conscious action of the mind? Some wise person/ bullshitting idiot once fed me the line- “We cannot choose who we love, only how we love,” (this was totally out of context and completely irrelevant to the discussion- sigh) but I can’t help but think that this quote speaks the truth. That is, if love is real, of course.

I’m tired.

In other news, I bought a Russian phrase book at the lovely place also known as Borders on the weekend. Needless to say, I’ll spend more time speaking to the Indo locals in Russian than Indonesian when I go on exchange in a week and a half.

Also, my room is messy.

Those devilish pixies.

<3 – my love from me to you; now everybody say “awwww!” like you attend a private all girls’ school.

I'm all lost in the supermarket, I can no longer shop happily. I came in here for a special offer; a guaranteed personality.

HEY!
I have internet again, though maybe not for long. It's quite temperamental, the neighbours' wifi. It's great! Or not. I can't tell, really, since now I'm not forced to occupy myself with productive tasks such as reading, or cleaning my room, or studying Japanese, or lurking around the streets aimlessly like the troublesome adolescent that I am, like a wolf, galloping around vegas looking for strippers and cocaine...
And there it goes again. No internet. Oh well.
I'll just keep talking like nothing is wrong, kind of like how I do when my mum looks worried about my grandfather, but that really shouldn't go ignored. It's tragic when people get old and their brains go fuzzy, but then some people say that alzheimers is the mental illness is which people suffer the least, because they don't know it's happening. I think that's what I'm most afraid of; having to be completely reliant on other people, and this may sound awful, but I'd rather die in one go than have my brain cells die off slowly until reality begins to scare the Hell out of me. You know how the elderly with dementia are like that? I have a great aunt who's convinced the nurses are deliberately stopping her from meeting her husband at the train station in Bendigo. And my grandfather believes that the nurses are trying to poison him and that his room mate is trying to kill him. It's so horrific, thinking about why he might be having such violent dreams, and I miss the man who taught me cool things like how to peel an orange without a knife, jokes about pigs on walls (it's hilarious, but I can't tell you, because only a true Kartomi can tell it and capture its full comedic effect), how to do this funky pen twirl thing, cheat moves in chess, and how to cook tofu so delicious even the most anti tofu carnivores wouldn't be able to turn it down.
I've also been thinking about jokes, and well, society's expectations of everyone. What is okay to laugh at and what is not and my brain is so confused, because I laugh at nearly everything before thinking, 'Oh no. I shouldn't have laughed at that. That's so CRUEL.' But it's funny? Should it be funny? Okay, examples:




I laughed at both. I'm such a terrible person.
Here is another thing; I read once that if you don't have a personality, strangely enough you become interesting. Okaylah, I'm not so sure about the validity of this statement because a) I have no personality and b) I haven't become interesting yet. Maybe it's because I'm still developing. No way hozay. I was done developing by the time I was 13! This is so unfair. I get the freak show chest so early and then I still have to deal with hormones and crap now?! The other day, I woke up in the morning feeling a tad bilious and started crying. I cried for two hours straight and the only reason I stopped crying was because the people on Whitehorse Rd were looking at me strangely and I was late to school and when I arrived at school I had to seem normal, whatever that means. My father told me he thought I was different! DIFFERENT! You're not supposed to tell your crazed, stressed out, confused teenage daughter that she's different. You're supposed to peer-ent me. Or try something lame like that, not come all out and be like 'You know, Jesse, I think you're different. Am I right? Do you get bullied for being different?'
Do I get bullied? Not that I know of. Why? Because at my school it's done sneakily and even if people did bitch about me, quite frankly, I can't think of anything they could say except like judge me for being quiet, or for dressing weird or because my hair is a psycho that wants to compete with Medussa in the wackiest hair competition. Or for being vegan but SCREW YOU ALL WHO MOCK ME.
And then, when I arrived home from school that day, I just started crying again and didn't stop until dinner and my brothers looked at me very weirdly with expressions that wondered if they should comfort me or insult me.
By the way, here is me mentioning Just Another Person, who I *think* mentioned me in her blog not too long ago- she's going to make a vegan cake, which is hebat:)I love it when people embrace the vegan lifestyle.
Also, I just want to say that Emily is awesome. Because she is, so don't question it. I don't ignore her on purpose. She drew me a unicorn and a lion.
I think my parents are worried about me. Last year, there was talk of me going to see a counseller because I apparently seemed (seem?) to have issues. And then when I wouldn't tell them why I was crying my dad just looked at me sadly and said that I could always talk to him or Mum, and that they'd always be there to listen to me etc. It was nice, but sometimes it's sickening how hard he tries to win me over, with his 'let's talk about our feelings' sessions he attempts to engage me in. I know they're my parents, but why do they care so much? You know, I realised the stupidity of that question the second it entered my head but still. I just don't understand why they vituperate me one minute, and smile at me hopefully the next. Maybe I'm just a contumelious teenage daughter. You can't ever just reduce people to stereotypes though, can you?

RAWR

HISTORY IS OVER.
I'm kind of elated, but kind of sad. Parting is such sweet sorrow. I'm really going to miss my history class, and talking about revolting against Chando and creating conspiracy theories that involve killing off the weakest link (me, because I'm a terrible liar) so we don't have to do SACs and mini test thing our teacher likes to toss in our direction...
Time to celebrate by making a vegan chocolate cake to eat with friends at school tomorrow, and time to study for a maths exam I'm going to fail anyway. I'm thinking it's time to apply my theory of life here; there's no point wasting energy on things that bring you no pleasure. I mean, at the beginning of the year I was all determined that I was going to completely annihilate Methods, but now, I don't care and really, my brother told me not to study. My brother doesn't know anything about life and his advice is always terrible, but for once his devil may care attitude is somewhat inspiring.




Appreciate the abandoned couch. I'm going to find that couch and sit on it.

Discuss the extent to which external and internal problems threatened the formation and development of the new society.

External and internal problems threatened the formation and development of the new society to the extent that necessity distracted the government from the initial aims of the revolution- liberty, equality and fraternity, as translated into the Declaration of the Rights of Man and Citizen (26th August 1789). As Lefebvre argued, change could only reach the masses through radical movement; the reality of this being the Terror as the instrument through which to create a new society, based on Robespierre’s notion of virtue.
The Civil Constitution of the Clergy (1790) divided the nation into those who supported the revolution and those who remained loyal to their faith. In particular, this radical development disturbed King Louis XVI, and in proving his lack of support for the revolution with the Flight to Varennes (20-21st June 1790), France went from being a constitutional monarchy to a republic on the 21st September 1792, to be replaced with representative democracy.
As the revolution continued, the Jacobins sought to remove all traitors of the revolution, much like the King, in the form of the Terror, with the introduction of the Law of Suspects (17th September 1793). This new law saw suspicion and social paranoia in France sky rocket, and in an effort to remove all political opposition, the Jacobins forced the Girondins from the political scene. Historians, such as Simon Schama who argued ‘Violence was the motor of the revolution’, paint the Terror or indeed the Jacobin’s pursuit for exclusive rule over France as bloody and as being in violation of the aim of liberty.
The Declaration of Pillnitz in 1791 by Austria caused France to declare war on Austria in April 1792. However, the humiliating beginning to the war – Austria’s army was better trained than France’s- escalated into fear with the issuing of the Brunswick Manifesto (25th April 1792), when it was declared that the safety of the royal family was France’s responsibility, and any harm that should come to them would force Austria to respond aggressively. This external opposition to the revolution brought about social paranoia, causing chaotic dissent within France, as seen in the September Massacres of 1793. In June 1792, ‘La patrie en danger’ was declared and 30,000 peasants were ordered to be conscripted. Yet this coupled with resentment felt by the peasants with De Christianisation, it roused peasants to rebel, notably in the Vendee, only to be quashed by repressive means. The seemingly hypocritical nature of this could be seen to be merely a response to crisis, but only further compromised liberty in the new society.
The internal economic problems also threatened the development of the new society, as one of the long term causes of the revolution was the need for taxation reform. The bankruptcy and financial crisis France faced throughout the revolution brought on the introduction of the Maximum in 1794; in particular, this was in response to the inflation of the assignats and bread shortages brought on by the war with Austria. The Maximum was a contradiction of the bourgeois ideals of free trade, though it was deemed essential. As Furet argues, the economic side of things was left disorganised by the revolution, as production had fallen to two thirds of its pre war level and wages had fallen also.
The problems faced by the governments, most notably the Jacobins, were responded to by violent, oppressive means. As Doyle argues, ‘resistance made the revolution grow violent’, and opposition to the revolution, in fact, led to the Jacobins straying from the original ideals of 1789 such as liberty and equality in desperation.

salve

(Courtesy of "Stuff No One Told Me")

"Power without love is reckless and abusive, and love without power is sentimental and anemic." -- Martin Luther King, Jr.

It shouldn't rain when there should be sunshine and things should be simple.

It shouldn't confuse me how people talk to me and then ignore me and then make me crazy with neuroticness.

They are just dinosaurs who have temporarily lost their consciences.

Literature homework should never involve competing with the author in terms of ease of language to guide a plot which I BARELY understand anyway. Why is everyone else all like, 'It's so deep, oh my goodness, all this climactic stuff happens like every. Single. Second.' when all I see is a novel with pretty words and Biblical references? (But actually, no one ever says the word "goodness". Except me.)

My parents should never force drugs down my throat. My insides are currently drenched in B12. Hooray!

WHY OH WHY?

Happiness should just float into my willing, out stretched fingers. Come here, delicate butterfly.

What if 1 + 1 actually equaled 3?

What if my name was actually spelled Jessie? Would I be completely bewildered and ponder the meaning of my existence? EVEN MORE SO THAN NOW? Goodness (you see what I meant before), that would be an awful lot of hard work. Would I be a different person? Maybe I'd be louder. Maybe I wouldn't even consider questioning my Catholic faith. Maybe I'd drink away my sorrows and earn the label of whore slowly, but surely, and fail ALL my subjects, not just Maths, and devour meat like animals mean nothing and be friends with people that hate me.

What if J. L. Carr never wrote "A Month in the Country"? What would Ms. Johno do then? Oh, her poor, poor soul. I'm sure she'd still find a way to explain Christianity to a class of girls that, for the most part, just don't care.

What if I actually wasn't so messed up and my hair was straight and orderly to match my straight and orderly life?

What if flowers never grew?

What if cows ruled the Earth?

What if I knew how to be a friend?

What if all children had a roof over their heads, a bed to sleep in, food in their bellies and hope for the future? I see them now, a father smiling and gesturing with his hands- a story that dances through the room, creating smiles on the faces of the mother, with her freshly made soup, and the children; it will be their bed time soon. The last happy family on Earth.

What if you never thought of anyone else and my hurt went away?

Clothes make the man. Naked people have little or no influence of society- Mark Twain

I've been wondering about tea lately. Ice tea, to be specific. In fact, I have some right here and I'm slowly sipping it while pondering what to write about.

TEA IS LE MAGICAL.

It can help slow wrinkles, or signs of getting old; it is rich in antioxidants (black tea is being recognised as just as healthful as green); it can help build bone density (especially helpful for potentially calcium deficient vegans such as myself); apparently helps to prevent cancer, (which is pretty gosh darn amazing)as it contains an antioxidant called EGCG, which has been found to inhibit an enzyme that cancer needs to grow; it can help lower heart disease, through its ability to prevent blood from clumping; and it can assist in weight loss.

So while I was enjoying good old Lipton, I thought about my plans for after school. I'm going into the final year of school, and I figure people will start asking me about what I'll do when school is over.

Here is what I'll tell them;
Step 1: Continue working casually or rather, full time, as I don't plan on going straight to university.
Step 2: After 6 months of saving and scronging off my parents, I'll bleach my hair and then dye it violet (not purple!! blue based violet!).
Step 3: I'll buy a train ticket and move to Perth for the remaining 6 months of the year, and spend those months completely stoned half the time, and sober to really soak up life the rest of the time. I want to live by the beach, no, on the beach. I want to enjoy wasting my time (so in essence it wouldn't be wasted time) playing guitar and writing and reading and dancing by the moon with gypsies and never wearing shoes.
Step 4: Go skydiving once I get back to gloriously metropolitan Melbourne.
Step 5: Not die from skydiving. I plan on using the parachute.
Step 6: Attend a Christmas party with my Catholic family and not start an argument with my grandfather. Truly, this will be the test of all tests of my maturity.
Step 7: Attend a birthday party my family will hold for me and have fun because I really do love my parents.
Step 8: Finally, go to university, buckle down and become a lawyer.
Step 9: Become a citizen of the United States.
Step 10: Become President of the United States.
STep 11: Reduce GDP spent on defence, and direct this money to Afghanistan as foreign aid.
Step 12: Rule the world.
Step 13: Maintain this rule without wearing shoes.
Step 14: Get assassinated.
Step 15: Haunt the White House until it gets boring.
So there you have it. My plan, for now.

It's so fluffy, I'm gonna die!! IT'S SO FLUFFY!!!

Isn't it just adorable? It's the cutest thing I've seen since Michelle's tiny feet.
Here's another picture, for fun:



That's my dog. He looks so much like a dinosaur here. Like maybe a dinosaur on magic mushrooms.

One more, because this was hilarious:



Ta Ta. Good luck to anyone studying for exams right now. In fact, I should be one of them.

The only card I need is the ace of spades…THE ACE OF SPADES

I’ve started watching Skins- season 3, mind you- and I feel like such a freak of a teenager.
I don’t get drunk, I don’t do drugs, I don’t crash parties, I don’t hang out with people that are completely messed up (case in point, James Cook; what a repulsively intriguing human being), I don’t go round having sex, I’m not skinny or indie or whatever Effy is; despite all my wishing and hoping, but then I got to thinking- why would I want to be like them? Do I want a carefree, alcohol-ridden adolescence, or a time that I’ll merely be able to look back on and nod, smiling slightly at the memories but never being able to tell crazy stories? I’m a thirty year old (at the very least) in a 16 year old’s body. How completely and utterly sad is that? Wait, I don’t want to hear your answer. Let’s assume the elements of rhetoric are highly prevalent here. Man, that makes no sense. It sounded kind of good in my head, and I wrote it, but I’ve decided that I won’t ever back type anything I write anymore, except typos, so this is me in my unedited form. The hills are alive with the sound of music…ah ah ah ahhhh.
Tonight, I went to this music festival thing that was run at a church; at this church that a girl at my school belongs to, and I went with my friend, her sister, a French exchange student (whose host sister ahem SHAZZA was too busy being all intelligent at math tutoring) and my friend’s friend. I think his name was Ian. It sounded like Ian. It was kind of flat. The entire atmosphere of the place just reeked of churchy youth dullness. You kind of had to know people there to enjoy it, I think. So my friend and I plus her posse hung around, trying to get into the music of the bands because I really did want to be able to enjoy myself. I mean, the artistes upon those dry ice infested stages believed in what they were doing, or so I like to think, and it’d be nice to be able to encourage them by having some faith in them too.
I think people are dying outside my house again. Oh well, not important.
Yeah, so, the main point of my story is that I feel like…I’m worth something again? I don’t know, I mean, I was just able to talk to Ian so casually. I can never do that with any guys, like ever. I completely freeze up and they think I’m a snobbish weirdo, but tonight I chatted with him and I ENJOYED myself. Me. I had fun in a conversation that was purely for the sake of conversation; for breathing in the summery night air and for just feeling young.
I sound like such a sad case.
I haven’t felt that way in a long time, and maybe it was just because I was a little high on Coke and he was quite simply a lovely guy. Don’t get the wrong idea here, because I know you will (haha <3), there is no romantic attachment, or anything of that kind. It was nice and I had fun, even though we decided to go to the Glen as the night’s energy started to drop, where we wandered around and bought 4 pairs of earrings for $10 (Sarah got these pretty tear drop crystal ones, Alizei- hmm, I don’t know how to spell her name, maaf ya- bought round black ones that’ll really stand out against her fair hair, I don’t remember what Julia got, and I got a pair of classic golden rose earrings, which I’m quite delighted with). So, what a bargain!
Happiness.

Empty Orchestras

The Virgin Suicides is perhaps the most hauntingly beautiful film I have seen to date.

Every single character involved directly within the plot is just so messed up on so many different levels; the five daughters of the Lisbon family seem to intoxicate everyone around them, drawing them into the disturbed mental depths of their lives, and it is said near the very end that Cecilia began to spread the poison the day she slit her wrists.

I’m quite positive that the images of that film will remain with me for a while; hence the moodiness with which I try to conduct conversations with people I’ve slowly and sadly drifted away from. I’m sorry if I’m not responsive. Do I have to be? I feel like I’m selfish for wanting distance between myself and other people, but then surely, it’s for their good too? I don’t know. Perhaps I should wear a symbol, like a David’s star, on my jacket so that everyone around me will know not to associate with me.

The Virgin Suicides depicts suicide as a gentle, peaceful, ease into death if you will, and this could be said of many other representations of suicide in popular culture, such as The Falling Man of 9/11. It got me wondering if suicide is just that; a still death by choice. By choice. By choice implies acceptance on some levels. I don’t know what to say. Stillness is also so…unnatural. I feel so encompassed now by the notion of taking one’s life, but then it could be that I’m just tired. I’m always tired, but now I am especially tired as it is Sunday evening and my last memory of sleep was waking up bleary eyed on Saturday morning, dreading the day of studying ahead.

Suicide is to the most violent form of death. The mind tortures its victim endlessly and there is no escape, not from this; there will never be a way out of the mind. The aggressive nature of the constant mental self harm makes happiness seem a memory from long ago, or perhaps it was only a dream and this is reality. A reality which is harsh and brings you to loathe yourself and criticise yourself and beat yourself down but the really scary part is that you yourself are the enemy. It’s kind of like Harry Potter, I guess, and the Seven Deathly Hallows. If you haven’t read the book, go read it. Right this second.

I MEAN IT.

I’ll just assume that you’re done.

I love the colour gold. Is it even a colour? To rephrase: I love the shininess of the surface of the mineral that is gold.

I’m going to go and write another fucking essay for history. I swear, I’m going down. Death by essay writing.

Serious eyebrow raising of a Sherlock style is about to occur

The other day, I asked my father what he’d think if I said I was gay.

I don’t know why I asked. I guess I just wanted to see where the boundaries between me and my parents lay. It never even occurred to me until I just recently that you don’t have to be straight. Isn’t that funny? And sad. ALERT: this is a touchy subject concerning sexuality. Parental guidance is recommended.

But then, it’s only me. It’ll be as G rated as possible.

The reason I had some worries about this is because my father is Catholic, but not a very strict one, even though he was pretty mad when I officially became…UnCatholic.

So he told me that it’d take some getting used to, but he’d eventually come to love and accept me, and I know I probably shouldn’t be, but I’m surprisingly grateful to hear that answer. Like nothing else matters if I have my father’s approval. That’s absolutely pathetic, but it’s how I feel.

So I asked Dad what my grandfather would say, and both my parents inhaled sharply. I knew the answer already, of course. My grandfather is such a strict, homophobic, no sex before marriage kind of Catholic. Apparently, my grandfather would never speak to me again if I came out to him.

That is, if I’m gay.

My dad was like, ‘Why do you ask? Are you gay?’ and I told him that I didn’t think so.

*cries of pain and sorrow*

Dear chaiteabluediamond.blogspot.com
Please let me edit you. Especially the header bit. You look strange and I just want you to be pretty, honestly. I only want what's best for you.
Sincerely,
Anna Karenina (aka the girl that brought you to life in a lonerish kind of way)

You don't have a soul. You ARE a soul. You have a body- C.S. Lewis

So I was kind of super excited...I don't know why. It might have been because of all the sugar running through my veins like sharp surges of scalding mercury excoriating my very being. My brittle bones (from the calcium I supposedly lack due to my *unhealthy* vegan diet) shuddered with exertion as I dragged my flesh burdened corpse down my street as the clouds slowed to a halt to watch.
I'm done. How do people use adjectives and still write well? This I well never understand.
I'm going to go to the kitchen and make dinner >insert sexist joke here< TTFN.
I'm back and dinner was edible. Quite honestly, I feel like I deserve applause even though I've made dinner a far few times; it's still an acomplishment.
Tra la la. I'm so tired all the time. Why? Why does Gos want this? Do I even believe in God? My friend Emily actually went away and researched all the different types of agnosticism, because when she asked I believed in God I told her that I wanted to, but couldn't. It's just life would be so much easier I think, if I did. I wouldn't have to lie to my extended family and I'd be able to go to church and soak up God's word like the Shamwow absorbs tsunamis. Emily came back with this theory: (this was quite a while ago though, I just haven't thought about it much lately because there's other stuff rushing through my head) I'm what they call an agnostic theist. It means I don't believe in God, but only because I feel that we, as humans, aren't able to know of supernatural beings like a God. I think. I'm not sure if this is true. All I can say is, I'll never become atheist. Ever.
I know a lot of people who won't be able to understand this, but then I also know people who'd look at me and smile if I told them. I spoke to my mum about this and she sort of smirked and nodded. It's because I've felt that moment of utter conviction; that moment when you know He's real and it's like...you just feel complete. As if nothing could ever cause you to falter because all that matters is He's there. I can't explain this in words; it's just a feeling. I got it the day I visited the pentecostal church. I sat during their service in complete silence and disbelief; how could I feel so in awe of something I'd convinced myself didn't exist? But it was real and I felt it. Sort of a warming sensation from the inside. Atheists are generally lovely people, as are people of all religions, but I wonder how they...live. WHAT AM I SAYING? I'm not sure. I'm still completely out of it, even though I slept 15 hours last night.
So. I believe that when you die, you die. The idealistic part of me says that when you die, your soul is recycled. The rational side of me says that's bullshit. I don't believe in souls. I don't believe in miracles. I don't believe in fate or chance or destiny; I am not a determinist. I believe we control our own lives.
I feel sick.
So I guess what Emily says is true. But then, I've never liked labels. I'll never close my mind to the possibility of the existence of a being greater than the human race. In fact, it kind of comforts me knowing that there could be something that won't harm, abuse, be intolerant of or feel as if they are more deserving than others like mankind does.
I was talking to another friend of mine about his faith, and this is what he told me:
Him: I'd say I'm roughly borderline between Christian and Atheist
as in my religion is Christian, but I also am not entirely sure on the whole idea with God. Meaning,I would completely believe in him if I could see him. I'm not catholic.
Me: But then, if you're not so sure on the whole idea of God, what makes you Christian?
Him: There is no proof that I am a Christian, but I still have the right to choose my religion, whether or not I'm a devoted one or not.
To me, this makes no sense. Why identify with a faith you don't completely believe in? He attends church. Church is nice; being around people so within themselves, reaching out to touch the light of God.
I'm still confused. I still think and think and nothing ever changes, but as someone pointed out to me once, that's the story of humanity, really.

Intoxicate me now

HELLO.

Today I have little to talk about.

In two days we go back to school. This is a sad fact, but it is true. And therefore it must be said. I think in this post I will practise writing short sentences. This is because my English teacher constantly tells me that my sentences are too long and convoluted. Convoluted is a cool yet unnecessary word. Look it up, kids.

So, I haven’t done any homework. Well, I did a bit of English. However, that was back in the first week. In the first week I was feeling pumped and motivated. I’m sick of not sleeping the day before school due to homework cramming.

GRRRR all this short sentence stuff annoys me, so we’re just going back to normal, slightly obsessive me because that’s just so much more interesting, right? Right?!

I think I have an unhealthy obsession. It is horrible beyond belief and it’s just so addictive; so in my humblest of opinions, the obsession isn’t even my fault. It’s reality television. I waste hours a day watching people scream at each other, bitch about each other, hug each other and then bitch a bit more, because it’s just so fascinating watching these people that are supposed to be of my own race. To say I feel completely disconnected from them would be an understatement. I don’t feel that depth of emotion. I mean, I don’t even bitch that much because what is there to say? Humanity is indeed interesting to observe, if not purely because I don’t feel like I belong. And before you go and be all “Duh, dude, all teenagers feel like they don’t belong,” I’m going to point that out first, because I KNOW I’m not the first nor the last to feel like this. I’m not an idiot, contrary to popular belief. I am also, to the best of my knowledge, mentally able to make smart decisions, again despite popular perception. (This is according to mainly my parents and grandfather, but I think everyone must look at another person and not understand that person’s train of thought at all.)

I wonder who invented reality television. Hold up, imma google it. Well, there were varied answers. Some claim it was the Dutch, others say it was Endomol because they were the first to air a reality television show, and others again say it was George Orwell in his book 1984, etc., etc. But then, there is also the other option. Are daily chat shows reality television? Because then we’ve been livin’ it up REAL STYLE for decades already without having appreciated it. I realise that a lot of people hate reality TV, just going off some of the responses that popped up in Google. The first link actually stated (to my question, Who invented reality television?): “I don’t know but I’d like to kick the SHIT out of him. Reality TV sucks!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” I also like how this person assumed it was a guy. It probably was, but political correctness is oh so important nowadays, so Mia Freedman told me. But why do people hate it so much? They’re members of your race which you are evolutionarily programmed to empathise with! You should be proud and support the reality television business because I know that too many people dream of being famous. Not that this is a bad thing, but even I have to admit that reality TV makes anyone and everyone look bad in some way. Like, I was watching this show called Four Weddings before, and there was voice over who kept making snide remarks about what each person said when they had their “private cam time”. Not sure if that sounded dirty.

Meh meh. I wish to go for a walk. It is 11.56pm, and I’m worried that I might end up freaking myself out like I did last time by thinking about that Lucky guy who came to my school and taught us about some self defence and how to look after ourselves. I’m guessing midnight walking isn’t the smartest idea. But the kick! The adrenalin rush! The freedom of the holidays slipping ever so gently from my finger tips into the fresh night air!

Yeah, so. I watch reality television and I’m not proud of it, but I do love it.

One thing I am proud of, though, is how I danced in public this afternoon at the traffic lights in my suburb to Britney’s Toxic. I think the act speaks for itself. I’m hardcore.