hello.

on advice not taken

2012-01-09T23:23:00.001+11:00

So mum said to me, "whatever you do, don't do anything stupid".

Pretty wise advice really. She could have said anything like, "whatever you do, don't cartwheel to work".

So, on the last day of 2011, straddling the end and the beginning in the wrong underwear, I got a tattoo.

Well, my friends and I got a tattoo. Occasionally, I look down at my wrist and think to myself, "we should have probably thought about this". But mostly, I thank my favourite planet Saturn that I am one ridiculously fortunate girl to have my friends.

2011-12-29T20:33:00.001+11:00

everytime i look at you now, my heart breaks.
i want you.
i don't want you.
i want everything.
and i know that this is not possible.
maybe time will pass and this will have been a horrible dream.
one in which i was the villain who broke two hearts.
one in which i want to hug you.
and kiss you.
and lay with you.
but you're the only person in the world that i can't do that with.
and i'm the only person in the world you don't want to do that with.
i want to say sorry in every language that i know.
the only problem is, sorry, in every language that i know is not enough.
even if i was linguistically gifted and i knew how to say sorry in more than one language, it would not be enough.
maybe i will find myself in your arms.
laughing at my stupidity.
maybe i won't.
i've loved you forever.
and i wish i could just undo this last month.
rewind back to that moment in which i started to question the only thing i have known these last few years.
that you are the love of my life.
that one day i will see a child - half you - half me
and that child will call me mum
and call you dad
and we will embarrass that child
and love that child
and teach that child that it is possible to have a forever kind of love
that one day i will see you waiting for me at the altar.
i hate me right now.
because i love you so much and i never wanted to hurt you.
i never want to hurt you.
home was you.
and here i sit alone hoping you're okay.
waiting for my takeaway food hoping that we get past this
and that one day, at the very least, you and i can have a coffee
and smile and make awkward jokes
it feels like a waste of love
but i know that if i lose you after this, that i probably never deserved to have your love
i'm sorry
i love you

festive

2011-12-17T17:10:00.001+11:00

everything is a mess.

my hair needs a cut.

i need to think before i speak.

broken promises

2011-11-24T18:10:00.001+11:00

somewhere out there is a dream of mine sticking up its rude finger at me for treating it like a booty call to keep me warm at night when the ceiling was the limit and i couldn't afford a plane ticket.

storms

2011-11-09T19:46:00.006+11:00

Today in Melbourne, everyone waited for the storm. At about 4PM, we stared out of our office window, looked inquisitively at one another between emails of cute baby animals and asked, "where is it?"

I didn't see much of the storm. I was home half an hour after work ended. I looked out through the window and watched thick grey clouds replace the blue ones I had stared out only minutes before. I watched rain and strong winds. I sat still and dreamed between TV ads and discussions of a perfect dinner.

I remember years spent thinking that this time next year, I will not be in Melbourne. Whether it was Sydney or overseas, I thought, I have to leave someday. It's not that I don't love Melbourne. I love this city. It is still one of my favourite cities in the world. I love its bars and its streets; I love the markets and the amazing food we have here; I love it because it is and will always be home.

So many times these plans were interrupted by new jobs, bills, a sudden upheaval of everything I wanted to leave behind... just life itself.

But this time next year, I will not be staring out into this city. I won't be joining in the chorus of "that's Melbourne weather for you". I will likely miss the coffee. I will definitely miss my friends and family.

We leave in April.

Finally!

2011-11-03T22:49:00.005+11:00

In March I wrote:

Somewhere between monotony and my fingers suffering from an amnesiac reaction to holding a pen and scribbling words, I stumbled upon "the block". Not the Channel 9 reality TV show that pits glamorous couples against token couples of various minority types but the other block. I find myself sipping instant coffee behind a cliched wall where my words and thoughts are limited to shallow introspection. Sometimes I think that I want to be an astrophysicist sporting an accent and a hairstyle resembling that of a mop. Other times, I simply accept that I wear my hair up in a bun nearly everyday and forget to cut my hair every year. I sometimes think about ants and wonder what it's like to be so small and easy to squash. But really, beyond such deep thoughts, I soak myself in sarcasm and watch clever movies in the hope that they inspire the story out of me. It is so repetitive that I want to kill it. And I have. What I am left with though is this hollow expression and migraine pitted against a propensity for drama.

Soon, we buy a one way ticket overseas. (Edit: And I'm excited).

A little break from the clutter

2011-08-23T20:55:00.002+10:00

Spending some time at my dad's house getting value out of his utility bills and making sure that the cats don't starve. It's been strange playing house. Mostly I have reveled in the fact that the kitchen is clean and in celebration, I have been eating one meal every hour.

I even baked.

I always thought that living alone suited me. Somehow, my cluttered mind can't quite coexist with a cluttered space for too long. To counteract this problem, I normally find myself cleaning the space around me because it seems to be the easier option. But to be able to sit and allow my mind to fill the clutter, rather than the clutter to fill my mind, has been a holiday of sorts.

I have been dreaming of rainbows.

I don't write very much anymore. I do think about this often but it seems that I have forgotten words - how to construct them, how to use them, what they mean, where they belong or what to with them when I find them. The speed-dating business I had set up for words and the exploitation of their seemingly natural desire to be in each other's presence has gone bankrupt.

I am no longer a pimp.

This desire now sits in a void. A long forgotten memory of teenage angst and immature musings. I once emptied my clutter on blank pages. Diaries upon diaries, both virtual, real and imagined of collected emotions. I still read them and sometimes, I lose myself in that girl.

It seems inevitable that any given time we might only know ourselves in retrospect and in desires.

No expiry

2011-07-12T21:08:00.002+10:00

Stuck between a pipe dream and a pipe. I'm not much of a plumber. I'm also very bad at pun.

long weekends

2011-06-13T21:18:00.005+10:00

long weekends once demanded hangovers and regret.
this long weekend asked only for peace.
today, mum came over and we ate lunch together.
the cat also had two servings of seafood. and sat in a box of dirt.
this along with some much needed cleaning and celebrity sightings at my local grocery store made the last day of this long weekend perfect.

the weekend also include a disappointing result at the hawks and geelong game.
this was followed by a night out which resulted in a mild hangover.

this hangover was further pained by a day in which i witnessed the most horrific car accident i have ever seen.
my work alter-ego is only aware of car accidents in words and dissections of liability and duty of care, contributory negligence and other such terms that neglect the human.
i never actually see a car air-borne.
my first thought does not usually begin with, there's a dead person in there.
you just never actually see things like that happen two metres away from you.
it was awful.
three hours later, after another football game we step out of a pub and hear another crash.
we think that there is no way another accident has happened.
but you hear the unmistakable sound of an airbag going off.
and feel panic.
moments later, our friend, standing in the middle of the road with his bike to check if they are okay is swiped by a car, jumping out in time to save his body.
a few inches decided whether he survived.
his bike has been deposited on the side of the road but it was a day where the surreal suddenly became so real.
and we all went home.
a bit shaken and minds cluttered by encounters with mortality.

so today, all i wanted was peace.
a moment just to be at home with people i love to whinge about something trivial like a dirty stove and be happy.

the irony

2011-06-01T21:08:00.009+10:00

does punctuation reflect your personality? for example, i tend to write short sentences and hardly, if ever, use exclamation marks. in everyday life, i rarely yell and use my words sparingly in situations you might compare to a blank page. (ie. so much silence waiting to be filled. some people choose to fill this with mindless blabber. or unnecessary exclamation marks. i say things like, "coffee makes my left eye hurt" which is no better than the aforementioned, just shorter and lacking of excitement). sometimes i flirt with rebellion - like today - i have broken the age old rule of using capital letters. i'm usually anal to the point that even the most simple emails or text messages are rearranged and edited until all words deserving of a capital letter are honoured with a capital letter. sometimes though, i morph into the mindless babbler i seem to have distanced myself from two sentences and one bracket ago. kind of like the way this post is forming now. the real issue here though is this: some people fill their written communication with misspelled words, nonsense abbreviations and an abundance of exclamation marks. sometimes this bothers me. i don't mind the exclamation mark. contrary to the anti-exclamation-mark tone thus far, it is actually a very lovely and vital addition to the punctuation family; a family i have shown very little respect for in this post. for example, the humble comma. oft mistaken for a full-stop in bad handwriting, sometimes placed uncomfortably in the wrong place or omitted completely. oh woe! there was a time though when i TyPeD LyK tHiS and greeted people with "sup wat r u up 2 2day want 2 meet up?" i don't know when this became an issue i felt the need to analyse in an obscenely long paragraph. all i know is this: the comma needs a hug.

2011-05-26T22:08:00.001+10:00

there was a time in the not so distant past in which things appeared more simple. and yet having looked at the not so distant present, i am unsure what is so complicated.

memories, blu-tac and fireplaces

2011-05-12T20:55:00.001+10:00

lots of soup lately.
and fires in the loungeroom.
it's beautiful.
in this quiet sadness, the burning brings distraction.

Rainbow coloured fantasies; black and white spectacles

2011-05-10T20:30:00.004+10:00

Sometimes I think to myself that one day, I am going to do something exciting. And on that day, I will start a new blog.

I'm not sure what that exciting thing will be. The Boy has plans to learn how to build a boat. I have plans for living overseas. We both dream of living on an island and we think that perhaps, if we were to build a sandwich consisting of a slice of his dream, with a slice of my dream and the crazy things that happen squashed in between, this might happen.

One day.

Maybe.

But on that day, I am unlikely to have internet access. Nor will I be able to express my emotions adequately enough to warrant my reappearance on the internet. Starting a new blog will probably not be so high on my priorities. And, what's so bad about autumn in Melbourne anyway?

Once, I got off the train to visit my friends. While I waited for them to pick me up, I stared up at the clouds.

I realised that there is nothing wrong with living in the clouds. Besides gravity and my general lack of superhuman capabilities, I would probably attempt to actually live there. However, the ground is not so bad.

And I am partial to home-made soups on cold days in a house lacking a functional heater.

The thing about drunken blogging is...

2011-05-07T01:29:00.002+10:00

Even though your consciousness is below par, there is a level of ...
Memory loss
There is a word I wish to say but can't think of said word...

What I am trying to say is that drunk or sober, inspired or insipid, telling the truth is never very truthful. The truth is often disturbing, even to yourself. To admit the strangest thoughts or the most prolific signifier of insanity or psychosis would be damaging. Simply put, sometimes, you can hurt yourself with the truth.

I am drunk, yes.

Obsessive compulsive also.

Obsessive when it comes to things that will be viewed by the world wide web. When it is for the eyes of one person only, I rely entirely on predictive text to express my sentiments. This in the blur of drunken shenanigans is not always great.

So, what I am trying to say is this...

I will forget I blogged today because I am half asleep.

When I remember I shall delete this post.

Essentially I am pissed off that nobody is awake to talk to me so here I am talking to myself.

My feet smell like my shoes and my right ear is ringing.

Wishing I didn't need pants

2011-04-12T20:23:00.001+10:00

There is a hole in my one and only corporate-style pants. This hole was created after falling off a footpath onto the road because I am the type of person who should not wear heels. This happened over two years ago and yet here I am, 9 months into a new job, wearing the same pants and pretending the hole is new.

Behinds on my mind since the onset of this never-ending flu

2011-04-06T21:46:00.002+10:00

I wish I had a voice like that man who does all the voice-overs for movie previews. That way, when things would get awkward in a conversation, I could just break out into Sir Mix A Lot's "Baby Got Back".

All I want for Christmas

2011-04-01T19:08:00.003+11:00

...is the perfect soup.

Extension of a facebook status update... things I learned after a few days sick in bed

2011-03-29T23:14:00.003+11:00

1. Joseph Gordon Levitt singing "Here comes your man" in 500 Days of Summer is hot.

2. It is very difficult to keep eye contact with a pharmacist when your nose is running and he is telling you to use extra protection when having sex because of your medication.

3. I deleted number 3 and now I have nothing to put in its absence

4. I have developed a new habit of researching anything I have been prescribed in case my doctor failed to tell me something about my condition. A trusted branch off my hypochondriac tree.

5. I like chicken soup but can't seem to make it like my mum did.

6. My voice appears calmer when I'm sick. But it does not sound sexy.

7. I like big butts.

8. I have strange dreams about jumping out of airplanes into a camp with a toilet made of sand.

9. My boyfriend makes great soup.

10. I have an intense fear of a sneeze being followed by a giant snot bubble explosion. It happened in the privacy of my room. I am now afraid this will happen in public.

Between dreams

2011-03-21T23:02:00.002+11:00

I have typed the opening sentence to this entry three times. I have filled the space below with paragraphs of varying degrees of substance and shape. Some were anxious to impress but delivered nothing, others, short and bitter. I will not pretend to have anything to say.

I wake up before my alarm so I don't have to press snooze. It just so happens that I awake at the same time that my original alarm had been set and I find myself wondering why I did not wake up in the first place.

Then, I find myself on the tram. The playlist on my iPod has remained unchanged for a few months and even though I opt to have my playlist on shuffle, I find myself skipping through two, three and sometimes even ten songs until I get to the same song that I have been listening to for the past week.

Recently it has been Date With Ikea.

I want to stay but my time is wasting

Magic lands call my name

They want to fire a missile launcher

But I know I need so stay

At work, I scrub my coffee mug and then fill it with the machine version of mochacinno. I always think that I should really buy my coffee from downstairs, read the paper and eat banana bread but I prefer to start work early because I like those first fifteen minutes in which I am not obliged to do anything.

On the way home, the same old conversation about the same old is uttered. The same old for me may not be the same old for them but we both know that in this conversation the same old is not said with affection. And it's a comfortable chuckle shared.

At home, the cat has found the only spot in the living room that the sun has managed to reach. It smells of garlic, smoke and smelly feet and looks like the remains of a party that has been going for two years. A party that has quietened but never ended.

I find potholes and diversions in the paved path to monotony. There is still a dreamer left here. This too had been a dream once.

Three in the afternoon and I haven't showered

2011-02-19T15:02:00.003+11:00

First weekend back since our fling with Asia. And it's harder to settle back this time.

I want to go on a long drive. I want cassette tapes and red wine and seafood waiting for us at a beach house. I want a little Lou and a little Bob, a little Dinasour and a little Van. A little Leonard. I want a little bit of everything on those cassette tapes on that long drive.

I want my own jazz bar.

I want a record player and Thai vinyl that dates back to the 60s and 70s. I want Thai whisky. I want to be taught Thai by the woman who runs a bar on the street and the woman with the noodle stall. And I want to wake up in the morning and paddle board at sunrise on an island somewhere in the Philippines.

I want to live on the beach.

I got what I wanted. And now I want it all the bloody time.

Suits for birthdays

2010-11-23T00:10:00.004+11:00

I went into the shower and forgot to bring a towel. Because I share a house of five whereby only one person has been graced with my fleshy bits and pieces, I had two choices:

1. To run out of the bathroom naked and hope nobody happens to be trawling the hallway
2. Forgo the process of drying myself before putting on my clothes.

I, of course, opted for the latter. Namely because, I just don't run around naked very much. And also because, I just don't run around naked very much.

Amidst this multiple-choice-style dilemma, I did get to thinking about the kind of conversation you would have with someone who you never intended to show your naked self to. I, being an awkward being when fully clothed, would likely be a level of awkward I would not even recognise.

I might begin with a mumbled, "uh... hey" and then probably stand around longer than I should explaining why I was naked in the hallway. Maybe I might shed all of my awkward charm and grace and hold a conversation quite well. Maybe, I may just be socially functional in my nakedness.

But, it's all very much a question of what if. What if I was the kind of person who just ran around naked around houses, streets, public events and polling booths? I may get arrested more often but I might be able to hold a conversation and be rather delightful. Oh what if.

in all the strangest places

2010-10-04T21:59:00.004+11:00

i won't lie to you. i fancy romance. sometimes it is reduced to walking on the beach at moonlight with nobody else around, only you and the boy and that creepy guy who seems to keep appearing from behind bushes. but sometimes, it surprises. such as when you find yourself sitting in front of the fireplace you have just transformed into a makeshift barbeque to grill fish and squid on. or when your other buys a book they think you will love and it turns out to be a "sexy pictures join-the-dots book". i won't lie to you, the latter is not true however, that book actually exists in an op shop on clarendon street. and the previous owner did join some dots. and if you love pencils as much as i do, it was sexy.

Control... alt...

2010-09-24T22:41:00.006+10:00

One of the best feelings was stepping on a plane not knowing what was ahead. We arrived in Penang after celebrating my 25th birthday by spending 12 hours at Singapore airport. The moment we stepped out of the airport and a wave of humidity immediately slapped me in the face as if to say "welcome bitch!", I realised this was the beginning of the best time of my life.

(I like deleting posts inspired by a bad mood and replacing them with recollections of good days that were once a dream, now a memory. It just reminds me that it can be done, whatever it may be).

standard blah

2010-09-23T09:36:00.003+10:00

i find myself completely aware of my current indifference towards life. this fact alone would normally drive me to panic. but, driven by necessity and a desire to fill days I once valued for their potential with the mundane, the cynical, the circular monotony of nine to five, i have given in to the fact that this is life. (for now).

i look around the room and the clutter is an ever-lingering reminder of what i have deemed worthwhile collecting, keeping and saving for that one day where i feel the need to dress like a tribal chief. clothes, books, records, paintings, postcards and a passport photo of matt looking down on me from a mantelpiece that holds a small dali replica and an aboriginal painting of a turtle i bought matt from sydney. because he likes turtles. there's also a shrek figurine.

and this clutter, once a reflection of my mind, now juxtaposes the silence. it's not peace or contentment but rather a quiet insanity. i have assured myself this is not forever. recently i have wished that i had ambitions to be an accountant or a businesswoman or a ceo. because i thought if this was the case, i would not be so distracted by a sudden desire to draw aliens. but instead i have wanted to be a writer who moonlights as a forensic psychologist occasionally lending myself to social work while traveling frequently. i wanted picnics on the beach and maybe raising children somewhere on a tropical island where i will spend my life teaching and riding a motorcycle, where i could pick bananas from the tree in my front yard.

it's the exhaustion of wanting so much and doing so little that may have caused my mind to default to its current state of blankness. and it won't be long until the quiet insanity is transformed into vulgar and obscene outbursts but until then, i just listen to music very loud.

Staring out of the window watching the sky imitate grapefruits and sherbet

2010-08-22T17:46:00.002+10:00

I would walk to the pier and read a book but I ordered calamari rings and carbonara. And this is the paradox of a Sunday afternoon marred by a hangover.

It was strange

2010-08-16T22:48:00.001+10:00

A couple of weeks ago, the cat bit my chin.

when i was young, i sat on an ant's nest and got myself stuck under a couch

2010-05-23T21:19:00.003+10:00

i wish i had a beard to groom and clip and stroke thoughtfully when asked a question.
i wish that doors didn't open and smack me in the face.
i wish that i did not trip over remote controls.
i wish that i did not stop the momentum of an opening cupboard door with my bony knees.
i wish that i did not find novel and impossible ways to injure, cut and bruise myself.
but most of all i wish i had a beard.

Don't know how to say goodbye

2010-05-12T14:54:00.004+10:00

I received an email from an English teaching job I applied for in Korea and I was filled with excitement. The kind of excitement you feel when you don't know what you're getting yourself into and your emotions lay somewhere between "holy shit" and "hell yeah". It suddenly became apparent that this little household, this little family and this little life of mine has been amazing. And now I want to leave it behind for the sake of the unknown and kimchi?

It's autumn in Melbourne and although the sun is out, the cold makes my fingers feel irrelevant.

Floating

2010-04-28T13:42:00.002+10:00

Floating between emotions and jobs. Early mornings; late nights; an all sorts existence.

3 AM and reminiscing about days when my uni still wanted me

2010-03-23T03:03:00.005+11:00

Recently, my ego was having a particularly bad day. I had woken up that morning, surveyed my reflection in the mirror and marveled at my resemblance to a gummy bear. Sure they're cute and tasty but would you bring them to a bar, introduce them to your friends and give yourself a high five for scoring a nice piece of ass? Come to think of it, I would actually like to take a Gummy Bear out for dinner.

Anyway, on this particular day, I decided to cure my wounded self-esteem by buying myself McDonald's for lunch. Besides feeling bloated, smelling like cooking oil and sporting a lovely stain of tomato sauce, I felt I had not only worsened my appearance, I may have also wounded my insides.

As I waited for a tram, headphones firmly in place to ward off any social advances, a topless (and drunk) man approached me and said, "you are so beautiful". He gave me a thumbs up and then wandered away. Sure, it was a compliment from a stranger whose vision was impaired by whatever inspired him to drink that night but this random compliment did make this girl very happy.

Last year when I was studying, we learned about this concept of "Positive Psychology". It purports that over time, psychology has been preoccupied with mental illness as opposed to mental health. Its aim therefore was to measure people's strength and encourage them to focus on these strengths rather than their weaknesses. In doing so, an improvement would also occur in other aspects of life thereby contributing to better mental health. It might read like obvious-airy-fairy-bullshit-dressed-in-academic-jargon but the intention was good, they did not disregard conventional psychology and the main assignment did prove to be interesting. We were to test out the way in which helping others might have a positive effect on our well-being and were instructed to keep a diary. One mini-experiment I did involved giving people more than they asked for so that when a man approached me asking for a dollar for a train ticket, I gave him five. Not very much money at all but the shock on his face equalled the happiness I felt when I saw him buy bread from the bakery.

The point is, doing things for others can sometimes take the focus away from yourself. Spend enough time inside your mind indulging in your own vanity and the rest of the world might become blurred and the trivial events in life might appear bigger than they actually are. This is not to say that a person should completely forget about themselves either because it is just as detrimental to lose yourself in this quest to put everyone else first. As with everything else, balance may be the key.

Happiness lately has been about appreciating little things. I am still a spoiled bitch whose insecurities give her an excuse to be sarcastic far too much but even though we are still very poor and living pay to pay and even though I am missing my family and missing my friends, I have this amazing arrangement whereby the boy I like wakes up next to me everyday and the people (and the cat) I live with have become another kind of family. Our house is a mess but there's always booze and loud conversation. I am so incredibly lucky.

And as cute as a tasty gummy confectionary shaped like a bear.

Sunny days. All good.

2010-03-21T21:00:00.005+11:00

Our room is currently in a state so embarrassing that a friend described the air in there as "thick". This blurry picture is the first thing I see upon escaping the dirt that is our room.

Today, it was the Thai Festival at Fed Square. The sky alternated between sunny and overcast. But once again Melbourne, a fine, fine day.

My best friend's boyfriend is a Muay Thai boxer. It's brutal.

We tried to find shade but Fed Square makes this pretty hard. We did however get the opportunity to see some of the fighter's practice before a match. Still brutal.

I know I promise this a lot but one of these days I promise to post something worthwhile here. All in all though, life is pretty grand. It took seeing a doctor to confirm that I am a hypochondriac to realise the power of thought. And ever since then, I have been craving rainbow flavoured ice-cream.

Giggles

2010-03-18T23:23:00.002+11:00

Been laughing lots lately. And the weirdest thing is that I have been laughing at absolutely nothing. I tried to read a passage out in class and ended up in a fit of immature giggles. I actually had to stop and say "sorry".

Tomorrow night we see a friend play in his band. They will be amazing. Also, tomorrow is my first proper paycheck since we arrived home. I plan to buy watermelon. Lots and lots of watermelon.

Not sure what to call this...? Garbage perhaps.

2010-03-15T21:16:00.005+11:00

I suspect that things are only going to get better and that I will continue to get older.

Starting a new job proves to be a strange social experiment. Recruitment decisions are sometimes made on the basis of individual characteristics and how they may fit into existing (or an imagined) group dynamic. So far, this new job has added another dimension to my life; one which is strangely familiar and comparable to my old job because of the ease at which we transitioned from strangers to chums and also unfamiliar because I do not know any of these people. And it just reminds me of how small the world can get when you are not forced out of your cosy shell. For someone who sees herself as introverted, it's surprising that I thrive in environments where everyone is a stranger and I have nobody to rely on with or without alcohol. The point is, work has been good.

Analysis of the day done, in other news: avocados are so expensive at the moment.

The world according to my phone

2010-03-10T11:35:00.008+11:00

Pony with one blue eye and one brown eye. We named him Bowie.

Anniversary meal. Fried white bait stabs the insides of your mouth but compensates by being salty enough to stab you in the heart.

Got to work early so I took a photo of Flinders Street Station.
Camp: this is how our camp at Golden Plains looked like at the beginning. After two days of non-stop rain, it became a muddy concoction of empty beer cans and dirt-soaked socks.

Nostalgia

2010-03-05T13:40:00.003+11:00

Boracay, Philippines

Angkor Wat, Cambodia

Ao Nang, Thailand

Dear Asia, thank you. Dear Mastercard, you're welcome.

Doctor says I'm healthy but...

2010-03-05T13:32:00.001+11:00

I've been laughing at the word aardvark all day.

The poo diaries

2010-03-04T23:46:00.003+11:00

Boyfriend, Housemates and I are off to Golden Plains for the weekend. In celebration of good stuff, boyfriend turns to me and says "I'm gonna try and take a big dump on Saturday morning so that I won't need to go for the whole weekend".

first day at work

2010-03-01T11:18:00.002+11:00

I don't start till 3PM. I tried to find the place on a map but it doesn't seem to exist - this concerns me a little bit. But only a little bit.

Biting off all that I can chew

2010-02-26T09:15:00.002+11:00

After at least two years of trying to justify my fear of seeing a doctor, I have finally booked myself in to get checked out. Finally.

In other news, it's been two weeks since we arrived home and while I have yet to unpack, I am already planning our next trip overseas.

Craving inspiration.

2010-02-25T15:42:00.006+11:00

It's been a while since I've been able to sit down and write. And by write, I don't mean pulling my thoughts out of my head and then haphazardly splashing them across the screen. I mean, write. And I don't know how to define that.

It's also been a while since I've known what I wanted to do in this life. Not since I was in Year 8 have I been absolutely certain of what I wanted to do (i.e., marry Taylor Hanson). I tried on every dream but I just gave up. Uni and a lack of any kind of motivation is like putting a Jack in a Box, eventually the stupid thing just goes nuts and jumps out.

I'm craving inspiration. I find them in music, photographs, movies, art, sunsets, cities, beaches and people but never in myself. And that's what scares me.

Skin and bones

2010-02-24T22:47:00.003+11:00

The problem with being a hypochondriac is the obsession you develop with self-diagnosis via the internet. I've diagnosed myself with a number of ailments and conditions of late and while the whole problem could be solved by going to the doctor to get checked out, I also have a mild phobia of seeing doctors.

Employed!

2010-02-23T16:27:00.000+11:00

Sigh of relief

Looking up

2010-02-20T15:26:00.003+11:00

... sometimes when the TV gets annoying, I just look up at the ceiling in my living room and realise, I love high ceilings. It's great to look up sometimes.

... had a delayed birthday breakfast with friends. It had all the loveliness of a champagne breakfast except without the champagne.

... it's 32C in Melbourne at the moment. I sent my mum a text and told her I was sitting in darkness. She got worried and told me to go to her place. I called her and told her I pulled the blinds down to keep the sun out. I laughed but she didn't.

... tomorrow I have lunch with my dad and Matt. Matt's jokes have slowly evolved into Dad jokes. When we lunch together, I feel outnumbered.

... currently watching a documentary. I've heard the word breast over five times in the last minute.

Arrrgggghhhhhhhh

2010-02-19T10:33:00.003+11:00

Unemployment feels like waking up in the morning and finding your face planted in your own vomit; the vomit you unknowingly produced in your sleep (true story: Hotel Cara, Phnom Penh Cambodia. Scary shit).

All the wailings of a 25 year old so called "dreamer" seems so irrelevant and naive now that meals consist of carrot and potato cooked in ready made chicken stock, Mi Goreng noodles and frozen dim sims (true story: my life now). The relief I felt after handing in my resignation has long evaporated and all I see now is a less than favourable bank balance.

But...

I had the time of my life.

And I don't mind the freedom to think about all the things I could do and might do after I have money again. I'm thinking yoga and some volunteer work, maybe I start writing a bit more again and learn how to make creme brulee. Maybe, I actually finish something I start and just maybe, I learn how to speak another language. I thought Chinese but maybe I learn how to speak Polish or something.

Anything really.

Today, tomorrow and Sunday is going to be excessively hot. Living near the beach means today and the next couple of days will be somewhat awesome. In a couple of weeks I go to Golden Plains where Pavement will play and life will be grand. I have had one interview and will have another on Monday.

All in all though, the first sentence of this entry should really be discarded. Things are not that bad. Besides, there's nothing wrong with Mi Goreng

Ergh

2009-11-24T11:39:00.004+11:00

I don't have a twitter account but these bite-sized posts of late may suggest I am succumbing to its influence.

Justification

2009-11-18T00:04:00.003+11:00

I left my job and in two weeks I leave this country for two months. When I return I will wonder what to do, where I want to be that day, the day after and the day after that. It's not so much indirection but rather indecision. I am happy.

I would like to invest in a new lamp

2009-11-08T16:24:00.001+11:00

Housemates and Boyfriend have walked off to the beach to play cricket and frolic in the water and get sand in their toes. I am there in spirit only for I left my good health at the bar last night when I asked for a beer.

I shouldn't but I do...

2009-08-26T17:23:00.002+10:00

I just made some dinner and I smell like garlic. I shouldn't like this but I do.

In other news, one of my best friends is now a proud mum of a beautiful little boy which makes us girls proud aunties. Aw... our first baby :) I doubt I have ever inserted an emoticon in one of my posts but that is the best I could do.

In other unrelated news, three months until we jet off to eat our way through Asia for two months. I am excited and I am also hoping to resurrect this blog.

Adios.

Friday night alone waiting for my family sized pizza

2009-07-31T21:31:00.003+10:00

I'm trying this blog out for size. I'm waiting for my pizza to arrive. So hungry.

P.S.

2009-03-27T01:12:00.003+11:00

I may have had a red wine or three
It's 1AM and tomorrow is Friday
I'm slightly frustrated at having a credit card, no sense of responsibility, the urge to buy a ticket to Asia and a boyfriend who tells me I should save for our bigger trip
I am brilliant, I just don't know it yet. Or maybe I know it but I'm just not brilliant
I'm joking. I'm always joking

Except for the red wine part - in fact, I'm a little bit tipsy right now which means I might be able to spell but might be VERY incoherent and giggly.

It's a good thing giggles don't translate on screen.

Stranger things have happened

2009-03-27T00:55:00.004+11:00

Cows don't say moo, they just moo.

I'm not sure where this sudden urge to write an entry came from but I have been trawling through old emails and realised after a few years of blogging that there are people in the world who have peeked into the window of the often irrelevant events in my life and I might never meet them.

To think that you can be the most honest to people you might never meet and to think that some things you trust to a faceless world is greater than that which you trust to the people you face everyday is to know, perhaps personal, journal style blogging has become what it is because perhaps, above all things most people just want to be heard.

today

2009-02-11T09:25:00.001+11:00

Words just won't do.

2009-02-04T14:29:00.002+11:00

Today, memory lane arrived in an envelope. I opened the letter from Monash expecting it to be filled with details of the giant debt I was rapidly accumulating but instead, there she was, 18 year old Krystle in black and white telling me I was eligible for a concession card.

I laughed. Mostly because 18-year-old Krystle looked so little. And I remember purposely choosing an outfit that made me look as though I did not agonise over my outfit choice that day. Irony in a vain little package.

On national pride and being a closet geek for the Philippines

2009-01-28T12:23:00.002+11:00

The other day Matt turned to me and said, you are so Filipino

Though a part of me was contemplating calling on my old friend sarcasm to reply, I reflexively nodded my head for it seems, I am constantly trying to show Matt how much I love the Philippines. I'm not really sure why. I mean sure the place is made up of over 7,000 islands and the food is great and the food is cheap and the people are lovely and I was born there but I left this country nearly 16 years ago which means I have spent twice as long in Melbourne as I did in the Philippines...

...so I guess the question buried beneath the verbal diarrhoea is, why am I not over it?

On the value of friend time

2009-01-08T09:52:00.002+11:00

A couple of friends and I sat on Carlisle Street eating burgers and laughing so much, tears were coming out of our eyes. We saw a lady with the saggiest boobs known to boob-kind, a pigeon lady known to all pigeons in the area, experienced an awkward moment with one of many dog-walkers roaming Carlisle Street and then a couple of hours later we found ourselves at Jam Factory watching Marley and Me and sobbing. Sobbing to the point that we waited until the cinema was empty before sneaking out. My eyes were red but I was happy.

It was a great day overall.

Listen kids and block your ears

2009-01-03T10:12:00.003+11:00

The grown ups always tell you that it - and by it, they mean time and by time they mean years - just go faster.

Every year just passes you by like a joke, a joke that everyone else in the party seems to get except you so you laugh, just laugh along and pretend to get the joke because it seemed like the right thing to do at the time and then someone else comes into the conversation, sits beside you and asks, asks you what the joke was and you say, you just say I don't know, I didn't get it and then you become the joke, the joke of the party.

So it's 2009.

I remember being at school and the confusion I experienced at the start of every year whenever I had to write the date at the top of the page. "Oh!" I would say oh so dramatically, "it's 2001 now, not 2000. Geez time goes fast".

Nowadays, I don't need to write the date at the top of every page. Nowadays, I forget what day or month or year it is. When I was still 23 turning 24, I was telling everybody I was 24 turning 25. Now I tell people I'm 22 out of sheer confusion.

I haven't reached the stage of age-denial yet, sometimes, I just forget.

So it's 2009.

The last days of 2008 were spent sick in bed with my curly-haired-bed-friend. We were both rolling around, not celebrating the end of the year with mind-boggling, floor shattering, wall-hanging-falling sex but rather, by scattering tissues all over the bed, throwing the blanket on the floor when it got too hot and then yelling at each other because one of us would still be cold. We were coughing like unfit dogs and sneezing into each other's hair. It was not nice.

But, we did manage to join some of Melbourne and our housemates in a Fitzroy bar; we did manage to countdown and then kiss at midnight which was a first for us. Last year my curly-haired-bed-friend ran off to the mountains while I caught a cab to suburbia. This year, we started the year together and it was as romantic as we would ever get about romance.

So it's 2009.

Here's to a good one.

2008-11-22T14:43:00.002+11:00

my blogger profile says i'm 22.
i am turning 24 in less than two weeks.
an update is necessary i think.
however, i am off for some japanese food.
and...
it's raining in melbourne

okay so maybe i don't know anymore

2008-11-05T13:35:00.001+11:00

last week..

2008-10-23T10:53:00.003+11:00

tuesday boyfriend tells me he is applying for asio
congratulations i say
and then i realise our one year trip through asia will be cancelled.

damn

wednesday i come home and boyfriend tells me we have been given notice

out of the mansion by january 11

damn

thursday we apply for another mansion

we get rejected

damn

friday i fly to sydney for a company award night

i dress up as a native american indian

i drink free wine

i arrive in my hotel room at 4:00am and call boyfriend and ask him to come to sydney

he says no

damn

saturday i fly home and nearly throw up

at night we go fishing

we catch nothing

damn

sunday we go to movida on a triple date

10 course tapa meal

sardine on crisp bread with tomato sorbet

scallops and some whipped up potato

other fancy stuff

four bottles of wine between six and an impressive bill later...

we go to stevie wonder

A - MA - ZING.

laying in bed at 10:00am

2008-10-11T10:00:00.001+11:00

i have made a career out of doing things i don't like.

this is the most disappointing of all my failures.

sometimes a list will (not) suffice

2008-09-29T22:07:00.005+10:00

i don't know why i put the word not in brackets.
i moved out of home months ago and am now currently residing in a mansion that dates back to 1913. it has eight bedrooms, a dark room, two kitchens and a lot of junk. i share a giant room with a dude named matt. he's not bad for a guy with curly hair.
i still work in insurance and i marvel at my record of wanting to leave a job three months in only to stay for another year.
insurance work is like sitting at your desk holding a fart in.
i quit uni. again.
it has now been concluded that my most reliable characteristic is my unreliability.
my mum and dad divorced.
then one glorious wednesday, my mum called me to tell me she converted and was married.
wednesday is my day off.
last weekend hawthorn won the grand final and today, as i crossed flinders street i saw a giant little light fixture thing above a pub that was brown and gold congratulating a very happy team at hawthorn.
i had a dopey smile on my face
and i'm pretty sure it is impossible for a giant little light fixture to exist. isn't that like saying a tiny fat guy?
next year i will travel through asia with a dude named matt. he's not bad for a guy who owns pink shorts.
and so that is irrelevance condensed and bulleted.

What to do when soap operas land on your doorstep

2008-08-02T09:19:00.003+10:00

I spent most of the week complaining about the state of our bedroom so when my precious day off arrived, I armed myself with determination and summoned all powers of my anal retentiveness and cleaned until the room made me want to relax, not throw myself into the fireplace.

And so, I had plans for grocery shopping and all was good and well until my mum called me.

It begun with an apology and ended with "today, I got married".

All I want this new business year is..

2008-07-13T22:03:00.001+10:00

A typewriter to write stories with. A typewriter to make tap-tap-tap-ting sounds with. A typewriter. And a nice pair of jeans

(This was written last Monday. Hawthorn has not lost a game yet. And Buddy is my hero)

2008-04-23T22:00:00.003+10:00

It all started one balmy afternoon in North Melbourne. Boyfriend had created another Mi-Goreng inspired dish for lunch and we were sitting in the lounge watching football. Having been a silent supporter of Hawthorn since I discovered the aesthetic wonder that was Jonathan Hay, I was never opposed to watching football; it just never made my hobbies list. That afternoon however, boyfriend and I witnessed Essendon claim an unlikely victory and from that moment on, my silent support for Hawthorn developed into something so ridiculous that the club song plays in my head before I go to sleep.

The other day, Boyfriend and I began talking about football, specifically, Boyfriend’s surprise that I was actually into it. “I thought you were just humouring me to begin with” he said. I wasn’t one to argue with this because after all, my relationship with the mighty fighting Hawks had only begun to develop into some kind of commitment when my relationship with Boyfriend began. And at the time, I stumbled around wearing infatuation goggles meaning everything around me was curiously rosy so as to render even football appealing.

And then last night, I stayed up till 1:00AM watching the Hawthorn and Adelaide game.

And now, I’m at work and I’m tired.

The point of this story is, never humour one’s boyfriend for he shall have the last laugh.

2008-03-06T12:04:00.002+11:00

cannot write now.
but will do soon.

I will message you in fifteen minutes. And Hawthorn won.

2008-02-23T23:43:00.001+11:00

“Let’s get some Nandos and a bottle of wine, sit on the grass, get drunk and go to Luna Park but maybe not in that order otherwise we might throw up”

We’re all about class.

One year of him and I. We fight – or I fight – and we talk crap and we give each other crap and we watch a lot of movies and listen to a lot of music and talk about how we met at Good Vibes and hooked up at The Belgian Beer Garden and we’ve been talking about it for a year now.

One year of him and I.

He took me on a picnic at the Botanical Gardens. It was our first date and I called him on a whim and decided we would meet under the clock at two. We had a picnic and then we got real drunk on wine and we sat in his room while he played Modest Mouse on vinyl. I told him just last night how I used to think of him as some kind of ultra-cool-dude but now I just think of him as a pretty-cool-dude who has a pretty good collection of music.

He will teach me how to be a DJ but I’m afraid I will break his decks.

I sprained my ankle on Tuesday trying to run as fast as him. Maybe we're just not meant to do things the same.

“Babe, I got you a card but I didn’t write anything in it” he said on Valentines Day.
“Nice” I replied.

In his defence though, I got him a card and wrote about how much I liked his ass.

One year of him and I.

Happy anniversary Matt.

It was probably the beginning of the end

2007-12-19T12:00:00.000+11:00

Usually, boyfriend turns on his laptop and checks the weather while I sit on the couch and absentmindedly stare at him entertaining inane girly thoughts like "oh my, he's so cute" or while I absentmindedly stare at other things like the wall entertaining inane girly thoughts like "oh my, I have so many split-ends in my hair". So one night, we were in our usual positions, him in front of the desk and I, sitting on the couch. He happened to point out that it would be a fine day tomorrow: thirty-two degrees, fine and sunny.

"Oh that sucks! I have work" I replied.

This was before summer even began so it would have been the first time that my skin would encounter so much heat as to activate my sweat-glands (more so than usual). Much like all other seasons, summer has its own distinct smell. A smell that reminds me of those days where my friends and I would meet at my house before taking the long trip by bus to the beach. We would laze about, the boys would perve and the girls would wander around self-consciously showing their bodies off. Every year summer would change. One year it was the beach everyday, the next it was barbeques, the next it would be music festival after music festival. Every year it changes and I'm not sure if it's because I love ice-cream so much or the sun has an association with happiness in my brain but summer is my favourite season.

I had to take that day off.

I called work and told them I was ill. I visited the doctor and obtained a medical certificate to corroborate my lie.

So I packed my body in a summer dress and walked to the beach holding my boyfriend's hand. We bought some ice-cream and sat on the sand playing annoying cute couple trying to put ice-cream on each other's face. Later, we headed to the pier and climbed down to a little shelter high enough so that your feet just graze the water but not quite high enough for the waves not to splash your body with reasonable force.

It was a lovely day.

Due to a lack of brain matter...

2007-12-18T23:45:00.002+11:00

In the end, it is simple; I have made everything too complicated.

Job? It’s just a job. Really. Do they care about me as an individual? I’m just another faceless consultant in the assembly line of “welcome to …” “you’re speaking with …” and “how may I help you…” (All the while mumbling expletives under breath). We’re a collection of warm-transferring, voice-recorded, customer serving, KPI-target-meeting people working in a fancy building finding an excuse to ask ourselves everyday, “why am I still here?”

Self-victimising-idiots.

When did the simple decisions become so complicated?

Job hunting since the afternoon. Job advertisements all sound the same. Like attention-seeking-whores luring in unsuspecting prey. The words “Great culture…” “great incentives…” “customer service focus” flashing in tacky neon across the screen. I just want them to be honest sometimes. I want to read “dodgy office with decaying furniture, customers who will make you want to yank your teeth out and feed them back to the classifieds for ever agreeing to send out your application”. Or maybe one that reads, “quaint bookshop in the middle of nowhere; spend the day reading and writing, selling second hand books and making coffee and cake for the occasional tourist who seems to always wander into bookstores like these”.

Asking too much.

Self-victimising-idiot.

Increasing my status as a whingeing, vulgar mole everyday but sometimes this is how I write and sometimes this is how I speak and other times, this is how I think. I am apologetic. But I am also sarcasm spread thick across a slice of verbose sourdough.

Talking too much crap.

Self-victimising-idiot.

Christmas will be a carnival filled with my extensive extended family. Christmas Eve dinner after work and meeting the boyfriend’s mother for the first time to taste some borsch and test myself. Christmas morning will be a trip to church. The first for many a month. An army of well-wishers and hope-you’re-doing-okays I suspect. Lunch with the father, dinner with the mother and boyfriend. Boxing Day is packing up, lugging an entire wardrobe to live in another house for six weeks until we find a place. We’re like a couple of urban gypsies him and I. Homelessly sheltered.

So this is my update.

Not much has changed except that I am still a self-victimising-idiot.

Twenty three

2007-12-05T23:28:00.001+11:00

Yesterday at work, they bought me a cake. I walked around the cubicles to see my team looking up at me with freakish grins on their faces and then, in hushed voices, they began to sing, Happy Birthday.

The night before at boyfriend's, we opened a pizza box. I sat down on the couch and watched as boyfriend played Stevie Wonder's "Happy Birthday" on his decks and then waited for him to kiss me.

The day before at home, I stood in front of the barbeque cooking. I sat down at the table and realised, this was one of the last times boyfriend, my friends, my dad and my mum would ever be in the same backyard.

Twenty three.

Moving out (as soon as humanly possible)

2007-11-20T10:09:00.000+11:00

I have this image of a little Christmas tree sitting in the corner, decorated inappropriately and fenced in by gifts wrapped in tacky wrapping paper. An image of a sofa bed and second-hand couches that neither match nor look charming in their inconsistencies. In some corner there is a set of turntables fenced in by a collection of records that reflect an anal-vinyl-collector. The records are not in alphabetical order but they are in order and you know, there is permission to be sought before anything in this corner can be touched. (Or even looked at). I have this image of a balcony, sunshine peeking through what little gap it can find. It's summer you see and it's hot. People like us like to close the blinds and keep the sun out; allow it to filter in only through the little gaps it can find and only when we are outside, purposely basking in it's sweltering glory. I have this image that drives hope. You see, there are only tiny remnants of home left in this house; the family portraits are fenced in the tacky wrapping paper of a home built from the hope of people who once inhabited this home; smells and sights are no longer reminiscent of home; everything is stale, even the people who continue to inhabit it are waiting for the day they escape it.

Everybody wants to leave.

I can't wait to leave but it's sad to leave a piece of yourself in a place so unsettled, so unruly, so dark. We close the blinds during summer time to keep the heat out. We turn on the cooling system and run around trying to organise a barbeque. Someone argues over how the cooling doesn't need to be on. Someone else exclaims "but it's boiling" while someone else yells about how excited they are to eat and how much they love barbeques. It's the forced silence that gets to me most these days. It's days like this that I survive on this little image I have of a little Christmas tree that sits in the corner, mismatched furniture, a turntable and a balcony. Him and me sharing this image; waiting and wanting for relief to sink in.

Mandatory freak out about time

2007-10-09T10:21:00.000+10:00

Dear October,

So you’re here already.

For some reason, your arrival scares me the most. 10 months is a long time to have passed by in a wink. Your arrival always leaves me feeling like the victim of a conspiracy. Perhaps time doesn’t even exist. Perhaps I am living in a dream whereby I can measure the quality of my life by how many days I have utilised to its full advantage. Perhaps by feeling like there is a quantitative measure of quality, I can lose the memory of every teacher’s favourite phrase “it’s about quality, not quantity” and go on living a life where October scares me because 10 is a much larger number than 1.

Perhaps is such an annoying word when repeated so many times.

So I am two months into the new job. My day begins late in the afternoon and ends early in the evening. I could not have asked for a better arrangement and that is the only problem. Suddenly I’m searching for something extra that is both meaningful and enjoyable. Once more, I am testament to the “got to have it all and never satisfied” generation I supposedly belong to. Or to the “got to have it all and never satisfied” individual that I have always been. I have a void to fill now that my days just sit between work and nothing; playing Super Mario and work; sleeping in and work; staring into space and work; breakfasting and work; work and dinner; work and movies; work and other non-work related stuff. I am reasonably satisfied.

But I feel dissatisfied because of it.

And P.S. I have officially failed both subjects this semester. But I’ve dealt with this in the best way I know how; denial and selective anterograde amnesia.

University?
I’m sorry, ever since the beginning of the semester, I have been unable to form new memories relating to that specific word.

There have been major shifts in my life. It is as though the very foundation I stand on has collapsed and left me floating on a single, floating rock that has led me to drift into alien territory where old friends mingle with new friends, family members manifest into an exceptionally functional creature with communication skills AND reason. I am also finding myself in the presence a person who has in recent days felt comfortable enough to fart in bed and follow it with “but I’ve got gas”. You can’t conjure up this sort of fantasy.

The to-do-list has recently conceived a new baby: moving out which for some reason is part of a quadruplet of saving, looking for places, (thinking about) organising a bunch of things I have never had to organise before and imagining change.

Yes October, you freak me out every year. I’d ask you to stop but I kind of enjoy it. And plus, you usually come with a little bit of sunshine. And when you don’t, I always remind myself that we need rain.

Wants dot dot dot and needs

2007-09-03T18:24:00.000+10:00

I want to lament on life altering decisions but I'm high on caffeine and I'm still uncomfortably bound in a corporate uniform that never ceases to make me feel like an imposter. I look like an absolute tosser in these clothes.

I want so much to disregard my homework and just be. Go out for dinner and untangle my limbs from the precarious position they had trapped themselves in overnight when I wake up.

I want to not think. Or at least to just get my head around new work stuff and not think about dreams of being a qualified writer. I still struggle with the idea that there is such thing as a "qualified writer".

I'm kidding myself. I'm running away and I'm not even trying.

I'm happy with most of my life but unhappy about the fact that my employment description reads "insurance". Ick. I would love for someone to ask me for a latte with two sugars. Anything to hear those words and to smile and mean it 90-percent of the time.

Anything to be able to write again. But I just can't. It's like we have broken up and I'm trying to prove that I've moved on by flaunting the new loves of my career life when in reality, I'm still not over it.

Finishing what I have finished

2007-08-09T11:41:00.001+10:00

I don't finish what I start and I don't finish what I finish. Sentences included. Blogs notably.

Yesterday I discovered that my mum -- my figure of unlimited strength -- is indeed human. She gets scared. She does. And if the past year has taught me anything, it is that my parents, just like me, feel stuff. Yes, they feel stuff. And I'm sorry. Sorry that I couldn't have been more emotionally available because if there is anything I am, it is a "gone fishing" sign. Unavailabe for an indefinite period of time; escaping reality and sitting calmly in artificial spaces of calm. I'm sorry.

A twist on a favourite bedtime story

2007-07-31T19:49:00.000+10:00

I was always one for romance.
(Talk clean to me baby, talk clean)
But the sort of romance I like
Would never make for poetry,
Or romance novels;
Romantic comedies would shun them too.
(Talk clean to me baby, talk clean)

I’m happy that I have my romance.
I’m happy right now.

There was a time when I would have a premature panic attack about how my plan has not come into fruition. I shouldn’t be broke right now but I am. I should have been driven to work at a café by now but I haven’t. Countless job interviews skipped later, I finally lugged myself to an interview at a job I actually wanted. And while I may not get the job, it has restored my belief in waiting. And waiting some more. (Or until I can’t wait)

The other day, I met a writer/actor/painter/waitress/furniture sales person/random and I found myself enthralled by the amazing passion for life she appeared to exude. Her decisions were made at whim and she encouraged me to just write. That’s all, just do it. Just travel, just do it. But after a number of beers consumed, she waged a word war with a friend of a friend, accused him of being cocky after only being in his presence for a moment or two and painted her face with a frown when people failed to agree with her point of view. I then realised, she was full of shit.

But I like the random.

I met a boy at a train station once. He was gorgeous and engaged me in a conversation about my attire. “You’re not dressed for a Melbourne winter” he commented. I knew but I told him a fabricated story about how I wasn’t cold when I left home. Truth was, I had hoped that Melbourne would give into my vanity for one night. Just one night so I could impress my boyfriend with my cardigan and t-shirt with jeans ensemble but that wasn’t to happen. We talked about writing and how we was doing a photography course so that his articles would have more value and how we was going to camp out by some river in South America for months on end. If I weren’t already so immersed in Boyfriend, I might have just rode the city train with him and unwittingly surrendered my frail soul to rare encounters with ‘The Ideal’. But I didn’t. Because ‘The Ideal’ doesn’t really ever exist.

And, I am already happy.
With a boy who farts and says “oops”.
(Talk clean to me baby, talk clean)

together. in this crazy whirlwind. we are.

2007-07-18T18:33:00.000+10:00

crazy things will happen even if you don't ask for it. even if you silently wish for it, inside your head, maybe en route to your heart where nobody else can hear. and nobody else can see. and all this time i was thinking it was just me.

but i am not so alone.
and i drink beer now.

job hunting is my favourite past-time

2007-07-12T16:52:00.000+10:00

Hey waiter! May I order Rejection with a side of Rip My Remaining Self-Esteem Into Shreds please? And hold the Positive Thoughts, I'm allergic.

The situation is far from dire. In fact, as far as the statistics stand, it's really not that bad at all. For one, I have been at home for a total of three days. That is all. Second, I still have two Mondays left at work and so technically, I am not unemployed. And third, $50 has managed to sneak into my bank account for no apprent reason.

But, the rejection or lack thereof is not much fun. I am so tired of being reminded of my inadequacies. I am also tired of being shunned. I can just see them perched behind their desks, snorting at my resume like pork munching pigs. Yes. Pork munching pigs. I have delved into a pit so low, I can't even bare to be ashamed.

Uni will be my saving grace.
Maybe a night of complete and utter disgrace will help me.
I don't know.

Waiter! Give me your job.

small words

2007-07-10T16:37:00.000+10:00

i quit my job on a whim. boyfriend was holding my hand. i was shaking. then he put his arm around me and said, just do it. nike commercials being whispered in my ear. (i think i once fantasised about this occurring). a month later and i am unemployed, contemplating whether i would return to the world of coffees or settle down in a cosy office job. either way, i am still at uni attempting to acquire the qualification to live a dream. (even though a qualification is unnecessary, the fact that i think i'm doing something about it whilst working in meaningless jobs makes me feel a bit better about being mostly directionless). i am thinking of moving out by this year's end. my parents will soon go their separate ways and i am not prepared to choose. nor am i prepared to live with my parents for much longer. i am halfway through the year and things are changing again. so far, changes have just crept up in a somewhat subtle fashion. and then suddenly, boyfriend takes up a lot of my space which i enjoy because i like him in my space. suddenly, friends and i are growing older. joint accounts, moving in together, camping trips, a limited capacity to go out... we're meeting up for dinner instead of a random binge. change looks big even when written in small letters.

Once this was a goodbye post

2007-05-01T20:12:00.000+10:00

But it seems I am writing again.

This is me being impulsive again. I was thinking, I haven't been writing regularly on this blog. Even when I have been updating, I haven't really been writing. And so, this shall be my last entry here. Thank you for the good times blogger. (And to the awesome peoples, thank you even more).

Ah

2007-04-17T16:53:00.001+10:00

She has thrown up on your bed.
Asleep and deeply involved in dreams of vomiting, she finds that she is in fact awake and vomiting on your bed.
The morning creeps through the window - fresh but disruptive, bright but wary - this is the goodbye before the weekend where you will watch your football team win a game and she will sit under the sun somewhere in the peninsula. This is the goodbye that might render her hopeless because she is determined not to like you.
The weekend passes and she is back in suburbia.
You said "I couldn't wait till Wednesday. Let's meet up tonight".
She missed you over the weekend and so like music to her ears, these words come with verses, hooks and a chorus.

sometimes i do post things here

2007-04-12T14:48:00.000+10:00

i went home early from work because of a mysterious illness that may or may not be existent. i'm not sure but i do know, i feel like shit. i also know however that i do not feel shit enough to skip on seeing my male friend tonight. (dear diary i consulted said male friend on calling him 'housewife' but i think he got swept up by the st kilda sunset and dropping his papers in the water that this inquiry remained mainly unanswered. plus he started treating me like a housewife and even referred to me as a 'service' at some point. maybe i should skip on seeing him tonight, the bas-turd). anyway, funny thing happened to me on my way to point nepean. i stayed at the bas-turd's house and threw up all over his bed. the next day, we drove to rye to a house full of strangers. there were debates regarding greed, religion and the indigenous population. it got rather heated because as you can imagine, these are topics you generally avoid if you want to avoid an argument. some of us escaped to a pub and the next day, we packed ourselves into a van and enjoyed the general goodness of music, most especially ben harper and sierra leone's refugee all stars. there were many others that were beyond good but far too many to name. the next day, we slept in, walked to town and breakfasted at a general store. (i know there is no such word as breakfasted but there should be). that was another good day but perhaps the wine embedded itself into my system so well that i might have been over-excited for john mayer and i might have also insisted that the dirt on my hotdog was pepper. someone also stomped on my head. the long weekend ended with dinner at st kilda with the bas-turd.

the weather was perfect. every weekend should be a long weekend.

Essendon won so you got excited. But I'm still an evil wench

2007-04-01T20:26:00.000+10:00

So I spilled my drink all over your bed last night.
Literally, all over your bed.
No matter where I sat, I would spill it.
I even tried to balance my cup on my head.
It was going well until I got excited about my skill.
Then I soaked my head in vodka.
And your bed in lemonade.
But you know what the worst thing was?
When I elbowed you in the head and told you that
I'm using you for sex,
And plotting your untimely demise.
Dear boyfriend, I hope your soccer team wins tonight.

2007-03-22T18:17:00.000+11:00

Holy shit would you look at that? I'm a fifteen year old girl again.

Curly-haired soft-spoken rambling boy

2007-03-22T18:10:00.000+11:00

Familiar unfamiliar faces passing me by. Walking down this road again, every twist every turn memorised without conscious effort, familiar unfamiliar signs guiding me here. Trying to pretend not to see you. Sometimes you’re on the steps reading the paper, smoking. Curly-haired soft-spoken rambling boy failing to read the sign. “No smoking in undercover areas” it says. Sometimes you’re on the bench reading the paper looking aimlessly into the familiar unfamiliar catching my eye just in time to slow my pretence. Familiar unfamiliar greetings both awkward and polished. You’re a pro at those smiles. I’m still getting used to this. Please give me time. Months back when we sat talking about flyscreen doors I never would have seen your unfamiliar become my familiar. I like you, that’s all.

He asked me where I came from. I said, the Philippines

2007-03-19T11:30:00.001+11:00

At the beginning, I was immediately intimidated. As though the first hurdle of trying was not difficult enough to jump, I was now faced with dozens of other people trying, dozens of other people who are better, smarter, more experienced and probably, more organised. It seems unfair to assume things about these faceless people (but I reasoned that I was assuming their superiority rather than inferiority and this is sometimes okay). I haven’t had better things to do.

Well okay, I’ve had some very good things to do.

Suddenly, I’ve given birth to a new life. Priorities have altered. Where I once could not even think of making the most of the night before work, I’ve now mastered the art of four hours sleep for a nine hour work day because as the folk at Maybelliene say, “you’re worth it”. You really are worth it. Worth all of it.

But I’m going to try because this too is worth it. Worth all of it and all of me.

(She waved the magic wand and waited to be reminded that magic exists. There were no fireworks and the only sound she could hear were those that made up silence. The consistent humming of the fridge, the occasional bark of the dog next door and the creaking of sealed walls. She waited. And waited. The reminder came without the magic. She opened the door and stopped waiting).

A big disadvantage of taking a leap is falling

2007-03-10T09:56:00.000+11:00

At around about eight o'clock, I knew I was late because I said we would meet at eight. I could see the clock, that big clock that sits atop Flinder's Street Station and leaning against the staircase, I could see his hair, that mass of curly brown-blonde that sits atop his head. Taking one more sip of my drink, I turned to my mum and her pseudo-boyfriend and said, "I better go".

This is change.
My mum's pseudo-boyfriend is a wanker only because he's my mum's pseudo-boyfriend and I hated him before he even gained the title of pseudo-boyfriend. Before I could even say, that's who he is. But I suggested fresh air after my throat closed up and being inside of the restaurant made me nauseous. And I suggested fresh air so that my comfort zone would meet with my anger; so that, I was no longer inside picking at a salad but outside, sipping a drink and having a smoke.

This is change.
It was the day after and I get out of the shower to see him in front of his turntables, practising. I sat on the bed and watched like a little girl with stars in her eyes. Before I could even fight it, I started to like him. But as I made a dash for the train, I heard him say "see you next week" and I started to think about how this week has felt like a month; how these random conversations have felt like symptoms of comfort. And I found myself outside my comfort zone; I was no longer inside picking at could-be but outside, fearing reality.

A big disadvantage of taking a leap is falling
(with no safety net to catch you...
or safety jacket to stop you from drowning)
Just falling.
And getting hurt.

For a while there, I thought it was just me

2007-03-05T17:32:00.000+11:00

Sitting on the bus, my head against the window and my chin propped up on my hand, all I wanted to do was let my thoughts rest if for just a moment. But an over-thinker never rests; they just think of thinking too much.

So there we were, stuck in traffic. The man was holding up a bright yellow sign that said “slow”. It meant that we could move but slow-ly. (After all, he wasn’t holding up the sign in protest of speed. I’m pretty sure it was part of his job). So, we moved along. With my head still against the window and my hand slowly slipping out from under my chin, I directed my attention to the traffic on the other side of the road.

Car after car was forced to stop. On their side of the road, the man’s sign said “stop”. It rendered them motionless. It forced them into a mandatory break. I peered into each car. I knew it wasn’t any of my business but I had to peer into their car. We were moving slow-ly and they were rendered motionless, an over-thinker almost has no choice but to look.

Like myself, the people stuck in traffic looked desperate to be elsewhere. If their arm wasn’t resting heavily on the steering wheel, they placed their head in one hand and rested their elbow on the window sill of their car. It was like a choreographed dance. I laughed. (Silently of course because you can’t laugh out loud when you’re alone; that’s just not cool).

But soon, I was home.
I thought about the man holding the sign.
Maybe he wanted to go home.

(Sometimes I think about things like this).

It all begun really when the wine continued to flow and we were there on the bench surrounded by people. Lots and lots of people. And so, we talked and talked like old friends do. Some things are a little blurry like how a beer garden suddenly became 7-Eleven or how a balcony could have become my bed if not for an offer to participate in a non-sexual orgy. Four of us in the bed and for some reason, it was okay. But bit by bit and little by little things happened and it was just so.

Meet me under the clock at two.

I was late (I blame the train). But there you were with a backpack. I thought hey, maybe it’s like me with a handbag only it’s on your back so you said, let’s go this way and then told me a story about how you made some food and brought some wine and thought maybe we could just sit at the botanical gardens and have a picnic.

Oh my god you are so cute.

I wish I said something a bit more clever than that. I have nothing else to blame but my runaway mouth and occasional teenage outbursts. I wanted (maybe) just to grab your hand but (maybe) sometimes I’m a little bit shy. So it all begun really when the wine continued to flow and the ants kept crawling into the sandwiches and the kids came out of the trees and the old couple asked us what sort of tree our tree was. But we didn't know.

You had soccer at nine.
And I had plans to go home.
But it was six so we decided to buy some more wine. Stop off maybe at a pub.

But we changed our mind. Don’t know why but instead we were at a bottle shop and then at your place, sitting on the bed, staring at the wall, listening to records because you have good taste in music and it was nice, just to be there with you.

You didn’t go to soccer.
And I didn’t go home.

Because it was around ten and we had jumped around the city in some random search for another bottle of wine because we’re a bit excessive like that and before we knew it, we were there again, sitting on the bed, staring at the wall, listening to Modest Mouse and then maybe a whole other record which was like the best date soundtrack ever. I couldn’t stop smiling.

I had a great Sunday.

Sitting on the bus, my head against the window and my chin propped up on my hand; all I wanted to do was let my thoughts run amuck. The things you said and the things you did and the things that happened; all I wanted was to remember them detail for detail but I couldn’t.

You said,
I’m not just some random.

I said,
Yeah I know.

And so, I'll see you tomorrow.

NOTE: This isn't pergutory

2007-02-20T19:27:00.001+11:00

For the past few months, I have noticed a disturbing trend. I'm sure it arises from good intentions and concern but the trend is disturbing nonetheless. Introducing, Operation Get Krystle a Boyfriend.

It all begun when my boss mentioned that she didn't like the shopkeeper's son for me. Fair enough, I don't like him for me either. Then the new girl at work attempted to set me up with her brother so she could get a tattoo. Fair enough, every fourteen year old needs a tattoo to get by these days. Then come Valentine's Day, my boss tells a regular customer that she is attempting to "find me someone", adding of course that my mother is concerned about my wellbeing and that her husband has mentioned my name as a suitable match for various singles from the church. Said singles are of course of some kind of good breed: "they cook, they're really tidy and they're doing their masters/honours at uni and/or are in successful corportate job". My friends have also expressed their concern. Upon confessing to a slight (possibly alcohol and proximity inspired) crush on a friend's friend, I was to learn that there have been attempts to set me up with this fellow.

He's cute yah and really nice but here's the thing: I do not enjoy being set up.

It's a Friday night and I am catching up on sleep.

2007-02-09T20:50:00.000+11:00

I am not made for a five-day work week. I'm not made of the tough stuff regular people are made off. I have all the tell-tale signs of being partially human:

The "another day at work but what can you do, I need the money" speech practically rolls off my tongue like a parade of freedom-fighting yoyos; the ho-hum sigh at the start of the day is so well rehearsed, it's automatic and even though maths was never my best subject, I can calculate with ease the hours left before I go home. I'm very much like a great deal of working people. You could even say, I'm average but, it's been a month since this five-day work week has attacked my system and I am exhausted.

Thus, with a great deal of sadness I must announce that I am not made of the tough stuff. Store me below room temperature and let me sleep. Thank you.

Outbursts; paragraph by paragraph.

2007-02-05T20:27:00.000+11:00

Sweat dripping down my forehead, blurry insulting my eyes, I look at him and say, I like your shirt. Did I mean it? Not really. I mean the t-shirt was white and its reference to pop culture was possibly misplaced; all in all, an average shirt if you ask me but nobody asked me, I just started talking. There it is: glimpses of obscene, inane, hilarious and snippets of bullshit. I love this crap. Times change. Have. And will. Beep, beep, beep. And then home. Beep, beep, beep. Dialling the phone and I want to pick it up to tell them to shut up because this house is disturbed. Drop a pin in a haystack and watch it disappear. Nobody wins when both sides are losers.

You want me; you just don’t know it yet. You think I’m cocky? Maybe I am. This is me, everything I have, everything I own, possessions abandoned, mistakes forgotten. This is me. You meet me and for the first time, so do I. When I’m with you, I stick my finger up at the world. Rules? Not when we’re together. Paint the town orange, climb the sunset until the buildings catch our reflection, watch the colours of the nightlife sink profanities in its deep, musky voice of beer and excess. I want you. You know I want you. You’ll fuck me over and you’ll want to get rid of me but I’ll keep coming back and you’ll keep inviting me back because that’s you and that’s me. We need each other to live, to die and to find the painful pleasure of in-between.

I wanted it all: the glitz, the glamour and a vomit-free existence. It's hard to remember every tiny detail. The days blend together not through insignificance but through sheer volume. I'm quietly drowning myself in outbursts; paragraph by paragraph pinned against the crevice of my mind where I condemn myself to peace.

But there is no peace in cluttered minds, just momentary madness.

I don't care what they say, big packages are just as good as the small ones

2007-01-30T18:55:00.000+11:00

Today, I got a package in the mail. It was fat and made my mailbox look like a sandwich with too many fillings in it. Although I had already sat on the bus for fifteen minutes acutely aware of my bursting bladder, when I saw this package, I paused long enough to squeal. It was a package from my new uni. And no, I did not pee my pants.

The story goes that about three weeks ago, I filled out an online application for a postgraduate course. I had already completed this application two months prior but having received nil for a reply, I was suddenly fuelled by an obnoxious sense of pride.

“They could have at least sent me a rejection letter!” my internal monologue went and so I sat down to apply for the second time.

As it turns out, I got accepted and today, after going to the toilet, I ripped the package open like a little kid at Christmas. Inside were readings for one of my subjects, Fiction Writing complete with little holes on the side to put into a binder.

I have spent nearly a whole year away from all things related to uni and now I’m back, scared boneless but happy. I had relinquished every part of my being to the lords of emo for many a month so with a cheery chorus of “life is so shit, the plants suffocate from too much manure”, I’d like to think this is the beginning of better things to come.

P.S. My friend went from a British to an Aussie citizen on Australia Day. In celebration, she threw a barbeque inspired by booze and also, hired this koala suit.

It's the 20th of January

2007-01-20T13:32:00.000+11:00

Our Christmas tree is still up. It just sits there in the corner looking all kinds of inappropriate.

I wonder what Gold 104.3 will play when I'm 30.

Melbourne has free flying trapeze lessons in the city centre. Maybe if I had done it, I wouldn't have lost my wallet.

I wonder what my kids will think of Mi Goreng for dinner every night.

Yesterday the Ati-Atihan festival began in my hometown. If I was there, right now, I would have a can of beer in my hand screaming "HALA BIRA" at the top of my lungs. I miss home.

I wonder what Britney Spears is thinking right now.

on not being bothered to press caps-lock or shift

2006-12-30T09:26:00.000+11:00

i can't seem to write in this blog. believe me, i've tried. i tried the funny story and then story about how i chucked up in front of everybody because i'm bad at drinking games. i even contemplated getting all sentimental about how sentimental i have been getting lately. i just cannot find the words anymore. or the caps lock. well that's a lie. i just thought that failing to capitalise will be consistent with my failure to write in proper english. sometimes, i'm actually afraid i can't write anything anymore. i had to write a character reference for my friend a few weeks back and it sucked. i actually used the phrase "innate desire". doesn't that kind of phrase only belong in paperback romance novels alongside "pulsating member" and "big boobs"?

on grass that has dandruff
melbourne had something of a white christmas. sure it was a white christmas in a dandruff-falling-on-your-shoulders kind of way in most places but the novelty did not escape anyone. and it was nice to wake up and see that. what wasn’t nice was eating so much turkey, i fell asleep.

on needing a life
i have invented a crush on this real estate guy at work. i say invented because i didn't have a crush on him until i decided i was bored. it’s not enough that i do the running man without warning or sing “working class man” midway through making coffees, now I have to invite fantasies about boys who sell houses. he is classic pretty boy with just enough ugliness to make him cute. but to demonstrate the tendency of my mind to work overtime, i have actually developed the shakes around him. he walks in with his coffee order and suddenly, i move like i’ve got diarrhea.

on new years eve in my suburb
new years eve this year will be spent in my suburb where new friends are holding a costume party. as usual, i have left costume hunting to the last minute but i've decided to head down to spotlight, a toyshop and places where they sell wigs in order to look like this:

i should propably invest in a large egg as well.

on ending this entry
so, that is my lower-case entry about nothing much. wishing everyone a smashing new year. run forest, run. open the box of chocolates and eat oneself sick. new year's resolution: do something, go somewhere.

I dub thee "Better Not Drop Me"

2006-11-27T20:08:00.000+11:00

I'd hate to become one of those people who names their vehicles. I'm your typical "if it gets you from A to B" type person when it comes to any form of transportation so I'm one to call a car, a car, a bike, a bike and a bus, late. But what happens to a girl when she suddenly finds herself trying to ignore the impulse to check into the garage to take a peek at her shiny little red thing? Why, she calls herself a dork.

I could have named it Shiny Little Red Thing but that would make me a Shiny Little Person riding a Shiny Little Red Thing. So instead, I dub thee Better Not Drop Me or Betty for short.

Introducing Betty.

I picked her up today and she sits in my garage as I type. I rode Betty around the block late this afternoon and it was good to pee my pants all over again. (Now that's a sentence I should never repeat out loud).

And just like, Rae, I do love my bike. Lots and lots and lots.

Tattoos and motorbikes. 21 soon to be 22 and going on 45; that's the tune I'm singing.

2006-11-22T18:57:00.000+11:00

It's impatience and it's hope, a kind of foolish dream placed in a box of could be, can be and why not. Boxes are crazy spaces. Closed and opened at whim. Shoes, letters, photographs, cookies and random collections of back then: pieces of paper, scribbled emotions, cigarette packets, firsts and lasts, bus tickets, have beens, used to be's and look back at this somedays.

Boxed in.
And desperate to get out.

I packed my life into a memory box and watched the space shrink. It means nothing to you but everything to me. Curly hair and big brown eyes, he smiled with crooked teeth and put puppy love in a soft toy. It means nothing to you but everything to me. Thank you for keeping your room clean, she said and finished it with a love mom. She spelled like an American when we first got to this country and so did I. Funny how my room has always been noticed when it's clean. Usually it's just clothes here, there and anywhere they can crumple; notebooks stashed under pillows, books in my underwear drawer and bra-straps on my head. I can't afford a headband I say and finish it off with a smile. Nothing is in its place because nothing has a place. My room is a memory box with a door.

21 soon to be 22 and going on 45; that's the tune I'm singing.
I'm getting my motorbike this weekend. It's red, shiny and heavier than I am.
I want a tattoo for my birthday. It's black, it might have red and it hurts more than me.

Tattoos, motorbikes and boxes. My life is a crazy space. I don't fit in anywhere and it doesn't fit me. I can't define it and it can't define me. What has this year been like? It's been ridiculous. It fell flat on its face and it called itself beautiful.

It's been a week or two

2006-11-12T16:46:00.000+11:00

Last Tuesday we went to the Melbourne Cup.
And last night I got my motorbike permit.

A sort of apology for the emotional dribble

2006-10-26T18:25:00.000+10:00

I am learning how to ride a motorbike and today, I fell off. All the wise kids tell me that the important thing about falling off is whether you get up and what you learn. I got up and learnt that when all goes wrong, pull the clutch in. So, I'm pulling the clutch in: I'm prepared to stop, prepared to change gears and prepared to move. I'm forgetting the things that have rendered me insane and remembering those that keep me sane.

My friends. They are the loves of my life. It dawned on me recently that after all this searching for "the one", I already have five.

City lights. They remind me of life and moments like this where everything is blurred. Though you try hard to capture the moment and understand it, you can't. Move with the flow but remember to pause. Some people like to smell roses, I like to stop at bridges and stare at the city lights.

Sunsets and St Kilda. For some reason, St Kilda has heard many of my secrets. It was there that we celebrated the coming of this year. This is a picture of the sun setting on the last day of last year. Blind optimism captured in a picture.

Looking to be whisked away

2006-10-24T22:04:00.000+10:00

I remember walking home from school, pink briefcase in one hand, pink umbrella in the other hand and the brain of a six year old floating around in my skull. My eyes roamed the surroundings taking note of the cars with the tinted windows. Note to six-year-old-self: watch out, they may be kidnappers. I stopped momentarily to stare into a small restaurant by the road. It was draped with Christmas lights but though it looked pretty, it was synonymous with some ugly criminal going-ons. Note to six-year-old-self: watch out, they may be kidnappers. Growing up in my province, everyone told you to watch out for kidnappers so on this particular day, as I strolled along the street, all I could think about was being kidnapped. Just moments before that, I had missed my tricycle and being too afraid to hail one of my own, I made the decision to walk home. Note to six-year-old-self: watch out, there may be kidnappers. It wasn't a long walk but I finished school an hour ago and I was still trudging along, through the rain, aware now that I had a pair of scissors in my bag. I could defend myself using those scissors, I thought, yes, I could do that. In the distance, familiarity presented itself. There it was, a shiny red Yamaha and a bright yellow raincoat with a person in it. Mum! Yes, that was my mum. I knew she was angry even though blades of rain blurred her face, I knew she would yell at me and tell me I was an idiot for walking home but I ran towards her, pink briefcase in one hand, pink umbrella in the other and a six-year-old brain floating around in my skull. A sigh of relief. Finally, I was safe. What are you doing? was the first question she asked but I didn't answer, I just hopped on the back of the motorbike and held on.

About things

2006-10-22T20:24:00.000+10:00

When I try to write a poem, I end up writing a rap song. I’m a pimp. You’re a ho. You’re a bitch. I’m a bro. When I write a rap song, I end up with an invisible sex change. The moral of the story is: don’t try to be what you are not.

And I am obviously not a poet.
Or a rapper.
But I may just be a chauvinist pig.

Obviously I have lost all control. Gone are the days when metaphors ran amuck and grand gestures of love lost filled the pages. Hey! Kit Kat puts cookie dough in their chocolates now. I have officially lost the will to stay away from chocolate.

My boss told me to be careful though.
“I can’t believe it” she said, “You’re eating a cake”.
“And she’s eating one everyday” my co-worker piped in.

People notice strange things but sometimes, I think we don't notice the right things.

I get lost in the music in my headphones. Sometimes, the bus will whirl around a familiar corner and I want the bus to slow down so I can finish whatever song I am listening to. I get lost in the music in my headphones and sometimes, it sucks when reality reminds you that not everything is as pretty as a song. But you know when I actually do want to get home, the bus will be slower and the bus driver will miss my stop. “Sorry love” he’ll say and promise me that next time he misses my stop, I can hit him. I laugh but deep down inside, I’m like, “yeah, you better watch out mate”.

Irony is everywhere. You don’t even have to look for it; it will just be there with no clothes on.

I have a lot of dots

2006-10-11T22:15:00.000+10:00

So, I wish I could come up with a stellar excuse as to why I want to quit my job. I was supposed to call on Sunday night to resign but I didn't. I was supposed to do it tonight but I couldn't. I have penciled in my mind that Friday would be the perfect time to resign because I wouldn't have to face my boss/family friend/person who knew me since I was child/person who offered me a job when I was about to vacuum the moles out of my skin out of frustration, for another three days.

I feel like a traitor. Everyone tells me that "it's just one of those things you have to do". It is as comforting as when you have just been dumped and people tell you that "there are plenty of fish in the sea" like you are a fisherman or statistician interested in population numbers.

Nevertheless, I know, it is just one of those things you have to do.

I don't know why but one day, I was standing at work with a frown on my face and it hit me, I am so unhappy. Life in general has been like one bad memory in the making after another. I couldn't understand it. I even got all dramatic on my moley face and asked God -- of all heavenly creatures -- WHY? I even went down the narcissistic road of WHY ME? All I needed was emo music playing in the background, a window with rain trickling down and a memory box to make it that perfect, corny moment in a movie when some character has a crisis and the world is condensed into the tiny narcissistic space they occupy. Then one day, I cleaned my room, dated my friends instead of random romantics who pissed me off and stopped thinking I could control things that I couldn't. Things got better.

But this job. I just can't pinpoint why I hate it so much and I can't understand what makes it so hard to leave. There has to be more to life than this. There just has to be. If there isn't, I am a bigger dreamer than I give myself credit for.

I know I just have to do this or I will get stuck in another rut. So come Friday, if I don't find the balls to do this, you have permission to turn me into a chip and feed me to the seagulls. On this fine day in October, I propose a toast to quitting jobs, happiness and chasing dreams (no matter how slow you run).

Yesterday, there was this sunset. Today, there was a heatwave. At the end of everyday, I stand on the highest point of my backyard and look at the clouds because I like to look at pretty things.

10 days into October

2006-10-10T19:20:00.000+10:00

10 days into October and I am finding it hard to leave where I am because I am afraid of offending others, afraid of offending my ego and afraid fullstop. You would think that 10 days into October, you would begin thinking. Thinking things like, hey, it's 10 days into October, the year is nearly over? And you think, so far this year I have been bitten by a monkey, graduated, developed a coffee addiction, saved money (and spent said savings in one week), wore a headband and rode a motorbike for the first time.

10 days into October and I have realised that you cannot ever be perfect. People will always be better than you at something but there are some things that you will be better at than some people. Nobody can ever be perfect. Anybody who believes they are is deluded. In that case, my expectations are inspired by delusion. Perfectionists perish when they suck at things they want to be good at. Like riding motorbikes, resigning, writing resignation letters, writing and figuring out what to do with their life.