Little wonder we stumble in life.

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This reminds me so much of my character, Dawn. I feel like this is her in the first book I’m writing about her.

Only Fragments

she says I should write about myself
what I’m feeling, maybe
(what I won’t admit I’m feeling)
but I’m no good at this
I dance around subjects like a fencer
when I should strike
like a boxer
beat them bloody with my fists
curb-stomp their teeth in
and I guess what I’m feeling
is anger
is fear
is helpless
and what I don’t feel is

(but don’t we all?)

I guess what I’m feeling
is angry
angry at a world I can’t trust
angry at a society built to subjugate
everything I am
everything and everyone I hold dear
so angry I want to lash out somehow
brand myself with ink and metal
unleash ghosts, breathe fire
bleed and scream and sing dirges
just fuck shit up, really
and the irony is this fight’s not even the one that hurts

(the most)

because I’m still feinting my…

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The Words I Can’t Say

#1493 – Asexual Awareness Week. Today I’ve been reading up on my old favourites on wordpress, ithinkincomics and onlyfragments, when I found this.

My first impressions, the first thing I wanted to say is this:

Oh honey, you’re not ugly and unacceptable. You’re beautiful. There’s no reason to feel ashamed of yourself. And I know no words I can say, or write, will make up for that feeling if you really feel it in your chest…

I’m not asexual, or anything like that. But I feel you. Or I think I do. There was perhaps a point when I felt like that, when everyone seemed interested in that and I didn’t. I was only a teenager then, but now I know that wasn’t true. I was just repressing my interests, and I didn’t even know I was doing it. I did it for years, and when I finally woke up to myself… I felt a bit like that too.

But I don’t anymore. Even if I never say it aloud, how I feel, what I want, I am far more at ease than I was when it started. I’m at ease with myself, even if I’m not with other people to the extent that I tell no one these things. But I do feel them. I’m far more the adult now, who knows herself. At 25, you’d think I would be.

So I hope anyone who reads this who is unsure knows it can get better, whatever your personal struggles are.

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Fiction: Disappointing Endings

The other night, my brother-in-law was talking about the ending to The Hunger Games series. This is something both him and my dad have said before, but it was brought up about the recent movie. Both mom and I recently saw, and he felt it necessary to point that the whole series up to the second half of the both were brilliant, but that the end was crap.

And I was perfectly happy to accept this judgement until he brought up the Inheritance Cycle. Both he and I have read that series, and I loved it from start to end. The only disappointing part of Inheritance is the fact that it was four and not three books as previously promised. And in fact, I’d imagined all three books would be one-word titles beginning with e, and that kind of balance was one thing that attracted me about the series.

But I also understand that sometimes authors have these sorts of moments, that things just evolve out of your control, and this isn’t necessarily a bad thing. It’s the growth of the series, and to avoid that growth is to do your story a great injustice. Certainly, four books is better than two, better than to simply not finish the series at all. But more than that, to abridge the events of the last two books into one condensed version, and to suppress the higher conscious revealed by the new writing would be to cut down the writing into something less advanced. Even with a clear beginning and end, there would be something essential missing.

To bring up another example, there are plenty of people who are disappointed in even the final Harry Potter book. Many Potter fans choose to simply ignore it as canon because something they wanted to happen didn’t, or because so many people died in it, or some other reason. I am not one of those people. I believe ignoring canon isn’t right; that level of denial isn’t something I can condone, because it means ignoring reality, and no matter what things happen there, denial of reality doesn’t make it any less real.

The point is this: despite all the bad reviews of the end of Hunger Games, I’m still looking forward to the final movie, looking forward to see what happens, whatever it is. I’m not going to let a few bad opinions affect my opinion of the Hunger Games overall anymore. It is what it is.

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Brisbane and Back

I stayed up late last night, so it was with a rude awakening that I was greeted this morning when mum called me to get up and get ready to go. Go where? I called out, asking, but got no reply. So grumpily, I rolled over and went back to sleep.

Some time later, I was woken up again. This time I was rather more awake, so I was actually able to get up out of bed. Mum was saying we had to leave soon, but I was still confused, so I asked again. I woke myself more readily when she said something that amounted to today being Christmas shopping day, but it wasn’t. Still, I brought my bag with my wallet, just in case.

I had to rush to get ready, so it was lucky I already wore my clothes to sleep. I just had to put on my shoes and socks, and I grabbed my sunnies, and put on my iPod. Mum told me to eat breakfast, but it was already 18 minutes past ten, when we were supposed to leave, so I grabbed two muesli bars. Luckily they were well enough to last me until lunch.

First place we went was down to Brisbane to meet my sister. I accidentally caught sight of my Christmas present (a TARDIS cookie jar!) and mum and I had leftover smoothie. The three of us then left and looked at a place at North Lakes (we’re looking to move somewhere cheaper). It was the first place that was big enough for our stuff, and it was a nice area, although there were a few strange features of the house. For example, the garage converted into a hair salon, or the wraparound sun room, which had also been converted from the backyard. Still, it was a nice enough place, in a convenient location both for my Uni and mum’s for next year. And it’ll be closer to sis, when we do move.

After that, we went to the shops for lunch. We ate at an Asian food place, since essentially everything else was fast food or Subway (and its been ages since we went there). I had a taster dish, and mum and sis both had Tokyo Beef, though it was too much for both of them. Mine was just big enough, though I didn’t finish the pork bun completely (it got stuck to the paper).

Then we had to go pick dad up. He’s been staying in Brisbane for a Sea Org Detox thing. Apparently, one day of the week he’s still eating fast food. No matter what, dad never does seem to be able to resist. It’s like it’s his nature: indulgent. There was quite a bit of complaining from mum that this errand ruined the day, but there was no one else to pick him up, as brother-in-law lost his license recently.

We dropped both sis and dad off at sis’ place and I went with mum to have dinner at her Italian friend’s house. We had delicious meatballs and mash potatoes. The mash was so tasty, full of curious flavours. Mum also brought ice cream made of protein, which was actually quite good, although I was the only one who ate all of mine. Mum said it was fine if you had to eat it on a diet, but it wasn’t great.

In the end, I felt I was waiting too long waiting for her friend to do something for her, so I looked on the bookshelf. He had a few cookbooks, what looked like the Italian version of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Men Are From Mars Women Are From Venus and… Mein Kampf, the Hitler propaganda book. I was quite surprised at that and got rather fixated on it. For one thing, what was he doing with the Nazi book? For another, was it in German? Could it really be possible he somehow knew German?

I started to think of reasons why he might have it. I wondered if he was merely curious, from a historical point of view, why the Nazis thought the way they did. That was the top reason I came up with. Why else would you have it, unless you were a Neo-Nazi? He’s far too nice and accepting to be that, but it still seemed strange, and mind-blowing that he would have it. I didn’t even think the book would be available if you wanted it. It’s a pretty terrible thing, being from such an evil movement.

I was too afraid to look inside. Too afraid even to mention to mum I saw it. So I’m saying it here.

Anyhow, we left, and stopped off at a gas station before going home. I got an orange juice and an issue of Empire, that nerd magazine. I’m gonna go read it once I’m finished here.

So finally, we got home. That was a relief. Still rather hot though, even at night.

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Things I’ve always wanted to say about myself but never did pt.1

Okay, so doing a series of posts about Uni didn’t pan out. However, I’ve recently started watching vlogbrothers on Youtube (which I suppose officially makes me a nerd fighter?) and I realised that they basically talking about anything that comes to their mind. Sure, a lot of times, content is planned, but basically watching their channel has started to open my mind and make me remember all these narratives I have in my head, some of which I even often repeat to myself, probably because I have no one to tell them to. Watching their vlogs, I often think that I could do that too (even having a vlog channel with my sister in a few of them), but then I realised I could just use this website again. Let’s face it, making vlogs isn’t really my thing; making blogs is.

So, this is probably going to be a series, because there are many narratives I often tell myself, and speaking widely I often forget them. Today’s narrative is most likely going to be about my childhood.

When I was a little girl, I was kinda girly. I liked Baby Born and Barbies, and I think one of us had a Susie Stretch. I even had girly PC dress up games, with Barbie, and Angelica from Rugrats. It was pretty ridiculous, but see the thing is, at some point I began to get jealous of my sister (which is funny, because mum’s always saying she’s the jealous one) because she was a tomboy, and probably more importantly, she was closer to my dad. For many years, I tried to get my dad’s attention, and in the end, I did it the same way I later tried to get boys’ attention: by becoming more like them. Dad’s the reason I’m now such a fast eater. Although, to be fair, I was already a fast chips eater, because I liked to play pick up sticks with my food whenever we got McDonald’s. But basically, I became a fast eater because of dad, because whenever we ate together, he’d always finish way ahead of me, so I started to race him. Eventually, I managed to finish first. However, fast eating became a habit. A not-healthy one, apparently.

Anyway, I didn’t actually make the final idea to start being a tomboy until my social awkwardness was pushed too far one night. My primary school often put on discos, and I often went. I remember closing myself up in the bathroom, refusing to go back out, though I don’t remember why. I remember making a vow, for some unknown reason, to be more like a boy, because I thought maybe I’d be stronger then.

And I’ve often looked back on that moment, feeling both grateful and pitying myself that I thought it made any difference to my strength at all. Most of the time, I don’t think it made me any stronger than I am now. It just made me who I am. I couldn’t go back to my former self if I wanted to. If I did, I’d only feel wrong and out of place. Which perhaps says something about me that I was able to do it back then. Back then, as always, my social awkwardness made me feel shitty. But these days, I call myself awesome as well. Back then I never did. I tend to think that for girly girls in our culture, they are treated more shitty, put down more often, and that perhaps besides the awesomeness I am now, if I’d stayed that way, I’d be more subject to it. So in that way, I’m glad I changed. Perhaps I even am stronger, without even realising it.

There is another thing I’d like to talk about before I finish this post. My mum always accuses my sister of being jealous of me. This has always ticked me off, especially given the knowledge that throughout primary school, teachers always told her to be more like me. This drove a lot of her early bad behaviour towards me back then, including one time lying to her friends that I wet the bed. I didn’t wet the bed, nor did I have friends, but I sure had a lot of people around to make fun of me. Back then, I didn’t think of my sister as so unloyal at all. In fact, I pretty much assumed that all family had to be nice to each other as a rule. So when I found out it was her that started the rumour, I nearly screamed my guts out. Until she told me that they had basically pulled it out of her, so I forgave her. It wasn’t until many years later, when I was more mature, that I found out that none of that was true. And despite how devastated I was when I first found out, at that point I didn’t have the heart to scream at her as I would’ve then. But I deeply regretted not having done so, as horrible as it felt. It seemed unjust that she never got at least that punishment for her behaviour.

Anyway, I’m digressing, that wasn’t the point of the story. When my sister later went the same school as I did, in high school, she was basically told the same thing again, that she should be more like me. This was the first time I’d ever known people had told her that, and she revealed that whole history to me. I’d never known this as a child. If I had known, it would’ve sent me into a spiral of loathing: ‘Why would you want her to be more like me? No one should be like me. I have the worst problems…’ But I know why. Because I’m polite, respectful, a good girl. In this case, my sister had been caught writing bad things about her teacher. And her teacher (and that teachers husband, who was also a teacher there) had it out with her and mum. They withdrew her from the upcoming class trip to New Zealand, even though we’d already paid, and refused to refund us. We had no say in the matter either, that was her punishment. Eventually, my sister just left. (Although, I should point out, she had also bullied other classmates, so…)

Norm, the teacher’s husband from this story, also came up to me at some point and told me to my face that my sister should be more like me. That was the first time anyone had done that. I felt insulted, as I would’ve in primary, only perhaps more mildly. I was tempted to repeat back what I would’ve said back then, regretting the fact that it took so long for me to figure out what they thought, but I said nothing. My words froze in my mouth, and he passed me by.

I’m not even sure if I even told my sister of that incident, I don’t remember. Oh well.