10.3.13
Dating in your twenties is a minefield. It's a constant tiptoeing around eggshells and there is a very serious risk of encountering two different - and very dangerous - types of people. Situated on one end of this spectrum are the people on the hunt for a suitable spouse. Maybe their clocks are ticking, maybe their parents' tongues are wagging. Whatever it is, these folk are in the market for one purpose, and one purpose only. The higher they've climbed into their twenties, the higher this risk. Very dangerous; these people are very dangerous as you'll never be quite sure of their intentions - they'll never admit it, of course. Until it's too late, you think things are going nice and slow and then ohhh damn, they attempt taking things up a notch and you suddenly find yourself turned out onto the street as the bitch who led someone on and wasted T minus X of his time.
On the other end of this spectrum are the perpetual bachelors: shiny car-keys and expensive Swiss time-pieces adorning the end of protein-inflated arms. This group of people are generally easier to spot. Well, if they follow the stereotype, I suppose - which isn't always the case. At any rate, they do show up on the radar far clearer that their stability-seeking counterparts. Bachelor bling aside, these people tend to have reputations that exceed themselves.
No, the more dangerous folk are the nice people.
They are people who are actually good to you.
The dangerous folk are dangerous because they're the ones you're afraid to hurt.
And they're also the ones you will probably end up hurting.
On the other end of this spectrum are the perpetual bachelors: shiny car-keys and expensive Swiss time-pieces adorning the end of protein-inflated arms. This group of people are generally easier to spot. Well, if they follow the stereotype, I suppose - which isn't always the case. At any rate, they do show up on the radar far clearer that their stability-seeking counterparts. Bachelor bling aside, these people tend to have reputations that exceed themselves.
No, the more dangerous folk are the nice people.
They are people who are actually good to you.
The dangerous folk are dangerous because they're the ones you're afraid to hurt.
And they're also the ones you will probably end up hurting.
7.3.13
I don't want to do this.
Ugh, I just don't.
Why am I doing this, what have I got myself into.
It's like being made to taste something I've never tried before.
And when I say I don't like it I'm being told that no, you haven't had enough, have some more, you're just not used to it yet.
But I'm choking on each spoonful, trying - tryyyying - my best to enjoy this but it just isn't working, this just isn't working for me.
But it's too late, you've taken too many spoonfuls and now the bowl is yours and you're paying for it.
Ugh, I just don't.
Why am I doing this, what have I got myself into.
It's like being made to taste something I've never tried before.
And when I say I don't like it I'm being told that no, you haven't had enough, have some more, you're just not used to it yet.
But I'm choking on each spoonful, trying - tryyyying - my best to enjoy this but it just isn't working, this just isn't working for me.
But it's too late, you've taken too many spoonfuls and now the bowl is yours and you're paying for it.
26.2.13
25.2.13
25.11.12
5.10.12
There are still so many things I want to do.
SO many.
I thought, at least at the start of this whole Georgetown thing, I had it figured out - what I really wanted in life.
But that was in light of, y'know, a hugely tumultuous time in my personal life and all I really wanted or needed was to go home.
And that's still true.
In a few months, this whole DC thing - which, shit, has been wonderful y'know. It's been so hard, so hard in so many ways. I've shed far too many tears over this entire ordeal, it's been so difficult for me - moving away, losing (and coming close to losing) a number of extremely important people in my life, feeling helpless and lost, so far so far away and having to deal with that. Watching the remnants of my England life and my Brunei life tossed up like salad leaves into the air while I scramble around down below looking for plates, plates, where are the plates but I'm tripping up over forks, spoons, knives that my new Washington life keeps throwing at me underfoot.
But at the same time it's been beautiful.
After picking myself up and brushing myself off, I'd walk out of the door into a wonderful city.
DC isn't NYC (NYC is a whooole 'nother rant, my love. Words cannot describe the love I have for that place.) but it's great in it's own way.
It may be stiff, structured and not nearly as vibrant as its more cosmopolitan sisters.
But people walk around here with a purpose.
I read an article about why DC was a great city and I can't agree more.
Everyone you meet here is here for a reason. And no, I'm not talking about domestic politics - I know nutsquash about American politics.
People who want to make a difference - in law, in the environment, in championing the rights of migrant children. Whatever it is.
People come in from all corners of the country to intern here, meet Important People here, make a difference here.
And the diversity in that is amazing. It's pretty inspirational, in the one sense. And kinda intimidating because compared to a lot of people (who pretend to know what they're doing, at least) I'm just going around with my eyes closed, bouncing off the walls.
And DC might seem really organized and sterile at first glance, but there's so much life bubbling underneath all the grey.
You just need to know where to look. There are little gems all around the city, streets that are known to have more character than others.
And even where the streets are a little too neat - that's the beauty of this place.
It isn't like the other cities, this is its character.
And I've learnt so much from being at my university. My professors have been incredible, they're all so smart they've had so much experience - real-life experience -they're google-worthy. But on top of all of that, they all genuinely care and want to help you out, teach you things, talk to you. They want to know what you plan on doing in the future - they value your opinions, they know that you want to be a part of this big (although likely idealistic) grand, supreme plan to Change Shit, and they know this, they've been there and they're ready to help out.
My overall experience here has been Insane. I mean there's no other way to describe it... It's definitely taken a toll on my sanity; it's been so good yet so difficult. It's pulled my emotions one way and then the other. I mean if anything in my life could be described as a true test of strength... Bam, hands down. The past year (End of 2011 to end of 2012) has been it.
And y'know, I do look forward to going home. Well... I did.
I still do, I still need to go home and there are so many reasons why I want to (and need to) be home now.
But being home for good will only make the things that have Changed resonate so much more loudly.
I won't be able to run away from the fact that...
Well, I've changed.
Things have changed.
People, places and realities that I left behind almost five years ago
Are either gone
Or are different now.
I'll walk through those glass doors at the airport coming home to something very different from what I left behind.
Coming home intermittently over the years obviously offered me glimpses into these shifts;
it's not like I didn't or don't know.
I've seen bits of it. Little bits change, sometimes major bits change.
But I've taken it all in, one small teaspoon at a time, like a necessarily bitter medicine.
Coming home for good is different, though.
I'll only have one address, one phone number.
One life.
No more running away to my other lives; they won't be there anymore.
The leaves will finally fall in a big messy pile onto a chipped, white plate which I will take through those doors, and home, with me.
And then there's no running.
SO many.
I thought, at least at the start of this whole Georgetown thing, I had it figured out - what I really wanted in life.
But that was in light of, y'know, a hugely tumultuous time in my personal life and all I really wanted or needed was to go home.
And that's still true.
In a few months, this whole DC thing - which, shit, has been wonderful y'know. It's been so hard, so hard in so many ways. I've shed far too many tears over this entire ordeal, it's been so difficult for me - moving away, losing (and coming close to losing) a number of extremely important people in my life, feeling helpless and lost, so far so far away and having to deal with that. Watching the remnants of my England life and my Brunei life tossed up like salad leaves into the air while I scramble around down below looking for plates, plates, where are the plates but I'm tripping up over forks, spoons, knives that my new Washington life keeps throwing at me underfoot.
But at the same time it's been beautiful.
After picking myself up and brushing myself off, I'd walk out of the door into a wonderful city.
DC isn't NYC (NYC is a whooole 'nother rant, my love. Words cannot describe the love I have for that place.) but it's great in it's own way.
It may be stiff, structured and not nearly as vibrant as its more cosmopolitan sisters.
But people walk around here with a purpose.
I read an article about why DC was a great city and I can't agree more.
Everyone you meet here is here for a reason. And no, I'm not talking about domestic politics - I know nutsquash about American politics.
People who want to make a difference - in law, in the environment, in championing the rights of migrant children. Whatever it is.
People come in from all corners of the country to intern here, meet Important People here, make a difference here.
And the diversity in that is amazing. It's pretty inspirational, in the one sense. And kinda intimidating because compared to a lot of people (who pretend to know what they're doing, at least) I'm just going around with my eyes closed, bouncing off the walls.
And DC might seem really organized and sterile at first glance, but there's so much life bubbling underneath all the grey.
You just need to know where to look. There are little gems all around the city, streets that are known to have more character than others.
And even where the streets are a little too neat - that's the beauty of this place.
It isn't like the other cities, this is its character.
And I've learnt so much from being at my university. My professors have been incredible, they're all so smart they've had so much experience - real-life experience -they're google-worthy. But on top of all of that, they all genuinely care and want to help you out, teach you things, talk to you. They want to know what you plan on doing in the future - they value your opinions, they know that you want to be a part of this big (although likely idealistic) grand, supreme plan to Change Shit, and they know this, they've been there and they're ready to help out.
My overall experience here has been Insane. I mean there's no other way to describe it... It's definitely taken a toll on my sanity; it's been so good yet so difficult. It's pulled my emotions one way and then the other. I mean if anything in my life could be described as a true test of strength... Bam, hands down. The past year (End of 2011 to end of 2012) has been it.
And y'know, I do look forward to going home. Well... I did.
I still do, I still need to go home and there are so many reasons why I want to (and need to) be home now.
But being home for good will only make the things that have Changed resonate so much more loudly.
I won't be able to run away from the fact that...
Well, I've changed.
Things have changed.
People, places and realities that I left behind almost five years ago
Are either gone
Or are different now.
I'll walk through those glass doors at the airport coming home to something very different from what I left behind.
Coming home intermittently over the years obviously offered me glimpses into these shifts;
it's not like I didn't or don't know.
I've seen bits of it. Little bits change, sometimes major bits change.
But I've taken it all in, one small teaspoon at a time, like a necessarily bitter medicine.
Coming home for good is different, though.
I'll only have one address, one phone number.
One life.
No more running away to my other lives; they won't be there anymore.
The leaves will finally fall in a big messy pile onto a chipped, white plate which I will take through those doors, and home, with me.
And then there's no running.
1.10.12
Things that make me Not Happy.
1. Raisins in bread/pudding/scones.
2. Black pens.
3. Uncooked tomatoes.
4. Being Not Happy.
5. Dust.
2. Black pens.
3. Uncooked tomatoes.
4. Being Not Happy.
5. Dust.
6.8.12
I've no internet at home because the power supply to the router is messed up. Ridiculously frustrating, my phone credit is fast depleting and 3G is absolute rubbish.
Typing this from a little corner of the workweek gloom; still cannot quite wrap my head around the fact that I'll have to permanently submit myself to this monotony in less than six months - after spending the most part of the last five years avoiding it. It's not that bad though. I am looking forward to being home for good. Mostly, anyway.
"So, what next?"
Good question.
Typing this from a little corner of the workweek gloom; still cannot quite wrap my head around the fact that I'll have to permanently submit myself to this monotony in less than six months - after spending the most part of the last five years avoiding it. It's not that bad though. I am looking forward to being home for good. Mostly, anyway.
"So, what next?"
Good question.
9.7.12
by Mila Jaroniec
I think about this sometimes: about how messed up we all really are on the inside. How we put on this “day face” and try to just live life and be okay, but underneath all that we have all these layers of neuroses and disappointments and unresolved issues that stay dormant until they’re triggered. Not overtly, most of the time — we wouldn’t be able to function if it were overt all the time — but under. Underneath us, inside of us. Things that happened to us that changed us. Heartbreak and trauma woven into the texture of our skins.
I think about this sometimes when I’m talking to someone, especially someone I know. It’s always more pronounced when it’s someone you know: you’re looking at them and they’re looking at you and you’re discussing something stupid like where to get dinner and all of a sudden it’s a surprise punch in the stomach, simultaneously seeing the person right in front of you and everything they’ve been through smudged around them like a sort of aura. You look at this person who was once on the verge of suicide, or overcame a serious illness, or had a dad who drank or no family at all, and they’re right there, talking, standing. They’re fine. They’re there. And you get this sudden impulse to weep or just touch them actually to make sure they’re real and wish you could borrow their strength for a moment because your own bones are crumbling.
It’s crazy to think about sometimes how all of us, even the most put together of us, are comprised of layers upon layers of experiences that once broke us, cracked our shells; about how we’re constantly mending ourselves, gluing ourselves together so we can remain in one piece and keep going forward for some reason. Underneath the outer layer we’re these coarse tangles of fears and mental blocks and sense memories and the older we get the more they just build and build. Sometimes we want nothing more than to be able to “let go” and leave the past in the past where it belongs, but these things imprint, in a way. They brand us. We can’t get rid of them and we wouldn’t be ourselves without them.
I think about this sometimes: about how messed up we all really are on the inside. How we put on this “day face” and try to just live life and be okay, but underneath all that we have all these layers of neuroses and disappointments and unresolved issues that stay dormant until they’re triggered. Not overtly, most of the time — we wouldn’t be able to function if it were overt all the time — but under. Underneath us, inside of us. Things that happened to us that changed us. Heartbreak and trauma woven into the texture of our skins.
I think about this sometimes when I’m talking to someone, especially someone I know. It’s always more pronounced when it’s someone you know: you’re looking at them and they’re looking at you and you’re discussing something stupid like where to get dinner and all of a sudden it’s a surprise punch in the stomach, simultaneously seeing the person right in front of you and everything they’ve been through smudged around them like a sort of aura. You look at this person who was once on the verge of suicide, or overcame a serious illness, or had a dad who drank or no family at all, and they’re right there, talking, standing. They’re fine. They’re there. And you get this sudden impulse to weep or just touch them actually to make sure they’re real and wish you could borrow their strength for a moment because your own bones are crumbling.
It’s crazy to think about sometimes how all of us, even the most put together of us, are comprised of layers upon layers of experiences that once broke us, cracked our shells; about how we’re constantly mending ourselves, gluing ourselves together so we can remain in one piece and keep going forward for some reason. Underneath the outer layer we’re these coarse tangles of fears and mental blocks and sense memories and the older we get the more they just build and build. Sometimes we want nothing more than to be able to “let go” and leave the past in the past where it belongs, but these things imprint, in a way. They brand us. We can’t get rid of them and we wouldn’t be ourselves without them.