With all that a great city like London has to offer such as the diversity of culture, the multi-racial communities that are facilitated in areas such as Whitechapel, coupled with the fierce segregation of international inhabitants, you would assume that what this cosmopolitan city has to offer is nothing short of boring and uninspiring. People such as me have relocated to London for the creative opportunities however competitive, the change of experience and life direction and the very excitement of job prospects etc, and the very poignant fact that almost anything can happen. London offers any visitor the ability to conclude toward the very fact that, like every city, it has a wide case of characters and personalities, an atmosphere that can rival any other U.K city, and streets that are famous for good or for bad. I can gaze up at the skyscrapers in Canary wharf like I have done previously, and marvel at the solidified resemblance of an economically power hungry nation. Yes I have been caught aghast of London’s historic landmarks, laughed at its entertainment value, and consumed alcohol until the world seems not so blighted as I once questioned two hours ago, and so much more silly and pompous. Yes I have walked across the Thames Bridge with the wind whipping my face, and the groans of car engines whirring across toward the other side of the city as I seek to understand how gloriously England still remains to be culturally different and somewhat old fashioned still. Yes I have sat amongst budding flowers in Hyde Park and kicked around a football precociously with people I did not know whom I befriended for the sheer fondness of sport in the heights of the summer sun and laughs.
Two weeks ago I sat down in my room and frowned at the floor with tepid tears rolling off my face. I’d lost my job, I felt that I was not directing myself through to any conclusion in any area of my life, and negativity had flourished heavily on my mind. I picked up my credit card and gazed at the faded digits and considered the very notion of escapism: the fact that I had an ability to go anywhere with my passport clenched in one hand and a small rucksack in another. I was on the brink of doing just that very soon when I got a text message from a close friend inviting me to a place her and her family was located in: southern England: Cornwall.
I had about four missions for this trip: Firstly to see if it was entirely possibly to measure the threshold of how stressed I was mindfully, secondly to reunite myself with a friend I had not seen for just over a few months, and thirdly to meet up with the girl who had an impact on my emotions like no other girl (or boy) had in my life and to see how my feelings would succumb, by seeing her again for the first time in half a year. Lastly I wanted to relax, and grip what ‘relaxation’ really felt like again. To a varying degree I wanted to see if I could note the levels of my personal happiness, via a key question: ‘Is London really contributing to my overall comfort, or realistically, is London not really ‘me?’. I know that happiness cannot be measured in quantities, and most of the time we either are not aware or do not really know what happiness really constitutes. I guess a necessary comparison would be to reflect upon our own lives as children, as irresponsibility on a financial and emotional level surely increases levels of comfort and decreases levels of some anxieties and worries. Secondly we could definitely look at how we conduct our lives and make it healthier of course, in many aspects. However still, it’s virtually impossible to totally eradicate lines of discomfort therefore I am able to accept that in adult life stresses and strains will impact upon us, but what I wanted to know was how a completely different place, that was very rural, would evoke my reaction mentally, physically and emotionally.
The trip was several hours long and yes, travelling makes you tired. Sometimes I cannot understand that theory, seeing as you are mostly sitting down or sleeping in the carriage of a train, but for the most part, I am compassionate with the individuals who really groan about the aspect of long distance travelling. The first impression of Southern England, shall we say specifically Falmouth, was one of utmost peace, a soulful designation but not very exciting and definitely not the kind of plate London offered. I was a bit sceptical of my visit for the first long moments until I ventured out and step foot into the soft, sand ridden landscape of Gyllyngvase Beach. It was sincerely picturesque, and had the aura of silenced but passionate creative beings. I could imagine young people wearing casual garments, sitting in close knit circles, smoking small rolls of tobacco mixed with the grinded leaves of cannabis and facilitating their every mental effort toward the ultra natural casting of the waves as they lay underneath the cool, breezing air that stroked their faces. I could imagine that the height of summer offered the young and old a sincere chance to grapple the real notion of the serene landscape that composed a great sense of tranquillity.
‘This isn’t like London. You never have to worry. It’s completely safe, you know, this is Cornwall’ is what my friend said as we strolled relaxingly on the cliff road. Being in London has caused me to become wary in my footprints, and completely vigilant of my immediate surroundings at most times. I must admit I’m a ‘chicken’ as it were, and my bravery lacks quite a bit. The dark scares me at the best of times, even when there is no one around, so it was definitely refreshing to be rejuvenated with the fact that crime in Southern Cornwall was scarce, or so the fact was.
By day two I was starting to enjoy the very fact that nothing seemed crass there: people were unperturbed, ruffled by little worry compared to city living, not to mention the definite notability in the cleanliness of water, less pollution in the air, and the laid back way of life. People did not need to rush around, and did not have the compulsion to brush off others because their line of transport was arriving in two or three minutes. Admittedly London has hardened me up in that aspect too: I never run for a train, but there are times where I have been brash and strode quickly, purposely not taking notice of people who might want to communicate because I have a place to get to. The conception of a rushed, abrupt atmosphere is one of the city’s downfalls unfortunately, which makes London society quite hasty at the best of times.
Nevertheless, I was going to vacate that attitude most definitely, and adaption is something that I have usually managed to accomplish. This was of no difference, and what I liked about this area was the fact that a lot of individual’s agendas were of course perpetual as everyone’s is, but more significantly, the way in which they utilized each day was very much in conjunction with the overall soothing characteristics of a southern English beachside. It seemed to me that if there were worries, it would be taken in a probable laid back stride, rather than shuffling and fretting about things that were smaller than seen.
Imagine a November afternoon, where the wind is frightful and the clouds threaten the overcast, so much so that you’d rather stay in with a film and a calming mug of warm hot chocolate. That was not quite the case in our situation. I’d met Dee* the day before for the first time in six months, and it was safe to say that I’d been anxious to see her as the last time of her departure, my feelings were in turbulence and my attraction was sincerely far from emancipated. Bounding down the stairs in an attempt to be confident and unnerved, I saw her and remembered exactly how she was and the connection we had etched. The hug was warm, and the communication from then on was effortless. The ability to make conversations progressive needed no exertion. As for my feelings, well Dee was and is still an open minded person: the very thing I adore about her. Because of this, a small varying amount of romantic feelings were still lingering, however the density and disruptive capability of them were not. Still, I would have felt some sort of physical reaction if we’d kissed, but I knew from the way that we were, that kissing her or trying to in any way was not a logically adequate move, plus she considered herself very much into men: the biggest factor of course.
Saturday Dee suggested that we should swim in the salty seas of Falmouth. I gazed at her in slight disbelief, and I pointed out bluntly that the weather was not so great and it was probably going to be absolutely freezing. She declined my notion and remained exuberant about it, enough so that I half reluctantly agreed, and eventually grew high spirited about this whole crazy charade! Casting our clothes on the eroded rocks that were glued into the sand, we made our way cautiously toward to edge of the lapping waves that half-heartedly sprayed the rocks. It was as if they were conjuring us to come in, using the tide as a way of clever manipulation. Dee firstly tried the temperature and shielded her feet away when she realised how cold the water was. I laughed, seeing as she was the one who’d confined both of us to this interesting activity on a bitter November afternoon. After the initial shock of the water, and my body reacting as if my stomach was going to almost throw the entire contents of that day’s food onto the horizon, I made the innate effort to swim very similarly to how a dog would: rapidly pushing the water around my body and frantically moving my limbs as if I were trying to fight the law of gravity. After about five minutes I’d seemed to adapt to the almost icy capacity of the water, while Dee, after a short while resigned from the water and remained on the rocks, taking a few delighted pictures. The funniest aspect of this amusing endeavour was the point where we’d finished assimilating our time in the ocean, (being watched by about five rather humorously outraged elder individuals) and was grasping our cardboard cups of tea with increasing difficulty. The wetness of my clothes, coupled with the beginnings of a rainy spell, and the strong current of air was causing us both to be juddering our hot drinks that mostly spilt over the ground below. With no offense intended and no puns made, I felt as if I was an old aged pensioner who had unfortunately lost the will to grasp effectively anymore.
The meeting with Dee that weekend lasted one evening and one day. As I said goodbye to her with an agreeable hug and no seeming awkwardness between us, I felt the slight trickle of those feelings of ‘Man, I miss her so much’ from six months ago. Her spontaneous and artistic nature appealed and gripped me, and will probably continue to do so. It’s been twenty two years and I am not afraid to say that she is the only person who has had that impact on me as a whole, whom I’ve connected with so very well in regards to similar outlook, endeavour and discussions of light philosophy. I realise that I aspire to meet someone who is very much like her, but where one implication is more correct and ideal. As I walked up the road overlooking the cliff, a lyric of an old Australian song rang through my ears from my Ipod: ‘There was a time when I would go walking backwards round the world if you said your mine’. With my bag tipping my shoulder up, the heavy rain hitting my face and seeping quickly through my clothes, the slight sadness of saying goodbye dawned on me with no reluctance. However much I knew my feelings were in plight ever so slightly at that moment, I filled my thoughts with a smile and grasped onto the very fact that I knew circumstances were not right, but I’d made a good friend and a worthwhile companion to reach to if ever in need or not. However much she is the romantic ideal for me, I know in my heart of hearts that she is not the one for me. I made sure I ingrained that very notion in my mind, while I made steps towards beating the rains.
Seeing my friend that night was equally as good and the reaction we placed upon each other was rather hilarious. She’d wanted me to come earlier as she had difficulty withstanding her family talk about men and the X factor. I felt like I’d entered a comedy club given the way she was describing how seemingly suppressed she felt, especially regarding the fact that she is gay and had no outlet in the form of discussion. I arrived at the estate and waved a farewell to another very interactive and communicative person (I was starting to really like this Cornish attitude that seemed to be embedded positively within everyone) who happened to be the taxi driver. Fifty yards from spotting each other we were laughing our hearts out at the very fact that the last time we reconciled like this was at work and now we were in the middle of nowhere, with the main topic of conversation being a dog-wash that was spotted in the small town of ‘Penze an Beeble’. The dog wash seemed to be the fire of discussion: ‘Oh my god, there’s actually a dog wash here babe. A real dog wash, I can’t believe it! People have nothing to do here, so they make a business by doing a dog wash. It’s like a little shower; I think it’s a joke! Seriously, who would do that!?’ she concluded many more times than once. The story was not magnified: it was true and it was worth chuckling at. I, myself had never heard of a mobile dog wash before. I’d assumed that people used their baths for the dogs, but here we were discussing the very imaginary but real concept of something never heard of. Apart from this I’d engrossed myself in reading the biography of President Elect Barack Obama which turned out to be one of great interest. I divulged in it largely, because ever since he won the President Elections, he’d instilled a degree of great iconic respect from me. The biography is proving to show evidence of the fact that he is as level-headed, rational and clarified as his speeches make out to be.
Arriving back at London Paddington this evening, I didn’t know how to feel. I’d had a relaxing whole day with my friend, and enjoyed the atmosphere and the surroundings of Falmouth much so, that I lightly citied an idea to book one more night there by myself, just so I could open my curtains to the gleaming horizon. I walked through the station barriers and immediately felt a rush of difference. Of course firstly, this was London again so the rush and fervour of people were everywhere, and secondly it was the time where people had finished work and was crowding the underground gates, hoarding the floors and seemingly snatching every ounce of free space there was.
Out of the four missions I went to accomplish, all were sustained well, except my question of my future. I know I want to go to university next year for absolute, one hundred percent certain. Dee had a point in what she said on Saturday: ‘I like it here because of the sea and also this will probably be the only chance I have to live here. If I want to pursue writing, I’ll probably have to go back into the city. I mean, there isn’t really much opportunity here’. She has a valid point. Creatively, the city is the best place, but to conform and hone my ability to study and my motivations, I do believe that a University situated in a place such as Cornwall would do me well for three years. This of course, is going to be utilized and I do not think that I would go to Cornwall; however if I can find a University near a beachside, I can’t help but think that it may do my mind many wondrous favours.
Monday, 10 November 2008
Sunday, 24 August 2008
The notion of thought.
It's been a while since I updated this blog with my thoughts so here are the updates:
Direction taking it's toll.
I sometimes develop envy of those who know exactly where they are heading in they're lives. Some people I know tell me that they've wanted to pursue medicine, or art, or mathematics all their life, right from the beginning, and I can't help but be slightly jealous of their confidence that their choices that are solid. I myself have gone through changes that seldom stick: A few months ago I was going to pursue art and illustration. A few months back from that I was seriously considering I.T and animation. Now I feel my forte would be music production and/or music performance, possibly business. It's the thought process that takes over my mind every day. At least once a day I consider this or that, and then I may change my decision based on an easy influence or something somewhat appealing. Needless to say, this way of thinking and problem-solving is not an easy one. Being easily influenced by the goods of a career is difficult, and it comes a point where your just standing in the middle of a flurry of all thoughts binding in as one, with so many crossroad directions it starts to get you confused and annoyed. I don't know how I am going to solve this, be it time, be it sticking to one direction and not straying. Perhaps I need some serious meditation time to myself, or a wallop on the head with a barge pole or the like...
Me, myself and I.
Yes I still have that old-age issue of 'me'. Well what about 'me'? These days I have a more positive opinion of myself. I make myself think more positive because it's valuable and more healthy in the long run to do so. I've even established a 'flower-powery' sense of it all whereby I tell myself I must be grateful for what I have, my abilities, the fact that I can live independently and that I have no medical conditions that stop me from living 'free' , or that I'm not living in a country where suppression takes it's toll to a large effect. Now even though I ingrain this every day, or at least try to, I then start to question how much of what I really think of 'me' am I suppressing and how much is really developing a positive sense of oneself? The same goes for inner happiness: 'How much am I suppressing the fact that I am not happy, and how much am I pretending to be happy as a result of that suppression?'. There will be days where I can smile without feeling awkward and pretentious, and then there are other days where I really find it hard to do just that simple task. On occasions I admit, I have the tendency to sit and start crying for no apparent reason. Luckily that happens less frequently then it did before, which proves to me then, that I am steadily becoming more content in myself and develop more self-confidence.
Yet I can look in a mirror and think 'I'm o.k' but when out with other people the view of me becomes more negative and more self-absorbed. Perhaps it's because of personal identity issues. Not big issues mind you, but smaller ones, primarily to do with the way I showcase myself through dress sense, behavior, and so forth. It's used to be all about 'I'm going to BE GAY!' but now it's becoming more of 'Why do I have to shout it out? If people don't know, they may never know. If they want to know, ask and if they know then not a problem as long as they don't impose discriminatory actions on me in any circumstance'.
Quest for people.
I hope I do not offend any of my friends when I say this, because it is not meant to cause offense in any case.
However wonderful it might be to go out and have fun, drink lots of wine, laugh ourselves stupid, talk about things that don't have much relevance but at the time are the most hilarious topics in discussion, and generally be buzzed on the very likabilities of being out together, lately I have really felt the need to break away. Not on a permanent basis, not at all. I feel the need to withdraw myself a little bit to really focus on my own train of thinking, on what I really intend to do and to follow the reason why I came to London in the first place: for creative opportunities. Being in London, the opportunities for most things are endless, and I am rather disheartened to know that those are flying past me right now. Every opportunity is probably smacking me in face laughing at my lack of efforts in the knowledge that it can offer me more valuable networking and social attributes to get closer to whatever I end up pursuing, career wise. with a busy city like this, I can't imagine anyone stopping within a midst of rushing people, and coming up to me saying 'you know what Nada, I'm going to offer you this. Either take it or leave it, but I'm offering'. Right now, it's very much a case of the shrugging of the shoulders effect, and really, to be honest. I mean, shall I be honest with myself now? This is LONDON! It's fast paced, it moves quicker and it takes everyone with it. Therefore I think I might need to join the bundle of people to get where I need to go. Not because it might be too late, but simply because with a whole bunch of opportunities, there is going to be at least one that helps shapes the direction of where I am going.
Now to do that, it's a 'quest for people'. People are the very inclinations of where I end up going. They are the key to my scope of focus and if that's the case, then it's time I end up meeting likewise people. Time to research. Time to get my foot through some doors, so to speak.
Affirmation of independence, mindfully.
Since moving to London about five months ago, I have developed a lot more stability and independence which I feel is fantastic, given the way I am going right now. London I think, has that effect on people, especially if you seek out to live on the cusp of simply a weeks decision. I'd came here a few weekends, ended up loving visiting the place and decided there and then to move. Eight weeks later I was here living with a friend, knowing no one but the people I work with.
Presently I'm glad to say time has been kind to me, as I have been to time, and I am developing a string of good friends, slowly but surely.
I think London is just so fast paced that your mindset tends to adapt to that. I dislike being hassled on a street because I know I have to get somewhere all the time and as a result of that, I tend not to acknowledge those who ask for say, money or charity fund raisers etc. I never am rude because these people have jobs to do as well, but I have realized that I am generally more solid and have my feet firmly placed on the ground these days. In a sense I like it because I am not allowing myself to be walked over by anyone. With that I'm becoming more thick skinned and more confident in my independence and the beginnings of self-belief are starting to come about. As long as I do not become arrogant, this way of treading each day I feel is healthy, and will enable me to rise to a good position in, well, life generally.
Relationships.
Ah ha. How many times have I talked about this? My relationship count is next to nothing (If I don't include the one with an ex-boyfriend that lasted for all about six months. I don't class that as a relationship simply because I did not feel what I should have, if it were honest). I guess the only reason I'm mentioning this (in a purposely more small paragraph then the aforementioned) is because it does play on my mind, but definitely not so much as I used to. I've been listening to my friends tell stories and voice their problems they are having with their girlfriends/boyfriends. I see the stress in their face as they talk and the concern that they voice, and sometimes I am envious that they have a person in their lives that they can harp on about. But that is just sometimes. Nowadays, luckily, I sit and though the trickle of that sad thought: 'well I have nobody' drips through, the majority of my way of thinking is more healthy. I am starting appreciate very much the pro's of being single. I have no idea what a real relationship entails, but I can very much imagine it's fantastic when it goes an expected way, but torture when not. It's been eight months since I even last kissed a girl and though most people may gasp at that fact, (even I used to at myself!) I no longer find it shocking and becoming more accepting that it's really not the end of the world if I do not have a girlfriend. I wish not to get emotionally hurt at this point in my life where it's crucial that I start to develop focus, therefore I will not get involved with just anyone for the sake of wanting some fun. I've realized also that 'the scene' is so small. Make friends with a lesbian who lives in London and your guaranteed that they will have at least one mutual friend on your list. Not a bad thing I know, but I've seen some situations where things get out of hand because of a certain complication or development that was not so good, and to be in the midst of a bit of a crisis like some I've seen is not worth exerting efforts over. It's the exact reason why I remain quiet, I don't voice opinions about anything unless someone specifically requests any constructive criticisms from me. I go out, I have fun, I go home. In saying this though, it's extremely easy to be placed in the forefront of a development, even when it's not yours to deal with initially. The general vibe however, is friendly enough to spend a night in.
And that's all for now. I could write a host more of my thoughts, but I feel that is to be left for another day. Perhaps the next section will be 'Revenge and why it's not worth it' as I've been philosophizing a lot on the very topic, however that I think needs it's own separate entry!
Until next time.
Wogomama.
Direction taking it's toll.
I sometimes develop envy of those who know exactly where they are heading in they're lives. Some people I know tell me that they've wanted to pursue medicine, or art, or mathematics all their life, right from the beginning, and I can't help but be slightly jealous of their confidence that their choices that are solid. I myself have gone through changes that seldom stick: A few months ago I was going to pursue art and illustration. A few months back from that I was seriously considering I.T and animation. Now I feel my forte would be music production and/or music performance, possibly business. It's the thought process that takes over my mind every day. At least once a day I consider this or that, and then I may change my decision based on an easy influence or something somewhat appealing. Needless to say, this way of thinking and problem-solving is not an easy one. Being easily influenced by the goods of a career is difficult, and it comes a point where your just standing in the middle of a flurry of all thoughts binding in as one, with so many crossroad directions it starts to get you confused and annoyed. I don't know how I am going to solve this, be it time, be it sticking to one direction and not straying. Perhaps I need some serious meditation time to myself, or a wallop on the head with a barge pole or the like...
Me, myself and I.
Yes I still have that old-age issue of 'me'. Well what about 'me'? These days I have a more positive opinion of myself. I make myself think more positive because it's valuable and more healthy in the long run to do so. I've even established a 'flower-powery' sense of it all whereby I tell myself I must be grateful for what I have, my abilities, the fact that I can live independently and that I have no medical conditions that stop me from living 'free' , or that I'm not living in a country where suppression takes it's toll to a large effect. Now even though I ingrain this every day, or at least try to, I then start to question how much of what I really think of 'me' am I suppressing and how much is really developing a positive sense of oneself? The same goes for inner happiness: 'How much am I suppressing the fact that I am not happy, and how much am I pretending to be happy as a result of that suppression?'. There will be days where I can smile without feeling awkward and pretentious, and then there are other days where I really find it hard to do just that simple task. On occasions I admit, I have the tendency to sit and start crying for no apparent reason. Luckily that happens less frequently then it did before, which proves to me then, that I am steadily becoming more content in myself and develop more self-confidence.
Yet I can look in a mirror and think 'I'm o.k' but when out with other people the view of me becomes more negative and more self-absorbed. Perhaps it's because of personal identity issues. Not big issues mind you, but smaller ones, primarily to do with the way I showcase myself through dress sense, behavior, and so forth. It's used to be all about 'I'm going to BE GAY!' but now it's becoming more of 'Why do I have to shout it out? If people don't know, they may never know. If they want to know, ask and if they know then not a problem as long as they don't impose discriminatory actions on me in any circumstance'.
Quest for people.
I hope I do not offend any of my friends when I say this, because it is not meant to cause offense in any case.
However wonderful it might be to go out and have fun, drink lots of wine, laugh ourselves stupid, talk about things that don't have much relevance but at the time are the most hilarious topics in discussion, and generally be buzzed on the very likabilities of being out together, lately I have really felt the need to break away. Not on a permanent basis, not at all. I feel the need to withdraw myself a little bit to really focus on my own train of thinking, on what I really intend to do and to follow the reason why I came to London in the first place: for creative opportunities. Being in London, the opportunities for most things are endless, and I am rather disheartened to know that those are flying past me right now. Every opportunity is probably smacking me in face laughing at my lack of efforts in the knowledge that it can offer me more valuable networking and social attributes to get closer to whatever I end up pursuing, career wise. with a busy city like this, I can't imagine anyone stopping within a midst of rushing people, and coming up to me saying 'you know what Nada, I'm going to offer you this. Either take it or leave it, but I'm offering'. Right now, it's very much a case of the shrugging of the shoulders effect, and really, to be honest. I mean, shall I be honest with myself now? This is LONDON! It's fast paced, it moves quicker and it takes everyone with it. Therefore I think I might need to join the bundle of people to get where I need to go. Not because it might be too late, but simply because with a whole bunch of opportunities, there is going to be at least one that helps shapes the direction of where I am going.
Now to do that, it's a 'quest for people'. People are the very inclinations of where I end up going. They are the key to my scope of focus and if that's the case, then it's time I end up meeting likewise people. Time to research. Time to get my foot through some doors, so to speak.
Affirmation of independence, mindfully.
Since moving to London about five months ago, I have developed a lot more stability and independence which I feel is fantastic, given the way I am going right now. London I think, has that effect on people, especially if you seek out to live on the cusp of simply a weeks decision. I'd came here a few weekends, ended up loving visiting the place and decided there and then to move. Eight weeks later I was here living with a friend, knowing no one but the people I work with.
Presently I'm glad to say time has been kind to me, as I have been to time, and I am developing a string of good friends, slowly but surely.
I think London is just so fast paced that your mindset tends to adapt to that. I dislike being hassled on a street because I know I have to get somewhere all the time and as a result of that, I tend not to acknowledge those who ask for say, money or charity fund raisers etc. I never am rude because these people have jobs to do as well, but I have realized that I am generally more solid and have my feet firmly placed on the ground these days. In a sense I like it because I am not allowing myself to be walked over by anyone. With that I'm becoming more thick skinned and more confident in my independence and the beginnings of self-belief are starting to come about. As long as I do not become arrogant, this way of treading each day I feel is healthy, and will enable me to rise to a good position in, well, life generally.
Relationships.
Ah ha. How many times have I talked about this? My relationship count is next to nothing (If I don't include the one with an ex-boyfriend that lasted for all about six months. I don't class that as a relationship simply because I did not feel what I should have, if it were honest). I guess the only reason I'm mentioning this (in a purposely more small paragraph then the aforementioned) is because it does play on my mind, but definitely not so much as I used to. I've been listening to my friends tell stories and voice their problems they are having with their girlfriends/boyfriends. I see the stress in their face as they talk and the concern that they voice, and sometimes I am envious that they have a person in their lives that they can harp on about. But that is just sometimes. Nowadays, luckily, I sit and though the trickle of that sad thought: 'well I have nobody' drips through, the majority of my way of thinking is more healthy. I am starting appreciate very much the pro's of being single. I have no idea what a real relationship entails, but I can very much imagine it's fantastic when it goes an expected way, but torture when not. It's been eight months since I even last kissed a girl and though most people may gasp at that fact, (even I used to at myself!) I no longer find it shocking and becoming more accepting that it's really not the end of the world if I do not have a girlfriend. I wish not to get emotionally hurt at this point in my life where it's crucial that I start to develop focus, therefore I will not get involved with just anyone for the sake of wanting some fun. I've realized also that 'the scene' is so small. Make friends with a lesbian who lives in London and your guaranteed that they will have at least one mutual friend on your list. Not a bad thing I know, but I've seen some situations where things get out of hand because of a certain complication or development that was not so good, and to be in the midst of a bit of a crisis like some I've seen is not worth exerting efforts over. It's the exact reason why I remain quiet, I don't voice opinions about anything unless someone specifically requests any constructive criticisms from me. I go out, I have fun, I go home. In saying this though, it's extremely easy to be placed in the forefront of a development, even when it's not yours to deal with initially. The general vibe however, is friendly enough to spend a night in.
And that's all for now. I could write a host more of my thoughts, but I feel that is to be left for another day. Perhaps the next section will be 'Revenge and why it's not worth it' as I've been philosophizing a lot on the very topic, however that I think needs it's own separate entry!
Until next time.
Wogomama.
Wednesday, 16 July 2008
Idealogies in the hope of romance.
I've just finished watching one of Hollywood's most cheesiest American chick flick productions: 'A Cinderella Story'. It's one of those films which constitutes jingly music, lightly strung guitared American pop songs, with young actors and lots of blue skies and University shots in it. I don't usually get to watch something so simple and laid back, however I decided to treat myself to a £3 Dvd in Tesco's and what better then to go back to my roots of sitting in front of the Television dreaming of some kind of whirlwhild romance, whilst watching a romantic comedy of the like.
Off course I don't think on that perspective anymore. All these films are rather psychologically blinding, especially to someone who is rather hopeful and likes to live in an idealistic fantasy of some sort. Yeah I used to be that kind of girl. Romance that never ended, kissing that never stopped, flowers, sunshine, perfection, all that bullshit that just simply doesn't exist in this life. If you think it does, then you've watched far too many sparkly, fantastical Bollywood films. Bollywood films I think are clever. I think the reason they are so exceptional is because they make them under the speculation that we as human beings hate drama (drama, drama) so they therefore create some kind of unique spectrum in their storylines, whereby everything is ultra-violet, quite illogical but spectacular, unreal but entertaining, and focal. Gosh, if life were like that psychologists would be out of business!
Listen though because this is rather interesting: An occurance somewhat linked toward the aforementioned (well partially) has happened within me. I believe it came to the point where I simply gave up on all that romantic expectancies. You know all that 'when am I going to meet someone I really like' (My God, that question didn't half run around my head while I was sleeping and awake!). Stupid wish, stupid dream, stupid ideology. Tell me, what is the point in wishing upon something so unpredictable and spontaneous like that when it cannot be fueled? It's certainly not possible to meet 'the one' for you the next day because you wish it to be. To hell with that and what's largely branded as 'wishful thinking'.
'Wishful thinking' is a dangerous one, especially if there are no boundaries or any sort of tangeable perimeter as to what you are wishing for exactly. Literally a month ago only I was wishing to meet someone: I would think deep about what I wanted and hope that in the extreme near future I was going to meet her somewhere unusual. The occurance after that would be somewhat amazing and unique between us. The classic 'swept off of my feet' jargon...
But no. Nothing of the sort has happened.
And now, I don't think about that. I don't even think about 'me' as much anymore. One month ago I was exclaiming at my appearance, pointing out dozens of 'faults'. I was listing down those visual 'mistakes' that were about me. Dumming myself down so to speak.
What a fuck up.
...and seriously, it's one month later and I really don't know how it's occured but my mindset is ever-so rapidly changing into a more optimistic one per se. Yeah I still look at myself and think 'oh shit, look what the cat brought in' but I don't pine about it. It's more of the *Shrug shoulders* type of attitute whereby I learning to appreciate what I have and be grateful that I have got everything I need to survive independently in life.
If I go to a club, I don't want to pick up. Shall I be honest? I don't care. My main priority is to socialise and network, not get so ridiculously drunk I throw up. Also not to get off with the first girl that happens to meet eye contact with me. Most of the time it's a shallow act. I say this, but there may be a few odd times that it happens. Well whatever, but those times won't be planned. I won't seek to do that kind of thing.
And that's how I like it. Those aspects of your life, you can simplify for the better. It takes time, but tweaking the way you think and the way you behave positively towards yourself and others around you...well, it's fucking worth it at the end of the day, even if it does take ages to get there...
Off course I don't think on that perspective anymore. All these films are rather psychologically blinding, especially to someone who is rather hopeful and likes to live in an idealistic fantasy of some sort. Yeah I used to be that kind of girl. Romance that never ended, kissing that never stopped, flowers, sunshine, perfection, all that bullshit that just simply doesn't exist in this life. If you think it does, then you've watched far too many sparkly, fantastical Bollywood films. Bollywood films I think are clever. I think the reason they are so exceptional is because they make them under the speculation that we as human beings hate drama (drama, drama) so they therefore create some kind of unique spectrum in their storylines, whereby everything is ultra-violet, quite illogical but spectacular, unreal but entertaining, and focal. Gosh, if life were like that psychologists would be out of business!
Listen though because this is rather interesting: An occurance somewhat linked toward the aforementioned (well partially) has happened within me. I believe it came to the point where I simply gave up on all that romantic expectancies. You know all that 'when am I going to meet someone I really like' (My God, that question didn't half run around my head while I was sleeping and awake!). Stupid wish, stupid dream, stupid ideology. Tell me, what is the point in wishing upon something so unpredictable and spontaneous like that when it cannot be fueled? It's certainly not possible to meet 'the one' for you the next day because you wish it to be. To hell with that and what's largely branded as 'wishful thinking'.
'Wishful thinking' is a dangerous one, especially if there are no boundaries or any sort of tangeable perimeter as to what you are wishing for exactly. Literally a month ago only I was wishing to meet someone: I would think deep about what I wanted and hope that in the extreme near future I was going to meet her somewhere unusual. The occurance after that would be somewhat amazing and unique between us. The classic 'swept off of my feet' jargon...
But no. Nothing of the sort has happened.
And now, I don't think about that. I don't even think about 'me' as much anymore. One month ago I was exclaiming at my appearance, pointing out dozens of 'faults'. I was listing down those visual 'mistakes' that were about me. Dumming myself down so to speak.
What a fuck up.
...and seriously, it's one month later and I really don't know how it's occured but my mindset is ever-so rapidly changing into a more optimistic one per se. Yeah I still look at myself and think 'oh shit, look what the cat brought in' but I don't pine about it. It's more of the *Shrug shoulders* type of attitute whereby I learning to appreciate what I have and be grateful that I have got everything I need to survive independently in life.
If I go to a club, I don't want to pick up. Shall I be honest? I don't care. My main priority is to socialise and network, not get so ridiculously drunk I throw up. Also not to get off with the first girl that happens to meet eye contact with me. Most of the time it's a shallow act. I say this, but there may be a few odd times that it happens. Well whatever, but those times won't be planned. I won't seek to do that kind of thing.
And that's how I like it. Those aspects of your life, you can simplify for the better. It takes time, but tweaking the way you think and the way you behave positively towards yourself and others around you...well, it's fucking worth it at the end of the day, even if it does take ages to get there...
Thursday, 3 July 2008
the funny going on's of london (Part 1)
I was walking casually around the grand old modern city of London when I just felt inspired to write my own personal review of what this place entails and, by golly, what we can really do here to educate ourselves. (I have included the liberty of incorporating my own personal etchings here and there. Those emotional jolts are to be overruled: please to be focusing on the facts in hand!)
How to board public transport for free.
I don't mean the underground folks. They most probably have secret police and agents everywhere dressed as 'tourists' while we go about our daily lives entering the abyss of the those 3284237 year old trains. I cannot nip over the barriors with my cape and soar down the escalators like Batman returning oh no. I'm not the smooth operator that you may think I am (If you think I am). Instead I'd most probably attempt the jump, invariably catch my leg or arm on something or other (or if not, fall over a small child or a terrior dog of some sort), fall awkwardly, turn and be loomed over by six or six dozen London underground staff. All eyes staring, let's get hauled off to a police station, shall we not!
Ever heard of the 'Bendy buses?'. Me neither until about three weeks ago when I actually witnessed one, thereby associating the name with it's imagery: It's a bus with three compartments, each attached together by some sort of (what I can only describe as a) 'rubbery thing'.
Directions as to how to not pay for bus fare:
1) Board 'bendy bus' at the second or third entrance. (If you board at the front you have to pay. For God sake the bus driver is directly in your face!
2) Act natural. Do not be shifty.
3) Pretend to be grossly involved in looking in your bag or of similar nature.
4) Be distracted. Keep looking in the bag and sit down casually.
5) Cross legs professionally.
6) End.
Yes it is that easy. Remember folks, with inflation rising, the credit crunch...crunching. Petrol prices going up so high (send the oil companies a postcard won't you. Be nice to them, pay for the stamp) we might as well take advantage of anything free we are offered. Even if it is a bit devious. Go ahead, take your cake and eat it!
How to be a tourist guide without trying:
Tottenham Court Road Underground Station. I was casually strolling by today squinting behind the suns ray, catching the atmosphere, soaking in the pollution through my skin. (Oh so healthy and human-like). A sweet little Chinese (or Japanese. How do I tell?!) girl came up to me softly and enquired 'Where is Oxford Circus?'
'Oxford Circus station?' (She nods)
'Oh it's just down this road. Just keep walking all the way down and you'll see it'
She thanks me and trundles off. I did my bit for tourist society again and my, am I proud for answering the question rightly. Indeed I have found that if I stand by Lloyds Tsb bank (by far the bank that really uses unecessary floor space - as in the next seeable 'chair, desk, customer service advisor apparatus' is approximately 7,000 yards away) I seem to undoubtedly attract tourists of all nationalities. Since I starting standing by my particular bus stop, heards of tourists run towards me with maps in their hands and compasses around thier necks. Pleading eyes questioning me, tears welling up in their faces, sweaty hands grasping mine as they desperately tell me how they are trying to locate Wimbledon Centre Court or 'That place that sells all those watches'.
I do feel that it is my spot. It is designated for my attention and I am just drawn to it. My bit for international society is expanding and I thank the forces of fate for offering to me.
'Now let me just get my fucking bus love, awwright.'
Please do not do this at all.
I shan't tell you my whole story. I shan't bore you with the literal details. It's 5am in the morning isn't it guys, and you have nothing else to do right? So you go on Facebook, you notice that I have imported a blog entry and you think ' What the fuck, I'll just read it. Got nothing else better to do with my time'.
I moved to London, so I'm here now. London is just so full of wonder and delight is it not. Ignore the pollution and crowds folks, let us be positive. You can come to London and pursue many things: promoter, taxi driver (yes they get a lot of money..or so), uniformed individual looking important, hobo, graffiti artist, assistant of anything, actor, musician, prostitute with own room overlooking central city in Soho, barworker, limo driver, glass collector in clubs, freelance artist, refuse collector, debt collector, Avon lady, chav, ghetto diva etc etc. You could virtually be something exciting.
So don't do what I have done... What have I done: Charity telephone fundraiser. God must love me right now: I guide confused tourists in Tottenham Court Road voluntarily because I am a nice person and I work for charity on a full time basis. Glamorous? No. No wide floor plans, dial tones make me have withdrawal symptoms, credit crunch causes everyone to exclaim 'sorry lav, I can't GIVE!' or as I had today 'Sorry darl, I just paid a £45,000 gas bill' (Where did she go, day trip to hell? Does she co-own hell with the Devil? Did she sign a tenancy agreement there? Does she live in ovens?'), interesting psychological hierachies in worker's given titles.
I must say the people are fantastic, the air conditioning can be a nuisance (especially if you are the unfortunate fool who happens to sit right underneath it with just a t-shirt and nipple clamps), but as a whole can I simply advise: Treat it as a second job.
I'm treating sleeping as my first. This as my second. I am surviving and as Gloria Gaynor once sang 'I will survive'.
Indeed.
A whole host of *sighs*
I was walking around in London today and one rather tall man got in my way. He seemed to believe I got in his way. Perhaps I did, I mean, who was walking quicker? Who was walking with more ease? What were our objectives to getting to whereever we were to get to? We dodged casually: Left, right, left, right ('What the fuck are you doing man, trying to create a Russian dance with me?! I'm not Russian!), left and then the:
*sigh*
He won the Netball game. We dodged with the invisible ball. He tried to pass, I challenged his attempt. He tried again, I actioned in the same way. He tried again, then psychologically smacked me in the face and moved on forward.
Why *sigh*? This is London.
Don't sigh man: Go to your broker job. Eat your biscuits and tea. Have meetings about when the next meeting should be scheduled. Flirt with that girl, yeah you know the one: the one with the pencil skirt. Her yeah'
Sighing in London means you are destined to live in a shack with one cow...and perhaps a Cockatoo or maybe a few sheep.
Annoying the newspaper promoters
We have 'The London Newspaper' and 'The Lite Newspaper'. The Lite is apparently printed with ink that does not rub onto your hands. These guys are clever because no one wants inked up hands on their way to their meeting in which they hope they get that promotion. (I personally don't give two flying bazooka's about the ink. I just want to read it)
Old Street is a fine example. It's central London and many cool businessmen and women are out for their lunches. You have both newspaper companies right next to each other and there are two guys standing with a pile of newpapers perched on their arms.
I look to the one on the left and he looks back. We squint at each other before he tilts his neck and eyes his rival. Smoothly I direct my eyes to the other. The same action is repeated and I'm sensing the tension between them. I get my knife and yes, I cut it straight down the middle. I coolly run my hands through my hair before sliding both hands into the pockets of my jeans.
The tension builds and the suspense is killing them...
The question begs: 'What newspaper do I choose?'.
Cliffhanger galore...
The British Library:
I have the fortunate luck to be temporarily living in Kings Cross. (No that does not mean I live with the King and his cross, or that the King is cross, or that I am living in some sort of cross shaped house or apartment in which I share with a King). It's a London location for all ye folk who are not so knowledgeable. In King's Cross is 'The British Library'.
The British Library ladies and gentlemen (may I just say) is one of the most famous one in the world. Every English publication across the world is situated in there and it is one of the few libraries in which every publication company is obliged by law to send every new English title to The British Library. It has over a million books and historical so forths. It even has a train track underneath it to transport a whole range of books inside it's vaults every year. It has original trans/manuscripts of books/written recording some from thousands of years back.
It's truly amazing!
and I have not been arsed to visit it.
Please point and call me a giddy, uneducated, disestablished, young whippersnapper who has nothing better to do then to stare at this screen and eat Ben & Jerrys' cookie dough.
My, my do I like that icecream.
I'm a fucking idiot. Go and see that place. Tell me what's it's like in detail. Enlighten me beautifully.
The end is nigh for now.
I love you all like I love staring at hot chicks behind my sunglasses.
How to board public transport for free.
I don't mean the underground folks. They most probably have secret police and agents everywhere dressed as 'tourists' while we go about our daily lives entering the abyss of the those 3284237 year old trains. I cannot nip over the barriors with my cape and soar down the escalators like Batman returning oh no. I'm not the smooth operator that you may think I am (If you think I am). Instead I'd most probably attempt the jump, invariably catch my leg or arm on something or other (or if not, fall over a small child or a terrior dog of some sort), fall awkwardly, turn and be loomed over by six or six dozen London underground staff. All eyes staring, let's get hauled off to a police station, shall we not!
Ever heard of the 'Bendy buses?'. Me neither until about three weeks ago when I actually witnessed one, thereby associating the name with it's imagery: It's a bus with three compartments, each attached together by some sort of (what I can only describe as a) 'rubbery thing'.
Directions as to how to not pay for bus fare:
1) Board 'bendy bus' at the second or third entrance. (If you board at the front you have to pay. For God sake the bus driver is directly in your face!
2) Act natural. Do not be shifty.
3) Pretend to be grossly involved in looking in your bag or of similar nature.
4) Be distracted. Keep looking in the bag and sit down casually.
5) Cross legs professionally.
6) End.
Yes it is that easy. Remember folks, with inflation rising, the credit crunch...crunching. Petrol prices going up so high (send the oil companies a postcard won't you. Be nice to them, pay for the stamp) we might as well take advantage of anything free we are offered. Even if it is a bit devious. Go ahead, take your cake and eat it!
How to be a tourist guide without trying:
Tottenham Court Road Underground Station. I was casually strolling by today squinting behind the suns ray, catching the atmosphere, soaking in the pollution through my skin. (Oh so healthy and human-like). A sweet little Chinese (or Japanese. How do I tell?!) girl came up to me softly and enquired 'Where is Oxford Circus?'
'Oxford Circus station?' (She nods)
'Oh it's just down this road. Just keep walking all the way down and you'll see it'
She thanks me and trundles off. I did my bit for tourist society again and my, am I proud for answering the question rightly. Indeed I have found that if I stand by Lloyds Tsb bank (by far the bank that really uses unecessary floor space - as in the next seeable 'chair, desk, customer service advisor apparatus' is approximately 7,000 yards away) I seem to undoubtedly attract tourists of all nationalities. Since I starting standing by my particular bus stop, heards of tourists run towards me with maps in their hands and compasses around thier necks. Pleading eyes questioning me, tears welling up in their faces, sweaty hands grasping mine as they desperately tell me how they are trying to locate Wimbledon Centre Court or 'That place that sells all those watches'.
I do feel that it is my spot. It is designated for my attention and I am just drawn to it. My bit for international society is expanding and I thank the forces of fate for offering to me.
'Now let me just get my fucking bus love, awwright.'
Please do not do this at all.
I shan't tell you my whole story. I shan't bore you with the literal details. It's 5am in the morning isn't it guys, and you have nothing else to do right? So you go on Facebook, you notice that I have imported a blog entry and you think ' What the fuck, I'll just read it. Got nothing else better to do with my time'.
I moved to London, so I'm here now. London is just so full of wonder and delight is it not. Ignore the pollution and crowds folks, let us be positive. You can come to London and pursue many things: promoter, taxi driver (yes they get a lot of money..or so), uniformed individual looking important, hobo, graffiti artist, assistant of anything, actor, musician, prostitute with own room overlooking central city in Soho, barworker, limo driver, glass collector in clubs, freelance artist, refuse collector, debt collector, Avon lady, chav, ghetto diva etc etc. You could virtually be something exciting.
So don't do what I have done... What have I done: Charity telephone fundraiser. God must love me right now: I guide confused tourists in Tottenham Court Road voluntarily because I am a nice person and I work for charity on a full time basis. Glamorous? No. No wide floor plans, dial tones make me have withdrawal symptoms, credit crunch causes everyone to exclaim 'sorry lav, I can't GIVE!' or as I had today 'Sorry darl, I just paid a £45,000 gas bill' (Where did she go, day trip to hell? Does she co-own hell with the Devil? Did she sign a tenancy agreement there? Does she live in ovens?'), interesting psychological hierachies in worker's given titles.
I must say the people are fantastic, the air conditioning can be a nuisance (especially if you are the unfortunate fool who happens to sit right underneath it with just a t-shirt and nipple clamps), but as a whole can I simply advise: Treat it as a second job.
I'm treating sleeping as my first. This as my second. I am surviving and as Gloria Gaynor once sang 'I will survive'.
Indeed.
A whole host of *sighs*
I was walking around in London today and one rather tall man got in my way. He seemed to believe I got in his way. Perhaps I did, I mean, who was walking quicker? Who was walking with more ease? What were our objectives to getting to whereever we were to get to? We dodged casually: Left, right, left, right ('What the fuck are you doing man, trying to create a Russian dance with me?! I'm not Russian!), left and then the:
*sigh*
He won the Netball game. We dodged with the invisible ball. He tried to pass, I challenged his attempt. He tried again, I actioned in the same way. He tried again, then psychologically smacked me in the face and moved on forward.
Why *sigh*? This is London.
Don't sigh man: Go to your broker job. Eat your biscuits and tea. Have meetings about when the next meeting should be scheduled. Flirt with that girl, yeah you know the one: the one with the pencil skirt. Her yeah'
Sighing in London means you are destined to live in a shack with one cow...and perhaps a Cockatoo or maybe a few sheep.
Annoying the newspaper promoters
We have 'The London Newspaper' and 'The Lite Newspaper'. The Lite is apparently printed with ink that does not rub onto your hands. These guys are clever because no one wants inked up hands on their way to their meeting in which they hope they get that promotion. (I personally don't give two flying bazooka's about the ink. I just want to read it)
Old Street is a fine example. It's central London and many cool businessmen and women are out for their lunches. You have both newspaper companies right next to each other and there are two guys standing with a pile of newpapers perched on their arms.
I look to the one on the left and he looks back. We squint at each other before he tilts his neck and eyes his rival. Smoothly I direct my eyes to the other. The same action is repeated and I'm sensing the tension between them. I get my knife and yes, I cut it straight down the middle. I coolly run my hands through my hair before sliding both hands into the pockets of my jeans.
The tension builds and the suspense is killing them...
The question begs: 'What newspaper do I choose?'.
Cliffhanger galore...
The British Library:
I have the fortunate luck to be temporarily living in Kings Cross. (No that does not mean I live with the King and his cross, or that the King is cross, or that I am living in some sort of cross shaped house or apartment in which I share with a King). It's a London location for all ye folk who are not so knowledgeable. In King's Cross is 'The British Library'.
The British Library ladies and gentlemen (may I just say) is one of the most famous one in the world. Every English publication across the world is situated in there and it is one of the few libraries in which every publication company is obliged by law to send every new English title to The British Library. It has over a million books and historical so forths. It even has a train track underneath it to transport a whole range of books inside it's vaults every year. It has original trans/manuscripts of books/written recording some from thousands of years back.
It's truly amazing!
and I have not been arsed to visit it.
Please point and call me a giddy, uneducated, disestablished, young whippersnapper who has nothing better to do then to stare at this screen and eat Ben & Jerrys' cookie dough.
My, my do I like that icecream.
I'm a fucking idiot. Go and see that place. Tell me what's it's like in detail. Enlighten me beautifully.
The end is nigh for now.
I love you all like I love staring at hot chicks behind my sunglasses.
Monday, 16 June 2008
As is life..
I don't want to be at home today. I was sent home for work because my hours were apparently not scheduled. That's a mistake in itself because I remember scheduling them.
So today was not the greatest of days. I don't know, I just feel...as if I'm loosing out on something. As if something is perhaps going to go wrong any minute now. Ironically everytime I say a comment like 'life is brilliant right now. It's going really well!' something happens to occur that stunts what I just said. It's the reason why I never say that things are going well anymore, because I just don't know what will happen next.
Today at work I came across such a wonderful gesture of a dignified response to homosexuality: 'I think it's disgusting'. I happened to be sitting directly opposite this individual.
Whether any circumstance be what they are, people should start to watch out what they say in places where other people work. People should realise that where we live and how we live is very diverse. It is a simple fact of life. There are gay/transgender/lesbian/black/white/jewish/chinese etc etc all across the world, in which they exist everywhere. For a singular person to echo a response in classification of discrimation/predjudice is really not acceptable, even if it is in conversation.
I decided that I was not going to do anything about it even though it made me uncomfortable to sit close by to her, therefore moving seats. I don't hate this individual or even dislike that person, but a part of me feels that I want to keep my distance in the knowledge that this person thinks that particular way.
Understandable is it not?
Or perhaps I am being a tad dramatic.
Either way, I wish people would not have this fucking fanatic viewpoint of any kind of person be it whoever they are. What is it to anyone how anyone else conducts their life!? This is what I simply do not understand. I am certainly not flaunting it in anyone's face that I am gay, neither am I forcing myself physically or emotionally onto them, so why is it that there are people out there that feel they should flaunt their discrimatory opinions at other's who live the way they do?
It's certainly not like I walk around and try to generate hate. I never discrimate against a single person because people are who they are despite the colour of their skin, their beliefs, their viewpoints on topics of the world. I do not usher an opinion in the way in which someone lives (unless by exceptional circumstances in how they conduct their lifestyle is morally indistinct) because people are entitled to whatever path they wish to follow.
Is that not how it should be?
Some people have this fucking ridiculous belief that 'gay people choose to become gay'. That angers me. Firstly, if they are not gay, then they have absolutely no idea as to how a person establishes they're sexual identity and I can safely say that I did not choose to 'transform' into what I am. As far as I know, I was brought up and I simply just 'am' who I am. To underline that I tried to convince myself I was fully attracted to the opposite sex for eight years: that did not work. So I am assuming that it is simply not a 'quick decision', but nurtured/natured into a person from the beginning.
I shall not pretend for anyone. My belief stands for myself, and I believe that to be happy you have to accept who you are and how you have become. Ultimate happiness is established within yourself and to be happy you have to be comfortable in your own skin. I'm comforable. More then comfortable in fact: this year will be the first in which I am ten times more happier then I have ever been in my life.
So for all people who claim to be homophobic, I wish that you come to your senses at one point or another and realise that judging who a person is on the basis of a so called 'label' is incredibly narrow minded. Let those people recognise who a person is on the sole realisation of their character and how they conduct themselves morally in society.
I certainly do not hate people who are homophobic. I don't even dislike them because I'd be judging them solely on one belief, when in retrospect other aspects of them could be very nice. At the same time I am extremely opinionated about my beliefs in not judging by 'labels'. Therefore my belief will no doubt clash against someone who is completely on a polar opposite. If not in speech then in thought and even then, it can show in behaviour.
I therefore, feel the need to be simply polite to people but that is as far as it may go. I am completely against discrimination or predjudice in any fashion whatsoever.
People live as they see fit, as is life.
So today was not the greatest of days. I don't know, I just feel...as if I'm loosing out on something. As if something is perhaps going to go wrong any minute now. Ironically everytime I say a comment like 'life is brilliant right now. It's going really well!' something happens to occur that stunts what I just said. It's the reason why I never say that things are going well anymore, because I just don't know what will happen next.
Today at work I came across such a wonderful gesture of a dignified response to homosexuality: 'I think it's disgusting'. I happened to be sitting directly opposite this individual.
Whether any circumstance be what they are, people should start to watch out what they say in places where other people work. People should realise that where we live and how we live is very diverse. It is a simple fact of life. There are gay/transgender/lesbian/black/white/jewish/chinese etc etc all across the world, in which they exist everywhere. For a singular person to echo a response in classification of discrimation/predjudice is really not acceptable, even if it is in conversation.
I decided that I was not going to do anything about it even though it made me uncomfortable to sit close by to her, therefore moving seats. I don't hate this individual or even dislike that person, but a part of me feels that I want to keep my distance in the knowledge that this person thinks that particular way.
Understandable is it not?
Or perhaps I am being a tad dramatic.
Either way, I wish people would not have this fucking fanatic viewpoint of any kind of person be it whoever they are. What is it to anyone how anyone else conducts their life!? This is what I simply do not understand. I am certainly not flaunting it in anyone's face that I am gay, neither am I forcing myself physically or emotionally onto them, so why is it that there are people out there that feel they should flaunt their discrimatory opinions at other's who live the way they do?
It's certainly not like I walk around and try to generate hate. I never discrimate against a single person because people are who they are despite the colour of their skin, their beliefs, their viewpoints on topics of the world. I do not usher an opinion in the way in which someone lives (unless by exceptional circumstances in how they conduct their lifestyle is morally indistinct) because people are entitled to whatever path they wish to follow.
Is that not how it should be?
Some people have this fucking ridiculous belief that 'gay people choose to become gay'. That angers me. Firstly, if they are not gay, then they have absolutely no idea as to how a person establishes they're sexual identity and I can safely say that I did not choose to 'transform' into what I am. As far as I know, I was brought up and I simply just 'am' who I am. To underline that I tried to convince myself I was fully attracted to the opposite sex for eight years: that did not work. So I am assuming that it is simply not a 'quick decision', but nurtured/natured into a person from the beginning.
I shall not pretend for anyone. My belief stands for myself, and I believe that to be happy you have to accept who you are and how you have become. Ultimate happiness is established within yourself and to be happy you have to be comfortable in your own skin. I'm comforable. More then comfortable in fact: this year will be the first in which I am ten times more happier then I have ever been in my life.
So for all people who claim to be homophobic, I wish that you come to your senses at one point or another and realise that judging who a person is on the basis of a so called 'label' is incredibly narrow minded. Let those people recognise who a person is on the sole realisation of their character and how they conduct themselves morally in society.
I certainly do not hate people who are homophobic. I don't even dislike them because I'd be judging them solely on one belief, when in retrospect other aspects of them could be very nice. At the same time I am extremely opinionated about my beliefs in not judging by 'labels'. Therefore my belief will no doubt clash against someone who is completely on a polar opposite. If not in speech then in thought and even then, it can show in behaviour.
I therefore, feel the need to be simply polite to people but that is as far as it may go. I am completely against discrimination or predjudice in any fashion whatsoever.
People live as they see fit, as is life.
Tuesday, 10 June 2008
My boob is itchy.
It really is. Occasionally I get the itchy tit. What's worse if both boobs are itchy: I look as if I'm trying to rub my nipples in order to turn myself on. Luckily I'm in the vicinity of my own room which is a relief. If I was in the call centre casually pinching my nipples and scratching my breasts fiercly then either the men will find it somewhat amusing and/or the women who know I'm gay will just think I'm a desperate lesbian who is getting off on herself because she has no one to get off with.
I was so bored at work today I decided to seize a few mints (because I was sure I had bad breath at one point) from the reception area. I started casually sucking on them then had this absolute genious idea to use my most valued professional art pens to do some kind of eccentric design on one of them. I ended up drawing spots on it in brown and then colouring the rest of it dark green. Me being me then decided it would be rather amusing to write on a piece of paper 'Dinasaur egg. £5 to touch. Please do not move' and put it on one of the water coollers (obviously along with the designated mint). The rest of my evening was followed with eyeing people's reactions every time they casually went for a drink. Most people just screwed their face in confusion and walked off. I did indeed still find that rather hilarious in some sordid way or another.
After that I decided it would be quite the turn to wear my sunglasses during call time. The majority of people did the same screwing-face expression as they walked past/saw me from a distance. I was quite happy eating Skittles and talking to people over the phone who 'expressed an interest in Barnardos work after replying to an ad campaign'.
Seriously sometime's I think members of the public are totally nuts. You know, screw loose's everywhere. I mean, 'the lights are on but nobody's home' phrase takes immediate effect when you work in a call centre ladies and gentlemen. Usually you come across the same old drone 'No, she's/he's/it's not here at the moment. Can I take a message?'. You will also come across the wives who are paranoid that they're husbands are cheating on them and that you are in fact that secret lover ('Uh..who is this speaking may I ask?'). Sometimes I have the complete compulsion to reply:
'Oh, I'm your husbands sugarmama. You know, everytime you weren't there, I was. Everytime your bedsheets were messed up, it was me screaming in delight. Everytime your husband was 'at the gym', we were working out together'
You also get the answerphones with children who have recorded the messages. Even worse, the parents AND the children recording the messages. Whenever you hear some kind of answerphone message like that, there is the assumption that Mr & Mrs. Parsons family unit is completely solidified and problem-free when really, behind that 'Mum, Dad and Chllloooeee Parson isn't here now, but leave a message after the beep!', it's more like 'Muuuummmmm, why was Dad in the shower with that weird lady with long blond hair?' or 'Dad, why does Mummy have a big thing that vibrates' or even worse 'Dad, why was Mum in our room with another lady naked'.
All in all, I really do like working where I work. There are many different perks, but the main perk is that you are a front-observer of the general British public. From phone responses I would say that:
60% of people are depressed/pessimistic
10% always have screaming kids in the background somewhereanother 10% would like to burn charity fundraiser callers such as ourselves
5% would rather support the 'National institute for Ants' or something equally as
5% actually have no money and on a debt management scheme/bankrupt
8% are paranoid about who the hell is calling them at this time of day/night
2% are unusually optimistic and HAPPY that you have called them. Those people either need a better way of life or have almost mastered ultimate inner contentment or happiness...or on drugs.
That is all ladies and gentlefolk.
It's been a lovely day.
I was so bored at work today I decided to seize a few mints (because I was sure I had bad breath at one point) from the reception area. I started casually sucking on them then had this absolute genious idea to use my most valued professional art pens to do some kind of eccentric design on one of them. I ended up drawing spots on it in brown and then colouring the rest of it dark green. Me being me then decided it would be rather amusing to write on a piece of paper 'Dinasaur egg. £5 to touch. Please do not move' and put it on one of the water coollers (obviously along with the designated mint). The rest of my evening was followed with eyeing people's reactions every time they casually went for a drink. Most people just screwed their face in confusion and walked off. I did indeed still find that rather hilarious in some sordid way or another.
After that I decided it would be quite the turn to wear my sunglasses during call time. The majority of people did the same screwing-face expression as they walked past/saw me from a distance. I was quite happy eating Skittles and talking to people over the phone who 'expressed an interest in Barnardos work after replying to an ad campaign'.
Seriously sometime's I think members of the public are totally nuts. You know, screw loose's everywhere. I mean, 'the lights are on but nobody's home' phrase takes immediate effect when you work in a call centre ladies and gentlemen. Usually you come across the same old drone 'No, she's/he's/it's not here at the moment. Can I take a message?'. You will also come across the wives who are paranoid that they're husbands are cheating on them and that you are in fact that secret lover ('Uh..who is this speaking may I ask?'). Sometimes I have the complete compulsion to reply:
'Oh, I'm your husbands sugarmama. You know, everytime you weren't there, I was. Everytime your bedsheets were messed up, it was me screaming in delight. Everytime your husband was 'at the gym', we were working out together'
You also get the answerphones with children who have recorded the messages. Even worse, the parents AND the children recording the messages. Whenever you hear some kind of answerphone message like that, there is the assumption that Mr & Mrs. Parsons family unit is completely solidified and problem-free when really, behind that 'Mum, Dad and Chllloooeee Parson isn't here now, but leave a message after the beep!', it's more like 'Muuuummmmm, why was Dad in the shower with that weird lady with long blond hair?' or 'Dad, why does Mummy have a big thing that vibrates' or even worse 'Dad, why was Mum in our room with another lady naked'.
All in all, I really do like working where I work. There are many different perks, but the main perk is that you are a front-observer of the general British public. From phone responses I would say that:
60% of people are depressed/pessimistic
10% always have screaming kids in the background somewhereanother 10% would like to burn charity fundraiser callers such as ourselves
5% would rather support the 'National institute for Ants' or something equally as
5% actually have no money and on a debt management scheme/bankrupt
8% are paranoid about who the hell is calling them at this time of day/night
2% are unusually optimistic and HAPPY that you have called them. Those people either need a better way of life or have almost mastered ultimate inner contentment or happiness...or on drugs.
That is all ladies and gentlefolk.
It's been a lovely day.
Saturday, 7 June 2008
My invention that is better than any weight loss fad.
I reached out for box of cereals and coolly poured some into my bowl then covered it with some semi-skimmed milk. I knew I wasn't going to enjoy this but alas, I needed to eat anyway. I started scooping up the cereals and ate as much as I could before putting the bowl to one side and sitting back for a few seconds to relax. I'd eaten it quickly because I knew my body needed the vitamin and general healthy intake. Instinctively I knew that I had to stop eating because I felt that my digestive system could not take anymore.
I got up and put the bowl in the sink, what was left of the cereals back up on top of the fridge and the milk in the fridge itself. I stood there pondering whilst looking at my Twix bar lying there on top of the ham. 'Shall I eat that now?' I thought whilst tapping my foot lightly. 'No, what's the point?'. I close the fridge and then open the freezer door underneath, pull out the top drawer and pick out my Ben & Jerry's chocolate chip icecream (My favourite flavour of ice cream may I add). I pose the question again but once again, dismiss it easily with 'no, not now'.
I still down and decide that I'm going to write. Nothing indepth but something that is interesting to think about.
See the reason why I just cannot be bothered with many foods right now like chocolate or crisps or icecream or any junk food for that matter is because I can't taste it. I'm just recovering from a cold in which the majority of it has affected only really my throat and my nose and sinuses. Everything is clogged up and because of that off course I cannot taste or smell a single thing.
See though, this got me thinking. We as human beings like different foods so much not really because of the texture so much but because of the taste off course. We have individual preferences on what we like and what we don't and most of us love junk food in one way or another. I certainly do, especially salty snacks and chocolate. But right now I couldn't give a dam about what I'm eating because I simply cannot taste a single thing! So what's the point in opening my Ben & Jerry's icecream now (which may I add, cost quite a lot for a small tub of icecream) when I cannot have the pleasure of enjoying the taste...
This off course led me to the conclusion of how good it would be if someone could invent something that would wipe out the taste senses temporarily. Perhaps like some kind of pill that a person can take. I know that right now I don't care what I eat because I simply cannot taste anything so nothing is that pleasurable right now. All I know is that I must eat to keep myself alive so imagine if something was invented like a type of drink even, to have that effect on the tastebuds. We'd all be healthy, probably super-healthy, because we wouldn't care what we ate as long as we stayed alive at least!
Maybe I should patent this idea and then meet up with a couple of research scientists!
There you go! The way to getting slim and healthy without the need of fad diets and restrictions!
I got up and put the bowl in the sink, what was left of the cereals back up on top of the fridge and the milk in the fridge itself. I stood there pondering whilst looking at my Twix bar lying there on top of the ham. 'Shall I eat that now?' I thought whilst tapping my foot lightly. 'No, what's the point?'. I close the fridge and then open the freezer door underneath, pull out the top drawer and pick out my Ben & Jerry's chocolate chip icecream (My favourite flavour of ice cream may I add). I pose the question again but once again, dismiss it easily with 'no, not now'.
I still down and decide that I'm going to write. Nothing indepth but something that is interesting to think about.
See the reason why I just cannot be bothered with many foods right now like chocolate or crisps or icecream or any junk food for that matter is because I can't taste it. I'm just recovering from a cold in which the majority of it has affected only really my throat and my nose and sinuses. Everything is clogged up and because of that off course I cannot taste or smell a single thing.
See though, this got me thinking. We as human beings like different foods so much not really because of the texture so much but because of the taste off course. We have individual preferences on what we like and what we don't and most of us love junk food in one way or another. I certainly do, especially salty snacks and chocolate. But right now I couldn't give a dam about what I'm eating because I simply cannot taste a single thing! So what's the point in opening my Ben & Jerry's icecream now (which may I add, cost quite a lot for a small tub of icecream) when I cannot have the pleasure of enjoying the taste...
This off course led me to the conclusion of how good it would be if someone could invent something that would wipe out the taste senses temporarily. Perhaps like some kind of pill that a person can take. I know that right now I don't care what I eat because I simply cannot taste anything so nothing is that pleasurable right now. All I know is that I must eat to keep myself alive so imagine if something was invented like a type of drink even, to have that effect on the tastebuds. We'd all be healthy, probably super-healthy, because we wouldn't care what we ate as long as we stayed alive at least!
Maybe I should patent this idea and then meet up with a couple of research scientists!
There you go! The way to getting slim and healthy without the need of fad diets and restrictions!
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