The Very Last Day of the Year.

Today is, as the title reads, the very last day of the year 2010. I'm not really celebrating as such, but I filled my day with enjoyable activities and tonight we're attending midnight service at church. Maybe not everyone's cup of tea, but I will say I'm pleased to be going to the house of the Lord on the very last day of what has been quite an overwhelming year. To thank Him for carrying me through what, like I said, was a very overwhelming year, and to pray for a much brighter, much more positive 2011, full of hope and, if I may ask for it, peace.
Tonight I will turn the page- no, I'll close the whole book- and start afresh on a new book, and on a new page.

2011 will be wonderful. Here's to new people, new relationships, new opportunities and new possibilities. Here's to fresh starts, fresh hope, miracles and happiness.
And here's to making everything already good, even better. Here's to better friendships, better relationships and better opportunities.
And, because of all of that- better happiness.

Oh yes. Tonight when the clock strikes 12 o'clock, I'm going to shut my eyes and brace myself for this whirlwind year ahead.
Oh yes, bring on 2011.

Spring Looks Like..

Spring looks like persistent sunshine tackling clouds, which, annoyingly are of equal persistence.
Spring looks like unnaturally bright flowers and grass as green as the fluorescent highlighter you used in high school. (Take that, water restrictions, our lawns are green anyway!)
Spring sounds like every man down the street pulling out the lawn mower to attack the jungle that winter turned his lawn into.
Spring looks like the ecstatic neighborhood dogs finally being walked after a harsh winter of kennel-hibernating.
Spring looks like pale, winter-abused people accepting any excuse to venture outside and absorb some much needed vitamin D.
Spring sounds like the guy in the ice-cream van playing his joyous melody, because like us, he just can't wait until Summer.

The Cry Of The Fallen.

Jesus, can you hear me?
Can you see these tears I cry?
My eyes are red from weeping
And my soul is feeling dry.

Jesus, are you watching
As I fight to stay afloat?
My troubles are like angry seas
Their waves abuse my boat.

Jesus, are you listening
As I lay awake at night?
Praying for an end to this
For you to set things right.

Jesus, are you here with me
When this cruel world gets me down?
When I am hurt and all alone
And no one is around.

Jesus, do you love me
Regardless of what I do wrong?
When I tell a lie and break your heart
Then praise your name in song.

Jesus, can you hear me, or have you been listening all along?

Making Like A Chameleon.

I need some change. Not change like coins (but if you want to know, I do actually require my $2 that shifty lady at the quick-stop bar at the train station conveniently dropped when handing my change back. She dropped it down the crack of that contraption that keeps the food warm. As a result, I am $2 poorer and very much unhappy-er.).
But no, I mean I need some change in my life. It's becoming repetitive and dreary and it isn't giving me much hope.
Or, maybe I don't need change, as such. Maybe I just need to get happy. Yes, I think that's it.

I attempted to get happy today actually. I heard of a vintage sale in the city, where nothing was over $10. That price alone makes me happy.
Long story short, it was a 45 minute train ride into the city, only to find out the sale wasn't in the store- it was in a warehouse a few kilometres past the city, in some residential suburb I'd never heard of.
But oh, the things I do for cheap yet classy fashion! I (along with three friends, I should add) made my way to this place, asking several different people, taking several different trams, walking several hundred miles (or so it felt), and ending up with several different blisters on my poor little feet at the end of the day.
It wasn't even as good as I'd hoped. There was lots of clothes, yes. And they were all $10 or less, but by the time we'd gotten there, I was just not in the mood. I couldn't be bothered looking around, and because I was in a horrid mood, $10 suddenly seemed far too much to be paying for a leather jacket or a pair of vintage Levi's.
We left after 20 minutes anyway. Although I did end up purchasing 2 skirts- a little denim one, and a high-waisted black leather pencil skirt. It's a little grungy. I like it.

So even though we did more walking than we did shopping, and got more blisters than we did clothes, it was an interesting day out. There are so many fascinating folk in the city, I tell you. I'm amazed every time I travel out!

Nevertheless, my attempt to get happy didn't really succeed as I'd hoped it would. I'm thinking tomorrows attempt will do a better job. I will be putting the Christmas tree up, and also putting down-payments on my Macbook and my SLR. Hurrah for the festive season!

I'll try to make like a Chameleon and get some change going. Or at least make like a 3-year-old and get some happy going.

I'll let you know how I go..

Like Alices' Mad Hatter, Such Are The Days of My Life.

When I meet God in heaven, I'm going to ask him why there are only twenty-four hours in a day. It's a beautiful world he's created, but really- only twenty-four hours in a day? How much is one supposed to accomplish in such little time?

I feel like that rabbit in Alice In Wonderland who was running down that rabbit hole with his little pocket watch. Everything is such a race these days, and there's no time of anything else! In fact, so true that is, that I'm squeezing in some blogging time in my science class. My teacher doesn't mind. She's using her computer too. Maybe she's blogging too.

How my hurried little heart yearns for the summer, where there is nothing to do but lounge and play as you please. Where one lazy warm day rolls right into the next, merely separated by a hot summery night. Where the only time you see teachers is at the shops, when they look like ordinary people, shopping for coffee and toilet paper like the rest of us.
When the only homework you do is counting how many flies you've whacked with the fly swatter, and how often you adjust the cooling system of your house.

But yesterday it rained so much that the garage flooded. Water started bubbling out of the drain instead of in, and I'm beginning to question this summers' intentions. Really, if you're only going to rain on us, please just roll on into autumn. I won't hate you for that long.

But until tomorrow afternoon, when 115 mentally and physically drained teenagers get their lives back, I should probably pay attention in class.

Maybe one day I'll need to know the molecular anatomy of an atom...

Journals- For The Things That Are Better Left Untold.

You know, every once in a while, someones got something very interesting to say. I want to hear more, and find out every detail. I want to listen and know.
And then sometimes there are interesting things that should never be spoken of. Ever. To anyone. And I know this, because I was the receiver of such news. It's not entirely pleasant. I'd be much happier if I didn't know. In fact, two days later, and I'm still incredibly unsettled.

Hearing it was like a horror movie. You want to watch, and find out what happens next. Yet at the same time, you want to shut your eyes and run away and never put that damn disc in the DVD player again! It's horrifying and revolting and suddenly, nothing is as it was before, because now you're just scarred for all eternity.

I tried not to let the person know I was so sickened and horrified. 1.) That would be rather rude, and I try to be as polite and courteous as possible at all times. 2.) I assure the person I would be 100% willing to listen, and not judge. And 3.) I was still a little curious, I must admit.

It wasn't one of those things that you just need to tell someone. It wasn't completely vital that I be told. But then again, I didn't really block my ears and shut my eyes, and drown the person out with the good old 'la la la la laa!'. I listen, and tried to hide my disgust and disbelief behind slightly glazed over eyes. I think some people should just write this type of stuff down in a diary and set it on fire. Just let it burn. And then never speak of it again. That's what diaries are for.

Try as I might, I'll never look at that person the same way again. I just can't. I don't dislike them. I have absolutely nothing against them. They will still be my friend, and I love them just as I did before, only with a little extra knowledge that still unsettles me.

I would share with you, this surprising, horrifying, disgusting story, but I have been sworn to secrecy and I am a strong believer that pinkie promises are not to be broken.

A Slightly Belated Blog.

Bloggers! I apologize for my lack of time and motivation. Well, not so much my lack of time, because that's really not my fault. But motivation, yes, I admit that was me.
I had so much to say to you in August it seems, and so little in September, which really isn't true.
I had lots to say. And yet so little time.

I conjured up the wonderful idea of a surprise present for my best friend's birthday, although that went terribly wrong.
In the end, I was forced to settle with decorating a cold chocolate chip muffin with sprinkles and those little shiny edible cake decorating balls that I never remember the name of. I stuck a candle and two sparklers in it, and drove it to her house.
She opened the door before I even got out of the car, so I yelled at her to go back inside and shut the door. Awkward.
When I got to her door, I struggled with the lighter (oh, the disadvantages of the non-smoker!) and managed, finally, to light one sparkler. My attempt to light the second one failed, almost, but by the time I had it going, the first one burnt out.
So when she finally opened the door, I had one measly candle, and a halfway burnt out sparkler. Fantastic.

So that was my failed birthday surprise. I don't think she was surprised. Just a little confused. She looked at the muffin like it might have been a dangerous explosive, and warily began to eat it about an hour later, when it was colder and even crappier looking.

I also got myself a new piercing in September. The top of my ear, with a little diamante' stud. It's cute, and a little bit punky. I do like it, but after almost two weeks, it continues to prevent me from sleeping on my right side.
I had it pierced at the biker shop at a local town. The Harley Davidson merchandise and intimidating shop persons was slightly off-putting, but the gentleman with colourfully tattooed arms was rather friendly. After less than five minutes, I walked out with a lovely new piercing to join the other one on my right ear. My left ear is getting rather lonely.

And just to finish off my complete transformation, I grew some courage, and braced myself as I sat in the hairdresser's chair and finally got my androgynous Agynes Deyn 'do.
Yes, you read right, I cut all my hair off. Now I look like Agynes Deyn, mixed with a little bit of Twiggy.
It's not that bad. Alright, I'll admit, I almost cried. But I like it now. Its manageable, and fun and versatile.
I haven't heard anyone say they hate it. In fact, most people really like it. A lot. I got some strange looks from a few girls and boys at school, but if they don't like it, I'll gladly tell them where to stick their negative opinions. Well, maybe I won't, but I'll certainly want to. I have the courage to be different, so hurrah. *Raspberry*

Oh, and I sewed myself three little handbags. They're out of scrap denim and one is out of scrap floral fabric. They wont hold much, but they'll hold your essentials. They're very cute, and a little bit quirky. I want to sell them, but they need linings and straps first of all. My best friend already has dibs on the fringed one.

Apologies again. I promise to write more often this month.

The Rest Is Still Un-Written.

I think the most beautiful thing about this life, is that everyone has a dream. And one of the most horrible things, is when people make you doubt your dream. That's not nice, is it?

So I feel so blessed that people not only support my dream- they fuel me towards it. It's like a big, heaving push on the swings at the park, that sends you high into the sky like a bird.

Last week, I began writing a new chapter for the war novel 'The Boy In The Striped Pyjamas'. We were given six options, and one of them required us to write another chapter of the novel. Of-course, knowing me, I wrote three chapters, not one.
I decided to add in a shocking twist, and plenty of raw emotion, etc. I spent hours on it, and by Thursday night, I had hand-written nine pages of my three alternative chapters to the book. I didn't think it was that great, but I liked it, and was proud of it nonetheless.

Later that night, I asked my mother to read it. "Did you write this?" she asked, sounding a little shocked. My mother is slowly making a habit of asking questions when the answers are alarmingly obvious.
No mum, I didn't write it. I just spent several hours drawing architectural sketches of the new hospital I'm going to build in Venezuela in my notebook.
Of-course I wrote it. You watched me.
"It's very good!" she remarked, in a tone that reassured me she really was impressed. "I can just imagine it, and it's so different from how the book really is. It's good!" she'd said.
My sister didn't bother reading it, as she hasn't read the book in the first place. I know she doesn't really want to though.

Mum asked me to print off an extra copy to show her best friend Sue. I like Sue. If it wasn't too late to make her my Godmother, I would ask mum to do it. Sue's lovely.
So I printed off an extra copy, and mum took it to work the next day. When she returned, she said, "I showed Sue your story. She said 'My God, this is brilliant! I got goosebumps reading it, it's fantastic.' "
"Really?" I replied, flattered and a little bit shocked. I didn't know anything I wrote ever gave anyone goosebumps. Apparently mum had also taken my piece to our social worker Karen, who's gradually becoming more like a family friend to us. Mum tells me Karen was amazed, and thought it was brilliant work for a year nine student, and that I have talent.

Then on Friday, as I added the finishing touches to the front cover of my piece, I asked my best friend to read it.
She hates english, and I know that it's partly because it's not her strongest subject. English doesn't make sense to her, the way math and numbers don't make sense to me. I don't hate math the way she hates english, but I think the fact that she's not so good at it, makes her feel even worse, hence her hatred for it.
I try and teach her things, and sometimes I think she learns more from me than from our teacher. But she still doesn't like it. I tell her she should read, and at least that will help expand her vocabulary, and assist her spelling, but she says books bore her, and she just doesn't like them.
So from then on, I made a silent pledge that one day, I would write a novel so amazing, it was engross her completely in the first chapter. It would mark the beginning of her new love of reading, and I would dedicate the book to her.

Anyway, I asked her to read my piece, and halfway through, she turned to me and said "That's what I like about what you write, I can see it in my head. I can just picture everything happening."
That, by itself said to me, You're a great writer, if you can make her fall in love with one of your pieces. If you can make her like reading, you're an amazing writer.'

So I submitted my writing piece to the teacher on Friday. I don't know if she'll like it. I don't know if I'll get a good mark. Maybe she'll find something wrong with my formatting, like she did last time.

But if people like what I write, then that's good enough for me. I'm going to keep writing. I'm going to write a novel soon. My very own one. I've started, just a few paragraphs. It'll get there soon. But right now, the rest is still un-written.

Boy Meets Girl.

Uh-oh.


Here I go again. I can't help it, the urge has risen. I think I want to cut my hair again. Not just pixie-short. But shorter. Like a boy-cut.
Think Agyness Deyn, in all her wonder and unique style. Choppy layers, and minimum drying time.
Hair that looks as if it's tougher than steel, and cooler than ice. I want that.

And I know I said I was going to grow out my Autumn pixie-cut. I was aiming for flowy, long tresses that reached my hips.
Oh, but Agyness Deyn makes this look so good! I don't know if I want to grow it anymore. I think I want it shorter. I want to cut it.
I know I wanted beautiful long hair, but the pull is magnetic. Short hair beckons.

I'll have to discuss this further with friends. They won't be happy to hear of my sudden change of heart once again.

Oh well. The androgynous kid inside of me wants attention. Now.

Whatever Will Be, Will Be.

"The future's not ours to see, Que Sera, Que Sera."

And that's my problem.
You see I have a real problem with surprises and not knowing things. Maybe not as bad as my sister, whose much worse than I am with surprises- to the point where she just about ruined her own surprise party for herself (although she insisted she had a lovely time).

I just don't like not knowing the future. True, the future is not our to see. How do we know we'll even make it to the future anyway?
I'm not normally morbid, but hey, if I got hit by a bus tomorrow, my future would most likely be spent six feet under, and pushing daisies.
But I need to have at least a vague idea of what's in store for me. How will I know whether to anticipate good or bad? What can I brace myself for?
What if I brace myself for a future abundant with joy and prosperity, only to be depressed and broke in ten years to come (God forbid).
Or what if I spend all these years worrying about how awful my future will be, and plotting schemes to try and avoid that, only to realize I was in for a blessed future anyway?

I need to have some sort of idea! How can one possibly sit and wait; just wait and see what the future holds?
To me, it seems more possible for a sheep to give birth to an albatross. I hate waiting. More than anything. And the only thing I hate more than waiting is waiting and not knowing what to expect.

But I once realized, God doesn't give you challenges you can't overcome, nor does he give you a life you're unable to live.
So I won't brace myself for anything in particular. I'll just brace myself for the future.

Because whatever will be, will be.

The Ballerina Wanna-Be.

Last year it was Street Latin. And in fact, I trialled it at a dance studio one evening. I would have pursued if the teachers were not so terrible at teaching.
This year though, it's ballet. Oh, isn't it just beautiful? There isn't anything I dont love about ballet.
I love the leotards and the tutus. I love the tightly coiled buns, with not a single hair out of place. And I love, love, love ballet shoes, and watching when the ballerinas dance 'en pointe'. I think it's the most graceful and elegant thing I've ever seen in my entire life.
That's why to this day, my biggest regret is having not learnt ballet as a child. Oh, how I wish my mother had enrolled me in ballet.
What did she enroll me in instead? Swimming classes.
Alright, so I know how to swim, and in fact, as a result of how often I used to swim, I'm a rather strong swimmer; but what did i acquire along with good water skills? Broad shoulders.
I can get out of a rip in about fifteen seconds, and I could do backstroke in my sleep, but can I plie'
gracefully, or memorize all six positions?
I'd have to be dreaming.

I've considered starting ballet now, but being fifteen years old and having a not-so-ballet-like body, not to mention my lack of flexibility, I don't know how well I'd go.
Sometimes I watch how the ballerinas dance, and notice that I could do some of the things they do. If I practiced moving lighter on my feet, then I'd have no trouble being graceful.
If I had a pair of Blochs, I think I too could dance 'en pointe'. I can already do all the arm movements, I just need some balance.
Oh, not to mention their ability to live their legs over their heads, etc.

Maybe I'm kidding myself. Who knows though, maybe I was born to be a ballerina?
Maybe one day, I'll slip on some Blochs, and it will all come naturally. Or not.
But one can always hope..

The Famine Diaries.

Day one: 10:25pm

And so it begins. Forty long hours of no food, no furniture and no technology. So far I'm not hungry at all. Not even slightly.
That may be due to the fact that I've only been food-less for an hour and twenty-five minutes; nevertheless! I will keep up this.. this lack of hunger.
I've also carefully and lovingly made myself a makeshift bed on the floor of my bedroom.
It consists of about nine or ten different blanks/doonas/sheets, plus a picnic mat, my pillow and my teddy called Bear. Together, the two of us are rather comfortable in our third world, first class bed.
Technology on the other hand.. I do miss my i-Pod already, but then again my i-Pod and are I are joined at the hip (i-Pods don't have hips..).
So far, I only have about $71.00. I am greatly disappointed.
If I don't have the better half of $150.00 by Monday.. there'll be hell to pay.
So sponsor me! Ugh, never mind. Goodnight bloggers. X


Day two: 9:40am

I haven't eaten in a little over 12 hours. And still, I'm not even hungry. I could go with a cup of tea, but I'm sure I can wait til Sunday, 1pm.
I had a surprisingly sound sleep on my bed of blankets, even though the hard wooden floors proved to be a little less than comfortable at times.
I'm doing fine without technology, but I still miss my i-Pod. And writing down my blogs in this notebook just feels like I'm talking to myself.
As yesterday evening, I still only have $71.00. And I am still highly disappointed.
I was told by a friend, "I'll give you twenty bucks if you can do it."
Well friend, it's almost been thirteen hours, and look at me go!
Fill you in soon, bloggers. X


11:00am

I'm bored. I want to play some music, or switch the TV on. I want to check my Facebook page.
And there are marshmallows, chocolates and toffees in a jar that seem to be taunting me from their spot on the kitchen counter.
This seems harder than last year..

1:00pm

I felt a rumbling in my stomach a little while ago. It lasted a few seconds and went away, and still hasn't returned.
I could really do with some chocolate right about now. Or tea. Or both. But I've got twenty-four hours to go. That's a whole day. That feels like a long time to have nothing but horrible barley sugars in my mouth.
I'm dreading four o'clock. Because at four o'clock, I have to go to work. I like work, but only when there are nice people on. Yesterday, it seemed like everyone hated me, and so I spent the better half of three hours walking about and polishing tables that were already perfectly clean.
But Thursday was an even worse shift, and in fact, I won't even begin to tell you about it.
Quarter past one.. Time really isn't my friend today, is it?
Hurry up, 1pm Sunday 22nd.

7:16pm

Home from work at last. I smell of oil and potatoes. Needless to say, I work at a fast food joint, and, since my employment, I haven't eaten fast food.
I can't believe myself, really.
What's even more outrageous is the fact I haven't eaten any food since 9 o'clock yesterday. It's almost been twenty-four hours!
Believe me, you all don't know how tempted I've been to eat a piece of chocolate or toffee.
My mouth hates me. All the chemoreceptors on my tongue want me dead.
I don't think I'll have to do much to win back their love tomorrow afternoon.
I know just the treat..

8:14pm

I'm hungry. I want to eat. Sixteen hours and forty-six minutes to go..


Day three: 2:25pm

Hurrah! 40 Hour Famine 2010 complete, approximately an hour and twenty-five minutes ago. The last hour was without doubt the most difficult, and I don't think I've ever appreciated food more than the way I did at 1 o'clock this afternoon.
Currently, the funds are at $281.00 which is almost double what I aimed to achieve by Monday. This year, I'm going to beat last years record, and lodge my application to become a Youth Ambassador.
I packed up my makeshift bed, and tore into the jar of chocolates, toffees and marshmallows. They were lovely, but I don't want them as much as I did yesterday..
And would you believe, my first meal was from a fast food joint.

Simon Says- Follow My Love Of Writing!

I'm always trying to succeed. It's my sole aim in life. Succeed in your English assignment, succeed with the blanket you're knitting, succeed with the novel you're writing. Succeed.
It's not like anyone's forcing me. Heck, my parents have even told me to not try so hard. They say they'll love me even if I don't succeed in anything.
Well, I didn't want to test that.

But when I started blogging, I didn't know if I was in it to succeed, or just because I have a passion for writing, and a love for sharing.
If I wanted to succeed in blogging, what would that look like? A stupendously long number of followers? What would it sound like? Heartwarming praise from friends every time I posted a new blog?
Well, regardless of what success in blogging would look like, or sound like, or even taste like (ooh, what does success taste like, I do wonder..) I decided I'm not really looking for it.
But, it found me anyway.

Because you know what I think success really is? Inspiring someone. And that I've done. It doesn't matter that so far, it's only two people. Still, that's two more people in this world who share the love of writing. Who's counting?

So even though I didn't set out to succeed, I have, in a simple and humble way.
So maybe I was born to succeed..

Who knows; let's just see how many more people I can inspire. :)

Oh, Dear Me!

I'm not the world's most popular person. Heck, to be entirely honest, I'm not the schools most popular person. But I have a lot of friends.
Once again though, I'm not satisfied. I want a penpal. From the other side of the world.

I did have a penpal, once. He was my cousin. But there's something slightly boring about writing to someone you already know. Even if he did live in a totally different continent. It's still not exciting.

So I decided to join a penpal website. How else is one supposed to find someone to write to? Message in a bottle maybe? Not anymore; these days I'd be prosecuted for polluting.
The penpal website has thousands of people, and, much to my delight, from all over the world. Even places that I didn't know existed.
But do you click on a profile, and start chatting away, just like that? How does it work these days? I don't use internet chat sites.

The thing is, I want to write letters to people. With a pen, and a piece of pretty writing paper. I want to start with 'Dear..' and end with 'Please write back, from..', and then fold it up and slip it into an envelope.
Then I want to write the address, and walk to the mailbox a few blocks down, and mail it to them.
And then I want to anticipate the reply, that will follow in a matter of days. Oh the art of letter writing shalln't ever die.

But no luck just yet.

If the penpal site doesn't work, maybe it's worth risking a $300 fine for littering in the ocean..

To Be Or Not To Be? - Isn't that always the question?

I think I set myself too many goals. Maybe I'm just an ambitious person, but I think there's a point where I need to say, 'Enough is enough, let's accomplish what I've already aimed for, before I decide to conquer the world, eh?'

I'm think that time is now.

My goals are strategically placed in order, ranging from the ones that need to be accomplished rather soon, and the ones that can wait, or that I allow myself to tackle bit by bit, like how a bird half-heartedly pokes at the ground sometimes.
That doesn't sound too bad, considering they're in order of importance and what not, but believe me- there are many.

I set some goals for the holidays, and accomplished neither of the four. I did work at them, but could I happily tick them off at the end of my two week break? No.
Yet again, just this afternoon, I set myself another goal. Or would it be another eight goals? Well, you see, it's just that I have a lot of homework that needs doing, and no matter how much I beg or plead, it doesn't want to do itself. Homework and I have a love/hate relationship.
So, I set myself the large and possibly impossible goal of finishing a combination of maths, science, history, english and photography homework by Tuesday. Its Friday afternoon now, and let me tell you, I'm beginning to doubt myself already.

A few more, rather exicting goals include buying myself a MacBook by December, growing out my choppy pixie-cut into a long and flowy 70's wave, throwing on a few piercings to jazz up my appearance, completing that blanket and that scarf I began knitting so long ago, not to mention getting a move on with all those scarves I promised to knit for friends of mine, investing in a beautiful digital SLR hopefully by next Autumn, and getting at least halfway through the novel I'm writing.

Yes, I am rather ambitious aren't I?

But something that came to mind the other day, seemed so ambitious that it just about set itself apart from every other goal of mine.
I decided I might like to become a Youth Ambassador.

Now I don't know if I have 100% faith in myself, but the idea is growing on me more and more each day.
Occasionally, I'll think of how impossible it would be, what with my other bundle of goals growing steadily too; but this one seems really worthwile.

So to be, or not to be? It's the question that's been on my mind for quite some time now, and it's my question to you now.
Email me. What do you think?

We Can Be Heroes!

Does anyone remember that song? Or that TV show? I do. Not a big fan of either of them, really.

What I wanted to say was, I'm not very pleased. I'm not just a grumpy person, believe me. I'm always very positive and optimistic. But some things make me rather unhappy. Would you like to know why?
I'll tell you why.

Because tonight, I'm going to have a hot, wholesome and nourishing meal with my family. I'm going to sit in my comfortable lounge room and do my homework, because my education is important to me and I want to contribute towards it.
Then I'm probably going to bathe under a nice warm shower, in a clean bathroom with clean water, and dry myself with a big fluffy towel.
And then, if I have nothing else to do, I'll get into my lovely comfortable pyjamas and curl up in my warm, heated bed and get a peaceful nights sleep.
And if I don't fall asleep right away, I might listen to some music on my i-Pod touch, or maybe watch some movies on it.


You're probably going to do something similar aren't you?

Thought so.

Because a life like yours and mine is so pleasant and easy. So complete. Maybe you don't have an Apple MacBook, or a Versace handbag, or a super shiny car that goes three times as fast as it would ever need to.
Maybe you don't have everything. Maybe there are somethings you really want, but don't have.
But that's okay, because at least you have food in your stomach.
At least you have four walls around you, and a roof over your head. At least you have a comfortable warm bed to sleep in, and I'm guessing you'd also have gas and electricity too? Yes? I thought so.

Because if you've got those things, you already have it better than people in the third world countries.
Why?
Because I bet none of you- none of you- have ever had to live without food in your stomachs, or clean water to survive on.

That is what makes me unhappy. That you and I get to live our wonderful lives, and people are out there literally wasting away.
That's why next weekend, I'm taking part in the World Vision's 40 Hour Famine. I'm giving up food, technology and furniture for 40 hours, to raise money for the people who need our help. I'd give up more, but I don't really know what else to sacrifice.

If anyone is reading this, and thinking that they might like to sponsor me, I'm going to set up a online fundraiser, but in the meantime, you can email me at: ilovelopsy@hotmail.com.

I once read in a book- ' When you are born, you are given a little peace of the universe. You can damage it, you can look after it, or you can change it. But when you die, you have to give it back. What you do with it, is your call.'

I decided looking after my little part of the universe wasn't good enough. I'm going to change it. I want to be a hero.
What are you going to do?

Green is the new black? No, not when it's envy.

Oh dear.

I'm envious. And it's all because I'm a competitive perfectionist. I'll admit that much, and I wish I didn't have to. Because I don't like admitting my flaws.
It was like the time I heard about the Australian girl who published her first book at thirteen. 'Thirteen?!' I thought, being twelve at the time, and incredibly far from publishing my own books. But since I was so jealous, and began writing furiously, and never really finished any of the stories.

This time, being three years older, you'd think I wouldn't be so jealous. But I am. Even more jealous in fact, because I believe I'm older therefore wiser, therefore I should be so fantastic at everything that I needn't ever be jealous of anyone else ever again.
But curiosity got the better of me. I remembered hearing about a little girl who began blogging about fashion when she was twelve years old, and the proceeded to make it big (no, not big- insanely large) in the fashion world. Apparently she had an awesome blog. So I googled her.
And she does.

In fact, it's so good that now I'm jealous. And I found myself thinking 'why aren't I that good? Why isn't it my name that rolls off all the famous designers lips?'. If anyone else was in the room with me, they'd respond 'Because you're not that good.' to which I'd reply 'Yes I am! I'm even better!' but surely we'd end up in an argument, resulting with me in tears, because suddenly I'm terrible at blogging.

But before someone decides to humble me themselves, I will proudly (okay, maybe not proudly, but never mind) admit that I am most certainly not the best blogger in the world. I'm probably not the best author in the world, nor am I the best photographer or fashion designer.
But hey, I'm working on it.

What a wonderful world.

I'm in an absolutely foul mood. But instead of conveying that feeling to the rest of the cyber world, I would much rather blog about something good and sweet.

I dont know what makes you happy. I would dearly like to, though (leave me a comment and tell me sometime).
But I know what makes me happy. Little things. Like yesterday, I took a dear friend of mine shopping with me as I spent the remainder of my birthday money. We probably spent more time on public transport, but oh how I love our days together.
After several hours, I had two lovely little pairs of suede heels to add to my steadily growing collection, and a beautiful black lace dress.

And while drying my hands at the hand drier in the shopping centers toilets, the lady beside me remarked at how 'beautiful' my eyes were. On my way out, I held the door open for a little old woman with a walking frame. Feeling like a giant against her, I smiled down as she looked up and said 'Thank you, dear'.
I don't know about you, but I love being called 'dear' by sweet old people.

And even though it rained cats and dogs on the way home, while we walked alone, just the two of us, through the early evening streets because our bus wasn't coming for another hour; Even though my hands were numb and my mohawk had flopped down onto my forehead, I was the happiest I'd been all day.
Because when I held the door open for that elderly lady, I changed her day. When the woman at the hand drier told me I had beautiful eyes, she changed mine. And spending any day with my best friend changes my life.
Oh what a wonderful world this can be.

Now quite frankly, I'm done with being in a foul mood. Because I've got two pairs of suede heels are that just dying to be worn some day soon...

In Front of the Sun

Whoever said Winter was for hibernating? That might have been me just yesterday, but nevertheless! I think Winter is a lovely time to be outside. I don't even want to walk on the grass because every single blade of it is glittering with minuscule droplets of water, and oh, don't they look pretty?
In Winter, people breathe in little puffs smoke, and change colour, and cold red nose poke out of woolen beanies and scarves. You can watch raindrops race down the window of you car, and make bets on who will reach the bottom first. Electricity bills sky-rocket in Winter though; every room needs a heater, and every heater needs to be on. But Summer brings the same dilemma, and you can't escape the heat.
In Winter, the trees are naked, and I can't help but wonder if they feel chilly without their leaves. Every pothole in the road is a temporary pond, until the sun comes out.
And when it does, stand in front of it and watch the rainbow throw colour into the grey landscape. I can't guarantee you'll find the end of, it but it's pretty nonetheless.

It Is Written.

So where is everyone? Where are you in your life? Are you where you want to be? Are you at your starting point? Are you on your way somewhere? Are you in a bad place? Are you in a place so bad that it beats you down and kills your hopes every time you try to stand?
Everyone who has accepted life and decided to live, is somewhere between the starting point and the finishing line.
Though it's not a race. Racing defeats the purpose of living. So don't race. Because everyone finishes eventually.

I'm in a bad place. I don't really like it at all. I feel like a child stuck in a nightmare, without a teddy bear to hold. This place is rather lonely. But I can smile for two reasons: 1) because my facial muscles still work, and it is still physically possible. And 2) because I see the way out. And that's where I'm going.

It took a little bit of whinging, advice and religion to show me the way out. Nevertheless, it presented itself, glorious and illuminated, beckoning me.
It helps though, to know that someone's got my back. To help me through the bad places, and remind me of the good.
I hope, in the event of you ever finding yourself in a bad place, that someone will have your back too.
A little peace of mind, is what it is.

My church pastor said 'Never, ever, ever in this life doubt the Lord's love for you. He loved you so much that he gave his one and only son for you. He will never leave you nor will he forsake you, because he loves you and it is written.' That was assurance enough for me.

Wherever you are in your life- keep going. Keep walking. Walk out of that bad place. Whether you've begun to live or not, there's a destination with your name on it. Maybe you should accept life today then? Opinions don't keep you warm at night, but facts do. And I know there are better places than this. Why? Because it is written.

Salutations. My very first blog. For my new site, that is.
I could possibly start my ranting now, or, I could withhold that urge and save it for a later day.
I think I'll settle for the latter. But it is polite to say Hello first, isn't it?
Keep visiting. Jack loves having you :)