I like to think about you.

Is it healthy to be absolutely obsessed with you?
If I actually knew your real self then I could almost definitely call this dreadful feeling love.

Funny that. I don't even know you. I've just concocted some fanciful notion about you being an almost-perfect-with-adorable-little-flaws type of guy that I see constantly.

I know you're perfect on the outside. Geez, everyone knows it, it's so bloody blatant. Is it so typically teenage of me to be this infatuated with you?

Yes, of course it is.

On one hand, I really desperately want you, and on the other, you're just some gorgeous stranger whom I catch staring at me a lot (or is that just my wishful thinking again?).

I'm confused. For the first time I actually feel like a giddy, sick-in-the-stomach, annoyingly cliche teenager.

Fuck me.

(And, yes, I do mean that literally.)

Why do I always want to sock it to you hard?

and the way it just happened
bam
like that. And I didn't know how to stop it.
so I just let it happen and now it's turned into something illegible.
it wasn't supposed to precipitate
reactants can be contaminated, honey.

I think I may hate you.

Media and the ideas they give you of the world.

First, hello to Diana. I would just like to say thanks for following and that I like your poetic writing.


I've seen so many American Christmas movies and always wonder whether that giant Christmas tree with shit loads of presents and stockings by the fire place is true in the typical American home. I mean, I've read blogs of Americans who've posted about the awesome Christmas they had complete with photographic evidence. All that tinsel and happiness makes my family (and the typical Australian home) look awfully depressing. Do you get gifts from your whole extended family, or are you just rich and high with Christmas glee?

The mountains of presents in most American homes might be completely untrue, but all the American movies about wholesome families that earn an income do have a giant super happy Christmases.
Normal Australian homes are nothing like that. Name one Australian movie where there is a sweet family of five swimming in a pool on presents.


Is this in any way offending? I'm sorry if it is. I'm just curious. It'd be great if someone could answer. Drop a comment if you're an Aussie whose family does go crazy 'like Americans' for Christmas!

Happy (or sad, really. Jesus just died.) Easter!

Friendship and people.

I've realised that I don't know as much about my friends and who they are (or the different people they can be) as much as I thought I did. I'm not saying that in any negative way, it's just that I never knew that.

My friends don't keep a part of them from me, it's just that they never talk with me about those other things because we both know that I'd never be interested. I don't resent my friends for that, but it is strange seeing your friends in a whole knew light. And I think it goes both ways, too.

I should be glad about this, though. Everyone needs a whole array of friends around them. Sure, I have my best friends whom I love dearly, but I don't talk to them about every single thing because even though we have our many shared interests, we also have interests that the other would definitely not like. They're also my best friends because we understand each other, and part of that understanding is that we don't want to see each other's faces everyday and talk about the same thing all the time. It gets monotonous and you start to get sick of your friend. I like how my friends understand me despite me being quite the impersonal "ice queen" that I am.

I don't know where this blog is going. I think I'll stop now.

Thanks for passing by.

P.S.: I'm really liking clouds at the moment.

Cumulus cloud ♥

The sky was so lovely today.

Touché.

Today in english we were discussing poetry. We read this one poem that was realy simple and everyone scoffed and said 'phhft! I could have done that!.'
Our english teacher then retorted with 'but did you do it?'

Touché.

Sometimes we look at a piece of text, or art, or whatever and think that it is so simple that even we could have done that, when, really, the question should be 'did I ever think to do that?'

No.

A little spot of vanity and hard feelings.

Screw that last post.
Gosh, why won't people recognise me?
Yes, contrary to popular belief, I do have a personality. I'm not some quiet little nerd freak who doesn't know how to socialise. I can talk. I just don't like talking to you (plural).
Why are others so much better than me? I loathe the fact that some people are just like me but better.
I know this sounds vain, but there are so many people who don't deserve their status.
And for those that do, frick, I evny you so much that it makes me kind of bitter.

One day, I'll be great, too. And I'll deserve it.



P.S.: I absolutely hate Kesha's music.

Moi.

I think I should be happy with who I am.
I don't need to compare myself to others and bring myself down.
I can be sure that I will not change myself to suit those around me.
I'm lucky that I have potential and opportunities to nurture it.

I'm just going to take what I have and run like wild fire with it.

Happy Belated Birthday!

A best friend and I exhanged birthday presents over a month late today. I bought her the Hayao Miyazaki dvd Ponyo and made her a clock.

 

  

  

Yeah, the photos are really bad quality as I took them with my iPhone that I cracked the other day. But, still, I'm quite proud of it. I actually finished something! And it actually works! It ticks can you can read the time with it and everything! My wall is really embarrassing. I tried to make it look good, but never finished. I'm sorry if my 'french' offends you or Carla Bruni.

Huyen bought me a Melody Gardot album (yes!) and a cute necklace from Irving Baby with a heart pendant that says 'WHAT'S UP, HOMIE?' I like it! Thanks, Huyen, and happy belated birthday.

P.S.: Happy first day of Autumn! Pinch and a punch for the first day of the month!

Herzog & de Meuron

I am in love with architects Herzog & de Meuron. Absolutely stunning!

VitraHaus in Germany

 

Helvetia Headquarters in Switzerland

 

Prada Tokyo in Japan (duh)

I just love architecture...

Sometimes I really hate you.

I have a morbid fascination with the conversations that you have on your 'secret' phone with some man I just want to throttle.

Stop giggling, stop calling him polite names that you don't even call my dad, stop making my cousin hide the phone whenever my dad comes home.

Stop doing it in front of me and my siblings. Stop doing it at church, for fuck's sake.

It's disgusting. I hate it when you talk about me to him like he needs to know my personal business.

I know you deserve some happiness, but, fuck, I well and truly hate you when you're on that phone.

Lovely...

I know you're smart. I know you're confident. I know you do
interesting things.

That, however, doesn't mean that you need to have the spotlight on you every single second of every single freaking day. I'm sure other people would like to talk too. Yes, you are smart, but you're
not that unique and special.

So, please, please shut. up!

Public toilets.

Public toilets.

You're standing there, waiting in line to use the toilets hundreds of other women have used before.
Old, young, menstruating, food poisoned, constipated, the list goes on.

The only thing separating you from the ladies with the knickers down to their ankles is a mere wooden door with a little lock on it confirming that that cubicle is occupied.

Still, you're waiting in line, trying not to touch anything and breathing through your mouth.
The hand dryer is constantly on to muffle the shhhhhhhs and plop!s coming from the cubicles, and although that does help, it can never be loud enough to cover up the unmistakable ripping of pad from plastic.

They're reading the little facts on the back of the sheet even though they've read those same ones a thousand times before. Then, they wave their hand over the sensor that will open the sanitary bins to dispose of your used female sanitary item, agian trying not to touch anything in the cramped area that is the toilet cubicle.

You hear a flush, thank the Lord that you can relieve yourself finally and rush to the cubicle.

You hang your purse, bag, jacket, or whatever on the hook on the door, wipe and set some toilet paper onto the seat, take of your knickers and sit down...

Only to find that the toilet seat is disgustingly warm.

I don't know about men, but female public toilets are pretty horrible. The ones in the Sydney Harbour bridge are nice, though.

Oh, happy Valentine's Day, everyone (hopefully someone out there).

EDIT: Lol, I clicked 'publish post' and a there was a google add saying: "Hygiene Services Washroom Sanitary Bin Disposal Slimline To Suit Your Toilet." How amusing.

Sundays.

Why do they make church so early on Sundays? I know that there are other masses my family could go to, but, people normally go the morning masses, don't they? Why is that? I thought God rested on the seventh day. I don't think waking up early for a 9am mass is resting. They should make masses start at 11am. It would encourage family time because people will all go out for lunch afterward. 11am isn't too early, but you'll be up and have the whole day to spend however you like - well, except for the hours you're at church.

So again, I ask, why do they make church do early on Sundays?

Summer, oh, how I hate thee.

It has been stinking hot today. Arsonists suck. They need to generate some IQ.

Since reading Katrina's Shame and Pride blog, I've been meaning to post a shame and pride post ages ago, but my brain just doesn't cooperate when I attempt to write it (in fact, my brain never cooperates when I want it to) and consequently create a huge mass of pointless blog drafts. And since reading Tuyen's blog of the same topic, I feel somewhat inspired to write one.

Alright, let's get this over and done with:

PRIDE:

1: I can stand up to my parents. And this isn't just in the typical 'annoying, hormonal teen' fashion. With me being Asian, all my mother expects of me is to study medicine in university, blah, blah, blah. I don't want to do medicine. I'm not friendly enough, I'm too negative, I have no passion for it, I'm squeamish, etc., etc. Although my mother can't get that into her thick skull, I'm pretty much set in where my passions lay and where I can go with them. This is in the pride section because I know too many people who just do exactly what their parents say for sake of their 'rents. Sure, your parents opinion matters and they have an influence over what you do in your life, but the final decision is up to you and how your decision will be beneficial to your future and whoever may be there with you. As much as a hate to sound corny, follow your dreams!

2: I think it's fair to say that I have an artistic flair. I love visual arts. Now that's where I want to take my future. I'm only 15 and there's still much to consider about my future, but visual arts is something I can see myself being happy to do in my future. And it helps that I have a knack for it.

3: I'm a fair creative writer. I've deleted my stories on fictionpress.net for fear of my sister reading them, but I do love to write fictional stories and essays. I don't think my skills in writing show through my blogs, but I'm quite sure that I can write a decent fictional story. Yay!

4: I play the classical guitar. *Shrugs, I think that's cool.

5: I think it's safe to say that I'm not a TB. I don't know, maybe I'll think otherwise in 3 years, but I like to think I'm cool (even if I'm really not).

6: I love to learn and will never take it forgranted.

7: It was only a short period of time when I was obsessed with Twilight. This is also going in my shame list, but I can pride myself in that I was obsessed with it before it became a world-wide craze and I will say again that it was only for a short period of time.

And that's where my pride list stops. 

SHAME:

1: My bedroom is gross. I think it pongs (my nose has gotten used to the smell) and it is in a constant state of utter mess. I try to clean it - and sometimes I do succeed -, but it can never stay clean for long.

2: My eyesight sucks. Although I do have 20/20 vision with my specs on!

3: I read fanfiction. Need I say more?

4: Lame, cliche dance movies are my guilty pleasure. I know, I know! The story lines are always the same and always feature an underprivileged, good-looking, extremely talented teenager, but I can't help but watch them! At least I can admit that they are awful movies.

5: I was a Twihard in 2007. Ugh.

6: I always sing classic Australian jingles at inappropriate times. Kookaburra sits in the old gum tree; merry, merry king of the bushes he. Laugh! Kookaburra, laugh! Kookaburra, gay his life must be!~ (Yes, I did sing that while typing it.)

7: Every time I go shopping I splurge on CDs. Every single time! My most recent purchase was the 'So Frenchy So Chic' soundtrack album. Must stop buying impulsively!

Voila! That is my shame and pride blog! Although it's not the traditional 10 pride and 10 shame list, it's as good as I'm going to get for today!

Untitled.

Today while on the bus home from school, a blonde girl about my age sat in a seat near me. She was quite happy about her new job at some hairdressing salon and was talking animatedly with her friend.

I soon fell asleep and woke up 20 minutes later to find her crying. I thought 'what, did her boyfriend dump her?', and decided to be nosy and look over her shoulder to read what pitiful text message she was sending her ex-boyfriend.

When I peeked at her phone I saw that she had received a text massage from someone informing her that her dad had died.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.

Sourpuss

She's so hotheadded and unreasonable, my mother. I mean, I know she's been really stressed and angry lately, but that doesn't mean she has to take it out on me just because I'm the most available victim. And she didn't have to be that harsh. And she didn't need to say all those
things. And I don't have to keep quiet about all the things she does.

And maybe she has the right to be angry and maybe I may have deserved it, but I still didn't need to cry either.

Edit: Thanks for calling. You made my day :)

Shuffle

I don't know. I'm not feeling anything right now. I should be angry at my mother and excited for the upcoming school year at a new school, but I'm not. This is different from my usual relaxed contentedness. It's weird.

I'm trying to cure this mood by putting my ipod on shuffle. Four Winds by Bright Eyes at the moment... Wait, now it's Joanna Newsome.

Dianna suggested I write a blog about me feeling nothing. Is it working? I reckon this post will be very short and boring.

I hate how you can't tab on blogger. In fact, I don't like blogger much at all.

I'm feeling quite poetic at the moment. Brace yourself for some bad poetry:

I's not a song I hear
When I turn on my ipod
Noise, noise, noise
After all, music is only noise
Arranged to make sense
Noise, noise, noise
We all love
Noise.

Yeah, I don't think the shuffling ipod is working much. And I'm not a very good poet, I know.

Farewell, friends.

P.S.: Happy Australia Day, everyone!

PostSecret

PostSecret is an ongoing community art project where people mail in their secrets anonymously on one side of a postcard.
I've been meaning to blog about this a while ago. These postcards are so beautiful. Some a a real laugh, while others are devastating.

 

 

 

 

 

Amanda Wachob

Wow. Now, I've seen some pretty awesome tattoos, but tattoo artist Amanda Wachob's work is amazing! Her conceptual tatts are so beautiful that I'd love to have something so special and significant like that inked on me for the rest of my life.

 

 

A rockin' playlist for you:

Elenore - The Turtles
Wouldn't it be Nice - The Beach Boys
My Generation - The Who
Romeo and Juliett - Dire Staits
Hey Now Now - The Cloud Room
One Crowded Hour - Augie March
Mellow Yellow - Donovan
Vagabond - Wolfmother
Motorcycle Driveby - Third Eye Blind
Here Comes Your Man - Pixies
My British Tour Diary - Of Montreal

Yes...

I'm at G-ma's place at the moment and my mum just told me to exchange
the $40 JB Hi-Fi gift card that my sister gave me for my birthday for
money to pay for my school supplies this year.

I wasn't sure of she was completely serious, but I still thought it
was a horrible thing to say.

My grandmother just came home from Vietnam and she brought home a lot
of statues of Mary and etc. My aunty is insisting that she make a
shrine in my room for the Mary statue she pocked for me. I have nohing
againt that, it's just that I have no space for it on my room and the
Mary she picked out has really freaky eyes. I wanted the sweet little
wooden one with no clear facial features.

Sent from my iPhone

Thought travel

Today I watched a documentary on SBS Two called 'The Great Sperm Race'.

 (Sperm racing through the vagina)

(Sperm in a giant valley that is the uterus)

(Sperm are encountered by red blood cells that identify the sperm to be invading infection and attack)

The journey of the sperm to fertilise the egg is like no other - millions will die so that one can hopefully conceive. This documentary brings the process to life through a fun 'reenactment' by human actors of the reproductive process. (From the UK in English) (Documentary) CC WS

It was highly amusing and informative, and was slightly frightening because the 'reenactment' of the sperm racing from storage in the males testes to fusion with the female egg was like a war. The sperm people were dressed in all white clothing and there were millions and millions of them racing to the egg. I gave a hearty chuckle when the sperm were in the semen and being ejaculated into the vagina -- they were riding a water slide, ha! When they were traveling through the vagina they were running through a massive mountainous valley, because, apparently, that is how big a vagina is to a mere sperm. The sperm then went into the cervix, uterus (where they encountered the enemy that in a woman's immune system), fallopian tubes and then, finally, the egg where only two sperm remain from the original  250, 000, 000.

Then there was that lucky little fella that made a home run to the egg and sacrificed his life to create another.

Imagine how many people there are in the world now. Think about all the sperm that died while racing to the egg that created each and every person on earth. If every single sperm had an egg each to create it's own human... Wow, the earth would have a humongous population.

The thing that got me thinking in this documentary was that scientists were explaining that even it 1-4 sperm make it to the ovaries, it all depends on their timing on whether the egg is ready to be fertilised or not. They said that if the sperm that fertilised the egg that then created you was to be too late or too early when reaching the ovaries, a different sperm could have gotten to it and thus made you a different person. Smarter, better looking, different personality. Just one little difference in timing could have made you a whole different person.

To end this abruptly, after mulling over how I could have been different in anyway, I realised that I am incredibly lucky to be born just as I was: a healthy and normal baby who grew to be a somewhat bearable human being.

Thanks, little spermy. I think I love you.

(images via Channel4)

Just for laughs.

Via TechBlog

The Lego Kitchen was created by Munchausen, a duo formed by Parisian designers Simon Pillard and Philippe Rosetti, where they customized a basic IKEA kitchen island bar and then spend a full week covering it with more than 20,000 Lego pieces 

Via Always Looking

 Via GraphJam

Whhoooo are yoouu??

I always find myself pondering about who or what type of person I am. Whether they be someone I know personally, or someone over the internet, the people I admire all have specific, unique qualities that make them all awesome and cool. For example: The Black Apple is sweet and folk-y, Angstgoddess003 is prolific and an amazing writer, Katrina is politely outspoken and witty, and Emma is a psychedelic 60s junkie. How cool is that?

Well, this blog is about me having a hard time figuring out who I am.

In the essay I wrote when applying for the scholarship I described myself in words such as opinionated, realist and self-confident, but when I really think hard about it, I don't think I am two of them.

I have been known (by very few people) to seem positive despite the fact that most people would describe me as a pessimist, but I am neither of those things for I believe myself to be a realist. I do have many fantasies where my life is exciting and dramatic like a good (romance) book, but those things are only nice to think about and foolish to hope for.

So that leaves the two remaining adjectives that I believe myself not to be.

Although I do ponder a lot about most hings that others may find useless and random, I also have strong opinions about most subjects that come about in my day. That is probably where the thought of me being opinionated originated from, but that isn't technically what makes an opionated person. An opinionated person is one who thinks about all the things that I do, and voices them, and I do not voice my thoughts or opinions much.

For the past year, I always thought I was self-confident. I thought I was self-confident in my schooling, social status and group, appearance and overall self, but this blog sort of contradicts that, does it not?

I can say that I am an arrogant, inconsiderate, attention-seeking swot. I'll agree with that.

I mean, I know that I could be good in design and that with more persistence and less procrastinating, I could be a fuck-awesome writer (my arrogance talking), but being a rebellious and difficult little snooty teenager, it's just not that easy.

I have few things of mine that I am proud of: my 'Post Mortem' english horror story, Doodle4Goodle design and my year 8 'Adelyn' story. Those are the things that I can truly call mine, the things that I did with only what I have in me, the things I am proud of -- despite some those things being half-arsed and incomplete. I know that I am proud of those things because after about a year of leaving them be and completely forgetting about them, I can still call them awesome after I look at them again.

I don't know what do call myself, I don't know who I am. I just... don't know.

Sigh... This hasn't helped at all.

A belated apology:

I just want to apologise for everything that I may have done to offend or hurt you in 2009. I know I have said and done some really awful things and this blog isn't a giant excuse. I want you to be angry at me when I do horrible things. It'll help me to be less of a bitch.

I find that it's really hard for me to say sorry about something that really hurt someone. I can apologise for accidentally doing something, but I can never make myself actually say it to someone's face even though I am sincerely sorry for my actions.

I almost always edit and over-analyse everything I think before I make it public. That's how I can make myself sound super smart sometimes. But on the rare occasion when I just blurt something out, different consequences occur. Sometimes I blurt out something absolutely hilarious, and others it's just me trying to say some intelligent speech but it coming out all wrong and offensive instead. This can also be seen in some of my blogs. Sometimes I am just so overrun by emotion that the things I write are obnoxious, grammatically incorrect and often way too personal to be sharing over the internet. But sometimes I just need to rant. This blog in someways is a way of me telling my friends what I'm to frightened to tell them in person.

I can list quite a few times all that has happened.

Again, this is no excuse. I know I can be a horrible person, and I can't blame you for thinking worse.

I just want to really sincerely apologise for every stupid, ingorant, obnixious thing I have done to hurt you last year. I could go into the specifics about certain incidents, but I'm too afraid to.

Goodbye.