She's going to create something bigger than herself....

I'm going to create something bigger than myself...

Christmas is :

family,

cupcakes for christmas morning,

friends,



and the wish to keep creating
love, peace, hope, everything we live for.

Merry Christmas :)

from the girl who likes the smell of vanilla beans

2010

Loneliness is like a drug.

It makes you crazy with the desire to not be alone. You start your daily hallucinations with hope. Every small smile, every glance from a passer-by feels like a sparkling dinner invitation and you accept with a nod of your head and feel that the bounce in your step becomes lighter.

You’re in a crowd but yet you feel at the edges of the universe, detached and distant from the laughter and warmth that is happening only inches from your face.
People is not the answer. Because she feels that everyone belongs in some kind of world that makes sense to them.

Hers consists of fragile butterflies and doves, flying to the sounds of broken French and violin music.

The collision of two worlds happen rarely. But when it does, it commences with friction and conflict. Then slowly, their outsides peel away to reveal a core that has never been exposed before or have felt the caresses of the wind. On that full moon, She’ll let someone in.

But until then.

She's going back to the stratosphere.

This year she turned 20, completing the first two decades of her life. She's not suppose to be that awkward, uncertain teenager anymore. She should be making her way into the world, confident of her opinions and mature with a steady mind.

Why is it then, she still feels child-like and unaffected by the workings of society.

At night she dreams of fantastical worlds, of talking trees and purple sunsets. Of beautiful birds of prey with wingspans bigger than the stain-glassed windows of any cathedral. Of beautiful kingdoms and flying machines that run on sunlight.

She wants to push them away.

But everytime she listens to music as she walks around he city, they come back to haunt her, twice as apparent. The butterflies dodge themselves between people's heads. Vines shoot from the ground and curl themselves around bus stop signs or creep along the front of office buildings.

Gravity disappears.

She stands on the white zebra crossing in the middle of the city and views the scene above her.

Businessmen float past her trying to keep their ties from flying above their ears. Office cases burst open and documents of every kind fold themselves into paper aeroplanes before launching themselves into the sky. Starbucks coffee cups loose their lids and all kinds of coffee float around like a mass of uncoordinated bubbles. Children laugh because finally things are going their way for once. Politicians, lawyers, accountants, bankers all shout words of panic, carrying faces of disbelief as they float around like helium balloons. But they are drowned out by the millions of voices rising in a crescando around the world.

Tell me....where is she going to fit?

I just realised that my last blog entry is a bit too emotional and long-winded for daily consumption. I apologise for this -_-

I'll be back to normal blogging starting from......whenever these exams decides to leave my life once and for all.

Actually, I don't even know what normal blogging is anyway. All my posts seem to have turned into these ridiculous lengthy discussions of soul searching.

Guess it depends on what you think a purpose of a blog is for.

It's suppose to be for rant (well in my eyes anyway), whether its stupid, lengthy, crazy, insane ranting about topics well beyond daily activities that only reflects what an emotional sod I am, it should be still considered as perfectly fine ranting.

So whoever reads this (I don't even know if anyone does anymore)

Here's to all the emotional sods in the world. Because we're far more epic than the ones that don't feel anything.

(Cheers?) *clinks with my invisble mug of beer* (because I can't drink in real life anyway, a sober emotional sod.....is that even possible?)

Okay back to studying now

She's not someone hard to read. Essentially, if she was a book, you can read her entirely in half an hour.

She takes pleasure in simplicity. She likes to keep arguments and confrontations at bay. She despises hatred and humiliation. She advocates for respect and sincerity. More often than not, she only tends to see the good in people. And often...much too often, she views those she's close to in an idealised.....even perfect state.

She believed that there were genuinely good people in the world. Genuinely good.

However, this unrealistic notion began to unravel itself. The horror of the world slowly seeped in. She's been too protected, too niave, too innocent to realise the multidimensional layers of the human condition. Still, she felt like she has been acquainted with this reality, sometime long ago. The thought that humans tend to wearing different personas in certain circumstances, in ways that only benefited themselves, was definitely not a new notion.

Her family members tried to send fire drills long ago. Sounding the alarm sporadically so she could design her own evacuation route, so she could familiarise herself with working the fire extinguisher. Their voices overlapp each other like a continous chant in her head. Nevertheless, she managed to push it all somewhere to the back of her mind, inbetween the nightmares and the secrets.

She did not want to believe it. This could not be right. It could not be possible that everyone had a second motive to the way they do things, until a close friend woke her up.

"It's part of being human".

This revelation hit her harder than anything before.

She became overwhemlingly nervous and buried herself in long periods of doubt and mistrust of those around her. She only saw negativity, the cruelness of the world, the anger and frustration that life bought on people and the injustice that descended upon humanity like a plague.

Most days, she was paralysed with fear. Fear of the future and uncertainty about people in general. She doubted if loving someone for a lifetime was possible, if all the novels and movies were all lies, carefully disguised with elaborate romantic thematics to lure the ignorant.

All these things were uncharacteristic of her.

She tried to go about life as she always did. The usual routine of warlking the dog, working at the corner shop, swimming against the backdrop of an Australian summer sunset.

And then, she snapped.

The break off was slow at first but it was a clean cut, crisp, like separating a square piece of chocolate from the block.

The aftermath was messy, it involved numerous sessions of quiet reflection and free falling tears. Often, she found herself sketching by the water and paying weekly visits to the gardens.

She felt that time would finally lay her insecurities to rest.

Now she feels an odd notion of worn-out peace, like a old man with both frown and laugh lines around his wrinkled face.

But her spirit has been internally dampened. Marked by the rainstorm that had passed. She's determined to revive it though. Somehow.

She does not know whether to be glad or sombre.

The process of being human is quite fair in a way. The salt in tears will always be balanced by the sweetness you drink in from laughter.

Anger is an emotion she rarely associates herself with.

She feels irritation, frustration and annoyance. But rarely pure anger. Maybe she wants to distant herself from her own mother's short fuse or her parent's constant arguments during her life. But she hates seeing flashes of blood red when anger surfaces on a person's countenance.

It's amazing how ugly someone looks when they're angry.

Their veins throb more conspicuously, more lines appear on their face and they look as if they're being starved of love.

Anger can easily turn into hatred.

Hatred can turn into revenge.

And love becomes a distant memory. You become indifferent to happiness and joy. It's like an addiction. Like cigarettes and chocolate cake.

She doesn't want that.

Anyways, it's so much easier to smile.