So, uh, I bombed my mocks. *scratches head* And I've taken the cowardly way out and have ignored my parents' calls and my guardian's calls as well. Though to be fair I WAS ill for the past few days. And I'm feeling that headache brewing behind my eyes again. Oh god. Now I'm feeling properly chastened with my tail between my legs. All I want to do is to curl up in bed with the curtains drawn and sleep for the next hundred years. The whole waking up with true love's first kiss is entirely not necessary. Optional, but not necessary.
I've only got slightly over a week left until the end of term when it will finally be the Easter holidays and yet I'm not completely looking forward to that. Who would, though? I've only got three weeks, then comes the last term and my exams. My first exam is no the 24th of May, and my final exam is on the 25th of June. I have 12 papers including those units that I'm resitting. After which I have a week before Leaver's Ball, which I'm still contemplating not going. If I DO go, I'll have to start looking around for dresses. It's a bigger deal than prom, after all. Leaver's Ball is THE biggest event of the year, and it's our final party together. It's going to be black tie. The theme is 'Secret Garden' and the school usually has a huge marquee and uses a large part of the school grounds as part of it. They hire professional decorators, and apparently we have a casino room and a complete free flow of champagne and huge fireworks show. And when CLC says huge, it means MASSIVE.
In a way, I'm looking forward to it, the end, the big bang of my five years. The end of the end. It draws my school years to a close, finally, and then I will make my way. I'll go to Malaysia for the majority of my GAP year, I'll work, I'll garner some sort of life experience. I'll hang out with old friends, strengthen ties that have weakened, hopefully. And I'll meet new people, findo out new things, gather new experiences. I'm looking forward to it. I'll need to apply to University, though. I'll also need to re-write my personal statement.
I'm also going through a little crisis, though. In regards to what I want to do in Uni. Am I so sure that I want to spend three years doing History of Art and Archaeology? Do I really? I thought I did, I do love the subject but with abject failure staring at me in the face, I can't help but flounder and question myself. Do I really know what I want? Am I really capable of it? And what the hell do I even know about archaeology? I don't want this to be some spur-of-the-moment decision that I know it kind of was. I don't want to go to University and panic in the face of realising that I've made the biggest mistake in my life. Do I really want to face that in my life? Do I really want to go to Uni for three years doing something that I will find out that I have absolutely no talent for, or I have no interest in therefore I'll just snooze through and fail and utterly have nothing in my life?
It's all been so easy for me, you see. All my life, I've always somehow managed to scrape through doing the absolute minimum and sometimes not even that. I've been told that I'm a bright child. Things come to me easily, especially when I'm interested in it. Especially when I was younger. Whatever I've REALLy wanted to get I've managed to obtain with little effort. I wanted to go to KTJ for boarding school; I got in. I wanted to go to the UK to study before PMR, even though my grades were shite; I got into every. single. school I applied for and did the entrance exams for. For three of those four schools, they offered to put me up in the upper grade, despite my abysmal mathematics scores (to be fair, I hadn't learnt how to do some of the stuff that was on the paper) because apparently my English scores were more than above average enough for all of them to comment on it in the report. ALL of them commented on my English paper. So I got in, rather breezily. And while I stumbled on some of the subjects, as people do, I never really FAILED at anything. Which is a miracle in itself.
I'll admit this, freely. I'm a lazy shite. Completely. It's my weakness which I wish I had the power to get over. It's the one thing that I regret most about myself, this inability to work and be driven. I have no goals, no ambition and looking around me at my friends, at some of my acquaintances and seeing them go for their goals, seeing them REACH their goals, I'm left with a feeling of utter inadequacy. Who am I to feel comfortable in my abilities, who am I for some to envy when I have others who KNOW what they want from life and are not afraid to take it with both hands?
All of my life, for as long as I can remember I had one dream. One goal, one ambition. It has sustained me, it has lasted despite whatever things that have gone on in my life. It is the one constant thing in my fluctuating life. It is not ephemeral, not in flux. It is the only solid thing that I allow or that I welcome. I'm afraid that it is also this which has some cause for my behaviour, for my actions, for how I am. I won't make any excuses, I know I'm inherently lazy. It's just the way things are. But somehow it is made worse with the fact that I DO actually know what I want to do in life, have known since the first time I picked up a book, since the first time I learnt to read, since the first time I picked up a pen or pencil and put it to paper: I want to write.
My dream, my life, my sustaining breath and my complete weakness. My writing. I've found myself thinking, sometimes, that the other things didn't matter. What need have I for mathematics, for science, for geography when I wanted to WRITE? What could that help me in my future career. The majority of what I have learnt, I've realised, is ultimately useless in my life, in what I want to do. They are furnishings. They are something there so I can in the future say: I have done it. They are not essential. And it is with that thought, I think, that I have allowed myself to do absolutely fuckall in my life.
My mother told me that she's noticed me scribbling for as long as she can remember. She told me that I picked up a book and started reading earlier than she expected, earlier than my siblings. That I started writing before them. My command of language was better. They constantly make fun of the things I used to say when I was young, like when I was four and I looked at them, angry, and said, and I quote, "I have two words for you: N-O!".
It makes me laugh, thinking about it now. But it also irritates me and embarrasses me because they just will NOT let it go. Some part of me realises that they only do this because it wasn't a mistake I allowed myself to make after they took the complete piss out of me for years to come, immediately. It's the weakness I won't allow myself. My command of English came quick and quickly as well it usurped my command of Malay. I've never questioned it, all my life even when I was aware of how difficult getting work was, how the percentage of employment from University was lowering etc etc etc, I never worried, never faltered. I knew what I wanted. I wanted to be a writer, more specifically, an author. A novelist. It was my dream. I didn't want to be a Nobel Price of Literature winner, I had no such large dreams in life. I would like to be famous, or infamous, but only within my field. I have no great ambition of becoming a celebrity, open to the public eye. I'm a private person, after all. Besides, people have often said that if not a writer, then I will be a hermit. It makes me laugh, now, thinking about how UN-hermit like I was when I was just slightly younger and I wonder now what has made things change, what is it that has made me feel slightly detached from society at times, though I do enjoy the occasional social gathering. What was it that made me so fiercely protective of my own privacy, of my independence. Well, quasi-independence anyway.
Recently, reality hit and it hit hard. It was not a matter of what I want to do, not a matter of me questioning my life's choices in terms of a career. No, that has always been constant, even when I realised that I could not make writing be my bread and butter. I appreciate finer living too much for that, so the question of finding an alternate "job" to do to pay for my ultimate career is something I've accepted for a few years now. No, it wasn't if I still wanted to be a writer. It was if I was good enough to be one.
When it comes to banking, to law, to medicine people look to that with respect. They don't believe that they all can do it. It's specialised, it's difficult. But with writing... well, everyone thinks they can write. And unfortunately, there are a large number of people who can do it well, and I am friends or acquaintances with quite a large group. I've known someone whose writing was infamous on the net for a few years, now she is published. I know a few others, actually. I know others who think of writing as nothing more than a hobby and yet they have the ability to move me incredibly with their command of language. It tears me apart, to know that I have this dream, this vision... and yet not know if I'm good enough, if I'll ever BE good enough to succeed.
Eh, enough. Introspection, introspection, angst, blah. I'm late for class. Again.
Thursday, 22 March 2007
Friday, 2 March 2007
Introspection 101
It's the end of mock exams and I find myself feeling listless. I'm heading towards London after my drama lesson, a fact which annoys me greatly because I could've gone back yesterday if not for this lesson. I thought it prudent to attend, however, due to the fact that my exam is on the 16th, and I've barely remembered the lines as it is. It's a good script, though. Solid. And Ms. Mercati is really proving herself to be quite the director on this piece. However, I've known that for quite some time, now. After all, the woman has been my teacher for nearly five years.
Five years... has it really been that long since I left home, left KTJ, left Malaysia behind to face this, my new future? Has it really been that long since I've let go of my friends, of my previous "Malaysian" habits and embraced this culture? I spoke to Caz about just... life in general, what's expected of me in Malaysia and what she said... it rang so true yet never did it occur to me, but for the part of my mind I keep locked to all but myself. Sometimes. I play a dual role, in my life. Almost like I have Multiple Personality Disorder, in fact. I'm not the only one who does this, it is a fact that many change who they are according to different variables, such as location or the people they are with.
I... not only do I change myself to suit those I am with, but I change myself according to location as well. There is Malaysia!Me, and England!Me. There is the me that my friends know, the me that my old friends know, the me that my third brother and sister know, the me that my parents know, and the me that our family friends know. Within those groups it is branched as well: the younger generation, and the older generation. To the older generation I am scrupulously polite, I am somewhat traditional, I am intelligent. I am centred and self-assured and many other things that I am a little of, but not fully.
Caz said it always surprises her, unnerves her whenever she hears me talking to my parents, or talking of home and realising that what she is seeing is only one aspect of my personality. I've turned so Westernized in my ideals, in my manner, in my way of thinking that it becomes harder for me, as time goes by, to fall back into those compartments that I have organized my personality in. It's probably a lost cause, but I fight for that because a very large part of me does not want to upset the organization that had took me so long. I wonder, though, if the reason why it is so very difficult nowadays is because my personality is turning more and more sure, more concrete. Yet due to this, I cannot help but wonder... which is turning real? Which of my personality is manifesting itself? And is it really the right one?
Ah, no more. I dislike these moments of introspection. They give me a headache and I suspect they make me sound more and more like the whining child I was.
Five years... has it really been that long since I left home, left KTJ, left Malaysia behind to face this, my new future? Has it really been that long since I've let go of my friends, of my previous "Malaysian" habits and embraced this culture? I spoke to Caz about just... life in general, what's expected of me in Malaysia and what she said... it rang so true yet never did it occur to me, but for the part of my mind I keep locked to all but myself. Sometimes. I play a dual role, in my life. Almost like I have Multiple Personality Disorder, in fact. I'm not the only one who does this, it is a fact that many change who they are according to different variables, such as location or the people they are with.
I... not only do I change myself to suit those I am with, but I change myself according to location as well. There is Malaysia!Me, and England!Me. There is the me that my friends know, the me that my old friends know, the me that my third brother and sister know, the me that my parents know, and the me that our family friends know. Within those groups it is branched as well: the younger generation, and the older generation. To the older generation I am scrupulously polite, I am somewhat traditional, I am intelligent. I am centred and self-assured and many other things that I am a little of, but not fully.
Caz said it always surprises her, unnerves her whenever she hears me talking to my parents, or talking of home and realising that what she is seeing is only one aspect of my personality. I've turned so Westernized in my ideals, in my manner, in my way of thinking that it becomes harder for me, as time goes by, to fall back into those compartments that I have organized my personality in. It's probably a lost cause, but I fight for that because a very large part of me does not want to upset the organization that had took me so long. I wonder, though, if the reason why it is so very difficult nowadays is because my personality is turning more and more sure, more concrete. Yet due to this, I cannot help but wonder... which is turning real? Which of my personality is manifesting itself? And is it really the right one?
Ah, no more. I dislike these moments of introspection. They give me a headache and I suspect they make me sound more and more like the whining child I was.
Wednesday, 21 February 2007
Scraps of Literacy
For some reason, the poetry came pouring out last night, probably because the prose has dried up over the past month or so. Make that nearly two months, because that was when I last wrote a chapter for Conventio Custodis. I've still got that next chapter of The Saboteurs to write before my readers suddenly decide that I've dropped off the face of the earth and stop checking for updates because that would be ouch. Especially seeing as how well those two are doing.
This whole posting on TV thing (hotel room, internet on TV, score...) is weird. For once thing it's refusing me to press enter whenever composing an email or, in this case, writing something here, so I've got to go hands on and write Html which is really quite a pain. And it seems a bit different than LJ. I mean, why is the italic html < e m > (without spaces, obviously)? Oh well, at least the the other tags still work perfectly fine. Hey, what gives?! I can go on a new line via enter on the html function but not with the normal view? WTF? The mind, it boggles.
Anyway, slightly angsty poetry ahoy. Don't ask me where this came from.
Addiction
It's always been so easy
To let you know my heart
So easy to let you in
Watch you tear me apart.
You're a drug I need,
My only hope for release,
Your coldness is my addiction,
I need the cut of your kiss.
How has it come to this?
I'm lying in bed shivering from our ice,
Crying tears inside
Letting go of all things normal and nice.
I'm a junkie desperate for a fix,
You're the heroin killing me inside,
I've tried to quit you before,
But all I could do was hide.
I tried running from you,
From the whiplash temptation of your smile,
No one ever said I was wise,
Believing your sweet whispers and deceiving wiles.
I've lost what little sanity I had,
When you touch me, I'm lost,
And I'm crying out in anger inside,
Just realising my naivety's high cost.
I want to leave you,
To let go of your hold on me;
But I can't be released
From the skillful web you weave,
All I can do is beg you, please;
My addiction's increased.
That was written as a set, but it's the one I prefer. The first was too long, the second lacks something. Anyway, here's the second:
Too Late
I've watched you from afar,
Hungry for all the little things you do,
Needing to hear your laugh,
To bask in the sunshine warmth of your smile;
It's been years since I met you,
Years since I realised my fate,
I've tried to stop it,
But it's all too late.
You're happy with someone else,
Arms wrapped around your date,
Shining like the beacon you've always been,
So efforlessly you drew me in;
I can't look at the love on your face,
Or the joy you bring to someone else,
Tear my heart out,
I'm in pain.
I'm always too late,
Too slow on the uptake,
So now I'm sitting around dreaming of release,
Your lips, your touch, your teeth.
I want you to tear me apart,
Bleed me onto the earth,
I'm in pain.
I want your hugs, your smiles, your touch,
I want all you give her for free,
But I know that it's all too late.
NB. The original last three lines saw me writing: "I want all you give him for free, for some reason. I thought it sounded better. For the sake of posting it and from saving myself from some unwanted question, the sex referred to in the poem has changed. That is all. If you're a guy you can change it to the original in your head. I still think it sounds better that way.
This whole posting on TV thing (hotel room, internet on TV, score...) is weird. For once thing it's refusing me to press enter whenever composing an email or, in this case, writing something here, so I've got to go hands on and write Html which is really quite a pain. And it seems a bit different than LJ. I mean, why is the italic html < e m > (without spaces, obviously)? Oh well, at least the the other tags still work perfectly fine. Hey, what gives?! I can go on a new line via enter on the html function but not with the normal view? WTF? The mind, it boggles.
Anyway, slightly angsty poetry ahoy. Don't ask me where this came from.
Addiction
It's always been so easy
To let you know my heart
So easy to let you in
Watch you tear me apart.
You're a drug I need,
My only hope for release,
Your coldness is my addiction,
I need the cut of your kiss.
How has it come to this?
I'm lying in bed shivering from our ice,
Crying tears inside
Letting go of all things normal and nice.
I'm a junkie desperate for a fix,
You're the heroin killing me inside,
I've tried to quit you before,
But all I could do was hide.
I tried running from you,
From the whiplash temptation of your smile,
No one ever said I was wise,
Believing your sweet whispers and deceiving wiles.
I've lost what little sanity I had,
When you touch me, I'm lost,
And I'm crying out in anger inside,
Just realising my naivety's high cost.
I want to leave you,
To let go of your hold on me;
But I can't be released
From the skillful web you weave,
All I can do is beg you, please;
My addiction's increased.
That was written as a set, but it's the one I prefer. The first was too long, the second lacks something. Anyway, here's the second:
Too Late
I've watched you from afar,
Hungry for all the little things you do,
Needing to hear your laugh,
To bask in the sunshine warmth of your smile;
It's been years since I met you,
Years since I realised my fate,
I've tried to stop it,
But it's all too late.
You're happy with someone else,
Arms wrapped around your date,
Shining like the beacon you've always been,
So efforlessly you drew me in;
I can't look at the love on your face,
Or the joy you bring to someone else,
Tear my heart out,
I'm in pain.
I'm always too late,
Too slow on the uptake,
So now I'm sitting around dreaming of release,
Your lips, your touch, your teeth.
I want you to tear me apart,
Bleed me onto the earth,
I'm in pain.
I want your hugs, your smiles, your touch,
I want all you give her for free,
But I know that it's all too late.
NB. The original last three lines saw me writing: "I want all you give him for free, for some reason. I thought it sounded better. For the sake of posting it and from saving myself from some unwanted question, the sex referred to in the poem has changed. That is all. If you're a guy you can change it to the original in your head. I still think it sounds better that way.
Thursday, 15 February 2007
All the world's a stage...
The entirety of the school is in somewhat "fancy dress". It's so weird. But incredible. Evs, Becca Barrett, Vicky Noonan and Alex Walvis are dressed up as the Teenaged Mutant Ninja Turtles. Two girls from UC5 are dressed up as Obe Wan and Darth Vader with their respective light sabres. Ellie W-H is wearing a bright mustard yellow blazer, a white t-shirt, pink and black striped mini skirt, pink leopard print tights and sparkly ballet flats with black leg warmers. Others still come around with jewellery depicting the peace symbol and flowers drawn on their faces with eyeliner. Nearly a thousand girls walked down to school in dress from the 50s to the 80s, and lord the looks we were getting.
I look properly punk. It's weird. I have slight tendencies of it underneath it all, but this is very blatant and in your face. I've gone for the uber tack of all tackiness. I went for blood red nail polish, big chunky silver (and black) jewellery, spiked/bigged up hair, black on black with my black jeans, black Che Guevara wife beater, black leather jacket... the only colour I have are in my nails, the battered blue of my Converses and the silver on my jewellery. Oh, and I have lightly tinted aviators on, as a finishing touch, not to mention thick black eyeliner, layers of mascara and dark lipstick. My eyes feel heavy. It's painful. But I needed the extra layers, otherwise the mascara wouldn't show, and I definitely needed it.
The garishness of colour amuses me. Rosie Lilis is dressed up in a pink jumpsuit of her mother's with a bright blue scarf tied as a headband. Tzen is wearing bright blue trousers that matches her bright blue eyeshadow that goes up to her eyebrows and past the corners of her eyes. Emma F is wearing a bright orange top. Tze looks like a mental asylum escapee. Helen, because she's just an inner goth, has dressed up as, what else, Goth. Her reason for it is that the 80s marks the beginnings of goth-style. She looks like, and I have told her this, Jack from the Nightmare Before Christmas, all tall and skeletal and pale and dark.
I blame my brother for my current interest in anime and learning Japanese. As Echizen says in Prince of Tennis, though: Mada Mada Dane.
I look properly punk. It's weird. I have slight tendencies of it underneath it all, but this is very blatant and in your face. I've gone for the uber tack of all tackiness. I went for blood red nail polish, big chunky silver (and black) jewellery, spiked/bigged up hair, black on black with my black jeans, black Che Guevara wife beater, black leather jacket... the only colour I have are in my nails, the battered blue of my Converses and the silver on my jewellery. Oh, and I have lightly tinted aviators on, as a finishing touch, not to mention thick black eyeliner, layers of mascara and dark lipstick. My eyes feel heavy. It's painful. But I needed the extra layers, otherwise the mascara wouldn't show, and I definitely needed it.
The garishness of colour amuses me. Rosie Lilis is dressed up in a pink jumpsuit of her mother's with a bright blue scarf tied as a headband. Tzen is wearing bright blue trousers that matches her bright blue eyeshadow that goes up to her eyebrows and past the corners of her eyes. Emma F is wearing a bright orange top. Tze looks like a mental asylum escapee. Helen, because she's just an inner goth, has dressed up as, what else, Goth. Her reason for it is that the 80s marks the beginnings of goth-style. She looks like, and I have told her this, Jack from the Nightmare Before Christmas, all tall and skeletal and pale and dark.
I blame my brother for my current interest in anime and learning Japanese. As Echizen says in Prince of Tennis, though: Mada Mada Dane.
Wednesday, 14 February 2007
Captain's Log, February 14th 2007
In answer to Adlin's demand of, and I quote, "Blog. More." here is my next post. To be fair, these are probably not going to be very frequent things, as I am, sadly, really far too lazy for my own good. But I do so hate disappointing people, so hereby prompts my post on the dreaded day of all single people or rather, people with taste, St. Valentine's.
Don't get me wrong, I have nothing against Valentines day in general. If you have a significant other, go right ahead and use the ready excuse to shower each other with affection and love and all those other sick making things that are becoming far too trivial and people are being far too blase about these days. Don't get me started on the concept of teenaged dating and the overuse of the word "love". I call myself a pragmatist and I'll readily admit that I'm a cynic. I don't believe in the capability that over-hormal teenagers have in being "in love". I believe in lust, in chemistry, in extreme like, but Love? The big L-O-V-E? I have such high expectations of it. My parents have been together for over 30 years, my grandparents...far longer, obviously. I'm looking for that.
On another note, Mike annoys me, and yet he also knows how to make me into a puddling mess of girlish-ness. It's annoying. He sent me a Valentines text. He also said that 'Suffocated Love' by Tricky is the song that is just us. I checked out the lyrics, because I'd never heard the song before, and I really don't know what to make of it. I mean, really. Help me out, here:
It's too good, it's too nice
She makes me finish too quick
Is it love? No not love
She turns my sexual trick
She says she's mine, I know she lies
First, I scream, then I cry
You take a second of me
You beckon, I'll bleed
She suffocates me
She suffocates me with suggestions
I asked 'do you feel the same?'
And later on, maybe
I'll tell you my real name
She's so good, she's so bad
You understand, I can't expand
Now I could just kill a man
She's on her knees, I say please
I cross her city lines, she's got fine highs
I think ahead of you, I think instead of you
Will you spend your life with me
And stifle me?
I know why the caged bird sings, I know why
Forgive and you're forgiven
Kingdom come
Can you wait for yours
I need to taste some
Life's really funny
I laugh while she spends my money
She's my freak I guess I'm weak
You ask what is this?
Mind your business
I pass idle days with my idle ways
'Til the twelfth of always
She walks my hallways
I keep her warm, but we never kiss
She cuts my slender wrists
Let's waste some more time
I sign the dotted line
A different level She-devil
You ask what is this?
Mind your business
I pass idle days with my idle ways
'Til the twelfth of always
She walks my hallways
I keep her warm but we never kiss
She says I'm weak and immature
But it's cool I know what money's for
Push comes to shove
Her tongue's her favourite weapon, attack
I slap her back, she mostly hates me
Lou says that I should be insulted. Strangely and perversely, some part of me feels... I don't know... empowered that I have that effect on him. I'm still irritated, though. Ah vell. It just means he'll get a piece of my mind later on.
Oh hell, I'm late. More later.
eta. 30 mins after original post: Done with activity of the day. Feel somewhat blah. Some strange happenings are occuring in school. Somehow, yesterday, someone got bitten by the public menace bug and decided to trash the school. The porters think that it has to be someone from the inside. The hallway of the sixth form entrance has been splattered with raspberry yoghurt, a pair of knickers were hung on the wall, next to it a poster with the words "Enjoy Valentines Day While You Can" written on it in Chiller font. Very creepy and reminiscent of that bizarre Valentines Day massacre-type movie David Boreanaz was in a few years ago.
The sixth form common room was upended. Sofas and chairs were thrown around, pillows were slashed... it's been locked now because of it, and my fellow sixth formers are in a complete rage about it. It's literal seeing red, now. The toilets have all been messed up. The Lower College (years 7-9) toilets were smeared with grease or vaseline, and someone spray-painted the anarchy symbol on the wall and posted up pictures of Marilyn Manson and people having sex on the walls. The same can be said for the Upper College (Years 10 and 11) and the sixth form toilets as well.
I know that it might not seem like much, for any normal school it's somewhat average behaviour or at least it isn't given to this much sensationalism, but this is the Cheltenham Ladies' College, one of the top boarding schools in the UK... even the world. With the student body being made up of some of the best families, plus with the headmistress' emphasis on "lady-like behaviour", this is actually outrageous behaviour. Not to mention this week is the week of Scholarship exams in school. What a thing to show prospective students and parents, eh? The staff are absolutely livid. They're probably going to end up being far more strict on us for our leaving pranks, which is an absolute shame. They're never very lenient, anyway.
Other news: tomorrow is C-day. It's the prefects' day of entertainment. Each sector of the student body and staff have to dress up as a certain thing. Lower College and Upper College have to dress up from 50s - 70s dress. Sixth form in 80s and staff are anything from Victorian to 80s. It's a pity, I wish a prefect had had the same idea as me and told the teachers to turn up "Greek". How amusing would it be to be taught by someone in a toga for a day? *smirk* I want to see that. Knowing Mr. Chalmers, he'd tie-dye it pink. Where else can you get a cross-dressing, guitar playing Chemistry teacher in a band made up of teachers but here? We're quite unique, I must say. And Mr. C is one of our accepted eccentricities.
I'm going 80s punk. I've got black jeans, battered converses (although they're not high tops...but I'm not going to buy new shoes for this, dammit!), a vest top ripped at the sides and fastened with safety pins and my black leather jacket. Plus, I've got supremely tacky "rock and roll" type jewellery. I'm going Billy Idol but without the bleach blonde hair. I'd say Blondie, but... also not so much with the blonde.
Anyway, I have class. Further updates shortly.
p.s. Was that enough of an update for you, Ad?
Don't get me wrong, I have nothing against Valentines day in general. If you have a significant other, go right ahead and use the ready excuse to shower each other with affection and love and all those other sick making things that are becoming far too trivial and people are being far too blase about these days. Don't get me started on the concept of teenaged dating and the overuse of the word "love". I call myself a pragmatist and I'll readily admit that I'm a cynic. I don't believe in the capability that over-hormal teenagers have in being "in love". I believe in lust, in chemistry, in extreme like, but Love? The big L-O-V-E? I have such high expectations of it. My parents have been together for over 30 years, my grandparents...far longer, obviously. I'm looking for that.
On another note, Mike annoys me, and yet he also knows how to make me into a puddling mess of girlish-ness. It's annoying. He sent me a Valentines text. He also said that 'Suffocated Love' by Tricky is the song that is just us. I checked out the lyrics, because I'd never heard the song before, and I really don't know what to make of it. I mean, really. Help me out, here:
It's too good, it's too nice
She makes me finish too quick
Is it love? No not love
She turns my sexual trick
She says she's mine, I know she lies
First, I scream, then I cry
You take a second of me
You beckon, I'll bleed
She suffocates me
She suffocates me with suggestions
I asked 'do you feel the same?'
And later on, maybe
I'll tell you my real name
She's so good, she's so bad
You understand, I can't expand
Now I could just kill a man
She's on her knees, I say please
I cross her city lines, she's got fine highs
I think ahead of you, I think instead of you
Will you spend your life with me
And stifle me?
I know why the caged bird sings, I know why
Forgive and you're forgiven
Kingdom come
Can you wait for yours
I need to taste some
Life's really funny
I laugh while she spends my money
She's my freak I guess I'm weak
You ask what is this?
Mind your business
I pass idle days with my idle ways
'Til the twelfth of always
She walks my hallways
I keep her warm, but we never kiss
She cuts my slender wrists
Let's waste some more time
I sign the dotted line
A different level She-devil
You ask what is this?
Mind your business
I pass idle days with my idle ways
'Til the twelfth of always
She walks my hallways
I keep her warm but we never kiss
She says I'm weak and immature
But it's cool I know what money's for
Push comes to shove
Her tongue's her favourite weapon, attack
I slap her back, she mostly hates me
Lou says that I should be insulted. Strangely and perversely, some part of me feels... I don't know... empowered that I have that effect on him. I'm still irritated, though. Ah vell. It just means he'll get a piece of my mind later on.
Oh hell, I'm late. More later.
eta. 30 mins after original post: Done with activity of the day. Feel somewhat blah. Some strange happenings are occuring in school. Somehow, yesterday, someone got bitten by the public menace bug and decided to trash the school. The porters think that it has to be someone from the inside. The hallway of the sixth form entrance has been splattered with raspberry yoghurt, a pair of knickers were hung on the wall, next to it a poster with the words "Enjoy Valentines Day While You Can" written on it in Chiller font. Very creepy and reminiscent of that bizarre Valentines Day massacre-type movie David Boreanaz was in a few years ago.
The sixth form common room was upended. Sofas and chairs were thrown around, pillows were slashed... it's been locked now because of it, and my fellow sixth formers are in a complete rage about it. It's literal seeing red, now. The toilets have all been messed up. The Lower College (years 7-9) toilets were smeared with grease or vaseline, and someone spray-painted the anarchy symbol on the wall and posted up pictures of Marilyn Manson and people having sex on the walls. The same can be said for the Upper College (Years 10 and 11) and the sixth form toilets as well.
I know that it might not seem like much, for any normal school it's somewhat average behaviour or at least it isn't given to this much sensationalism, but this is the Cheltenham Ladies' College, one of the top boarding schools in the UK... even the world. With the student body being made up of some of the best families, plus with the headmistress' emphasis on "lady-like behaviour", this is actually outrageous behaviour. Not to mention this week is the week of Scholarship exams in school. What a thing to show prospective students and parents, eh? The staff are absolutely livid. They're probably going to end up being far more strict on us for our leaving pranks, which is an absolute shame. They're never very lenient, anyway.
Other news: tomorrow is C-day. It's the prefects' day of entertainment. Each sector of the student body and staff have to dress up as a certain thing. Lower College and Upper College have to dress up from 50s - 70s dress. Sixth form in 80s and staff are anything from Victorian to 80s. It's a pity, I wish a prefect had had the same idea as me and told the teachers to turn up "Greek". How amusing would it be to be taught by someone in a toga for a day? *smirk* I want to see that. Knowing Mr. Chalmers, he'd tie-dye it pink. Where else can you get a cross-dressing, guitar playing Chemistry teacher in a band made up of teachers but here? We're quite unique, I must say. And Mr. C is one of our accepted eccentricities.
I'm going 80s punk. I've got black jeans, battered converses (although they're not high tops...but I'm not going to buy new shoes for this, dammit!), a vest top ripped at the sides and fastened with safety pins and my black leather jacket. Plus, I've got supremely tacky "rock and roll" type jewellery. I'm going Billy Idol but without the bleach blonde hair. I'd say Blondie, but... also not so much with the blonde.
Anyway, I have class. Further updates shortly.
p.s. Was that enough of an update for you, Ad?
Thursday, 8 February 2007
Snow
It's snowing, today, the kind of snowfall that brings to mind not England and especially not in February, but something more mystical, like I'm caught in Narnia. It's a thick constant fall that was present when I woke up, and I feel miffed that they didn't say hello to me when they arrived in the middle of the night. It's a thick carpet of white fluff, sinking my shoes in deep to leave imprints about an inch deep and slipped inside my shoes and turned my ears, nose and hands into ice blocks. I never longed for hot chocolate as much as I did then, and I never felt as elated.
The school looks beautiful covered in snow and surrounded by the powdered bare branches of trees that stand in military-esque lines over the whitened lawn and quad. The dome of the observatory is half dusted with white and the spire of the GAP students'/language assistants' apartments pierces the sky like some kind of medieval turret of some kind of castle. And me, in the dreary, ugly old 70s modern concrete and glass of the sixth form building still feel like a princess, because the snow has magic never before realised.
Forget Hogwarts, forget Harry Potter and his mystical world of magic and beaurocracy. The Cheltenham Ladies' College's Nouveau Gothic/ugly concrete slab combination building surrounded by snow covered white grounds? The prettiest thing ever seen.
I'm such a sucker for blogs, first LJ, now this. Ah well, at least the techies haven't blocked this yet, and I do need somewhere for me to vent. I've missed my venting sessions and the moments of angst/emo-tears-of-woe. Though to be fair, that hasn't happened in a while, which is a good thing to my mind. Gospel Choir seemed to be quite the hit this morning, and nothing beats hearing Jail House Rock in the morning, to wake you up.
The school looks beautiful covered in snow and surrounded by the powdered bare branches of trees that stand in military-esque lines over the whitened lawn and quad. The dome of the observatory is half dusted with white and the spire of the GAP students'/language assistants' apartments pierces the sky like some kind of medieval turret of some kind of castle. And me, in the dreary, ugly old 70s modern concrete and glass of the sixth form building still feel like a princess, because the snow has magic never before realised.
Forget Hogwarts, forget Harry Potter and his mystical world of magic and beaurocracy. The Cheltenham Ladies' College's Nouveau Gothic/ugly concrete slab combination building surrounded by snow covered white grounds? The prettiest thing ever seen.
I'm such a sucker for blogs, first LJ, now this. Ah well, at least the techies haven't blocked this yet, and I do need somewhere for me to vent. I've missed my venting sessions and the moments of angst/emo-tears-of-woe. Though to be fair, that hasn't happened in a while, which is a good thing to my mind. Gospel Choir seemed to be quite the hit this morning, and nothing beats hearing Jail House Rock in the morning, to wake you up.
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