Little Miss Aggravated

Daily Life . Commentary . Notions

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WE all want to win. In games, in competition, in life. We want the most money. We want the sexiest boyfriend/girlfriend. We want the best car. Why? Because we have evolved this way? Because society throws these things in our face? Human nature? Well. Perhaps it’s a combination of all those things. But truly, deep down.. It’s so we can rub those things in the rest of the worlds face. And laugh. 

How would you measure the success of someone’s life? Would you look back and regret not accepting that soul-sucking corporate job at that place that one time? Would you be proud of spending thousands, almost millions on that new house? Or would you judge your life on non-materialistic things? Happiness. Love. Family. Morals. What ever your stance on it, it all ends up being the same thing. You do these things to show others how you’re are winning. You’re a winner. And they’re losers. Even selfless acts, things you’ll do for other people.. Charity, good deeds. Would you keep those things to yourself? No. We brag, we flaunt, we showcase. We make others feel like shit to make ourselves feel like Gods.

So why do we do this? Because we’re all selfish assholes? Well, that’s certainly a valid explanation. I doubt the human race can deny that the things they do have some sort of selfishness behind it. And that’s because selfishness, at it’s core, always ends up as this: it makes us feel good about ourselves. Even selfLESSness. It lifts our spirits, gives us an ego boost, and gives us an excuse to keep living. Because we feel we can keep conquering, keep going, keep winning.

We try to better ourselves, to add value to our lives, to be seen as winning to win the approval and affection of those around us. You change things, you accept things, so that people (or person) will accept you, too. You look at their lives and make the effort to be a part  of it. You feel as if you can offer so little to someone to has so much, who can do so much. What YOU can do, what you have, feels like nothing at all in comparison. But who dictates what is of value and what isn’t? What ability is more superior to the other? What skill, what personality quirk, is undesirable when compared to another? What has been so set in stone to think you are not worthy? 

You could argue that you, personally, are the ones to decide what things are and aren’t worthwhile. Then surely the things you do, the things you have to offer the world, are the things that ARE worthwhile, or else you would not have lived your life this way? You are not your own worst enemy. For me, I have always felt embarrassed by the things that I cannot do, from little things such as being unable to whistle. I can’t swim. I can’t ride a bicycle. I can’t speak another language (not even my native language and I have, like, three). I can’t drive. I can’t even snap my fingers (how will anyone know I am sassy?!). I watch people around me with unique, extraordinary, day-to-day, simple and mundane abilities and skills, and I watch in envy and awe. I admire those who can lead. I love those who can laugh and make others laugh. I enjoy watching things being created. I’m interested in those who can teach me. So for me, what could I possibly offer those who are, or can be seen as, so much better than me? I can bake a pretty good cookie. I can offer some decent advice at times. I can empathise. I can appreciate the beautiful, and I can understand the horrible. But is this enough? Will it ever be enough?

The value we find in others, in other things, we believe will add to our own value. Deep inside, everyone has that feeling of worthlessness, undesirability, and that haunting feeling of not being of value at all. It’s fundamental, and it’s universal. Some, they feel this more than others. Some self destruct because of it. Some become ruthless. Some fake it. Some embrace it.
Me? Well. I’d fall in the category of some that believe they deserve to feel this way. In a non-martyr way and complete open honesty (and if you cannot be honest over the very public Internet amongst billions of strangers, well where can you be honest, really?) good things don’t happen to me. Good things don’t happen for me. Not for lack of trying. And if, by some rare and strange occurrence, things line up and something spectacular happens.. Well, I run. I run, or I ruin. Things, beautiful things, take centuries to build. Destruction can happen in seconds. Through actions. Through words. 
I run or ruin. Why? Because good things don’t happen to me. Because I don’t deserve good things to happen to me. Why me, of all the people in the universe? I am not suffering, and I am not terminally ill. The strangest concept and the most awkward feeling is happiness (yes, love is included in the happiness umbrella). Because once you’re happy.. What else is there? Surely the end goal, the target, the winning move, is to happy? So why do we always reject it? Why do we run? Why do we ruin? Is it because then we feel guilty for being happy when no-one else? Are we that far gone that we want to destroy happiness? Is it because we are scared? Or is it because that we are actually happiest when we are inconsolably miserable?

Pain, grief and misery. As hard as these things are to comprehend, to live with, they are essential. People believe it carves away at your soul, hardens your heart, twists your compassion, ruins your mind. But in fact it strengths your soul, makes you feel more intensely, heightens your empathy, and sharpens your decision making. As cliche as it is, pain reminds you that you are alive. You matter enough for something to hurt you. You are worth someone’s maliciousness. You really are that important to earn one of the most powerful emotions known to man. Such is the duality of humans, we cannot exist without one or the other. You have to hate love. You have to be happy being miserable. If you can live with both then no longer will you think you do not deserve happiness. You’ll see that you matter enough for someone to love you. You are worth someone’s time. You really are that important. 

So how do you measure the success of someone’s life? You don’t. You measure the success of your own life. You accept the pain, and you embrace the happiness. You run away from the constant circles of hypotheticals and you ruin the doubt and misconceptions that you lay down within you. Your life truly is what you make it. It’s true you cannot make everyone happy, but that’s ok. As long as you are the one that is happy, without compromise. 

It’s not about winning the game, the competition, or life. It is about gaining your own approval. It is about being happy with who you are supposed to be, and showing it to the rest of the world. 

Then we all win. 

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Words With Friends

IT used to be that words were the most beautiful way of expression. Now actions speak louder than words. Now silence speaks volumes. Which one is supposed to convey human emotion? None? All? Well, none of that matters if there is no meaning behind it. Words are used everyday by everyone everywhere, but if there is no followthrough, meaning or substance behind it, then words mean fuck all in every sense of the.. Ahem.. Word.

I don’t think people like being let down. I, for one, hate it. Making a promise or a commitment to do something is one of the most important things in the world. Because if you just throw such things around casually, but have no intention of honouring them, then you become just like your promises.. Fake, empty and unreliable. The things you do, the things you say, the things you DON’T do or say impact everyones opinion and view of you. If you want to be someone of value and substance, you have to act with value and substance. I say this because I have been let down, a lot, by a lot of people. From little things to big things, from people that mean a lot and from people that mean a lot more. And while some things are unavoidable or unintentional (“can’t make it, I’m sick” for example), there are those that are constant letdowns that you just don’t have faith in them anymore. And a loss of faith can’t always be regained again. And I don’t mean letdown in the sense that I am their legal guardian and they are underachievers, but letdowns in that you feel literally let down by the fact that their word to you means shit.

Neil Strauss, one of my favourite authors and who wrote my favourite book ‘The Game’ (yes, girls can read this too, it’s quite poignant), made a point once about value. And to help increase value, a tip is to have a list. And the name of this list is ‘My Word’. This list is for you write down everything you’ve promised someone, even if its the tiniest thing. The list will help you to stop promising things to people you know you won’t/can’t do, and to remind you to actually carry out promises that you can/will do. This will show people that you can be trusted and that you are a person with integrity that can keep your ‘word’. 

Being unable to rely on someone can be devastating to both you and the person who has let you down. The feeling of disappointment is a powerful one. However, it can have some benefits. It shows you who in your life are not exactly worth your time. As harsh as this may seem, it can stop you from getting taken advantage of, from both friends, partners, spouses etc. If you find yourself constantly waiting for someone to fulfill their obligations while they take advantage of yours, then I don’t count that as healthy for either of you. And if you have been constantly let down, then it forces you to do things for yourself, makes you more self-reliant and independent. This may seen all ‘GO GO GIRL POWER’, but it applies to anyone in any situation really.

Someone once told me that you have to look at the people around you and ‘see what they are good and bad for’.. Emotional support, person to drink with, person to go to the movie with, person to go shopping with, this person you don’t gossip with, don’t rely on, don’t do favours for etc. I think this is a rather cynical way to go about with people, but it does have its merits. Some are better than others when it comes to certain things, but everyone is capable of the same thing. The question really lies in whether you can trust this person to be someone you can trust. 

Not much of a gripe-y blog, but just something for everyone to reflect on.

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Avengers.. Gather? Convene? Congregate? Come together in some way!

** S P O I L E R    A L E R T **

ASSEMBLE! Yup, I assembled twice already to watch Avengers in the space for three days when it came out on the 26th of April. Now, I admit, the first time I watched it, I didn’t enjoy it as much as I thought I would (considering I had been waiting for this for like a year), and that made me uber freaking depressed until I saw it again on Sunday. Now, why didn’t I like it? I accredit this to a number of different things.

First, it was opening night a packed, sold out screen at O2 Cineworld, and while this doesn’t bother me (ushering for Sundance and Odeon Leicester Square has made me used to full screens) it was sitting next to the biggest fanboy that was squealing as much as a 12 year old teen watching Twilight. It was.. VERY off-putting. Not saying that people can’t get excited, God knows I was, but it was bordering on ‘I cannot pay attention because the way you are rubbing your hands together is making me uncomfortable!’. Maybe this wouldn’t had bothered me as much if I wasn’t up veeeery early for my Sundance shift earlier. 

Second, I think I had already planned the movie out in my head. And so I probably was setting myself up for disaster.. The Ultimates is the first EVER comic I read almost a year ago (yes, I am a comic newb!) and ever since I have read and watched a LOT of Avengers, and I have so much love for Captain America and Hawkeye (my no. 1 and 2 favourite Avengers!). I know movies will never do EVERYTHING like the primary material, and I doubt they would’ve put in a Captain America/Ant-Man smackdown like in The Ultimates lol, so I suppose I was too narrow-minded. 

Third, I was sad that Hawkeye wasn’t the wise-ass, one-liner, sarcastic Hawkeye that I enjoy. Renner, like the majority of the cast, was an amazing Hawkeye (who didn’t enjoy Barton on the rooftop just shooting at aliens without even looking?!) but I suppose I expected more! This is my biased since I do have incredible love for Hawkeye and can’t WAIT for his comic to come out in August! Matt Fraction is a genius on Invincible Iron Man and so I can’t wait.

BUT, I went and saw it again on Sunday. Still a packed house (opening weekend, duh!) but the guy next to me was cool and smelt good :p! I went in with an open-mind and tried to stop being so pernickety and pedantic over the smaller things and DAMN I loved it this time round! I forgot about my ‘first time’ and it was everything that I wanted Avengers to be in one movie. There were plot holes that I resolved for myself (such as Stark and Banner discussing that Loki needs a REACTOR to kick start the Cube, and then go on to discuss Stark Tower’s new ARC REACTOR… But Stark didn’t put two and two together! And why Stark was in Germany in the first place..?) and so I thoroughly enjoyed it and I’m planning to go and see it again for the third, fourth, maybe even fifth time! My sister, who went with me the first time, absolutely loved it. She is NOT a comic fan at all, I had to explain to her what the Marvel universe was -_- but she came out of it loving Hulk (who doesn’t!) and came home and watched Captain America: The First Avenger. I tried to get her to watch the stand-alone movies, even the cartoon, but she wasn’t interested, but now she is. I chalk this up as a victory for geekdom!

Things I particularly love? Well, Coulson! Even though he (SPOILER) died >_<, which by the way I gasped so loud I’m pretty sure Clark Gregg could’ve heard me (and pretty much everyone went “OH SHIT!”) I love him, he’s adorable! His appearance in all the other movies, and in Avengers with his beautifully timed and polite lines (“move away, please!”) was awesome. For a character that is a new creation, couldn’t have been better. And I love the trading cards! That was in Mark Millar’s The Ultimates and I love that they brought that it, as well as Coulson’s obvious swoon-y fanboy moment in the jet with Cap. 

I loved that after Stark tower got destroyed, only the A remained and that’s totally going to be Avengers Tower! I’m actually quite annoyed with myself that I didn’t see it earlier.. I must’ve seen the trailer a thousand times and it was just staring me in the face! I love Gwyneth as Pepper, I really want her to get her own suit! But I didn’t like Scarlett or Cobie as Widow and Hill, respectively. I don’t like Scarlett in general o_o and I reckon someone (not sure who) could’ve done a better job.. With an accent, perhaps. And I thought her widow stings could’ve been more impressive! And Hill’s a badass, just like Fury, and I didn’t think that came across to me. Cobie’s voice is very.. Shrill? To me, anyway! 

Casting in this movie (and the others) have been pretty much perfect, but no-one can deny that the absolute show-stealers were Ruffalo as Banner and Hiddleston as Loki. Those two were fucking fantastic! I always thought Norton would’ve been my favourite Banner, but I’m sorry, someone give Ruffalo his own movie NOW! His attitude, the humour.. It was just perfection from the get go. His outburst at Widow that made EVERYONE jump (not me ;)!) was awesome, and the duality of a docile Banner and a angry Hulk was portrayed amazingly. When Hulk smashed and especially what he does to Loki! There isn’t enough applause in the world! I especially love ‘puny god’ afterwards, quintessential Hulk expression! Loki was done awesome too, I particularly love his smirk in Germany when everyone was running around scared, you know he loved causing all that chaos and trouble! The scenes between him and Thor, where you can see he just wanted to be accepted and on the same level as Thor, with Thor trying to reason with him and Loki.. Wants to concede but his pride and the idea of vengeance is greater than the obvious love he has for his “adopted” brother (by the way, how awesome was that line?! “He’s adopted…”).

I read that the film was supposed to be from Cap’s point of view, he is the man out of time and he’s new to literally everything. And I saw this.. His frustration and loneliness in that old ass gym (another nice touch from The Ultimates, I reckon), his annoyance at Stark for not falling into line (maybe drawing comparisons from Howard Stark?), the conflict between his sense of right when he went and found the Hydra weapons Fury was keeping a secret, and that even-though he has no knowledge or experience of aliens he still stepped up as leader of the Avengers when even Stark looked to him for the battle plan, winning over local officials and that weird girl who was on the news (I thought that was Sharon, but her name-tag said Beth). Cap’s always struggled with being a man out of time and whether of not the modern world even needs a star-spangled hero like Captain America, and I think the movie definitely showed that, yes, the world needs heroes even more than they did back in WWII, and they need a Captain to lead them.

But for me, the unsung hero of the movie was Iron Man. I can’t help but want Extremis to hurry up so that Stark doesn’t need to get his armour taken off him and he can just stick it all in the hollows of his bones lol. Downey Jr has no place in any other film except Iron Man because he is the greatest! He actually believes he IS Tony Stark lol. His comedic timing and delivery, one-liners and just general presence of being ‘better than you’ is everything we know and love about Tony Stark. I love the fight between him and Thor in the woods, magic versus science at its best, the interaction between two genius minds with Banner and that he tells Banner to control the Hulk instead of suppress him, the way he gets Cap to question authority about Phase 2. And I like how Stark carried out the obvious, but unspoken, resentment for Cap regarding his dad. “That’s the guy my dad wouldn’t shut up about?”, you can tell Stark is unimpressed with Cap (“everything special about you came out of a bottle”), perhaps because Howard Stark wanted Tony to be the man that Cap is? Just throwing it out there, I don’t even know if thats a real thing or I’m making it up lol. And I ESPECIALLY love during the NY scenes where all the heroes work together.. Thor and Banner on the Leviathan (greatest moment was when Hulk just punches Thor!), Widow and Cap on the ground, Hawkeye and Iron Man on comms.. Like a real TEAM! And that Iron Man assists Widow in the air, Cap on the ground and then goes and shoots at aliens on buildings, then that business with the missile.. Awesome! 

And then there’s the biggest thing. The end credits surprise of (SPOILER) Thanos!! Thanos is someone I don’t know much about except from Bendis’ Avengers run where he comes looking for the gems and everyones got one (Professor X, Namor, Iron Man etc) and Red Hulk just goes berserk. From what I hear, he’s a fucking badass though. So the next movie will probably be about the Infinity Gauntlet? Or perhaps Thanos just coming to look for the Cosmic Cube. But it’s in Asgard now! So we’ll have to see what happens in Thor 2, where I’m guessing the Chitauri are going to be involved since they warned Loki that if he failed, there would nowhere that they wouldn’t be able to find him. Iron Man 3 apparently is going to be based on Extremis (awesome!) and The Mandarin (double awesome!). For me, I want Cap 2 to be about Winter Soldier. The return of an evil brain-washed Bucky?! Come on, that’s gotta be cool!

For me, Avengers was the beginning of superhero movie awesomeness this year. Next for me is SPIDER-MAN! After Tobey embarrassed it, I can’t wait for Garfield to do it better. I had no prior knowledge of Spidey before Tobey’s run at it and I thought it was horrendous that I never bothered to read the comics. But I did and I think Spidey is just amazing (hence the name, right?) so I can’t wait now. Batman is the last one, the end of Nolan’s trilogy. I’ve said it before that I prefer the old Batmans (Burton’s Batman) and not Nolan’s. I kind of liked Batman Begins, but I didn’t like Dark Knight, except Heath Ledger as Joker.. Eventhough Joker is supposed to have got dipped in acid, right? I don’t particularly like Bale as Batman, but I LOVE Tom Hardy so I’m only gonna watch for Bane. Hathaway as Catwoman is going to upset me, I just know it. I don’t have a lot of faith in girl superheroes I guess, huh? 

But all in all, even for a blog that’s for moaning (and I supposed I have moaned about things) I don’t have enough praise for Avengers! Whedon’s ability to tie a dysfunctional group of heroes together and not overshadow any (except perhaps Hawkeye but he was brainwashed, and Banner was just the breakout star) is just one of the reasons why Whedon is GOD! I wished that Thor had more input, but his scenes with Loki were worth gold, so I was happy. And I had always wondered how he could’ve gotten back to Midgard with the Bi-Frost destroyed in the Thor movie.. Now I know!

My hopes for the next movie? PANTHER! A Wakandian king with vibranium is always going to be a good thing. Ant-Man and Wasp perhaps (but maybe not have Wasp eaten by ants..)? Or fuck it, get Garfield and Jackman in there and have Spidey and Wolvie just help tear shit up!

I hope now that everyone who has watched it goes back and read the source material.. ie: the comics! 

I believe in heroes. Now the world will too.

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Addendum: Failentine’s Day

The irony hasn’t been lost on me that the handle I adopted for myself centres around lov3. Or love, without the 3. For two reasons, I like this because it incorporates my initials (L & V). And also, because deep down, I am a hopeless romantic I guess, and it helps to remind me that I DO have some sort of heart going on beneath of all this annoyance at this stupid world. I suppose love is what I wanna be because love is happiness. It reminds me that I’m not all bad.

But I have to admit, hate and anger is fun too. For example, I fucking hate snow!

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Failentine’s Day

AND it’s February. A month that no-one really gives a shit about due to it being very uneventful. The allure of January and the new year is over, and so it’s time to get on with our lives for the rest of the year. Ah, but alas, February is not a month of doom and gloom.. For there is a red and pink heart shaped horizon just a few weeks away. Yup, once a-fucking-gain, it’s Valentine’s Day.

You can tell Valentine’s Day was thought up by a woman. Why? Because it’s fucking difficult, just like a woman. I know I am a woman myself, but that doesn’t detract from the truth. If you are in a couple and you do something romantic you are seen as typical, cheesy, annoying and blatant with your goddamn flaunting around town with your single stemmed £5 rose in that candlelit Italian restaurant. But if you decide to spend the night indoors, watching the television eating a takeaway then you are unimaginative, boring and most likely not even in love you big fibbers. So, being in a relationship = dangerous waters. But on the other side of the fence, there are us singletons where life is no better. If you declare that you don’t even care about Valentine’s Day, then you are declared jaded, jealous and resentful because you’re alone and you will have to buy yourself chocolates. However, if you openly weep at your work desk because you are alone and desperately want someone to spoil you on this day, you’re seen as sad, pathetic and unpowered so you will also have to buy yourself chocolates because you can’t find a man to buy them for you. Whether you’re being romantic, sappy, angry or just ignoring that this day exists all together, it is a time of high stress and anxiety, and let’s face it, ultimate disappointment with whatever you end up doing.

My status for the 14th? Single. And my day will probably consist of sleeping until noon (as usual), eating breakfast (it’s my first meal of the day, so it’s breakfast to me whatever time it is), going to my BA-biased seminar about something human geography related, getting home 3 hours later due to rush hour and subsequently getting drunk until I fall asleep. I am a super romantic at heart, can you tell? Without too much detail, I have been in 4 relationships in my life thus far, and while I have few regrets about each they have not been without drama, such is the natural order of things for a teenage girl. My last relationship ended two years ago and I have yet to meet a guy who I would allow to invade my life. Now, that sounds cynical and spinster-ish of me. Not because my life is very important, but the very opposite. My life is mundane and so would offer anyone very little incentive to be a part of it full-time.

Relationships seem simple. Guy and girl meet, date, fuck, cry, breakup/end up getting married. However, today it seems pretty complex and goes more like this:
- Girl gets slutted up because she’s insecure about her looks and personality
- Boy drinks beer until he is too drunk to care what he sticks his penis into because he’s not funny/smart enough to hold a conversation, so beer eliminates the ability to speak anyway
- Girl and boy meet on sweaty dancefloor in the basement of a club, gyrating to bass music they otherwise wouldn’t like when sober
- Boy grinds penis into Girl, Girl takes this as he likes her because she’s deep and emotional, wow, they have a real connection and he really likes the smeared mascara look
- Boy enjoys erection, although it is uncomfortable poking through his chinos
- Girl rewards Boy’s interest with making out in the corner. Girl thinks he is such a gentleman and wonders if they like the same movies
- Boy enjoys groping Girl’s butt
- Girl reaches point of no return and has to sleep with Boy out of fear for being a prude or a tease. Girl is not a slut because she leaves with only one Boy
- Boy has pulled, purchases a overpriced condom from machine/attendant in the bathroom
- Girl is disappointed with drunken fumble sex, reassures herself that it’ll be better next time
- Boy scratches groin after a night well done, thinks about what he will eat when he gets home and if that questionable slice of pizza from last month is still edible
- Boy decides it is edible after sneaking out of Girl’s house
- Girl too drunk to notice she is sleeping alone
- Boy high fives mirror in the morning. Girl throws up and takes morning after pill.
Sounds about right.

Now, as tempting and thrilling that all sounds, I have not gone through these sequences of events myself. If you know me on any kind of sliding scale, or have read my previous post about shopping, you’d understand I am not a girly girl. While I am not against going to a club to socialise, I am against the culture. The stereotypical image of drunken teenagers jumping, screaming and falling about in, out and around clubs is one that makes me enjoy being as mentally mature as I am. And it’s a stereotypical image, by the way, because it’s true. It embarrasses me that people pay hundreds of pounds to do this in European countries that may as well be called England.02 - But In A Warmer Climate. I am not ignorant enough to think that American romcom movies situations exist, where Miss Awkward Quirky Career Girl meets Sensitive Bad Boy in Chain Coffee Store when he sees her across a crowded room reading a Jane Austin novel, but I hold out hope that courtship does not start and end with being grabbed and groped by a less-than-hygienic club patron.

I have always had the belief that men of value and quality do not roam around topless, blowing light-up whistles and lick stripper poles in nightclubs. And I’m right. A man is different inside a club than out of it. And so are women. Although saying that I’m sure there are people who are consistently drunk and annoying no whatever what time it is or where they are, but I digress. In any case, the mix of alcohol, social anxiety and pressure, little to no clothes, heat and hormones can transform anyone into a fearless and cocky individual as soon as you get your little hand stamp at the front door after paying £12 admission. For me, keeping up the pretence is too exhausting. From the long hours spent on getting ready, to deciding where to go, and how long it takes you to get back home again, you are creating another persona for yourself. One that says “I am not day-to-day me, I am that slutty fantasy you’ve always had but the difference is I am attainable in real life for the small price of one vodka and cranberry juice”. Well, I am not. If ever a man came up to me and offered to buy me a drink, I would reject and leave. Harshly or not, I do not know as such an occurrence has not happened because I keep myself out of clubs. I am not going to play the roll of Nightclub Barbie because I have no interest in it. Say if I do squeeze into a dress two sizes too small for me, attach plastic to my hair, eyelashes and nails, and teeter in heels I can’t walk in, the morning after would not reflect the night before. I will be back in my baggy jeans and my Ironman t-shirt and the glass slipper of the past evening will have shattered in our hands. It is not in my nature to giggly airheadly, wait for someone to pull my chair out for me in a restaurant, or open doors for me. And it is not in my nature to find the club scene appealing.

On the other side of the spectrum, I do not believe fairytales or epic romances happen. Despite my love for Disney, their princesses do not fool me into thinking that if I sit around singing to wildlife that a prince will come and save me from evil. If only one story comes to mind about real life, then it must be Midsummers Night Dream. A complex love square that gets messy. I suppose that’s why it is my favourite Shakespearean play. I suppose because I can relate to Helena. Who hasn’t liked someone who likes someone else? And when Someone Else is your close friend at the time, it double sucks.

I suppose the crux is is that while being in love isn’t easy, falling in love is harder but finding someone to love is fucking near damn impossible. I don’t believe in love at first sight, your first thought at that sight is “damn I’d fuck that”. I don’t believe in soul mates as the probability of finding one soul amongst 7 billion and counting is impossible, but rather people suit you more than others. I do, though, believe that there is at least one person for everyone, and that anyone can fall in love and they will at least once in their lives. But, do I believe in love?

A complex emotion requires a complex answer. For a while I believed being in love is when you accept someone for all of who they are, flaws and all, and feel no different. No need to change, no need to compromise, but just to be content. If I apply this to my life, then I have loved twice. Which must mean that neither was “The One” or else I would only love one, right? And there are holes in my own description. Perhaps you feel no different because there hasn’t been adequate time for that person to piss you off beyond no return yet. Or maybe when the relationship ended (not by me), residual emotions and feelings have not dissipated and so you still forgive their shortcomings because you still hold a candle for them. I’m pretty sure all of my candles have been extinguished. I thank those who have come into my life for the time I got to spend with them, but if they no longer are a part of my life, I can only assume it is their own decision for leaving. This doesn’t exemplify me from any blame because there must have been something in my character that warranted such a departure in the first place and has subsequently kept my shop window bare ever since.

I admit I am not the easiest person to be around. I have a short temper, low tolerance and I cannot stand when things aren’t in their place. I have mild OCD about neat and tidiness and this can often be quite off-putting. I don’t enjoy Outside a lot and I would rather just hang out and play Mario Kart then wearing a dress and having to go on a date. Since I am not American, I don’t think I have gone out on your typical date. Or if I have, I haven’t called them dates, but instead they’re just evenings out to the cinema or to a restaurant that serves ribs (one of my favourite foods ever). I have not been taken out extravagantly to fancy places that requires me to be fancy, but this suits me just fine. And while that sounds like the “jealous she doesn’t have a boyfriend on V day” scenario, it’s the honest truth. If someone does not appreciate I’d rather watch Smackdown on a Friday night than go on a horse and carriage ride along the river while I’m being serenaded to and fed grapes, then that person is not for me. Pyjamas over dresses any day of the week, thank you very much. This doesn’t mean that I will never make an effort or that I do not like being treated nicely or made to feel special because let’s face it, I am still a girl with feelings and emotions. But I’d trade you a superdate on Valentine’s Day for a good morning text waiting for me when I wake up. Roses, champagne, chocolate and jewellery, while helpful, does not constitute romance or love. Much like everything else, its the little day-to-day things that can make someone’s heart beat rapidly.

I cannot talk about my own love life as bluntly as I’d like, but I can describe what I think and feel. Have no expectations, perceptions or judgements because these things will just lead to disappointment. The things you imagine in your head will very rarely be squeezed into one person dancing on a podium in a club, or sipping a latte in a coffee shop. It is a real possibility that your expectations do not exist in nature, but you will spend forever trying to shape someone else as the unattainable image of perfection in your mind, which will just lead to resentment and a breakup. That person is already perfect, but if you cannot see it, then that person is not perfect for you. Lust comes from the eye’s first look but love comes from mind’s first conversation.

I will answer that yes, I believe in love, and this is probably my downfall. My problem is that I care too much. Despite my constant moaning and groaning, I care and empathise with everything way too much for someone as small as me can handle. People who believe in love knows to hate it, if they know what’s good for them. The constant struggle to keep your partners affection is all too consuming and painful, and yet it seems worth it just to have that person in your life. Love is pain after all, isn’t it? But love does not set up camp alone. With it comes paranoia, jealousy, irrationality, arguments, annoyance and metaphorical suffocation. Relationships and marriages fail because people fail to hate love. Hating love reminds you that these negative emotions come attached. Love has baggage. Blind love ends up in heartache. But clever love, love that is thought out and understood with it’s pros and cons weighed and accepted, can last the longest. But this, however, does not fit in with societies vision of impulsive, spontaneous, chance/luck, involuntary passion of love, as love cannot be considered but it just happens. Well, where did you get this idea from? The movies? The books that those movies are based on? Your heart is foolish but your mind is clever. You have to trust and work with both to win.

So, what do I believe in? And what of Valentine’s Day? Yes, I think Valentine’s Day has gotten corporate, but I do not chastise those who buy into it, a day to celebrate love isn’t all that bad in a world that is killing each other off during the rest of the year. Enjoy the day, whether you’re pro or con, but just don’t do it around me. I will not participate in your ex-boyfriend picture burning bonfire, and I will not enjoy seeing couples suck face in the streets because it is Valentine’s Day (although this is not appreciated on ANY day). Yes, I will end up spending the 14th alone, and who knows what kind of cliche things I will end up doing, but love doesn’t end on this day until next year. While it would be nice and enjoyable to look after someone and be looked after in return, I will not chase your typical routes to find that Someone because at the end of it I will not be the Me I began with. And I like Me. You should like You. And we’ll eventually find our Us. And then everyday will be Valentine’s Day.

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Crowd (un)Control

SEVEN billion. Well, over 7 billion if we are being pedantic, but we’ve reached that mark. And instead of high fives and champagne for the 7 billionth baby being born in our glorious planet, we should be wondering what the fuck is going on instead.

There’s too many people. My only course this term at uni is Population and Development, and we’ve been talking about this exact thing. Can the world keep up with the growing population? Will it exhaust our resources this much quicker? Wars over food and fuel instead of power and wealth? A man’s sense of grandeur is measured by how much clean water he has, instead of how many pounds/dollars/rubles/rupees/euros he has sitting in the bank. Basic human rights are a luxury for a chosen few.

I bring this point up because I live in London. I am currently staying in Brighton for (albeit a few nights a week) University - final year, physical Geography.. I’m uber cool, no? No. But anyway, London, as anyone who has been there can attest to, there are a lot of fucking people. While not on the same level as countries such as China or India, there are a lot of bodies bustling around living their lives with haste and hurry. I can swing both ways (behave…) in that I understand the need to run around to keep up with the pace of life, but I can also slow down, take my time and enjoy my surroundings. For example, if I am going somewhere with purpose - work, school, even to a specific shop or tube station, I will walk at a pace that some may deem as fast, but I think it is appropriate if I do not want people to elbow me out of the way for being a fucking slow dumbass who doesn’t understand how societal rules in a city works. However, there are rare times in my life that I will walk without much purpose or reason, if only to clear my head from a particularly depressing problem or situation, or maybe to just take advantage of the rare times London is blanketed by the comforting warmth and shine of the Sun. Even if it still is 3 degrees outside. But when these fleeting moments does arise, I do not plonk myself in the middle of the pavement, creeping my way towards an unknown destination for the fun of it. If I walk, I walk through a park, or along the riverbank or docks, which are some of the places where taking a leisurely stroll at your own pace is generally accepted, for these are places that are known to invoke emotion and instill peace, and so people understand. However, if you think that doing this in the middle of central London just so you can stare up at the tall buildings and oh, look how pretty that Starbucks is because it has comfy sofas and everything, then you, kind sir or madam, are a douchebag and you need to appreciate that there is most likely someone, probably me, who is stuck behind you and your daydreamer attitude with someplace to ACTUALLY be, and probably have a time to be there. If you are not inconvenienced, then you are most definitely inconveniencing someone else.

This also goes for the fact that if you wish to stand somewhere, perhaps to gather your thoughts, waiting for someone/thing, maybe to sort out the many bags you seem to have with you, to smoke a Death Stick or just appreciate the view (London does have many), it is polite for you to move yourself to one side, perhaps right up against the wall or railing, depending on where you actually are, so other people who aren’t just standing around for no good reason can carry on with the flow of things instead of having to navigate around your motionless body. If people were water molecules, and you are a rock sitting in the middle of the riverbed, then by the laws of physics, it is relatively easy for these molecules to bend, flex and move around the immovable object. However, we are NOT molecules and having to Mr Fantastic body stretch around you is annoying and unnecessary. The ideal situation would be if there was a YOU-shaped hole in the wall for you to disappear into, or to just integrate with the wall itself, or perhaps to float above head-level, to get yourself out of the fucking way.

As there are rules on the road, there are also rules on the streets. They are unspoken, not written down, but most (if not all) people understand them and usually abide so the world does not collide with each other, resulting in messy outcomes. Such as:

- There are two lanes on every pavement, one for people going one way and the other for the opposite way. If you are going the wrong way in the wrong lane, you deserve to eye gouged and have your underwear pulled up over your head. Just saying.

- If you stop for some reason, you need to move over to one side, preferably at the very side and slow down before coming to a complete stop. Then you have to squash yourself right up against the wall as best you can. If you stop abruptly, you leave NO time or room for the person to slow down also, and so you will get people walking into the back of you. This will cause an argument about who’s fault it is, which will lead to more disruptions.

- If you are speedy and agile enough, you may be able to get into the ‘fast lane’. This lane is the invisible lane in between the other.. invisible… lanes…. (ahem)… where you can duck, weave and practically run in between oncoming people and those who walk beside you. It is achievable but you must be experienced for this.

- If you see a gap or break in the sea of people, exploit it. This will give you more room to move and breathe, and also allow the people behind you to have an extra person-sized space to move into.

This may all seem quite ridiculous, but it’s true. And not just in London, in any street in any busy city. I have been fortunate enough to visit New York, Tokyo, Hong Kong and Peking, and these metropolises of activity all have the same sort of rules, although they do have variations. If you do not adhere to these rules, you will get elbowed a lot, flat tired a lot (where someone steps on the back of your shoe.. FUCKING hate that), you will get tuts and sworn at, you get will dirty looks, you will get hit with briefcases and shopping bags, and maybe if you are unfortunate enough, you will just fall over… After being knocked over, of course.

I was out in central London this past Sunday for the Chinese New Year celebrations. I have no been to Chinatown or Trafalgar Square for these celebrations since I was a kid and went with my whole family. Somehow I knew it was going to be busy, but not AS BUSY as it was. My God, it was as the population of a small oceanic island tried to fit into a cake shop through a catflap. It was insane. And my favourite Chinese cake shop did look just like my description. Shudder. My sister was in the area on the Saturday buying some buns, and it was heaving with people. She recounted one American/Chinese woman walking into the center of the shop floor (it is VERY small), proclaiming that she loves the smell of all the cakes and buns. Her boyfriend asked her if she would like one. She replies “no, I just want to smell”. Not only is this quite annoying for the shopowners who, I’m sure, would’ve liked her to buy something, but it was double-annoying for the people around her who actually WERE going to buy something. To this woman, wherever you are, I say ‘really? REALLY?’.

Trying to get to Trafalgar Square to see the stage show was virtually impossible. Through all the people, you cannot see the railings that separate one crowd from another and so as you fight your way through, you are stopped by the temporary gates while a loud man on a megaphone informs you that this is ‘EXIT ONLY’. Fuck sake. Since there is no going back the way we came from, there is only one choice and that is to carry on forward and find another route to Chinatown and Leicester Square. A side street does the trick, and while another street is closed off that you had hoped to use by using your knowledge of these streets, you are forced to join the mainstream flow of people who are going where you are. Reaching Leicester Square, the crowds did not thin out or decrease, and since you cannot see anything, or visit any shop or restaurant, the whole experience is actually quite brief, annoying and boring. The humdrum of going along with the crowd was perforated by gaining a free balloon, watching some firemen and waiting by a supermarket and restaurant to watch a dragon dance and the thumping drums and cymbals encroached closer towards us. As people started to understand what we were doing, others stopped to get a front row view, and before you knew it, me and a friend (separated from our two other friends) were sandwiched between a whole mixture of people. As we were told and pushed to go ‘BACK’ to make way for the parade, I was further pushed into a pole in the ground, that rendered me unable to go ‘BACK’ anymore.. Which no-one really understood until I had to slide out and aggressively push my way back into the crowd. The dragon dance was spectacular, as they always are, but being as short as I am, seeing the full splendor and acrobatics was difficult. After the dance, my friend and I went to retreat from the crowd, which was made difficult and almost impossible as people moved down with the parade. My friend led the way and I had to tell her to ‘become a Londoner’, which I meant for her to be more aggressive and to push back as hard as she had be pushed before. I am quite good at standing my ground if I am being pushed unreasonably, and it is very satisfying when you get to wiggle your way through a still crowd, much like squeezing that last bit of toothpaste out of a near-empty tube. When we achieved a reprieve from the crowd, we had to find the other two, which was no easy task. At the end of the day, when we settled to watch the (actually quite poor) fireworks display in Trafalgar Square, the crowds grew and grew and were actually unbelievable about how big it actually was. I’ve lived in London for 21 years and never seen so many people. Although I’ve never been out on a Saturday night, or been outside ever when the clock strikes midnight on World new years day.

The real annoyance came on the train from Charing Cross to London Bridge. My friends were going back to Brighton that day, while I opted to spend another night in warm London. The train was unbearable, with every entitled and not-afraid-to-say-what-I-want person (usually older people) on board. After a lot of ‘CAN YOU MOVE BACK PLEASE!!’s, mini, very polite arguments broke out between people who wanted to move down in the carriage, couldn’t move down or didn’t want to move down. One quite older lady even went as far as saying that if ‘that baby doesn’t want to be quiet, it should be sedated’. The baby was fussing and was slightly crying, while its father tried to settle it. I wouldn’t go as far as saying the baby should have been sedated… And I’m ME. Although in my mind, if you ‘sedate’ something, it gives me the mental image of shooting it with a tranq from thick foliage 20 feet away to avoid being seen or smelt. The train journey was uncomfortable, very awkward and quite annoying. I’m used to being cramped on public transport, and since I am small and short I can usually be twisted into most shapes to make space for others, but it annoyed me when started to argue about it. Not with me, mind you, since I would’ve went ape shit. But it seems obsolete when most people were getting off at the same stop anyway. And if you missed one train to London Bridge, there surely are about 5 others going to the same place with short waiting times. It is times like this where I do not mind waiting for MY turn to get somewhere. I had no set time to be anywhere and in the end, we will all end up where we want to get it, right? I forwent the next tube journey I needed and opted for a bus instead, which takes me closer to my house and was blissfully near empty for the whole journey. It takes longer, but it was worth it to have my own seat by the window in a quiet, argument free environment. It’s the small things that can settle your tea kettle after a very trying day where everyone is out for themselves.

I suppose that you can be the hare AND the tortoise, depending on the situation. Going to work? Hare away. Trying to get on the same plane as me as quick as possible, knocking over prams and the elderly just to get on the first bus to the terminal to sit in your assigned seat? Perhaps try to be a tortoise. That plane isn’t leaving without all of us anyway, mate, so relax. There will always be a next bus. A next train. A next most-things. If you miss one thing, except things such as solar eclipses or something, you will most likely get to see/experience/be on/be around it when it next comes around. If you are all hare, you will miss things that perhaps you will come to regret. If you are always a tortoise, maybe you will get the sense of wasting your time on being unproductive where you could have achieved much more. A city like London needs you to be a hare, but welcomes and encourages the tortoise. Do not be frustrated with the fucking slow idiot in front of you. Alternatively, do not be frustrated with the inconsiderate prick who rushed past you, elbowing you on the way. We’re all going to get where we need to be.

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Gender Reassignment

I am a female. I promise! I have all the necessary biology that any medical professional would have to agree I am a girl. However, on the outside? Not so much.

My earliest memories are when I was just a kid, playing video games with my brother, sister and dad; old school mario, mario kart, sonic, zelda, streets of rage, golden axe, and my favourite of all time: Wani Wani World. Google/YouTube it, it’s amazing! I love my old consoles and loved playing games just as much. I grew up and started playing Dreamcast and Playstation 2, which probably are my favourite consoles of all time. On Dreamcast, I used to play WWF Royal Rumble with my brother, when I discovered WWF on tv around late 1999, and then I discovered rock music. I remember sitting down while my brother eagerly awaited the opening signature, unmistakable with it’s flashing images of superstars. I remember The Undertaker making his entrance and thinking he was the coolest person ever! As time went on, Jeff Hardy grew into one of my biggest crushes, Edge and Christian were so funny, I’ve never seen someone quite like SCSA and The Rock sent electrical shivers down my spine. Kurt Angle, Eddie, Beniot, Jericho, HHH — all of my childhood heroes engage in a pro-sport I’ve never quite seen before. I was mesmerised and hooked. I stayed up from 1-4am watching PPVs and inevitably fell asleep by about 2.30am, while my brother had to carry me back up to my own bed to sleep. I’d have taped it too, so would rewind the tape to see who won the main event (I couldn’t wait!) before I went to school, and then watch the rest after I had run home from school. My brother, cousin and I would play-wrestle in my living room, and I would play-wrestle in the playground with the boys (of course, I was the only Diva there!). Sorry WWE, we ignored your “don’t try this anywhere” warning. I never got seriously hurt, even when my uncle tombstoned me, but I can’t say the same for others. If Jake is reading this, I’m sorry for kneeing you… *There*…. I really am!

I think my mum would have preferred if I wasn’t so into all these “boys” stuff, and I think with my recent obsession with comic books hasn’t settled her any less. I have never been a “girly” girl, and I don’t see a near future where I would start. I have always been a tomboy, and spending 2 hours on my hair does not sound appealing or necessary to me. I spend most of my life in my Timberlands and baggy, loose jeans. I credit this to Lita. She was my favourite diva growing up and I have modelled my style after hers; trainers, baggy trousers, tiny cropped top showing her midriff, in all dark colours. This was, and still is, very much my style. I appreciate this was almost ten years ago, where she was part of Team Extreme, and her style has evolved since then (circa. Edge), but I suppose it’s because no-one has ever “dressed me”. My mum stopped when I was old enough to realise I did not have to have cartoon characters on my clothes (although I was quite fond of my Tweety Bird jumper when I was 9).

However, I have come to realise that perhaps I lack the femininity that I should be flaunting like the rest of my generation. “Being more feminine” was one of my new year resolutions, along with “smiling more”. This came about more because it cannot find clothes I like anymore, more than the need to stick myself into high heels and a vat of foundation. And so, this past Thursday, I left Brighton to come home for the weekend to London, and went straight to Westfield Stratford on the underground tube. Westfield is a huge ass shopping centre built for the Olympics essentially and is next to the grounds in East London. There is one across London in White City, which is in my opinion a lot better. However, after lengthy travelling on trains, I felt like going somewhere closer to home (Stratford, very close to where I live). So, dressed comfortably, with my long scarf, Abecrombie & Fitch hoody, and my backpack, I descended with the masses upon the shopping centre. I justified this by reasoning I need to find a birthday present for my friend and housemate, Rachael (we call her Caz), which I actually needed, but failed to find anything anyway.

During my time there I realised something. I fucking hate shopping and I fucking hate fashion these days. Let’s start with the shopping. It presents an awkward situation filled with anxiety and disappointment for me. It begins when you first enter a shop, and the judgemental shop assistant is waiting by the door like a bouncer into a club, checking that no-one gets in wearing trainers. On this day, thankfully, I was wearing my Timberlands. Dark blue. While the shop assistant greets you with a gleeful smile and a chirpy “hi!”, she may as well look me up and down, raise one eyebrow and say “really? You’re going to come in here? Dressed like that? You have no style. It’s disgraceful. Just leave now, or come in and wonder around aimlessly while I stare at you with evil eyes while you finger all the clothes you hate because you JUST don’t understand them, until I make you too uncomfortable and you leave feeling like crap.” I should just take her subliminal advice and avoid shops at all costs, but through my own stupidity, I waltz in pretending I belong in the shiny shop with techno music in the background and try to look as if I have purpose. Which, of course, I don’t. I don’t know what the fuck I am doing here, since it’s true- I hate all of these clothes and probably the people that would wear them. Which brings me onto my second annoyance: fashion itself.

I don’t understand leggings, and yet we are in a time where they are worn all the time, everywhere by everyone. My sister is such a fan, and even my mum has gotten into the trend. Leggings to me, are glorified tights, and are NOT trousers, and so should not be treated as such. If you cannot wear leggings in the right way, then you will get cholera for being a terrible person. Society hates you. While leggings themselves do not warrant such rage, its the way they’re used which does. Hey, girl there, if you do not wear you leggings with a skirt, or some shorts, or a dress or some sort of long top, then you are exposing the intimate shape of your vagina and arse to the world, and frankly, the world doesn’t want to see it. So cover the hell up. You are not a cow, so coverup your udders. This is polite society, after all. I would have more respect for you if you wandered around in your underwear, instead of wiggling your shame in front of me in the morning. A step up from leggings are the sudden fascination with skinny jeans. A fascination I, for one, will not undertake. Let’s start with skinny jeans on guys. It’s gross. Yes, I appreciate that you are comfortable with your sexuality, and that your giant man bag and oversized cardigan are statements of your individuality (even though you bought then from a high street shop that, oh, everyone else shops in too), and while the feat of you squeezing your lower body into these tight trousers is impressive, it makes me quite depressed to realise that you, (Multiple) Boy in My Lecture, has skinner legs than I do. I concede that if I wanted to, I could also stuff my body into multicoloured denim, as if I am trying to stuff sausage meat into it’s thin casing, but since I enjoy ample and comfortable blood flow and the luxuries of movement, I will stick with slouchy jeans that don’t really fit me properly. Although they are magic. They make my behind disappear in an instant!

Other fashion things that annoy me? Uggs. They make your feet look about 5x bigger than they are, and even though being Asian and tiny means I have tiny feet, it doesn’t freak me out any less. It’s probably why I don’t like skinny jeans. Seeing your whole foot and shoe as you look down unnerves me. Perhaps it’s just me.
As I failed in finding my present, I decided to try and look for presents for me, by the way of clothes to make me more girly and maybe finally shed the tomboy look I’ve held on to for so long, and move along with the times like my peers. Besides, there are many clothes that aren’t leggings or skinny jeans, right? Yes, there are. But that doesn’t mean they’re nice.
Looking around near most every shop I used to frequent, and I felt like a lost child, walking around without delving head first into all the rails as I could tell I would not find anything I’d like. While clothes on mannequins loons inviting, on me they would look disgusting.

Pick up a top. It’s huge, but designed that way. Put it back.
Pick up a top. It’s essentially a bra that society deems it ok to wear out in the street. Put it back.
Pick up a top. It has shapes cut out of it, with big jewels glued onto it. Put it back.
The world has gone mad.

Even shops I have always been to such as Republic, where tomboyish, skater/surfer types could go and find stuff that is still stylish, I have witnessed changed with the times and have become that which I hoped I wouldn’t. A shop just like the rest. Suffice to say, I hardly shop there anymore. “Alternative” shops are just mainstream garbage but made even more ridiculous that you feel like an edgy individual, but you don’t. You just stand out. For all the wrong reasons. Maybe that’s my problem- I don’t want to stand out. I just want to buy some fucking clothes.

Store after store, I leave empty handed, deflated and perplexed as to why this is such a chore instead of the enjoyable experience it is supposed to be. The enjoyable bit is having new things to play with, but traipsing around for hours looking for it sucks. I come across Hollister and go in, thinking that because I am wearing my A&F hoody (which I always wear anyway) that maybe I will be accepted. Wrong. As I am being greeted again superficially by a tall blonde girl wearing tight denim shorts, flip-flops and a red checked shirt, tied taut across her body at the front, revealing a lean and smooth stomach underneath, I wanted to run out again crying, but that is impossible as Hollister is so dark it requires small acts of God for you to find your way out again. So, at the entrance of the cave, I’ve no choice but to venture further. Hollister is built inside and out to resemble some sort of Californian beach hut/shack, that smells like privilege and seems to be lit by only three candles in each establishment. There are many variations of only one design of garments, stacked and folded so neatly you daren’t unfold them for fear of Miss Beach at the front frowning those perfectly plucked eyebrows at you, along with her mini clones that mill around in sorority-esque groups. Hollister is also laid out in a way that there are many off-route shelves to peruse behind mannequins and racks, as if to say “well done you, you have found the secret corner of this part of Hollister that no-one else is smart enough to find, you enjoy what treasures we have stashed away that none of THESE other people would ever think of finding. Our little secret shhhh”. But of course, you are not Alice who has found the White Rabbit and all you have stumbled upon are generic t-shirts of different colours. One thing that annoys me the most, is that clothes, even in Hollister that should cater for size -0 (it is American, after all), don’t fit me. XS usually is still too big to fit me normally, let alone as tight as I would prefer, to show the world that yes I am a girl, and yes I have a girly figure! I am grateful my mum is a seamstress and she can alter clothes for me. If not, I would have to shop in kids sections, which, I tend to do from time to time.

Reaching the bright lights of daylight outside through a small miracle and using the torch on my iPhone, I made it out of Hollister unscathed and empty-handed. I do, however, remember the last time I bought something from there. It was a plain White tank top that was just small enough, and I remember the cheery but not-interested-in-you shopgirl behind the till telling me to “like” them on Facebook if I hadn’t done so already. I resented this as no-one just gets to tell me what to like, but more for the fact that she didn’t make eye contact with me for the whole transaction. Making small talk with a cashier is something I don’t mind, as long as they are genuine to you and the conversation, instead of a broody youngster trying to relate to me on a Internet level instead of a personal level. “I won’t shake your hand, but I’ll poke you on Facebook”, it seems to be. Fuck them, I reckon, for I will not wish them any parting sentiment because I hope the rest of their day sucks.

Walking around the shopping centre, I decided to play a game: Count How Many People Are Wearing Loose Trousers. I played for about an hour and counted 3: one wearing smart work trousers but with impossibly high heels (which I wouldn’t ever be able to walk in), one wearing grey tracksuits bottoms (a fashion well I will never dip my pen into), and one wearing jeans with a slight bootcut, but these belonged to a middle aged woman who I discounted because I she was not in my age group. Everyone else were in leggings, tights, skinny jeans or just plain legs stuffed into a skirt or shorts, despite the bitter cold that awaited them outside. As they all walked around, arm in arm, in their high heels, Ugg boots, ballerina pumps, trendy sneakers or high tops, and stylish boots, I realised that I never went shopping as a social activity. I’ve always done something more fun, such as going to the cinema, eating more food than humanly possible but valiantly trying to finish it, even going bowling. As I watch twosomes and groups of girls hold up clothes against one another, flit in and out of changing rooms and twirling in mirrors, I realise this is all a foreign concept to me. When my sister drags me shopping with her, it is usually me following her around not looking at anything for myself, and holding all of her choices and options, as well as her large and heavy handbag, and equally large and heavy coat, so she has two hands free to flick through the rails. Then providing my student ID at the till to get her the discount. It’s all quite tedious, and tiresome.

As I superficially valued each girl and woman I passed on their dress sense, I realised that none of them dressed like me. Am I the minority in all this? Am I the one who is wrong, and they are the ones who judge me and wonder why I am dressed so peculiarly? Are girls who used to think like me suddenly trading their comfy shoes for peeptoe wedge heels? Swapping t-shirts for short boob-tube dresses that shields no dignity whatsoever? Natural features being elongated with plastic substitutes for your hair, eyebrows and nails? I heard from someone once that a person they knew wanted to ruin their eyesight so they can wear glasses, because it’s trendy. Really? Glasses have been a hinderance for me, and it hasn’t made me trendy in the slightest for the 13 years I’ve had to wear them. This goes beyond wanting new clothes to wear for a tired wardrobe. Girly clothes will not make me feel or be more girly. I will still be that geek who plays mario and reads comics, but just more uncomfortable in biding clothes in garish colours. Clothes aren’t my identity and if I am judged on them, then all the pity for it. I have moaned about all of the fashion I detest and yet my nearest and dearest all wear them. My sister has 6 pairs of Ugg boots alone. I care for the people wearing them. I imagine someone can get a better sense of my personality and character by watching the facial expressions I can’t help but pull on the train while I’m reading a book (comic or otherwise), rather than watching me put on layer upon layer of foundation and mascara in a tiny mirror, that I then put into my haute couture Gucci handbag. I appreciate nice things, expensive or otherwise, but that world doesn’t rule mine.

After walking around all 3 floors, I eventually left with nothing except a pack of silicone cupcake cases (pastel coloured), with my Batman Hush tucked under my arm to read on the tube back. I am a female. I promise! I’m just rough around the edges, I guess, and a female were it counts.

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Pursuit of Happyness

IF I were on Room 101, I don’t think I would be invited back. I would have filled up all the possible space available in that fictitious room, and other moaners around the world will have a moan at me for leaving no space for their moans. Which, in turn, will make me moan about being moaned at. Moaning, therefore, is a vicious circle.

While the Internet should be utilized for more important, pressing and entertaining things, I decided to carve out a tiny slice for myself to do whatever the hell I wanted. Add this to my Facebook and Twitter account, and my online life seems to be more active than my offline life, even though neither are exactly booming right now. I think the fact that I just referred to it as my ‘offline life’ should speak volumes. It’s not that I don’t enjoy the “Outside” where the sky is (sometimes) blue, the birds sing and the air is fresh and breezy. So breezy nowadays that someone as tiny as me has to realize that being blown away to another continent is a dangerous and all too real possibility when I step outside. It’s just that.. Well, “Outside” is a real mess. And the Internet, while annoying at times, can be easily fixed. Mainly, by just switching off the computer, laptop, or smartphone (iPhone’s all the way) and forgetting about it for the next 5 minutes until you log back on and see that you have no new emails from anyone. 

The Internet and social networking satisfied the human need to know what is going on, without actually having to see or speak to anyone. It’s those clever bastards who don’t have social networking, or do but never update them or use them, that you don’t have a clue about. And while you probably wouldn’t want to anyway (if not you would have picked up a telephone and had a conversation with them, y’know, with words and EVERYTHING!), it’s still nice to be nosey. My Online Life started quite early, with MSN chatrooms (it’s not what you think!), to BeBo, to Myspace, to Facebook, then to Twitter. What will be next will have to remain a mystery, for now. As a youngin’, I’ve met quite a few nice bunches of people from all across the country, and indeed the world, all of whom I would hug, high-five or fist bump until the cows came home. While all this makes me seem quite pathetic for not having a real life, I do possess people I deeply care about outside the confines of comfy room. And yes, I appreciate them dearly. And yes, that even includes you. 

Life is not all rainbows, candyfloss and smiles. I rarely smile because I rarely stumble upon occasions that call for it. My natural face, relaxed with no signs of emotion, looks like a screw face. This essentially means I am making ‘evil eyes’, with a slight scowl, furrowed eyebrows and an overall demeanor of ‘I am fucked off’. Someone once said that I “look innocent and cute but will kill you”. While, of course, there is a 90% chance I will NOT kill you, I do not mean to have this face permanently carved onto me. Or, perhaps I actually do mean to, because most things, if not ALL things in some way, do NOT amuse me. I am only a 21 years old girl, Chinese with a South East London accent, 5”2 and 7.5 stone. I am too young to be so ticked off with so much around me, but in truth, I feel as if I possess the mind and maturity (at times) of a middle aged lady. The cliche image of an old lady throwing stones at pigeons, shaking her fist angrily at the sky for being too bright or too grey, while shouting ‘BACK IN MY DAY…’ is actually me, in present day, just without the shouting although I do so in my head, usually in the form of a helpful, mental letter. For example:

Dear Idiot at Bus Stop,

Please stop smoking next to me. I want to get on a bus, not die of lung cancer from your second hand smoke, you inconsiderate imbecile. While I appreciate we have stopped you from smoking inside and so outside is the only place left to go, there are things you can do. (1) Smoke at home, and stay there instead of infecting me. (2) Stop smoking and perhaps save your immortal soul. (3) Stand somewhere else, for example on the teetering edge on top of a volcano.. At least then you will have a constant supply on fire to light your Death Sticks. Thanks very much. Sincerely, the freakin’ World. 

I always seem to find myself downwind from smokers, which makes the situation even worse. Since they won’t stop to feed their addiction, I am then forced to do that awkward shuffle along the bus stop area to try and get away from it. You can do the sly sidewards-crab walk to be inconspicuous, although anyone watching will probably become suspicious of you. You could walk to that bus pole to see the bus schedules, although who ever finds this useful is beyond me. Or, last resort, you could just walk to the next bus stop or just walk to your destination. Since I don’t really enjoy walking, I opt for the crab walk, which you can get away with on most occasions if you get your phone out and pretend to text someone, and so give the impression that you are doing that absentminded wonder about. IPhone saves the day again!

I feel as if I have gotten off-topic a tad here. The issue is that I don’t really know what my end point is anyway, so tangents are useful to disguise that fact. I imagine you’d have to get used to this as blogging progresses. As you can probably tell, I will type all my pent up rage and take out my frustrations on the Internet. But, on occasion, I may even blog something that has made me happy, or maybe even more amazingly, smile. And more often or not, I will throw my thoughts on comics and wrestling out on here too. Feel free to read as much or as little as you like, or just close the browser all together forget that someone such as myself has been allowed to butt my way into the stream of the interwebs. Well, fuck you, it happened!

Swearing makes me smile :).