I remember when I was a little girl and I would have a huge fight with my brothers; and although I was the one who was wronged, I always turned out to be the guilty one which would only increase my agitation further. As I grew up, I still lost my rightful place till one day my father told me: "You have a problem because you cannot negotiate your way through. You are always blinded with rage, there is no room for logic. You will never get what's yours this way." I admit I was too stubborn and too stupid to fully understand what he said to me back then, but now, he is correct. I am stupid and stubborn, as well as, I lack basic communication skills that allows others to understand me.
I know I cannot get people to understand what I am saying half of the time, and it reaches to frustration so I either mumble or talk aimlessly hoping that they would catch the drift amidst the madness, hopefully.
Sometimes I really hate my job, I like to think of myself as the strictest, most professional person on planet Earth. It helps to know that I have an unchangeable fact in my life. You know, since life ends, friends come and go, love does not last forever, people die, etc. The other day, a student places a flirtatious poem in my purse while I was outside class. When I discovered the wretched piece of paper, I was disgusted from myself. I kept thinking and going back to what did I do to give him a glimpse of hope that I might be interested in him. I always make sure that their is a 50 meter high wall between myself and my students, specially the boys. I make sure that I am not in anyway appealing to them, I don't ask them how was their weekend, or how did they do on an important test. I try to show that I could not care less about their lives outside my class. Yet, I got the wretched poem. I felt my skin crawl. It was terrible. The comments I got weren't that helpful either, it was a joke for my colleagues, something, I did not appreciate at all. In fact, I despised it more than the wretched poem. So what did I do? Well, I told him off, I told him I was his teacher and he was my student regardless the fact that the age difference is not that huge. That did not matter to me, so it should not matter to him. I threw the poem away and writing about it is the last stage for me to get it out of my system.
However, the Universe refused to let a silly poem ruin my day, so she got another student of mine to write me the most adorable letter I have ever read. To be honest, that was my first letter ever. I have never received a letter before, and it sent me to the moon! It was so sweet, caring and respectful. It was a thank you letter from the quietest student in my class! In it, he thanked me for being his teacher and how I have influenced him. I almost cried, the good crying, not the sad one!
And yet, when you go and tell a special someone about it, never a good idea. Lesson learned: Perfect the poker face.
I don't know how to communicate, but I have expectations. Spending time with me without running away, gives me faith and hope that I might be somehow predictable and that you can read what is not said. I wanted support and that it was okay, that I got, which was fine. However, next day's attitude was strange. I am a social retard but I feel stuff. I felt I was something to be avoided so as not to cause trouble and I was right. Maybe the best reaction for now is to not react. It is pointless, and I am disappointed.
Peace out! H!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lTPsuyXXgbo
Thursday, 16 May 2013
Friday, 10 May 2013
Random Episode: 201
Possible scenarios are the worst scenarios ever, they get you to have fucked up twisted expectations. In the end, if you get a lollipop, you are darn lucky. I hate surprises, but I secretly love them; although I really don't know how to make them, well at least to certain types of people.
If she was sane enough, she would not be writing each and every single thought. She would be out there living the moment and having her time of her life. A student just flirted with her, she did not stop him, she actually felt it was flattering. The poor kid was astonished when he found out how old she really was. Is this wrong? Yes. Does she care? No. Why? because every now and then a girl likes to feel wanted, and desired. These little flirtations they just come at the right time. The Universe senses one's troubles and sadness, even when they themselves are not aware of it, yet. When the rethinking and the over thinking creeps in and reconsideration makes you deconstruct each and every single thing you believe in, in hopes it would all once again make sense.
The little flirting is not permanent, she knows, he is saying that out of politeness; and he knows she will never give him her time of a day, but she mentions him here, in her most sacred documentation, letting the whole world know that she acknowledges, if not welcomes it.
She wishes to go to the Opera, to wear a gown and enjoy the music. She wishes for flowers, some tulips or daisies, maybe they would have a touch of lavender in them. She wishes she could go to a ball and dance the night away. She is a girl, a lady, a woman. She is the embodiment of youth, even though if confronted, she would ridicule it and laugh it off. Deep down, she sometimes craves them.
Though now, her navy blue sweat pants and white top are her couture and her chocolate chip chocolate ice cream is her new BFF. She now listens to nothing, with her hair high in a messy bun. She is okay for now.
At some point in her life, she did her waiting for her prince, she had the fairytale dreamy expectations and she was disappointed and she did not mind, it was a phase, she told herself. She was always ahead of herself. Always eager to know, what is the next step. She is bored from all of this. She wishes she could desert people, humanity, social interactions and sit with her books in front of the beach under an umbrella and some ice cold lemonade. She would buy the beach to guarantee no one intrudes on her reading time.
Now, she writes and dreams, tomorrow, she gets them to come true. She will, because she can.
Peace out! H!
If she was sane enough, she would not be writing each and every single thought. She would be out there living the moment and having her time of her life. A student just flirted with her, she did not stop him, she actually felt it was flattering. The poor kid was astonished when he found out how old she really was. Is this wrong? Yes. Does she care? No. Why? because every now and then a girl likes to feel wanted, and desired. These little flirtations they just come at the right time. The Universe senses one's troubles and sadness, even when they themselves are not aware of it, yet. When the rethinking and the over thinking creeps in and reconsideration makes you deconstruct each and every single thing you believe in, in hopes it would all once again make sense.
The little flirting is not permanent, she knows, he is saying that out of politeness; and he knows she will never give him her time of a day, but she mentions him here, in her most sacred documentation, letting the whole world know that she acknowledges, if not welcomes it.
She wishes to go to the Opera, to wear a gown and enjoy the music. She wishes for flowers, some tulips or daisies, maybe they would have a touch of lavender in them. She wishes she could go to a ball and dance the night away. She is a girl, a lady, a woman. She is the embodiment of youth, even though if confronted, she would ridicule it and laugh it off. Deep down, she sometimes craves them.
Though now, her navy blue sweat pants and white top are her couture and her chocolate chip chocolate ice cream is her new BFF. She now listens to nothing, with her hair high in a messy bun. She is okay for now.
At some point in her life, she did her waiting for her prince, she had the fairytale dreamy expectations and she was disappointed and she did not mind, it was a phase, she told herself. She was always ahead of herself. Always eager to know, what is the next step. She is bored from all of this. She wishes she could desert people, humanity, social interactions and sit with her books in front of the beach under an umbrella and some ice cold lemonade. She would buy the beach to guarantee no one intrudes on her reading time.
Now, she writes and dreams, tomorrow, she gets them to come true. She will, because she can.
Peace out! H!
Monday, 6 May 2013
The 101, you thought it would be that easy, Manual.
Tomorrow, I head back to work. That was a statement. That was me stating the obvious. Again. This is not the case.
I am tackling today romance. I know I am not the flower and candy Valentine's Day typical girl, but I am one nonetheless. I kept thinking yesterday about the most ideal way of proposing to me, if I ever find that wretched soul! I found that the bending down on one knee, is not the scenario for me, nor is the romantic dining in a restaurant. It is something wild and over the top, something fun and exciting. Something that would have my name wrapped up around. A proposal based on my character and mine alone. A proposal that would be impossible to recreate for any other girl, not because it is too expensive or exaggerated, but because it simply cannot and will not suit anyone but me. So, ladies and gentlemen, without any further due, allow me to represent the 101 manual to: How to propose to Halo?:
First step is, well, you really thought it was that easy, to copy my master plan, to make my expectations come true by reading a blog? Are you dumb or something? There is no manual to how to propose, nor how to pick the perfect moment to do the deed. You just have to think on your own. Usually, I would spell everything out to get what I want, but I want to give myself that girly feeling, that whoever knows me has enough sense to figure out what I want and need.
However, I don't believe there would be a proposal, and if there is one, it would go something like this:
Strange Dude (later on to be referred to as: SD) and Halo (H):
SD: Say, you know that I like you and you get me and all that crap and I kinda have the feeling that you like me too, so let's get engaged on (Insert a random date), okay?
H: Yeah sure, what the hell.
*Insert a bunch of people who act all happy and God knows what*
Random people: Oh how did he propose?
H: What proposal? It was a deal. End of story.
Random people: Oh, how um interesting. *Can you believe them?*
*Insert nosy girl looking for pieces of gossip*
Nosy girl: So where would be the reception?
H: Don't know yet.
NG: What colour is the dress?
H: No idea.
NG: Did you book the food caterers and decide who would be your bridesmaids and maid of honor?
H: The who and the whats?
NG: How does he look like?
H: Who is "he"?
NG: The groom, silly!
H: Oh, yes, he is, well, a dude with black hair.
NG: and...
H: He has two feet and two arms?
*NG finally realizes that it is really pointless to try and pry away information that I am not willingly ready to give so she walks away muttering "bitch" under her breath as I laugh out loud*
Then when everything is about to get real and finalized, I would call the whole thing off. You know, because of my fear of commitment and stuff.
Peace out! H!
I am tackling today romance. I know I am not the flower and candy Valentine's Day typical girl, but I am one nonetheless. I kept thinking yesterday about the most ideal way of proposing to me, if I ever find that wretched soul! I found that the bending down on one knee, is not the scenario for me, nor is the romantic dining in a restaurant. It is something wild and over the top, something fun and exciting. Something that would have my name wrapped up around. A proposal based on my character and mine alone. A proposal that would be impossible to recreate for any other girl, not because it is too expensive or exaggerated, but because it simply cannot and will not suit anyone but me. So, ladies and gentlemen, without any further due, allow me to represent the 101 manual to: How to propose to Halo?:
First step is, well, you really thought it was that easy, to copy my master plan, to make my expectations come true by reading a blog? Are you dumb or something? There is no manual to how to propose, nor how to pick the perfect moment to do the deed. You just have to think on your own. Usually, I would spell everything out to get what I want, but I want to give myself that girly feeling, that whoever knows me has enough sense to figure out what I want and need.
However, I don't believe there would be a proposal, and if there is one, it would go something like this:
Strange Dude (later on to be referred to as: SD) and Halo (H):
SD: Say, you know that I like you and you get me and all that crap and I kinda have the feeling that you like me too, so let's get engaged on (Insert a random date), okay?
H: Yeah sure, what the hell.
*Insert a bunch of people who act all happy and God knows what*
Random people: Oh how did he propose?
H: What proposal? It was a deal. End of story.
Random people: Oh, how um interesting. *Can you believe them?*
*Insert nosy girl looking for pieces of gossip*
Nosy girl: So where would be the reception?
H: Don't know yet.
NG: What colour is the dress?
H: No idea.
NG: Did you book the food caterers and decide who would be your bridesmaids and maid of honor?
H: The who and the whats?
NG: How does he look like?
H: Who is "he"?
NG: The groom, silly!
H: Oh, yes, he is, well, a dude with black hair.
NG: and...
H: He has two feet and two arms?
*NG finally realizes that it is really pointless to try and pry away information that I am not willingly ready to give so she walks away muttering "bitch" under her breath as I laugh out loud*
Then when everything is about to get real and finalized, I would call the whole thing off. You know, because of my fear of commitment and stuff.
Peace out! H!
Saturday, 4 May 2013
Random Episode 111
Why cannot you wake up before sunrise and meditate?
Paint your toe nails a deep shade of red then wear socks, make it your own little secret. Just for you?
Have toast and butter with a cup of coffee?
Go to the movies alone, incognito. Book two tickets, one for you and one for your purse?
Dance like no one is watching, no need to follow the beat, just dance and let it all go?
Paint a bedroom wall?
Join a ballroom dancing class?
Take out all your photos and make fun of them with your best friend?
Call a person you dearly miss?
Write letters on pink paper instead of white?
Go outside without brushing your hair?
Have a signature lipstick for a month. Pink bubble gum? Cranberry red?
Treat yourself to a home spa?
Go out on a date, with yourself?
Wear your favorite heels while you grocery shop?
Enjoy life?
Have a cheesecake for breakfast with black coffee?
Peace out! H!
Paint your toe nails a deep shade of red then wear socks, make it your own little secret. Just for you?
Have toast and butter with a cup of coffee?
Go to the movies alone, incognito. Book two tickets, one for you and one for your purse?
Dance like no one is watching, no need to follow the beat, just dance and let it all go?
Paint a bedroom wall?
Join a ballroom dancing class?
Take out all your photos and make fun of them with your best friend?
Call a person you dearly miss?
Write letters on pink paper instead of white?
Go outside without brushing your hair?
Have a signature lipstick for a month. Pink bubble gum? Cranberry red?
Treat yourself to a home spa?
Go out on a date, with yourself?
Wear your favorite heels while you grocery shop?
Enjoy life?
Have a cheesecake for breakfast with black coffee?
Peace out! H!
Random Episode 21
I love my OCD, I love how I get to arrange each and everything I own, down to my feelings. Order is beautiful. You get everything you want to accomplish, well accomplished! You save time and effort. However, someone commented saying: "You are too practical, you are not living." I didn't respond. I just smiled. You know why? A year ago, before I started working, I lived. I lived everyday as it was meant to be. I never cared or gave a damn about tomorrow or whatever that has happened the day before. I was fun, pleasing and people loved going out with me. I would crack them up. Where we would be spending time was never a problem for me. I didn't care as long as I was having fun, which was a real plus for my friends. You see some of the people we went out with had, well, they had reservations regarding certain places, where we would generally hang out. I just didn't care. I didn't care how would I go back home or when. Of course, my father would flip. But, that's his job, he has to let the neighbors know that he is doing his parental tasks. He screams in my face and promises me that's the last time I would be seeing the streets; and that the only way I am going out would be to attend my classes, which for some "superstitious" reason always ended at 9:00 pm. Oh my! Well call it whatever you please, rebellion, cheeky, I don't care. It was all fun and games. This doesn't mean that I became a boring person after I started working. On the contrary, I believe I am still the way I am, but with priorities.
Nowadays, I need to prepare for the lessons, predict what sort of questions my sneaky little students would ask me in order to see me stutter and trying to find a quick way to answer them or at least divert them from it till I find a good comeback, just to see their disappointment in failing once again to defeat me. It's like an undeclared subtle war. They see me young and inexperienced, I see them as cocky and arrogant, full of nothing but hot air. When in fact, just two semesters back, I was in their places, I used to argue and counter-argue with my professors. It still beats me how on earth did they restrain themselves from throwing a chair to my head, but they did it. Thanks to their restraint, I am still alive, I am successful and I am on my way to establishing a prestigious name for myself.
But that's not my topic, that's my goal, mind you, not a dream. After I started working, I am, well, more logical, I like to believe, I still have my days when I am a complete moron, goofing around and laughing in the office, but so what? I do not need to justify this "switch" to anyone. It just happened. If I have exclusive tickets to an Evanescence concert and papers that are due tomorrow, I would sadly let go of the tickets. I would convince myself that around the corner, I would be rewarded by something else for choosing work over fun. I mean, I can always Youtube them and have the best karaoke sing-a longs to it.
I used to be 21 in every possible way, yet now I feel like an old soul, it is a nice feeling. Like an out of body experience, I get to watch how am I behaving, acting and thinking in a third person kind of way. I beam with pride when I am praised for my intellectual skills, for my logical if not extremely practical way of thinking, for my listening, patiently, for being objective. Now, I find myself enjoying my two favorite pastimes: reading and writing. I am reading more than before and writing as well. I get to sit with myself more and frankly speaking I am enjoying the shattered self image of myself.
She is a very intriguing person to talk to. She contemplates. Her "what ifs" are mind blowing, and her honesty is brutal. I admire her for being brutal to herself. She knows her points of weaknesses and strengths. She is a vision; a shattered vision, but a vision nonetheless. She would do Dali proud. For her, fun is reading, writing and thinking. She adores the seclusion. Loudness is an exterior she uses to keep away the nosy wanderers off. For she likes to give the impression that she is just another girl, fresh out of the oven, still oblivious to the real world and its dark side. Halo is more than just meets the eyes. She is my Inferno and my Paradiso.
I wish I could find a garden with a rocking chair, a cup of hot green tea with a lemon zest and a piano playing in the background, and me thinking and recalling the days when I used to teach with a smile. I would always wonder how was I seen? What type of teacher was I? Was I good, bad, or kind? Was I inspiring to anyone, or just another traditional teacher in jeans? I'd never know.
My vision is of me at the age 65 walking on a sandy beach at sunrise with a shawl, a summer dress and a dog running near by. I would have a smile and a reminiscing glance tilted to the great past and the nice warm future I get to spend in Australia. That is my dream. Australia, its Opera, my novels, writings, poems, and my green tea.
Earlier, I have claimed that I can control my emotions, I OCD-them, well that is true. I believe that feelings should come according to a time-line. When we are young, feelings of hope and happiness, as we grow and enter teenager hood, we have feelings of pretentious hate towards our parents and wild accusations of how they are to never understand what we are going through. How they cannot seem to realize that having a crush on the most handsome guy in school with ginormous thighs can do a number on one's already shattered self confidence. But, thankfully, we out-grow it with a bit of a heartache and acne that is way too stubborn and attached to let us enter college in peace. Then the struggle between junk food and the perfect waist line, the perfect hour-glass figure. Now, it is time for feelings of confusion as we approach senior year. The "what's the next step?" question that pops in. The doubt, did I enter the wrong school just to be with my friends? Oh wait, you never had any, you went there to follow your passion. But, does following one's passion equals having a career that is capable of supporting you? Will it be something that could help you climb the pretentious social ladder? We graduate with good grades and confusion takes over. Now what? Do we continue studying till we hang the PhD certificate on the bedroom's wall or do we work? And if we do work, what would we be? That's when optimism shines in, finally, saying: "Oh, you could be whatever you want, just be patient and take my hand!" and you do! You follow optimism. The optimism of a freshly graduated person, you apply for jobs you never thought you would apply for, with optimism encouraging you whispering, that it's alright, that you need to start somewhere to pursue your bigger unknown dreams and you believe and oblige it. But it takes too long, and doubt creeps in saying: "I told you so." You sit back watching hope and doubt fighting with each other, to try and get you to join either side and you cannot find it in you to care, that is until your savior shows up; it is the phone ringing saying: "Congratulations! You are accepted! Be at work Sunday morning." Sunday morning comes in real quick, you think you are unprepared, but deep down you know you will ace it. From this moment, you are way too overwhelmed to notice anything else around you. You start loosing count of all those friends who just leave because you no longer have time for them. And as if this is not enough, you enter an existential crisis with yourself when you finally realize that all your believes are being tested over and over. Each time harder than the other. But, this also ends, it ends with peace and tranquility, you just shake it out and continue as if nothing happened.
This is simply, life. You jump on board whether you like it or not, but you get to decide if it's worth the fighting for or not.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ePLKJSfjb8M&list=RD02FIy14j3VnL0
Peace out! H!
Nowadays, I need to prepare for the lessons, predict what sort of questions my sneaky little students would ask me in order to see me stutter and trying to find a quick way to answer them or at least divert them from it till I find a good comeback, just to see their disappointment in failing once again to defeat me. It's like an undeclared subtle war. They see me young and inexperienced, I see them as cocky and arrogant, full of nothing but hot air. When in fact, just two semesters back, I was in their places, I used to argue and counter-argue with my professors. It still beats me how on earth did they restrain themselves from throwing a chair to my head, but they did it. Thanks to their restraint, I am still alive, I am successful and I am on my way to establishing a prestigious name for myself.
But that's not my topic, that's my goal, mind you, not a dream. After I started working, I am, well, more logical, I like to believe, I still have my days when I am a complete moron, goofing around and laughing in the office, but so what? I do not need to justify this "switch" to anyone. It just happened. If I have exclusive tickets to an Evanescence concert and papers that are due tomorrow, I would sadly let go of the tickets. I would convince myself that around the corner, I would be rewarded by something else for choosing work over fun. I mean, I can always Youtube them and have the best karaoke sing-a longs to it.
I used to be 21 in every possible way, yet now I feel like an old soul, it is a nice feeling. Like an out of body experience, I get to watch how am I behaving, acting and thinking in a third person kind of way. I beam with pride when I am praised for my intellectual skills, for my logical if not extremely practical way of thinking, for my listening, patiently, for being objective. Now, I find myself enjoying my two favorite pastimes: reading and writing. I am reading more than before and writing as well. I get to sit with myself more and frankly speaking I am enjoying the shattered self image of myself.
She is a very intriguing person to talk to. She contemplates. Her "what ifs" are mind blowing, and her honesty is brutal. I admire her for being brutal to herself. She knows her points of weaknesses and strengths. She is a vision; a shattered vision, but a vision nonetheless. She would do Dali proud. For her, fun is reading, writing and thinking. She adores the seclusion. Loudness is an exterior she uses to keep away the nosy wanderers off. For she likes to give the impression that she is just another girl, fresh out of the oven, still oblivious to the real world and its dark side. Halo is more than just meets the eyes. She is my Inferno and my Paradiso.
I wish I could find a garden with a rocking chair, a cup of hot green tea with a lemon zest and a piano playing in the background, and me thinking and recalling the days when I used to teach with a smile. I would always wonder how was I seen? What type of teacher was I? Was I good, bad, or kind? Was I inspiring to anyone, or just another traditional teacher in jeans? I'd never know.
My vision is of me at the age 65 walking on a sandy beach at sunrise with a shawl, a summer dress and a dog running near by. I would have a smile and a reminiscing glance tilted to the great past and the nice warm future I get to spend in Australia. That is my dream. Australia, its Opera, my novels, writings, poems, and my green tea.
Earlier, I have claimed that I can control my emotions, I OCD-them, well that is true. I believe that feelings should come according to a time-line. When we are young, feelings of hope and happiness, as we grow and enter teenager hood, we have feelings of pretentious hate towards our parents and wild accusations of how they are to never understand what we are going through. How they cannot seem to realize that having a crush on the most handsome guy in school with ginormous thighs can do a number on one's already shattered self confidence. But, thankfully, we out-grow it with a bit of a heartache and acne that is way too stubborn and attached to let us enter college in peace. Then the struggle between junk food and the perfect waist line, the perfect hour-glass figure. Now, it is time for feelings of confusion as we approach senior year. The "what's the next step?" question that pops in. The doubt, did I enter the wrong school just to be with my friends? Oh wait, you never had any, you went there to follow your passion. But, does following one's passion equals having a career that is capable of supporting you? Will it be something that could help you climb the pretentious social ladder? We graduate with good grades and confusion takes over. Now what? Do we continue studying till we hang the PhD certificate on the bedroom's wall or do we work? And if we do work, what would we be? That's when optimism shines in, finally, saying: "Oh, you could be whatever you want, just be patient and take my hand!" and you do! You follow optimism. The optimism of a freshly graduated person, you apply for jobs you never thought you would apply for, with optimism encouraging you whispering, that it's alright, that you need to start somewhere to pursue your bigger unknown dreams and you believe and oblige it. But it takes too long, and doubt creeps in saying: "I told you so." You sit back watching hope and doubt fighting with each other, to try and get you to join either side and you cannot find it in you to care, that is until your savior shows up; it is the phone ringing saying: "Congratulations! You are accepted! Be at work Sunday morning." Sunday morning comes in real quick, you think you are unprepared, but deep down you know you will ace it. From this moment, you are way too overwhelmed to notice anything else around you. You start loosing count of all those friends who just leave because you no longer have time for them. And as if this is not enough, you enter an existential crisis with yourself when you finally realize that all your believes are being tested over and over. Each time harder than the other. But, this also ends, it ends with peace and tranquility, you just shake it out and continue as if nothing happened.
This is simply, life. You jump on board whether you like it or not, but you get to decide if it's worth the fighting for or not.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ePLKJSfjb8M&list=RD02FIy14j3VnL0
Peace out! H!
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