Sometimes I find the most ordinary things so odd; like how most people can control one hand better than another, or some can roll their tongue and others cant... I just have this problem that I cannot see anything evident in things; I'm like a newborn child still fascinated with everything around me. Nothing is an obvious matter to me, I see it all like magic. Life is a magic trick, and I'm the child who never figured out the clowns.

Loving lying enemy...

'Forgiveness' by Sarah McLachlan is a beautiful song...

I'm going back to England tomorrow, after having spent the last few days back at home doing nothing in particular. I'm both excited and kind of scared about going back actually. I love new beginnings and changes so that's the great part, organising everything all over again and starting over. The scary is just some past mistakes that I hope haven't made it into my present. But for now that's irrelevant I guess, until it becomes a problem, if it does.

And to add something on an entirely different subject, I watched 'Eat pray love' today and it's definitely a little too long and daunting for what I expected, but it did have some nice lines and moments. 'Ruin is a gift. Ruin is the road to transformation.' I find that beautiful.

See you across the English channel!

Flaws that make us human

I'm trying to figure out how anonymous I need this blog to be. Truth is I used to have a blogspot blog before which wasn't anonymous or secretive or anything of the matter. It was everything about me spilled on canvas, every thought and feeling and worry and secret. I wasn't hiding my identity, but neither was I advertising my site to people I knew. A few close friends had the url and the rest was up to strangers stumbling on it and becoming a part of it. It lasted for about 8 months until one day I realized how anyone I know could google search something random and end up on my page, reading words that weren't meant to be read by them or making judgements which they were in no state to make or just making me vulnerable by knowing too much. And I got scared. I felt so scared that here I was, spilled all over a webpage with no protection, available to the whole world to see. And so I blocked the page and put a password on it and no one can access it any longer, and so like that I left that blog as some historical document of a phase in my life when I wasn't afraid to be out there for everything to rip apart. And now here I am, wondering what would be a perfect middle. Revealing some sort of identity immediately ties you up to stereotypes or limits you from saying what you truly intend to, as you always have to wonder what will the people think... and leaving it like this, as an anonymous confession to the internet, I guess it's safe and anticipates a longer future to this whole affair.

I'm home now, dim light and everything, just as before. Except I am no longer at the edge of the globe, in that frozen house where time seems to not play its role. In a few hours my sister will wake and it'll be her birthday, and all I really feel about this, about her becoming 21, about irreversibly growing older, is how much I hate having to accept it. She's the one person who I need to always stay little, by my side, never older, never really an adult. It scares me and terrifies me and always having seen her as the embodiment of perfection makes it hard to finally see the flaws that make her human. But I guess that's a phase we all go through.

only when you must

This world is hard. It has sharp edges and points that cut. It'll make you choose between love, money and sleep. Choose love each time and sleep when you can, money - only when you must.

(I wrote this for you)

The driving me mad driving...

I've spent the day going over and over past papers for my theory driving exam which I'm taking this Friday and I cannot even describe the extent of my boredom before such an excruciating Monday. I mean, okay, Monday's have always sucked but this is just too much even for me to handle! And the worst of it is that I don't feel like I've improved in the slightest, I still keep getting too many mistakes and starting all over again in hope of a better result next time around. But nope, never happens...

But other than that I'm feeling pretty excited about going back to University in exactly 6 days and starting my second year as a philosophy and french student. And I really hope that I'll enjoy my philosophy modules this year way more than I did last year! I've been working out my timetable for this semester and it looks pretty interesting so far.

But anyway, as I find myself in the exact same spot as the one from which I wrote yesterday's entry (but in a definitely better mood than then, so no self-pity is expected to submerse me into its dark powers, or so I hope) I am going to continue my daunting task of past papers and pointless tagging of old pictures on facebook and leave this entry as it is as my mind has hardly been filled with anything other than driving today.

Good night and 'til next time!

'Brown'

I'm sat in the kitchen with a dim light on my right being the only source of illumination. The dog is sleeping on the sofa a couple of metres away from me, and I'm sat with my hair wet from the shower and my eyes tired. It's funny but every night I practically torture mysef with the lack of sleep because going to sleep and wasting those hours of silence away in my bed feels like the biggest waste. Since childhood I've found something so enchanting about the night that I just can't stay away. It attracts me. It's low tones forcing melancholy down my throat, everything somehow becoming that more significant, and then again being ridiculed with the rise of the sun as if the two are interlinked and essential for eachothers well-being.

I think one of my biggest flaws is that I soak in self-pity. I look over all the pathetic little details of my life and find new ways to feel sorry for myself too often. And it's excruciating.

My sister is a beautiful blonde. And so is my mother. Everyone keeps telling them how alike they are and how my sister is my mother in her youth. They're heartbreakers, beautiful and fascinating and different. And secretly, I guess I envy that. And that's terrible but to hell with being perfect, I can't pretend to be that in my writing.

I don't remember a day when I looked in the mirror and was okay with the girl looking at me. It's not that I'm 'ugly' but I'm just not what I need to be. I'm the plain boring brunette associated since childhood with color 'brown', which is something I remember being ashamed of when I was little. It's like I've always been associated with masculine elements. The dark big shadow. Dark, dark, always dark. There's nothing graceful or feminine and alluring, it's just color 'brown' spilt all over the canvas. And that's bothered me my entire life. Because I never felt 'little' or beautiful, I've felt serious and bigger than anyone around me, not that that's the truth.

And here's the perfect example of my self-pity. As I listen to Missy Higgins on my i-tunes and deny myself my beauty sleep, I'm going over all these little details and feeling 'brown'.

Make my heart stop beating.

I have this friend, or quite possibly used to have, who fell for me. And I kept wondering what wasn't enough about him, why, despite rationaly understanding that he met all the criteria that I look for, he just doesn't do it, and I cannot see him as anything more. He's smart and he's funny, he makes me laugh, and his ideas interest me because unlike with other people, what he says is unpredictable, and he comes from a good family and I think he gets me, he finds something fascinating about me that even I don't see. He, you could say, is the perfect match. Except, he isn't.
I've tried to figure it out for almost a year now, why imagining myself with him only brings claustrophobia to me. It's like he's too safe. Too predictable. And I would never need him as much as he'd need me. I look at him and I guess in a way he is still an open book, a long ago read and put away on a shelf for display book.
My mother believes me to be someone much better than I am. She somehow see's something in me that I really don't feel matches the reality. She thinks that I'll do great for myself because I know exactly what I want, because I know what man I need and I won't conform for less. But, but somehow I doubt it. Because despite knowing what I want, I'm not hopeful. I'm so insecure about myself and about the possibility of greatness in the future.
I need someone who can make my heart stop beating, who would make my heart skip not one beat but ten, and who would excite me and make me nervous and exctatic. But I guess that's what we all need, right? And although I know what I want, I'm not sure that they'd want me. Or that life is like the movies and that it is possible to feel so good. Fine, I'm only eighteen and life is ahead of me, but the only time I've come even close to it is when watching someone else, movies with those perfect men. But in life, in life there's nothing like it. And those men are actually flawed boys who lack imagination or passion to steal my heart.
Mark, you're a wonderful boy, maybe even a great one, but that safety that you convey to me, it isn't what I want. I want chaos, I need it, I'm searching for it. And you, you will find her, the girl who will see in you what I see in them, and then you'll know the wait was worth it.
And I hope that so will I.

Ethics

So today I've been thinking about ethics. Einstein said that there's relativity only in physics, but not in ethics, but I don't think I agree any longer. It's just that having become this nihilistic person has made me forget ethics all together. If we're all here just for some time, as if borrowing the world for some years whilst we realize our ambitions, and then we leave leaving not even a trace of ourselves, then what's the point? I guess I've accepted long ago that there's no purpose, and that's hard because it makes me reckless in a way where nothing really seems too much. There is no limit, who really cares if I fuck my life up royally when eventually none of it will matter? My grandmother told me today about the factory in which she worked many years ago, and how all the people she worked with our dead now, and that really gets to you. To realize that all those stories you've just heard about their youth, well, they're scratched. Those people are dead and their lives never mattered. So I guess what I'm saying is why bother with ethics if this is insignificant. Okay, I guess ethics towards some things does matter, like respecting other people's rights to life, because otherwise the world would just become utter chaos, but if it's things that affect only you, then why do we keep judging? I have a 19 year old girl friend who is sleeping, or was, whatever it is now, with a 55 year old man. And I guess that sounds wrong in some way and it's hard to process for me due to the fact that I've known this girl since we were children and I would have never imagined that this is where we'd end up, but the more I think about it, there's nothing wrong with anything she's doing. Fine, he's a wealthy minister involved in some dirty business and also the father of her friend, but maybe it just sounds wrong (at least it would have to me if I were even a little younger) because we've been instilled these ideas. Because if I think about it, there is nothing really that wrong with it, and why not? We're all going to die anyway so why are we, or me, trying to be so correct? Why am I so afraid to become something different from what I am? It's just sex, and it's just life, and it's just timeline that we essentially rent for our lifetime, but at the end it perishes into nothingness and never matters.
I guess ethics is relative, or in a way maybe even inexistent , just some human invention created to limit us, scare us off and control, get into our minds and make sure that no one goes too far.