A pizza can feed a family of four.
***
A few weeks ago, when I lunched with S on Southbank, we went to see St Trinian's, a light-hearted and very funny movie that takes the mick without taking itself seriously. It also has a great soundtrack.
That night, I saw Candida down at the Australian Centre for the Moving Image as part of La Mirada (an exhibition of Spanish films) with a friend from college who also speaks Spanish (probablemente mucho mejor que yo, porque ha vivido en Chile por un ano). Candida is a beautiful film, one of the most poignant I have seen. Both funny and moving, inspiring and emotional, it is a bitter struggle of one woman to keep her two unstable sons together as family and bring happiness into the lives of others.
***
Some two weeks ago, I saw In the Shadow of the Moon with my parents. It's a very powerful documentary about the Apollo missions, told through a combination of actual footage from the era - i.e. of Kennedy's challenge to land on the moon before the decade's end - and the missions, as well as recent interviews with the surviving astronauts who took the journey. What is so striking about these men is their down to earth character and jovial but touching recollections of such feats. For those of us too young to have even been thought of in 1969, this film captures significance and enormity of the landing on the moon, both for the US and the world, then and now.
We also went to the football, and we're going again this weekend.
x
Just a girl
Tuesday 29 April 2008
Saturday 26 April 2008
A Year is Many Things
It's been a year since I started this blog. How appropriate, also, that it's 5 weeks until my 18th birthday (which I'm waaay too excited about), and my 150th post.
Sure, it's been pressure and stress and exams oozing out my ears, as well as despair and frustration and disappointment, but it's also been terrific and exciting and downright fun and perhaps above all, poignant.
This blog has been quite an unexpected pleasure and comfort, which I think is why I've been able to keep it for much longer than any diary.
So here's a thought for the next year:
x
Just a girl
Sure, it's been pressure and stress and exams oozing out my ears, as well as despair and frustration and disappointment, but it's also been terrific and exciting and downright fun and perhaps above all, poignant.
This blog has been quite an unexpected pleasure and comfort, which I think is why I've been able to keep it for much longer than any diary.
So here's a thought for the next year:
x
Just a girl
Thursday 24 April 2008
Yeah, Well, We Call You The University of Morons
Male college student on the phone: We call RMIT the RMI Tafe.
-Somewhere on Campus (Melb. Uni)
x
Just a girl
-Somewhere on Campus (Melb. Uni)
x
Just a girl
Tuesday 22 April 2008
Happy Earth Day, Everybody!
It's Earth Day! (Don't be confused or alarmed; there are two, and this is not the equinox one.)
There are so many tiny things that we can do:* turn off our lights, have shorter showers, reuse and recycle, take public transport or walk; even if you don't believe in global warming and the catastrophe it threatens to be, we're clearly not a sustainble or environmentally friendly society, and we need to limit our impact on nature. Take a moment to remember how much we rely on the Earth. I've come to realise this particularly through An Ecological History of Humanity, and the generations of humans that have tilled the soil the food, cut down forests for firewood and timber for building, mined iron ore, fished from the oceans, hunted animals, and so on and so forth. Let's try to support the ecosystem that supports us.
So, in honour of the Big Day, I'm posting a poem I wrote waaaay back in year 9 that is based (loosely) on the Gaia theory.
We live in a world that only we care about;
the animals don’t want to smell us, they know we will only bring their end;
the beaches don’t want to suffer our presence, they know we will only contaminate;
the canyons don’t want to acknowledge us, they know we will only wear them down;
the cliffs don’t want us to be there, they know we will only make them fall;
the clouds don’t want to be above us, they know we will only choke them with our smoke;
the deserts don’t want to feel us, they knows we will only take away from them;
the flowers don’t want to think about us, they know we will only uproot them;
the ground doesn’t want is on it, it knows we will only cram it with our waste;
the harbours don’t want us in their boundaries, they know we will only litter their floors;
the icefields don’t want us near them, they know we will only cause their dissolve;
the islands don’t want to comprehend us, they know we will only sink them;
the mountains don’t want to hear us, they know we will only bring discomfort;
the reefs don’t want us sailing them, they know we will only destroy their coral gardens;
the rivers don’t want to observe us, they know we will only drain them dry;
the rocks don’t want to consider us, they know we will only cause their dislodging;
the sea doesn’t want us in it, it knows we will only fill it with filth;
the trees don’t want to see us, they know it can only be bad news;
the valleys don’t was us in them, they know we will only strip them bare;
the volcanoes don’t want to perceive us, they know they can beat us in the end;
the waterfalls don’t want to notice us, they know we will only change their course;
the wetlands don’t want to heed us, they know their discovery will not last secret long;
but the animals will always greet us kindly;
the beaches will always be there for us;
the canyons will always hold out for us;
the cliffs will always stand up for us;
the clouds will always float above us;
the deserts will always lure us;
the flowers will always perk up for us;
the ground will always stay steady for us;
the harbours will always be wide for us;
the icefields will always remain for us;
the mountains will always accept us;
the reefs will always tolerate us;
the rivers will always run for us,
the rocks will always hold fast for us;
the sea will always flow for us;
the trees will always grow to protect us;
the valleys will always be plentiful for us;
the volcanoes will always delight us;
the waterfalls will always fall for us;
the wetlands will always live for us,
because Mother Nature will continue to care for us, so that our species live in harmony.
She will heal all that is wounded,
and produce what has been lost,
and nurture the helpless and gone astray,
and support and bear fruits and labour so that we might live to learn and love.
x
Just a girl
*Those wikiHows can really teach you anything, even How to be a popular girl, how to get rich someday, how to become a hobo,...the list goes on!
There are so many tiny things that we can do:* turn off our lights, have shorter showers, reuse and recycle, take public transport or walk; even if you don't believe in global warming and the catastrophe it threatens to be, we're clearly not a sustainble or environmentally friendly society, and we need to limit our impact on nature. Take a moment to remember how much we rely on the Earth. I've come to realise this particularly through An Ecological History of Humanity, and the generations of humans that have tilled the soil the food, cut down forests for firewood and timber for building, mined iron ore, fished from the oceans, hunted animals, and so on and so forth. Let's try to support the ecosystem that supports us.
So, in honour of the Big Day, I'm posting a poem I wrote waaaay back in year 9 that is based (loosely) on the Gaia theory.
We live in a world that only we care about;
the animals don’t want to smell us, they know we will only bring their end;
the beaches don’t want to suffer our presence, they know we will only contaminate;
the canyons don’t want to acknowledge us, they know we will only wear them down;
the cliffs don’t want us to be there, they know we will only make them fall;
the clouds don’t want to be above us, they know we will only choke them with our smoke;
the deserts don’t want to feel us, they knows we will only take away from them;
the flowers don’t want to think about us, they know we will only uproot them;
the ground doesn’t want is on it, it knows we will only cram it with our waste;
the harbours don’t want us in their boundaries, they know we will only litter their floors;
the icefields don’t want us near them, they know we will only cause their dissolve;
the islands don’t want to comprehend us, they know we will only sink them;
the mountains don’t want to hear us, they know we will only bring discomfort;
the reefs don’t want us sailing them, they know we will only destroy their coral gardens;
the rivers don’t want to observe us, they know we will only drain them dry;
the rocks don’t want to consider us, they know we will only cause their dislodging;
the sea doesn’t want us in it, it knows we will only fill it with filth;
the trees don’t want to see us, they know it can only be bad news;
the valleys don’t was us in them, they know we will only strip them bare;
the volcanoes don’t want to perceive us, they know they can beat us in the end;
the waterfalls don’t want to notice us, they know we will only change their course;
the wetlands don’t want to heed us, they know their discovery will not last secret long;
but the animals will always greet us kindly;
the beaches will always be there for us;
the canyons will always hold out for us;
the cliffs will always stand up for us;
the clouds will always float above us;
the deserts will always lure us;
the flowers will always perk up for us;
the ground will always stay steady for us;
the harbours will always be wide for us;
the icefields will always remain for us;
the mountains will always accept us;
the reefs will always tolerate us;
the rivers will always run for us,
the rocks will always hold fast for us;
the sea will always flow for us;
the trees will always grow to protect us;
the valleys will always be plentiful for us;
the volcanoes will always delight us;
the waterfalls will always fall for us;
the wetlands will always live for us,
because Mother Nature will continue to care for us, so that our species live in harmony.
She will heal all that is wounded,
and produce what has been lost,
and nurture the helpless and gone astray,
and support and bear fruits and labour so that we might live to learn and love.
x
Just a girl
*Those wikiHows can really teach you anything, even How to be a popular girl, how to get rich someday, how to become a hobo,...the list goes on!
Monday 21 April 2008
And From H3, Despair Descends
This is the second poem I wrote for my creative writing assessment. It's the one I like the most, and am perhaps most proud of, between the two (poems); I think it's beautiful, and that's what I'm trying to convey.
***
Infinitesimal
Three pieces of sky,
one evening;
sunset, swirling colours on my right;
stars, peeking through the curtain of night;
storm, brooding on my left
a panorama spread above me
like an Eden tapestry.
I revel in the
– almost silence.
A footfall, a sneeze, a sigh;
even out here in this vast emptiness,
horizon to horizon
as if the world and everything in it
did not exist,
a dream or some fantasy.
To lie on the earth of our ancestors
is to feel the heartbeat of our motherland;
the place from whence we came
to which we still belong.
Here it is easy to imagine
a nomadic journey of families
hunting, gathering,
dwelling, migrating,
roaming at season’s whim,
two million years ago.
Here it is easy to see
(not blinded by buildings)
the grandeur of Her rightful majesty
Mother Nature in her timelessness,
the scope of man so infinitesimal
by comparison.
Here it is easy to breathe
not just the unsullied air
(no smoke, no smog, no smell)
but the taste of freedom;
for all sense of time is lost here,
where the dust has blown for centuries,
and cloaks the shores of our origins.
This is where human nature unfolds.
***
Aims and influences:
Infinitesimal is based on my travels to Africa two years ago and in particular, one night spent on the Makgadigadi Salt Pan of Botswana. On this occasion I was much influenced by the sheer scale and beauty of a place so removed from the urban hustle and bustle of day to day life.
My current study of An Ecological History of Humanity has also been powerful in the ideas and trigger for writing this poem, as we have been considering the evolution of mankind out of Africa as well as the development the human nature, that is, the ability to feel emotion.
Today I found out the mark and feedback from my tutor. I recieved a much lower mark than I expected. First, let me explain;*
H1 = top of the top, first class honours (excellent); 80%-100%
H2A = second class honours level A (very good); 75%-79%**
H2B = second class honours level B (good); 70%-74%
H3 = third class honours (competent); 65%-69%
P = pass (satisfactory); 50%-64%
N = fail (not satisfactory); 0%-49%
I got an H3. Competent, for goodness bloody sake. Like I've never written poetry before and I've figured out how to do it?! I'm finding this hard to deal with because I thought my poetry better than that. I believe(d) that what I had to say - and how I said - was meaningful and poignant, perhaps not on a great level, but at least in some way. It's hard to accept a mark like that when it comes to poetry, because you open yourself up, you offer your personal feelings to a tutor on a page, who responds by saying "I thought you bit off more than you could write about at your level." Hardly constructive. (Oh, no, wait; I "show promise." Work at it, kid, you might break the big time, maybe...never?!)
It's just disappointing, almost to the point of crushing one's writing self-esteem. It's clearly highly subjective; there appears to be no criteria on which it was marked, except for "appeal to tutor," I was only given a grade boundary, not a specific percentage, and I seem to have been awarded an H3+. WTF? You can't have it both ways and say it sucks but it's a good effort.
At least I'm getting good marks in one subject; I scored 8.5/10 for a small piece I wrote on the impact of climate change on human migration for An Ecological History of Humanity (my breadth subject.)
I don't think I've explained my subject choices, after my initial debate over them;
-Creative Writing (my intended major)
-Intermediate Spanish Language and Culture (contributing towards a Diploma in Modern Languages)
-Democracy, a compulsory Interdisciplinary Foundation subject (IDF) and, though I enjoy it, waste of time, considering it doesn't lead to second year subjects and simply limits the number of arts subjects I can do a semester
-An Ecological History of Humanity
Stay tuned for the results of my Democracy bibliography - it could be interesting, but not quite so devastating (because my heart won't be bruised.)
x
Just a girl
*And I quote the IDF handbook...
**This is the level required in all one's subjects to maintain a scholarship, CSP place or be considered elegible for exchange. I am on a CSP place and hope to achieve the latter.
***
Infinitesimal
Three pieces of sky,
one evening;
sunset, swirling colours on my right;
stars, peeking through the curtain of night;
storm, brooding on my left
a panorama spread above me
like an Eden tapestry.
I revel in the
– almost silence.
A footfall, a sneeze, a sigh;
even out here in this vast emptiness,
horizon to horizon
as if the world and everything in it
did not exist,
a dream or some fantasy.
To lie on the earth of our ancestors
is to feel the heartbeat of our motherland;
the place from whence we came
to which we still belong.
Here it is easy to imagine
a nomadic journey of families
hunting, gathering,
dwelling, migrating,
roaming at season’s whim,
two million years ago.
Here it is easy to see
(not blinded by buildings)
the grandeur of Her rightful majesty
Mother Nature in her timelessness,
the scope of man so infinitesimal
by comparison.
Here it is easy to breathe
not just the unsullied air
(no smoke, no smog, no smell)
but the taste of freedom;
for all sense of time is lost here,
where the dust has blown for centuries,
and cloaks the shores of our origins.
This is where human nature unfolds.
***
Aims and influences:
Infinitesimal is based on my travels to Africa two years ago and in particular, one night spent on the Makgadigadi Salt Pan of Botswana. On this occasion I was much influenced by the sheer scale and beauty of a place so removed from the urban hustle and bustle of day to day life.
My current study of An Ecological History of Humanity has also been powerful in the ideas and trigger for writing this poem, as we have been considering the evolution of mankind out of Africa as well as the development the human nature, that is, the ability to feel emotion.
Today I found out the mark and feedback from my tutor. I recieved a much lower mark than I expected. First, let me explain;*
H1 = top of the top, first class honours (excellent); 80%-100%
H2A = second class honours level A (very good); 75%-79%**
H2B = second class honours level B (good); 70%-74%
H3 = third class honours (competent); 65%-69%
P = pass (satisfactory); 50%-64%
N = fail (not satisfactory); 0%-49%
I got an H3. Competent, for goodness bloody sake. Like I've never written poetry before and I've figured out how to do it?! I'm finding this hard to deal with because I thought my poetry better than that. I believe(d) that what I had to say - and how I said - was meaningful and poignant, perhaps not on a great level, but at least in some way. It's hard to accept a mark like that when it comes to poetry, because you open yourself up, you offer your personal feelings to a tutor on a page, who responds by saying "I thought you bit off more than you could write about at your level." Hardly constructive. (Oh, no, wait; I "show promise." Work at it, kid, you might break the big time, maybe...never?!)
It's just disappointing, almost to the point of crushing one's writing self-esteem. It's clearly highly subjective; there appears to be no criteria on which it was marked, except for "appeal to tutor," I was only given a grade boundary, not a specific percentage, and I seem to have been awarded an H3+. WTF? You can't have it both ways and say it sucks but it's a good effort.
At least I'm getting good marks in one subject; I scored 8.5/10 for a small piece I wrote on the impact of climate change on human migration for An Ecological History of Humanity (my breadth subject.)
I don't think I've explained my subject choices, after my initial debate over them;
-Creative Writing (my intended major)
-Intermediate Spanish Language and Culture (contributing towards a Diploma in Modern Languages)
-Democracy, a compulsory Interdisciplinary Foundation subject (IDF) and, though I enjoy it, waste of time, considering it doesn't lead to second year subjects and simply limits the number of arts subjects I can do a semester
-An Ecological History of Humanity
Stay tuned for the results of my Democracy bibliography - it could be interesting, but not quite so devastating (because my heart won't be bruised.)
x
Just a girl
*And I quote the IDF handbook...
**This is the level required in all one's subjects to maintain a scholarship, CSP place or be considered elegible for exchange. I am on a CSP place and hope to achieve the latter.
The best thing about my Spanish class was the fire alarm
More than mid way through this morning's 90 minute Spanish class, the fire alarm went off in the Arts Centre, a shrill wailing. We all stopped to listen, when the evacuation whooping began. We quickly shuffled our things together (which totally goes against all the things I've been told about evacuating a building in school and drills) as the PA told us to make our way to the nearest exit. Being on the 6th floor, this meant stairs, as we all know you're not supposed to use elevators in the event of a fire. We could hardly contain our glee as confused classes crowded in the stairwell, all of us far happier than we should have been, considering the circumstances. The excitement factor increased with the arrival of a firetruck - but unfortunately no sweaty, shirtless men in suspenders - though there was no smoke or indication of whether that actually was a fire. In any event, I didn't waste my time; I walked down to Borders on Lygon St with the intention of buying New Moon, the sequel to Twilight, which I finished last night (this morning) being unable to put it down in the final, gripping, thrilling chapters. I highly recommend the book/trilogy as a suspenseful vampire romance, which is being made into a film starring none other than the dashing Cedric himself from Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Robert Pattinson. Much to my dismay, they only stocked the book in hardcover, which was $40, and out of my price range. So I sat and read the first few chapters over a hot chocolate in the Gloria Jean longue.
So I'll probably be back at Borders tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow to finish reading, because I'm impatient (and semi-addicted) like that.
x
Just a girl
So I'll probably be back at Borders tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow to finish reading, because I'm impatient (and semi-addicted) like that.
x
Just a girl
Sunday 20 April 2008
Sleep...it's the new sex
You think about it all the time.
Every seven seconds? MORE.
You talk about it, brag and make jokes.
"oh man, you won't even believe how many hours it lasted."
"you're kidding! All I got last night was a five minute quickie!"
The fact of the matter is, you NEED it.
We all have our "requirements." Our "quotas."
Don't be ashamed.
It's perfectly natural!
And, like it or not, everyone does it.
Our grandparents did it... Oprah does it... In fact, your mom is probably doing it right now.
And if you don't get enough?
You're not alone.
The nights are the worst.
That's when you walk down the halls knowing that EVERYONE AROUND YOU IS GETTIN' SOME.
Sleep: the sex of our generation.
...the nights are the worst...
All credit due to the Facebook group whose hilarious idea it was.
Me? I can never get enough...
x
Just a girl
Every seven seconds? MORE.
You talk about it, brag and make jokes.
"oh man, you won't even believe how many hours it lasted."
"you're kidding! All I got last night was a five minute quickie!"
The fact of the matter is, you NEED it.
We all have our "requirements." Our "quotas."
Don't be ashamed.
It's perfectly natural!
And, like it or not, everyone does it.
Our grandparents did it... Oprah does it... In fact, your mom is probably doing it right now.
And if you don't get enough?
You're not alone.
The nights are the worst.
That's when you walk down the halls knowing that EVERYONE AROUND YOU IS GETTIN' SOME.
Sleep: the sex of our generation.
...the nights are the worst...
All credit due to the Facebook group whose hilarious idea it was.
Me? I can never get enough...
x
Just a girl
Monday 14 April 2008
The Shit Some People Say
So I've been reading Overheard in New York lately, because Dancing Feet recommended it to me and I find it highly amusing. But this has got to be one of the funniest conversations I've read:
First man: So after Cain killed Abel he was sent from exile and went up Europe way.
Second man: Not Asia?
First man: No, the Caucus mountains... that's up Europe way.
Second man: Oh, you mean like Turkey.
First man: And since black people don't like the cold, Cain went to live in a cave and started to grow and was the first caveman. Now at that time there was dinosaurs but they weren't really dinosaurs, we call them dinosaurs but that's just how God made animals, you know, until you start messin with the DNA of 'em.
Second man: Oh!
First man: Then Cain met his sister and they had a baby together but since Cain was cursed for being the first murderer their baby came out an obino.
Second man: An obino?
First man: Yeah, a red-headed blue-eyed obino and that's where white people come from. Then they went to the north pole and you know it's light there six months and it's dark there six months and the wind is always blowing and that's where Asian people come from. That's why they eyes is like that because the wind was always blowin in they faces.
Um...LOL but WTF?
x
Just a girl
First man: So after Cain killed Abel he was sent from exile and went up Europe way.
Second man: Not Asia?
First man: No, the Caucus mountains... that's up Europe way.
Second man: Oh, you mean like Turkey.
First man: And since black people don't like the cold, Cain went to live in a cave and started to grow and was the first caveman. Now at that time there was dinosaurs but they weren't really dinosaurs, we call them dinosaurs but that's just how God made animals, you know, until you start messin with the DNA of 'em.
Second man: Oh!
First man: Then Cain met his sister and they had a baby together but since Cain was cursed for being the first murderer their baby came out an obino.
Second man: An obino?
First man: Yeah, a red-headed blue-eyed obino and that's where white people come from. Then they went to the north pole and you know it's light there six months and it's dark there six months and the wind is always blowing and that's where Asian people come from. That's why they eyes is like that because the wind was always blowin in they faces.
Um...LOL but WTF?
x
Just a girl
Friday 11 April 2008
And From The Chaos, Order Stems*
In the spirit of finishing and submitting my creative writing poetry assignment today (the due date) I'm posting one of the two poems (the second to come). Both poems are based around more sober and thought-provoking concepts than I have usually chosen, and in exploring these I feel that my poetry has become reached new levels of eloquence.
Compulsion
There is a bell inside of me
that rings loudly every day,
tolling all the things
that are wrong with the world.
The ironic bloated stomachs of malnutrition.
The punishment that far outweighs the crime.
The powerlessness of the masses.
The brutal destruction of metal-armed man.
It is supposed to remind me
of all the things that I can do;
raise money,
awareness,
take a stand,
make a difference.
But I cannot hear the bell
over the sound of my iPod,
my mobile phone,
the soap on TV.
It knells against my heart;
every three seconds
a child dies
an avoidable death.
All the while,
I shower,
eat,
sleep.
Darfur, Burma, Kosovo;
these household names
should incite protest, petition
and pledges of support,
but we look away;
we’ve seen it all before.
I invest in girly magazines,
clothes I don’t need,
books I could borrow,
food that isn’t good for me.
Bargains, all, but what of
three meals a day, drinking water,
shelter, education and security?
Necessities, all.
The bell serves to compel.
It will keep on ringing
in the hope that one day
I will no longer feign deaf
but take up arms for the cause.
Aims/influences:
Compulsion was written as an exploration of social awareness and my personal actions towards global issues such as poverty, hunger, war and injustice. It also considers the way in which modern culture has become desensitised to the atrocities of the third world due to our high standard of living and constant exposure to this state of affairs in the news media.
x
Just a girl
*In this, I refer to the drafting process, whereby my initial writings of the poems became scribbled over, crossed out, embellished, censored, a mess of arrows and words that could barely be read, let alone understood.
Compulsion
There is a bell inside of me
that rings loudly every day,
tolling all the things
that are wrong with the world.
The ironic bloated stomachs of malnutrition.
The punishment that far outweighs the crime.
The powerlessness of the masses.
The brutal destruction of metal-armed man.
It is supposed to remind me
of all the things that I can do;
raise money,
awareness,
take a stand,
make a difference.
But I cannot hear the bell
over the sound of my iPod,
my mobile phone,
the soap on TV.
It knells against my heart;
every three seconds
a child dies
an avoidable death.
All the while,
I shower,
eat,
sleep.
Darfur, Burma, Kosovo;
these household names
should incite protest, petition
and pledges of support,
but we look away;
we’ve seen it all before.
I invest in girly magazines,
clothes I don’t need,
books I could borrow,
food that isn’t good for me.
Bargains, all, but what of
three meals a day, drinking water,
shelter, education and security?
Necessities, all.
The bell serves to compel.
It will keep on ringing
in the hope that one day
I will no longer feign deaf
but take up arms for the cause.
Aims/influences:
Compulsion was written as an exploration of social awareness and my personal actions towards global issues such as poverty, hunger, war and injustice. It also considers the way in which modern culture has become desensitised to the atrocities of the third world due to our high standard of living and constant exposure to this state of affairs in the news media.
x
Just a girl
*In this, I refer to the drafting process, whereby my initial writings of the poems became scribbled over, crossed out, embellished, censored, a mess of arrows and words that could barely be read, let alone understood.
Tuesday 8 April 2008
I am the name on everyone's lips*
*And you thought you had an ego, Miss Snow!
I feel good! da na na na na na na!
This morning, I wrote:
Even though I didn't sleep altogether that well last night, due the combined late night spent completing an assignment, worry that the fire drill was going to be this morning and my relatively early rise to finish said assignment because it wasn't working for me last night. It all worked out this morning though (the fire drill didn't happen), so I have a feeling it's going to be an A-OK kind of day.
At least, I hope it will be, because I have debating tonight. I've been debating for yonks - since year 7, with a two year break around year 9 and 10 - but university debating is different. For starters, it's secret topic, with only half an hour to prepare (as opposed to yr 11 and 12; 1 hour) and 6-8min to speak.
This evening, I write:
Well, debating didn’t quite swing our way – the topic being “That if Mugabe does not stand down, the West should remove him by force,” and our stance, negative. We argued various points about Western intervention consolidating Mugabe’s support and anti-West sentiment, that the West’s history of force wasn’t entirely beneficial (Iraq, Vietnam) and that it would devastate the country (civil war, increased poverty, etc), but to no avail; the opposition (who argued the case for a bettered country and people that could only be helped by the West) won. I didn’t end up debating – another team member showed up and, proving more knowledge, I gracefully (and gratefully) yielded to him. It was thoroughly enjoyable to listen to (university debating allows for vocal support of an argument, such as “hear hear!” or “shame,” should you disagree), and very amusing to discover afterwards that the third affirmative speaker agreed with our side of the argument, whilst Sara was adamantly on theirs.
The day brought unforseen pleasure in lunching with a friend on Lygon St, fulfilling both his craving for pasta and our hunger, as well as introducing him to the Nova complex, Borders, cheap eating and gelato, all of which was delicious and hilarious. (Gemini, you’ll be happy to know that I talked him out of buying a $10 magic that, admittedly, was on sale but for little children, complete with magic wand; I think you know who I’m talking about, our musical friend who wears glasses. What I want to know is how he knows about a certain someone - "Joel" - from the party, and why he thinks I'm "obsessed" with him. I'd like the record to show that I am not obsessed, I merely have a healthy crush.)
To address the title of this post, and its opening statement – “I feel good!” – is to acknowledge several people (and one establishment) who make me very happy. Firstly, Miss Snow, who was kind enough to write a post to me about blogrolling me. K has threatened stalking and/or harassment, and followed through by linking me. Very flattering on all counts.
I, in turn, should like to announce the people I will be awarding the highest honour of blogrolling with great fanfare. First of all, Du’loque, because I’ve mentioned him enough times on this blog, he’s even written a post for me, and, well, he always has something worth reading. Skyla, too, thoughtful girl that she is, has posted about me and though shares my love of fashion and photography, is far more creative and inspirtational than I. Also Sara, because she shares all her random thoughts and opinions, which vary from funny to intriguing; and Gemini, who has a way with words and really should blog more, considering the procrastination extraordinaire she is!
Is anyone sensing a theme here? That’s right, people, the way to my heart in cyber world is to write a post about me. Chocolate and flowers work better in the real world, but they don’t cut it here. The point of this post, however, is to make YOU guys feel special, because you are all so kind.
Please note that I will link you all once Blogger decides the fun and games are over and will let me do it. Meanwhile, many thanks for sharing the cyber love.
Ah, but what of the establishment? Without any further ado,ladies and gentlemen dear readers, I would like to announce that the University of Rochester accepted me for the class of 2012!*
(Pause for feeling that at least one [US] university appreciates me!)
Ah, but it gets better! Rochester want me, and they want me bad. So bad, in fact, that they’re willing to pay me $10,000 per year to study there.
That’s right, people; they awarded me the IB scholarship (one of the reasons I decided to apply there). “IB scholarship winners have excelled in one of the most rigorous college preparatory** programs available,*** and this is an acknowledgement of your hard work and determination.”
Why, thank you! But as my father so aptly put it, “their fees probably cost $40,000 a year.”
In any case, acceptance is a nice feeling, and the scholarship on top of that is simply phenomenal.
But the assignments never stop, so theshow work must go on!
x
Just a girl
*It wasn’t half obvious, the way they wrote “Welcome to the University of Rochester” on the outside of the envelope!
**Does this word remind any one of purgatory? Not far off, in this sense!
***Damn straight, it is!
I feel good! da na na na na na na!
This morning, I wrote:
Even though I didn't sleep altogether that well last night, due the combined late night spent completing an assignment, worry that the fire drill was going to be this morning and my relatively early rise to finish said assignment because it wasn't working for me last night. It all worked out this morning though (the fire drill didn't happen), so I have a feeling it's going to be an A-OK kind of day.
At least, I hope it will be, because I have debating tonight. I've been debating for yonks - since year 7, with a two year break around year 9 and 10 - but university debating is different. For starters, it's secret topic, with only half an hour to prepare (as opposed to yr 11 and 12; 1 hour) and 6-8min to speak.
This evening, I write:
Well, debating didn’t quite swing our way – the topic being “That if Mugabe does not stand down, the West should remove him by force,” and our stance, negative. We argued various points about Western intervention consolidating Mugabe’s support and anti-West sentiment, that the West’s history of force wasn’t entirely beneficial (Iraq, Vietnam) and that it would devastate the country (civil war, increased poverty, etc), but to no avail; the opposition (who argued the case for a bettered country and people that could only be helped by the West) won. I didn’t end up debating – another team member showed up and, proving more knowledge, I gracefully (and gratefully) yielded to him. It was thoroughly enjoyable to listen to (university debating allows for vocal support of an argument, such as “hear hear!” or “shame,” should you disagree), and very amusing to discover afterwards that the third affirmative speaker agreed with our side of the argument, whilst Sara was adamantly on theirs.
The day brought unforseen pleasure in lunching with a friend on Lygon St, fulfilling both his craving for pasta and our hunger, as well as introducing him to the Nova complex, Borders, cheap eating and gelato, all of which was delicious and hilarious. (Gemini, you’ll be happy to know that I talked him out of buying a $10 magic that, admittedly, was on sale but for little children, complete with magic wand; I think you know who I’m talking about, our musical friend who wears glasses. What I want to know is how he knows about a certain someone - "Joel" - from the party, and why he thinks I'm "obsessed" with him. I'd like the record to show that I am not obsessed, I merely have a healthy crush.)
To address the title of this post, and its opening statement – “I feel good!” – is to acknowledge several people (and one establishment) who make me very happy. Firstly, Miss Snow, who was kind enough to write a post to me about blogrolling me. K has threatened stalking and/or harassment, and followed through by linking me. Very flattering on all counts.
I, in turn, should like to announce the people I will be awarding the highest honour of blogrolling with great fanfare. First of all, Du’loque, because I’ve mentioned him enough times on this blog, he’s even written a post for me, and, well, he always has something worth reading. Skyla, too, thoughtful girl that she is, has posted about me and though shares my love of fashion and photography, is far more creative and inspirtational than I. Also Sara, because she shares all her random thoughts and opinions, which vary from funny to intriguing; and Gemini, who has a way with words and really should blog more, considering the procrastination extraordinaire she is!
Is anyone sensing a theme here? That’s right, people, the way to my heart in cyber world is to write a post about me. Chocolate and flowers work better in the real world, but they don’t cut it here. The point of this post, however, is to make YOU guys feel special, because you are all so kind.
Ah, but what of the establishment? Without any further ado,
(Pause for feeling that at least one [US] university appreciates me!)
Ah, but it gets better! Rochester want me, and they want me bad. So bad, in fact, that they’re willing to pay me $10,000 per year to study there.
That’s right, people; they awarded me the IB scholarship (one of the reasons I decided to apply there). “IB scholarship winners have excelled in one of the most rigorous college preparatory** programs available,*** and this is an acknowledgement of your hard work and determination.”
Why, thank you! But as my father so aptly put it, “their fees probably cost $40,000 a year.”
In any case, acceptance is a nice feeling, and the scholarship on top of that is simply phenomenal.
But the assignments never stop, so the
x
Just a girl
*It wasn’t half obvious, the way they wrote “Welcome to the University of Rochester” on the outside of the envelope!
**Does this word remind any one of purgatory? Not far off, in this sense!
***Damn straight, it is!
Sunday 6 April 2008
A Little Less Conversation
On Friday afternoon when I was getting off the tram at the university after meeting up with Sara in the city (which was great fun, chica, thanks so much!) the tram driver said "Once again, on behalf of Yarra Trams, I would like to wish you a good day and hope you enjoy the weekend." Maybe it's because I've never caught a 5.30 tram on a Friday, or had that driver, but I've not heard any driver say that before on a tram (there are so few variations of "please stand away from the doors," or "use the front doors, the back ones are outside the safety zone"); it was a welcome and pleasant sentiment.
***
Standing at the tram tracks, waiting to cross the road, the girl next to me, who is dragging a sizable suitcase, asks "Can you tell me how to get to Ormond college?" I smile and say "I can walk you there, it's on my way." As we trundle/wheel our way down Monash Road, through Union House and around the athletics' track, we discover that we live two hours from each other in the same state (in the country, that's a stone's throw) and exclaim over knowing the same people (when you're rural, everyone knows everyone else, or at least knows of them). Such a delightful surprise! But she goes to uni in Bathurst, and was simply visiting a friend. I wish her well.
***
I overheard this unfinished comment outside the Trinity gates (whilst walking my new friend to Ormond), and it was intriguing, if not a hyperbole; "I would rather slit my own throat than..." what? Be covered in honey and fed to ants? Do exams? Live in Trinity?
***
Last night was the intercollegiate athletics competition, and fortunately voluntary (as in one could choose to train/compete, a refreshing change from years of compulsory competing) which meant that for once I could simply be a cheering spectator. Somehow, the whole night/dark/lights atmosphere was made it more exciting. Our college – being so small – doesn’t usually stand a chance, but one of the tutors is Speedy Gonzales, and we managed to excel in some of the races, but more about that later. I met up with Pepito, who felt the urge for coffee, so we – and a friend from college, whom I’ll call A – meandered down to Lygon St for some late night caffeine.
Being that I had just introduced two of my friends who didn’t know each other, I was slightly worried that it would be awkward/tense, but we all got along very well, and it transpired that they took the same Psych class and knew a few of the same people.
We arrived back at uni around 10, just in time for the girls 4×400m relay, one of the final events. Our timing was perfect; this was, perhaps, for our college, the most thrilling event of the night. Our fastest runner – Speedy herself – was first, and opened up a tremendous lead of probably 200m. Our second runner only increased this lead. Our third runner was clearly tired, poor girl, as she’d been in other events, and the lead was closed somewhat. Our fourth runner maintained her pace, but the other runners were closing in fast, and it really came down to the finish, but we won! We were screaming our hearts out the entire way. It was elating.
But the night was still young! Many went back to college for a beer and a congregation (“party”) in someone’s room. Myself and A planned to watch Chicago, having been listening to Cell Block Tango on her phone during dinner (that’s right, on her phone. They’re MP3 players now, don’t you know?) This proved an adventure in itself. She had the DVD, but had lent it to someone, R. In tracking R down, we trawled the house rooftop to ground floor and back again, finally tracking him down and attracting two other girls on the way who shared our interest. Turns out she hadn’t leant it to him. In any case, one of the girls we’d “attracted” had a copy. Finally (by 11) we sat down in the JCR (Junior Common Room) to watch and by 1am, we were tired but singing “I’m going to paint the town…and all that jazz!”
x
Just a girl
***
Standing at the tram tracks, waiting to cross the road, the girl next to me, who is dragging a sizable suitcase, asks "Can you tell me how to get to Ormond college?" I smile and say "I can walk you there, it's on my way." As we trundle/wheel our way down Monash Road, through Union House and around the athletics' track, we discover that we live two hours from each other in the same state (in the country, that's a stone's throw) and exclaim over knowing the same people (when you're rural, everyone knows everyone else, or at least knows of them). Such a delightful surprise! But she goes to uni in Bathurst, and was simply visiting a friend. I wish her well.
***
I overheard this unfinished comment outside the Trinity gates (whilst walking my new friend to Ormond), and it was intriguing, if not a hyperbole; "I would rather slit my own throat than..." what? Be covered in honey and fed to ants? Do exams? Live in Trinity?
***
Last night was the intercollegiate athletics competition, and fortunately voluntary (as in one could choose to train/compete, a refreshing change from years of compulsory competing) which meant that for once I could simply be a cheering spectator. Somehow, the whole night/dark/lights atmosphere was made it more exciting. Our college – being so small – doesn’t usually stand a chance, but one of the tutors is Speedy Gonzales, and we managed to excel in some of the races, but more about that later. I met up with Pepito, who felt the urge for coffee, so we – and a friend from college, whom I’ll call A – meandered down to Lygon St for some late night caffeine.
Being that I had just introduced two of my friends who didn’t know each other, I was slightly worried that it would be awkward/tense, but we all got along very well, and it transpired that they took the same Psych class and knew a few of the same people.
We arrived back at uni around 10, just in time for the girls 4×400m relay, one of the final events. Our timing was perfect; this was, perhaps, for our college, the most thrilling event of the night. Our fastest runner – Speedy herself – was first, and opened up a tremendous lead of probably 200m. Our second runner only increased this lead. Our third runner was clearly tired, poor girl, as she’d been in other events, and the lead was closed somewhat. Our fourth runner maintained her pace, but the other runners were closing in fast, and it really came down to the finish, but we won! We were screaming our hearts out the entire way. It was elating.
But the night was still young! Many went back to college for a beer and a congregation (“party”) in someone’s room. Myself and A planned to watch Chicago, having been listening to Cell Block Tango on her phone during dinner (that’s right, on her phone. They’re MP3 players now, don’t you know?) This proved an adventure in itself. She had the DVD, but had lent it to someone, R. In tracking R down, we trawled the house rooftop to ground floor and back again, finally tracking him down and attracting two other girls on the way who shared our interest. Turns out she hadn’t leant it to him. In any case, one of the girls we’d “attracted” had a copy. Finally (by 11) we sat down in the JCR (Junior Common Room) to watch and by 1am, we were tired but singing “I’m going to paint the town…and all that jazz!”
x
Just a girl
Friday 4 April 2008
Thoughts of a Girl
Silly, silly me. I just visited the principal of college for an interview about settling in to uni/college etc that I scheduled yesterday as per a letter I received the night before and came out of the interview realising I was a week early. It was supposed to be next Friday. I should have realised something was up when he said I wasn't written in the diary - though I had seen the secretary write it in - and that I was the first person, when I knew there were supposed to be two people before me. I just assumed he was looking at the wrong page in his diary - turns out I was wrong! Oh well. He had the time. It's all good.
But I did feel a lot stupider when I went upstairs to go to my room (on the second floor) whilst I was contemplating this and I stepped out on the first floor with the intention of going to my room, before I realised "I don't recognise any of these doors..."
D'oh.
***
Walking back to college from my clase de espanol this morning I passed a guy who I've been to school with for the past four years but don't think I've ever spoken to (no great loss.) We didn't have class together, ever. He's grown his hair out, but he still looks like a wannabe surfer dude/beach bum. I wonder if he remembers who I am?
***
I also wonder if the boy who I did IB with and lives in the college next to me ever sees me in the several times that we've passed each other around campus. Maybe he's just not looking.
***
Not that I care about whether or not these people notice me, I just sometimes wonder how much of an impact we make on each other as classmates or ex-schoolmates.
***
It's funny how in college there are still people I don't know - second years, third years - simply because we don't interact much, if they live on a different floor or wing. Even though I recognise them - there's those really awkward moments if you pass on campus; eye conact, "hey," "hey," - I don't know their names. It's also slightly annoying. Facebook is helping fix that, though.
***
I'm catching up with a friend for lunch and Sara for coffee this afternoon. Looking forward it.
***
Got to finish a democracy assignment, due today. Won't take me long, though. The majority of it was done last night. Lateish. Or earlyish, depending on your definition.
x
Just a girl
But I did feel a lot stupider when I went upstairs to go to my room (on the second floor) whilst I was contemplating this and I stepped out on the first floor with the intention of going to my room, before I realised "I don't recognise any of these doors..."
D'oh.
***
Walking back to college from my clase de espanol this morning I passed a guy who I've been to school with for the past four years but don't think I've ever spoken to (no great loss.) We didn't have class together, ever. He's grown his hair out, but he still looks like a wannabe surfer dude/beach bum. I wonder if he remembers who I am?
***
I also wonder if the boy who I did IB with and lives in the college next to me ever sees me in the several times that we've passed each other around campus. Maybe he's just not looking.
***
Not that I care about whether or not these people notice me, I just sometimes wonder how much of an impact we make on each other as classmates or ex-schoolmates.
***
It's funny how in college there are still people I don't know - second years, third years - simply because we don't interact much, if they live on a different floor or wing. Even though I recognise them - there's those really awkward moments if you pass on campus; eye conact, "hey," "hey," - I don't know their names. It's also slightly annoying. Facebook is helping fix that, though.
***
I'm catching up with a friend for lunch and Sara for coffee this afternoon. Looking forward it.
***
Got to finish a democracy assignment, due today. Won't take me long, though. The majority of it was done last night. Lateish. Or earlyish, depending on your definition.
x
Just a girl
Thursday 3 April 2008
I was bitter, but now I'm better
Thank you all and sundry, for your many kind words and reassuring sentiments, they mean so much to me. You have helped restored some of my optimism in the belief that, well, maybe it's just meant to be, that there's a reason for everything, and I just don't know what it is yet.
And there are still options. There's still hope for Rochester and Columbia. There's always exchange (which my parents are far keener on) or grad school. And in the meantime, I am happy at Melbourne and know I'm in a good place, both in terms of a university and my own life.
So thank you all for your encouragement, it's really helped me "get over it" these past few days when I've felt alone and miserable. If course, it still hurts, but that is to be expected. I just don't burst into tears any more at the thought of it...
And because my creative writing tute is next, I'm going to publish a little prose and poetry that I wrote about that "h o l y s h i t" feeling I had when I went to Hawaii last year; basically a feeling of nerves, excitement and anticipation.
***
The gate is a gathering of goodbyes. Of hugs, of teary eyes, of last advice. My father instils in me once again the importance of not losing either - or, God forbid, both - of my passports. He checks my list of emergency phone numbers that cross continents, as I will, and quizzes me on my "landing procedure." My mother reminisces about her first overseas trip alone, at the age of 24. I am but 17. Too young for many other things, but old enough to take care of myself.
Anticipation tickles my insides. I am new to this, and yet such a very old hand. I tell myself I can do this for the first time, again.
***
"Don't lose your passports,"
are my father's parting words.
"Call us when you get there.
And hide your passports."
"We'll miss you,"
my mother says,
looking as if
she might cry.
I feel the prickle of tears, too
as I walk down the boarding ramp
out of sight
onto the plane.
But independence sweeps down beside me,
gives me a fierce, bracing hug
and says
"We're in this together, you know."
I am grateful for the company
on this nine hour flight.
The whole paradox of the prose is that while I've been to Hawaii nearly every second Christmas since I was born to visit family with my parents and brother, this was (in a way) an entirely new experience, because it was by myself. Though I knew very well what I would have to do, I'd have to do it alone.
The idea of the poem is that my independence gave me courage.
***
The sky is crying.
Is someone up there sad, too,
that my dream won't come true?
Inspired by the fact that it is raining, right now, and how I've been feeling in recent days.
***
And now, to class. What a hectic life I lead.
x
Just a girl
And there are still options. There's still hope for Rochester and Columbia. There's always exchange (which my parents are far keener on) or grad school. And in the meantime, I am happy at Melbourne and know I'm in a good place, both in terms of a university and my own life.
So thank you all for your encouragement, it's really helped me "get over it" these past few days when I've felt alone and miserable. If course, it still hurts, but that is to be expected. I just don't burst into tears any more at the thought of it...
And because my creative writing tute is next, I'm going to publish a little prose and poetry that I wrote about that "h o l y s h i t" feeling I had when I went to Hawaii last year; basically a feeling of nerves, excitement and anticipation.
***
The gate is a gathering of goodbyes. Of hugs, of teary eyes, of last advice. My father instils in me once again the importance of not losing either - or, God forbid, both - of my passports. He checks my list of emergency phone numbers that cross continents, as I will, and quizzes me on my "landing procedure." My mother reminisces about her first overseas trip alone, at the age of 24. I am but 17. Too young for many other things, but old enough to take care of myself.
Anticipation tickles my insides. I am new to this, and yet such a very old hand. I tell myself I can do this for the first time, again.
***
"Don't lose your passports,"
are my father's parting words.
"Call us when you get there.
And hide your passports."
"We'll miss you,"
my mother says,
looking as if
she might cry.
I feel the prickle of tears, too
as I walk down the boarding ramp
out of sight
onto the plane.
But independence sweeps down beside me,
gives me a fierce, bracing hug
and says
"We're in this together, you know."
I am grateful for the company
on this nine hour flight.
The whole paradox of the prose is that while I've been to Hawaii nearly every second Christmas since I was born to visit family with my parents and brother, this was (in a way) an entirely new experience, because it was by myself. Though I knew very well what I would have to do, I'd have to do it alone.
The idea of the poem is that my independence gave me courage.
***
The sky is crying.
Is someone up there sad, too,
that my dream won't come true?
Inspired by the fact that it is raining, right now, and how I've been feeling in recent days.
***
And now, to class. What a hectic life I lead.
x
Just a girl
Tuesday 1 April 2008
The Results Are In: Not All Good, Not All Bad
I was wait-listed by Columbia. Because this is the first result I read, and it caught me so totally by surprise* - I was completely unprepared for this option - that I started to cry. I was so anxious and tense and stressed that I needed some answer, some finality, some yes or no, and yet I got suspended hope, suspended rejection, and it made me cry, because it was still indefinate.** The hope is good, and I have expressed further interest,*** because perhaps if I can't have my ultimate dream Columbia will be an unforseen chance.
That's right, my ultimate dream, of old buildings where I had hoped I might one day wander in search of class, of following in my father's footsteps, of creating new memories where his fond ones lie, of Yale, has been cruelly destroyed by harsh rocks of rejection in the sea of university admission (I write with sincere regret to say...) ****
Perhaps it was stupid of me to dream, but I cannot, could not, help myself. I dared to dream what if...? somewhat foolishly so, but I would say that I am that way inclined. I'm a dreamer; though I may be realistic about my chances, I'm an eternal optimist. This is what I said last May:
...I love thinking about the future, and the possibilities it holds! Call it fantasising, call it dreaming, call it what you will - I just love thinking about the opportunities the rest of my life holds - university, work, travel, marriage...It's a little hard to explain...it's a hopeful, optimistic feeling of knowing I've got the whole world in front of me, I'm young, I can do what I want, and achieve my dreams (that's the hopeful part). I could spend hours just thinking about what could be...reality is a rude disturber of such dreams.
And look at what good it did me. How naive I was. This just might turn me cynical (like you, Du'loque!)
And it makes me cry all over again because the dashing of said hopes makes me realise how much I wanted it, how much I hoped against hope, against being 10%, against being an international student, against having mediocre SATs.
But I have tried. I have failed, but I have tried, and I must be proud of myself for doing so. There were nearly 23,000 applicants this year, so I really shouldn't be surprised.
I have not yet heard from Rochester, and I am not sure whether I will, online, in any case. I had to laugh because I thought that Common Application might have some information regarding admission or post the results and - thinking the site was www.ca.org - stumbled upon Cocaine Anonymous. I them remembered the site was www.commonapp.org. Silly me. Must be all the stress.
My tears are salting my keyboard. I am an utter mess, alone in my room,***** surrounded by tissues and lost dreams, but I will remember your kind words, du'loque,****** and yours, Gemini.
My parents may be happy, though, because they never really wanted me to go anyway (and I say that without spite or malice.)
Now I must scrub up for dinner and act like nothing is wrong. I'm not a pretty crier, I'm probably not going to fool anyone. Thank God you all can't see me while I'm typing this.
x
Just a girl
*and yet there is some ironic deja vu in that my favourite character in Gossip Girl, Blair Waldorf, who's life ambition is the same as mine - Yale - is waitlisted to Yale, rejected everywhere else (Harvard, Princeton, Brown, Wesleyan, and Vassar) and accepted at Georgetown, her "safety." But unlike me, she is accepted at Yale, probably because she is the creme de la creme of the Upper East Side, much better academically than I could ever hope to be (all her classes were AP) and she is a fictional character who I should not envy.
**I should probably be flattered that at least they're still considering me. They put it best when they said "We understand that you may greet this news with mixed feelings." No kidding.
***because I will take whatever chance I have to be accepted.
****The Dean of Admissions then goes on to say "I realize that this decision may come as a real disappointment." What an understatement. Empathy appreciated.
*****And that's the thing about college. While I may feel like I have friends, there is no one right now that I feel I can turn to, who would understand, not like Gemini or Sara. Or Du'loque, whose online presence is much appreciated.
******I just noticed your tag, 'just a girl don't take it too personally.' Was that pre-empting imminent rejection? Kidding. Thank you.
But Good God, what is with all the asterisks? It seems I cannot help myself! Your blog is manipulating me...
That's right, my ultimate dream, of old buildings where I had hoped I might one day wander in search of class, of following in my father's footsteps, of creating new memories where his fond ones lie, of Yale, has been cruelly destroyed by harsh rocks of rejection in the sea of university admission (I write with sincere regret to say...) ****
Perhaps it was stupid of me to dream, but I cannot, could not, help myself. I dared to dream what if...? somewhat foolishly so, but I would say that I am that way inclined. I'm a dreamer; though I may be realistic about my chances, I'm an eternal optimist. This is what I said last May:
...I love thinking about the future, and the possibilities it holds! Call it fantasising, call it dreaming, call it what you will - I just love thinking about the opportunities the rest of my life holds - university, work, travel, marriage...It's a little hard to explain...it's a hopeful, optimistic feeling of knowing I've got the whole world in front of me, I'm young, I can do what I want, and achieve my dreams (that's the hopeful part). I could spend hours just thinking about what could be...reality is a rude disturber of such dreams.
And look at what good it did me. How naive I was. This just might turn me cynical (like you, Du'loque!)
And it makes me cry all over again because the dashing of said hopes makes me realise how much I wanted it, how much I hoped against hope, against being 10%, against being an international student, against having mediocre SATs.
But I have tried. I have failed, but I have tried, and I must be proud of myself for doing so. There were nearly 23,000 applicants this year, so I really shouldn't be surprised.
I have not yet heard from Rochester, and I am not sure whether I will, online, in any case. I had to laugh because I thought that Common Application might have some information regarding admission or post the results and - thinking the site was www.ca.org - stumbled upon Cocaine Anonymous. I them remembered the site was www.commonapp.org. Silly me. Must be all the stress.
My tears are salting my keyboard. I am an utter mess, alone in my room,***** surrounded by tissues and lost dreams, but I will remember your kind words, du'loque,****** and yours, Gemini.
My parents may be happy, though, because they never really wanted me to go anyway (and I say that without spite or malice.)
Now I must scrub up for dinner and act like nothing is wrong. I'm not a pretty crier, I'm probably not going to fool anyone. Thank God you all can't see me while I'm typing this.
x
Just a girl
*and yet there is some ironic deja vu in that my favourite character in Gossip Girl, Blair Waldorf, who's life ambition is the same as mine - Yale - is waitlisted to Yale, rejected everywhere else (Harvard, Princeton, Brown, Wesleyan, and Vassar) and accepted at Georgetown, her "safety." But unlike me, she is accepted at Yale, probably because she is the creme de la creme of the Upper East Side, much better academically than I could ever hope to be (all her classes were AP) and she is a fictional character who I should not envy.
**I should probably be flattered that at least they're still considering me. They put it best when they said "We understand that you may greet this news with mixed feelings." No kidding.
***because I will take whatever chance I have to be accepted.
****The Dean of Admissions then goes on to say "I realize that this decision may come as a real disappointment." What an understatement. Empathy appreciated.
*****And that's the thing about college. While I may feel like I have friends, there is no one right now that I feel I can turn to, who would understand, not like Gemini or Sara. Or Du'loque, whose online presence is much appreciated.
******I just noticed your tag, 'just a girl don't take it too personally.' Was that pre-empting imminent rejection? Kidding. Thank you.
But Good God, what is with all the asterisks? It seems I cannot help myself! Your blog is manipulating me...
Naked NZ cop nabs would-be car thief(!)
How's that for a headline?
In the meantime, I'm waiting for US university application results to be released. I'm not sure exactly what time that will be, but I know it's today (or at least Monday 31st in the States.) I'm more than a little anxious and apprehensive about it, and therefore not in a huge rush to see the results; I'm breaking into a cold sweat just thinking about my chances (slim-none.)
Last night I had the strangest dream.* Or at least what I can remember. I don't know where exactly we were - it was my family and one of my aunts, and I think it was her farm (though it didn't look like it.) We were in an absolute bomb of a car, driving around the farm/landscape/wherever when a man comes up to us and tells that not only have I been accepted into Columbia but I've been granted a scholarship because of some art I'd done (I don't do art, at least not in the painting/sculpture sense, I'm just not that way inclined, talent-wise). The said art was a plate with fabric scraps stuck on one side and old food on the other, and was apparently a statement about the state of third world countries (and perhaps materialism.) I also remember there was a library...
Now I'm not one for reading into dreams much, mostly because they're kind of way out or I don't remember them. But being that this was the night before I'm going to kind out whether or not I have the chance (because I don't even know if I'll go, even if I get in somewhere) to study overseas, which is a huge dream of mine, I think it might be reflecting this subconscious desire, want, ambition to be accepted. The art/plate idea might have come from some artwork - also a plate - in the Arts Centre that I was admiring yesterday (it had "Jingle bells, Batman smells, Robin laid an egg..." or something similar painted on it) and the whole Third World country theme might stem from a poem I've been writing and workshopping in creative writing that I might publish here.
Or maybe I'm just reading too much into my dreams. I don't I think it's a sign or anything of whether I'm going to get in, it just indicates the extent to which I care. Eventually I'm going to have to suck it up and log onto the website/s to see whether I have been accepted or not, but for now, I might procrastinate majorly and watch Becoming Jane. James McAvoy would provide a great and very good-looking distraction.
I'm blogging like I actually have a chance of getting in. I highly doubt I do - we're talking about Ivy League universities here (except for Rochester, which is a "New Ivy," according to Newsweek), to which tens of thousands of people apply and I have a 10-11% chance of getting in - and all this stress will be for nothing, but I'm glad I went through and applied, because I tried, I didn't just let the dream pass me by and dismiss it a hopeless ideal, which it probably is, but it won't be for want of applying.
Phew. I really needed to get that off my chest.
x
Just a girl
*An unintentional quote from Break My Stride.
Later (4.38pm)
I have just finished watching Becoming Jane and had an epiphany of sorts. I'm postponing reading my results because I want to have that hope that I have a chance. Because if (when) I don't, there's no more hope after that. No more wistful dreams of fall falling in New Haven, or a white Christmas in New York, or a sunny Spring in Rochester.
Becoming Jane was sad and bittersweet love story. I cried at the end like the hopeless romantic that I am. There's a terrific line, though, when Jane (Anne Hathaway, as beautiful and wonderful as ever) kisses Tom (James McAvoy, as handsome as ever, swoon) and says (afterward) "Did I do that well?" which made me laugh, because that's something I would (will?) say.
Two quotes that made me laugh:
Mrs. Austen: That girl needs a husband. But who's good enough? Nobody. Thanks to you.
Rev Austen: Being so much the model of perfection.
Mrs. Austen: I've shared your bed for 32 years and perfection I have not encountered.
Rev Austen: Yet.
Mrs. Austen: JANE!
Lady Gresham: What is she doing?
Mr. Wisley: Writing.
Lady Gresham: Can anything be done about it?
And this, poetic:
Mr. Wisley: Sometimes affection is a shy flower that takes time to blossom.
I have decided to get it over and done it with. Soon.
x
Just a girl
In the meantime, I'm waiting for US university application results to be released. I'm not sure exactly what time that will be, but I know it's today (or at least Monday 31st in the States.) I'm more than a little anxious and apprehensive about it, and therefore not in a huge rush to see the results; I'm breaking into a cold sweat just thinking about my chances (slim-none.)
Last night I had the strangest dream.* Or at least what I can remember. I don't know where exactly we were - it was my family and one of my aunts, and I think it was her farm (though it didn't look like it.) We were in an absolute bomb of a car, driving around the farm/landscape/wherever when a man comes up to us and tells that not only have I been accepted into Columbia but I've been granted a scholarship because of some art I'd done (I don't do art, at least not in the painting/sculpture sense, I'm just not that way inclined, talent-wise). The said art was a plate with fabric scraps stuck on one side and old food on the other, and was apparently a statement about the state of third world countries (and perhaps materialism.) I also remember there was a library...
Now I'm not one for reading into dreams much, mostly because they're kind of way out or I don't remember them. But being that this was the night before I'm going to kind out whether or not I have the chance (because I don't even know if I'll go, even if I get in somewhere) to study overseas, which is a huge dream of mine, I think it might be reflecting this subconscious desire, want, ambition to be accepted. The art/plate idea might have come from some artwork - also a plate - in the Arts Centre that I was admiring yesterday (it had "Jingle bells, Batman smells, Robin laid an egg..." or something similar painted on it) and the whole Third World country theme might stem from a poem I've been writing and workshopping in creative writing that I might publish here.
Or maybe I'm just reading too much into my dreams. I don't I think it's a sign or anything of whether I'm going to get in, it just indicates the extent to which I care. Eventually I'm going to have to suck it up and log onto the website/s to see whether I have been accepted or not, but for now, I might procrastinate majorly and watch Becoming Jane. James McAvoy would provide a great and very good-looking distraction.
I'm blogging like I actually have a chance of getting in. I highly doubt I do - we're talking about Ivy League universities here (except for Rochester, which is a "New Ivy," according to Newsweek), to which tens of thousands of people apply and I have a 10-11% chance of getting in - and all this stress will be for nothing, but I'm glad I went through and applied, because I tried, I didn't just let the dream pass me by and dismiss it a hopeless ideal, which it probably is, but it won't be for want of applying.
Phew. I really needed to get that off my chest.
x
Just a girl
*An unintentional quote from Break My Stride.
Later (4.38pm)
I have just finished watching Becoming Jane and had an epiphany of sorts. I'm postponing reading my results because I want to have that hope that I have a chance. Because if (when) I don't, there's no more hope after that. No more wistful dreams of fall falling in New Haven, or a white Christmas in New York, or a sunny Spring in Rochester.
Becoming Jane was sad and bittersweet love story. I cried at the end like the hopeless romantic that I am. There's a terrific line, though, when Jane (Anne Hathaway, as beautiful and wonderful as ever) kisses Tom (James McAvoy, as handsome as ever, swoon) and says (afterward) "Did I do that well?" which made me laugh, because that's something I would (will?) say.
Two quotes that made me laugh:
Mrs. Austen: That girl needs a husband. But who's good enough? Nobody. Thanks to you.
Rev Austen: Being so much the model of perfection.
Mrs. Austen: I've shared your bed for 32 years and perfection I have not encountered.
Rev Austen: Yet.
Mrs. Austen: JANE!
Lady Gresham: What is she doing?
Mr. Wisley: Writing.
Lady Gresham: Can anything be done about it?
And this, poetic:
Mr. Wisley: Sometimes affection is a shy flower that takes time to blossom.
I have decided to get it over and done it with. Soon.
x
Just a girl
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