the cornerstone .

since i was young, i’ve always loved to write. there’s some inexplicable enjoyment in being able to express oneself with words, even if you’re the only one that reads it, over and over again.

i’ve always had so many ideas (mostly copied, i admit), and i wish that i could turn them into a story of my own.

so whenever i was sad, i’d write. whenever i was angry, annoyed, distraught. whenever i felt something. and i came to realise that writing with these emotions made a piece or a story worthwhile.

during my younger years i wrote short stories about little asian girls that hated their parents because they were controlling and never happy.

heroin .

something i’ve always known about myself is that i like sad things. not in the way that i’m sadistic and enjoy inflicting pain upon others. rather in the way that i have a strange attraction towards novels, sad films, sad poetry and other sad immaterial things.

at many times of my life i have found myself reading a sad novel, crying my eyes out and then hugging it to sleep. devastated by its completion, i will then turn around and read it again, a million times over.

and i fall in love with its pain all over again. i fall in love with the characters as i live vicariously through them and hurt as they do, enjoying every moment. that is the kind of crazy person i am.

armageddon .

in sydney today, between 4 and 5 am, the sky was red. not the soft, pale orangy-red of dawn, and not the crimson red of blood. just the kind of red that made the sky look like a five year old child had shaded it with coloured pencil.

as you can imagine, people freaked.

although the redness eventually faded to an ugly orangy-yellow as the sun rose, there were ongoing whispers about how the world was about to end. i imagine if we lived in a world without technology, the christians would have stood up on their soap boxes and told us it was our fault because we have sinned, and even jesus could’t help us now.

individual… really ?

if you put twenty people in the same room sat them in a circle, and then gave them all a pen, a piece of paper and an apple to describe, something miraculous will happen. these twenty people will all find their own separate ways, with completely different wording and phrases, to say things about the apple.

even if you gave them the same apple and rotated it so that they could see the dents on the other side, the sentences they construct would still be worded differently.

isn’t it amazing that every human brain is so unique? i mean, how many ways can you describe a fucking apple? if you asked me to re-word my answer twenty times i’d need to use the thesaurus.

irrational .

it’s almost a cliche; the fight between two people where one person says something rash that they didn’t mean. it happens to everyone, in real life and in hollywood world. and in both worlds the solution to the problem is when that person apologizes and they kiss and make up.

contrary to both the real and the imaginary people in these situations, i find that i never regret the things i say when i am angry. to be honest, even in retrospect, all the things i have accidentally screamed out when i was borderline murderous were completely true and never something i would take back just because i wanted us to be one happy family all over again.

which leads me to believe that the whole perception of the situation is false.

sole mates .

i’ve loved many different things throughout my life. there were always obsessions, things that i clung to and then got bored of; hello kitty, bucket hats, d.i.y. jewellery, various people. i always move on. there has only ever been one consistent love in my life.

shoes.

i’ve realised that it fits all the requirements. love is blind, relentless, sometimes painful and always passionate. very much like my pull towards shoes. i just can’t stop wanting them and can’t stop looking at them. it’s impossible to let them go.

the million dollar question .

i think i’ve been watching way too many american films that embody the american dream and the perfection of american families. in these stories the mommy and daddy are extremely in love, or at least were extremely in love, and so were their grandparents and probably also great grandparents. is this really true? if you know the answer, please tell me because i’d love to know.

the reason i ask this is that i see the people around me, and they’re not even close to being this way.

maybe it’s because we’re not american, and maybe it’s because love was never the issue for us, because i can safely say that ninety percent of the adults in my family didn’t marry for love.

immigration .

you kids that still live with your parents take it shit foregranted.

i realised this today as i lay in my bed pondering all the material possessions i could afford. which is, actually, not very much.

i remember the days when i wanted a laptop and i could afford to buy a laptop. i wanted a new phone and i could afford to buy a new phone. i didn’t have to worry about whether buying something worth a couple of grand would kill the rest of my rent and food money for a couple of months.

i was pondering the purchase of a new laptop when the realisation that if i did, i would be all but bereft of… well, everything.