Saturday 29 October 2011

Two sides of the same coin

Is it possible that all of us have multiple personalities, lots of different parts to us that make up our whole self? Or is it just that we all have the potential to behave in many different ways, the freedom of choosing from options, these options being the way we want to handle a situation or respond to a person? Somebody please tell me how it is that one person can be completely different to their usual self at different points in time. Right now I am wondering if I can blame mood swings or an undiagnosed bipolar condition for my sister's strange behaviour. I simply don't understand it, is she just at a stage that every person goes through, where they are against everyone and simply opt for the opposing argument to you because it’s fun to see you get annoyed, does everyone go through a stage like that? Or is she just incredibly immature and has yet to learn the rules of social interaction or the skills of tact? Hopefully it is just a temporary thing. I don't want to have my feelings hurt or be rudely spoken to as often as I am now, for the reason that she is out to hurt people and does not understand the extent of damage her comments can cause. She has even reduced me to tears at times, even over a small matter, taking it too far and pushing people over the edge, uncaring.

Today I wrote this post after walking back home subsequent to an incident with my sister, realising that I felt the need to release my frustration regarding her immaturity. I do not want the person reading this to take sides or get the idea that I hate my sister and am too sensitive of others opinions. It's not like that. It is just that I am sick of her constantly reminding the family of our flaws, as though they are a nuisance to her and need to be rid of immediately to benefit her own needs. So here's what happened: the two of us had finished watching a Shrek video during lunch, when we played with the possibility of going to the park up the road, to breathe some fresh air and take some artistic-looking photos with the lush greenery of plants in the background. We’d done this same activity on other lazy weekend afternoons countless times before. The two of us were armed with both my borderline-broken camera and her phone, anticipating absence from the house for an hour or two. We left the house and paced up the road in the direction of the park, casually engaging in conversation of how we would spend the rest of the long weekend. However on arrival to our designated spot, we found the swing set occupied. Making the decision to come back to the playground later when the swings were free, we changed course and made our way to the tree we take photographic pictures in, as we do if the swings are not an option.
On the way to the tree, my sister murmured something about strings or swings to me, yet I didn’t hear her complete sentence. When I asked her to please repeat herself because I didn’t quite catch watch she had said, she heaved a heavy sigh and rolled her eyes at me, mentioning, “Never mind, it’s not my problem you are deaf and can’t hear me”. I wasn’t too taken aback or surprised by her response, which she so commonly points out if anybody fails to hear her. Attempting to move on from this tension in the conversation, I told her in what I thought was a mature move, that I am sorry if I didn’t hear you the first time, but there is no need to treat me so rudely. She just spat back in my face that I couldn’t handle any negativity thrown my way by people and that I was a big baby. If this was how she was going to be during our time at the park, I might as well go back home, I thought, and so I did, turning in the opposite direction to the tree and back in the direction we came. Not surprisingly, she followed close behind me and continued her repeated outbursts along the lines of “Stop being a princess, just because you aren’t getting your own way.” I did not respond, choosing to ignore her comments and hopefully she would leave me alone. No such luck. When we reached home, surprising my parents with such a soon return, she complained to them of my how I was being uncooperative and chucked the sads, whilst failing to recount the part she had played in causing the whole thing.  For most of the afternoon she did not speak to me, rather nagged my mum about when she would be allowed to cook, impatience obviously sounding through her whinging.

What I can’t comprehend is how she can be so cruel to her own family members, and blame everybody else for everything when she is the usual culprit who blows things out of proportion. It seems so silly to think that we had a fight over mishearing someone, but I would like to think that I handled the situation in an appropriate manner by putting out the source of the problem. She’s been known on one occasion to drive my mum to swear and yell at her, whilst her own expression remains free of compassion or sympathy. She will spend hours on the computer after school, and sometimes skips Friday night movies with the family to do her own thing instead. But one of the things that confuses me most is how come other moments we gossip together about people at school, reminisce memories of primary school and share sisterly info with one another before bed? We trust each other enough to share secrets, yet we still continue to treat the other person horribly, it baffles me. Do all sisters have a relationship like ours? Is it just that because we are so close and I spend so much time with her that I notice her flaws, and other families have this exact same problem? Are we supposed to have fights, so we can strengthen our relationship as sisters?
This never used to happen when we were both younger. Perhaps it is because our adult personalities are coming into existence now, leaving behind the kind-hearted sweetness that went with childhood, meaning that there are more chances for our adult personalities to clash now? It seems this is a matter that only maturity, brought about in time, can fix.

Friday 21 October 2011

Missed opportunities

HER:
She glances up from her sketchbook. She senses the presence of someone entering the library. Her eyes widen. Her breathing stops. Wow. Simply gorgeous, she thinks. Never before has she laid eyes on a guy so perfect. Look at the way he's got his hands in his pockets. So slick and sophisticated. He breathes charm. She pictures him to be a thoughtful, easy-to-talk-to kind of guy. Definitely plays guitar and has a passion for music, judging by his headphones. His eyes are neither blue nor green, but rather a rare olive sort of shade. She wonders if he is in a band. How does he spend his weekends? What is he passionate about? What is he thinking right at this moment? She suddenly becomes aware of how she might look right now - mouth open, eyes wide with interest. She tries to bring her attention away from him when she notices his gaze flickering to her as he takes a seat at a table two down from her. Embarrassed, her cheeks fill with red colouring. She looks away and pulls her eyes back to her sketch. His phone sounds, probably a text from his hot girlfriend. She now realises what he must be thinking of at this moment. His girl. Does he love her? What does he like most about her? Is it the way she includes everybody? The way she laughs? Stop it! Just ignore him. Don't think about him and his beautiful girlfriend. She feels the blood rush to her head. Her brow furrows with disappointment. She tries not to breathe to heavily as she casts another glance at him, absorbed in his world of music. Her hands begins to move with her pastels on paper without her control. Her drawing takes the shape of his handsome face. She feels stupid and childish that she has wasted paper on drawing him, when she's never going to see him again. She ponders what his name is. Putting down her art tools, she takes another look at him. Standing up. And moving towards her table! She frantically searches for something to cover her sketch of him. Act natural. Stay calm. He's just going to grab a book from the shelf behind you. Hope wells up inside of her when he doesn't reach for a book, but rather looks right AT HER, a magical grin spreading across his face. Her world is alight as happiness warms her inside. Be realistic, she tells herself. He probably just wants to borrow a pencil. She decides to return an equally large grin. But the ringing echo of his mobile startles her, knocking her out of the romantic moment. His smile fades, replaced by an apologetic grin. He steps outside to take the call. His phone is obviously his first priority, right? Boys and their toys, isn't that what they say? It seems like nothing else matters. She feels naive for being drawn into a false fantasy. Who was she kidding? There would be no magical moment. Feeling angry and frustrated with herself she wonders how she could have thought that a guy like that would go for a girl like her. Guys prefer the bubbly, confident girls who wear their dresses short and flesh-exposing. With tears stinging her eyes all because of a guy, she feels positively pathetic. She doesn't want to spend another moment in there, unloved and alone. All guys are jerks. The tears flow down her face and onto her paper, smudging the sketch. She scrambles to collect her drawing supplies and stuffs them in her bag, not bothering to push her chair in. She makes a dash for the door, for the comfort of home. She's gone.

HIM:
He thinks that spending two whole hours in library after school is not his idea of fun. He enters the library, which is practically empty, apart from a girl sitting at a far table. Bloody Hell. She's freakin' amazing. Beautiful. Probably has guys reminding her of that all the time. But this doesn't seem like the flirty, up-herself kind, like most of the pretty girls usually are. He decides that she is better than them, special. She'd have to be pretty smart to be seen in a library after school. Looks to be drawing - must be a creative type. A modest, artistic beauty. Long brown hair worn up with some kind of fabric, not sure what style girls call that. Really light blue eyes. Skinny, petite build. Can't see her boobs over the table. A smattering of cute freckles. She's looking up from her sketchbook. Dude, she's caught you checking her out. She thinks your a sleaze now, he tells himself. Way to go. Just sit down. Not too close, or she'll think you're trying to make a move on her. Stop looking at her. Focus on something else. Better change songs. Cool guys don't listen to All American Rejects. Phone beeps. Another text from Dave. He ignores it, resuming his thoughts about her. You should go talk to her. Wait. Bad idea. She doesn't care about what you have to say. You'll never see her again. She's not like other girls though, she's an individual. he likes her, wondering what she listens to. Thinks that it would be a way cool indie band. What's her name? He imagines her to smell like an exotic...don't think things like that! Without his consent, his hand prints out the digits of his phone number on a slip of paper. Slow down, mate. What are you doing? You've never asked out a girl before. He wouldn't be cool enough to be liked by her anyway. He stands up. At that moment she peers up from her sketch, right AT HIM. Woah, legs becoming jelly in form. Chill, seriously. Don't overthink this. Just go up and say high. Introduce yourself. Ask her about her interest in indie bands. Maybe just casually drop your number on her table. What is she doesn't see it, though? Whatever. He walks over. Her hands move to cover the sketch she's working on. She obviously doesn't want to talk to you. Heart hammering in a pounding beat. He smiles. She smiles back. Phwoar. His phone starts ringing. No! Her expression tightens. The ringing becomes louder, reverbaerating through the library. He feels the eyes of the librarian on him. Glaring. Oh, shit. Not wanting to be yelled at in front of the girl or for her to see his daggy old phone, he tries to act mature. He gives her what he hopes is an apolegetic face and leaves to take the call. It's Dave. Calling to confirm training times tonight. Then the line goes dead, Dave has hung up. Stupid Dave. Typical. Any chance he had to woo a hot girl has evaporated. He renters the library, hoping to continue in his attempt to ask her out. That's difficult to do when she is no longer there. He hangs his head in disappointment. One of her pastels lies on the table where she was sitting, left behind. Way to ruin a day. He picks up the pastel, closing his hand around it on the spot she was touching it just moments ago. She's gone, and with her a missed oppurtunity.

Friday 14 October 2011

Identity Poem

I am in a world of my own
I am reliving a better time
I am lost for words very often
I am struggling to crack a sudoku puzzle
I am dreaming about the six week holidays
I am listening to a Florence & the Machine song
I am painting my nails the colours of the rainbow
I am munching on yoghurt, cranberries & oats, mixed in a bowl
I am admiring the fashions in the magazine I am flipping through
I am creating an artistic masterpiece from fabric, paint & creativity
I am shopping for a pair of brogue shoes and a vintage-style shirt to match
I am looking for my glasses, which is difficult when you can't see anything
I am the kind of person who gets her back caught on things and bumps into doors
I am falling asleep in maths class, and listening attentively in philosophy lessons
I am singing to an Adele song while my sister plays the keyboard
I am confused by what people mean when they say certain things
I am the creative, thinking sister, she is the pretty, talented one
I am wishing poeple weren't so focused on trivial details
I am lying awake at night, sleep prohibited by thoughts
I am sleeping in, even though I have to get up
I am not interested in tiny towers of facebook
I am unsure of what to wear for tonight's outing
I am tying a bow in my hair to match my earrings
I am deciding whether I should cut my hair or not
I am doing contemporary dancing in my living room
I am breathing in the scent of Mariah Carey perfume
I am whiling away the afternoon reading on the couch
I am a hockey player, but don't practise nearly enough
I am in awe of those who aren't afraid of being themselves
I am making a collage from my collection of artistic images
I am one of the nerds in my class, but people respect me for it
I am going to be a journalist or sociologist when I leave school
I am laughing at something silly Shanelle unintentionally said
I am discussing a Horrible Histories episode with Amira
I am agreeing with Emma that Tom Felton is gorgeous
I am quoting a line from Harry Potter with Shantelle
I am sharing an amusing story with Tayisa & Ellen
I am capturing a moment in Photography
I am applying mascara to my eyelashes
I am updating my blog & writing a list
I am keeping four notebooks at once
I am finding myself short of time
I am always open to new ideas
I am the thoughtful one.

Easier said than done

    There was a moment about two weeks ago; it was the beginning of the two week break from a tiresome and hectic term three. So there I was, perched in a sunny spot in the middle of my backyard, - frantically scribbling my thoughts onto a blank page in my notebook so i wouldn't forget them, applying liberal amounts of sunscreen to my burning neck, and listening to the suction sounds of my neighbours' garden hose, - when I was struck by an idea. In the middle of transferring the opinions that existed in my head onto paper, I came up with the idea to start a blog. Why not? i thought, it wouldn't do much good for my rapidly worsening eyesight but it could be a much more purposeful manner of expressing my thoughts neatly, and in such a way that they would be heard. I remembered back to a blog one of my friends created, which was an insightful message of what she really thought. If she could make the time to write, I figured so could I. I pondered what I would write about, what words I would use to fill the web space dedicated to my opinions. i could make lists, discuss the numerous topics which so often occupied the cavities of my terribly crammed mind, and publish all of my past ideas currently belonging in notepads. A blog would encourage me to write and provide an opportunity to enhance my writing skills and speak of what really matters to me.



A useful tool to reference on a resume, I decided I would write weekly on Friday afternoons or Saturday mornings, which are currently scheduled for extreme bouts of laziness and endless Polyvore sessions. I kept putting “Start up a blog" on my to do list, but school-holiday homework and social gatherings took first priority, or were rather activities that I couldn’t avoid. Anyway, you know how things get, you promise yourself that you will start a fitness regime today or finally fill in those forms for work experience, but your focus shifts to something else entirely and procrastination takes its toll yet again. But how can one prevent themselves from falling into that trap of “I’ll just do it tomorrow”? From years of experimentation as to what is the best way to handle those tasks that need to be done, I have discovered that the most effective way to do what you need to do is just to go ahead and do it. Trust me, the next time you have to make a dreaded phone call, or the due date of a school assignment creeps up, just go for it. Set your alarm really early, make a list of what you have to complete and tick them off as you go. The feeling of achievement is truly sensational when you eventually get around to doing whatever it is that needs to be done, as I have learned from starting this blog, after weeks of delaying it and lack of motivation. Anyone reading this will probably criticise me for making it sound easy to handle the many things on your to do list, when realistically, talking about something and actually doing it are two different things. I guess it is true what they say, that everything is easier said than done.