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writer's block


i am a

a slip of the

i am so
so small but
oh don't
delete me

i am
here and i
am alive

i need to
grow so please
write me a
sentence so i
have someplace to
fall into

Money and Jane Austen (not a dissertion)

K, this is really weird.

So I come home from, like, 4 hours of biking, I come home, and I hear this really screechy, and, I got to say, annoying voice coming from the living room. Automatically, I know it's my parent's friend L (shall we say) who has come to visit. So, Background: from what I knew of her, I concluded that I didn't like her because her Christmas parties involve parents parading their children's musical talents to each other (her own, none the least), and as I said before, she's kind of irritating. It's not that I figured her for a bad person, I just suspected she was guilty of the usual Old-School Asian crimes of forcing children to develope musical skills their kids have no interest/aptitude in and possibly the occaisional rude turning-away of little girls selling charity chocolate. Nothing big, but we had nothing in common (and her kid used to be a klepto).

But today, she gives me a hundred dollars for India. So what am I to say to that? I actually didn't say anything, as I was shocked and thus naturally reverted to my polygraph-busting poker face. I thought it was the appropriate thing to do as a --

Actually, nevermind. I'm just going to buy some expensive paper and write a thank-you note. Isn't that weird how my thoughts can clarify mid-entry now?

P.S. I'm too lazy to explain Jane Austen, but at least you got the first half *yawn*. Good night.

Some poetry

So I was at the shelter on Saturday, and in between the dinner periods I was staring at the machinery.


It is difficult to watch
the terminal end
of an industrial dishwasher.

A load of polished plates
are pushing gently,
through the blue flaps;

They poke out briefly
and just as gently
are pulled back.

I watch many attempts
before I turn my head away.


Later on that day, I was lying in bed.


Pamela is sleepy
Pamela goes to sleep

Pamela is sleepy
Sleep goes to Pamela


What a fertile day for the creative process that day was. Too bad every day after that was involved in parties and scavenger hunts. But I did have fun.

(Will elaborate later)

P.S. Check out my new art snob icon.
You know, I've got some free time, and I've just realized that I never talk about any social issues. The fact is, I do in fact feel strongly about social issues. To demonstrate:

While I was taking Chem, there was a girl named Diane who sat beside me. She's one of those like really sincere Christians, but unfortunately she couldn't handle Chem alone, so I tutored her. After we met on the bus the second day and found out we both wanted to go into health and work in foreign aid someday, we met everyday on the bus and talked about all sorts of things. Fast friends, in other words.

One day, four of us, Diane, abdi_holla, Judith, and I decided to get together before Midterms so we could study. Before we met up with Judith, the three of us hung out at Harvey's for a while and talked until we almost lost track of the time. Anyway, one of the things we talked about was gay marriage.

It was brought up completely innocently, I think it started with a small debate on separation of church and state. She was all for it, and personally I think if people want to pray in class, they're welcome to it as long as they don't make me follow. Then she said something about how she thinks a merging of church and state is best because then they're less likely to pass things like legal gay marriage, which she is personally against. This is when it started.

I didn't show it, but for some reason I began to feel an inexpressible...anger. Mixed of course, with shock and confusion. Why such strong feelings? I dunno. I've known, what, ONE gay person my entire life (and when I knew him, he wasn't even gay, so there). I thought about my anger for a bit at the scene so I wouldn't do anything stupid, and I realized a few things. One thing was that this was the first (what Simon affectionately refers to as) "Fundie" I've met in my entire life. The kind of person who takes the Bible as moral and legal absolute truth, the kind of person who doesn't believe in evolution because they have no idea what it is and they vaguely associate it with monkeys. This person suddenly became the incarnation of everything that I hated in a theoretical way my entire teenage life. Luckily, I held my head in place and remembered that she was my friend, and essentially a nice person.

But still, why gay rights? Why not something that actually might concern me, like abortion? I think, to look back on it, it is because abortion, no matter how you spin it is still taking away a form of life, so it is questionable and I can understand why there is controversy. Gay marriage on the other hand, doesn't seem to harm anyone in an obvious way. It doesn't really revoke any existing rights of straight people, and it seems all in all harmless.

Bible-fearing people (and note I don't say God-fearing because there is a definite difference in today's society) are naturally against it because of verses that say stuff against a man lying with another man as he would a woman. Also, there's all the arguments about marriage being a bond solely between Man and Woman. They extend their arguments to include such notions as the idea that children raised in gay homes will face possible sexual confusion (this comes from the fact that married couples get precedence in adoption requests).

First, a word about gays in general. Let's assume for the sake of argument that there IS a God, he doesn't like gays, and he meant it about marriage. I say, what right do you have as a human being to condemn those who have sinned but who have not harmed you in any way? What is it, "judge not lest ye be judged"? When those gay "sinners" have died, they can take it up with the singularly uncompromising God. You may not approve of them, you can even go as far as to try to talk them out of it once in a while, but never deny them rights as human beings.

Marriage, similarly, is in the above presupposed God's domain. It isn't YOURS, and you can lock them out of churches, but they have to at least have state marriages. This isn't about principles. This is about tax breaks and adoption preferences for married couples. It's very practical. As for the sanctity of marriage, ok, it's not sanctimonious if you follow the Bible letter by letter, but it's reasonable.

I find that when naysayers of gay marriage get cornered by their militant liberal friends, they usually use the defence of not enough research to prove that children brought up in gay unions end up as well off (in the holistic sense) as their straight-raised peers. But does it matter? Now I admit that I'm ignorant as to the state of our adoption agencies here in North America. If there are huge waiting lists, you need research before you can determine whether or not to give straight couples preference, but with organizations that have waiting lists of orphans, it's not like they can be choosy.

Anyway, I've talked enough. The point of all this, underneath all the fluff, is that I almost blew my head at a friend over an issue that could ever have only a small relevance to my life, as far as I know. I explained myself and my views and I think I nearly half-convinced her. I also explained the mechanisms of evolution and again, nearly half-convinced her, but I don't care because creationists don't threaten anything. I was angry at her because even after discussion she came off as the kind of person who would unwittingly sacrifice the wellbeing of others for some bloated idea. It's like she didn't even wonder what would happen to all the gays. Where would they go.

The perfect disguise

For all you half-embarrassed journal-keepers out there, I just had an idea. There's a way you can write the most excruciating secrets of your life and even if someone finds it, they'll never have anything on you. All you have to do is take a book that's heavy on whatever it is you're trying to express and quote from it profusely. Then, when you want to write something, just copy the writing style, and as long as you mention no names, yours should be virtually indistinguishable. Meanwhile, your peekers have to contend with entries like, "She conducted her affairs with ironic good cheer, like the second banana in a thirties comedy. Like a survivor of war, who still wears heals and lipstick to walk among the wreckage." What could they possibly make of it?

Meanwhile, I need another icon, and I need ideas, but none are forthcoming. I know no one's going to give me any, so I'll just sit here and moan by myself. Just don't be surprised if you see some botched efforts on your friends pages. So far I've come up with a perfect white square with the words, "Question: Where is the imperfection?" on top. If you come up with the answer, I'll photoshop something for you.
I'm back from the Maritimes and I'm really pissed because I was too picky/not insistent enough to get to see any fiddling (in Cape Breton? Hello?!) and rather than unloading on you unsuspecting readers, I'm going to compress my rant into a 7-letter digest using my new patented algorithm. K, here goes:



Efficient, huh?

But the Maritimes were not so bad. I spent most of my time staring at trees. Dead trees, green trees, moving trees, still trees, deciduous trees, coniferous trees..., which emptied my mind enough to think up some weird stuff.

I wrote two choruses for a exceptionally cheesy, sappy pop song to impress my brother because its people like him who are responsible for our deplorable music culture. I'd write the music, but see, I suck at music so I can only play chords in my head, but I have no idea how to translate the song into music. But anyway, the melody is irrelevant because it's your standard pop stuff, but check out these sick (def, phat, stoopid) lyrics:

(In the style of The Backstreet Boys)

You don't know the pain inside
You don't know what's behind these eyes
So many sorrows over so many days
But I got to pull through and find my own way

Chorus 2:

You don't know these tears I hide
You don't feel my thoughts at night
But I got to hold on no matter what I do
Cuz I got to be strong so you can be too

So, yeah, that's it. I swear to God, you should have seen my brother's face when I sang it to him. These two giant dollar signs (AMERICAN dollar signs) apparated above his head and started blinking in the manner of annoying internet spam. He's totally convinced that if I could write verses and a melodramatic piano intro, I could sell it and make him a millionaire. And so, seizing my one and final chance to be the "cool" sister, I will finish this song and post it to my eternal shame and regret.

Speaking of songs, here's a song I'm SOOO in love with:

Read more...Collapse )

My second idea has to do with a crazy form of peaceful protest with regards to sweatshops and child labour, but I'll write more later when I feel more militant.

Anyway, good to see you guys again. I'm gonna do a lot of work on livejournal over the next three weeks (when I leave), so when I tell you to look at my new layout, look at my new layout. It will be SWEET (hopefully).


I had a dream last night about one of my friends with whom I had a lengthy, if one-sided thing for for a while. I'm not going to say the name because it's strange and embarrasing enough just to hear the skeleton version. I dreamt that after not seeing each other for a while, we met again and though I didn't obsess over it, he said feelings for me. We were walking around (it was late fall), but he said he wanted to meet up with his parents, and we ended up finding his mom lined up at a homeless shelter (but not his dad?). His mom greeted merather cheerily, and she was wearing, oddly enough, a fur coat (a PETA initiative?). The next thing I remember I was confronting Michel about it, and he was really mad, but I just couldn't leave it alone. Later on in the dream, I'm confronting someone who appears to be my boyfriend again, but this time it's a middle-aged man. I don't remember how I responded to my friend.

The thing about this dream is that there was no sex, no kissing; in fact, I don't even remember touching at all. I distinctly remember, however, waking up, showering, getting on the bus and going about with my routine all with this dreamy tightness in my chest like I was in love again, and it didn't go away for several hours.


*Pop* opening up a champagne bottle for my unprecendentedly steady string of updates. In world news today, my brother, age 13, is on his fourth girlfriend. She apparently has very small wrists and enjoys jewelry and the colour pink.

I have picked up a select few Bengali phrases from Sharmin, and in about a week, I shall no longer go by Pamela but by my new Bengali name, whatever it will happen to be. I suggested taking on the name of Sharmin, as it was available and convenient.

"Amar nam Sharmin. Kamon achen?"

I like a lot.
Well, I pulled myself together in time to schedule Bengali lessons with the world's #1 Bengali (she kept gushing about how happy it was going to make her parents o_O). I also scheduled a meeting with Jakub to steal back my Macromedia software. I'm also going to use the fact that I'm feeding Adam's cats as leverage for the acquisition of (yet another) copy of Photoshop. I hate when my computer crashes.

I haven't written much in the last few days. I think it lacks a certain richness in detail. I think I need to sit back and reimagine things, like drawing floor plans and such. I keep feeling like I ought to rewrite everything, but if I did that, my rough draft would resemble an indecipherable fibonacci sequence by the time I finished.

One more thing worth noting. A girl, or more correctly, a woman in my Chemistry class (I could tell right away she was an Environmental Studies student. If you ask me how, you could pull apart my "analysis" in a second) told me she has a Masters in Ecology but she wanted to go into Health. When I asked her why, she said, (not quite verbatim) "I guess if you asked me what was more important to me, I'd say preserving the environment, but taking care of humans seems to give me more satisfaction. I guess the best thing to do is to pursue a career in Health and care for the environment in my own time."

I quote it because I guess it encapsulates how I feel towards the subject. The difference is of course that I'm more interested in things like microbiological bioremediation/fuel cells than politics, which is definately one of the more important issues of the environment (clean fuel, cleaning uranium, etc), but it's so indirect. Science is often a thing where some guy comes up with something and then hope that people who've never even read his reports will "make the right decision". I think when I (finally) go to university, I'll study Microbiology and make my final, final decision in second year.

Nothing like procrastination.


In class the other day, I overheard the person behind me say that she moved to Ottawa from Vancouver because her husband got a job placement or something. I made a friend who is taking high school Chem for a nursing prerequisite, but she's a third year English major. Why is this significant to me? When I was one my way to school the first day, I decided that if anyone asked, I'd just say I was in grade 11 heading into gr. 12 just like, as I imagined, everyone else in the class. I was THAT ashamed of my academic past. And trust me, it's well worth being ashamed about. But a third of my class is older than me.

I don't really regret having dropped Chem halfway because my teacher was a walking perforated bottle of ether, but I really do regret all the course decisions that led me to it.

School, for reasons that are probably too ingrained to be fathomed, sometimes feels like a conspiracy to make me feel stupid. It's like, when I get a 96, I feel no different then when I get a 69. Well, I suppose if I get 69 I get a sinking feeling from the immediate realization of how much trouble I'm in (not that it matters because my parents don't even bother to ask for my report card anymore).

Humans, wrote an obscure writer whose name I can't remember, are like circus horses who need to be taught that everytime they perform a trick, they will be rewarded with a lump of sugar. Adam's lump of sugar is usually in the form of a general smugness. Only in very rare situations do I feel academic smugness. If someone could arrange it so that I got an orgasm everytime I got an A+, hell I'd probably have graduated high school at 14.

I'm not a shit-nosed little perfectionist. But this doesn't mean that shit-nosed perfectionists should not be pitied when they very unwisely complain that they lost a whole 3%. They are probably very unhappy people, or at least where school is concerned.

So I might as well say it. Right now I have a 98 or so in Chem and I feel miserable. It's like I feel if I did not do something spectacular I did nothing at all. It's like the little accomplishments are not GOOD enough for me (because ANYONE can do it). I thought maybe that if I really invested into school, my performance would improve. It certainly has, in a way, but the better I get, the more same everything feels. I find it disturbing that at this point in my life, my perception of my performance is still influenced by the performance of others. A 98 is not a 98 unless nobody else got one. I used to think that by now I would have overcome that feeling either through an immense feat of emotional maturity or an immense feat of academic brilliance.

What I want to work on is remaining motivated even when I'm not running on the high of an initial high mark. It found it really suspicious that Chemistry this time around is incredibly easy. It's not just summer school, I swear its also psychology. For this course, no matter what my mentality is, I want to do hours of review for each test, and I want to overview each lesson before I take it. In India, I'm going to teach myself university Calculus and when I get back, Physics. This is of course unprecedented for me.

That doesn't mean I'm going to like it.


f . a . r . a . w . a . y

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