Ugh I am not in the best state

Dehydrated as hell.

I have that thing where the damn devices of the roof of the tongue feels like it's cracking-raw, exposed and open. Running  tongue in the crevices sting.

I've been sitting on the damn car for three hours and there's another hour of this I haven't gotten up to move at all.

I was sleeping in appalling form for a good hour or so. My brother has those u-shaped pillows designed specifically for sleeping in the car and whilst I slouched in the car for at least an hour he kept the pillow in his lap.

Now my neck feels cramped and sore

He's unhelpful goddamn

Life at home update+school slam poetry

Well as my last post said, my relationship with my parents wasn't going too well and i really just took some time off to get some me-time. I still get a bit of a subconscious reminder to add "biological" when I refer to them, but I don't, simply because explaining why I do that to curious listeners is too time consuming.

It's calmed down a little I suppose. I'm more efficient around the house now. I'm punctual with my arrivals for dinner, waking up on time, exercising, cleaning up after myself.

Not for their sake, but rather for my own; developing habits which make me tardy on a daily basis are habits I'd hate to develop so I believe it best if I tried further consolidating my pre-existing good habits.

I also tried to open up to my second oldest sister because I wanted to get a closer relationship with her and that would require me letting some of defences down and making myself open and vulnerable at her mercy.

I tried talking to her about yet another argument I had with my family was she was out with her friends. I wasn't expecting advice or anything. I just wanted to open up, present the situation from my point of view.

She didn't really listen to me I guess; she heard, but she didn't really listen, and there is a difference between the two. Anyways beforehand she didn't seem too interested in hearing what I had to say.

Then when I actually got to talk to her, reaching out, hoping for comfort, hoping or be listened to and comprehended, not just listened to-(there's a difference between the two, y'know?) it was incredibly disappointing.

Yet when the moment came, and I just told her a little bit about the argument with my parents and I was about to explain how I always felt so misunderstood and disregarded, she simply said "well, that's kinda just your fault, isn't it?"

At that point, I just realised, that no matter how hard I would try, whilst me sister and I could go out and talk like old friends, given our mental development in recent years which has bought our mental ages closer than ever, the overall basis of our relationship was still weak.

The way she treated me growing up, how she'd always put me down to make herself feel better, intimidating me into silence, everything- what she did, most of its been lost to memory. The way she made me feel, anguish, upset, self-doubt- I won't forget that.

So after it happened, I penned a small performance poetry piece about it for my upcoming school slam poetry.

On the day of the actual performance that was yesterday, I was a little nervous because I realised two things.

The first was that I had developed an accent. The accent had arisen out of watching a large amount of American slam poetry; slam poetry is still overall a small underground thing in Australia. So when I spoke to perform, I had developed an incredibly poor American-Australian blend.

The second was, because I had left the poem to the last minute, the passion in my performance and the likelyhood of forgetting my lines had a relationship of direct variation.

Upon arriving I noticed there was a music stand so my second problem was gone.

My stupid accent was strong and to took me a few lines to attempt to turn it around.

I don't know... I think the underlying basis of my sister's poor treatment has always been... there in my brain. Yet I've never really considered it due to the fact I was simply too young to really comprehend or think about it when most of it happened, it just lead to a lot of pent up anger, frustration and indignation in my head.

So when I actually got to perform, I guess you could say, at least for me, it was really a performance fifteen years in the making as I just let out fifteen years of-excuse my unrefined language- shit.

All in all I think I just yelled for three minutes and about a quarter way through the play I felt tears beginning to well up. Toward halfway through the performance they were flowing freely down my cheeks and in my final few lines I had to take a momentary break for a breath.

However what I overall think matters is that it was really the first time I opened up about my sister and I in such detail and it feels really good to have really explored and thought about our relationship in such an interesting way.

Afterwards my friends told me I was incredibly brave to have opened up about it in such a way and apparently my performance was emotionally touching enough to make some people cry. I hope they cried because they felt my pain and not because my performance was bad. Fortunately it seems like it is because of the former.

Slam poetry itself seems interesting and I want to attend a few preformances to have a taste of it; I am considering dabbling in it a little bit.

It's been about a year and a half with my second lobe piercing

It's near unnoticeable-small and nondescript, usually dwarfed by the flashy gold and ziron earrings I wear my my first set of lobe piercings. Why, I only have a second lobe piercing on my right ear.

I've wanted second lobe piercings since 2010, but only got them early last year.

In the three years that I didn't have one, I remember feeling very distressed- not even jealous- just very distresed if I saw someone with double lobe piercings. I don't know why I felt distresed- wouldn't it make more sense if I just felt a pang of jealousy and want? Yet I felt none of them, but instead distress.

Now that I have it- sometimes I think it's made that much happier as a person. It's not a huge helper in my happiness, but sometimes I look at it, and I recall the struggle I went through to even get it secured- planning months in advance, sneaking out of school to get it treated (I developed a hypertrophic scar about three quarters of a year into it,) panic as my earring fell out and I fumbled, wincing as I fed a restainer one size too big into it. (I know, I did not treat the piercing like royalty during aftercare.)

Cheesy as hell, I know, but I look at it, acknowledge the difficulties I undertook to secure it, and think 'I finally have it. It's stablised. It's mine, and I love it.'

It's so easy to you know, just STOP things

Things drift in and out of your life. That's how life works. It keeps moving, even if you don't. Sometimes you don't have a say in the changes. Things like puberty and death and inevitable.

Some things, you do. Extracurricular activities and friendship are some things where you are given a choice to pursue them or not.

I am finding, as I progress through life- the temptation from the lack of effort it takes to stop something which could be considered an extracurricular. Just like that.

You see, most of us are all part of the rat race, a cog in the machine called capitalism which rules most modernised countries. You know what can happen when you're treated a bit like a machine with the same mundane, boring timetable day after day? You turn into a machine. You think like a machine. You operate on a day to day basis, even when you're not working, like a machine. Emotionless. Just get the work done. Then turn off until you're needed again.

I find that as one's mentality gets increasingly mechanised, it's very possible for one to simply stop things which they don't absolutely have to do (unlike jobs; otherwise how would they sustain themselves?)

For instance, once I quit my various sports for variety of reasons- injuries (leading to reluctant parents,) being deemed medically unfit and simply timetable clashes, I just stopped all forms of optional physical activity.

Of course now as I pay the price for not exercising regularly (decreased fitness and weight gain,) I declare exercise a necessary part of life. However, it doesn't just have to be exercise I refer to- could be anything out of one's regular work/school timetable- hobbies, friendships.

Sometimes I think people are so tired and under stimulated day after day, week after week, a nine to five job being so exhausting yet boring simultaneously. So when they come home, they simply drag their feet around as they eat dinner, and drag into work requirements, and drag themselves to bed, until they are awoken next morning.

This robot lifestyle can push hobbies and friendship away in favour of simply resting and doing nothing. Sometimes with hobbies and friendships, you must make an active effort to sustain them. Keep talking to each other. Keep coming back to the hobby. As I said before, the temptation of simply stopping something over time is a very big one which takes up less effort than maintaining it

Much like the robot analogy I used earlier, people can simply be so emotionless after all of this. A frame of a person, but empty inside, no enrichment to their life.

A way one could escape this hell hole of repetition and boredom would be to find your passion. Opposed to something you simply 'like,' you do not drop or stop doing whatever you're passionate about as easily as you would with something you simply 'like.'

Unfortunately that's easier said then done. Some people come across their passion early in life, and find a way to integrate it into their life, some making a living out of it. They are the lucky ones.

Some aren't so lucky, and never quite find their passion. They might find things they like- no don't get me wrong, you can still sustain something they enjoy outside of their work just well as they would their passion- but I simply believe passions are harder to drop. You can also wind down with have things you truly enjoy, but are perhaps not a hundred percent passionate about.

I suppose if you have a family, that would one's stimulus out of work. You have children/s you should love with your heart and soul, as well as (in most cases) a partner that you're sticking with for life. Being a parent is a 24/7 job for a good two decades or so and I'd imagine that'd be quite a big thing out of work.

Another measure against turning into a robot out of work is to find small joys everywhere.

Volunteer. Smile at and thank people. Stimulate yourself with a good, trusted circle of friends who you can have sincere, provocative discussions with, yet also pull lewd faces at each other across the street/classroom/office/whatever. Find beauty and joy in everything. Do whatever.

Once you find something you truly enjoy, or are passionate about, it's much harder to stop doing it. That's because you enjoy it for whatever reason you do, and you won't want to lose out that easily. You have a reason to uphold the friendship or hobby; something to fight for should your relations with this friendship out hobby comes under threat.

I don't think I've found my true passion yet, but I've been trying to stimulate my life outside school. I have started socialising with people from my local high school at the library. I meditate and I've picked up reading again. (Reading is unfortunately something else which I simply stopped in high school.) As it is spring, I have also been spending more time in my garden, removing weeds and checking all of my plants are budding, adding mulch where necessary.

I find that these enrichments make my daily life a lot more enjoyable, outside of my daily cycle of school and work.

Why do I always achieve perfect and cute eyeliner at midnight when I'm just going to take it off and sleep like whenever I draw it for school it's never this perfect

I bought my formal gown from a brand that sells for a few hundred dollars per gown, unworn with the tags still on for $25 I love thrift shopping

Why study for MATHS the conventional way when u can COUNT the NUMBER of ASSASSINS CREED TRAILERS u watch instead

This week in English classes

Our teacher held a number of class preparations for yearly exams using exam papers from previous years, under exam conditions.

My relationship with 'English' as a subject has varied throughout the years. In primary school, English was simply reading comprehension and writing easy things like expositions and narratives. Being an avid reader from a young age, English came naturally to me, and I excelled in it.

In high school, the focus in 'English' as a subject changes. In primary school, it was simple things like similes and comprehension in primary school, where my thirst for reading gave me an edge.

Throughout high school, the amount of books I read slowly decreased. I do not know why. I just... stopped, sometimes going months without reading a book.

This negatively impacted my life. Books, I find, make you a better writer as you are exposed to different author's styles of writing and telling a story. It also broadens your horizon, introducing you to new ideas. All these effects make you a well-learnt, a well-read, a well-educated person.

Anyways, due to my decreased book reading, I lost my natural flair for writing, struggling to write a good essay. Whilst I could write it correctly, following all the basic criteria, it did not come to me with the natural ease writing used to. 

My essays were-and still are- rather crude in comparison to those who truly excel in English. It is not well-written. Sure, it does follow textbook standards for essay writing, touching upon the points with quotes to reinforce my points and whatnot, but it lacks the sophistication and edge one recognises in an essay written by someone who truly understands the essay topic inside out.

I also did not get my mind enriched as much as I used to, due to my decline in book reading. I have not been exposed to many great ideas or scenarios unlike one who is well-read.

Anyways, the tests the teacher gave us- two were written responses to a few questions about a poem, and one was am essay response to a question about "Macbeth."

I surprised myself by doing well- my essay was actually kind of plumped out and nicely filled in, like one written by one who truly understood the text. The poems were within my aptitude.

We peer marked these tests, and my marker, Madison, volunteered to read my response out to the class. The teacher did not ask for volunteers, Madison took it upon herself to do so. As she did, I received a few looks of "woah" from my fellow classmates, and it made me happy. It had been a few years since anything like this has happened.

Given the overall positive response I had to the tests, maybe my English skills are salvageable.

Ubisoft getting descriptive and imaginative

"the Rich Man's property"

Capital letters for 'rich man' and all

Don't get too full of yourself

You'd be nothing if I hadn't made you into what you are today. You can leave me, but don't forget I can come back to haunt you.

I think bombs are the most underrated aspect of AC: Revelations

They're not necessary to the game. With the exception of missions where you must use bombs (because the game makes you) and the Piri Eris missions, I believe it is possible to beat the entire game without dropping a single bomb.

Whilst smoke bombs were part of your arsenal of weapons in both ACII and AC: brotherhood, revelations really built on the bomb concept.

There are three basic categories which the bombs fall into- diversionary, tactical and lethal.  And in each category, there are a variety of possibilities. From memory there are, in total, eleven different effects. 

For instance, there is an option of placing shrapnel inside a lethal bomb which obviously sends shrapnel tearing through the bodies of anyone unlucky enough to be within the range.

You can also use different casings for different effects. For instance, sticky pouches can thrown at a guard and will explode five seconds later. I can put anything inside the bomb- I can send shrapnel flying through their bodies, or envelope them in a dense cloud of smoke.

I like using these on patrolling guards, as the bomb gives me a valuable five second to run away before its effects take place. No matter where the guard/s go, they cannot escape the inevitable.

You can also use three different types of gunpowder- Indian, Arabic and British. Their range is small to big, respectively.

For diversionary bombs- such as cherry bombs which loudly ignite sulphur, I use British gunpowder to give me the loudest noise, ensuring more guards will leave post to investigate the noise.

For lethal bombs, I prefer using Indian or Arabic gunpowder. I do not want any civilian bystanders to also be killed. For instance, the datura bomb release a toxic fume, and the larger the fume, the higher the chance of a civilian passer-by inhaling the fume. And that is not how the assassin do.

Taking all this into account, there are one hundred and twenty types odd bombs I can make.

As I stated earlier in this post, they are not a necessary part of the game, and can make up a very small amount of your game play. It all really depends on your combat style.

I'll be honest, I did use them in melee combat, but not very often, as I managed to earn one of the best weapon (mercenary broadsword) early in the game. I also have a more general stealth approach- I avoid conflict. Getting into large fights where I kill multiple guards is not stealthy.

However, I still enjoyed using bombs on the occasions that I did. They gave me many different approaches to my objective. Due to the sheer amount of possibilities in the bombs I could craft (one hundred and twenty,) bombs could be used almost everywhere with different purposes.

Considering there wasn't much of an innovation in primary game play in Brotherhood(with the exception of the assassin recruits) the all out expansion on the bombs, and the different amount of ways you could use them was a breath of fresh air.

I am scared of being a boring adult

It is an unwritten custom amongst our school that the year twelves will have one muck-up assembly towards the end of term three.

In this assembly, they simply have fun- in the past, this has varied from beach balls being thrown around, school songs being sung at an unattainably fast and high pitch, Thriller dance mobs.

There is also an annual video, with teachers (principal and deputy included) lip-syncing, dancing(albeit not at a professional level), and generally messing around, to a song of the year twelve's choice. This year, it was Taylor Swift's Shake it off.

There are some teachers who the school has grown to love, and know will always appear in these annual videos.

Some looked a little stiff in the video, but they participated at the very least. There are also some teachers who I know will never go within one hundred metres metres of that stuff.

That got me thinking: would I do that? If I was an adult teacher? If students approached me, asking me to let my hair down and mess around to some annoying pop song, would I?

If you ask me now, at age fifteen, of course I would. But would I, in my late twenties or older, do that?

Of course I would like to say that future me would, because I like to think aspects of my personality that I like- such as my ability to let go and be a little shameless and somewhat daring (from time to time) will stay with me for life.

Especially because I, as a person, am not very good at bringing out the in my by myself- I need a person, an event, any triggers- to bring out this fun in me.

I realise, that as I grow up and learn how to adult, I will definitely face problems. There will be setbacks, dilemmas, painful realisations. Blood, sweat and tears.

I am frightened not by the prospects of these challenges, but the effects they may have on me. How my character will manage them, and how my character may be altered from these future challenges.

I know I may face an uphill battle. Some of my health problems are incurable. I have a fiery temper. I have an over-inflated ego, yet possess no talent to have anything worthy of appraisal. The ability to truly go out of my way for things provided they interest me, contrasting my tendency to completely discard something that I abhor. (I believe my business studies report is overdue by approximately one month, and I skipped a day off school to hide in the textiles room and finish my garment-seven harrowing hours.)

I have learnt over the course of my life that these aspects of my personality are neither positive not negative. They are a double edged sword, to be handled carefully.

Managed correctly, I know I will be on top of my game. Managed incorrectly- I dare not imagine. I have had particular aspects of my personality affect my life negatively in the past. (Which, had I properly managed it, could've had a positive effect.) The idea of all my traits turning on me is not a pleasant one.

They may change me into a cynical woman, jaded. They might strip me of my ability to let go and have a little fun from time to time. Good old, childish fun.

I do not know if I will have children. I lean towards the idea of not having them. But should I, I do not want an imposing, cynical parent- possibly future me- raising them. My temper could snap at them. My ego could push their achievements and what should be their moments of pride down. I want them- all children as a matter of fact- to grow up in a vibrant, supportive and loving household.

I've heard inspirational quotes about how you can be resilient and remain unaffected by change. Maya Angelou (may she rest in peace,) a strong woman I look up to, supposedly once said "You may not control all the events that happen to you, but you can decide not to be reduced by them."

I know that right now, I can stick to that phrase. I know that I am not emotionally strong, but I do know I am resilient, and I pride myself on that. I cannot easily say that future me will. I do not know her yet, yet everything I do will have a part in her formation, which is why I am trying to build a future me who I won't hate.

I just don't want to be a boring adult.

A haiku about insulin resistance

Craving some sweet food

Can't eat that. Besides, there's none.

Well, screw you hormones

"I'm your mum, so I care for you"

First off, you're NOT my mum. You are someone who does everything a mum does, except for parent well and provide support-other than financial, because real mothers provide support in more ways than just paying my tuition fees.

Real mums care about their daughter's emotional, physical and social well being, some things that you don't.

If you cared for me, I would've been in a much better place than I am right now. But I am not.

You did not care my physical health growing up, so now I must deal with the consequences as I was too naive to do so myself when I was younger.

I am not using this as an excuse for being overweight. I acknowledge that I am overweight. I try to lead a healthy lifestyle. I have lost approximately four to five kilograms, without your assistance in the past five months, and I am ever proud of that. I simply acknowledge that it was you who started it all, and now I must deal with the consequences.

Even now, you do not understand my polycystic ovarian syndrome- you do not understand why I must cut down my on carbohydrates. If you cared about me, you would've listened when I told you about my insulin resistance. You would've listened when the doctor told you about it.

"Exercise is important." Indeed it is, guardian. But watching my food intake is also important, because of my insulin resistance. You did not listen, or attempt to understand.

"I don't care about all that carbohydrate and calorie intake. All I care about is you exercise. Now go and eat your bread, rice and pasta."

Well... that's not caring for me then. That's called selective listening. Listen to the exercise component. Don't listen to the diet component.

It has been about a year since I was disowned as a daughter

I cannot remember the exact date, but I remember it was the holidays between term three and four. I got disowned as a daughter and as far as I'm concerned, that still stands.

I'm fine with it though; growing up, my mum and I weren't close and she didn't really express any feelings of love (or whatever that concept is) to me. So I do not really recognise any love in our relationship.

In the future, I might hold my head in my hands and sigh about how my mother WAS showing me love-I just didn't recognise it (a lot of people tell me this). I don't care. I am in the 'now.' Right now, I don't feel any love, so I will say there is none.

So getting disowned was not, and one year later, is not, a ground-breaking change. The woman I call my 'mother' (for the sheer purpose of convenience) is simply a woman who feeds me, clothes me and pays for my lifestyle, and that is about it. A guardian, if you will say. But not a mother.

I do not turn to her for personal advice. I do not confide in her as a daughter. I do not (never have) tell her I love her- how can I if it might be a lie?

For me, it wasn't much of an emotional change, to know the woman whose vagina I shot out of no longer considered me as one of her own.

As I made my own food and washed my own clothes and packed my own bags, I realised I didn't care.

I did not, and do not feel like anything changed between us when she told me I was not her daughter any more.

Today I found another piece of clothing which I can fit again due to my weight loss and increased fitness levels. I am very happy.

I once asked my mother if she was proud of me

I asked her this about a year ago. The conversation went like this:

---

Hannah: Mum, are you proud of me?

Mum: You haven't done anything good lately. Back in primary school, you were getting good grades, you were fit, everything was going well. I was proud of you.

Now? You're not doing any of those things anymore Hannah. You're not doing moderately well at everything. Look  how short and fat you are now. You have done nothing special at all. There is nothing to be proud of.

---

And I don't know if I should be more upset that my mother isn't proud of me, or because I find myself agreeing with her from time to time.

Today was a rather lousy day

I arrived at school early and was in the canteen for a little less than an hour. I volunteer, helping to make sandwiches which are later sold.

I immediately had my accelerated business exam after, from nine to eleven. Despite the lack of studying I underwent to prepare, I could attempt most questions. I have grown to dislike business studies and will be shortly dropping it; preferably in a few weeks. If not, by the end of the year.

There was some confusion afterwards amongst our class afterwards on whether we had exam leave or not; our teacher, who had left us halfway through the exam did not, untrue to his word, come back.

I left anyways. I had tutoring work to catch up on and presents to buy. I knew from past experience that the time taken to travel to the locations to purchase the presents would take forty-five minutes; at the most, one hour. Afterwards, I would travel home, finishing the work at my local library.

And that's how I wasted two hours, being lost in Sydney's annoying public transport system.

I go to school in the city, and make my own way to excursions, and my own outings using Sydney's public transport. So I'm not completely hopeless, and my own expectations for our transport system are mediocre.

But my god, today was so frustrating.

First, I went to chemist warehouse. The one I went to, however, did not stock Maybelline. No problems. The employee told me there was one in Darlinghurst that did. I looked up directions on my phone, and I was ready to catch a train back to Central.

I waited five minutes. Ten minutes. Fifteen minutes. Three trains were might to have arrived already. So I sighed and walked to Central instead. That took about fifteen minutes. Five minutes into my walk, what did I see drive past me? A bus. A bus that had came the stop I left. Which went to Central.

Obviously I couldn't do anything about that. So I kept walking to Central, around to Eddy Avenue. My bus arrived after ten minutes of waiting, only a few minutes late. We left. My stop was meant to be the fourth stop, where I would get off and change for a second bus.

The thing was, the bus didn't go where I wanted to go. I asked the bus driver if it was the 374, city to Coogee.

"It is ma'am."

But the bus went in a totally different route to what Sydney transport website said it would.

After the fourth stop, I got off. The bus was heading in a direction where I had absolutely no idea where to go. I found a nearby buststop (the one I got off did not have buses going to Central) and was pleased to see a bus going to Central would arrive in five minutes. I double checked on Sydney transport's website.

Five minutes passed. Ten minutes passed. Fifteen minutes passed. I was on a long road, and walked to another bus stop further down, in case they had different timetables.

A sign attached to the bus stop apologised for any inconvenience as it told me that all bus stops along this road were temporarily unavailable. So I kept waking down the road, back to a bus stop about fifteen minutes away which I knew was not closed. Every bus stop I passed had a sign to announce it was out of service. Except for mine. Just to my luck.

I saw a man taking posters off, and asked if there were any buses that could take me to Central. He pointed out a bus stop right across the road. Much to my surprise, I only had to wait a minute before my bus arrived.

Arriving at Central, I caught a train to Town Hall, and spent about fifteen minutes there getting one part of my present.

By the time I arrived back at Town Hall station, my train was arriving in eighteen minutes. It was already 1pm.

I called Chemist Warehouse I was headed to on the train, to see if they stocked the item I wanted. They bloody didn't.

I had had enough for a day. I got off the train a few stops later to change trains. By the time I arrived at my train station, it was past three o clock. And it was only meant to take, at the most, one hour. And I didn't even get everything in the present.

Left my term one business studies notes at home

Where Hannah talks about Assassin's Creed because she hasn't played in more than a month she needs to take a break from work

CONTAINS REVELATIONS AND ASSASSIN'S CREED SPOILERS. All my own opinion.

This picture shows what is, in my opinion, a rather important moment in the Assassin's Creed series. It shows Altair standing over the recently-dead body of Al Mualim, the former leader of the assassins' in the main entrance of the assassin's... fortress? building? in Maysaf, Syria.

Al-Mualim was the former mentor of the assassin order who had been corrupted by his desire for power. 

Unbridled power in the Assassin's Creed universe comes in the form of objects (called simply "The apple" [of Eden],) which grant(only for those strong enough to wield it-otherwise it's power ultimately destroys you) unlimited power over the minds of people.

His desire for power lead to his secret betrayal of the Assassin order, working with those who oppose the assassins in ideology- the Templars, and the subsequent betrayal of the Templars as he took 'The Apple' with him, away from the Templars.

After the death of Al-Mualim, Altair assumed leadership of the assassin order. 

Over the course of the rest of Altair's life- nearly seven decades-(Altair lived to a VERY ripe age of ninety two) the assassin order would spread across the known world, be reformed from the bottom up in a variety of ways-ideology, weaponry and combat, decline under corrupt leaders and once again, be rebuilt from the ashes of corruption.

Altair is all really such a long story-long, windy and heartbreaking-one that took one and a half games, or one (not the best written) thick book to explain. I personally feel that Altair and his storyline is not given as much attention amongst the general fanbase as it would.

This photo; 1911 in Masyaf, Syria. Altair Ibn La'Ahad, at the tender age of twenty six has just slain his mentor. His story of reforming the order has just begun.

My oldest sister just gave me a piece of licorice with a strand of dog fur on it and I'm not shocked

What do you think this says about my sister

Life update on my weight

I have a green book which I used to use to keep track of my weight. I used it earlier this year, but lost the motivation to keep updating it. I've recently started using it again.

I weigh myself three times a day- morning, after school and at night time. This way, the moment something go awry, I can swoop in right away before it gets worse.

For instance, in the past week, my weight has been about one and a half kilos heavier than normal. I am also menstruating, and I remember learning in school that water retention (and therefore, weight gain) is normal when menstruating. I have been staying hydrated and moving around more, nothing too intense. Now my weight is back to normal.

In the course of five months, I have steadily lost four kilograms, and I know my fitness has improved.

I couldn't be prouder of myself.

I'm dropping my favorite subject next year

Textiles is not one of my subject choices for year eleven. I am doing English, maths, chemistry, biology and modern history.

My initial preferences would've had textiles take the place of chemistry. However, parental permission and a signature of approval is required for subject choices at my school, and when my mother saw that I had selected textiles, she was not pleased. She refused to sign the note approving my electives, and would not until I removed textiles.

I've been taking textiles as an elective through year nine and ten, and been steadily trying to convince her to allow me to carry on throughout the two years. It has not worked.

What I would've done, if I could've, would been to forge her signature, and entered my own choices. However, textiles does require the purchase of your own materials and notions. I am still financially dependant on my parents; I do not receive an income in any form, and any money I do receive, is saved for outings. I cannot discreetly purchase my textiles requirements, not whilst I am financially dependant.

It's making me very, very sad.

I don't know how I'm going to survive the next two years of school without textiles. I know I'm going to keep sewing at home- I have an industrial sewing machine and a cheap local fabric store- but I do not think I can rely on my home projects to maintain my sanity as well as as textiles as a school subject.

One of my favourite feelings is

When I'm hungry and can control myself to not eat any of the food in my bag

It's like yaaasss, you go girl, avoid those carbs

Work that self-control

Make your body use up that blasted fat as energy instead

Moment of absolute panic when you open your go-to pad  for your heavy flow days and see that the design of the pad has changed

A scary thought just came to me

It's very possible to live years of your life without touching anything live and natural.

Does that not scare you? Show you how disconnected we have grown from nature? And even those who do have the opportunity to immerse themselves into nature, often do not, pushing it aside in favour of work.

Personally, I do, because I have a pet dog, enjoy gardening and sit on grass during recess and lunch, should the weather allow. But it's so easy for anyone to live without touching anything live and natural (other than themselves and another human. But even with that, it's so easy to not touch another human for years at all, even when you're in the midst of many of them.)

I wake up, stepping on the laquered wooden floor and prepare for school. I brush my teeth, put on my uniform-nothing live or natural. Going downstairs, I step my feet on tiles grab my food and water, and soon leave for school wearing shoes on pavement.

My entire commute to school takes me through an urban environment, where I do not touch anything live and natural, other than humans. The chicken in my sandwich has been dead for a while.

School. I sit on the grass during morning and recess, but I could just as easily have not. I don't when the weather is not pleasant.

My commute home is just the same as it was in the morning-urban environment, no contact with live natural things.

When I was younger, I would play outside after dinner-this meant I could be barefoot on grass, but work does not permit that anymore. Instead, I go upstairs to work. Then I sleep. The cycle repeats.

Now that I think about it, I'm not that I'm touch with anything live and natural at all. My gardening takes place mainly on the weekends, and I only see my dog on the weekend.

It's scary isn't it? It's possible for humans to live years without touching anything live and natural.

What have we come to? Will this disconnection from nature harm us at all in the long run?

I love you. Don't go. Don't go to heaven. Stay with me.

Today I purchased some bras from higher end brands

I've always worn bras from generic department stores or lower-end bra stores.

Today I purchased four bras from a variety of high end brands because treat yo self. Can I say I can see why some of them were fifty dollars now.

The quality quite surpasses those of a lower end brand. Everything-the fabrics used, elasticity of the band, the hold and shape of the cup-is much better. Maybe because some of the bras I purchased were deliberately designed to be shape wear and made with the appropriate materials to do just that, but they sit much nicer on my body.

Overall verdict: I'm too poor to have a regular bra wardrobe with Guess bras flying everywhere, but I will willingly save up for them (expensive bras) in the future.

I haven't played Assassin's Creed in more than a month

The yearning is real

I devised a new song+exercise routine last night

The morning after, walking hurts, sitting properly hurts. So it's effective.

TOM honours+self-reflection on my leadership of TOM team

I am so proud of our team. It was a beautiful way to end my final year of doing TOM. (Year ten is the oldest grade a team member can be.)

Honours, whilst not going through to state championships, is basically a title equivalent to highly commended, and is used sparingly.

Given the rushed circumstances of our long-term challenge presentation (finishing props and learning lines the night before,) I am proud that my team still pulled together to present a play, as well as work co-operatively enough, to receive honours.

My team consisted of two year sevens-Rutika and Phoebe, two year eights-Lucy and Angela, one year nine-Cecile, and two year tens- Evelyn and myself.

As team captain, I viewed the performance and cooperation of our team during the six weeks as a reflection of my own ability to pull together the minds of seven talented and creative people with such varying personalities, and make something wonderful happen with what we had to offer.

We had good ideas. But it was very rushed. I will accept full responsibility for that. I made two blunders:

1. I only made half an hour a week for regular meetings.

In retrospect, I should've held the first two or so meetings in person, so everyone could get to know (or re-know) each other. After everyone was comfortable, I should've just used a lot more email communication to aid in our development and exchange of ideas.

You see, I only wanted meetings where everyone was there, so everyone could stay in the loop about everything. The only day where every single one of our team members was avaliable for a meeting was Wednesday lunchtime. Not good for fast progress.

2. I was reluctant to proceed with an idea unless all seven people agreed.

Because our team was so out-and-about, and hard to get to (some didn't check their emails too frequently, and everyone was busy during most lunches,) this made collective team agreement very slow.

If I could do it again, what I would've done is had the majority of people agree- minimum four people- and go forward. If one of the three objected, they could do speak out. Getting four people's confirmation is faster than seven.

What I liked, which I ultimately think had a huge role to play with our honours, was my risk taking.

I rushedly wrote the script over the course of the weekdays before the TOM weekend. Whilst not the most realistic nor my best work, I do not think I could've really have done better given the circumstances I was under.

Then, two days before the TOM Sunday, Evelyn rewrote the script, nearly competely.

I was in a dilemma. Whilst hers was much better quality than mine, it was just so... late. I was afraid it would not be that familiar to our heads, with such a short notice.

I took the risk. I ditched my play. Evelyn wrote half the script and sent it out Friday night. I finished the other half and sent it out late Saturday afternoon. I spent Saturday night finishing off props and attempting to learn my lines, feeling my sanity trickle away. I felt like an iPhone because my sanity-battery was running very quickly.

The fact I stayed up until 3am, and woke up at 6am did not help at all. (As soon as I arrived home later that afternoon, I showered and slept for three hours. Amazing three hours.)

However, I think it was a good risk as it was a much better quality performance.

I thank my team for making my last year so awesome and worthwhile.

Getting emotionally invested

Sucks. You see, when good stuff happens between us two, it's the best. I'd go as far as to say sanctuary. Our stolen nights of talking, our ability to form such a fast bond, our wanting to forgive and learn about the other.

But when bad things happen, man, does it redefine the words "shit storm."

Tournament of minds is tomorrow

Excited. It's my last year ever doing it. I love my team this year and working with them has been enjoyable. They have given me a worthwhile experience as their team captain, and I hope they can say the same about me.

Apparently my parents are taking me buying $2 of chocolate very seriously

I had to go down and I had to argue why I wouldn't gain back the weight I lost from $2 of chocolate.

Shut up. You don't even know how much I've reduced my chocolate intake. I'm proud of myself.

Lovely how when I was going through a few-month-long, genuinely upsetting existential crisis last year no one in the family made such a big fuss, even though I repeatedly plead for help. Buy $2 of chocolate, and I get lectured for five minutes and hit with a backscratcher.

Don't give me any of your "we care for your health" shit. If you did, you would let me avoid staple foods like rice and bread in order to avoid carbohydrates on a daily basis. Yet what do I get given as food? Rice and bread. It's not even an opinion I got off the Internet, I was directly told to avoid carbohydrates by two doctors.

I bought chocolate off my brother and told him not to tell my mum and I'm hearing my brother tell my mum the truth right now

This bitch gon feel the consequences

When your sister walks in on you singing Britney Spears with lots of emotion at 11:59

Last Friday night (I did not party)

It was the last day of junior maths tutoring at my tutoring centre. I've been in three different classes throughout my junior maths years, and I've only been attending my final junior class for one or two months, so I was not that sentimental about leaving.

The teacher is not one who is too good at bringing the pupils together, and the pupils themselves aren't too talkative, so whilst I did have my own circle of friends, I did not feel very close to the class at all.

The final lesson was very...mundane. Our teacher told us he was glad to have taught us, to say hi if we saw him around, and to graduate high school. I thanked him for teaching me as I left.

Then I went next door because that's where my old class was (before I got graciously kicked out for my incompetence,) with intentions of thanking my previous teacher.

To my pleasant surprise, I found my all time favourite teacher at the tutoring centre (who left in 2013) had come back to visit, see his old class graduate. Even though he left a year ago, we still kept in touch via phone.

We talked about things for the next twenty minutes or so, from what was going on in his life and his job, my life and my education, and how he thought I was going to go in senior high school.

What made him my favourite teacher was that I was the most comfortable around him. I could talk to him like a friend (I didn't go all-out colloquial though, because he's still my teacher) but still maintain my student-teacher respect for him.

My favourite and most memorable teachers all have this particular characteristic. (He does it best though.) Those who I can talk to with ease, much like you would a friend, but still maintain respect for (they are a teacher after all,) and look up to. In my opinion, those teachers deserve a lot of respect as they successfully juggle the fine line between friend and teacher.

I finally left as the other teachers were starting to leave and the centre was shutting down. I thanked him for being a good teacher who taught many students through the years including my sister and I, I thanked him for finding potential in me where others saw a desolate wasteland, I thanked him for making his maths lessons very entertaining not just for myself, but for our whole class.

With one final bow, I walked out the door. Within the next three months, we're probably going have at least one phone conversation, but talking to him was still a good closure.

Maybe I'm being a sentimental person here, but it was a good closure to my junior years at my tutoring centre and in a way, reminding me of my imminent senior years of high school.

Last Friday afternoon

I had a few things on my mind and was in a quiet and contemplative mood, so I pulled out a piece of paper and started pouring my thoughts out.

A friend of mine called James came down and sat next to me, and asked if this was my personal daily diary of some sort.

"No," I told him, "I have an actual diary I write in at night. I just have...a lot of thoughts going on right now."

Usually James and I are pretty talkative, but we were both in a contemplative mood on Friday. He listened to his music, I wrote.

---

Basically what happened was that Hannah decided to completely fall for a boy who didn't reciprocate her feelings but was still a lovely boy and made time for her and made her feel very special and nice.

I got a little possessive if you could say so. It's not very often a boy gives me such nice attention, and makes me feel special and everything. Not only that, but he himself was a bit of a vulnerable character-quiet, shy, a little awkward at times. A little bit of a sensitive soul who people were a complete asshole to. So I guess a little bit of a "big momma bear" mentality kicked in as well.

The problem was that I became too emotionally invested and reliant on him. Small misinterpreted actions and words made me sad, but I would not tell him. Sometimes one of us would screw up, have our actions or words taken completely out of context, and we'd be either very sad or very mad. (Usually I was mad and he was sad.)

Ultimately it became too toxic for both of us. Whilst most of the time we provided a lovely friendship for each other, we were both getting too hurt from each other when we did argue.

Him with his unintentional and clueless words. He didn't know the power his words held over me. Sometimes they could dampen a whole day for me. They could brighten up a bad day, and make a good day bad.

He wouldn't know that his harmless joke could make me lie on my bed and silently cry, leaving me with puffy eyelids the next morning.

He similarly didn't know that sometimes, when my family was arguing and my house was falling apart outside my door, conversations with him grounded me and stopped me from running to my grandmas house.

I wasn't much better. I overreacted and mad him feel like shit for something he had no idea would hurt me so much. It had to stop.

---

I might look back at this event when it's all over and laugh at it. I might not completely get over it. I don't know. All I know is that it's been emotionally taxing for the last few months and I had to do something about it before it completely consumed me.

I was in a constant cycle of denial and acceptance about the whole... issue. Sometimes I would think I was doing the right thing for myself and adopting the right attitude to it. Sometimes I wouldn't.

Subconsciously, I have been doing what I am doing now about my issue for a few months now-decreasing emotional investment, getting over the whole thing. But was I consciously aware of that?

No. I was having a battle with myself about the whole issue; whether my actions and ultimately the path I put myself on was the right thing to do.

And then on Friday, whilst writing everything out on the train, my subconscious and conscious thoughts... lined up I guess. A solution to everything came up.

Cut emotional ties with him. Keeping friendship is preferred, but not necessary. I chose to try to keep the friendship.

You know, actually coming to that conclusion after months of confusion and denial and acceptance and whatnot was very satisfyingly tiring.

I leaned on James' shoulder, tired. James is pretty accommodating with me doing these things, as we do these sort of things frequently.

So he leaned his head on mine, and soon flopped an arm around me, his hand resting on my hip. It was really comforting, just knowing that there was a big friendly person called James next to me that cared for me and comforted me.

I don't know why, but I started crying. Not loud and mourning. Just a small stream of tears, coming out of my eyes, travelling across my nose, down my cheeks. I guess it was from the whole revelation, the solution to most of my emotional troubles for the last few months had finally come.

Not only that, but the overlying knowledge of how difficult it was going to be. You can't just cut off your emotional ties with someone you hold dear just like *that.* It's just not possible.

It's only been four days since Friday, and a few months since I've been subconsciously cutting off emotional ties, but my instincts were right, it's hard.

Sometimes I look back at it all and how close we used to be and I get sad. Sometimes I feel like he doesn't care for me as much as he used to, and that sucks as well.

I understand that we probably are going to distance a little bit, with my whole "emotional detachment" thing. A little voice, the small voice of the "big momma bear" reserved for him-is a little reluctant to let him go. But it's for the best of us, and I can only hope our friendship will remain good and true.

Give away something which I no longer need : 2/50

Today I gave my old recorder to my cousin who is starting her secondary education at my school next year. Recorders are a staple part of school culture, accepted by year sevens and thoroughly despised by all others.

Sometimes I get mad at people because I think they're being an asshole to me

Then I take a ten minute breather, where I sit back and think about everything I said, and everything he said, and our reasoning in our arguments

Then I realise that I'm being a pretty big asshole too, if anything.

Currently writing a list of fifty things which make me happy

I'm currently on number forty-one. I've realised a few things along the way.

When I started, words and scenarios were flowing. It got slower in the early thirties. Not because it's hard to make me happy, but sometimes, when the feeling of "happy," can come accompanied with so many other feelings, that "happy" gets drowned and pushed aside in favour of all the other emotions.

I had to sift through events, scenarios, memories which bought positive emotions, and distinguish which ones came with happiness, and which ones just came with positive feelings.

Not only that, but "happy" can come in many forms. For instance, sometimes I'm happy when lots of things are happening all at once and everything is fast paced. Yet meditation and slowing things down also makes me happy. It really depends on the situation. Sometimes a certain thing is welcomed in some scenarios and not welcomed in the next.

Something I was surprised by was my lack of material things that were on the list. There are materialistic things in the list, like candles and the giver of life Assassin's Creed.

However, things which I generally buy when I am going out and I've come to associate myself with-like earrings and shoes-somehow didn't pop into my mind once over the month it's taken me to write forty one things which make me happy.

Give away something which I no longer need: 1/50

Today I found a stack of fifty loose manuscript papers in my locker. I bought it back in year eight for music, but I barely found any use for them, not being the most dedicated music student.

I gave it to two friends who are music students who share the stack amongst themselves. They are going to put the manuscript paper to much better use than I did.

The epitome of Hannah, gif edition

My temper and I

My temper is not something I hide about myself or have any shame about. It's a part of my personality and I've grown to simply acknowledge it.

What I do hide, what I do feel shame about are the actions I do, the words I say, the things I harm-whether physical or emotional-whilst my temper takes over me.

It's frightening sometimes. You're aware you're angry. You're equally aware of what you're doing/saying. You're aware that your reaction is too harsh for whatever the person did to anger you (in most situations.)

But you don't care. This person or thing did something wrong and you're angry. You will show them that and make them feel something-usually guilt or fear. And nothing can stop you.

What makes it worse is that I don't get punished for my temper. I get punished by my temper and I have to live with the consequences. Whatever trouble I get in, was all set up by me. Self-inflicted.

Generally speaking, nobody punishes you for getting angry and when they do, it's not that harsh. What people start rolling out the harsh punishments for what you did whilst you were angry.

I've destroyed at least one good friendship, one which I still haven't repaired properly. I can only hope time had healed it-it has been four years-and should we meet again, we shall be able to converse freely.

I lost my temper and slapped her across the face-hard. My punishment was the immediate termination of our friendship and her friends ostracised me, not that I would blame them. I also saw her carrying an ice pack around her cheek for the rest of day-red and hot, just like my outburst, which would follow me, weighing down on my shoulders, for the next one and a half years.

This incident doesn't haunt me in the way it used to. Now, I recognise it as one of the final few face slaps before I first started taking measures against angry outbursts.

Most of the time I lose my temper, I feel dismayed, hurt and guilty for my actions as soon as I snap out of it. Most of the time, I'm so dismayed that I could do such an action to my friend that I immediately withdraw and place myself in mental quarantine to prevent myself from hurting them anymore.

"Were my actions justified?"

At least 70% of the time the answer is no, so I thereafter amplify feelings of guilt and sadness as punishment. So it's very self-destructive, because in most situations, I always give myself a bad time after, allowing it to dwell in me in hopes I do not do it again. But if that's what it takes to stop me hurting people-especially my friends-so be it.

I've had a very on-off relationship with acknowledging  my temper throughout my life, and I've taken different approaches to either manage or hide it. In recent months I've been doing less hiding and more managing.

One of the most successful management techniques I've been trying to implement is delaying my reaction in favour of discussion.

So I'll be angry, and I'll show that. But I try not do or say anything in retaliation. What I do instead is try to stimulate conversation with whoever angered me. Why did they act the way they did, say the things they said?

If I find their actions justified and I agree, my temper dies down. If I don't agree, then I'll react accordingly. Hopefully the few moments of discussion I had with whoever, or whatever angered me, calmed me down enough to produce a justifiable reaction.

After every outburst I have, I always evaluate it. Who, what, when, where and, why? From there, I can find ways to improve myself and my reactions.

However, something I'm careful about is to not completely push my reactions and temper aside in favour of being completely civil and subdued all the time. 

Sometimes people cross the line so much, do something so offensive and harmful, I don't need any time to negotiate my own reaction. I know which ones they are, because I don't feel any guilt after.

Sometimes, people are genuine jerks, and they genuinely deserve my outburst as a result of their harmful actions and words.

Thanks sister

My sister got me a solar powered sunflower which flaps it's leaves up and down, in time with the stem and flower rocking side to side, all whilst proclaiming "life's a bitch."

Assassins Creed players be like

"Imma walk behind this group of the highest ranking soldiers carrying this body and ain't nobody gonna see me"

"Are you a virgin?"

Is a question I've been asked before, immediately followed up by "what's your number?"

I found out that what this girl was asking me was whether I was sexually active, and how many people I had had sex with.

We were talking about sex. My attitudes to it was a little more liberal than hers, so I'm guessing she asked me "are you a virgin? What's your number?" because she was expecting only someone who could have had sex before, could have had such liberal, easy-going views on it.

Truth is, I'm not sure if I have liberal views on the entirety of sex. I'm fact, I don't even know the exact definition of "sex," and the more I try to seek answers, the more confusing the social concept of "keeping one's virginity" and just virginity as a whole, becomes.

Growing up, I was told, socially, that you were a virgin until the moment you had sex. What "sex" was, was something between a man and a woman. A penis was repeatedly thrusted inside a vaginal opening. The moment the penis entered, both the man and the woman had lost their virginity.

Growing up, I heard more definitions.

"It's an act of love between two people."

"The thing a man and a woman do when they want to make babies and probably ruin their lives."

And the old "when a penis is thrust repeatedly into a vaginal opening."

Those the definitions are the must common ones I have heard. I find fault in all three of them.

This blog post is turning out to be really lengthy, a good, hearty discussion with myself. For this reason, I will split it up. In the next post, I will explain my faults with the common definitions that I hear.

Unexpected niceness from one of my sisters

On Saturday afternoon, my sister walked into my room, announcing that she had something for me, and she hoped I didn't have it already. I immediately thought of Assassin's Creed merchandise or games, but was still pleasantly surprised when my sister presented me with this.

"I saw it, thought you might've liked it. I know most of your earrings aren't very delicate and petite-looking, a bit like you (the sarcastic tone was very strong) but, well, I thought you deserved something nice for making into a three unit maths class at tutoring.

After, she insisted I try them on, swap then around- did it look better in this ear? Or this ear? Did I like them?

Yes, I like them and how you made sure I liked them, and that they suited me, but I like the fact that you acknowledged my achievements nicely more, because that's a bit of a rarity in this family.

Thanks.

Unexpected actions

No less than three weeks ago, my ex-boyfriend came onto my afternoon train.

He stepped on and I immediately sat upright, hands on hips, crossed my legs and stared at him until he walked out of my line of sight.

I was suprised, not by his actions- we are not longer involved in each other's lives and he can go on whatever train be wants- but rather my own.

I do not want to go into too much detail about the whole situation between us two because it leaves a bad taste in my mouth, but we ended our relationship on a bad note. Primarily due to his choices to breach my trust, and take the breakup to public social media.

After the breakup, I erased him out of my life, with no post-breakup feelings. In retrospect, it was because I wasn't that into him- I liked him, and spending time with him-walking home together after the train and whatnot. However, not enough to invest any emotions into our relationship-hence the lack of post-breakup feelings (eg. Sadness, anger etc.)

So my spontaneous reaction to his presence-stare him down until he was out of my line of sight-surprised me.

I think it's because alongside losing our relationship, we lost our pre-existing friendship. We'd been friends for about four years-year 5-liking each other on and off since the beginning of high school- but both of us too scared to make a move.

We didn't have a regular form of communication, like social media, for I was on none. However, on the occasional event or whatever that made him late, he would catch my train, seek me out, and we'd start talking.

His appearances would be completely random. Sometimes I wouldn't see him for half a year, other times, a few weeks.

However, every time we saw each other, no matter how long it had been, it was like just yesterday we had been talking. It was all very loose and easy going. I didn't expect or look forward to him, but it was a pleasant surprise every time I saw him. We had that sort of friendship. I have very few of those.

And I'm guessing, the way our friendship ended on a bad note when it didn't have to (should he not've taken the breakup to social media, it would've been different) left me bitter. And I never registered that bitterness until the very moment I was reminded of him.

Life update: My fitness(or lack of it) and I

My motivation to do something about my ailing fitness levels has been steadily increasing as of late last year.

Maybe it was the discovery of a medical condition which, unless I did something about my health and body weight, could put my fertility at risk.

Or maybe it was finding I could fit into a pair of shorts which I previously had gained too much weight to even button up, now able to be worn (albeit some slight tightness around the thighs.)

Maybe it was just me being fed up of being unfit- I did feel like I was betraying myself and my youth by not even approaching my physical potential.

Whatever the factors behind my increased motivation, I know that my fitness has been improving and my stomach has slightly flattened out. Whilst sub-par compared to others, I know it has improved since I have started taking consistent action about it. I am very proud of myself.

The main faults with my previous attempts (on and off the past two or three years) was primarily inconsistently. The attempts were initiated in the holidays and ended as the school term begun. Some weeks I would exercise nearly everyday, some weeks saw none of it.

The attempt I took this time was different, because I started it during the school term. Whilst navigating my way through early mornings and late nights was initially a problem, I found motivation to exercise on both days of the weekends.

After a few months of juggling around my timetable, I  now cycle once a week, and run two to three times a week. This does not include PE sessions at school. Whilst not a lot, I am looking forward to cram more exercise sessions around my timetable soon. I have also recently (about a month) started doing some basic muscle things before I sleep, with emphasis on upper body strength, for I have nearly none of that.

I've been feeling the positive effects, such as:

• my actions and movements are lighter 
• It takes longer for me to tire out, in both general day to day life, and during physical activity
• I look at running as part of a life routine thing rather than just "something I have to do so I can look at myself and not bow my head in shame."
• Eating bad food isn't as frightening as it is before that I know I will be exercising soon anyway. I have been careful however, to not let that become a bad habit.

Not all effects of my lifestyle change has been so eagerly and quickly welcomed however. With greater general energy output, my metabolism has definitely sped up, resulting in greater demand for energy-food.

Being one who has never eaten much and always associated food consumption with weight gain, this is admittedly terrifying. Having never had such a great demand for food, I don't know where to pull the line, or how to deal with random food cravings.

To deal with this, I bring a packet of gum and a small packet of assorted pistachios and almonds to school with me, hopefully to quell any sort of temptation. Although not the most successful recently due to the increasing multitude of fund raising chocolate(formal season is approaching) lying around school, I have slowly gotten better at it. Unless someone is selling Caramello Koalas... But I will get better at it, I promise.

Whilst showering on Sunday afternoon

I dropped a glass jar whilst scooping some of the product out. I'm guessing my wet hands had a major role in the incident.

The jar, a sturdy hexagonal structure, was intact. The small lid? Shattered into pieces. Fully aware of the situation I was in-dripping wet from head to toe (hair was wet, making it worse), naked and standing in a shower which had minute colourless glass particles everywhere on the floor, I stayed still and calm.

I decided to pick up just the bottle. It had a fair amount if product in it and it appeared undamaged. However, two glass-not even shards- almost strands- that's how thin they were- managed to embed themselves into my hands. And I'm guessing I was unlucky enough to have struck an artery or vein of some sort-one of the punctures had blood coming out of it too quickly and for too long a simple puncture by a thin strand of glass.

Opening the bathroom door, I called to my sister, "Hey, can you get a pair of tweezers from mum and dad's bathroom for me please?"

"What? Why?"

"Dropped a glass thing. I have glass in my hand."

"Go get it yourself. I'm studying."

"There's GLASS in my hand!"

"Run out quickly and get it yourself, I'm studying!"

Shivering, bleeding and single handedly (might I mention with my non-dominant hand as well?), I wrapped a towel around my hair, another towel around my body, and ran.

I managed to get the two strands out with my careful handiwork.

One of the punctures is fine. The deeper one which probably hit an artery/vein is still bandaged as it still hurts.

I don't care about the cuts as much as my feelings of hurt by my sisters lack of care. Your little sister is cold, bleeding and has glass in her hand. Yet you can't interrupt your studying for less than a minute to help her.

Well, oops (I did it again)

Is all I can say right now. I haven't had  motivation to write. I went places and did things, but frankly speaking this blog completely lost its appeal to me. And now during the early hours of Monday morning the appeal comes back, out of the blue.

Honestly I have no idea if this motivation is coming back purely because it's 12:30 on a Monday morning, and I've been forcing myself to stay awake (with full knowledge I have to wake up at 5:30 later today) with chocolate (destroying my recent efforts to gain some sort of fitness). Or whether it's actually, you know, meant to be-me coming back to this [blog] for a good amount of time.

Reading through this, the quality of my writing isn't top notch and I acknowledge this. Hopefully that shall be quickly changed should I resume. See? Even with the mention of the degradation,I felt like my writing got better. Sort of.

Giraffe killing at Copenhagen zoo

A few days ago I was reading some articles from the Sydney morning herald. One struck out particularly well to me, about the recent killing of a giraffe at a Danish zoo, Copenhagen zoo. (Read it here)

I had heard about this controversial killing earlier that day, and my immediate reaction was: what the hell? Lions eat giraffe and all sorts of other animals. It is natural and acceptable. But killing a giraffe from the zoo. An eighteen month old giraffe from a zoo suppose to nourish and give the giraffe a nice life, not kill him and feed him to a lion.

Copenhagen zoo's decline from another zoo to take the giraffe in, pleas from animal rights activists to think humanely and spare the giraffe further irritated me.

However on further reading, I discovered the giraffe was inbred, and after that, I understood Copenhagen zoo's decision.

Inbred animals guys. Inbred.

As we all know, the lack of variety in the gene pool poses a risk to the giraffe's health and lifestyle, and if allowed to reproduce, furthers the issues from inbreeding.

Inbreeding increases the susceptibility of a population to suffer significant losses (sometimes too big to recover from)should a disease attack said population.

This is due to a lack of variety in the genes of said population. If the genetic combination of most of the population is very, very similar, the disease has less variety, less 'different-ness' and resistance to fight against.

Think of it like this: if a robber ransacks a street of varied houses, it'll be significantly harder than robbing a street of those council-made, identical housing with identical layouts inside.

Why? Because on the street with varied houses, the door locations are different. The types of locks are different. The floorboards squeak differently. The rooms are in different places. Some houses may have security systems installed and a ferocious looking doberman at the front porch.

However, with identical houses, the robber knows the lock, knows the layout, knows everything because its all the same.

The analogy seemed clever when I first thought of it

Increased mortality rate with decreased fertility rate (two common issues associated with inbreeding,) increasingly justify Copenhagen zoo's reasoning to kill the giraffe.

Increase the population of animals, but make them more vulnerable to possible future diseases and illnesses? That's rather counterproductive, is it not? Especially taking the fact the giraffe was from a breeding program.

Obviously these programs are designed to repopulate, and revive wilting population numbers. It goes without saying that using a genetically inferior creature to repopulate isn't the cleverest idea.

Asides from the actual killing which stirred up        lots of controversy, the skinning and feeding of the giraffe was carried out during visiting hours in front of visitors. It was deemed "too graphic," or "too confronting."

Well, it's natural. Lions-

Newsflash: After years of speculation, a breakthrough has been made in the scientific community; lions eat MEAT. RAW MEAT. WITH BLOOD AND GUTS EVERYWHERE. NO SIGNS OF COOKING UTENSILS OR OVENS/GRILLS TO BE FOUND, HOWEVER, ASHES SUSPECTED TO A RESULT OF GIRAFFE COOKING HAS BEEN FOUND NEAR NUMEROUS LION PRIDES.

The double standards are ridiculous. So when humans eat meat and remove the skin before eating, shall we blindfold ourselves to protect our eyes from the confronting image of a DEAD ANIMAL RIGHT IN FRONT OF US? (wow, shield your children's eyes too, it might disturb them.)As we eat it, shall we cut the meat blindly with a knife? For then we are blindfolded, not looking at the extremely confronting image of a dead animal being eaten in front of us.

There was a phrase somewhere in one of the articles I read, saying something along the lines of "no-one would've batted an eyelid, had it been a pig."

It sounds hypocritical and rude. Unfortunately, it also sounds very human. Think about it. Thousands of animals are exploited yearly. Animals packed inhumanely into tight cages, used only for the human benefit, with not a second thought given the quality of life for those poor animals.

Yet there is not a collective backlash from the general public. With animal rights activists, yes, but with ordinary civilians, we don't care. Just as long as the exploited animal isn't "cute" or "fluffy" or "exotic," then it isn't given a second thought.

Clean start

All my old posts as well as posts which were in the making-all seven hundred and seventy seven of them, have been reverted to drafts.

They are archives of thoughts and events during my formative years-right now, which I believe shall be important in the future as I grow up, evaluate and muse about my teenage years because, well, primary sources, right? Written by me, about me, and a clear way to see what my mindset about particular issues were at the time. That is the only thing preventing me from deleting them completely.

So what I aim to make out of this is a generally personal blog with me writing about some parts off my life and thoughts about things concerning both my own life and contemporary issues.

Frankly speaking this blog was a major mess, hence my all-out eradication of published posts. However, the mess was concentrated towards the last few months. I have a good number of posts which I deem to be good, well-written pieces. I may republish them, along with commentary from the present (it shall be specified if it wasn't part of the original post) if I have any new comments on the issue. After all, opinions do change from time to time.