Standing up for science
06 Mar 2011 2 Comments
in Thinking aloud Tags: human beans, ponderings, rant, science
I can totally see you (translates to hello), and a happy beginning of March to everybody~
Have some tips on how to have the touchy-feeliest month possible. Click for full view, since I shamelessly stole it off the internets again.
Be sure to enjoy it, because next year (I think — I’m going solely based on something I remember, so feel free to prove me wrong), February will be a whole day longer and you’ll have to wait for it…! Speaking of waiting for it, Pokémon Black & White (and Dragon Age 2, but since I haven’t gotten around to playing the first one yet either, I’m not really excited about this one yet. I did make a funny joke about it being a jrpg because you can’t choose your character race/class, but that’s sort of obscure, and if you got that joke, please to leave a comment) are coming out this week, so if I disappear completely from the blogosphere, it’s simply because I’ve become so addicted with the game that I can’t properly function in this society anymore, except maybe to trade Pokémon. Also, I like brackets. Get used to it.
Just to start things off (or continue, since I kinda rambled), I’ve been noticing that there’s been a SLIGHT increase in traffic on my blog — which either means that more people are reading it, or the same people are reading it more times. Regardless — if you ever have anything at all to say about something I write about, even if it’s simply “I totally disagree with you because of x (in which x can be anything from “you’re a woman [though I can't guarantee the reception for that one will be very good]” to “you smell funny” and everything in between and beyond)” or “hey, why don’t you write about y (in which y can be something like “your toes” or something equally or less important),” please, please, please, PLEASE leave me a comment! Don’t get me wrong — I like writing this blog and whether or not you respond in any way isn’t actually going to keep me (from) writing, but still… It’d be nice to know what you guys think, because you obviously have a most impeccable taste.
So anyway. I’ve most obviously survived my first week at university, including that lab I was freaking out about. It wasn’t too bad, once I did the pre-reading for it and everything — though I haven’t received marks for it yet, so I shouldn’t celebrate before that. But since I’m not a pessimist, what the hell. Also, I seem to have caught a cold from the new environment, one that’s left me pretty much disabled this weekend. Damn you, study that piles up on me while I’m incapable to do anything but sniffle and sneeze! Damn you!
Damn you!
Ahhem. I don’t seem to get over this rambly phase of mine… The whole transition to the subject of university was supposed to lend me with a gateway to talk about some of the things one of my lecturer taught us about the scientific method and how we should be skeptical about the things even our own lecturers tell us and how information changes and everything, and how I felt kind of like my study is not very much my own responsibility, and that it’s not really even study anymore, it seems more like the basis for research — and from there, I was supposed to head to the topic of today’s post. But since I’ve already rambled far too much about my sneezing and about Pokémon, I’ll skip this bit about the lecturer and go straight to my topic, and I’ll start it with an illustrative picture:
To those of you who can’t quite fathom what this picture is supposed to represent — it’s the differences between the left & right brain. If you’re still confused, then the main premise is that the left brain controls, among other things, your linguistic centre, and most logic-driven mechanisms, whereas the right lobe governs art and music and all that sort of “creative” stuff. While, in premise, that’s all good and dandy — I don’t know specifically how a brain works, perhaps all the “boring” bits happen in your left brain and the “fun” bits happen in the right (if you know more about this than I do, feel free to tell me) — it’s the representation of it that drives me absolutely crazy and berserk to the point where I could explode onto the walls of my room to decorate them a pretty white. In that picture that’s currently above this text, there’s the left brain with its grey cubicles and people with their down-bent heads, and on the right, there’s the colourful, green meadows and the people painting and lazing about and playing music and just enjoying life. Search for “left brain & right brain” on google, and you’ll find lots of similar representations — the grey left part and the colourful right one.
I’m going to delve into the why of all this in a minute, but before I do that, I’d like to give some more background information on all of this. This representation of the brain is very similar to the way in which lots of the people in my school who only did the art-oriented subjects viewed science and math. Very often I heard in conversations that math is “methodical” and “formulaic”, whereas art gives you free range of expression in emotion; that it allows you to experience life in a much more full way than dusty math and science ever would. Who would want to sit inside and read a book and learn all these useless physics theorems when you can go outside and paint a sunset? Science and logic aren’t important to experiencing life. The irony here is that a lot of the time, these art subjects also taught the history of the art or a specific style, to which I could (though I never did, since then I wouldn’t have a right to complain) reply that why would you want to learn about its history and the great artists of old, if you’re simply doing your own thing? Developing the style, you say? But the point is to explore a single moment… and so on.
Just a short disclaimer here — I’m not trying to attack the artistic community in any way with this post. I’m simply tageting what I hope is a very marginal group of people with a sense of being “different” and being somehow more entitled to life or to certain things because they have decided that what they do is right and what others do is not. It’s just an example of what a closed mind can do — the scientific community can probably shrug at art, going “what do you need that for”, and I’d be happy for someone art-oriented to lecture them about that. But! The point here is that I can’t stand the fact that science and logic are labelled methodical and formulaic and boring — like the science and art ways of thinking are completely separate entities and the only people who could possibly elect to study science are those old and wrinkled people and the ones whose parents told them to or who desire stable careers in their lives. Some people fail to understand that science is, essentially, delving even further into the mechanics of our world and our current state of being than art ever can. Sure, you can paint a sunset or compose a song about it, but will you ever understand just the brilliance of how it all works? Will you ever wrap your head around the fact that it’s truly a miracle that we’re even able to exist at this time — that human life depends on such specific conditions that it baffles your mind? People need to understand that science isn’t just something that’s existed forever — someone has thought of all these things. Someone has to have dreamt and imagined that our understanding of the world is actually wrong — but they haven’t left it there, exploring their thoughts in works of art, but instead, they’ve investigated the phenomenon and allowed a platform for more innovationa and creation of theories. Science is full of imagination and experience of the here and the now!
Just as a comparison — I recently read a friend’s tumblr, where they had posted a picture of a pack of wolves. The caption was very short and sweet, something about how wolves are simplistic creatures and that being one would probably be very nice every now and then. I, on the other hand, was slightly taken aback by this statement. Simplistic creatures? Has this person not thought of the way the wolf operates — both in terms of how it functions within its own environment, with its packs, the intricacies of the social hierarchy, and in terms of how the actual animal has come into being, through evolution and changing times? How is it possible to call the smallest of creatures in this world “simplistic”? Consider that, you art-oriented people, when you next time accuse science of being difficult and bookish — sure, there’s a lot you need to learn in the basics before you can go any further, but it’s all in the endeavor to give us more insight into the world and the times we live in, and to form our own crazy theories on how everything came to being. Science involves a great deal of imagination — ever heard of quantum physics? Wave-particle duality? The fact that the entire premise of the birth of the universe revolves around matter we have yet to find?
If you want to take home anything more than my hatred for lumping science with dry, grey cubicles, take this: don’t ever assume that something that you don’t understand or have no desire to understand is any lesser in any quality that you possess. If you don’t know anything about it, you can’t make judgements, right? It is essential for every one of us to endeavor to understand the other, and not to pick sides — like the left-brained against the right-brained. It’s alright to have pre-conceptions on things, as long as it doesn’t make you completely blind to what the reality of everything is. That, too, is why science is so great — it encourages research, and the expansion of knowledge; science is ever-changing. I believe that everyone has a right to those critical-thinking skills that science provides you with; it makes basic human interaction much more equal, for science does not make presumptions before it is provided with evidence — and when provided with evidence to the contrary of what had been proposed before, science changes. Now, there’s a whole other post I could write about bad scientists who stick to their theory when it has pretty much been proven false, but that’s for another time — just keep in mind that those who do science are also human beings.
By the way, I’m still a creative writer, so I love and respect art and think it’s extremely important for human survival in an every day life. Just for the record.
Atoms and electrons and pre-historic animals, lovelies. And peace and love, of course.
Survival 101
28 Feb 2011 Leave a Comment
in Personal Tags: enthusiastic rambling, optimism, ponderings, study
Hey guys, guys, I just survived my first day of university! 
… Yeah, I know the title of this post isn’t necessarily the most clever one I’ve ever come up with, but who asked for your opinion anyway?
*cough* Moving on: my survival. Granted, it wasn’t much of a survival, because I only had three lectures and no labs/tutorials/pracs whatsoever. But! Still! Though this is kind of looking to be a sort of “dear diary” entry that I usually loath to publish, I think I’m going to have to share this experience with you. So bear with me while I share my thoughts related to studying and my plans in life.
Before I start delving in detail into how I feel about everything and what I’ve liked so far and what not, I suppose I should provide you with some detail about what I actually study and where. I may have mentioned this before, in passing, but I think a re-iteration should take place, to put all the information in one place. I study at Monash University, Clayton campus, in Melbourne. From what I can gather, this is one of the (if not the) best universities in Australia to study science at. This comes from the testimonies of a couple of acquaintances, recent monetary grants from the government to the university and the claims of the faculty representatives themselves — and from the feeling I get when I listen to any science orientation lecture. And yeah, as you can gather, I study science — but also biomedical sciences, because at the last minute to change applications, I foolishly added a double degree as my first preference, instead of just running with my original plans, which was just to do a single bachelor of science, instead of this double degree that I’m enrolled to at the moment.
Look, I know I’m being judgmental, since I’ve not even fully begun studying, but there’s so much to the whole degree than just the subjects matters of the units I’m enrolled in. There’s the feeling I get when I’m around people doing biomed, and in any contact with the organisational body of my degree, the lecturers of the biomed units… I just don’t feel like I belong there at all. However, I don’t think that the subject matter itself is going to be a problem for me to study — the two biomed units that I’m doing this semester are a biology equivalent (which scares the hell out of me, since I haven’t done any biology since year 9, and I already feel like I’m light-years behind; the fact that my first lab/prac/tute is a lab for this unit really, really, really doesn’t help — I’ll come back to this a bit later) and biochemistry, for which I haven’t even had my introductory lecture yet. They’re a bit out of my depth, true, but that’s exactly the thing I had in mind when I enrolled into a double degree — to expand my horizons and try out as many things as I could. Maybe I’m not as excited about studying these two subjects as I could be, but hey, at least I’m not overly apprehensive — except maybe against my fellow students.
What I am excited about, though, are my two science units: geosciences, and chemistry. Chemistry, as some of you may know/have gathered, is pretty much my thing — the thing I rave about and love and am good at. My lecturer for this unit is great, too, very inspiring and an energetic fellow. He moves pretty fast, though, or at least he did today — I’ll have to work through the same things a bit slower when I’m alone, just to get a good hang of them. Geosciences excites me as well, though I’ve never really done anything of the kind: you can see from the enrollment of about 400 people that it’s one of the popular & exciting units, where we study things like dinosaurs and plate tectonics and volcanos. The lecturer for this unit is pretty damn cool as well — just as excitable as my chemistry lecturer, and very attuned with the present time. She also seems to have a sort of geeky mindset that really, really appeals to me — and as she said earlier today, she believes in teaching in pretty pictures.
Like this.
Hell yeah.
Anyway. Universally, I’m already relatively in love with the whole study system of university. Admittedly, it kind of feels like they’re expecting us to get into the whole system as fast as possible (though they ARE providing us with the appropriate resources & help classes and everything), but I venture forth with an intelligent guess that they won’t really be as hard on us as I’m fearing. So, the good side of having to figure things out is the freedom that I now have. I already adore lectures. I was never worried that I wouldn’t be able to learn in that method — a few of my teachers, in fact, those that I liked the best already used this format in high school. And even better than that, in high school the teachers expected a little proactivity of their students, instead of just sitting & listening & taking notes and learning — and now I’m free to be in my small, private learning bubble as much as I want. Ah! The only problem I MAY come to have with this is how to organise my notes — but as of now, I’m formulating some sort of system where I just jot everything down that I may need, and then later compile them into an electronic form in the manner of revision. A similar method worked out relatively well for me last year in chemistry, so.
The only thing I’m genuinely worried about at this point in time is labs/pracs/tutes, mostly, though, because I’m unfamiliar with the concept of learning through doing. Forever when doing science, I remember I hated pracs, mostly because we were always given the answers as to what the things we were experimenting upon were supposed to do, instead of learning through hands-on activity. It is possible that that will change, so that excites me a little bit… But I’m still a more book-based learner than anything else. Coming out of my study bubble isn’t fun for me. But! Should be brave and venture forth and that sort of thing; wouldn’t be much of a scientist in the future if I didn’t, right? Though, like I mentioned before, it really doesn’t help my fears that upon receiving our unit guide for my biology class, my first lab (which takes place on wednesday, so I only have tomorrow to prepare) was outlined and there was really not much that I understood in this outline. Gotta stay positive and think that it’s the first one, we’ll be fine… Right? *chews on nails*
Ok, I think that’s basically all I came to say. In lots of words. However, feel reassured, because I’ve challenged myself to, from now on, include at least one illustrative picture (that I will very often shamelessly steal off the internets)
Like this one. Here, have a completely pointless diagram. For illustrative purposes, see?
in each of my posts for those of you with short attention spans when it comes to my long (though hopefully vaguely exciting/interesting) drawls about… stuff. Generally.
Soooo, that’s it for me, folks! I’ll go arrange my diary (that’s something that happens a lot) and go read LOTR (almost finished Fellowship!) and play Phoenix Wright (if you don’t know that which I speak of, I both shun you and encourage you to find out right now — they’re possibly the most awesome games made for the ds, and I’m a fan of pokemon) or other videogames. So many videogames, so little time!
Peace and love and awesome videyagames, everyone.
She bought, she read and she fidgeted
13 Jan 2011 1 Comment
in Sort of a review Tags: how curious, human beans, ponderings, pseudo-philosophising, reading
I’ve just finished reading George Orwell’s Nineteen Eighty-Four (in two days, no less — I REALLY liked this book), and though I wasn’t originally intending to post about it, nor do I have a clear direction of where my post will go when addressing my reading experience, I decided that I should at least comment upon it — mostly because it’s left me with a feeling of thoughtfulness and a certain uneasiness. For anyone who doesn’t know anything about 1984 (because I’m just too lazy to write it out), or thinks that the author’s name doesn’t ring any bell, you’ll most likely be right with me when I say that this is where the idea of “Big Brother is watching” comes from. Basically, it’s a novel about a society with a government as totalitarian as totalitarian is possible, with a Thought Police shaping and, uh, policing people’s very thoughts. The novel argues very strongly that reality only exists within the mind, and if the Party (the controlling body of the society, obviously) decides that something is real, it will be real — for example that the aeroplane was invented by the Party, never mind it having existed before the concept of the Party was formed. Even the members of the Party can simultaneously be conscious of their own lies and yet believe in them unconditionally.
There are a few very obvious reasons for my unease. The main ones of these are, of course, the Party’s methods of totalitarian control — the oppression of thought and happiness and sexual pleasure and the way in which it keeps its citizens in poverty. It’s simply horrifying to think of a life with the happiness of living taken away from it. This, however, is actually a concept too great and maybe painful for me to understand fully, loving life as much as I do, so for me, the most concerning bit was the way in which this method of control very much makes sense. It brings back the garbled jargon that the Architect in the Matrix films asserts that human beings aren’t content with happiness, that they constantly seek conflict and unhappiness. I can’t remember the specifics of what the Architect said (it’s been a while; should probably rewatch the movies soon), but that’s the general idea that stuck with me. Then you look at the media, and see the overwhelming negativeness of news items every day. You don’t get stories about the moderately successful and blissfully married couple, you get the stories about the abusive husbands and the alcoholic mothers who neglect and/or kill their children… What for? Why doesn’t good news sell?
Then there’s the quote from O’Brien (not going to spoil it for anyone who would like to read the book at some point, so I won’t explain this character at all; only that he isn’t THE main character) toward the end: “Men are infinitely malleable.” I’ve recently become increasingly frustrated at people who very clearly (especially recently with a certain human bean who had the habit of quoting my opinions from 5 minutes ago directly back at me; annoying and hilarious at the same time) blindly follow the opinions and arguments of those they deem more “intellectual” than themselves, without bothering to address the problem from a more personal perspective. This happens, for example, with the knee-jerk reaction connected to my generation and religion, in my case, against Christianity. You tell someone that you’re Christian, or that you believe in a God, or you begin talking about a subject somewhat related to spirituality or something, and you’ll have a few types of people loudly proclaiming about how stupid the Bible and creationism are and how no-one in their right mind could possibly belong to a religion like Christianity in a modern age such as this. They don’t consider the fact that religion is experienced very personally, and that simply belonging to a religion doesn’t mean that you follow or even accept each and every one of their teaching as right — I don’t think some of them even understand the intricacy that comes to the teachings of Christianity, or that one of the main teachings (at least to me) seems to be love. … But this wasn’t supposed to be my rant about people’s attitudes toward my religion, and I apologise for my personal, ironically acquired knee-jerk reaction when it comes to thoughts like this.
Regardless, the principle is there: men are infinitely malleable. We pick up values and opinions and points of view without having a conscious knowledge of having done so. If confronted with a skillful speaker or writer who can present their views and persuade audiences with great skill, it doesn’t even matter whether or not the things they say are true — we will still believe them. We will believe them, because it’s so very easy, and analysing and researching a given piece of information isn’t. The whole point is that a human mind is most definitely subjective, and since it’s so subjective, and since a lot of our thought processes are complex and oftentimes subconscious and automatic, it’s easy to deceive. And that’s what scares me about 1984 — how accurately it portrays the difficulty of determining the truth (be it any truth about any subject) and a reality. Even science is subjective — as long as science requires human operation, it will continue to be incomplete. People are very good at seeing what they want to see.
Those are a few of the most apparent and obvious things that 1984 will make you think about. I don’t claim to be any intellectual when it comes to taking ideas out of a novel like that, so you’ll just have to read it yourself to see for yourself. However, what really caused the most uneasy feeling in me wasn’t my intellectual response to what I was reading, but the emotional response to — I think there will be a few spoilers now, be ready — the revelation that through his inner rebellion, Winston had been monitored constantly. It was only the fact that Winston continued to hope and dream and feel human that the description of the conditions of that state were bearable; the revelation that none of it was… true, I suppose, that the reader had been fooled to hope with Winston that he might be able to rebel against the state and survive left me with a chill. Because of the way Winston’s inner life is portrayed in the novel, the reader lives with him very closely; feeling his aches and his pains and his thoughts vividly. I, at least, thought him clever — more clever than some of the characters he deemed intelligent in the novel. It’s hard to explain what I mean, but the fact that Winston was cheated means that I, as a reader, since I was rooting for Winston’s freedom of thought, was cheated as well. In a way, my rebellion was crushed against the Party, as well — though the Party is fictional.
I suppose that this is the thing that really stuck with me from 1984. The power of the Party reached out of the novel, and it reached for me.
Peace and slight paranoia and thoughts of conspiracy theories and uneasiness to everyone~
Individualism in nutrition?
06 Jan 2011 1 Comment
in Thinking aloud Tags: ponderings, revelations
A few days ago, I read an article about someone trying to lose weight using Weightwatchers. She also claimed that the modern culture makes people eat too much — far more than they actually need daily. I was reminded of this again, today, when I was eating sushi for lunch — I can’t really remember the specific thought process behind it, I’m pretty sure it went along the lines of thinking about how my dentist had said that the sticky rice in sushi is bad for your teeth, but that he supposes that it’s healthier, generally, than having a hamburger, and then thinking about how many times I’ve had a conversation with mother about how certain specialist doctors (specifically the ones that take care of your stomach) would much rather you not eat anything. Not that how I got to that point is relevant.
Anyway, I’ve been thinking about my eating habits and my weight recently, mainly because during the course of 2010, I somehow managed to gain some 5-6 kg of weight, without actually changing my diet or exercise habits (close to nil, at the moment; I’ve got a few health & psychological issues connected to that) at all. In fact, I think I did a lot more exercise in 2010 than I did in 2009, because 2009 was the year of NO exercise whatsoever, whereas in 2010, I started getting at least SOME. Regardless, I’m completely baffled about this weight gain — it could be explained by my increasingly annoying hormones (migraines being the most recent addition to the hatred of being a woman), or by the stress and lack of sleep of last year.
Whatever the cause, this sudden (it happened during the course of 2-3 months, honestly) gain of weight hasn’t necessarily affected me too direly, because it’s not really my weight I’m concerned about, but it has made me more aware of what and how much I eat, if only because I’m trying my best to figure out what could cause such a thing. The thing is, I’ve gotten into the habit of never quite finishing a meal at dinner. I just feel full after I’ve eaten a certain proportion of the dinner, and then I just keep on eating and trying to finish my plate off, because I don’t want to seem like I’m trying to control my weight or something by not eating enough — except the thing is, I feel like less than I eat currently would be enough. In accordance to the article I read, and referenced at the beginning of this post — I’m sometimes worried about not eating enough, but I just have to wonder; would I not be eating enough, or is the norm just that we eat meals far bigger than our bodies, without much exercise or activity in a day, would require?
I’m not saying that it’s a universal thing; some people eat and have to eat more than others. All I’m saying is that from my very active sporting days (that 13 hours of practice at crazy intensities a week), I’ve always been very aware of what my body needs. Sometimes, when I’m sick or some part of my body is giving me grief or pain, I am able to automatically begin correcting the problem, by adjusting some other parts — sometimes this gives me slight annoyance, because it makes problems that I DO have, and seek help for, seem a lot less grave than they are. Maybe, with my eating habits, it’s the same thing — when I used to exercise incredibly actively, I would be constantly hungry and craving for chocolate, for example, for nourishment. When I quit exercising like that, I stopped craving that chocolate, and I stopped being so hungry; eventually, I came to the point where I am now, when I’m satisfied with eating little (not too little, though — perfectly enough).
Dinner is a difficult time for me at home, basically because by eating as much as I do, I feel like I’m quelling the fears of my family instead of satisfying and nourishing myself. This is another reason why I feel like moving out from home would be a wonderful thing: I would be able to start taking care of my health and eating all on my own, again. I shouldn’t have to answer to anyone with my eating; I feel like people are individual, and as with illnesses and pain affecting people in different ways, maybe the need for food is similarly individual as well. Not to say that everyone doesn’t need the same nutrients; just in different quantities, I suppose.
Peace and love.
When silence is aggravating
02 Jan 2011 Leave a Comment
in Personal Tags: memories, ponderings, revelations
I know that in times like these, families should come together more stronger than ever, and help other family members to cope and get through difficult times… But seeing the way in which my parents (and my mother’s parents) deal with conflict has continued to make me want to move out and be my own person as strongly as ever.
To understand this, there are three fundamental things about me that come from my upbringing as a child: firstly, my strength as a person. From a very young age, my parents have instilled in me the quality that if there is someone or something I don’t want to play with, then I do not have to. I don’t have to comply to anyone else’s wishes. As a child and a teenager, this made me the dominating figure in most of my friend groups and the games we played as children — I remember that very, very often, we would play the games I came up with, completely original, wonderful things. I was a benevolent dictator, sometimes reluctantly allowing kids to vote to do things that they wanted, instead of the things I did — but a dictator nonetheless. Even as a young adult, this trait leads me to seem intimidating toward most people with the strength of my opinions and with how I refuse to take any shit; it still leads me to dominate and control some conversations, even if I do it far more subtly than I sometimes used to. I’ve gained humility with age, but I still would never do something morally distasteful (for there are other and more complex reasons I would do things for other people; but thankfully, I also like seeing people happy, so sometimes doing things for other people I would not do simply for me also allow me to do things for me in a sense) to me solely to the benefit of another person.
Secondly, my inclination to take instructions instead of using my own incentive to do things; even simple things (think of the few times I’ve announced that I’ve written a blogpost because my significant other has requested it). I’ve recently realised that my way of being a control freak stems from somewhere — my parents. In keeping the house clean and taking care of bills and travel arrangements and the like, mother is in control of the logistical side of my household, and father is more passive, laid-back, and nonetheless controlling of the more… emotional side of things. I’ve been told how I have been scolded pretty hard as a child for simple things such as cutting up newspapers instead of the magazines I was supposed to. Of course, there’s also the matter of my hobby, ice skating (synchro, for anyone who knows the sport; I may have mentioned this before, but I competed for a total of six years, two in minors and four in novices — though the last year I competed, my team was almost on the junior level [minors, novices, juniors, seniors, for the confused], for that’s how good we were), which took roughly ten years of my life. Especially in the four years I was in novices, skating took up my entire life; with middle school and practice 13 hours a week, mostly within five days in a week, I didn’t have much spare time to myself. What’s more than that, even on the minor level, you weren’t allowed to miss practices for simple reasons such as somebody’s birthday party — and in novices, it heightened in the sense that first and foremost, you were a skater and represented your team, took care of yourself; all else, even schoolwork, would come next. It was a very strictly controlled lifestyle, and there wasn’t much you could influence. You did as you were told. With between my controlling parents and this sport, I became very good with just that.
Thirdly, my independence. It could seem confusing that I have just explained why I much rather follow instructions (even if general ones) and use my ability to best perform and elaborate upon them, and then claim to be an independent human being. With independence, however, I mean that I much rather take care of problems and things that arise by myself than let someone help me or take care of them for me. It applies to those clear situations in which it is apparent what has happened and what needs to be done; such a situation, for example, is shopping for certain supplies etc. This comes, most likely, from both of my parents’ tendency to do the same: their inability to ask for help, instead preferring to do everything alone. This is a quality my parents and I — before 2010, for last year taught me much about the value of communication — have taken so far that it has impeded the communication in my family. Especially now, when it would be most crucial that my parents express whenever they need us, whenever my mother needs some sort of help with her current workload… nothing. Silence. And occasional breakdowns in which me and my sister are accused of not helping enough around the house; helping my poor, suffering mother who has to do absolutely everything, even the things she had no prior knowledge of, since father would take care of them for us.
It is this lack of communication that I despise — the expectation that we should help, without any real instructions or help in HOW to do so. I confess, my life has probably been easier than most, because I have never had that many chores, and if I have, they have been all very clearly laid out for me. My parents have just usually taken care of most things by themselves. And don’t get me wrong — I do wish to help my mother, and I would really like to see that she would not be so stressed about everything all the time. But when you consider her way of controlling the household obsessively, taking care of everything as SHE wants it taken care of, how could I possibly even dream of doing anything? Should I just stand by and be there whenever she needs me? But even then, I wouldn’t know that she needed me, because she expects me to do the things, to help her around the house, without telling me. It’s the fact that she has to tell me that she doesn’t like.
Oh, the contradictions of my upbringing. I want a straight-forward family and a straight-forward household and home in which I don’t have to tread on my toes and guess about the things I’ve left undone… I want an environment in which everyone is open and honest with their wants and needs, simple and straight-forward, not one in which everything is repressed and taken care of in silence. Even before father’s illness, I often felt uneasy at home, for exactly these reasons — for the expectations my parents seem to have on me (though they deny them, whenever I try to speak up about this), and for the repression of emotions and needs in my house.
Never should one underestimate the power of healthy communication — nor take it for granted.
Peace and good, long talks, everyone.
The ball of yarn with ten threads
02 Jan 2011 Leave a Comment
in Personal Tags: frustrations, ponderings, sleep deprivation, suspense
Note from after completing this post: Don’t take this post too seriously. At the moment, I’m happy, content, excited. I have my ups and downs, and always have. Unfortunately, the post seems more grave in its disjointedness, and that is simply because of the physical tiredness of not getting much sleep in two nights in a row, and some trouble with a constant sleeping rhythm before that. I apologise in advance for the impossibility of this post. :3
I’m quite sure that my absence from blogging can be understood and forgiven this time, especially since in the past week, I’ve started to write four different blog posts at four different times, and never gotten past the opening paragraph. Holidays have always been difficult for me, mostly because I haven’t had much activity and when I don’t have much activity, when I have to come up with things to do by myself, I always descend into lethargy and melancholia, which often drains my energy to the point where doing mentally challenging things like writing or reading (I’m reading Jack Kerouac’s On The Road at the moment, and boy is it difficult to keep track of, especially when tired), and the notion of leaving the house becomes nigh impossible. This summer was going to be better than others, mostly because I have grown tremendously as a person in this past year (more on that later), and I have become stronger and more able — but with my father’s illness, I had foreseen that this will be one of the most difficult summers of my life, instead.
Of course, I hope that this won’t be the case — I’ve got some things scheduled for next week, mostly going to the city to spend the money I’m earning from the job I now got back, since the cinema I worked at six months ago finished renovating. That’s another way I can tell I’ve matured: my work was distasteful to me before, because it was hard for me to take complaints or misplaced aggression from customers — mostly because I’m essentially very eager to please, and take criticism and other than sorts of comments very personally. My parents have always said that I’m three times as hard on myself as anyone else is, and this at least has been correct — but now, like I was saying, it is not nearly as bad. I have matured in understanding that someone else’s stress or anger or misplaced hatred toward pricing (amusingly common — why would they whinge about ticket prices at me, the person selling them to them? Do people really not understand that my position is very much casual, I’m just a cashier, and the prices are waaaay beyond my control?) is not my problem at all — and why feel upset over something I can’t influence? Anyway, like I was saying, I’ve got some things planned for next week, and on friday, my significant other and I, alongside my little sister and my parents (yes, even my father, to our delight) will be hopping on an airplane toward northern Australia.
Let’s just hope that it’ll have stopped raining by then — though I’m not very hopeful about that either.
As you might notice from the way I’m writing, though, I’ve still not quite recovered from the state of… distraction that the recent unfortunate events have caused. I’m not sure if my tiredness and lethargy and the way in which I find myself losing the thread of logic in a conversation, or failing to interpret someone’s intentions in a conversation (something that I’m usually very good at) are caused by my customary summer condition, or by my father’s illness and the psychological strain it has placed upon me and my family. It always seems like my problems come in flocks, and it is hard to separate cause and effect into a neat thread — instead, I’m left with this bundle of problems and no real way to solve it, except to cast it all aside (or solve it by using my scissors) and plough ahead.
But as always, it’s more than just a bundle of problems. I’m known to be controlled by the depth and unreliability (in the manner of moodswings) of my emotions; positive as well as negative. I’ve always viewed myself as in need of a definite balance — because I feel so deeply about everything, I don’t think it will ever be fully possible for me to just be mellow or content and peaceful with what I have. Instead, I strive for balance: great happiness and great sadness go hand in hand. I don’t fear sadness, nor have I ever shied from it; I cry willingly, and it’s an inexplicably good feeling whenever I do, very similar to the overwhelming joy of being, well, overwhelmingly joyful, to feel like your heart is bursting from the sheer enjoyment of life. I don’t feel bad for feeling sad, though sometimes even the smallest setbacks will feel like the end of the world to me, though they aren’t, and still are, at that moment (and how grateful I am for my significant other to understand all of this, and to be able to comfort me accordingly). The feeling I most fear and hate is exactly that lethargy, which takes away my energy to feel much, except for the consuming tiredness.
So I suppose that in this disjointed way, I’m trying to prove to myself that the fact that I cry on maybe five nights out of seven is not a bad thing at all; it might purge some of my lethargy from me, giving me hope to somehow sort out my head from the knots of feelings and thoughts and the directionlessness that always camps on the borders of my subconscious and conscious.
I repeat that I realise that it might be impossible to follow the train of thought in this post, and it’s mostly because I started writing it around four in the morning last night, or morning, when I was feeling thoughtful, and continued it now, in the following afternoon, when that blueness has disappeared and been replaced with an excited contentment. But more than that, this rambling is very much representative of the manner in which my thoughts and feelings and intuition and physical feelings, too, are in chaos — interconnected and confusing. I feel so much, and there are so many reasons I could feel that way for — the sheer amount of things that are happening and that I am feeling makes it very hard to make any order in my head at the moment, never mind my life. Maybe the solution to this would be to stop thinking about it so hard, and dispose of the symptoms before I can take care of the causes — because right now, the symptoms are preventing me of functioning as fully and smoothly as possible. I should stop thinking so rationally, stop trying to trace back all of these feelings and pains, and instead just allow myself to feel them; and then to deal with each of them as they come along.
Sure, the easiest way to solve a problem is to go way back to its cause, but at the moment, that is impossible. I’m a human ball of yarn, but instead of just having two ends, I have something around 20. It’s so hard, being young and clueless. And at the same time, I hope this uncertainty and discovery never ends… I’d just want a more physical, active discovery, instead of this self-centered mulling that I do. It’ll be all better when forces beyond mine begin to control my life once more.
That’s something I’ve always been good at… Incentive is not really my thing (though I can most definitely take the reigns to my own hands if needed, or if I feel like I can do a better job than whomever it is holding them at that moment), I’d much rather someone told me exactly what to do, so that I can then focus completely on doing it to the best of my ability.
Peace and thoughtfulness and the soft comforting beauty of sleep for everyone; let’s hope that next time I come back, I’ll be a bit more coherent and have happier things to talk about.
Rationalising about irrationality
05 Sep 2010 Leave a Comment
in Uncategorized Tags: late at night, ponderings, seasons, slight angst, suspense, videogames
UPD 13-Sep-2010: While trying to sort out all the prompts for the next post, I realised that this one pretty much fills the one for
Day 21: Something illogical you think or do.
I actually had a pretty good day today, for once. Good on the scale that it’s raining now, and probably rather cold outside, but I don’t even care — yeah, me, the sun-loving, cold-hating little kitty-cat doesn’t care that it’s wet and cold outside (and why should I, I’m inside; but a lot of the time I do, so take that). Or, well, at least I had a good end of the day — it kind of began pretty shittily, with a headache and nausea that caused me to want to eat only frozen raspberries for breakfast and got my mother to nag about how I’m feeling sick just because I haven’t eaten properly, but I, personally, attribute it rather to my incredibly stupid hormonal cycle (though I wouldn’t tell that to her, since you can’t argue with The Ex-Nurse), which causes, along headaches and nausea and various cramps, this incredibly annoying irritability, hyper-sensitivity (because I’m always sensitive) and irrationality.
I’m a very rational human being — I like science, and I like logic. I’ve always been thanked in English for being able to construct a coherent, logical argument. I do like creative writing, too — but even in that, I like my thoughts to be organised, my intentions to be clear, and each and every thing that happens in a short story or in a novel to be rational, and to clearly and logically follow some other action. This applies even to human beings in my stories — except on a more emotional level. My stories are usually character-driven, and before I create anything else, I will create a character; and how I envision that character to feel and to think, that is where the logic of the story is. Everything has a place and a reason — even seemingly random and useless occurrences are usually there because I felt they would suit that spot there, and because later, they will develop into a character trait or a plot twist or something less significant than that.
I know you’re probably confused about where I’m going with all this, but be patient with me — this blog is one of those things that isn’t exactly very organised, logical and coherent, and there’s multiple reasons for that, too; ones that should be clear in the way I write and what I write about. Anyway. If you go into as superficial definitions as stereotypes, you could say that I’m pretty male in a lot of ways; in how I value rational logic (oh, except that I don’t fit those stereotypes at all, because as logical as I like to think that I am, I’m also pretty driven by emotion; but I think that even emotions are logical in some sort of a manner, and all you need to do is understand the origin of the emotion for it to be clear and rational as day — I don’t like the misconception that logic and emotions can’t go hand in hand) and how I’m incredibly unable to multitask. This is completely unrelated, but this should be mentioned, mostly for shits and giggles — especially since my significant other is always so eager to remind me that I can’t do basic things such as drinking and walking at the same time. The explanation for this is a lot more physical than the one for my usual inability to multitask — simple concentration on one thing at a time, I do something with 110% efficiency or not at all.
But I’m obviously not male, and I’ve got a stupidly retarded hormonal cycle to remind me of that. Even forgetting the physical unpleasantries, I would still hate it with a passion, because of what it does to my mind. Once every bleeding month, I become incredibly depressed over nothing in particular, and the smallest, usually perceived shortcomings of myself or the people around me will make me burst into tears. If there is no such outlet, I will be gloomy and depressed and lethargic for a few days. Then, I become irritable and impatient for the next, often going back to being the sarcastic, almost mean-spirited, too-good-for-you human being I was a few years ago. After this, the hormones usually decide to leave me alone and let me be considerably happy for the next few weeks — until it comes back.
The most annoying thing about this stupid cycle (you can probably tell how much I hate it from counting how many times I’ve referred to it as “stupid” — I was never very good with insults, *smiles sheepishly*) is that the extravagant, ridiculous extremes that my emotions fly to are so very real to me. I get incredibly depressed over someone dropping a cookie on the floor (an actual reference I use when I’m bawling over nothing in particular to note the world around me of how no-one died and that I’m actually rather alright), and at that moment, it is the end of the world, for me. Where it gets infuriating and bizarre is the notion that even when I’m feeling so depressed over the death of this cookie, I will still acknowledge how ridiculous I’m being. I could almost bet that 75% of the aforementioned irritability is my internal fury for not being able to contain my stupid, chemical-ridden brain. Those weeks are probably the only ones in which I will feel strongly about nothing in particular, and be just as irrational as women are, according to the stereotype, supposed to be, most of the time. It annoys me SO; and even more so, because there is actually nothing I can do about it. Just bitch and whine like the teenage girl I am, ugh.
So, that’s passing over another time, again — no-one’s dead yet, so I suppose that’s a good sign — and I’ve been having a fairly alright day. In this day, I witnessed once more how it is impossible for me to stay within word limits (writing a report for Chemistry on the industrial production of ethene — there are seven or so points we need to cover, and I’m in the middle of covering point 2, already having used half of the word limit), dabbled with The Sims 3 a bit again (just a bit, though, because I didn’t really have time to REALLY get into it) and talked on the phone with my significant other, the drummer deity, for some 45 minutes or so. God, that was one of the best conversations on phone that I’ve had for ages. Still, I wish he was home already. I wish next week wouldn’t be so busy. I wish it were holidays already. I wish it to be next weekend, when I’m supposed to get my copy of Kingdom Hearts: Birth By Sleep! Most importantly, I wish it were tomorrow, because I’m supposed to get French toast tomorrow, heeee.
Carpe diem, they say, and I endorse that idea — but sometimes it’s just so HARD. It’s hard to not wait for all of this awesome stuff; it’s hard to make yourself concentrate on probability (that I still don’t get; damn you, Markov chains) and on all this school stuff going on, because SPRING IS COMING and summer is almost here and IT’S ALMOST OVER.
Peace and French toast to everybody.
In the dark she pleads
04 Sep 2010 Leave a Comment
in Uncategorized Tags: flow of consciousness, human beans, late at night, ponderings, pseudo-philosophising, religion
I’ll begin by apologising about how little I’ve been posting this week. This week, like the others preceding this one, has been a pretty hard one for me again — and I can see that next week, with its three SACs and one practice exam (which is, incidentally, worth half of the SAC marks for unit 4 for English), will be even worse. But since it’s almost one at my corner of the world, maybe I shouldn’t be worrying about that right now.
What should I be worrying about, then? I’m not entirely certain. I had to take my cute, fluffy dog out for a walk today, and I found it, as I always do, when I can actually move from the horizontal position I automatically take after a day of school these days, rather pleasant. It wasn’t entirely too cold out there — I think the thermometer said something around 15 degrees celsius by the time it was completely dark, so that’s not bad at all. It still smells and feels like spring, with all the birds singing; it might be a universal feeling, but at least in me, the arrival of spring always creates this wild hope, as a sort of light at the end of the tunnel, but at the same time, it makes me dreamy and impatient, which could be very bad for the intense revision that I need to start doing relatively soon. … Ugh, I just said that I wouldn’t worry about it, but school seriously occupies at least 98% of my brain at all times, and that’s one of the tragedies of this school year. It’s been an incredible year, no doubt of that — one of the best years of my life, I’m sure — but I’m getting pretty sick of this academic bullshit hijacking my brain constantly.
And then again, I’m afraid I’ll be completely devoid of thought when I don’t have any school things to think about. It might take surprisingly long for me to adjust to holidays, once they finally arrive… But, again, I’m worrying, even with listening to these stupid “relax” sounds from a relaxation app I downloaded in view of helping me get sleep more easily. But as expected, it hasn’t helped, as of yet — I find that music, even if it’s soft, or ambient sounds like running water, they don’t necessarily make me relax, but instead provide a singular point of concentration and keep me awake. So now I’m trying to get it to help me concentrate, but as you can see with me going off on tangents to every possible direction, it’s either not doing its job very well, or it’s doing it too well with trying to open my subconscious and make all this flowy stuff that makes no sense at all fall out for you to read as one form of verbal diarrhea. Um.
What I was going to say to begin with was that I enjoyed that walk with my dog, listening to semi-melancholy, simplistic songs that I have in my music library — in fact, I enjoyed it so much that when I arrived home, when it was still relatively light but the sun had already begun to set, I just dumped the dog inside and then fled outside again. I didn’t go on a walk or anything, because I didn’t really think of anywhere to go, and it would’ve felt a bit silly for me to go around where I had already been — so instead, I simply sat on one of those pillar-like things in front of my house (it sounds a bit silly, but unfortunately that’s the best description I can give; anyone who has seen my house will know what I’m talking about), cross-legged, and simply watched a decidedly urban sunset.
I don’t know how long I sat there, nor what I thought during that time — I just know that there I sat, watching the world get darker around me, and some cars drive by (I remember feeling amused about them speeding by so fast, no-one noticing the strange girl perched there in front of her house). It sounds kind of forced, now; a sort of deliberately eccentric or artsy type of thing people could do to show off with how beautifully different they are from “normal” people, but to me, it was no different to just sitting out on your porch and enjoying the world around you. It was the same feeling I get with public transport — you’re isolated, left alone, but simultaneously you’re this part of a whole, a part of the life around you. It makes me feel really good, and it always reminds me of my God, because to me, God is unity — God is in peace, and God is in wholes and understanding and all that hippie bullshit that doesn’t mean anything to you, if you haven’t experienced it, at least on some smaller scale.
I do remember thinking about God, and thinking about atheists and going back to the half-formed argument I laid in my previous post. This is mainly because yesterday, there was a huge “discussion” on my significant other’s wall about — well, a score of things, as the opposing side had trouble keeping their arguments straight and comprehensible. It began about how “unnatural” it is for a man to have given birth — you know, that guy who used to be a girl and who then became pregnant, as he left his reproductive organs unmodified in any way, and who appeared on Oprah (I believe) some time ago… If you don’t know the case, don’t make any assumptions, but research it first, please. I wouldn’t like anyone making judgement on anything like that before knowing good, solid facts about it, and even then I would ask you to consider how much it is not our problem that this man, who was born female, has given birth.
Anyway, this conversation can be summed up as a great debate against intolerance on my part and a great intolerance on his (yes, the debate was between me and this unknown person who had posted a link to a group against this “male pregnancy” on my significant other’s wall, and since I never know when to shut up…). It is so remarkable to me why it is so difficult to accept for people that different people have different points of view, and everyone is essentially just as correct as everyone else. I seriously don’t understand such blindness — nor do I understand the apparently human need to butt into everybody else’s business because of “free speech” (I oppose the hounding of celebrities, by the way, as a general indication of how I feel about this) or whatever right people seem to have to force their own values as norms on everyone else.
Why is it so frightening to accept that another person may think that they are right? It’s not like you have to modify your entire world view — all you’re saying is: “Oh, that person is silly, but I suppose that they think that they are right, so I shouldn’t press the matter further, because they’ll not think that I’m right, either.” I was thinking this, because I was thinking about God, and I was thinking about how atheists are so adamant about arguing that there is no God and that the Bible is just a book of stories. I agree with the latter part of it, partially, since some aspects of the Bible are historically accurate, but what I think of the first part isn’t really even relevant. Even if God doesn’t exist, even if God created nothing in the world and if God has no influence over human beings in anything (not even their creation), if there is no afterlife, no nothing — why is it so bad to let someone believe in a presumably fictional being, if it makes them feel good about themselves, their life, and the people around them?
Why do we, as a race, oppose each others’ happiness so very hard, just to prove a silly, stupid point of ours? It breaks my heart.
Do unto others as you would have others do unto you. Love, and be loved; live and let live.
Another Incident that just went off
01 Sep 2010 Leave a Comment
in Uncategorized Tags: how curious, human beans, ponderings, pseudo-philosophising
Quick note: I updated the previous post to contain the picture that I promised. Go check it out. :3 It’s also got a short description written beneath it.
Another quick note: the title of this post is from the lyrics of The Ultimate Fling by Poets of the Fall — which, I suppose, is a good soundtrack for this post and a really great song, so I’ll just post it down here, so you might listen to it while reading:
Third quick note: happy September ;3 We’re this much closer to summer! <———> (not to scale)
Human beans are curious beings (c wat I did thar? Not only did I make a funny [debatable], but I also managed to keep the sentence fresh and interesting and oh God I’ve done entirely too much language analysis). Or, well, at least teenagers are, because they’re really the single group of people I spend enough time around to evaluate common behaviour. And that sounds like I’m some sort of a creepy stalker who just sits in the corner with a twisted smile on her face and WATCHES, unseen by everyone else — which is kind of funny, because that’s the person I sometimes am. Except for the twisted smile; people tend to notice twisted smiles. All I’m saying is that in Australia, you really have to work to be noticed (something I’m getting better at), and I, as a more-or-less subtle Finn, can pretty much vanish from sight if I really want to.
Or could, before people started knowing who I am.
But that’s kind of going off on a tangent about what I wanted to talk about. In my awesome English class — actually, I should probably give you a bit of background on this one, first. My English class is one of the smaller ones in the year level — I think there are only around fifteen students there. Also, it seems almost like some sort of a conspiracy, because there’s a LOT of good English students in that class; and with a lot, I mean that when we had the task to give a persuasive oral speech to the class (and anyone whose English/[insert language here] class has ever had to do anything of the like are cringing now, knowing how bad and downright BORING those things can get), every single one in the class was actually worth listening to. This was a phenomenomnomnom that baffled me for ages, and still continues to. The only answer to the brilliancy (according to my spellcheck, that’s actually a word. Go figure) of this class would be to call it a conspiracy, so I narrow my eyes and do exactly so.
But, as most of you probably would know, when you put a roomful of competent people together, you very quickly realise that that roomful of competent people also happens to be a roomful of strongly opinionated people — and most of the time, those competent people will have very different points of view on each subject and they will be very vocal about their disagreement. Or that’s the situation in my class, at least. I know that I’m somewhat guilty of this crime, because I’m rather enamored with telling people what I think — but like I’ve probably said before, I think that I usually try to be courteous toward other people and understand that different people have different points of view, and there’s nothing too weird about that. But for me, that realisation (or, well, the full implications and practice of it) has come only recently (I’m somewhat ashamed to admit — I’ve always KNOWN it, but when you have passion, you know, you sometimes — most of the time — become blind to all reason), and to most of the people in my class, it still hasn’t.
This equals to a lot of loud discussion, flaring tempers and people speaking all over each other — much like I described in the context essay thing (the one about writing, where I mentioned the Great Debate) that I posted a week or so ago. Even though I’m aware that I’m doing it myself on some minor degree (or at least suspecting that I do it — it’s really difficult to view your behaviour objectively), it’s always seemed bizarre to me how people can’t fathom the fact that there might be some sort of a reason for the other person to think or feel as they do about the subject, and it’s not always even POSSIBLE for everyone to agree with you. I do understand the sting of trying to explain something that is really close to you and someone just looking at you blankly, or insulting you mildly by not even trying to understand. However, I think that this is just an adaptation of the same thing — if you want everyone to agree with you, unconditionally, you won’t really try to understand someone else, will you? I can understand if someone doesn’t understand, truly, but all I’d want is an “I’m sorry, but I really cannot understand that point of view because I’ve always thought/I was taught that/I’ve come to think that…” and an exploration of one’s own point of view, or something along the lines of that. Just because you don’t understand doesn’t mean that the point of view isn’t valid, and that’s something an alarming number of people fail to grasp.
I’m talking about this right now, because there was another Incident in my English class today. There is this girl in my class, known for her adamant views and her devil-cares attitude when it comes to everyone else’s opinion, making me, at least, who is sensitive to what people want of me, tread around her on my toes, nodding and smiling and very careful not to give her any of my opinions (or if I do, I try not to leave her with any fodder to begin arguing) so as to not have to fight it out with her. She is also known for giving her opinion even when she isn’t asked for one. Who doesn’t know one of those people? Another aspect of her points of view, as usually with strong-headed people like that, is that she is very unwilling to compromise, and hence her opinions are rather narrow-minded, which can be forgiven, as she wouldn’t have had too much experience with having to compromise. Anyway, today, she began giving her point of view on a certain key scene in The Streetcar Named Desire, and on what it meant for the characters and the themes of the play. Simply put, her views were contested and she stormed out of the room.
On hindsight, it was fair enough — a few people (including myself, though I mainly participated in making doubtful noises and raising my eyebrow) ganged up on her, and she might have felt herself isolated and frustrated as she could not make us understand that point of view. This argument was about raping (as there’s a rape scene in the play; I’m sorry if I spoiled it for someone), and how she believed that a man must hate a woman — or something about a woman — in order to be able to do such a thing to her. I can see that she, as a feminist, would’ve felt strongly about that sort of a thing — I know the feeling; and with me, it’s usually about religion and that bloody knee-jerk reaction people get when you mention Christianity, which has made me rather unwilling to talk about my religion, sadly, in the fear of getting hurt.
Anyway, this reaction was understandable from all different points of view — though I mostly stand by our right to disagree without her having to give up on the argument and storm out of the room. We could have been more diplomatic with her, yes, but she could have asked us to be slightly more diplomatic with her, of course. What I don’t accept nor understand is the aftermath of that storming out — there were a few chuckles, and for the remainder of the class, the rest of my class yet continued to disprove and ridicule this girl’s argument behind her back. It seemed to me as if it was some sort of a creation of group spirit, or something, in singling out an opinion and then repeating its invalidity over and over and over. It’s hardly fair to continue to argue, or to poke fun at someone when they aren’t there to explain and defend their point of view — it’s another one of those narrow-minded things that people seem to do instinctively. I can’t say that I approve.
And here, I conclude my overly long explanation of what I feel about arguments without a real contention of valid conclusion. Or, well, I suppose I could conclude like I conclude most of my discussion on the context “whose reality” (which relates directly to one’s points of view, if you think about it, because the perception of reality is based on one’s self, and since we’re all different, we’ve all got our different realities): people should try to remember that as much as they believe they are right, 100%, they should try to remember that the person they are arguing against will also think that they are right and you are wrong. I’m not saying that you should somehow always agree with people to make them happy — I don’t exactly endorse dishonesty. Disagree all you want, but do so politely, and if possible, explain why you think so and express that you are happy to accept the disagreement as it is, because you understand that this person has their point of view, and you respect that.
I bet that’ll make a lot of people happy around you.
I’ll just catch up with the prompts tomorrow, because today I’ve already written a post longer than most people are willing to read, I suppose.
Peace and respect and acceptance to everyone, : )
The distasteful rediscovery of music television (and other things, of course)
30 Aug 2010 Leave a Comment
in Personal, Thinking aloud Tags: 35 days, enthusiastic rambling, feminism, ponderings
Ok, so right now I should be both reading through my 30 pages of chemistry research for the industrial production of ethylene and doing math — probably simultaneously — but I decided that I’m going to write another blogpost instead. And eat snozzberries. I like snozzberries. Omnom. … Refer back to this post, if confused (hint: they’re red and taste like strawberries).
Anyway, so shortly after posting my previous post, I complained to mother about how I never seem to get school off my mind and that I don’t really even dare to try, because I seem to have to know and remember so much stuff at once — and she giggled a bit, called me silly and said that I should relax a bit, so I did. And ate most of a packet of chips. I have a Smith’s addiction, don’t judge me. Or, well, feel free to judge me, because mentally, I’m this huge fatty, but because of my overactive saliva production (just ask my boyfriend, he knows aaaaall about that one — mostly because in biting him, I rather drool all over him) and my otherwise active metabolism (translated to “I need to pee often”), I’m not, physically. And yeah, recently I’ve started going to the gym at least once a week, but that couldn’t have had much of an impact just yet — since I’ve only been doing it three weeks in a row. But still (I realised that I’ve been starting pretty much every sentence of this post with some sort of a conjunction; what’s up with that?), it seems like every time I go, it’s a bit better than the last. I’m BRIMMING with energy at the moment — something that frustrates my mother, who, poor being, is forced to keep up with my speed and rolls my eyes at “OH I COULD DO SOME MORE NOW” when I recover fairly quickly. I think I’ve discovered the gist of breathing and not wearing myself out too quickly (something I, as an ex-synchro ice skater [how do you even formulate that expression? o_O] have had some trouble with — I actually was forced to quit after ten years of ice skating because of various breathing problems): just keep my pulse under 180 — around 175 — and I’ll be perfectly fine for as long as I need to go.
Along with getting embarrassed at the noises some of the machine thingies made when I totally failed in using them (hey, no-one’s taught me how to!), I made some pretty interesting observations about the “wonderful” world of music television, something I haven’t had to endure for a veeery long time, mainly because I keep pretty far away from my TV, unless it’s connected to a DVD player or my darling PS3 (that I haven’t had time to play, either, sigh). I noticed that Justin Bieber (no, I didn’t actually have to listen to his whining, thank GOD FOR THAT) makes those same, overly dramatic hand gestures that people in music videos make when they’re being, well, overly dramatic in driving their deep and meaningful point (I think I recall that the name of the song was something like “Never going to leave you” or something similar — very deep and meaningful, eh?) across. They’re always the same gestures — the hand waving in the air before the singer’s face, said person looking away from or directly at the camera, usually leaning against the wall or something, with hardly anything in the background so that the viewer can concentrate on Justin Bieber’s terrible haircut — I mean, the way in which the artist just can’t seem to rein their feelings in. MUST. EXPRESS. SELF. PHYSICALLY. It’s quite silly, really; especially since the “artists” always seem to take themselves perfectly seriously when gesturing wildly like that.
Not that I can talk; signed, miss I-wave-my-hands-in-the-air-when-I’m-not-too-sure-of-what-I’m-saying.
Also, not that the other, common-for-music-television variety of music video is much better, really. There’s the RnB or rap or WHATEVER (I’m sorry, anyone who’s a fan of those particular genres — I’m more of a metal girl myself, and painfully oblivious to other genres and sub-genres of music) person — usually a guy — dressed in his overly huge clothes with their overly obnoxious logos and colours, with a matching backdrop, probably another guy or two — and some dozen scantily-clad women swaying tantalisingly in the background. I only caught a glimpse of this one, because I was pretty quick to look away, knowing how very worked up I get myself over music videos like these — I mean, the point where the camera first took a close-up shot of this girl’s CROTCH when she was wearing these short short short shorts (not that I have necessarily much against that, mind you, but CROTCH-SHOT?), that was when I decided that I should probably just concentrate on what I’m doing (cycling, at that point) instead of getting worked over something I can’t necessarily change.
I just want to clarify that I don’t necessarily get worked up over those music videos over the blatant objectification of women — instead, I get pissed at the women who allow themselves to be portrayed in such a way. As a long-time text roleplayer (it’s kind of like communal storytelling, just from a certain character’s perspective) in an environment that consisted mostly of teenaged boys, I’ve been subjected to a lot of “go to the kitchen and make me a sammich, bitch” and “you’re a woman, hence you suck.” However, I never allowed comments like these, and I’m very good with establishing what I want and what I don’t want said to myself. It didn’t take entirely too long for me to be established as an equal — or even superior — to most of the male roleplayers in that particular environment. And thus I had no sympathy for girls who would come along later and whinge about how they were treated badly, either offgame or ingame. I firmly believe that you’re treated just as you allow yourself to be treated — and I believe that the objectification or sexualisation of women is also the fault of the countless women who allow themselves to be objectified. We’re not allowed to go to men and growl about being treated like a pair of tits and a nice ass, if some women carry themselves like that. Do women with an ounce of self-respect a favour: smack a slut (unless it just excites them more).
Uh. Well, I’m glad I said that, in any case. I hope I didn’t antagonise any women who might be reading this post — I’m not necessarily saying that it’s ALL women’s fault, either, but I’m just sayin’ that sometimes feminists who are a little trigger-happy, or so to speak, don’t really consider this point of view.
ON TO HAPPYLAND, now — let me answer you a prompt.
Day 20: Objects or things that are in your bed
Oh, hell, I was going to take a picture of the plushies in my bed for this one.. *glances over to bed with its messy covers, and then back at laptop* Uh. Will you forgive me if I simply describe the different plushies I have there, instead of actually having to go through and sort them out — I’ll tell you what, if I can be bothered, tomorrow, I’ll just take the picture then and then update this post with it, right? Right!
It’s nice to ask these questions when writing this to myself, since I’m always right. Hee.
UPD 1-Sep-2010: Alrighty, after wrestling with my iPhoto a bit, I finally got the images to prance merrily into my mac. Geez. Apparently it’s a known issue, though; something they should fix at some point. ANYWAY. Here’s the furry things:
You might notice that there’s a few cows there — and I can tell you, there’s even more of those stowed away in my closet, waiting for me to get my own place and fill it with cow plushies and then eventually choke on lint and dust, because I’m too lazy to clean them out properly. Few of them actually have names (shock and horror as it is): the cow to the front right, she’s called Moo-Moo (originally enough; but hey, I was like 10 when I got her), and she was my first cow plushie, before I started actively collecting them. The bear at the front is Chocolate Bear, an indication of its colour, and of the fact that he was bearing chocolate when I received him for my eighteenth, and as a reference to Scrubs. The mushroom to the left is just a mushroom, but I had to mention it because it’s awesome and people have weird obsessions to it. Also, you can see Mr Epilepsy Pillow in the background. I love him. And, of course, the most important one who doesn’t actually live in my bed anymore, because I’m concerned for his frailty, but whom I had to include in the picture: the worn-looking elephant just left from Chocolate Bear is called Clever Elephant, and he was actually my first plushie ever. First, as in my parents had just brought me home from the hospital and had him and a few other plushies in the crib so that it wouldn’t feel so huge and I cuddled him close first. He’s seen a LOT, that one; and now he’s also become a character (albeit slightly altered) in my ongoing novel. :3 End of UPD
Aaaanyway, my bed contains pretty much everything. It’s an Australian double-sized bed (I don’t know how that corresponds to European or American sizes), which is pretty much big enough for me to sleep curled up, or diagonally, as I am wont to do. It’s a nice bed, and it has an electric blanket for when I get cold (I have talked about how I’m cold-blooded and my body seems to adapt to the heat of my environment and hence I get really cold in the winter, right?), so that makes it even nicer. I hardly ever make my bed, because that’s some extra effort in the mornings for a decidedly non-morning person. Besides, I’m pretty much the only person who lives in my room (my significant other doesn’t count, nor does the monster that lives in my closet), and I don’t mind it being all messy, so why should anyone else?
Also, during the day, or when I need to use my desk, I usually just brush everything off it and on my bed. If I’m in my office chair, I’m not in my bed — and so the stuff I don’t need or the stuff that’s in the way, like the keyboard to my desktop, is put on my bed, along with any piles of schoolbooks that I may need. Yeah. The short answer for this prompt, too, would’ve probably been “everything,” and if I was feeling really cheeky, I might add: “that’s on my bed.” Hee.
Day 21: Something illogical that you think or do
Day 22: A very old picture of you
Hey, that was the first time in some time in which I actually posted in two days in a row! I’m very proud of myself, even if I procrastinated my math homework for doing it. Well, my justification for that one is that currently, I’m only two exercises behind — and, at times, I’ve been about five. It’s really not a biggie, and I’ll be able to catch up (hopefully) after this whole Chem SAC thing is done. … That’s likely just wistful thinking, because I see more work looming in the horizon, but hey, one can have irrational dreams, right?
Peace and love and unicycles for everyone, and sorry about the rather word-heavy post. I was a bit enthused there. <3
