Since the last post, I've been a bridesmaid, turned another year older, watched one of my best friends get splattered with bird shit, seen some comedy that makes you want to slit your wrists, ate at a Michelin star restaurant and got a fringe. So far 28, so good.
The Wedding was what I thought it would be. Well, the lead up was anyway. I'm not good/equipped with handling tears, especially when I deem them unwarranted. I'm not good with weird emotional freak outs either. I deal with them awkwardly, my reactions are totally forced, especially when I'm trying to be sympathetic. But it wasn't all bad. While I know that The Wedding wasn't what I'd ever want for myself, the whole marriage thing is actually beautiful, even underneath all the cheesy photos and colour coordination. I really enjoyed the Scottish ceilidh. I think I really like tradition because I come from a non traditional family. I feel a little sad that if I ever got married there wouldn't be any singing and dancing to Scottish anthems, nor would I be wearing red or adopting any of the Chinese traditions. Of course I could, if I really wanted to, but I don't know enough about either side for it to seem acceptable. I'd just feel like a culture sucking fraud.
So onto the new age, and with 28, comes a new list. I did most of what I wanted to achieve and this time around, I've got more time to get everything done. This year's list is going to be more thoughtful, because this is what happens when you're 28; you're wiser, more worldly yet you still laugh at poo jokes.
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
28. The manifesto.
Floss more. She who flosses prevents gum disease (is this weird this was my first thought? No, eroding gums are gross).
Experiment with cooking. Soy sauce shouldn’t dominate my meals, I’ve probably tapped into my Asian-ness enough.
Grasp grammar. Honestly, it’s about time.
Glasses. Perhaps accurate vision will be deemed more important this year.
Try harder. If everything were easy you probably wouldn’t be writing a manifesto, right?
Don’t ever be lazy. You’re not at the moment, but it’s just a warning to the 28 year old you who may be feeling a little weary and less sprightly.
Be less dismissive of people. Maybe there’s something more to the people you don’t like. While they’re probably still dicks, at least try one more time?
Go out for breakfast more because you love it. You can order muesli every time if that’s what you wish – don’t listen to other people’s scorn.
Farewell thee well 27th year.
Experiment with cooking. Soy sauce shouldn’t dominate my meals, I’ve probably tapped into my Asian-ness enough.
Grasp grammar. Honestly, it’s about time.
Glasses. Perhaps accurate vision will be deemed more important this year.
Try harder. If everything were easy you probably wouldn’t be writing a manifesto, right?
Don’t ever be lazy. You’re not at the moment, but it’s just a warning to the 28 year old you who may be feeling a little weary and less sprightly.
Be less dismissive of people. Maybe there’s something more to the people you don’t like. While they’re probably still dicks, at least try one more time?
Go out for breakfast more because you love it. You can order muesli every time if that’s what you wish – don’t listen to other people’s scorn.
Farewell thee well 27th year.
Sunday, August 09, 2009
Reason 457 I am turning into my mother
My mum has an uncanny knack of remember the smallest details of her childhood but when it comes to her, say, remembering which of her daughters is calling her on the phone, there are sometimes a few lapses. For example, every time I call her, the following conversation starter occurs:
Ring ring, ring ring...
Mum: 'Hello?'
Me: 'Hi Mum' (sometimes I mix it up with, hi mum, it's me)
Mum: pause......pause
[mum's train of thought] hmmmmmmm, now I spoke to Juliet the other day, Lisa on the weekend. Ah, this is the deeper voiced child, the one who insists on calling me at 730am when we've made no pre-arrangements to talk on the phone [train of thought breaks to remember if any arrangements to call were made that she may have forgotten].
Mum: pause
[mum's train of thought cont.] Yes, it's Vanessa, that one never makes arrangements.
Mum: 'Oh hello dear' (even though she says the same hello dear with all of us so she actually could have bought some time at the start while she worked out which one of us was calling).
Before I get an email from her telling me she knows which of us is which, the point I am making is that my long term memory is so much better than my short term one. Last night, Luke and I were playing the game where you sing the next line of a song. I sucked at all songs post 1996. But when TLC's Sumthin' Wicked This Way Comes I was totally channeling the late Lisa 'Left Eye' Lopez. The song I learned back in 1995 (in the peak of my R&B days) was obviously in some recess of my mind, just waiting for the day some neuron came by to pick it up to test its worth. It was probably sitting alongside the various bits of useless information my brain insists on carrying. For example, Left Eye died in a jeep accident. Of course, I don't need to remember this, yet I remember such facts over the more useful things like where full stops etc go after inverted quotes. Actually, I can't even remember whether they're called inverted quotes or commas.
Hmmmm.
Ring ring, ring ring...
Mum: 'Hello?'
Me: 'Hi Mum' (sometimes I mix it up with, hi mum, it's me)
Mum: pause......pause
[mum's train of thought] hmmmmmmm, now I spoke to Juliet the other day, Lisa on the weekend. Ah, this is the deeper voiced child, the one who insists on calling me at 730am when we've made no pre-arrangements to talk on the phone [train of thought breaks to remember if any arrangements to call were made that she may have forgotten].
Mum: pause
[mum's train of thought cont.] Yes, it's Vanessa, that one never makes arrangements.
Mum: 'Oh hello dear' (even though she says the same hello dear with all of us so she actually could have bought some time at the start while she worked out which one of us was calling).
Before I get an email from her telling me she knows which of us is which, the point I am making is that my long term memory is so much better than my short term one. Last night, Luke and I were playing the game where you sing the next line of a song. I sucked at all songs post 1996. But when TLC's Sumthin' Wicked This Way Comes I was totally channeling the late Lisa 'Left Eye' Lopez. The song I learned back in 1995 (in the peak of my R&B days) was obviously in some recess of my mind, just waiting for the day some neuron came by to pick it up to test its worth. It was probably sitting alongside the various bits of useless information my brain insists on carrying. For example, Left Eye died in a jeep accident. Of course, I don't need to remember this, yet I remember such facts over the more useful things like where full stops etc go after inverted quotes. Actually, I can't even remember whether they're called inverted quotes or commas.
Hmmmm.
Thursday, August 06, 2009
In follow up to post 3.8.09
Vic and I were loudly 'rated' by a gaggle of builders last night.
Filed under 'a large percentage of people in this world are idiots' and 'female meat meets femmo rant'.
Filed under 'a large percentage of people in this world are idiots' and 'female meat meets femmo rant'.
Wednesday, August 05, 2009
Success
Tonight, Vic and I were talking about how we measure success, and understandably, as we are not conjoined and share the same digestive system and heart, our measurements are about as different as metric and imperial. For some reason I negatively prefaced my idea of success with something along the lines of 'I may be a massive underachiever but...'and having reflected on this conversation 20 minutes later, it really bothered me that I did this because I am not one of those down on myself people.
But let's have a moment to psych me out. My idea and measurement of success has only recently taken a solid form. I spent a majority of my life comparing myself and the stage of life I was at to that of my sisters. Wrong, so wrong. I am not them and that's ok. So I had to change my definition of success. It has become clear since coming here that all I really want is to be happy, everyday, and if I am good at that, then I'm successful. But that seems a bit lame-o and to be honest, maybe happiness is not the end of my measuring tape (cms of course).
The problem is, I really like stuff in general. I really like doing a lot of things. I'd even go as far to say I love a lot of things. Take writing for instance, I love doing it. But then I don't do enough of it. I have a very short term memory, so while I really love doing things at the time, I completely forget that feeling and move onto something else and get pre occupied with that. I also love cooking but I do it in spurts. I love taking photos and most days I'll walk past things and mentally take a picture of it in my head, but I never carry my camera around. I also love doing bedroom art projects. I love going out for breakfast. I love reading. I love going to dance classes. I love random projects like deciding to write letters to people. But then I just stop. I can't stick to things and put my heart and soul into it. I can't dedicate my life to this one thing that I am passionate about and that bothers me. Almost everyone I know has some kind of thing they really strive for. Whether it's to be a mother, a writer, an artist, a successful business person or even someone who builds an amazing bridge, they have this thing that drives them. I want that. I want it for more than a project or two weeks of dance classes or a phase of making muesli.
You can't force these things and maybe I'll never find that one true passion to focus on. Or perhaps I've just summed up my love of stuff into 'happiness'. I once asked someone if I could put 'faffing' under my list of hobbies in my resume. Maybe it represents me perfectly but then again, it just doesn't seem enough.
But let's have a moment to psych me out. My idea and measurement of success has only recently taken a solid form. I spent a majority of my life comparing myself and the stage of life I was at to that of my sisters. Wrong, so wrong. I am not them and that's ok. So I had to change my definition of success. It has become clear since coming here that all I really want is to be happy, everyday, and if I am good at that, then I'm successful. But that seems a bit lame-o and to be honest, maybe happiness is not the end of my measuring tape (cms of course).
The problem is, I really like stuff in general. I really like doing a lot of things. I'd even go as far to say I love a lot of things. Take writing for instance, I love doing it. But then I don't do enough of it. I have a very short term memory, so while I really love doing things at the time, I completely forget that feeling and move onto something else and get pre occupied with that. I also love cooking but I do it in spurts. I love taking photos and most days I'll walk past things and mentally take a picture of it in my head, but I never carry my camera around. I also love doing bedroom art projects. I love going out for breakfast. I love reading. I love going to dance classes. I love random projects like deciding to write letters to people. But then I just stop. I can't stick to things and put my heart and soul into it. I can't dedicate my life to this one thing that I am passionate about and that bothers me. Almost everyone I know has some kind of thing they really strive for. Whether it's to be a mother, a writer, an artist, a successful business person or even someone who builds an amazing bridge, they have this thing that drives them. I want that. I want it for more than a project or two weeks of dance classes or a phase of making muesli.
You can't force these things and maybe I'll never find that one true passion to focus on. Or perhaps I've just summed up my love of stuff into 'happiness'. I once asked someone if I could put 'faffing' under my list of hobbies in my resume. Maybe it represents me perfectly but then again, it just doesn't seem enough.
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