Well, today was an eventful day. Had a wonderful morning, breakfasting at stately Yarraville and then frolicking in windy Williamstown. It's quite a lovely place, if you close your eyes and pretend you can't hear little children screaming and cute dogs relieving themselves, both in liquid and hard form, all over the luscious greenery of the 'park'. (I put that in inverted commas, as today we decided that it's not really a park, but more of a 'reserve', which, although we could not define, we thought that it captured the lack of intimacy and peace that a park would never not posses).

BUT ANYWAY, today I ALSO became the proud owner of a Mac Book Pro. Now let me tell you, despite appreciating the Macs for their beauty, grace and style, I was never much inclined to enter into its extended family circle, simply due to the fact that I could not work them out. Even now, being One Who Owns A Mac, I still cannot fathom how such a beautiful machine can be so different from every other computer I have ever had. But let me tell you this; it sure is easier to type on! And, as a bonus, it does not contain the five million viruses my other computer is currently infested with, and, as a result, must be executed in the near future.

So, travel with me on my journey of Mac Discovery - it should be quite an interesting ride.

I am lesbian, hear me roar.

So, last night I participated in a very eagerly awaited activity: the viewing of the Victoria's Secret Fashion Show. And Jesus Christ. I don't know what to do but turn gay, because to refuse that lifestyle change would be to perish from the flames of jealousy currently ravaging my insides.
Those women, nay, ANGELS, are beyond amazing. Although many believe that that show was made primarily for a male audience, I must say I disagree- women are just as, if not MORE so, enthralled to see such specimens of perfection flaunting their stuff down the catwalk, dancing with those giraffe legs to the beats of the Black Eyes Peas, throwing sultry looks and cherry kisses to their adoring fans.

Oh, Miranda. You just make all the Aussies cry with pride.

And Heidi...6 weeks after you had your THIRD child, and you look like that. Seriously, I think I speak for all the women who have had kids, and who will in the future, when I say WHY, WHY ARE YOU SO LUCKY?


I have realised something lately; people are good, people are strong and people are willing to help you understand the meaning of happiness.

Not too long ago, happiness seemed a distant star, twinkling jovially from the sky, reminding those who couldn't reach it just how far away it really was. It would touch only those who have found some inner peace within themselves, those who have discovered the meaning of their own special brand of joy.

Insecurity is one the most destructive emotions of all; it exists to question everything that you do and everything you feel. It beats you down gradually with its stifling doubt, denying you free will, to the point of refusing you your instinct. And that's the one thing no one should ever forget; if it feels right, it's right, and it will make you happy.

And people who are happy are able to make others happy too.


Do you know what's absolutely delicious? This. (I am currently eating croissants and pretending they are pancakes).

Fashions Owies

So, today I spent another beautiful day with two wonderful people. I really do love it when I have so many good things to look forward to in the one day- it just makes time whiz by in a cloud of happiness. Ha ha, how corny.

Anyway, one of these said people is a great friend of mine. Aside from her good heart, intelligence and witty (yet sometimes ridiculously random) sense of humour, we share a mutual hatred of People Who Cannot Dress Properly. It really is a tragedy that in our rich and abundant nation, one which offers most people the opportunity to express their indvidualites via any means possible, many still choose to ignore the basic rule of first impressions: dress nicely and appropriately.

Now, this said friend of mine and I have categorised people that we see on the street as dressing in very particular ways according to their age, ethnicity and gender. However, being girls, we are usually primarily interested in other girl's clothes, as we feel that male fashion does not offer as much scope for the imagination.

So, Asian: We have determined that two main prominent types exist. (There are certainly many, many girls who dress incredibly well ). There is the super cutesy Asian girl, always wearing her white, patent leather high heels, coupled with a denim or tartan mini (white and pink checks), and a little fluffy cardigan that is never complete without a massive bow, usually lined with dimontes. She has permed hair, also containing a bow or a cute little headband, and hobbles along on her heels in such a fashion, that it is both frightening and comical to watch.

The other type? Well, she is uber trendy, always coordinated and wearing the latest magazine/catwalk finds. She dresses in Gasp/Bettina Liano jeans, with the white stitching down the side, carries the 'It' bag, and matches is to her cropped leather jacket. (Which I have nothing against, but please, make it somehow UNIQUE). Oh, and they also wear the newest shoes, whether they be the studded black leather heels or snakeskin pointy pumps. Now, this outfit does not sound as horrendous as the other one, but it has one main problem: it totally lack any individuality, self expression and true style. Please people, let's look BEYOND what Cleo and Cosmo tell us, and try to purchase clothing from places other than Bardot, Sportsgirl, and Supre. (That said, all three are fantastic, just MIX THINGS UP A LITTLE).

Now, the white chicks. They also have a standard uniform, one which ensures that they never actually stand out. In this group, you will most likely find items of apparel such as: gladiator sandals, footless tights, worn correctly (if there IS such a thing) or pulled down half over the foot. (I don't understand). You may also, however, stumble upon tiny denim shorts, coupled with a long, cotton singlet (I'm visualising navy blue, coral, yellow and white) with that little pocket sewn in at the breast, or some kind of floaty top, worn over the top of said singlet or underneath. Then there is the ribbon, which is used to tie the hair up in a high ponytail, whose colour usually matches some article of clothing, or perhaps a shade in the tight, tiny Supre dress that has also recently made an appearance.

Ahh, people.


Ok. So a few people (mainly two) have been, to various degrees, HEAVILY encouraging me to write something. ANYTHING. Just to get myself started again. It's funny how once you get into a rut, it's so incredibly difficult to get yourself out of that comfortable yet unproductive existence, telling yourself that everyday, something is going to change; that you'll get up, have some breakfast, read the news and then get started on some GROUNDBREAKING story that will make you the new Journalist of the World ( I made that up, but it would be so cool if that was actually an award).

So for the past year or so, perhaps a little less, I have been on a total roller coaster. (I was going to put 'of emotion', but I just couldn't.) So now, things are finally looking up. I believe that the most incredible feeling in the world is when your mind suddenly awakens from a long and relentless nightmare, slowly clawing its way up to begin working towards that long- lost dream. The spark of ambition begins to return, and you start to remember that there is so much shit out there that you've lost, and must gather up again into a pretty basket, decoarted with the shining material of success.

Hopefully these two people know who they are - one will for sure, for she is always (delicately, of course) telling me that I should really throw myself into writing and fashion and all things delicious and just WRITE.

Well, let me share just a few of my observations then, that I have been carrying in my head for the past however months I have not updated anything here.

1). Now, I promise I am not trying to be offensive, but I really want to know WHO finds mullets attractive. As a resident of Werribee, I have noticed that most days, I will encounter a walking mullet. Today, as I was quietly and quickily walking down the ramp at Werribee station, I saw not only a mullet, but a CURLY, RED mullet strutting its stuff in front of me. Who, you may be asking, did this piece of artwork belong to? A woman in a very thick, navy jacket, with black raybans and nazy working pants from Kmart. (

And now a question: Can people, anyone is welcome, let me know if they find mullets attarctive? And WHY? OR if they perhaps are open enough to understand the concept of the mullet? I really would like to hear the response.

Boho Glam/ Boho Elegant

I want this coat.

The very definition of boho glam.

Apparently, I need to return to my 'boho glam' roots.

I do admit that I miss my tans, oranges, reds, gentle greens and deep purples, offset by turquoise, aquamarine and bronze/ gold jewellery.

I also want fur. Not real, of course, but a big stole would be beeaautiful .

Love & Forgiveness

I have recently learned that some people truly do have an unfathomable capacity to forgive.

As someone who finds it very hard to forgive and forget the ills committed against me, I truly admire those who, despite history and their better judgement, can still find it within themselves to give those they love another chance. For many, forgiveness is not an emotion that comes naturally: it is an acquired gift that often only emerges in the most heartbreaking of circumstances, when one feels they love another person too much to let it all disintegrate. Forgiveness can come about reluctantly, yet still be the better alternative than to let go and hold onto the hurt.

For others, forgiveness comes naturally; it is a form of unconditional love that persists despite any adversary and hardship, and one that enables amour to exist, unencumbered by spite.

Love, as I am slowly learning, really is a remarkable thing. As painful, irrational and all -consuming as it can be, once found, it is always hard to let go off. Some types of love are worth saving, some are destructive, and for the lucky few, love is a salvation, easy to receive and even easier to give.


I love this outfit more than any words can ever express.

Even I get disappointed by couture.

My god, is it just me, or are these HIDEOUS? From afar, the clothes look quite nice. Then you take a closer look at the models...and you lose your appetite. At least I did.

Karla's Closet

God, I adore

If you haven't visited her blog yet, you are MISSING OUT. I cannot believe that she FINDS those outfits in second hand shops. Oh, shush you, I get that it's 'vintage', but we all know that the word has just become the fashionable way of describing clothing which is, essentially, old. Oh, how I love euphemisms.

Nevertheless, I digress. She always manages to find the most fabulous sheaths of fabric, intricately woven or sewn or whatever the words people use to describe the process of making clothes, together in order to create masterpieces. These are some of my favourites:

She is my insipration. Her sense of style, her wonderful classy individuality shines through the way she dresses. Just by looking at her, you can immediately tell she has innate style, one that transcends any trend. Her clothes, I have noticed, are primarily comprised of timeless, classic pieces which I suspect have been tailord expertly to her shape. These classics are usually combined with some quirky/ eclectic accessory, often a fabulous shoe, bag or scarf.

I am so miserable right now, I just cannot see it getting better.

Well, it's more that I'm preparing myself for the worst, but that in itself is costing me energy, my concentration and my health, and I don't know how much longer I can go on like this. I NEED to know if things will work out ok, because I can't stand the thought of hoping all this time, and then just getting shot down.

I need stability, and I need love. And I only want it from the one person.

Street Fashion.

The Sartorialist

OK, I may not be the most stylish person in the world, and maybe I have just begun to scrape the surface of fantastic fashion, but one thing that The Sartorialist and, as well as various magazines, shows and other fashion vessels have convinced me of is that true elegance can only be found in Europe.

New York fashion, as quirky, eclectic and imaginative as it is, can simply not compete with the sheer chic of European style. LA, as distinctive and, ahem, revealing as it is, simply does not have the innate markings of individuality and class. Asian fashion, in all of its cutesy glory, has certainly carved a niche of its own, and is, in many aspects, a fantastic representation of its surrounding culture. Nevertheless, my heart belongs to Europe.'s just innate. I wish I was Parisian. I could pull of quirky leather trousers, 7 inch leopard heels and a sheer, chiffon olive green pussy bow blouse. Or even wear a firefighter hat.

In Milan, I would be able to ride a bike in my sailor's platforms, my long, luxurious hair flowing freely from under my green cap...and looking beyond alluring. Sigh.

I am going to Europe.


What do you do when you feel like your whole world is turning on you? How do you begin to sift through the mess that is your brain? How do you force yourself to face your fears, however minuscule they may seem to others?

It's interesting how the person you present yourself to others can often be so different from the person you feel you are inside. How do some people start of sweet and understanding, and turn into dragons and backstabbers once you make them angry? How do some, seemingly arrogant and heartless, turn out to be the sweetest and most loyal?

And how do some put up veneer of casual independence, and then drown in their own feelings of insecurity, projecting them onto those they love most?

Humans are made up of a labyrinth of emotions, actions, perceptions and interpretations, and only lately I've begun to scratch at the reflective, glass-like surface of their complexity.

Annabel Lee by Edgar Allan Poe

Is this not just one of the most stunning, simple yet elegant poems??

It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of Annabel Lee;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea:
But we loved with a love that was more than love -
I and my Annabel Lee;
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her high-born kinsmen came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
Went envying her and me -
Yes! that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud one night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we -
Of many far wiser than we -
And neither the angels in heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling -my darling -my life and my bride,
In the sepulchre there by the sea -
In her tomb by the sounding sea.

Bec and Bridge - opulance through lace, metallics, leather and black

Need I say anything else? They always say that a picture speaks a thousand words...I believe this one is a thesis then.

Oh, the JACKET. EXACTLY WHAT I WANT. The hair would be nice too.

And there you go. Absolutely gorgeous.

Something I covet...a simple black cotton/ woolen dress, ideally dressed down with a black leather biker jacket, black opaques and lace up ankle boots, or ballet flats. Set off against a palette of gold, chunky jewellery and leather cuffs, and you have an amazingly chic, day time outifit.

For nighttime, just add sky high heels, preferably in silver, bare legs, smoky, cat eyes, and an elegant bracelet from Tiffany & Co. Bam.

The hair, the jacket and the massive bracelet... sheer rock chick elegance.

Simple, chic, yet requiring a certain flair to pull off. I'd probably be really cold in the sleeveless jacket, but we all must make sacrifices for fashion.

Tim O'Connon '09 - Love them all

Some of the images from the current Kirrily Johnston autumn/winter '09 collection. I was just browsing around, looking for any particular designers I would like, and stumbled upon her new line. I've been an admirer of the Australian for quite a while: she creates beautiful, simple clothing, using clean lines and block colours, easy to combine. Really, there's nothing more elegant than simplicity.


So today I cut out, or at least began to cut out, something that's been rotting from the inside for quite a while now.

It's the most definitive step I have taken so far, and it feels as if a massive weight has been lifted off my shoulders. Even though I suspect I'll be lonely, I think that I need this both for myself, and for the issue to be resolved.

Fingers crossed.

Gossip Girl

As always, this show is ruining my life.

Instead of doing my homework, which I have in abundance, I am sitting down in my bathroom, in front of the heater, and watching the latest episode of what I will refer to as that 'addictive devil show'.

I was just about to say that I don't know why I like it, but it's pretty obvious that I do: the fashion. Really, that's all it has to recommend it. Fashion and beautiful highschoolers doing more interesting things with their lives than most people get to do, ever. I suppose the allure of it lies in the escapism of its 'plot lines' (and I use the term loosely, as I have never encountered secret societies, teacher-student affairs, rich society ladies getting it on with their daughter's boyfriend's (or ex boyfriends, depends on the episode) fathers, or some random Countess having an affair with both the show's resident sweetheart and her own stepson, who, on the other hand, seems to be having a good time courting the resident spoilt, revengful (albeit well dressed) brat.) which, you'd hope, are nore really part of your everyday teenager's life.

Oh, but the clothes...they evoke within every girl (I hope) a fantasy of beautiful bags and shoes and dresses, all tailor made to perfection, corresponding with the outifits of their friends as well as their surroundings perfectly, with just the right amount of fashionable juxtaposition and contrast to set off a new trend.

Oh Gossip Girl, as a show, you sure are shit; but when it comes to fashion, no one, (dare I say it?) not even Sex and the City, can do it better.

Ode to Connex

I hate Connex more than anything or anyone I have ever hated in my life. In fact, until I met Connex, I don't believe I really hated anything at all. Oh, I've often believed that I despised certain things such as seafood, trackies, jelly and the cold, but now I realise these 'hates' are simply mild dislikes. Connex, on the other hand, is a whole different ball game.

Oh Connex, now I wish to express to you the amazingly wonderful contribution you have made to my life. You have taught me that it IS possible to wish, endlessly...unpleasant things...upon certain corporations (and their heads). You have taught me that true hatred knows no bounds. You have extended me in the art of stressing. You have instilled within me such a deep seated resentment that even I am astounded at the strength of my disgust at your 'service'.

You have made me angry in the mornings when I do not wish to be angry, and you have, unforgivably, made me late for class. For that, I will forever hold you responsible, as I had to endure the mortification of coming into my first tute of the year 30 minutes late.

I also do not forgive you for taking up countless 'vent your spleens' and pissing off every single person that has ever travelled by train in Melbourne.

I sincerely thank you for cancelling my express train every day this week, and for raising your prices while declining in service. Top effort.

I also deeply impressed by the sausage sizzle you hosted last weekend, as I do believe that a sausage will definately appease your incompetance, as well as make us all love you again. Oh, Connex, you're so generous. :)

I believe in democracy, and I believe that democracy can help solve this problem. We just all have to voten you out. I realise that I care about very little in life; I have extremely limited interests, and it takes a lot to raise any passion out of me if it is not directly related to my sphere of understanding or interest.

But, alas! You have succeeded in making me passionate. So well done, Connex, I sure applaud your disgraceful efforts, because really, nothing on this planet has ever failed this badly, except for perhaps true Communism. Please go back to France where you belong.

And now, a short verse:

Oh, Connex,
you make me so happy,
to travel within your shitty
where in summer it's hot,
and in winter it's not,
and where students get fined
for not carrying concession cards,
while filthy commuters smear greasy feet
all over the seats,
and sweat through their cheap,
Polyester suits.
But of course! you don't see,
you only charge,
titanic prices for lateness and terminations,
whilst we all, by and large,
promise ourselves that one day
we'll get you.


They are my passion, my love, my life. I pine for them, I dream about them, I am endlessly entertained simply by looking at the magnitude of the choices available. Buttery soft leather jackets, tight cigarette pants, silky and woollen and cashmere scarves, patterned blouses, glittery and wooden bangles, pinafores, tassels, lace stockings, tartan skirts and skinny leg jeans are all beautiful creations, waiting patiently for someone warm hearted and loving to accept them into their family. I am usually that person.

I do not understand why, or what it is that is so enticing about these pieces of branded cloth, but their allure burns bright in my mind, forever binding me to their beauty and variation.

How can I pass up the chance to own another pair of stunning suede boots, or yet another gorgeous necklace that simply works wonders in bringing any outfit together? Then there are the colours and tones and shapes and sizes, all appropriate for different occasions, yet all beguiling in their own sweet way.

How can I love inanimate objects so much? How can I value style so highly? I don't know, blame the media :P

Last Days

So, my life has been reduced to waking up in the afternoon, reading a book for the next three hours, then having a shower and finally reading again while I wait for my fake tan to dry.

Sometimes I iron clothes or something, or cook dinner (to those who know me, I am not what you'd call a whiz in the kitchen or the home, so the mere fact that I'd consider doing those things, let alone do them, should indicate my increasing level of boredom).

But alas, there IS light at the end of the tunnel!! This time next week, not only will I be 21 (woot woot) but I shall also be, once again, embedded within the world of study and knowledge that I miss so much. I miss having a purpose for which to get out of bed for; I miss socialising with random people I have just met in my tutorials. I miss seeing friends, both close and fleeting, and I miss the atmosphere of a world removed from the mindless existence I currently lead at home.

I haven't even been writing in my blog, because literally, there is NOTHING TO TELL. I go out, I come home, I do nothing. I work. Till midnight. And it's boring, unless there's someone stealing or something, like the old lady yesterday, whose efforts I thwarted by my amazing stealth and cunning, stemming from the utter tedium that is work.

But soon, I shall be riveted again!!! I'll have a goal, of not many, to strive to!


My last days.

So, my life has been reduced to waking up in the afternoon, reading a book for the next three hours, then having a shower and finally reading again while I wait for my fake tan to dry.

Sometimes I iron clothes or something, or cook dinner (to those who know me, I am not what you'd call a whiz in the kitchen or the home, so the mere fact that I'd consider doing those things, let alone do them, should indicate my increasing level of boredom).

But alas, there IS light at the end of the tunnel!! This time next week, not only will I be 21 (woot woot) but I shall also be, once again, embedded within the world of study and knowledge that I miss so much. I miss having a purpose for which to get out of bed for; I miss socialising with random people I have just met in my tutorials. I miss seeing friends, both close and fleeting, and I miss the atmosphere of a world removed from the mindless existence I currently lead at home.

I haven't even been writing in my blog, because literally, there is NOTHING TO TELL. I go out, I come home, I do nothing. I work. Till midnight. And it's boring, unless there's someone stealing or something, like the old lady yesterday, whose efforts I thwarted by my amazing stealth and cunning, stemming from the utter tedium that is work.

But soon, I shall be riveted again!!! I'll have a goal, of not many, to strive to!



I am so effing bored I should cut off my left hand just for something to do.

I heart Chick Lit.

Do you know what would be amazing? To live inside a chick lit book. I'm serious. It would be, by far, the most wonderful existence for a woman, as all chick literature basically follows the same model of beauty, wealth and glamour. Add a hot, rich/adorably poor man and his charm, and you have yourself a guaranteed happy ending.

I'm talking about Jemima J, or Bridget Jones, or Sparkles and Glamour, Bergdof Blondes or Gold Diggers. (Yes, these books are all on my heavily overflowing bookshelf, their colourful and shiny covers proudly displayed amongst my media and journalism textbooks, the considerably deeper writings of Jodi Picoult and of course, the classics.) These are the ultimate pick me ups, provided you don't mind the rather cliched endings and beautifying processes, the endless shopping trips and descriptions of unattainable brand names such as Prada, Gucci, Miu Miu etc (bliss...) and the constant stream of sexy, sexy men. Personally, I am a fan. I love pretending that I have millions of dollars and a million men at my disposal, and if not, at least the long, brown body and silky blonde/brown/chestnut hair, cascading down my back in a waterfall of luscious curls.

Upon opening that golden cover, I know that I am entering a world of romance, Ritz and glamour and that absolutely nothing will make me feel as wonderful as pretending I am the next heiress to a massive fortune, which I can use to further my career as a brilliant lawyer or journalist.

But above all, the best kind of chick lit heroine is the daughter of a happy couple, content within her loving family, facing little to no problems from obstinate family members who are beyond difficult to live with.

I think I shall go and read my book now.

Poor little animals

I just finished reading about the poor possums with burnt feet, and the horrible deaths of many injured kangaroos, baby birds and flying foxes.

It's so sad :(

Like that poor little koala who climbed into a woman's laundry, desperately hoping to benefit from the relatively cool indoors. After having a bowl filled up with water, it happily climbed in, resting from the intense heat of its natural home. At least he was lucky.

So, as stupid as this may sound, this is my tribute to all those little critters who suffered intensely during this heatwave.

So, once again, I have been absent.

Shit going on, emotional crisis, you know how it is. As a friend aptly put it, my life is a drama, and it would be nice to be able to switch the channel sometimes, perhaps to a mindless comedy or even the news.

So, I have finally decided to get my shit together, and actually compile a folder of samples of my writing and DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT. Sure, staring at my published articles certainly evokes feelings of some pride and accomplishment, but let's face it; I'm not going to advance unless I make it happen. So, to risk sounding like all those annoyingly annoying motivational speakers we are forced to listen to at the beginning of year 12, I'm going to pat myself on the back and tell myself I CAN DO IT.

A close friend of mine has just started full time work for the first time. Seeing him all suited up, looking professional, businesslike and ready to move into the next stage of his life has made me yearn for the career I desperately want. Seeing him after work, having a drink, excitedly telling me about his future plans and all the work and socialising that still awaits him, has made me realise that life CAN be moulded according to my perseverance, desire and opportunities, and that all I have to do is simply get off my fat, lazy ass and hand in some well written articles.

On another note, I had a blood test today, which I'm sure everyone who has me on Facebook is by now well aware of. As I have severe 'needlephobia', I was not exactly looking forward to having my arm invaded with a sharp, metallic object, nor having an old, non-sympathetic, grouchy woman masquerading as a nurse tie a cord tightly around my forearm and force me to pump blood by closing and opening my hand in quick succession, all the while watching the veins swell under my skin, pulsating with the richness of my purple blood. EWWW. IT WAS SO GROSS I WANTED TO VOMIT. And the the nurse left the needle inside me for what seemed like HOURS, stealing not one, not two, not three, not four, but FIVE containers of blood. It was so horrific.


Yesterday, I realised I want to change.

A few friends told me once that although I have said these words before, I have never really attempted to change my outlook on life, as well as the 'afflictions' I always believed were inherent and as a result, unchangeable.

Well, now I'm starting to realise that simply wishing to be a better person is not going to get me anywhere. To truly want to change, one must first change one's actions; there is no other first step. There should be no putting it off until tomorrow, no excuses about self weakness and character flaws or extraneous circumstances, but instead acknowledgment of these faults and a deep set desire to genuinely alter them.

Lately, I've been the unfortunate recipient of some very blunt and rather cruel comments; however, once I got past my anger, I really started to think; maybe they have a point. Otherwise, why else would I be angry? Was is self righteous anger, or perhaps annoyance that was masking guilt?

Either way, only one person knows how truly bad I feel, and that I'm actually trying to fix my mistakes for the first time in my life. She knows who she is. :) It's always hard to face your own demons, but I guess once you truly decide to, there's only one way to go.


I ask you this: why do some people feel the need to lie and/ or exaggerate situations simply to their own advantage? Disregarding other's feelings, causing commotion and unneccessary trouble, it is a wonder that some don't get found out for who they are before they actively seek to destroy someone else's happiness.

Argh, people confuse me.


As has been pointed out to me by my very honest parents, (often brutally so), I have what you could refer to as a problem with accepting criticism. No, it is not in the sense that I believe that I am better than everyone else, and therefore exempt from receiving any truthful insights into my 'flawless' character; it's more the fact that I consider most constructive criticisms, or even advice, to be a personal attack.

Now, I'm no psychologist. But even I can understand that that is not necessarily a normal reaction. So naturally, when my parents informed me that I am, in fact, still a child and consequently, it is still their duty to educate and raise me, I should gladly accept their 'advice' on everything from how I dress and eat to what I should be doing this weekend and thank them for their wonderful and oh-so-welcome penetration into my life.

But alas, I digress. This issue has been brought to my attention recently by a new friend, a friend who knows me very well already. And as much as it pains me to admit it, yes, I know that I can be tactless and rash, and snap when it is unnecessary. Similarly, I have received some comments on my other blog that carry some grain of truth amidst the sarcasm and the both creative, and not so creative, insults.

So lesson no. 126785 in life: learn to accept criticism and not get so angry :D


Yesterday, I saw 'The Curious Case of Benjamin Button', and, as I suspected, it was a beautiful movie.

Impressive in both its simplicity and fantasy, the narrative focused on how we evolve as people, and how each one of us is unique in their own way. Age was obviously also a prominent feature of the movie, following Benjamin's strange beginnings all the way throughout his life. While watching it, I realised that for the first time, I did now know how the movie would end. Nor did I know HOW I wanted it to finish. However, once it came down to it, the story finished perfectly, and just as beautifully as I would have liked it to. It wasn't a dramatic ending, nor was it an action packed, fantasy filled film; it was simply another portrayal of love, friendship and the hardships of human nature through the eyes of one special individual.

Watching it, I went through all these stages within my own mind. First, I was filled with despair at the thought of getting old. It's not something I am ready to face, and I imagine that it's a fact of life that I won't be able to reconcile myself with until I'm much, much older. At least, I hope so. I remember something my mum told me a few years ago while I was watching her apply anti- wrinkle creams and specially formulated makeup to help prevent the ageing of skin. She said:
"You look at yourself in the mirror, and you see yourself getting older, even though inside, you still feel 20 years old."

I don't know if that's just her view, but it scared me, because I have always assumed that when I became older, I would be ready for it mentally. I would accept it, and even embrace it, content with the knowledge that I had lived my life to the best of my ability, and now I had all this time to look forward to a happy retirement with the ones I loved. I guess everyone takes life and its stages differently.

But also, during the movie, I was also filled with unexpected excitement, especially as I saw Benjamin begin to truly live his life as he 'aged'. He visited Paris, Russia, America and many other countries, experimenting with different jobs and experiencing various cultures. It just got me thinking how much I still want to do, and how much there still IS to do. There is more to life than finishing university, getting a job and starting a family, all the while saving up for your retirement.

I guess that's just my two cents.

The New Year - 2009

Recently having read a fantastic blog entry by one of my closest friends, I realised, for the millionth time, that nothing makes me happier than reading and writing. Her entry, as superb in its use of language as it was for the depth of feeling and true honesty she revealed, is really the type of writing I should be focusing on; self exploration through prose.

So, V, thanks for the inspiration, and I think I'll do a similar re cap of my years thus far. Your emotional and frank recollections actually tugged on a few heartstrings, because although I certainly knew the general gist of your troubles, I didn't quite begin to grasp their significance and the toll they took on you until of late.

Now, me.


From what I remember, it was the year of VCE, of study scores and of slowly becoming adult. It was also a time where I first began to feel the very cliched and common pain of heartbreak, and the slow disintegration of a relationship with a person I loved very much, even if I did not know it. In terms of friends, I was still close to a girl I thought was honest and kind, and did not give much thought to any stories circling around me. I was very naive, and in my ignorance, I mist admit, I lived a reasonably content life.


A year I would not repeat, ever. It was the most confusing and painful time of my life, a time I had absolutely no idea who I was, what I wanted and where I was heading. I was a mess; I cared for nothing. I immersed myself in the world of books, lost myself in the stories of other, happier characters. I lost friends and sought solace in the arms of boys, who did nothing for me. I studied my heart out; never had I, or have I since, put in as much energy, time, effort and heart into my studies as I did in year 12. Driven partly by ambition and partly by the need to forget my life, I never enjoyed school more. I have also never loved anyone as much since that time.


The start of new beginnings!! With the start of University and the promise of a whole new life, I was filled with an optimism I have not felt since year 9. Finally, I was pursuing something I never really realised I should be doing until I was thrust into doing it; by not getting into law, I sent that (dream? I would have once called it that, but now I'm not so sure...) ambition to the back of my mind, instead concentrating on my writing, and actually discovering that there was something that I loved to the point of studying it, just for its pleasure. Although Uni did not turn out to be the all consuming, party experience I expected it to be, I nevertheless started to unearth a group of friends who I felt would stay with me for life. I was happy in my relationship, I was happy with my new and old friends. University itself felt very confusing, the workload sometimes unmanageable and the concepts so new and difficult to grasp; but I made it :)


Finally, the year that everything fell into place, in terms of academics. I realised that I want to be a journalist, and that I love writing more than I would love the lavish lifestyle I could only get from Law. I made a whole new group of friends, all with similar interests and views, and I completely and irrevocably fell in love with my course. However, as per usual, I once again got lost in terms of love, and watched as my relationship began to unravel. Despite wanting with all my heart to fix it, I could not mend the cracks, and finally, it fell apart. What followed was confusion, pain and a lot more unnecessary commotion which, to this day, is unresolved.


Still feeling quite confused, but I'm working through it. Happiness will come.



Despite the encouragement of a very good and wise friend of mine, I have not being updating my blog with the regularity I hoped to achieve when I re-opened it. This is, of course, partly due to my laziness, but also the unfortunate consequence of working so much I cannot even be bothered to turn on a computer, let alone sit down, ponder my day/life/ whatever it may be, and jot it down as food for thought.

However, today, despite feeling sick and worn out, I had an inspiration; why not write about the joys of creativity and the importance of actually pursuing and working within a field you actually have interest in, rather than settling for a job that only reaps monetary rewards? Seriously, working full time at a brain dead, dreary job, where the only joy comes from asking the customer where she is going tonight, does have its repercussions. For one, not even the money I am making makes it worthwhile, because I know that at the end of the day, I only have a few hours at home to unwind, and then I'm back for round 1000000000000000000000.

So, to all those out there who believe that making money anywhere, from anything and at anytime, and actually have choices not to, is the most important thing in the world, I'd strongly urge you to reconsider, sit down, and follow what you're passionate about. Nothing beats being paid to do what you love.