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Casual Outings vs. Clubbing
I prefer my dork status, plain-faced and muscular. I wish I was more girly but sometimes, the unnecessary frills and loopy loops are a waste of time. Practicality makes life easier.
My head hurts.
My mind is out of it. I am dealing with a conversation I had with Brother dearest and I left in the middle of it because I needed to get to karate. It was nothing bad, just true communication. He tried to share his viewpoint and ... I do not know what came over me. Frustration built and I maintained patience but I worried about him too. He is not proud of some of the things he has done and his accomplishments are not exactly accomplishments. I do not know. I need to think some deep thoughts on my own. Having a sore throat infection restrains my verbal capabilities which is probably excellent timing.
I hate talking to my brother sometimes. Now, I don't know if he is depressed. Even listening to him talking on the phone to his friends upset me. His world is harsher than mine and I wish I did not know. I love my brother and he is a stronger individual than I. I acknowledge this. He has better business sense and he controls his environment to the best of abilities. He is generous... to his friends, his crew. He appreciates structure and thrives through his own. I love my brother and I like the personality and character he has built within himself despite the fact I do not like his choices nor approve of them. Now, I am left wondering if my severe judgment is partially what pushes him away, turns him off from opening up to me. I need to work on my listening skills. I feel like a foolish person who remains optimistic. The way he put it, I am selfish... and I have to acknowledge I am. I want to go to school to study in the future I want for myself. I want to work for money to spend on myself. I want to rise to the highest point I can in karate for my own self-esteem. He does not know this but I know what I want for myself... at least partially. I want to ditch my family. I want to ignore the naggings and lectures. I want to be on my own. I always want to run away from them and I feel guilty about this.
*sigh*
This was frivolous babbling. I talk too much. This is one of my problems. My head is turning round and round. At least I stopped crying within the first half hour of training. Thy body is utterly sore. Train train train.... I have to practice and polish myself up for the best test. Yes. Damn. I am going for the belt test this time, in December. Lollipop is making me. I was ready in the summer but I chickened out. Now, I have a month to prepare. Blue belt. Damn it.
Good luck to me.
...oO(Belt test. Belt test. Belt test. Belt test.)
I am more concerned about the belt test than I am about the Zone 5 tournament. And the tournament is before the belt test. Ack. I feel like my world is always full. Topsy turvy.
At the moment, I am at Lollipop's house, waiting for her to finish proofreading and editing her group project's paper. I am here to go through it and fix lousy sentence structures, grammar and alternative words for oft-repeated words or phrases. I came here right after karate... so I do not have anything beyond the basics: keys, wallet, cellphone. And my cellphone is dead. The next 2-3 months are all packed. I don't know why.
Maybe I'll write down my agenda in another entry as a filler post. *shrug*
Damn it. My head hurts. Is Lollipop done yet?
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Sunday Scribblings: Oracle
This is a little behind but I decided to go for it anyway. The first thought which struck me was the last in-depth novel I was severely drawn into: Black Ships by Jo Graham. The main character, Gull, is swept up in a series of events and lands herself as Pythia, the handmaiden to the Mistress of Death, queen to the Ruler of Hell. Traditions are broken due to extenuating circumstances and I have to admire her backbone and resilience. I finished more than a month ago but I vaguely remember the overall positive feeling I received from it. Segments of passages delighted me enough to warrant a spot in my agenda. I collect a number of quotations from it.
It is set in ancient Greece and Egypt, a time period I'm favouring because I'm learning about it in my current art history course. Certain symbolism makes more sense to me, even the mannerisms the characters take on, but it isn't by much. It's more of a fantastical story at most. The way it is written and portrayed reminds me of a heavily watered down version of The Mists of Avalon by Marion Zimmer Bradley, which I loved to bits. Unfortunately, that Arthurian novel took a lot of out of me and I wasn't up to the task of reading its related novel, Lady of Avalon. I picked it up, read the first seven pages and then put it back down. My brain can only take so much.
But I digress.
Judge for yourself:
(Please note, I read the Mists of Avalon about three years ago or so, when I was still dating holy_judgment because I remember lugging the damn thing to his after-Kung Fu-training dinners. I remember ... enough. It's probably not the best comparison but it's what popped into my head.)
Currently, I'm reading Alhazred by Donald Tyson and The Historian by Elizabeth Kostova.
The first one, Alhazred, is not too bad. it's a bit unnerving with the reoccurring theme of cannibalism and the consumption of dead flesh. It's a fantasy adventure where the main character is punished and banished from the palace for sleeping with the king's youngest daughter and accidentally impregnating her. Within the first two chapters, with iron clamps, he is forced to eat the barbecued flesh of the stillborn fetus, his genitalia, his ears and his nose. The traumatized daughter watched the feeding of the fetus but the king and his guards took her away after that. Icky. The torturers sliced into his cheeks to create gaping holes and then sealed it with fire. His exile means being left in the desert with no clothes or water.
Unpleasant, indeed.
But for some reason and maybe by the turn of his luck, he survives it all somehow. This novel may not be for the faint-hearted but at least, during pivotal moments, I'm queasy at best. The rest is sugar-spun fiction with secret tombs and ancient tales of treasure beyond compare. The guy's quest is to seek knowledge and replace his body parts via necromancy. *shrug* Makes sense.
As for The Historian, it isn't my usual cup of tea. It's supposedly a great tale related to the historical figure Vlad the Impaler instead of the mythical figure Dracula. I decided to give it a shot because I have come across relatively decent reviews of it and my coworker McFlurry, a charming guy who loves art history and anthropology, has it as a favourite on Facebook. There have been restless nights where I decide to read a chapter or two before attempting to sleep again... only to be kept awake from the imagery given by this novel. It doesn't even encounter Vlad! It's all about letters and the father telling stories to the daughter about the circumstances surrounding the possible location of Vlad's true tomb but there's nothing directly related to Vlad himself yet! It's crazy. Almost like foreplay, leading to the climax... which I haven't discovered yet. Why am I affected? I'm not sure... but I know better than to read it at night before bed now. I love the way the words are constructed and the tale is drawn out. Very methodical. It's almost too slow for me but something about it keeps me hanging on instead of giving up.
In fact, the pace makes me think of a VHS movie I saw about five years ago in an art class at Main St. Education Center. My teacher was awesome! I loved him. He rocked as a teacher and encouraged our creativity. He asked us to be patience and while the movie is slow compared to the pace we are use to receiving information, it is worth it. And it was. Il Postino ("The Postman") was wonderful. I yawned a little bit here and there but I remain seated. The postman doesn't want to be a fisherman and takes up a position as a postman, delivering bags of fan mail to an exiled poet, Pablo Neruda. He asks the man to teach him to write poetry to win girls and thus starts the journey of discovery and the love of poetry. *grin* I like it. (Clicking on the link above will send you to the plot summary. Check it out)
I'm such a geeker, huh?
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1. Brain is mush.
2. I will write something soon, probably regarding the last Sunday Scribblings.
3. I baked brownies and I think the pan was too big for the batter. They are a bit more like flat, square cookies instead.... but tasty if somewhat crunchy.
4. My feet ache from clubbing this weekend.
5. My brain aches from working 8 hours Friday, Saturday and Sunday with minimal sleep in between due to birthdays.
6. I am crunching down on my schedule for school and karate.
7. Remember to drink green tea in the morning before leaving the house. Anti-oxidant + caffiene boost.
8. I still need a new travel mug for tea. (but fuck it - bring a regular cup and hope none of it spills)
9. I will be writing letters to Abe now. Yay! Another Xangan to the list. (I'm at 191th letter out of 5000. Wang thinks this project will take me 17 years and I think it'll take me maybe 20 years to complete because I keep skipping out. Originally, I was doing well - a letter a day. Now, I'm lazy or uninspired.)
10. Minimally disappointed by a guy again... but over that and onto new prey. Life goes on. 
Again, will update properly soon.
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" 'Don't worry,' he chuckled. 'I hardly blame you for what your father did. Especially after what Xejen told me about you and he.' His mirth faded, and he became serious. 'A lot of men I'd known died in that battle. I was lucky to get out alive.' He was silent for a moment, and when he continued his tone was resigned. 'But that's the way of it as a soldier. Friends die. Battles are won and lost. I do the best for myself and my men, but in the end, I'm just one part in thousands. A muscle. It's the brain that directs us all. It's those higher up who take the responsibility for a massacre like that. Songmaga was a fool, and your father was treacherous. And many people were killed for both of them.' "
-pg. 520, The Braided Path by Chris Wooding
Today is November 11th, dubbed as Remembrance Day here in Canada.
I wish I could say something but truly, I do not have anything of significance. I have never fought in a war. I do not have any knowledge about firearms than the fact bullets kill. I don't even have a driver's license so I cannot operate a regular car, much less a hulking beige tank.
To me, war is a far, far away occurrence in a foreign country unrelated to Canada. It is a game of politics with serrated blades. It's a lose-lose situation. It's about power and might. Slogans about freedom and certain religious beliefs are toted to encourage fighting. Each side believes they are right and the opposition is wrong. Death is constant and in the attempt to protect fragile mentalities, live is devalued or ignored. Tears are shed and it never ends. It never stops. Every so often, war journalists risk their lives to take pictures, immortalized minutes, to send back home and encourage more overzealous bodies to throw themselves into the fray. The rest stays home, sits on their self-righteous ass and wrap the survivors in glamour and adoration. The survivors want to erase their memories.
I have never experienced anything of the like and I cannot say anything on their behalf. What I know is regurgitated from secondary sources and assumptions. I'm not a soldier. I have no say. Yet, when I hear about other people going on and on about how great these people were in tones of whispered awe, I want to slap them. They are distant enough to objectify it. It isn't real to them. We bow our heads down for a silent minute because we're told to. We're spoiled. We're privileged. We're cushioned. We don't actually know what it's like to be in those situations. We don't know any of the names carved in those memorial monuments. Maybe someone has an ancestor or two lurking through them but no one (not anyone I know anyway) can claim to have met them in person.
"Life's better, sounder, when we don't brood unnecessarily on horrors. As you know, human history is full of evil deeds, and maybe we ought to think of them with tears, not fascination."
- pg. 46-47, The Historian by Elizabeth Kostova
Felted red poppy pins are handed out. I stare at the blood-red hue and nothing sparks within. I don't feel anything because I haven't done anything to recognize the significance. I am pretty damn lucky to live in a sheltered home with a country who takes everything for granted. Following the trend, I take it for granted myself. I don't think anyone can go on and on in boasting, solemn speeches unless they themselves have been in any part of war. Otherwise, I will tune them out. I am an intellectual. I can think about it, piece together theories but down to the nitty gritty fighting and instinct for survival, I would be a joke. I am not a warrior. I am not a soldier. I have experienced rage and violence but it does not compare to fueled hatred and accepted death.
It's all heralded because someone refuses to acknowledge it was all for naught. What if it was? What if it was all for nothing? Only greedy people at the top of the food chain, playing their little games and politics, aiming to get the maximum for the only number one in their world: themselves.
No one is worth it except the survivors.
Every so often, I am reminded how lucky I am... because, I am.
" 'After that, I said I was done with soldiering,' he went on. 'But soldiering wasn't done with me, I suppose. Thirty years and more I've spend fighting other men's wars, sitting round fires with people and not knowing whether they'll be alive in the morning, living in tents and marching all over Saramyr. I may not sound like much, but it's hard to give up. There's a feeling between fighting men, a bond like you can't imagine that doesn't exist anywhere else. I tried to settle, but it's too late for me; I'm a soldier in the blood now.' "
-pg. 520, The Braided Path by Chris Wooding
Today is November 11th, Remembrance Day and it is all I can say.
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My Hallowe'en - clubbing
 Lollipop (Chicken Little) & I
 Dee & Sangarita (some football player - Ricky? Bush)
Spikes were goddamn dangerous and annoying.
edit -
 Me right now. Fuck. -_-*
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