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Karaoke: John Farnham - Touch Of Paradise

Update on how my life has evolutionised

My last post was the 1st of December 2009. Today it is 17th April, 2010.
Welcome to the future.

The future where Universitas Studenti swarm the surface of the planet.

'Here we observe the common student, less commonly known by his scientific name Universitas Studentis, or as the local kids call them, 'them' - in his primordial habitat - the hall of residence - partaking it what appears to be their primary activity, the art of procrastination, completion of which results in a sudden expansion in blood vessels as adrenalin overtakes the organism and puts him into a state of frenzy, the few hours before those assignments are due, having not been completed due to the necessary procrastinational period every organism must pass before he can be wholesomely titled Universitas Studentis... indeed, before this rite of passage has been passed, the organism we see before us is but merely what is termed a Unistudentis noobicus...'

Moving on to the nether regions of promises

It's the end of the year, but not just any year - the end of my high school life. Bonds formed hastily to make intense use of our last few weeks together must now either be put on hold, or tossed into the wind, as we wait to see where our separate futures take us.

I'm talking about friendships, ones where you swear you'll keep in touch, and reunite in a fantasy land called high school reunion - ones where you hope time apart will not create awkwardness when you meet again on the street, and say 'Oh hi! Haven't seen you in ages!..' and then move on, but secretly you're hoping the other party will ask for a sweet get-together and catch up as if nothing has changed in your lives.

Talking to teachers, I hear of students who have left and moved on to do great things in wonderous lands. But I also hear their pleas, their quiet voices lying hidden amongst their outward radiance, sighing 'They never come back to visit.'

How is this possible? I've promised the multitudes of frequent, or at least existent, returns to the setting of a joyous childhood, and see how the school technologies have revolutionised, how much dirtier the test tubes have become, how many more wrinkles or white hairs teachers have gained, how many more names carved onto the trophies and wooden boards in the auditorium displaying each era's Head Students etc.

Fond memories dwell in every nook and cranny of the leaky pipes, the sagging ceilings, the too-warm-to-be-snug-except-in-winter library and the freshly vacuumed office. Wafts of printed paper, piping hot from the photocopier; textbooks with more wrinkles and annotations than a teenager's bedsheet; squeaky whiteboards, faded posters, twenty different versions of the periodic table dating back to 1980 and chicken burgers at the canteen... they all seem so distant, piling up a treasure cove filled with unimportant but significant little gobbets of expectation.

Will I, too, become one of the crowd? Identity issues are the least of my worries: instead, I cling on to my promises, just as teachers too must do so, but with the knowledge and resigned nature of a child grown too fond of a rescued chick: Let it go. They've grown up, let them fly.

But simultaneously, I comprehend the awkwardness, the foreignness, the way chums of a kind become strangers, the way strangers look at each other but feel no bond and make no connection.

It will be the friends you see every day who you don't need a catch-up with. You see them every day, after all. It's those peers of the secondary kind - you wish you had gotten closer, it was five or more years together, for goodness' sake - but perhaps your paths will never cross, again.

And so we go, weaving our webs in the mesh of the space-time continuum, unaware of the onslaught of pellets, the next snow blizzard, the next incidence perchance. Unaware that your familiar-from-somewhere neighbour was your best friend from kindergarten.

To solve the problem of science vs religion once and for all:

God created the Big Bang.

Obsessions

I remember when a peer/friend/classmate a few years ago presented a speech about obsessions - about how it's healthy to be obsessed with something, like grass (the lawn kind), or Jane Austen, or tennis.
It is interesting to see the development of obsessions through the eras.
14th Century, it was spices and sea-faring and discoveries.
17th-18th Century it was Bach's creations the new phenomenon of Mozart and horse carriages.
19th Century it was taking over other countries and naming them New Zealand.
20th Century... *and I rub my hands in anticipation*
Bell-bottoms? Afros?
Discos? Platforms?
Skateboards? Bermuda shorts?
Beatles? Backward caps?
Scrap-booking? Stamp-collecting?
Sailor Moon? Will Smith?
Spice Girls? Marbles?
Walkmans? Sneakers?
Smurfs? Harry Potter?
Lord of the Rings? Wearing layers?
Shoulder-sling bags? Fluffy pencil cases?

And then the new Millennium:
Side fringes? Paper thin laptops?
Scoubies? Chucks?
Twilight? Plaid?
Smiggle? Skinny jeans?
Lolcats? Abbreviations?
...

and do, if you have any ideas/suggestions,
Comment and add to the list.
I'm still collecting.

Letter to the Editor

Dear Life,

You were a present to me.
I was apprehensive, a bit unsure, about how to use you.
It was a new experience, trying you on;
Mum and Dad helped me put on the sleeves and fit my feet into your mold.

As time went on, you grew on me, and I into you.
You became like a friend, a companion,
And we were inseparable.

Soon you took up my whole existence.
I lived for you, breathed for you, worked for you.
You took over my whole being.

But it wasn't that bad really, because I kind of enjoyed it too.
I wasn't so much a slave, as a right-hand-woman.

More time passed. I've gotten to know you better.
I understand a bit more, about how you work, what your features are,
How to use your many functions.
I might have even helped some other people fit into their models better.
You are a strange commodity, you are.

So today I thought I'd write to you because I've been thinking a lot
About our time together.
We had fun, didn't we?

I'm glad I got to know you, first meet you, then use you,
In fact, you were probably the best birthday present ever.

One day I hope to pay you back.
About the time I retire, that'll be the day we become just buddies - so I've heard.
Until then, I still strive to be my best,
For you.

Yours sincerely,

*********

Friend of Servitude

Depression - really?

Today, for about 23 minutes, I was left feeling sorry for myself. The act of going into a state of dullness and gentle depression probably happens to a lot of people for a little bit, once or more times in our lives.
For these 23 minutes, I sat somewhere, staring into space for a while, fell half asleep (for want of nothing to do at all, and sleep is the only state of unconsciousness that is actually healthy from as far as I know), checked the time too many times and breathed deeply.
It was extremely unproductive.
I let myself do it because I thought, hey, life isn't fair, emotions do things to humans, I'm a teenager and I'll feel what I like.
And then it passed and I was fine.
Life's not depressing at all, really, because there's always someone worse off than you. Says the person who has it pretty good. (Yes, good, not well, it's not the place for an adverb.)

Ah yes... life. That strange equation summing to 42. What is the question of life?
6x7=

So basically what I say is,
depression is overrated.
Today someone told me that over 50% of all NZers have some form of depression, most just haven't been diagnosed.
Pfft. What a load of piffle.
It's a disease or illness if you give it symptoms and medication. The 21st century might as well be known as the hypochondriac century - everything is wrong, everything needs to be fixed, and in most cases, with drugs.

Ever heard of emotions? Humans having a little down time? Having a bad day? Or has this simple concept been abolished, so that today if you're sad, you're depressed, and if you're depressed, there's something seriously wrong with you and here you go, a nice three month supply of colourful pills that might possibly make you feel slightly better if it works.

From www.medterms.com
The signs and symptoms of depression include loss of interest in activities that were once interesting or enjoyable (maybe I just don't feel like it today?), including sex (too much is actually possible); loss of appetite (anorexia) with weight loss (maybe I'm not hungry) or overeating with weight gain (maybe I'm extra hungry); loss of emotional expression (flat affect) (maybe don't want to talk to you); a persistently sad, anxious or empty mood (it's a bad day, ok?); feelings of hopelessness, pessimism, guilt, worthlessness, or helplessness (all very human, you over-analysing git); social withdrawal (like some alone time); unusual fatigue, low energy level, a feeling of being slowed down (didn't get enough sleep last night); sleep disturbance with insomnia, early-morning awakening, or oversleeping (it's called being a teenager); trouble concentrating, remembering, or making decisions (again, teenagehood); unusual restlessness or irritability (mood swings, anyone?); persistent physical problems such as headaches, digestive disorders, or chronic pain that do not respond to treatment (emotions, dammit. They make you feel stuff physically but it's not like you can eat drugs and feel honestly happy, that's just called being high); thoughts of death or suicide or suicide attempts (Ok this one is not normal). Alcohol or drug abuse may be signs of depression (no, that's signs of stupidity).

So you see?
Don't blow things out of proportion. If you're seriously actually chronically clinically scientifically neurologically depressed, go ahead, get help. Help is good. And sooner is better than later. Yay for help!
But...
If you're having a bad day, get over it.