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.

Arrival of the Relatives (with no ominosity whatsoever) (what do you mean ominosity isn't a word)

The great thing about having visitors over at your house is that you get to go along with the ride. My uncle and aunt arrived today from a 16 or so hour long plane flight and we had pizza for lunch (ok not so whoopdee doo) but then for dinner was a massive minibanquet, I mean 5 different dishes of greens and meat and cashews and awesome stringy salad things and amazing fungi in the sense of the word… laid out in the middle of the table, and nothing goes better with it all than pure beautiful rice, which is what we had, not the weird dry kind where you can pick up a single grain, but slightly sticky and naturally sweet, perfect from our rice cooker every time…

And of course to compliment was both red and white wine. Well – I’m not sure about calling it wine – the red yes, the white, ‘twas Chinese (I believe), fifty-something percent, I had a lick (that is less than a sip) and it felt like I’d just sanitised my lips. All very festive of course.

Ah, beautiful visitors…

On another note, no wait – it’s the same note – same song at least –

There’s the present factor. My sister and I each got a watch. An awesome Swatch watch. My sisters has bunny like creatures, hoards of them, printed on her strap. Mine has a variety of knots and their names. I like it. A lot. It’s better than jelly. The strap actually looks a bit like jelly (the material it’s made of, of course). There’s just one little hitch (haha because there’s a few knots called something-hitches) – it’s flipping LOUD. That little mechanical tick – tick – tick – tick – tick – tick – tick – tick – tick – tick – tick – tick – tick – tick – tick – tick – tick – tick – tick – tick – tick – tick – tick – tick – tick – tick – tick – tick – tick – tick – tick – tick – tick – tick – tick – tick – tick

– it will keep me up all night.

But I’ve always wanted a watch! (Truth be told I have plenty, they’ve just all run out of battery and I’m too lazy or inexperienced to put fresh ones in. You know what I mean. Don’t give me that look. I saw you. You do it too. I know it.)

Why are there no photos on here from Germany, since I appear to rave on about my trip?

Because technology hates me.

Back to reality?

Term 3 exams are coming up.
They matter.
So I have to get my head out of Germany and back into reality.


Whilst in Germany, I felt like I was in a dream; such a good dream, I dreaded waking up; I could have slept for at least another year. And then the dream ended and I woke up, except that the dream was so vivid, it was like reality, I remember it so clearly and it has imprinted itself solid into my brain.

Unfortunately this means that concentrating on what I need to now, which is school work, is absolutely terrifyingly difficult.

Even my physics teacher noticed that I'm not like usual (usual being before Germany).
My head is never in my work; to even try stop thinking about that wonderful month makes me think about it even more (a bit - no, a lot like doing ICAS English when you aren't concentrating and the more you try to get back into the text, the more you think about getting back into the text, and thus the more you can't get back into the text because you're stuck there thinking about trying to concentrate which isn't actually concentrating because you're thinking about thinking).

It's ridiculous.

Land of BMW, Currywurst and Gummibears...

I could write ten thousand blogs on this next topic but maybe I should cut the fluff and jump straight to the point,

I love Germany.

I was the luckiest person alive (including about 70 others and then some) to take part in the month-long PAD program.

PAD, Pädigogische Austausch Dienst, an organisation in Germany that takes high schoolers from all around the world who learn German for a month long stay in the country of the language. 2 weeks in a host family with school and language lessons. 2 weeks travelling around the most important cities, visiting everywhere and seeing everything. 4 weeks, the time of your life.

It's up to the individual countries to chose these prizewinners.
It's up to the Group-leader (Reiserleiter/in, sounds so much better in German) and the assistant to come up with a program.
It's up to you to have fun and learn German and interact with fellows from all around the world, from countries you wouldn't even dream of visiting, people you wouldn't ever otherwise meet, and make friends for life.

over 1000 photos (I'm still yet to count). About 20 nations. United by one passion, that is the German language; oh the joys of travelling for free... transport, food, entry fees - inclusive!

Because we were each given one of the world's most generous gifts by the PAD and it was only fitting that I found it the time of my life.

Bonn. Day in Cologne.
Greifswald. Day in Rostock, day on Usedom.
Berlin. Day in Potsdam.
Munich.

PAD einsteigen! Aussteigen! Aussteigen lassen! PAD los! Gruppe SIEben! Alle zusammen! Noch einmal! Foto (nein!)! Caspar David Friedrich / Hans Fallada!

We were really lucky that our Reiserleiter and Assistentin were so cool and understanding and fun and hilarious and caring and amazing. We were really lucky they were experienced and planned for us such a program so unforgettable and intense and exciting and interesting and varied and sweeeet. We were really lucky that we learn German in school hence the opportunity hence the experience.

I have begun a love affair with Deutschland.

CCNZ Songfest 09 - the closing curtain

Church College New Zealand - the mormon high school in Temple View - had their final Songfest ever this year, and I was invited along with fellow Senior Leaders from school and a few others to attend for a night of singing and dancing and entertainment.
It was their last ever because CCNZ is closing. Why? I don't know.

...

and now is months later and I have forgotten what I was going to write in this blog, I'm sure it was very fascinating but see this is the consequence of procrastination or not finishing immediately what you started.

Political classics and their dystopian forshadowing

It is the term 1-2 holidays. For once, it has sped away from my fingertips faster than I could grasp the first weekend. Why is it that modern fantasies are so much more easier to read than political satires such as Nineteen Eighty-Four? That one I've tried to begin multiple times. I've gotten about a third of the way each time. Never finished. Animal Farm I have finished; The Handmaid's Tale (for school) also; Brave New World was easier than 1984 but now has halted to a sluggish heave as I realise the horror it speaks of.
I find Brave New World worse than The Handmaid's Tale. Aldous Huxley was probably a sick hermit who was shunned by all in his time; either that, or he had such an elaborate imagination and perceptive foresight that we will one day make sniding remarks at our own social morals.

If you have read any of these afore mentioned books, you will come to understand that the major theme of study this year is Dystopia. Of all the themes our English teachers could have chosen, they chose the horrific, stark nakedly satirical one, the one that, once you read any books of such flavour, will never look at the world the same again.
Because - scarily enough - these books may foreshadow the turn of the next century.
On the other hand, our school always gets a truckload of English scholarships at the end of the year, because The Handmaid's Tale works so well. Let's trust the teachers.

Stephenie Meyer - does she know her stuff?

They say Twilight is the new Harry Potter.
I disagree.
Rather, it is a series of fantasy novels set in a less fantastic world in which a supernatural creature (or two) provide an average teenager with the utmost passionate and unconditional devotion.
It is this, which we teenage girls crave, that makes us so drawn to Edward's honey-voice and melting eyes and stiflingly sweet scent.
The relationship between Edward and Bella is (other than for obvious reasons) rare. Which young female of the 21st century (or any century) doesn't pine for their prince to sweep them off their feet? Perhaps the notion of a perfectly stunning vampire-boy being the prince is a new age thing. Still, I would believe it rare to find a single (as in, not in a relationship) girl who would like to be Bella for a day. Even some of my partnered female friends now have higher expectations of their boyfriends, much to *his* dismay.
Yet there's no need to get all swoony at Robert Pattinson.
I do not consider myself a raving fanatic, I don't have posters of the characters plastered all over my wall, I haven't paid to see the first film, I wait patiently (ok maybe not sooo patiently) for the library reserved list to shorten as it reaches my turn.
But I do find myself encapsulated in a pleasant bubble when I read Meyer's creation, indeed reading New Moon is more exciting than tackling that yet-to-be-knuckled-down essay.

Let the series live on, and sate the 21st century girl's thirst for romance.

It's that time of year again...

I find myself picking feijoas off the ground again, from our back yard, and from the side of the road (their ones are sweeter).
Feijoa season again! (How kiwi.)
Suddenly I remember writing an other blog about feijoas.
Has it really been a year since the dawn of Kotassium's brain?
Delightful.

Hasn't blossomed much has it.
I am however proud of how much I can waffle.

Today whilst working at KFC I served a man who bought a Wicked Wings Meal. This included a bucket with 8 pieces of O.R. Chicken, 12 Wicked Wings, and any four large sides. I turned around after having entered his order into the till and saw some lovely workmate had already packed the bucket for me. So I finish and give him his meal, after having yelled after him to please pay properly because his EFTPOS card was declined the first time. (Yes people do try to walk off without paying... it causes so much panic for the person serving.)

About ten minutes later he comes back into the store and marches up to the counter, obviously not pleased. I had just finished and was about to leave the store when I saw him; wanting to help, I looked at him inquiringly to ask if anything was wrong. He asks without the slightest sense of manners, where are his Wicked Wings.
I said, are they not in the bucket? They should be.
He said, I don't know, they're not here, you're the one who served me.
I explained (half to myself) that it wasn't me who packed it, but then remembering the rule for customer service, 'the customer is always right', I trailed off and asked my friend 'X' if she'd packed it. She said no. I asked around, (because sometimes parts of the meal are tucked away, or the wings were on the bottom of the bucket... who knows) and eventually found it was 'Y' who packed it.
Apparently 'Y' had put 15 pieces of O.R. Chicken in the bucket... as you would with a normal big bucket. Slightly annoyed but calm all the same, I went to put 12 W.Ws into a box while the man increased in agitation by the second, and 'X' asked 'Y' what he did, and 'Z' joined the situation, intrigued. I gave the man his new box of W.Ws. He stares at me angrily, while I apologise, and he asks, what about my other chicken?
In the bucket..?
Yes well he's got it, how can I take it? (At this point I was really fed up, I mean really, there is no need whatsoever to be so mad, people make mistakes you know.) ('Y' had the bucket and was contemplating how to add WWs to the already full bucket.. well I think that's what he was doing.)

In the end the man got to march off with 15 piecs of Chicken AND 12 WWs...
And I got to march off depressed and deflated, this final incident having dented a pretty good work day.

You know what I thought to console myself? It was about time for a rude customer anyway.
Yes.
There is apparently a ratio of good:bad customers in modern society.
I had a good work day, having encountered some lovely customers dripping with manners and cheerfulness, and therefore it must be balanced with a rude customer who craves commotion.

I don't like having thought this. It makes me realise, there are sad people out there. People who, rather than explain a problem and have it solved without upsetting others, choose to cause a bigger commotion than deserved and what do they get out of it? Some extra chicken?

Being about to start my final year of high school, we were provided with a leadership/senior student seminar a few days ago (and school starts in a day which I am quite excited about). 2 wonderful people, a leadership trainer called Brenton Bai, and another man, great rugby coach/trainer, gave some demonstrations, inspirational wisdom talks, and also provided sweet entertainment (with clever use of bamboo sticks, a sponge, water, theatrical bandages and five dollars).
The point is, the seminar was not put to waste - I could actually see some people walk out of there, having been affected and now with a clearer sense of mind about giving and helping and making a difference in the world. It gave me a better sense of direction and purpose too. Which is why I feel sorry for that poor man with the Wicked Wings, because he could have done with some enlightenment or inspiration in his life.

Note: O.R. = Original Recipe.