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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.

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.

Life as it is

Has been a while since I last made a contribution to this online paper of mine.

I shall today,
relish the internet,
relish facebook,
and relish the fact that facebook is better than bebo in terms of privacy I believe.

Exams in 2 weeks; who knows how depressed and beaverish I'll become. We are yet to write a single drama essay for English and even the teacher is panicking.

Internal after internal; when will NCEA ever give up? (never, for those who don't suffer under it's ruling, never.)

And there's the woes of all my wants and needs and woes in themselves.

• Want to go overseas
• Want to go on an exchange
• Want to do 6 subjects
• Need money
• Need to think deeply about whether I can handle 6 subjects, the dean is advising against straying from conventional 5
• Didn't qualify for a second interview for a scholarship*, which makes me sound really stupid, but life does that to you so the only one I can blame is that guy *points finger somewhere*
• Not getting enough sleep
• Life is tough

My cellphone keeps flashing on from sleep mode telling me the battery's low. Well Mr know-it-all-technology, stop flashing your lights and you might save some energy! sheesh

*Edit: actually I did. Now I get to go to Germany for free for a month. Misunderstanding... hehe

Ball 08

My school ball.

Yay:

• Everyone dressed up spectacularly. Boys in handsome suits, girls in beautiful dresses. Faces scrubbed till they shined. And hair, very nice.
  
• Good food. Gourmet pizza, triangle spring roll dipping things, little savoury thingy things; chocolate fudge and passionfruit cake things and a strawberry in the middle to decorate which I selfishly took.
  
• Good drinks. By that I mean juice and sprite and both mixed together.
  
• Excellent use of 5th formers as waiters/waitresses and the captain of the train put on a spectacular persona.
• Excellent jazz band, who played favourites and got us into the groove; alternating with DJ which of course provided music of the 21st century. I like the jazz band better.
• Smaller room with jazz triplet, drummer, keyboarder and singer; more classical, thus more in context.
• Photos.
  
• Teachers who played their part - Mr A from maths who mixed delightful drinks, and heaps of Miss/Ms/Mrs who danced and watched.
• Meeting new people.
  
• Poker and blackjack in the gaming parlour - amusing touch to the theme.
  

Nay:

• Huge temperature difference between Entertainment and Lounge. As in, hot dance hall vs cold candle-lit tables.
  
• Couples who were almost making babies in the area for DANCING.
• Lobby too crowded.
• Not enough partner DANCING - let alone line dances and circle dances that we learnt in PE. Where's the spirit people?
• It didn't last long enough. Who cares about the afterball, let the BALL go on till past midnight!
  
• The afterball. I heard things about it. Praise to sober sensible people who watched out for their friends, but by the sound of things, majority of people did exactly what they wouldn't want their parents to know about.

I shall go next year. It shall be excellent.

Vaso Vagal episode (and my first time in an ambulance!)

Another incident, this time not so funny, at work:

I was leaving the staff office about 9.40pm. There's a door from the back to the restaurant and just as I was in the door frame turning around to wave goodbye to a fellow workmate, the water on the ground which was from pouring litres of it to rinse the food particles was seeping out into the restaurant. So I slipped zip-bam onto the ground, twisted and fell on my left side, it was so fast I was up one second and down on the ground the same second.

So there I was on the ground. In a bit of shock, that seemed to be all. My hand was wet from the ground. But ohoho! A nasty little graze cut thing on the base of my palm began bleeding horribly and the skin, about 1cm square of it, was lifted and wonky and attached to my hand by a bit.

So that looked pretty horrible. The worker who I was waving bye to saw this (and a few people being served at the counter saw too, but they were too busy getting their chicken I suppose). He said
"oooh are you alright?" I got up and wobbled a bit, being dizzy from the sudden fall; Stared at my hand which was stinging; Winced at the pain of it. My dad who was sitting right next to where I fell advised me to get a plaster. I went back into the back (what do you call that place? kitchen/office/backstage/storage all in one?) and the coworker was already flipping through the first aid box.
Instead of a plaster, he took a little plastic tube thing full of liquid, "this might sting a little", and squirted it all over my wound into the sink.
Sting a little? Yeah, sure, my hand was falling off but ok. “One, two, three –“and the plaster went on. Nice and blue, for food safety reasons. Suddenly, on top of my already woozy feeling, I felt faint and sick; everything in front of my eyes went bright and twinkled accompanied by a loud rush of buzzing whining noises in my ears.

The manager asked if I was ok; I honestly wasn't feeling how I felt normally after falling and grazing.
"I'm feeling dizzy... there's buzzing in my ears..." So I wobbled over to the chair and sat. The buzzing grew louder. I wanted to vomit and began sweating. My sight faded, everything was a starry mosaic of pale yellow and white and I could only vaguely make out what was going on around me. My hearing faded too, being overcome by the headache which had also appeared. The overall pain of everything: my hand, my brain, ears, eyes, chest, legs, bruising from the fall... It totalled to a wave of misery in which I was drenched for I don't know how long, it was probably a minute or two but felt like the longest most horrid minutes of my life. You can imagine how scared I was, I'd never felt so sick and faint.

Next thing I knew, my dad was there. They asked if I wanted water. Yes. I drank it, nice and cold, even a bit too cold, down my throat. I gulped it down, wishing it would relieve the pain. I wished for anything that would relieve how I was feeling.
"Should we call an ambulance?" -Manager
"Yes" - Dad
"Let's get her out into the front again" - someone

They asked me if I could get up, as slowly as I wanted, to go sit in the restaurant. I managed, with I don’t know how many people grasping onto me and keeping me lifted. Tottering out into the restaurant like an ancient granny or something, my dad wrapped his jacket around me tightly, they sat me down on a chair by the door so that the cold wind attacked me every few seconds (this might have been unintentional), and I could make out the sound of manager on the phone to 111 (oh golly, I thought – never had the emergency service for me before!).

So I ended up half sitting, half lying on a chair with my dad behind me hugging me tightly like I was dying, by the door, legs a bit cold, and the manager sitting next to me, probably worried, I could see her face because I go told not to move, even though I just wanted to scratch my face or something. I also got told to try and stay awake, which was a bit of a bummer, since I was definitely sleepy. I certainly felt better: my eyes cleared a bit, ears stopped being literal pains, and I could even breathe better. So I was feeling a little bit, like, me leaning here like a vegetable isn’t that necessary… well, I thought I’d let my dad feel better by doing what he wanted (to not move).

The ambulance came. About, 3 minutes later? Geez, it was a very long 3 minutes if so. Because I could see out the window, golly excitement was rising a little at being the centre of ambulance attention.

A forest green and yellow uniformed paramedic lady walked in. “hello. Is this her?” “Yes, thanks for coming,” (manager). The lady looked me up and down. She asked me exactly what happened, so I tried the ole recount, but memory failed when asked whether I hit my head on the fall. My consciousness seemed to please them, I heard numerous mentions of ‘good, very good’ (especially from the Doctor later on). Excuse me? Good? This is the biggest injury I’ve had in my whole life! (That I could remember). (To anyone who’s been through this and worse: sorry, because I’m new to the whole medical mishap thing.)

Concussion was an idea. She felt around my head, pushed down in places, and that seemed to be fine. Good, I wasn’t head-bleeding. Then they suggested we go to a medical clinic, the one down the street and if that closes at 10pm then we’d try B*Clinic. Yes. Ok. “Now, we’ll move you into the ambulance (yikes!), while dad drives behind.” (Dialogue compressed for reading ease.) So I left the store, tottered to the ambulance, climbed up the steps through the back and lay on the bed with the nice white sheets on the left, as was told.

I didn’t want to dirty the sheets. That my feet dangling off the edge of the bed the whole trip was a bit awkward. A* the paramedic was cheerful and nice – she asked me for my details, filled in a form on a clipboard like an important person, and took my blood pressure with a piece of machinery wired to a thing that went around my arm and tightened amazingly. Beep, beep, and the number on the screen rose until it could squeeze the life out of my bicep no more. I looked around, half listening to the driver (another cheerful lady) yell out the window checking for signs of openness in the first clinic, then drive on; so this was the inner ceiling of an ambulance. Huh. Nice enough. My first ambulance ride, nothing special, pain subsiding…

Arrived at B*Clinic. Got to the counter. Felt like I couldn’t walk normally so I went like an oldie. Sat down on a waiting chair while dad filled out a form and A* talked to the receptionist. ‘Project Runway’ was showing on TV; I watched as the final 2 designer-wannabes were interrogated by coldish judges; one outfit was made of human hair. Nice, creepy, but at least he tried.

“You ok?” (Dad)

“Mhm.” (Me)

Tick tock…

Nurse S* with short dyed red hair (not ginger, red) and a face about 30s lead me to a cubicle place and I lay down on the bed with nice white sheets on the left (again) but this time I put my feet up, not feeling up to another half hour of awkward twisted lying down. Eventually my shoes left an eyesore of a wet patch on the sheet – sorry, laundry people, for wasting a whole clean one!

She talked to me about stuff, took my blood pressure again, noted that it was low (how low?) and decided to busy herself with cleaning my cut while we waited for the doctor. She took off the plaster, wiped (almost scrubbed) the blood/cut, and, oho, I felt a little tug:

“Did you just rip my skin off?”

“Yup. I was wondering whether I should or not. Then I decided to go for it. Yesterday we had a guy come in here with police dog bites all over his arms, and I - ” with a wave of her arms, indicated that the guy’s arm-skin had to wave goodbye.

Chatting lead to talk about KFC, which, she indicated, she did not like – the smell and the food etc etc… she was a fun person, indeed. I decided that it wasn’t every day I get to lie in clinic and talk to medical people. So, putting on my random social face, asked her about her journey to nursing. She talked actively and agreed and nodded and said “It’s a very rewarding job.” We got to her whole education and training history when Dr C*, introduced self, looked at me, asked for a story recount and my age which was smaller than he expected (“yes she doesn’t look it does she” – Nurse).

It was now that he uttered “good very good” a lot. I expected that it was that I was responsive and not bleeding profusely and my arm on which I fell didn’t seem to be broken. But it was still a wee bit off putting, being in small pain and having the doctor look and sound as if it was his birthday party.

He explained my incident to me.

“It seems like, from what you’ve told me and how you were feeling, that you had what’s called a Vaso Vagal episode. Now, it’s nothing serious, it doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with you, it’s very common. It’s when your heart rate drops temporarily due to any trigger, you could be scared, or sleeping, or have an incident, in this case your fall, and the blood pressure wasn’t high enough to push the blood to your brain, and thus you feel faint. You know in the olden days, when ladies would (he put his hand to his head and fainted dramatically here)? It’s like that. So now you can go back to normal, do everything fine, play sport, work, etc…”

Well, that’s just fine and dandy! Nice to know I had a dramatic lady faint, almost.

“Any questions?”

“Why would your heart want to slow down?”

*chuckle* “it’s not meant to. It’s like this. Your heart is controlled by two systems – the sympathetic system and the vaso vagal system. The sympathetic system is what makes your blood pressure increase, like say if you were excited or scared, and your heart rate rises. The vaso vagal system takes over when you’re relaxed, say sleeping, and your heart rate drops. So for a second there your heart must have slowed down from your fall, to make you feel faint.”

That still didn’t explain how or why falling on the ground would make my heart slow, but I smiled and nodded and put on my random social face again, asking him about his medical career history.

HEY! Turned out he went to the same high school as me! I mentioned a few teachers that would have been there in ’88 (good old school magazines) when he graduated, and he remembers them, and I’m pretty sure I scared him then and there. I told him I wanted to do something medical in the future. This is the first thing I got:

“Well, it’s an, interesting, uh, job. It is.” Reassuring, definitely.

We left the cubicle, waved goodbye to the people I’d met today who were standing by the reception area chatting somewhat, got told to rest well, I thanked them, they waved back, I sat in the car and dad drove home. Much more relaxed. By now it was about 11pm.

Gosh. What a day.

*Names have been suppressed for identity and security reasons.

Internationally famous children's books. And their allusions to the bible.

We all heard the uproar and whatnot when critics or churchgoers or whoever it was said that C.S.Lewis' children's classic The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe contained biblical undertones when Aslan, the greatly adored magical Lion with amazing guardian skills and powers, gives himself up to the White Witch in order to save all the good side (humans and creatures alike). Then after the White Witch kills him and triumphantly wears his mane (oooh very dramatic), he (to the joy of readers and all good folk) comes back to life and saves the day.
''Aslan is an allegorical representation of Jesus Christ in the Christian religion. The novel's depiction of Christ's death and resurrection is a clear allusion to the biblical story of the crucifixion and resurrection of Jesus. Lewis couches an old, familiar story in a new, vibrant setting in order to help us look at the story from a different angle. Specifically, Lewis wants to capture the attention of children. Lewis seeks to remove children from the oppressive church and Sunday school and to transplant them to a new, fantastic world. There, Lewis can introduce basic concepts of the Christian religion, using an exciting background, with fun characters and talking animals. Aslan the lion lives a similar life as Christ the man, but by using this allegorical device, Lewis can present the story to children with far more immediacy and vividness than could be obtained in any but the most breathtaking reading of the Bible.''
(http://www.sparknotes.com/lit/lion/canalysis.html)
Another book, one possibly even more famous than that one if possible, is Harry Potter, specifically the 7th and final installment in the series that hit the world in the face before they knew it.

*warning: plot spoiler below*
In this book, in the end, due to unavoidable circumstances, Harry walks into the face of death to save the good of good, i.e. so that Voldemort kills him in order to kill Voldemort. So Harry falls to the ground, 'dead'. We then read a chapter where his consciousness is with Dumbledore who's also dead, and they talk a bit, then Harry ends up returning to his body and coming back to life, saves good from evil and they love happily ever after.

See any similarities?
Coincidence? Better ask the J.K.Rowling herself:
Was her last book secretly spreading the idea of sacrifice-for-the-greater-good-like-Jesus-is-said-to-have-done or does she just like the story that way?