tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18504685487822477692024-03-14T12:40:54.175+10:30And Cinderella lost her shoeToivoa ja Elämänhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10938648865926536457noreply@blogger.comBlogger322125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1850468548782247769.post-24266207058937966262011-11-14T00:10:00.001+10:302011-11-14T00:11:15.898+10:30I just want you to know that I miss following all of your blogs and keeping up to date with your lives and your words and I miss interacting with all of you.Toivoa ja Elämänhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10938648865926536457noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1850468548782247769.post-30649705900146573642011-11-13T23:59:00.002+10:302011-11-14T00:02:58.550+10:30Where I'm at these days.<div>Hi guys,</div><div><br /></div><div>I just wanted to let you know that if any of you use Tumblr, my url is jasabela.tumblr.com</div><div>Hopefully I'll be changing that URL soon, but that's it for now. I have unfortunately subscribed to the more instantly gratifying blogging (if you can call it that) of Tumblr, but perhaps over the holidays I may post again. You never know.</div><div><br /></div><div>P.S. You can find me on Good Reads at goodreads.com/laryissa</div><div><br /></div>Toivoa ja Elämänhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10938648865926536457noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1850468548782247769.post-59346454674735476632010-11-15T23:41:00.003+10:302010-11-15T23:47:07.457+10:30Fistula...I know I never post anymore, but if you happen to see this, please read it. It's such a horrible thing to imagine and if you can help, at least in spreading the word, repost this. There's a link to donate at the end of the post.<div><br /></div><div><div><br /></div><div>"<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; color: rgb(61, 55, 50); line-height: 19px; ">A fistula happens during birth when a baby’s head puts too much pressure on a mother’s maternal tissues. With the blood supply cut off, the tissue dies and a hole forms – a fistula. The fistula causes urine and faeces to leak uncontrollably. </span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; color: rgb(61, 55, 50); line-height: 19px; "> <br />And in the poorest places, a lack of medical services and maternal health care mean that more than 2 million young women and girls go untreated.<br /><br /><strong style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; ">Without treatment, these women are often left isolated, rejected and ashamed.</strong><br /><br /><h2 style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; font-size: 20px; font-weight: bold; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, Verdana, sans-serif; color: rgb(90, 123, 166); "></h2><h2 style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; font-size: 20px; font-weight: bold; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, Verdana, sans-serif; color: rgb(90, 123, 166); "><strong style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; "><span class="cufon cufon-canvas" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; text-indent: 0px !important; display: inline-block !important; position: relative !important; vertical-align: middle !important; font-size: 1px !important; line-height: 1px !important; width: 51px; height: 20px; "><canvas width="67" height="21" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; position: relative !important; width: 67px; height: 21px; top: -1px; left: -1px; "></canvas><span class="cufon-alt" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; display: inline-block !important; width: 0px !important; height: 0px !important; overflow-x: hidden !important; overflow-y: hidden !important; text-indent: -10000in !important; "></span></span><span class="cufon cufon-canvas" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; text-indent: 0px !important; display: inline-block !important; position: relative !important; vertical-align: middle !important; font-size: 1px !important; line-height: 1px !important; width: 51px; height: 20px; "><canvas width="67" height="21" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; position: relative !important; width: 67px; height: 21px; top: -1px; left: -1px; "></canvas><span class="cufon-alt" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; display: inline-block !important; width: 0px !important; height: 0px !important; overflow-x: hidden !important; overflow-y: hidden !important; text-indent: -10000in !important; "></span></span><span class="cufon cufon-canvas" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; text-indent: 0px !important; display: inline-block !important; position: relative !important; vertical-align: middle !important; font-size: 1px !important; line-height: 1px !important; width: 11px; height: 20px; "><canvas width="27" height="21" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; position: relative !important; width: 27px; height: 21px; top: -1px; left: -1px; "></canvas><span class="cufon-alt" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; display: inline-block !important; width: 0px !important; height: 0px !important; overflow-x: hidden !important; overflow-y: hidden !important; text-indent: -10000in !important; "></span></span><span class="cufon cufon-canvas" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; text-indent: 0px !important; display: inline-block !important; position: relative !important; vertical-align: middle !important; font-size: 1px !important; line-height: 1px !important; width: 62px; height: 20px; "><canvas width="78" height="21" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; position: relative !important; width: 78px; height: 21px; top: -1px; left: -1px; "></canvas><span class="cufon-alt" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; display: inline-block !important; width: 0px !important; height: 0px !important; overflow-x: hidden !important; overflow-y: hidden !important; text-indent: -10000in !important; "></span></span><span class="cufon cufon-canvas" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; text-indent: 0px !important; display: inline-block !important; position: relative !important; vertical-align: middle !important; font-size: 1px !important; line-height: 1px !important; width: 18px; height: 20px; "><canvas width="35" height="21" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; position: relative !important; width: 35px; height: 21px; top: -1px; left: -1px; "></canvas><span class="cufon-alt" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; display: inline-block !important; width: 0px !important; height: 0px !important; overflow-x: hidden !important; overflow-y: hidden !important; text-indent: -10000in !important; "></span></span><span class="cufon cufon-canvas" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; text-indent: 0px !important; display: inline-block !important; position: relative !important; vertical-align: middle !important; font-size: 1px !important; line-height: 1px !important; width: 100px; height: 20px; "><canvas width="116" height="21" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; position: relative !important; width: 116px; height: 21px; top: -1px; left: -1px; "></canvas><span class="cufon-alt" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; display: inline-block !important; width: 0px !important; height: 0px !important; overflow-x: hidden !important; overflow-y: hidden !important; text-indent: -10000in !important; "></span></span><span class="cufon cufon-canvas" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; text-indent: 0px !important; display: inline-block !important; position: relative !important; vertical-align: middle !important; font-size: 1px !important; line-height: 1px !important; width: 109px; height: 20px; "><canvas width="123" height="21" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; position: relative !important; width: 123px; height: 21px; top: -1px; left: -1px; "></canvas><span class="cufon-alt" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; display: inline-block !important; width: 0px !important; height: 0px !important; overflow-x: hidden !important; overflow-y: hidden !important; text-indent: -10000in !important; "></span></span></strong></h2><br />You can bring comfort and care to some of the world’s most vulnerable women and stop the horror of fistula.<br /><br />Every minute, 30 women are injured or disabled by birthing injuries. And nearly 100,000 women every year suffer from the horror of fistula.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; color: rgb(61, 55, 50); line-height: 19px; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; color: rgb(61, 55, 50); line-height: 19px; "><b>Dorotea's Story</b></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; color: rgb(61, 55, 50); line-height: 19px; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; color: rgb(61, 55, 50); line-height: 19px; "><b></b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; color: rgb(61, 55, 50); line-height: 19px; ">Dorotea was about to become a Mum.</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; color: rgb(61, 55, 50); line-height: 19px; "><br />But what should have been the happiest time in <strong style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; ">Dorotea’s life suddenly became a nightmare. </strong><br /><br />After a four-day unassisted labour on the floor of her hut in Tanzania, Dorotea finally gave birth to a girl. But she wasn’t breathing. <br /> <br /><strong style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; ">Just two days later</strong>, still grieving the loss of her child, Dorotea began leaking urine and faeces uncontrollably. <br /><br />Complications during birth had caused massive tearing, and without help, <br /><strong style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; ">Dorotea had developed a fistula.</strong><br /><br /><br /><img alt="photo of doretea" src="http://www.cbm.org.au/images/Content/campaigns/2010/fistula/doretea_portrait.jpg" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 5px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; width: 294px; height: 203px; float: right; " />Dorotea was abandoned by her husband because of the smell and rejected by her community. <br /><br />As you can imagine, she was too frightened to leave her hut during the day. <br /><br />Confused and all alone, she fled her home under the veil of darkness in search of help. But sadly, there was none to be found and she returned home a broken woman. <br /><br />For a staggering 19 years, Dorotea<strong style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; "> </strong>suffered with the <strong style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; ">shame and isolation of fistula</strong> before she was found by CBM’s field workers and taken to hospital. Doctors performed a delicate surgery, repairing the hole and restoring Dorotea’s fullness of life. <br /><br /></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; color: rgb(61, 55, 50); line-height: 19px; ">But there are <strong style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; ">thousands </strong>of women just like Dorotea who really need your help."</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; color: rgb(61, 55, 50); line-height: 19px; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; color: rgb(61, 55, 50); line-height: 19px; "><a href="https://www.cbm.org.au/donate/fistula-restore-hope/593">Here to find out more and / or donate</a></span></div></div></div></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>The organisation are openly Christian but regardless of your belief I just don't think this has anything to do with supporting a religion, it's about helping these women and I feel like this is such a worthy cause to help out, irrespective of the organisation's origins.</div>Toivoa ja Elämänhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10938648865926536457noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1850468548782247769.post-57115973484923623682010-05-09T20:19:00.001+09:302010-05-09T20:19:25.526+09:30Call me stupid, but I want to marry him.Toivoa ja Elämänhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10938648865926536457noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1850468548782247769.post-34488114933261350102010-01-14T11:13:00.002+10:302010-01-14T11:18:19.481+10:30Well, that one step last night back into blogging has me all fired up, ready to write stories and further posts as fast as I can. Unfortunately I have a lot to do, so this will be quick. Just quickly scanning others' blogs, just the accomplishment of a finished post, having sat down to write something... I had forgotten what it feels like. Honestly? I feel alive. I'm so energised to write, it's amazing. Apart from looking after Lingu and trying to keep us afloat, there hasn't been much I have been deeply involved in. But writing was my first love and I feel so right returning. I cannot wait for this. Thanks so much to all of you who do read this blog and especially those of you who leave comments. It means a lot. I may be a bit rusty with words but I'm willing to work on it, as much as possible. Please keep coming back.<br /><br />Lots of love,<br />Toivoa.Toivoa ja Elämänhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10938648865926536457noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1850468548782247769.post-13889890707268657552010-01-13T19:20:00.008+10:302010-01-14T11:21:21.665+10:30'But still we'll say, "remember when"...'That said, here's a real post, not another one of those "I'm planning to post regularly again, <i>really</i>" pieces I've been throwing out for the past few months. Feel free to unfollow me.<br /><br />The ex ex best friend, as I so imaginatively dubbed her earlier. <a href="http://openinghereyes.blogspot.com/2009/03/ex-ex-best-friend.html">Remember her?</a> <br /><br />Well, there is so much I have to tell you, as I have mentioned in earlier posts, only about a hundred times, and this is not at all what I was planning to start with. There is so much to tell you about - the Psycho, my best friend Jamie, the ex best friend JRLB and how things are with him now... and other people I haven't made up poorly thought out nicknames or fake names for yet. I have to tell you about my boyfriend Chip/Lingu and how things are with his heart, as well as some of his unfortunate, awkward, but extremely entertaining encounters. Then there's the end of school, formal, my final score and my plans for this year. I want to hear more from you about my relationship with Lingu and therefore, I want you to know more about it... if you can take the reading.<br /><br />But no, none of that. Let's begin with 'Cynta'. It is important, after all. And for those of you who know us personally, perhaps surprising, or shocking, even. <br /><br /><i><center>Until the day I die<br />I'll spill my heart for you,<br />Until the day I die <br />I'll spill my heart for you<br /></i></center><br />Cynta, as you may recall, was my closest friend for over two years, a while back. This transcends 'best friends', it was on a far deeper, inexplicable level. We had a connection and an understanding of each other that I could never recreate with another. Lingu and I are so increcible close, and no, no one has ever known me so well,but he is far more than a friend, and so it is different. Cynta and I were young, a little too inflexible at times to quite understand the perspective of one another, even if we knew what it was. She, the logical, factual one, and I, the erratic, emotional one. She loved maths, I, writing. Our decisions followed this pattern. It was that sort of thing. She was the first friend to know and have to deal with my self harm. <br /><br /><i><center>As years go by<br />I race the clock with you<br />But if you died right now<br />You know that I'd die to<br />I'd die too</i></center><br /><br />We shared a lot. I could spend forever attempting to explain it, but we found something in our friendship that we had never experienced before, and it sustained us and actually taught s a new meaning and possibility in friendship. Too much? It may sound ridiculous and overstated, but it was all that. More. If you've had a friendship of a similar nature, you will understand what I mean. <br /><br /><i><center>You remind me of the times<br />When I knew who I was<br />But still the second hand will catch us<br />Like it always does.</center></i><br /><br />Well, this was intended to be a brief summary... I need to work on 'concise'. Bear with me.<br /><br />So anyway, I thought I had outgrown her, that I was bored with her and I didn't even need her anymore. There were a series of things that led to this, but a lot of the reason why is a mystery to me. So what began is something I am not proud of. I turned on her, the dearest person in my life, and betrayed her with a cruelty that I can scarcely believe I am capable of... and that I was and probably still I am is scary and horrifying. I hurt her like only someone that close to you can, as an unjustified hatred toward her formed and I grew ever more angry at her... I found her pathetic, using everything I could to try to destroy her further... It makes me sick to remember all that I said to her. And yet, if I was completely honest, underneath all the irrational anger was a horror at what she was going through... because of me... And sometimes that broke me. Considering all that happened in those few months after the worst of my attacks were over, I was trying to convince myself that I was okay without her, realising that I had severed myself from something precious. And what followed in those months is something I have never told anyone. Sure, it is partly embarrassment, but partly an inability to even correctly recall those events. My mind blocks such things, and I have never told anyone about it, ever. I broke down like after the loss of my friendships with Little Miss Sunshine and Rainbow Brite... and I am only realising this in that sense as I type this... <br /><br /><i><center>We'll make the same mistakes<br />I'll take the fall for you<br />I hope you need this now<br />'cause I know I still do.</i></center><br /><br />That I reacted that way, not perhaps just because of what happened but because, although I had many good, close, best friends left, I had left a friendship that, after all, did still mean a lot... And I caused it, awfully. I cringe at what I did. It was horrible and inhumane and I know what I did and saying "I'm not proud of it" does not cover my regret. Yet I cannot bring myself to say I wish it did not happen. We are what we are because of it, and although I wish I was not so cruel, so... sadistic, even, it is in the past. There is no point, nor logic, in "should have"s, or "could have"s, and she knows what I mean. We are very different people now...<br /><i><center><br />Should I bite my tongue<br />Until blood soaks my shirt?<br />We'll never fall apart<br />so Tell me why this hurts so much</i></center><br /><br />But that connection between has never been completely cut. Something I could not admit for a very long time, even once my anger had cooled and we were in the ignoring stage, is that I still love her... Not something I feel with intensity as with most friends, or much emotion. But it is something I know and refuse to ignore any more. We were that kind of friends. And that doesn't die easily.<br /><i><center><br />My hands are at your throat<br />And I think I hate you<br />But still we'll say, "remember when"<br />Just like we always do, just like we always do</i></center><br /><br />After a couple of years, we slowly began to talk again. And we would still spend hours on the phone and tell each other things we would not share easily with others, closer friends. It shocked me, how we still had that. How we somehow still had retained trust in each other. I did not deserve it. I had brutally betrayed that trust. But we could not help ourselves. And slowly, slowly, we have begun to talk more. We laugh together. We have helped each other. I have talked to her when I was in a lot of trouble and desperately in need of help, and she was the only one I could see being able. And we talk, now.<br /><br />I think we might even, almost, call ourselves friends...<br /><i><center><br />Until the day I die<br />I'll spill my heart for you<br />Until the day I die<br />I'll spill my heart for you. </i></center>Toivoa ja Elämänhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10938648865926536457noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1850468548782247769.post-86363493003987749072010-01-13T18:44:00.005+10:302010-01-13T19:04:23.798+10:30A bit of repetition never hurtI managed to let us slip into the New Year before my promised regular postings. So here's hoping this is the first of those. Oh, and Happy New Year. :)<br /><br />To tell the truth, so much has happened that I do not even know where to start. And not having written in months, every time I sit down to put pen to paper, it all seems too difficult and I quickly give up after one terrible sentence or so. A full sentence may even be giving myself too much credit, unfortunately... <br /><br />Halfway through last year I began to actually write out my blog posts to later type up. It's just nicer seeing my thoughts in ink, before visible electronically. I'm one of those romantic, somewhat old fashioned people who long for the yesteryear and cleave to the idea that a letter is far better than an email, a book preferable to a PDF file or "e-book" in any form, a purchased CD far more enjoyable than download tracks, legally acquired or otherwise. Considering CDs as clinging to the old may seem laughable, but with MP3 players and the like, it's not really cutting edge technology anymore, and I was sadly not around for records. Although I'd love to buy an old gramophone and begin a collection. But that could not be <i>more</i> irrelevant.<br /><br />I delight in old, heritage buildings and the smell of quiet, almost forgotten library rooms with book lined walls and wooden furniture. And I'm the kind of person who wants to remember <i>everything</i>. My room and cupboard are filled with so many different, useless objects that I have gained and kept over the years. I still have notes that my friends and I exchanged in primary school, and other prior mementos. I have kept a diary, rather sporadically at times, for a large portion of my life, and with the creation of a Live Journal account, moved onto that as a replacement. I later discovered Blogger, thanks to a friend, and I love it. <br /><br />No, it's not as great as a personal journal, since there are some aspects of my life and those who are a part of it that I cannot reveal on this public forum. But while blogging requires the recording of my thoughts in a more structured form, the comments have been great; the friends I have made, and seeing the interest others have in my writing and even my thoughts have all been very encouraging and supportive. It's been good practice at writing and I don't plan on giving it up anytime soon. I'm hoping to begin writing creatively again on <a href="http://iliketopretendicanwrite.blogspot.com">"Head in the Clouds"</a>.<br /><br />Cinderella may have lost her shoe, but there is so much more to the story.Toivoa ja Elämänhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10938648865926536457noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1850468548782247769.post-75426141096737841042009-12-07T13:41:00.002+10:302009-12-07T13:46:44.913+10:30I have been terribly remiss. I have not posted in ages. It's been harder than I had expected to forge a return to any kind of writing at this time. Even email conversations with friends that grow lengthy can be a difficulty to reply o. Not to mention, I'm always so tired. But now I must come back.<br /><br />I miss blogging and all the wonderful people I communicate with through it. I love writing regularly, even if in a personal way. And writing has always been a comfort to me. So, especially in this echausting time, although events would conspire to drain my time, I must find a few minutes to write it out.<br /><br />I have a lot to tell you. Final exams are done, gradation gone, and formal over. Significant developments in friendships have occurred, and tragedy seems all around. I don't believe that to be an over dramatising of what has happened. We shall see.<br /><br />So expect proper posts soon. :)Toivoa ja Elämänhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10938648865926536457noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1850468548782247769.post-47849170403926242162009-11-06T10:53:00.002+10:302009-11-06T10:55:51.644+10:30There's something that I have been turning over in my mind for almost all of this year. I do not feel free to discuss it because it directly involves some of those who I know read my blog. There is another topic I cannot write about on this blog since I do not feel comfortable talking about it with these same people being able to read it. <br />Oh, but I'm dying to tell you everything.Toivoa ja Elämänhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10938648865926536457noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1850468548782247769.post-74869634798370765872009-11-03T00:01:00.003+10:302009-11-03T00:12:31.525+10:30I haven't posted in forever, have been studying for final exams, which have just begun.<br />I can't sleep.<br />I'm trying to be healthy and get enough sleep and eat right. All of that.<br />I hate the turbulence that Chip's heart problem brings, to his life, and our relationship. I don't think I can handle it much longer. I am not going to break up with him, no, never. Never because of that. Never for any reason, hopefully... but more on that later.<br />I just, what with him and so much wrong in other people's lives around me... I am forever on the edge of tears. I am not letting him go, but I am scared that I will have some sort of breakdown and not be able to handle anything. And really, I'm still getting better from myself.<br />I hate how his heart leads to either or both of us growing angry or upset at various times. I am not frustrated at him, no, never. But with myself, my inability to help him, my inability to deal with it. My inability to deal with myself. <br />You know what sucks? He has been getting better, but it still finds a way to creep into <i>everything</i>. And now, with the beginning of summer, we are realising that the heat, the fucking heat, causes him to hurt. Fuck this.<br />This is a terrible post, please bear with me.<br />I love how close we are, how strong we are together, I love him and who he is. I think we are, at the moment, far too dependent on each other, however. I don't know. And I hate the way I continue to suppress my conscience on some matters which are actually fundamental to me. I know he will agree with me but I don't want to bring it up with him.<br />I'm sick of the way everything just is. I'm sick of not being able to sleep, knowing that his presence would calm me down so that I could. But we are not allowed that. I just want to fall asleep with him again, so that just one more time I can fall asleep quickly and easily and happily, and sleep feeling safe and loved. I loved that. <br />I miss our August.<br />And that way I could know if he was hurting, and it made it more okay, because I could be there with him throughout. I cannot stand him being in pain. But his pain unchecked when he is alone...<br />I am scared he will die. He is my best friend. If anything happened...<br />I know I could not cope with that. I know several people who could not cope with that at all.<br />I have so much to explain to you all.<br />Soon. When exams are over.Toivoa ja Elämänhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10938648865926536457noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1850468548782247769.post-2838560963001884542009-09-30T17:11:00.002+09:302009-09-30T17:12:22.729+09:30"Ending Unplanned"<p>I wanna feel alive. More alive than I have ever felt before. So I feel it flooding through my veins.</p> <p>I wanna feel every touch, every taste, wanna hear every sound more clearly than I ever have before.</p> <p>I want to love without inhibition. [Everyone, feel free to start singing Natasha Bedingfield now ;)] I want to throw caution to the wind, and cynicism out the door.</p> <p>I want to live.</p> <p>And I'm not ashamed of these scars, for they made me who I am.</p> <p>But they are not “the end”, they are not the “all”. They’re just a part of my story. Just like you. And every moment is a part, and I don’t want to waste them anymore. I am writing my story, and it may not be a best seller. Maybe the main character puts herself through too much needless strife, and finds herself lost time and time again. Maybe she forgets to give her all and maybe she’s not the heroine when she should be. Maybe she makes mistakes, and maybe she’s clumsy (and not in a vapid Bella Swan way) and maybe she runs from reality.</p> <p>There may not even be a happy ending, but it will be a story nonetheless. My story. And I’m going to live it, and I’m going to tell it. It may not sell, not one copy, but it’s my life, and I promise you, I will make it worth it.</p>Toivoa ja Elämänhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10938648865926536457noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1850468548782247769.post-90832366190701909892009-09-16T00:10:00.002+09:302009-09-16T00:12:26.338+09:30I'm not really up to posting full blog posts at the moment, either through lack of time or just general state of mine, so you can find me mainly at http://jasabela.tumblr.com right now, and no, i cannot even be bothered putting in a proper link. I wish I could at least know what to say, even if I can't take other people's problems. And trust me, I would take as many as possible, if i could. But I don't even know what to say. I don't even know what to say.Toivoa ja Elämänhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10938648865926536457noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1850468548782247769.post-43408249271992953042009-09-14T20:11:00.004+09:302009-09-14T20:58:06.865+09:30This doesn't make for entertaining reading.It's just an update, since I've been word vomiting on here for a while.<br /><br />Chip called me the other night and I was upset over something else which I'd rather not go into, so I had missed all the signs that he was in pain when we were emailing each other prior. I almost didn't pick up because to be honest I was a little mad at him. We both were frustrated and took it out on each other. But I'm so glad that after about the fifth or sixth call, I did pick up. He was hurting pretty badly, and I didn't know what to do because I wasn't there and I couldn't hold him. I rambled on about stuff. But in the first quarter of an hour, I had to ask him if he could call me back in five minutes. Make that three. I didn't want to spend that long away from him but I couldn't even control my breathing as I listened to his painful, tortured intake of air. So I hung up, bawled for a few minutes, and composed myself before he called back. Got a drink of water, which was my excuse. Carried on as before, trying to act normal, curling my toes and trying to sound calm as I kept myself from further tears. It hurts to see him like this. Hurts more to hear him this way, because I can't help as I can when I'm with him.<br />The next day, after talking, he promised to see a doctor, and was prescribed strong painkillers and sleeping pills. Last night he took them and managed about four or five hours of sleep. It's scary that that's a good thing. Better than fifteen minutes though. Hopefully we'll get there, although he's really worried about the possibility of suffering mild depression and/or anxiety as a result, which the doctor warned him may occur. I hope not because then he'll stop taking the tablets and will stop sleeping again...<br /><br />As for other aspects of life, they're doing okay. I know he and his heart are all I've been blogging about, and I'm sorry, but it's kinda been uppermost in my thoughts and that, of course, is what this blog reflects.<br /><br />Proper post soon.Toivoa ja Elämänhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10938648865926536457noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1850468548782247769.post-26945584412650501392009-09-10T18:18:00.003+09:302009-09-10T18:24:00.268+09:30<small>ican'ttakethis<br />i can't take this.<br /><br />I can't bear to see him in so much pain. He's always been the happy, optimistic one. The focused one, the good kid who never fights with his parents.<br /><br />I can't stand to see him hurting so bad, and emotionally as well.<br /><br />I can't write properly.<br /><br />I can't stand how things are for him, I want to make it all better. I can't.<br /><br />I just want you to be okay.<br /><br />It hurts so much to see you like this, to see you going through this. Every time I think of you, I am barely from tears. I love you so much. I need you to be okay. You have to be okay.<br /><br /></small>Toivoa ja Elämänhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10938648865926536457noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1850468548782247769.post-38621517145933433052009-09-09T20:03:00.001+09:302009-09-09T20:04:43.493+09:30Through the Looking Glass<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZdWrKDrOy4I/SqeEejpJz3I/AAAAAAAAASk/wKqXgd1MNkw/s1600-h/Elena_Kalis_alice_in_wonderland_series_yatzer-interview_1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZdWrKDrOy4I/SqeEejpJz3I/AAAAAAAAASk/wKqXgd1MNkw/s200/Elena_Kalis_alice_in_wonderland_series_yatzer-interview_1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379413940416139122" /></a><br /> <br /><i><center>Check out <a href="http://www.yatzer.com/1886_alice_in_waterland_by_elena_kalis">this photo shoot</a>.<br /><br />If Alice were to go to Waterland...</center></i>Toivoa ja Elämänhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10938648865926536457noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1850468548782247769.post-69015071088191786422009-09-08T22:33:00.002+09:302009-09-08T22:34:56.516+09:30<small>i no longer remember what it means to <i>not</i> be tired anymore. i no longer remember what a clear mind feels like. what does success taste like? what is that feeling of accomplishment? i may not be a failure but right now, i am failing at life and school something hardcore.</small>Toivoa ja Elämänhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10938648865926536457noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1850468548782247769.post-5432819704777050852009-09-08T09:41:00.005+09:302009-09-08T11:42:07.720+09:30"Let's Drive Until We Crash This Dead End Life"I'd like to take a rain check on life. Hit that pause button for me, will you? Maybe when we start spinning this record again I can stop it from skipping. Don't even know how to jump start a car, how the hell do I jump start my life? You might say my mother and the doctors did that for me over seventeen years ago, well then I'm still trying to learn how to drive. Cliché after cliché but then they say it as well as my own words more than half the time anyway. Basically I know I'm fucking up but it's like I'm in a tailspin and can't pull up, could you help me if I had a Mayday Parade? Seems like that's my life these days, incorporating lyrics, book, movie quotes and band names into everyday conversation, lines from advertisements when i "hate watching TV" and speaking like my boyfriend. Spent hours on the phone last night not really listening, picturing blood everywhere instead, smeared on the walls. Pictured cutting all up my body from above my ankles to the base of my neck, as much as possible, and in detail. When I finally stopped, began to talk, because he wouldn't leave - he knew there was something - I tried to explain with words that I missed the exhilaration, and the way that despite ourselves, we become competitive and how his talking about Rachel has got me wanting more more more, why didn't I do more? I couldn't now, not to myself nor to them but some times I wish I could go back to when I could reduce my world to blood and pain and the next cut, to how deep I could go and how much. These days I'd look for the same thing in a bottle, and some days I just wanna get trashed so bad, just so I can forget, for a while. Is it obvious I can't cope? I'm not quite ready to be independent and last night I wondered if I cut myself till I collapsed on the floor, if I was found by morning still alive, when I got out of hospital could mum then let me see her again, the counsellor who was amazing when I was so skeptical although ready for something like that. Don't even know what it means to get by on my own and I know that makes me pathetic. I have such hopes but I can't see them through, I can't put in what I need to and it hurts more than anything to see your disappointment, when we all know I could do so much better. I'm a mess and I can't stand it.Toivoa ja Elämänhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10938648865926536457noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1850468548782247769.post-27822297633112226142009-09-07T13:37:00.006+09:302009-09-07T15:39:50.932+09:30Post title later.<span style="font-style:italic;">"It could be life threatening."</span><br /><br />How do I explain what went through me at those whispered words, sounded so slowly, so carefully? <br /><br />I didn't panic, I didn't go cold. I didn't quite stop breathing. My chest didn't quite constrict, but rather, it felt like something fell out of place inside me. And thoughts leapt into my mind, but they were merely conscious thoughts of usually subconscious actions. I felt my brain's instructions to breathe, for my heart to pump, to process this information. I remained very still, my face pressed close against his to hear each word. I think there was a small part of me that immediately starting screaming but it was boxed away so tightly, before it even began, that I felt no panic. But it was as though the world had suddenly become dreadfully wrong.<br /><br />My boyfriend has a serious heart problem. It causes him an incredible uncontrollable amount of pain at times. Thus far the doctors don't know what it is. The results from tests he took on Friday may show what it is. It may be life threatening. And if not, well they still won't know what it is.<br /><br />I can't describe to you what it is like to see him go through so much pain. To have to hold my face straight and stop those tears. I can't make it more painful for him. Some times at night his mum hears him and goes to comfort him. Some times she cries. I save my tears for myself. It is the least I can do. Not that I blame his mum, having to see her child go through that.<br /><br />Do you know what scares the shit out of me? Honestly, that the worst I have seen, is nowhere near as bad as it does get. So bad that as I found out on Friday night, he has tried various things to stop it. He has stopped eating for three days straight, he has tried punching himself in the heart when it happens and finally, he began to use a hammer to hit himself in the back of the head, just to distract himself from the pain. I could barely stop the cry that wanted to escape my mouth as he told me this, because I understand why he does it, because the pain is so bad. But it hurts so much to know he is resorting to this. It is the reason for all his headaches lately. He hasn't done it in a while though, thank God. But I don't even know which is worse, him doing that, or trying to deal with such excruciating pain. It tears me apart, all I want is to make it stop. I would take it myself, if I could. I would take it all and I would not regret that for a second.<br /><br />But I can't<br /><br />And that only makes it more painful to watch. How do parents, family members go through these things, knowing they would give their lives, they would do <i>anything</i> to prevent their loved one from suffering, but they cannot? That all they can do is wait, and watch, and pray, and hope. Hold, comfort, wipe tears.<br /><br />Not that I've seen Jimit cry. He wouldn't cry over this. He can't even remember the last time he properly cried. But the last time he shed a tear was over his baby cousin going in for heart surgery. I love that his heart is for others, I love that he would get in a fight with a guy in order to defend his self harming friend who descended into such darkness because of the dickhead messing with her emotions in the most terrible ways. In order to protect another of his friends from falling into his sadistic trap. <br /><br />I'm glad that I help his pain by being there, holding him through it, holding him as tight as I can even when he tries to push me away because a part of him is scared he will hurt me. I'm glad that in his sleep I can calm it down so it doesn't hurt anymore, and I wish I could do that whilst he is awake. <br /><br />I love how recently, when he is asleep, a part of him talks to me, and tells me these things, and converses with me, as strange as it is. It's just another part of our relationship, which is already full of random things. And that's why I love 'us'.<br /><br />I love how he talks to me about my own time of hurting myself, I love how sometimes he kisses my scars as though he is trying to take away all the pain I ever felt, and I am glad that in some way I make his pain less. I just wish I could do it all the time.<br /><br />And right now, I am so scared.<br /><br />Any minute now, he will call me. And then I will know if it <i>is</i> life threating or not.<br /><br />Even if it's not, what do we do?<br /><br />It's six minutes past 3:30. And a part of me is terrified that he's late calling because it is bad news.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZdWrKDrOy4I/SqSiS9O0QkI/AAAAAAAAASc/SC5DZm2nOQI/s1600-h/Image022.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZdWrKDrOy4I/SqSiS9O0QkI/AAAAAAAAASc/SC5DZm2nOQI/s200/Image022.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378602301545267778" /></a><br /><i><center>iloveyousomuch</i></center>Toivoa ja Elämänhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10938648865926536457noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1850468548782247769.post-9922526859578416082009-09-03T19:21:00.002+09:302009-09-03T19:22:03.536+09:30<small>Sometimes, I suck.</small>Toivoa ja Elämänhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10938648865926536457noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1850468548782247769.post-3368092169358979052009-09-02T00:52:00.004+09:302009-09-02T01:53:12.924+09:30In which I attempt to crack the Lameness scaleI have a confession. I kinda hope Chip will end up being the man I marry.<br /><br />It's ridiculous. I can't imagine ever being married to him. <i>He's Indian!</i> That's not the real reason, of course. That he is Indian provides us with the fact that his family background and thus upbringing is so similar to mine that adds to what we can relate on and brings us closer together. There are things that you can only understand if you are growing up in another culture so different to that whence your parents came.<br /><br />The small ways in which he doesn't understand me that are of huge significance are a contribution. Considering this, he can read my most subtle face expressions with a scary degree of accuracy, pinpointing exactly what is happening in my mind. A faraway look and combined with his knowledge of my life and the situation and he can work out that I am missing the exbestfriend. There is more, much more, but how can I explain it all?<br /><br />There are various little things that make me certain I could never spend my whole life with him.<br /><br />And yet...<br /><br />He sets a high standard. I can't detail the numerous little things he does that make me realise how much he cares about me; the way he texts me twice daily to remind me to take my vitamins, the way he kisses my scars like he wants to take away all the pain I've ever felt. The way he was so happy at my <a href="http://openinghereyes.blogspot.com/2009/07/one-year-today.html">one year anniversary of ending the self harm</a>. The way he talks to me in depth about it and holds my face in the dark to make sure I'm not crying when I remember the way my parents reacted. How, when I get upset because I'm convinced I am a bad girlfriend, he laughs at the idea like its the most ridiculous thing in the world and proceeds to assure me.<br /><br />I love that even if he has just picked me up for the night and he is perfectly awake, when he sees that I am exhausted, urges me to sleep and rest, and just holds me as I sleep, for hours. I love that he thinks I am beautiful, with clothes on, and how whenever I get shy or awkward he just laughs and tells me he loves me without any frustration.<br /><br />I love that he wants to spend as much time with me as he can and that he trusts me, I love his strong stance against cheating and the way he talks about me to randoms when he's not with me. I love the way he calls me when he's drunk, and the way he makes me do my homework.<br /><br />I love how even when he is in excruciating pain due to an unknown problem with his heart, he is most concerned about accidentally hurting me, and the way that I actually make it stop sooner and usually hurt less, just by being around.<br /><br />I love that last time I saw him, he talked to me while he was sleeping, and in pain in his sleep, I could make him stop hurting just by whispering soothing words. I love the way he tries to make light of how serious the pain is, but told me in his sleep. And the way that even in his sleep, he kept whispering "I love you so much".<br /><br />Through all my terrible mood swings of late when I grow incredibly self destructive and almost break up with him for the sake of causing myself pain, when I yell at him and cry and am cranky and upset and terrible to be around, he stays to talk me through it, and will come get me if he can. I love how he makes me feel better and how he's just as happy to spend hours talking as making out.<br /><br />There are a million and one things he does that continually raise my ability to value myself, not too much, but closer to enough; and reassure me that somehow, I am worthy of being loved. To have someone put up so well with all the crap I put them through, and still love me as much; and for all the important matters on which we think the same, I wonder, can I find something this amazing with someone else that will last the years?<br /><br />I hope so.Toivoa ja Elämänhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10938648865926536457noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1850468548782247769.post-58473802132536477922009-09-01T02:35:00.002+09:302009-09-01T03:01:09.685+09:30The Lost HoursYou know, I have a couple of topics to blog about, simply from this Monday past. It being 2:36AM on the following Tuesday, though, combined with two hours of sleep on Sunday night, all that I can focus on acutely is that heady feeling of being the only person awake right now. Of course, this is not the reality; in fact, many of you are going about in the daytime now, but here and now, in this silence, these electric lights and nighttime cool, it feels as though I've managed to find something no one else has; I have stayed up and hence discovered a secret, a special time that I, singularly, have broken into. <br /><br />I know I have homework pending but that doesn't seem to matter. My brain passes over various memories, those that would usually be euphoric and intense reduced to a mere glossy fascination. This is a world of casual indifference, an inability to concentrate or process thought properly (thank you, sleep deprivation), but my, does it feel good. In that vague, secretive air this moment holds.<br /><br />The sounds of a house creaking, occasional passing cars, humming of fridges and the deadness of it all - it all combines to create this deafening cacophony of near silence, which only rises to unbearable heights if focused on, till it feels as though one's ears are suffocating, the target of an immense pressure, not as when lifting off in a plane but frightening for its lack of logic. But then, sense has no place here, in this lost hour.<br /><br />From under heavy lids refusing to acknowledge or bow, the view is different too. There is a dreaminess about it, perhaps the brain taking longer to recognise what it sees. A surreal aspect attaches itself to every normal sight, however familiar. Everything sunken in false yellow light, deeper pools of shadows than usual, sallow and aged, but not tired. No. More... used, like old books that have seen many a turning of a page.<br /><br />It is the cold that cuts through, adding a dash of reality. Slicing through everything else, it is the unwelcome visitor to this time, and yet, it provides further that sense of "topsy turvy", a more sober Wonderland, at which Alice never quite arrived. Sending chills through the body in occasional waves, lapping gently but startlingly. And always, that pervading feeling of night, that darkness that persists even with these man made lights. <br /><br />Nature has a way of penetrating everything. Man-made or otherwise; everywhere. A tendril creeps in, grabs hold, its lurking presence faint but definite. Our light cannot defy the night, not truly and after all, that is the way it should be. <br /><br />In this, these lost hours, I feel as though being alone is not so close to being lonely. And perhaps that is the best gift of all.Toivoa ja Elämänhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10938648865926536457noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1850468548782247769.post-79753172924159401522009-08-30T19:28:00.015+09:302009-08-30T23:36:45.080+09:30MLIGHonestly, why haven't I been around?<br /><br />Firstly, let me say that I've missed it, this whole blogging thing. The feel of community amongst those who have never met face to face or never would have if not for the blogosphere, that real friendship and all the laughs, all the stories. From those my age to those in their fifties and beyond, blogging has been an adventure. Now if it sounds as this is a retirement post, relax Max, it's nothing close. <div><br /></div><div>I first began my blog almost eleven months ago. My blog and its audience and my blogging friends have changed drastically since those first days and weeks when I sobbed out my heart in HTML and custom font. Still a little too used to LiveJournal, perhaps. And with a heart in severe need of mending.<br /><br />I hadn't realise I could hurt like that, feel so broken, so shattered. Not for so long. But then, I'd never thought those friendships could dissolve, and so rapidly, without any logical reason or explanation, in my eyes. A <i>lot</i> has changed and I think that those of you have been reading all this time could agree that I am a much stronger and resilient, even happier, person. Although I ceased my self harm in early July, it is this year that I have come to value myself even more highly, and learnt even more about acceptance, of myself and in every way of life.<br /><br />I slip, a lot. Mood swings have been rampant these past weeks. Possibly a by-product of sleep deprivation. But, you see, le Boyfriend's parents have been away in Europe since August the 4th. And what would two teenagers not quite in love and carrying on a relationship without their would-be-disapproving parents' knowledge, do with this opportunity of an unsupervised house? No, not that... They would obviously spend as much as time as possible together at said unsupervised house... with clothes... </div><div><br /></div><div>Cue a lot of lies - "Oh, mum I'm sleeping over at Jeorjette's/Shani's/Catherine's house tonight", a <i>lot</i> of close calls, far too much missed school than is sane whilst in one's final year of school, and considering the fact that it is Toivoa and Chip we're talking about here, a lot of crap and painful things including near break ups that has only resulted in us being even closer than before. We're talking car break downs, almost being caught sneaking out, accidental destruction of gifts, serious health problems, really bad jokes, some lengthy visits from that self destructive, heartless, psycho bitch side of me; and trust me, her showing up reminded me just <i>how</i> much I have not missed her.<br /><br />The remainder of the time, I've been stressing about school and English teachers, not doing nearly enough work and discovering amusing sites such as <a href="http://mylifeisaverage.com/">MLIA</a>, amazing sites such as <a href="http://mylifeisg.com/">MLIG</a> and in particular, <a href="http://www.givesmehope.com/">Gives Me Hope</a>, which really does give me and a lot of other people hope. I've gotten my ears pierced, finally, been to a friend's formal, had le Boyfriend come to church with me, been drunk with le Boyfriend, and crossed a lot more items off on our make out list... I'll post it some time. I've banned myself from Facebook for a week, twice, and exploded Carbonara sauce in the microwave a couple more times than I'd like to admit. I've had the most dreadful arguments with the 'rents and missed friends like <a href="http://insertpalindromehere.blogspot.com/">Raspberry Hatter</a> and <a href="http://perpetualsmile.net/">Elizabeth</a>; wondered about <a href="http://riveramichael.blogspot.com/">Michael Rivera</a>, hankered after reading a bit of <a href="http://www.livitluvit.com/">Lilu</a>, to name a few.<br /><br />I've been missing people and been experiencing nostalgia for a past that I've never known, and my increasing "emotional chameleon" state is of likewise increasing intrigue to me. I've been out winning awards (well, only one, really) and buying books with the subsequent book voucher prizes, which I have then been too busy to read, or have misplaced somewhere in the house. I've been destroying phones and breaking stuff and getting down but somehow, never out. It's been bumpy, disheartening, but good. I am happy.<br /><br />So why haven't I been blogging/reading/commenting? I'd like to say that I've been saving up blogging material for you all, but that would, unfortunately, be a lie. I've been lacking time and topics and the ability to write, as well as questioning whether I am truly cut out to create and sustain an entertaining blog, but I am going to say, with some trepidation, that I am back, and looing forward to this, you sexy sexy bloggers, you. And my posts shall NOT be as terrible as my previous few, I promise that.<br /><br />But one more thing. I have another blog, which is pretty much exactly the same as this, but uncensored and without, well, at the moment, without <i>anyone</i> reading it, but without people-I-know reading it, therefore, a few extra posts you will never see here. I'd challenge you to find it but I'd love for it to have an audience asap, so drop me an email, yes, an email, and, I know, who <i>the fuck</i> uses email these days? Anyway, send me an email, and I'll let you know the password (or URL) to my cave of hidden wonders... /any sexual innuendo derived from that is totally a result of your own warped mind...<br /><br />Oh and P.S.? (I know I said one more thing, and this makes two, but shush...)<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZdWrKDrOy4I/SppeAS6vgVI/AAAAAAAAASU/bRD6X2POAbc/s1600-h/P1010091.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 99px; height: 132px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZdWrKDrOy4I/SppeAS6vgVI/AAAAAAAAASU/bRD6X2POAbc/s200/P1010091.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375712464391340370" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I'm not in love, no, but I love Chip more than I can say (and trust me, you're going to be hearing rather a sickening lot about that in posts to come), and I can truly say that right now, he is the <i>only</i> one I want.<br /><br /><br /><br />P.P.S. Just realised that I began this post with the line "Why haven't I been around?" Geez. Not to sound desperate to be slutty or anything, Toivoa. Besides, as I was telling Chip the other day, I'm too fucking<i> good</i> to be slutty, <i>or</i> a hooker, <i>or</i> a stripper. Problem? You be the judge.</div>Toivoa ja Elämänhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10938648865926536457noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1850468548782247769.post-26683090997759382602009-07-31T20:04:00.001+09:302009-07-31T20:04:55.012+09:30I hate myself currently. Or to be more accurate, I hate that I get<br>this way. I'm grumpy and moody, irritable, upset, emo, you name it.<p>I'm just pissed off at everything, at the way I feel bloated, at the<br>way I haven't seen Chip in weeks and shan't for another week, at my<br>utter lack of motivation and the general mediocre quality of life at<br>the moment.<p>Perhaps it is because, in taking antibiotics for the flu, I had to<br>stop taking my iron and vitamin D tablets. That does usually affect<br>me. But that tends to be straight out depressed or mood swinging. Not<br>this ridiculous, bitter, cynical, harsh attitude that permeates even<br>whilst happy. It coasts along under each and every other emotion and<br>damn if I'm not MORE bitchy than when PMSing. Yes folks, you read that<br>correctly.<p>I'm pissed off at people I don't want to be angry at, angry at having<br>to maintain conversation with Chip. I don't know how anyone can or why<br>they would put up with me when I'm like this. How can Chip stand me?<br>Why doesn't he break up with me??? Why is he with me?<p>I just want to feel like I am doing something with my life, getting<br>somewhere, being successful...<p>The other half of me just wants to do something violent.<p>Towards myself, preferably, but who cares?<p>I shan't.<p>But it would be soothing.<p>-- <br>Sent from Gmail for mobile | <a href="http://mobile.google.com">mobile.google.com</a>Toivoa ja Elämänhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10938648865926536457noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1850468548782247769.post-35537984921479245672009-07-26T23:03:00.002+09:302009-07-28T18:10:18.698+09:30So when you tell me that you love me know for sure...I don't wanna be lonely any more. <p>So Rob Thomas sung, and quite probably, shall sing again. I'm looking<br />for someone I can sing that to, not literally of course. <p>I'm lonely, at the heart of everything else. With my best friends<br />Kathleen and Lyn and Bass Boy and my various other friends, I've got<br />this void I'm trying to fill. BF, sure, he's got his place. But I<br />can't talk to him about him and other boys, about girly things and<br />movies and anime and joke about old memories and a future together. We<br />don't have a long term future together. I do not see us getting<br />married, although I'm fine with being proved wrong on that. He may be<br />the ever elusive "one" but for now he is merely my boyfriend, and<br />while this might sound stupid, I hate that he is the person I am<br />currently closest to. <p>At this age, friends are the steadiest thing I have. They are the ones<br />I can still see having a bond with decades down the line. <p>Chip, well, we'll see. <p>I don't want my boyfriend to be the person I go to first to tell<br />everything, when we have been together for two months. I do not want<br />to be clingy and I want a solid foundation, I want a girl's view and a<br />specific sort. Some friendships just click together perfectly, you<br />know, and I have not been able to find someone who I can talk to about<br />things like my Rainbow Brite girl. I mean, we talk now. But it's not<br />the same as before, when we were best friends, secure in our<br />friendship and able to talk about anything, as we did while wagging<br />school to get chips at the deli, cringing over the deli lady's mockery<br />of our order of large fries between the two of us and laughing over<br />past experiences and future plans. We talked about everything and<br />although I'll tell Kathleen things, her perspective is different. I<br />don't see her at school, she only gets ideas of school drama from my<br />perspective. <p>My gossip sources are strained and poor, not to mention slow. <p>I have no one to discuss my insecurities with Chip because most of my<br />friends are single and don't seem to want to hear me talk about him.</p> <p>I miss having someone to talk to about everything who has that specific perspective... I miss you, Becca.Toivoa ja Elämänhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10938648865926536457noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1850468548782247769.post-29502031441849082452009-07-26T17:24:00.002+09:302009-07-26T18:20:57.333+09:30I know, I know. Toivoa, what's been going on? You wrote a sort of victory post and then disappeared off the face of the internet for almost the entire month, something you've never done as a blogger.<br /><br />Well basically, I haven't been near a computer during my school holidays, and this past week I've been on a self-inflicted, yes, inflicted, internet ban, just to prove an old friend wrong. <br /><br />I was invited to my best friend's formal (Australian prom) at another school as a back up date when her friend who I know a little had his date pull out on him. This evoked a mad dash to find a formal dress since I hadn't started looking for mine, it being at the end of the year... But dress is bought and I already have suitable shoes (check the header of this blog), so I just need a purse and jewelery. <br /><br />The thing is, in my week long ban the thing I missed the most was being able to blog but I've had this window open for hours and I <i>cannot</i> write one decent thing. I'm exhausted due to a couple phone calls in the early hours of the morning to my drunken boyfriend and my inability to sleep. I'm sure I'll be back with a kickass post tomorrow, but for now, it is with a heavy and tired heart that I must bid you adieu. ;)<br /><br />Much love.Toivoa ja Elämänhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10938648865926536457noreply@blogger.com3