Hello Blogosphere,

This is me.

However, I currently have no clothes. No clothes! Of course, there is that dress in the above picture, but I'm not keen for Jimit to think I've gone emo or goth... Unless I can get a white/other coloured belt I'm not wearing it out. Plus it's shapeless without one.

I'm also really not in the mood for wearing jeans, since I wear tight skinnylegs every day for school, and I'm way over it at the moment. Pants are too restrictive. I have no good skirts, or at least, no good skirts that have any tops to match them, and all my dresses are over the top. GAH.

And I'm kinda sick of shopping too coz I barely find anything I want, and if I do, it's crazy expensive.

I hate you, clothes retailers. I despise you. No I am not just fussy!

Okay, maybe I am, but whatthefuckever... ;p

Oh, oh,

Bitch, please.

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Shop Till You Drop Part II

Or, Why I Hate My Bra Size

ISWEARTOGODITISIMPOSSIBLEFORMETOFINDBRAS. Okay, near impossible. My mum tells me I should quit with the exaggerating, but where's the fun in saying "I haven't seen you in a week", when I can say "I haven't seen you in like, fifty years!"? Lie? Yes. But, entertaining to me for some completely unknown and probably inexplicable reason? Also yes. And that, folks, is what counts. [And yes, I do use "like" far too much in conversation. However, no, I never actually say "folks"...]

Now, I used to like bra shopping. So many pretty bras. Then... Well, I became the bra size that I am today. I actually hate bra shopping. Bras in my size just aren't that common, and even when I do find any that are the right size on the tag, each bra is different blah blah, and more often than not, they don't actually fit me. Apparently big cup size and small chest don't normally go together. You know what I have to say to that? Fuck you, bra makers, and fuck you, 10DD.

I don't want to wear granny bras! Besides, my mother doesn't like to spend over $50 on one bra, especially since I am "still growing" and therefore, she'll need to buy more later on. Uh, mum, I actually still need bras now, even if I will need different sized ones in the future! Just sayin'.

But yesterday, I actually found some that fit and were average looking. I don't care if no one else sees my bras, I freaking know what I'm wearing and I want it to be pretty damnit {I am aware that damnit is actually properly spelled dammit, although it is slang and thus, shouldn't even have a proper spelling, to my mind. However, even though it irritates me, I picked it up off a dear friend and it's one of my ways of remembering him, so forgive me this continual spelling error thing... Oh and P.S. Mozilla Firefox spell check, "spelt" is a word >.<)!

Average looking? That ain't gonna cut it. I don't want to be average, I want to be above average. Although you wouldn't be able to tell by my school work...

You know how sometimes I say that people suck? Well, people make bras. Therefore, people suck.

P.S. Remember how the other day, I was bitching about Lady Gaga? That said, this cover of Poker Face is freaking amazing, and I discovered it all thanks to JoJo at I Once Was Captain of Whatever.

Seriously, take a look. It's pretty cool.



And, FYI, I'm actually getting a B in three out of five subjects this term. Don't ask about German and Biology. ;P Also, thanks to my terrible critical analysis skills, my English grade would have been a C, but my recount and oral and the like brought me up, and then my teacher gave me an extra mark for some reason ;D Must work harder next term.

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Shop Till You Drop

or, I Feel Slightly Derro Because It Took Till My Jeans Wore Through Before My Mum Would Take Me Shopping

My mum took me shopping at the mall today for an hour and a half before she went to work, because, let's face it, I really needed new jeans. You'd be crazy to deny me that. I'm also low in numbers when it comes to bras, and just, clothing in general. My mother has been convinced that she "bought me clothes only recently" for the past year... Just like she's been saying that she and Dad moved to Australia from India "fourteen years ago" for the past four years.

So anyway, in my unending complaints about the fate of my jeans over the last few days, I've been informed that this happens to many people. So it wasn't, as I was worrying, that my legs are huuuuge and thus caused this to occur. Also take into consideration that I wore these near constantly. So, the wearing out justified, I was all good to search for some more. The problem is, it took me a very long time to find these jeans. I'd wanted black skinny's for ages but every pair I tried on made my legs look fat. It was the jeans, of course. Not my legs...

So, after finally finding the perfect jeans that were now torn beyond repair, I was somewhat nervous to look for some black jeans once more. If I seeked suck? sucked..? oh fuck it: searched, would I find? (Although come to think of it, I really do suck.) It was a question that desperately needed an answer.

It was of some urgency, too, since at school we must wear black pants, and I'm not willing to wear proper school pants, nor trackies. I look utterly slightly ridiculous in both. Anyway, I found a pair pretty much straight off the bat.

It is true, I use nearly every cliche in the book. Even that was a cliche. Was it not? (I wanted to use a cliche just then so it would be funny, but... I kinda really fail at life, like, a lot, so please insert one here)

I wasn't sure about the jeans after trying them on, though, and so, this is the conversation that followed.

Toivoa: "Do these jeans make my legs look fat?"
Toivoa's Mum: "Your legs are fat."
Toivoa: Should have seen that coming. "Be that as it may, does it make my legs look fat? My other jeans didn't."
TM: "That's what you think."
Toivoa: How is my self esteem even as high as it is? "Um. Regardless. Do my legs look fat in these jeans???"
TM: "Just get them..."
"You need to exercise. You eat so much junk."
Toivoa: BAH! (I have good mental comebacks. I copyrighted that one, but you can use it if you want. You're welcome.)

These jeans are really tight. When I put my jeans on, I end up doing this dance in which to get my legs through my jeans because it happens to be more interesting than, well, however ordinary people put their pants on. I kick my legs outward like I'm trying to Irish dance like a Leprechaun, or something.

What can I say? I exude awesome. So much awesome my pants can't contain it. (Which is why my previous jeans tore and these ones are so tight... No? No? Fine.)

I should stop that train of thought.

I do often fall over during this process. Come to think of it, I fall over often full stop. Today, while walking in my jeans and wearing heels, I caught one heel in the folded bottom of my other pant leg and fell onto the couch. My sister and her friend were amused. Charming and graceful.

So, due to the tightness, it takes five minutes to do the fly up. Okay, that's a lie. It does, however, take longer than doing up one's fly ever should. That much is true. I don't really do much to support my "my legs aren't fat" argument, do I?

Although here, my hips are the problem. Okay, so I may as well be screaming, "Hey, it's not just my legs that are fat, but my hips and probably the rest of me too!", but I've never been one to refrain from saying something because it will shoot down my own argument... I'm sorry? Me, illogical and somewhat lacking in brain cells?

... yeah, that sounds about right.

However, I did get the jeans! Then began bra hunting. But I'll leave that for tomorrow...

P.S. On a completely different note (and sorry about this), the shocking state of our world never ceases to horrify me. I can't quite comprehend how a person could reach this point in life. Committing suicide is a horrible enough thing, but deciding to take other people with you, innocent people who you do not even know, who have nothing to do with your situation; that bewilders and sickens me. It makes me so sad.

EDIT (11.53PM): And on another note entirely, I still freaking like Chris. A lot. Can someone tell him that? Since he doesn't seem to know and I don't even see him or get to talk to him, really... I'm so confused!

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I’d say it was a “foot in mouth” moment but,

Well, I hate feet and thus, the entire concept is rather… vulgar, to my mind, so I steer well clear of that phrase whenever possible. So anyway, about a month and a a half ago, when Italics Boy was in the picture (Have I mentioned how every time I type “Italics Boy” it makes me think of an Italian, due to the similarity between the two words? He is,however, not Italian, if you were wondering…) as the guy I liked, we were in town for the day. After wandering around for hours, we resorted to visiting Target.[Today in church I froze...]
As we walked through the men’s clothing section, I was pointing out shirts I liked and recommended for him. I stopped in front of one and said, “This would be a really nice shirt, if it weren’t for the crappy buttons; they ruin it completely.”
[...during the songs while memories of you played through my head.]
His response - “I have that shirt.”
[Biting my lip to stop the tears.]
Shit. “Really?”
[And then, the other thing,the whole sex thing]
“Yeah.”
[the memories of that joined in.]
Shiiiit. [It's hard to take.]
[ I know it's my fault. But that doesn't stop me from missing you.]
Cue awkward silence in which Toivoa is sufficiently embarrassed.

Edit [7.14PM]: I can't help it. I have fought it for years and years, but it remains. Why God why? It is true, I love Kelly Clarkson... On the other hand, I do want stab Lady GaGa in the face. And that makes me feel a lot better about myself ;PRemember when Random came to the school and Jon got his chest autographed by the singer saying he would marry him? Remember how we were planning t he wedding..? Only thing I'd add to that memory is the other one, she was later, and not soon enough... And I miss moments like that. I'd not have given up any chance to spend even a moment with you if I'd have known where we would be now.

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OH GOD MY LIFE BE OVER

No, really. Losing the most important people in my life, having to deal with reading "Fresh and rosy-fingered Dawn" every five pages in the copy of "The Odyssey" we are studying in Classical Studies, failing German, crappy haircuts that apparently make me look like John Lennon, breaking my life line aka my mobile with no likelihood of a new one anytime soon, my dad being overseas for three weeks, lack of sleep; all of that, sure, I can deal [that was only half sarcasm]. BUT A HOLE IN MY FAVOURITE JEANS??? You have got to be shitting me.

I mean, come on, I practically live in these jeans. I had hunted for a pair of black skinny leg jeans that my legs didn't look fat in for freaking forever, and when I found them, well, I freaking wore them all the freaking time! I wear them to school, I wear them out, I wear them to church. I wear them everywhere. Sometimes I even wear them to bed. I wore them to Soundwave, an Australian alternative/metal music festival on a day with very high temperatures. They were filled with dust, but they lived through that awesome day with me. How, how can they die now? I do not understand.

See, this happened with one of my previous pairs of jeans also. The hole is suddenly there, so high up on the inside of my thigh that it's almost in crutch area. Okay, it's pretty much there. Yes, I know. It seems really suss. But. WHAT THE HELL??? I just do normal things that one does while wearing jeans. You know, sitting, standing, falling over, running, whatever the hell you do in ordinary life. Occasionally I'll slide on my butt somewhere in them but, come on. HOW DOES THIS FREAKING OCCUR?

I don't understand. Is it because they're really tight and I always sit cross legged in them and they just... frayed? I don't know! All I know is that, well, it's not really advisable for me to wear them any longer. I think I'm going to die. I have no other option. I love my jeans, I am a jeans girl. I cannot pull off trackies, which is why I only ever wear them around the house. I wear jeans on long flights, on long car trips, everywhere. They're so comfortable. I love them. This can't be the end of our long and beautiful friendship, in which they look good on my legs and cover my scars and keep me from having to wear shorts or the school skirt which I need to continually readjust and also expose my scars.

Not all that keen to be labelled the school emo.

Fuck my life.

P.S. Guys, head over to my friend Kate's blog and give some sympathy to someone who really needs it, having lost all information on their hard drive of the last three years. Devastating? It actually is, when you consider all the memories in the form of photographs and other such mementos contained on her computer. So. Send her love, she's awesome. (:

P.P.S. [10.01PM] I. Still. Cannot. Believe. That. Ifrickinbrokemypants. Broke all my phones, broke the keyboard thing, broke my friendships, broke every pair of headphones I have ever owned, broke my flute somehow, and a whole crap load of other stuff. It's official. I break everything.

In other news, I managed to score 75% on an in-class essay about The Odyssey in Classical Studies that I did practically no study for prior. I'm pretty stoked. Chuffed, let's use that. I'm pretty chuffed. But I can't keep fluking it. In the holidays, I will get organised. I want my TER (tertiary entrance rank) score at the end of the year to be a minimum of 90. Not sure if that's even achievable anymore. I need to check that.

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My mum keeps calling me a slut.
She means, uh, the word slips my mind, whatever you call someone who is scantily clad...
Sigh.

[sarcasm]OMG I'm wearing shorts that are too short by your standards and tank top [OH NO3Z, SHOULDERS?!?!?] where, God forbid, a small amount of my cleavage is visible, WHILE I AM SITTING ON THE LOUNGE AT HOME WHERE THERE IS NO ONE TO EVEN SEE ME.

Major disagreements between the parentals and myself are about how I dress half the time.

Oh and when I wear eyeliner, I look "like a witch" or like I'm in some cult, or something along those lines...

Bah. humbug ;D

Parents.

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"And who am I now?"

I think I'm becoming slightly like one of those people who I never wanted to be but was scared I would become...
You know, the kind who would sleep around because it's what random guys would want, and it would make them feel loved and needed for at least a short amount of time?
Except I have a lot more self respect.
I'm asking you, if I do become one of them, virtual-slap me and make me stop. I don't want to be like that.

In other news, I have just learned some rather disturbing information here. Check it out. It's important that you know this. ;P No, really.

We had school photos yesterday. It wasn't quite as fun as I said over here, but where's the fun in writing that? And I did really use that much hairspray... My hair was immovable... which disturbs me a little. But, if truth be told, I have some strange fascination with using spray cans... >;D

I was about to rename my blog "Through the Looking Glass", or "Through my Looking Glass", but the latter could be taken by some as sexual innuendo... yes, it could. Which is not something I'm really keen for haha.

I'm very distracted and all my thoughts are over the place at the moment, so I may produce something actually worth reading later. For now, I aim to revamp my blog (:

xx

P.S. here are some pictures of me, when I decide to pose, wear eye make up, and give myself big hair aha. It's for another blog kay? ;P I'd actually be way too embarrassed to post them on MySpazz or Failbook at all... AND with the last picture, even as big as it gets, you can't really make out my scars on my forearm, it just looks a bit fuzzy. C:

Yes, a typical MySpazz shot

Not that I'm ashamed of my scars, don't think that. I'm not proud of them either. But they're part of my past, and they tell a story. And it's something that will stay with me, not just physically. I don't feel the need to hide them, except to avoid making others' uncomfortable, and also especially at school, where so many would call me "emo". I don't want that. I don't blame them, I get it, but that's not what it's about for me. And I don't want to get shit about it, thanks. So I do hide them for the most part in public.

That's all ;)

[update on the Cameron situation] OOPS OOPS OOPS (I did it again). Cameron just texted me asking if I wanted to go to the movies with him on Saturday. That wouldn't be sooo bad. Until. You realise. That Saturday just so happens to be Valentine's Day. MAJOR OH N03S... I am otherwise occupied, I'm having a Star Wars / anime movie marathon during the day with my friend Nick. We are just friends and would never be anything more. Trust me. So I told him I was hanging out with a friend all day. He replied as I am writing this to ask if I am free for movies any other day. Considering I was caught not being with who I said I was with the other day and my parents are strict on who I go out with (no going out just one on one with a boy haha), I'm not too keen to repeat that anytime soon. Which I told him. He knows it's Valentine's Day, it's not just coincidence, because he wrote back to that saying "Okay have a good V day on Saturday". AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. No. How do I get myself into these situations? Okay, okay, I know how. I explained it in the post before last.

BUT OOPS. I feel so bad. Why? I just want to be friends with him. Friends. And not hook up friends either. Just friends. Help lol.

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LOOK AT ME

I want you to look at me, and listen to me
And I want you to know me, I want you to want to know me!
I want you to stop, and tell me that I matter, and that I'm worth your time
I still matter, right?
And you want to know me for who I am, not for what I will give you, right? Tell me that's so, please.
[And it's not about that you just like how I look, or because I'll do whatever, or because you just want someone..? Even if we barely know each other...]

I'm sorry but I have one last request.

Can you please at least sound like you mean it?


This is to all of you, except the part in square brackets

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"You're worth,
losing my self esteem."

I have been giving myself away too cheaply, too easily. Of course, this makes me sounds like a slut realising that she could make more money out of it as a whore, but that is not exactly what I am referring to...

I'm so sick of violence. So sick of fighting, and pain. Sick of bad decisions on my part that leave me feeling hollow, empty. I'm sick of realisng afterward just how much I'm going to regret my choices and actions. Of how I keep trying to deaden the feelings and how the emptiness is fed by it.

A remotely violent movie has me upset and on the verge of crying. I feel so fragile these days, with flashes of memory leaving me regretful.

I also want to avoid most of my male friends since it seems that I cannot have a relationship with a guy that will stay a mere friendship... It always tends to become at least slightly more. The only friend I can say that hasn't happened with, who is single, is Nick; and of course Greg during the few months he was single, but since I truly consider him to be my brother, that's just not even plausible. I want to have a simple friendship with a guy, like I had with the ex best friend. Even though we did hook up but that wasn't anything. Well, it kinda was. But it was irrelevant to our friendship. It is also very highly irritating to have one's boobs named... by a friend from church, something I find a little odd.

Then, on Friday I went to the movies with a guy who I met at that community service week but only talked to on the last day, he was nice; but then, he kissed me. WHY? I'm not that attractive (I'm being perfectly honest, I was studying my face completely objectively on webcam to a friend the other night... >;D) and okay I'd say my personality's pretty decent, or at least, seems so at first ;P but, really, are you just desperate???

Okay, I may not have discouraged him when he went to hold my hand and then put his arm around me, but what was I supposed to do? Just move away? Sure, that may have been an option, but that would have been so awkward afterwards; and really, I am terrible at reacting to anything of that kind...

I won't lie, I like attention from guys. But at the same time it makes me want to run away. I am not comfortable with it and I am terrified that they may actually even end up liking me... because then they might want a relationship. And I'm dead scared of being in a relationship. I don't think I'd be a very good girlfriend...

But at the same time I am rapidly getting tired of random hook ups and the like, the friends with benefits type thing...

And really, I'm not that hot. I like you saying that a couple of times. After that, it scares me. And triggers the flight instinct. Plus, you obviously aren't paying that much attention.

This wasn't meant to be a post about guys. haha

I've been thinking about God a lot lately. I'm sick of doing things my way and just making a mess of my life, and I want someone who knows better and wants what's best for me to take over; but I'm not sure quite what's stopping me. I don't think I'm quite ready. But I want to be. I really do, so much. I've got almost everything sorted out, but not the singular most important detail. I'm not worried about just following my parents' beliefs anymore, because I know that is definitely not relevant to my decision. I mean, it's obviously had an influence but what I decide is based on what I feel is real, and there's a lot of proof...

It's just still about making it personal. I don't know how to do that.

P.S. ACTUAL LOL - my sister just asked my mum, "Have you even got any in the last three years???" I'm absolutely certain I've taken that completely out of context, but I'm highly amused >;D

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Roses are red, Violets are blue,

But roses are pure white,
Compared to my hue...

Yes, I know, I'm quite the poet. ^_^
To elaborate on my previous post. Yes, I am sunburnt.

The sun in all its glory smiled down upon me today,
And in its brightly shining, got quite carried away.

Uh, please stop with the rhyming.

Why am I so distressed about the sunburn / tan?
Okay, I'm not distressed, I'm dismayed and yet, highly, highly amused.
But come on, I had so much sunscreen on!

With Indian parents, I'm not exactly light skinned, although I wouldn't say I'm heaps dark, like not really much at all... But when I tan / burn, I tan, and this tan is permanent. My shoulders are already really dark from my second sunburn, at the end of year 9. I am now starting year 12. So, now that they have been burnt further, they will become even darker...

So I was at the beach, if you remember my post before entitled "Time for some maths", which was written absolutely shockingly, yes; I had gone to the beach the day prior to that post. I ended up going there also on Saturday, which technically is now yesterday. Thanks to some of your comments and also the fact that I hadn't really eaten much over the past day just out of forgetfulness, plus how we went to a more secluded part of the beach, I was rather less self conscious. Now I wish I had been like, "Ewwww, I am hideously fat thus I shall cover my flab", or, you know, something. Lol. And now, I am paying, dreadfully.
Haha.

See, with my face, if it weren't for the red nose (no Rudolph comments thanks), I could easily have pulled off the "I randomly have rosy cheeks for now" look. There goes that excuse.

My legs are really tanned and while I was happy with the shade they were before, they are now too dark for my liking. Hopefully it shall fade. Then there is the tan line from my shorts. Thankfully, my board shorts are the shortest item I own, so that shan't be revealed anytime soon / at all.

Now, the major problem with all of this is the fact that I'm actually not allowed to go to the beach with just my bathers. My parents wish for me to wear a tank top over them, plus the board shorts, because otherwise it's too revealing. Which is fair enough. And I wear the board shorts, but self conscious as I am, I pretty much refuse to wear a top because that's kinda lame. And you should probably have noticed by now how much I want to blend in with other people in ways like this...

So anyway. My tan line shows quite clearly what I was wearing. My back is red apart from the white (by comparison) line across it, which is just great. I also have the shape of the bikini where it comes up to tie around my neck imprinted on me. Which is only made worse when we factor in that, since I couldn't find my own bathers, I borrowed my sister's top, which I somehow managed to fit in, so when I wear my bathers next, the tan line shall be noticeable. /sulks

Haha. But it's been a good day. Lots of sun for vitamin D deficient me (:

So perhaps that is why I'm so happy... hmm.

Aftertaste

Afterthought, I mean, of course. Perhaps the consumption of certain crappy drinks while at the beach today is finally catching up with me... since it really didn't do anything then. I'm acting just a little bit odd. Having to restrain myself from writing completely random crap in comments haha. But then, that could just be me.

Pulses, pssh. If Vodka Cruisers and beer weren't at the top of my most hated list for fairly different reasons (too sweet and much too similar to undiluted cordial, plain disgusting), Pulse would be there. They practically taste like V (energy drink), and I love V. But it's just like, expensive V. Alcoholic energy drinks... >.< They were a complete waste of money.

No, no, I lie.

My friend and I found great amusement in pushing the empty cans down under the water while we were on the beach and watching them bounce up as we let go...

Because we're really cool like that. ^_^

Not like we wanted to drink much or anything, after all, twas the beach... But waste of money. To all you who have not tried it, I highly (the correct word escapes my mind) de-recommend them...

Postscript (Really, it's not a postscript at all, and if it was, since this is an afterthought, it would be a post post script) - I will never, ever get as drunk as that time at Brad's (to be explained shortly).

Everything mentioned on this blog is not to be mentioned to people, in particular, relatives, who I know kthnxbai. lol

Oh, and so far, all of you have been thoroughly unhelpful in assisting me to come up with a fake name for myself for the blogging world, and the main characters in my life that resurface time and time again in my posts... Sadface.

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This is to make up for my lack of pimples, isn't it?

I barely ever get pimples. This is someone's idea of revenge... >.<
Everyone, I am sunburnt! Practically everywhere. Okay, not quite everywhere. Just, oh you know, my face, my shoulders, my back (with a tan line from my bikini), the backs of my legs, my cleavage (!); and the front of my legs are severely tanned. Gotta love the beach.

Haha fourth sunburn of my life, I have nothing to complain about. Actually, I do, and you, my dear readers, can learn all about it shortly. I am online on my dad's phone, with this open as a webpage, I don't think he'd be too happy if I set up mobile blogger on his phone. Not that he'd be pleased I'm using it to access the internet, but it's more that this way he won't know...

He'd be even less thrilled to discover that I'm only on his phone to pass time while waiting for both he and my mother to go to bed so i can get on the computer, which, may I add, they think they have prevented me from accessing when I should be in bed. Removing the internet cable? Pssh. It takes more than that to thwart me!

Haha oh I'm ever so devious... Or not.
Anyhow, this is an irritating way to blog, my dad has a Nokia E71 if you're interested, qwerty keyboard blah. If you want a phone with a full keyboard, I recommend a Blackberry. Not this. As for why I don't use my own phone, my current piece of crap just barely has a camera... I have a particular talent for destroying phones... Perhaps one day I shall blog about it...

And yes, my parents still try to get me to be in bed by 10.30, on a Saturday night. In the holidays. Sigh. However, please notice - "try". Perhaps "hope in vain" would suit better...
Anyhow, catcha on the flip side, bloggees! (My impromptu fond name for all of you, as you may be able to tell, I'm rather cheerful, despite the current red shade of my skin. Grr)

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Pretty as a Picture

As a little girl (hey I'm a teenager now kay?? i'm like, all grown up and don't need anyone to tell me what to do, i know all ;P I swear, we're not like that all the time!!! It's a largely untrue stereotype, honest to God! lol), I never really cared what I looked like. I wasn't into dressing up, make up and handbags, high heels and pretending to be a princess. I'd dress up my Barbie dolls, but then I'd make some boys (my parents wouldn't buy my sister and I boy dolls haha) so I could act out my stories that I made up for them. I wasn't quite able to ignore the fact that they were still so obviously female, even when I cut their hair short and dressed them in t-shirts and shorts I made out of tissues and sticky tape, or even, haphazardly sewed, or stapled, spare pieces of material (I was creative!). But I wasn't big on caring about looks.

My mum did my hair for me until I was eleven. My parents chose my clothes until I was in year 6, although I was given choices. But it didn't really matter to me.

I don't know when looks became so important to me. In year seven I emerged out of my shyness to make some friends at school, just before leaving to go to high school. What I do remember is how much I hated myself.

We had a year seven reunion today, about three quarters of our year seven class turned up. We were looking at a Powerpoint where, in year seven, we had each made two pages with pictures of ourselves and written a little bit about us and our primary school memories. What struck me about mine was that under "Dislikes", I had written "Me". I was a little bemused by that, seeing how open I had been about it then. I remember telling my friends on a regular basis how I didn't feel they should be friends with me, how I was a "loser", and whatever other words were derogatory at the time. I'd talk about it all the time, I felt I wasn't worth them. I didn't deserve to be cared about. I was twelve.

I think that because I had been so shy and without many friends all these years, that I felt, subconsciously, when I did make friends, that I couldn't deserve them. If I hadn't before, why would I now? I was just a little more visible. And realising that I was desperate to be noticed, accepted.

It was in about year seven that I began considering my weight. I've never really been one to read magazines. Our family didn't even own a TV for the first eight years of my life, because they thought it had too many bad influences, which I'm inclined to agree with, to a point. Sure, with my new found friends, I would look through their glossy new "Girlfriend"s every month, but it seemed pretty stupid, even then. I don't really find pictures of models and celebrities to be something I desire to look like. I am aware of the falsity of those images, the pressure and extreme measures taken to be that thin, etc.

No, where I began to care about my weight came from somewhere much closer than that. My mum. I remember, in year six or seven, one of her comments as I walked into the room where she was sitting, "You look pregnant!" My mum has never been one for tact.

I haven't forgotten this yet, obviously, because no matter how much I tried to ignore this, it attacked me somewhere deep inside. How easily we remember past wounds! I know I remember hurtful words clearly, while forgetting kind mentions. This in part is due to how I would seize upon any negativity from others and twist it, digging the arrow in deeper. My worst enemy has been myself, but with others lending weight to the negative thoughts about myself, I was trying to protect myself by making sure their messages stuck, that I would remember. How is that protection? So that I would not embarrass myself, that I would not delude myself into thinking I was pretty, an acceptable body shape, and possibly even reveal that I thought so, when it wasn't true. I was driving home these "truths" so that this embarrassment could not occur, for if I thought I was better than I was and others saw that, would they not just deride and scorn me? And although I thought I was not deserving of these friends of mine, that did not mean I didn't want them. I did, oh I did! To feel loved, it was wonderful. How selfish of me, to want friends who I would only bring down through our friendship. Yet another thing I must hide deep within, another shameful secret to bury. I didn't want to be selfish.

I don't know about you, but one thing I learned from my peers was that belittling yourself was a good thing. If someone complimented you, you would disagree. "You're so pretty." "No, I'm not,", before listing imperfections which proved why the girl in question could not be pretty. Being smart was something I learned to hide early, no one wants to be a "nerd", not even me, who would read at recess and lunch, while walking home, and through the holidays until she was ten or eleven. Even accepting a compliment, in my mind, has come to seem conceited. Even if what is stated is true. It's ridiculous, I know. But from my subconscious observations of others, this is what I put together.

And also, putting yourself down got you assurances. For, even if you thought badly of yourself, if you were wrong others would tell you so. So, even, as I told myself that these reassurances were just what my friends were saying to be nice (After all, they were nice enough to be friends with me, and who on earth could be so nice that they would befriend someone like me?); a small part of me hoped, and wanted to believe that they meant what they said in all honesty, that they were right.

My mum has told me time and time again how I am putting on weight, how if I keep eating the way I do and not exercising, I will end up unable to walk from how fat I am by the age of 20, how fat I am getting, how much I am "expanding", etc. She is always bugging me to exercise.

Why won't I?

For a start, I have never really been good at sports. This makes for being extremely embarrassing for such a shy girl. The public humiliation of always being picked last for a team, of letting down the team, was something I hated. Standing there unwanted, because I wasn't good enough, isn't that enough to make anyone cringe? People tend to either act like they don't care, and play even worse on purpose, or, like me, avoid being placed in such a situation as much as possible. I knew the only way to get better was through practice, but through practice I'd have to play, and I couldn't do that. I have engaged in sports over my primary school life, swimming, tennis, and soccer. But it was worse because my dad was really good at sport, in particular soccer. I wanted to make him proud of me by being like him, good at soccer. I love watching soccer, and playing it. However, for a long time, I didn't want him to see that I was bad at it, as I knew I would be, and so I wouldn't play soccer with him. In year seven I actually did play soccer for the under 13's or 14's girls for school, and it turned out I was a decent defender. It was fun, our team was good, and we won the majority of our games. Come high school and we didn't really have any teams, and I knew I wasn't good enough to play for a club. I was scared to try out since I was scared to be rejected. However, I did organise for my friends and their parents and my dad and people from my church to play soccer most Saturdays for approximately the next two years. It wasn't as skilled, teams were unevenly numbered and sometimes there were barely any people, but it was fun. That eventually petered out.

Reason Two: My mother and I have had a fairly turbulent relationship for most of my adolescent life, just to break the stereotype haha. We argue about a lot of things, but to me, if I exercised, it would mean that she had won. She would know that she had gotten to me, with everything she said. I would have lost. That would never do. So I would lose weight in my own way, and I would be happy and so would she. But I would not let her win. Her telling me about my weight was not going to get to me. It did. But she would only win if she knew how that affected me. I could not allow that.

Why? Why did it matter if she wanted me to exercise? I could have. It shouldn't have mattered who suggested it, when it was the healthy way to go.

I'm still not sure what the reasoning is behind this "not letting her win" thing that I have.

I know she only means well. She wants me to be healthy, and fit, and not overridden with diseases and weak before my old age. She wants me to have the best in life. But, she is blunt in typical Indian manner, and my easily hurt self has been wounded deeply. I am trying to gain self-worth. I am trying to believe that beauty is from within, and that outer beauty doesn't really matter, that it fades anyway. That true beauty comes from the heart and overflows to the outside. A beautiful soul is the most important thing. I know this. But I still can't abandon my foolish fears.

I want to look nice because I want other people to like me. I'm scared that if I don't look nice no one will want to be around me. I know people aren't that shallow, but I need to be accepted so much. It's somewhat irrational.

The End, for now.

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Time for Some Maths

Me + the beach = Me in bathers
+ Self Consciousness = very uncomfortable me
+ being convinced that she is overweight = I either don't eat for two days beforehand OR try to make myself throw up

Factor in that the second option is more likely these days due to my lack of discipline, however apparently if you're going to make yourself throw up you should do so within 15 minutes of eating; pretty much nothing occurs.

Except it's gross. And tastes disgusting.

+ I feel horrible afterward for trying to.

Stat: Calc: Enter:

y = Stupid cycle in which nothing much occurs except building up of negativity.

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Oooooodles of Noodles

I love noodles. Really. Chinese food is great. Indian-Chinese is also good. Seriously, in the four year gaps between our visits to India, I draw up from my memory the taste of food from a nearby Chinese restaurant to my nana's home in Pune, India, time and time again. It sustains me as I pass by the days, eating mediocre food. Haha well, not exactly.

And, please, explain to me this fascination with Indian food people seem to have. It's good, but not that good. It delights me to find non-Indians /people from similar countries who dislike or at least don't love Indian food. That's one more person to shove in the face of my parents as evidence that not all others love Indian food and I am not just strange and alone in my non-loving view of it. Or something.

Then, I love 2 minute noodles, noodle cups, and stir fry, etc. Any noodles are good. (:

However, there is a problem when it comes to my eating of noodles...


I am rather uncoordinated. If I was easily embarrassed, I am of no doubt that my face would permanently be a bright red. Although, I'm not too sure if my face actually does turn red when I am embarrassed, since my skin is dark(ish), but... metaphorically speaking...

Anyhow, much laughter is had at my expense, on my side as well. Our sloped driveway has me tripping almost every time I get out of the car, I fall over while simply walking, stumble on nothing, and drop things a lot. As for my phones, they're lucky to survive as long as they do. I believe my mobile comes into abrupt contact with the ground at least twice everyday, no matter how much care I attempt to take. I'm forgetful and easily confused; not to mention incredibly disorganised.

It's not even that I'm disorganised as such. Really. ;P I love organisation. I love matching sets of items.
The problem, you see, is that I am too organised. If something is messy, I want it organised. But I have a specific pattern that things must be in. I will not half organise. I want matching kitchenware, complementary furniture in a room... Matching holders on a desk, rooms with a particular style to them. It drives me absolutely crazy how, in our house, some of the furniture in a room would be appropriate for a country style home, others fitting for a simplistic, modernised set up, yet others casual and comfy in earthy shades; or bright colours; with others formal... the list is endless. I see all the possibilities to theme different rooms, or the same room in different themes. I considered interior designing as a possible future career but I passionately want to have a job where I can help people in important areas, make a difference in people's lives, not their homes.

Okay, our home doesn't clash that terribly, and thank god. I am still irked by the lack of a theme. (And yet, I hate themed parties. Dress up parties, that is. If I had loads of money to go out and create fantastic costumes, they would be fine. As it is, working with my $35 of pocket money per month and added grade money each term [remind me to do really well at school this year!], it is not something that brings great joy to my heart. [I really really want a Star Wars themed party some day, just by the way. I would be Queen Amidala LOL.])

How am I too organised? Well, if I can't organise something perfectly, I refuse to organise it at all. When I clean my room, I haul out everything out from the depths of my wardrobe, dresser, and under my bed. This, firstly, makes my room messier than it is, and is more time consuming. My mum cannot understand it. She says I should do things one at a time, i.e. clean the outer messiness and at another time do all the concealed stuff. But I want to do it all in one shot. And of course, I must take advantage of my mood. When I start doing something, if I leave it unfinished, I am likely to leave it so for a long time.

When the urge to cook attacks, I will make three or more things in one hit. As for cleaning, when that urge comes, I clean everything I can possibly think of. Another point of complaint for my mum. She wants me to cook more, after all, I am sixteen, blah blah. When I do cook, she usually complains that my delectable (or not so) creation is unhealthy... Cleaning? "Good. Now if only you'd do it more often. (Also applies to the cooking scenario)" The woman is impossible to please, I swear.

I like my stationary to be matching and look good. What I write in and what I write with are very important to me. I like the expensive stuff. It's not on purpose, it happens with clothing too. I see it, I like it, I want it, I check the price tag and tend to be somewhat incredulous. I will not spend recklessly, always. Even if I really love something I find, if I find the price ridiculous, I will put it back (reluctantly) on the shelf and move on. Mostly. (Shoes are my biggest weakness. It seems it's a female thing. I fall in love with heels even faster and perhaps more often than I fall literally. Haha, I'm hilarious. >.< I think I've been around Jimit for too long.)

The point is, if something cannot be organised as well as I would like, I deign to organise it at all. Probably not the best way to go about life...

So. Uncoordinated. That's me. Ask my friends to recall a funny moment involving me, and it will either be an incredibly "blonde moment", or a time in which I fell down or off something. Without even trying, at least 5 events come to mind. I shan't go into those now... I was meaning to discuss noodles.

So, the other night, I was eating noodles from a noodle cup. When eating noodles, there are a few minor issues resulting from my lack of coordination which I urgently need to address. Firstly, I am incapable of twirling noodles onto a fork. How is it done??? I try, but as I turn the fork over to add more to the bundle of noodle, the previously twirled noodle untwirls off the fork... Then there is how noodles seem to, while being put on the fork, drag others along with them, so twirling can never be finished, even if successfully done. I suppose I could just cut it, but I'm too fearful that any twirling half accomplished will be completely undone by trying to cut the noodles. So I end up with noodles ends dangling from each side of my fork.

That is not all, folks. The worst is yet to come.

Due to my twirling incapability, I usually just shovel noodles with my fork. Again, this drags other noodles from the bowl or plate with it, and the problem of dangling noodle ends makes an appearance once more. Why do I never actually try to cut it..? Definitely need to consider my options more.

Now, most noodles are accompanied by something liquid - sauce, curry, or the flavoured water in 2 minute noodles. The problem then, is this: when I am eating my noodles of the fork, the dangling ends must enter my mouth eventually. Even if I try to use the fork to bring these up to my lips, they flick. If I don't use a fork here, they flick. They do that. Even if they don't hit my chin and leave my face covered in gook (not that I don't love the "baby-who-has-just-eaten look", however it's not really my thing), liquid tends to fly, onto my shirt, onto the table, etc. I am a) confused, b) grossed out, and c) embarrassed by this.
It's not that I don't understand how it happens, I understand, all too well. But why, why can't I eat like a normal person???

Don't even get me started on what ensues when I eat a yiros. Particularly, that time I ate a yiros when my collarbone was fractured and I couldn't really use my right arm...

Postscript - I said "folks" in this post. I fucking said "folks"...

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I really need to get the hang of this blogging thing

I wouldn't say I'm doing toooo badly, considering my 26 followers (and 15 on my other blog!), however there is vast room for improvement. My posts are either too short, too long, without enough background information, whiny, sad, repetitive, confused... And to top it off, it's the 7th of January, and I've only posted three times thus far this month!? Usually it's more along the lines of three times a day...

Admittedly I have been away in Melbourne, and out as well a lot, but what I have posted lately anyway has been bland, uninteresting or merely quotes or stories from others... Poor form, poor form.

So, for the new year, I need a new name. For my blog. For the characters in my life on this blog ^_^. And to replace Tovoia ja Elaman!! >.< Something that will represent who I am, without revealing my identity. Then I can go back and alter all posts with his name in it, with anyone else's who could expose who I am lol. Although, reading my posts, after a while you could guess anyway, if you do know me.

I want your help for this, I have requested this before but this time I want ideas! So please, rack your brains and come up with something as I thus far have been unable to do...

I just sent a long email to Michael trying to explain just what my former best friend means to me and what our friendship was like, why I find it so hard to let go.

[Just an aside, my iTunes won't open /grits teeth nervously, stabs keyboard {My iTunes is precious to me, I have it at well over 4000 songs, due to careful nurturing and much Limewire and Torrent downloading; and as for my play counts... /holds protectively]

You know what? This iTunes matter is remotely urgent (of course that makes sense), and I think I'm going to have to restart. But no! I am downloading my iTunes update so I can't even do that for another 30 or so minutes... Sigh.  [My somewhat excessive downloading may or may not have lowered our broadband connection to dial up speed... again.]

I just recalled that I have Maths tuition homework I really should be doing rather than blogging. But it has been a long time since I have truly posted, I can't stop myself now... So I'll switch to Windows Media Player temporarily to continue listening to Bloodhound Gang (Ain't My Job on repeat, specifically; it amuses me), and console myself in regards to lost play counts with the thought that at least it will scrobble to Last.fm... And continue to ramble until Kathleen gets here.

Really, rambling is what I do best. I could write / talk for hours on a completely nonsensical topic and not run out of words. Which is a little unfortunate for any readers/listeners. Ah well.

I finally got my hair cut on the 30th,  I like it (: It's all choppy from the layers, just past my shoulders. I have black hair for those of you who don't know, and although I do now have to straighten it every day, it looks good ^_^ I might put a picture up when I have a good one, albeit temporarily. I also sometimes add a bright blue hair extension to my hair, that you can see under my layers, I won't try to explain as you may get a terrifying image in your minds, but again, a picture can assist. Temporarily.

Got my Learner's license today; the actual card. I don't look aaas bad as I thought I would, considering I thought the picture had already been taken and started to move, and my hair's kinda weird looking there (pre-haircut).

So, anyway, back to my email to Michael. Trying to describe my friend, I find myself lost in memories of him, of us. Can I ever really explain to anyone else what he was like, everything necessary to have a full idea of him? Would anyone ever be able to see him in the same way I do? I wanted to portray everything that could explain who he is, and what our friendship was.

He started talking to me now, and we had a brief conversation about Does It Offend You, Yeah? (band). Now, as it seems doomed to always be, our conversation is dead. I can't think of anything to say. Does he even want us to be as good friends as we were before? That is what I want to know more than anything, apart from "did / does he miss me at all???"

My self esteem is still better than ever before, to stop cutting myself, for me (!), what an incredible thing. I am still amazed at the thought of it, and yet, I did it, and continue to do so. It is hard. I come very close to breaking sometimes. But I'm still doing it. I'm pretty proud of myself for that. /embarrassed smile

But. Of course there was a 'but' coming. ;P With three of my best friends gone from my life, that leaves me with a lot of questions. I have already asked some of you these, but for the rest of you, "Did you miss me, at all??? Was it that easy to remove me from your lives, to replace me with each other, with others?? Am I that replaceable, that unneeded, that unnecessary??? Do you not even want me? Am I that expendable?" My head tells me no, even my heart kinda tells me no, but there's still that doubt. I feel like a child who is hurt and confused and yeah...

Anyway, Kathleen is here.

Ramblings can continue later (:

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Hello world, this is me

For those of you who have recently started following my blog or would just like to know more about me, this is a little info on who I am and an indication of some of the matters I have and will continue to blog about. (:

One more thing before I begin, thank you very much for following and leaving comments, it's a great encouragement (:



I laugh a little too loud at my own jokes, I love a little too recklessly, and accidentally push away those I care about far too often...

I'm a little idealistic, I want to believe the best of everyone. At the same time, I'm that tiny bit cynical.

I want attention but hate it when I get it; I'm incredibly optimistic for a negative person, and I'm just as much of a contradiction as I'm sure you are.

To say I'm over-dramatic is something of an understatement; I overreact to each small incident as though it's World War III...

I love using quotes and song lyrics to explain how I feel and what I believe in.

I wish on stars and 11.11, although I don't believe in it. Just in case. Maybe you'll come back. I'm waiting. Hoping. With no idea what else I can do anymore.

I use faces a lot while typing to express the tone in which I'm saying something, sorry if it's irritating but I'm using age as my excuse. The main ones you'll see me use are :) ;) :( (: >=( >=| ;P :P :@[angry] :$ which are mainly derived from MSN. Then, there are these, which rather than being 90degrees off, are to be looking at full on - >.< which is a glare and >.> a sideways glare. I'm not assuming you're stupid or anything; I didn't understand what they were without an explanation.

Hey, at least I don't text type! Incorrect grammar is something I hate. Remember, I'm Australian, so it's not a spelling error when I write things like "realised" rather than "realized" or "centre" instead of "center"; we measure our temperature in degrees Celsius, weight in mg/g/kg, length in cm/m/km, etc. Sorry if that sounded at all pompous, it wasn't meant to be.

I'm really easily peer pressured, it's probably a good thing that on the important matters I have friends I want to please equally who have opposite views, and I tend to side with the safer ones, at least for now.

Call me old fashioned but I believe that marriage is something that should last forever, while divorce is understandable in some cases, a lot of the times, problems can be worked out if that's what both parties really want. I want to marry someone who I know without a doubt I want to spend the rest of my life with, who will feel the same about me.

People are the most important thing, above popularity, wealth, success, above anything else; I strongly believe that every person is equal. This does not mean that everyone is equal in skill levels etc., but rather that as a human being, they have feelings, hopes, beliefs, and different things they can contribute to our global society, and as humans they are worth no more or no less than any other, whether royalty or homeless person.

Money and possessions don't guarantee happiness.

The movement "To Write Love On Her Arms" is something incredibly meaningful to me, I can't quite put into words just how much it means; for something that has helped me gain the courage to live life, to take a stand for myself against the very worst of me, to believe in hope and to keep going, how can I explain that? Renee Yohe, who is the reason the movement began, is someone I look up to greatly. Read her story here

I believe in the need for community, that we all need each other. We are made to interact and live with one another. We are meant to support and depend on each other as necessary. It is the best way to live, sharing each others' burdens.

I believe that "Global is not a nice idea. Global is reality", that we as humans need to put aside what society tells us is important - putting self before everyone else. For my blog on that, click here.

Jamie Tworkowski's [of To Write Love On Her Arms] blog on the subject is here.

I believe in God but I am not a Christian, although I believe in everything it is about and was brought up in Christian home.

I believe that everyone deserves forgiveness and a second chance. Perhaps even a third or fourth, perhaps even more. Whether a person is capable of forgiving someone harmful actions that many times is another matter. But people do change. And if we don't give everyone another chance when they request one, how will we ever know if they are one of those who deserve this chance, who will change? Maybe I'm a little too forgiving...

I used to self harm and while I have stopped now [since the 2nd of July, 2008], and I strongly believe for good, it is something which has overreaching consequences and I still struggle with the urges to. I had attempted to stop in previous years, but relapsed a couple of times, but I think I am strong enough and have the right motives for wanting to stop this time. This used to take the form of cutting, burning, hitting my head, overdosing on painkillers, etc. It is something I feel is not talked about enough and many people write it off as something done by someone seeking attention, or "emos" or those who are suicidal. This is not the case and I think it is important to raise awareness about the realities of this issue.

I am 16 years old and in 2009 will be starting my final year of high school. With my interests being literature and society and environment, I will be doing English Studies, Classical Studies, German and Biology/preferably Modern History. After high school I want to go to Uni. I think I would like to be a nurse so this is what I am planning to study, however I love writing and dream of being a published author someday as well. My reasons for wanting to be a nurse are mainly that I passionately want to do something to help people, although I am fairly open and flexible as to where this may take me.

Writing is something I have done for years now, and it is something I have always seemed to be fairly good at, as others have told me. I am not so confident in my own skills, but would love to accept this. I'm told my writing seems far more mature than that of a sixteen year old, I'm happy with that. I find writing to be helpful when I am upset, confused, etc. I have rarely felt as helpless as when I was not able to express my emotions. I love writing narratives as well, as you can see in my other blog, however I am working on doing so with more regularity.

My family consists of my parents and my one younger sister, younger by 364 days ^_^
I don't get along with my mum at all, my dad somewhat, but my sister and I are fairly close these days (: I am very protective of her. And regardless, I love my family. My parents are Indian but both I and my sister were born here in Adelaide, South Australia and I consider myself Australian. In 1998 and 1999, my family lived in Auckland, New Zealand, and although it was great, we ultimately moved back here to Adelaide, which I have to say is even better, although many people hate it since it's so quiet and there isn't a lot to do...

This year has been a turbulent one for me. I became even closer with my two girl best friends and became best friends with the guy who lives across the road from me and also goes to the same school in the same year level. Three months ago within one and a half weeks, lost them all permanently, or so I thought. Miserable because of this, I resorted to overdosing on painkillers at school in an attempt to stop thinking just for a while. The last time I had done this was the 12th of November, 2007. My other friends who realised what I had done told our homegroup teacher; an ambulance was called, and I had to spend that night and the next day in hospital attached to a drip.

Lots of things have changed since then, I now see a counsellor regularly =/ but she's actually great. I think you'll find I am actually a very positive and hopeful person. I am still hoping to fix things with my friends, and just two days ago, my guy friend who I had completely given up on having him as a friend again began to talk to me. Things are still awkward but hope is pulsing through my veins so strongly that I am getting swept away. My friends mean a lot to me, but I overreact a lot.

During the self harm, I had been told that it was something I would later regret; however I cannot bring myself to regret any of it. There is no point in ruing the past, when we cannot change it. We can change the future and that is what we should focus on. Any bad experience can be made good of if we choose to, and often these things that we live through can be used to help other people. That is what I hope to do, to be able to help others who are struggling with the same things by understanding what they have gone through and using my knowledge to benefit them in some way, as Renee of TWLOHA has done for me and so many others. In her words, "that is what the pain was for, and that is worth it all, and more."

I will add to this later and any help from any of my friends who read this would be great ;P But that's all for now. (:

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Hair Extensions

Don't worry I'm not considering the whole scene look again

Well, it's in the back of my mind, but my parents would never let me and I don't think I'd want to chance it in case it looked bad

Pssh anyway, black hair extensions, just for my hair to be longer?

Kinda want my hair drastically different, either much longer or shorter and layered heaps. or you know both, the second and then add in extensions whenever ^_^

So what do you think? Back to long hair for me, or not?

x

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Waiting

I'm usually okay at waiting, I have waited for a bus for over an hour before, in India taken a bus standing for over two hours [sigh] and can wait out stuff fairly well.
But being grounded the last two days, not seeing my friends sunday, and saturday i spent the day with my sister which was great but it's not quite the same, you know? which reminds me i saw these awesome heels ;P
anyhow, i'm supposed to be going out with two friends, but they need to check their blogs and call me lol, since i have no credit and i don't want to ring them and wake them up by mistake
i truly suck at sleeping in
grrrrr

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Hold me gently, I'm made out of glass

You make me feel

Like a star / beautiful / amazing / ugly / unloved / rejected / ecstatic / joyful / despairing / unneeded / valuable / content

Right now I feel good, hair straightened, legs silky, moisturised, wearing a slinky dress, heels,

And any one of you can boost that, or tear me down, with just one word, with a look, with an action you may not even notice.

Do you feel like a god, to have such control, well with power comes responsibility, and I'm trusting you, defenceless, remember, you're holding my soul.

I'm fragile, made out of glass, but am I a glass butterfly, precious to keep, or a monstrosity, hid out of sight or shattered in pieces thrown in the trash,

Hold me gently, I'm made out of glass.

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I want hair like

this

girl on the right ----------------------------> ^

orrr on the left but not blonde

but different

coz it wouldn't suit me like that, gay

but like, black. and i like my hair short. though i kindah want it long as well. and i'd like pink bits but apparently that wouldn't suit me so maybe blue, bright blue.  but then i'm not confident enough to pull it off in my fringe / right at the front, not all the time. besides parents would shoot me lol. and fringes are horrible when they grow out. okay, so fringe like girl on left, but black. izzy hilton? ehh some myspace whore most likely.

whatever. and yeahh hair like the girl on the right but less scene myspace whore and short like mine, heaps more choppy with layers and coloured bits from under the layers... /nods (:

orrr just that hah

cept i couldn't pull it off, nuh uh no way ;P

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