Dear " "

If I ever pushed you away, I didn't mean to.
When I told you I don't want to talk about it, or I have nothing to say, I do, I am just looking for the right words. Give me a minute and if I can tell you, I will.
I try to be a struggling mix of real and perfect at the same time. At the moment, I am working on that ratio, which is somewhere close to 7:4.
When I get quiet sometimes, really quiet, it is because I have too much to say. I have thought of too many things to tell you all at once, and I don't know what to say first.
I get immaturely jealous of anyone who gets to speak to you and touch you and see you on a daily basis. You see, I missed you and miss you really easily.
But I also like that we can be so apart and we are both okay. Space is good. Space is good too.
I love the way we love some of the same things, and I love how we love entirely different things.
My head is a complicated pile of thoughts,
and fears,
and cravings,
and dreams,
and this tangled up nostalgia for the past and, somehow, for the future.
I am flawed and I am human and I am broken and I am trying.
And I am one person.
And I am to hands and I am one heart.
And I loved you, and I love you, and I am glad you were there.

The girl on the tram

She walked on to the tram in plimsoles, faded jeans and a peacoat jacket. She sat down on a single seat, facing the opposite direction from the one the tram was travelling to. It was the last seat in that column of seats; she could only sit on the last single seat facing the opposite direction.

She sat with her legs crossed, she has bow-shaped legs, so she is not comfortable when her legs are not crossed. Or perhaps she feels more put together, more tied up and thus less likely to fall apart. She did not move.

She did not move for the whole ride, except for a few flickers of the eyes when an unwanted thought crossed her mind. Every few minutes she would look down at her iPod to check the name of the song playing. She never changed the song. It was probably a force of habit.

In her hands she held her iPod, her phone and her tram card. She clutched them all tightly, the iPod on top, phone in the middle and her tram card on the bottom. Routine. A loud beep signalled she received a text message; she looked down to see the flashing light but did not check the message.

She was not ugly. She was beautiful, made so by a thin layer of makeup that made her lips a little bit more red, a little bit more shapely; and her eyes a little bit wider and elegantly shaped, and her cheekbones a little higher and a little more defined. Made so by careful blow drying and straightening of hair. In reality, the tip of her nose was a little too round, and her cheeks were a little too chubby, and her eyes a little too set-in.

She was not beautiful, but it was difficult to picture a man who didn't know her who would say he wouldn't fuck her. In other words, she was probably much uglier in personality than in looks. Or perhaps not.

She did not look up, but at her stop she stood up and quietly walked out of the tram, simultaneously putting away the phone in one pocket, and the iPod in the other, to balance out the weight. The card she kept in her hand. She would have probably broken had she moved any more.

www.twitter.com/indiscreetkid
www.formspring.me/indiscreetkid

Awesome Cartoons I Go Back to When I Miss Being a Kid

1. RUGRATS: Not only is it the ultimate of baby-dom, but it also contains humour and twist enough for 17-year old me to still enjoy. Besides, "dampylions" and "itchinations" and other such words definitely tickle my fancy.
2. COW AND CHICKEN: The combination of disgusting and amusing totally makes me think of those times you try to wipe your snot on your best mate in kindergarten.
3. TOM AND JERRY: There is obviously no explanation needed for this, obviously.
4. DONALD DUCK: As a Finn, I'm excessively fond of Donald Duck, and anything bearing him just reminds me of waking up on Saturday mornings, having my cold chocolate (I hated warm... anything) some toast with cucumber and sitting down to watch the cartoons.
5. DUCK TALES: Not to be confused with classic Donald Duck, you can't dislike the adventures of Duckberg! 

moxx

So mock exams finished a week ago, and now I know all my results. Lo' and behold:

4- Maths Higher Level
6- English A1 Higher Level
6- Art Higher Level
5- Biology Standard
5- History Standard
6- French B Standard

So that's 32 points, and I'm happy because well, I thought I would fail. I passed though, one of the highest points in the year yet by worldwide IB stats, not that impressive.
But quite frankly, I don't care. I wouldn't have cared too much even if I had failed because I'll be honest: I'm not quite sure what to do. Well you all know I want to study architecture but I don't know what to do about it.

Anyway, that's not the point. The point is, I passed and can now breathe for 2 days before I need to get cracking on some internal assessments, TOK presentations, homework, orals, etc.etc.etc.

I'm in the middle of mock exams, mock exams being exams that mock you- you stress and fret and run around until you realise they don't really mean anything. I've got maths in 2 hours and I'm about to shit myself.

I've realised my way of speaking may seem quite negative, especially when considering the world and most specifically god (for which I won't apologise but for the rest I will), I'm sorry. I've been influenced by the ever great Bryn, a dear dear friend of mine from years ago.
Who absolutely hates everything.

I don't, let me clear that up. I absolutely love the world and almost everything in it. Well, almost everything. I don't love black metal, for sure, despite the constant nagging and linking of Bathory and whatnot by this mister Bryn, but who gives a shit?

I aint here to tell you to hate the world.
I aint here to tell you anything.

Fuck off and do something productive with your life.