Bonjour. Si vous voulons me chercher, vous êtes venu au faux endroit.
Friday, February 02, 2007
ive decided to live life with a sense of quiet optimism.. might not change anything much, but i figure it should make some sort of difference.. sometimes when forces larger than oneself are at work, the only thing one can do is to be a mute onlooker no matter what one may feel about something.. but even as a onlooker, or at least one who is aware of what is going on, i feel ashamed that i know and yet did not do all that i could to well, help avoid it.. not that anything i could have done would have changed anything much.. but still.. dont they always tell us that trying and failing is better than failing to try or something like that.. i just cant help but draw the parallels between this and slavery.. yes, big difference.. but didnt their god tell them too that all sins were sins and that any sin whether big or small is still a sin.. not asking her to be perfect, but cant she at least be a teeny bit nicer about it all.. stripping a person of any protection she has, in a foreign country all alone, giving her no choice at all except to follow your will.. bringing a person to her weakest and enjoying the feeling of power over somebody else, whether unconsciously or not.. yes, it is in our nature to enjoy power.. and if we were animals we would be going crazy with it.. but we are not animals, are we.. anyway. now that this is all over i shall just try and forget all about it.. just like the way i tend to not think about the other mistakes i made when i could have made a difference in somebody elses life, except in times like these.. when i wonder if i really could have done anything to help.. or would i have made anything worse.. i met this girl when i was working at the book fair thingy after the o's.. i thought i wasnt doing very well getting along with the rest of the people, but i guess she had it worse.. shes like a kinda clingy sort of person, and maybe you could say possessive, but it stems from a sense of insecurity i guess.. i didnt know her very well, but then i was like meeting her even after i stopped working and school started, and she started telling me stuff like how she was bullied in school and how she has this internet relationship with this guy who doesnt care what she looks like and wants to marry her (i know i know like what on earth right..) and how shes clinically depressed and on medication.. okay no lah, i think this one people already knew when we were having the bookfair.. i think everybody thought she was kinda wonky, even the manager person was kinda freaked out and asked her to go home and "take a rest" cos she was crying and stuff.. yeah, for the thing itself i was doing like cashiering and she was doing childrens department or something, so i wasnt like with her the whole time, so hmm. yeah anyway, i felt really bad for her and all, so i went and agreed to help her with schoolwork, cos she was gonna retake o levels and stuff.. then i got kinda freaked out, and i didnt dare say i didnt wanna like meet up and stuff anymore.. and i just stopped replying her smses and said she got the wrong number or pretended i couldnt hear her or something to that effect.. such a coward right.. anyways, somewhere out there is a broken person, whom i could have helped but didnt, simply because it was easier not to.. hmmmmmm.......... i hope shes alright though.. and hasnt killed herself or something.. or maybe it would be better if she really did.. then she wouldnt be making things so difficult for herself.. okay now im really talking rubbish.. being alive and having a horrible life is better than being dead right.. i hope.. :/ anyways, i think i might make an okay counsellor or something next time, like once a week i see you kinda thing, but it gets too personal sometimes and it gets very draining.. anyways.
between two rivers by nicholas rinaldi
Her earliest pieces had been made of square patches forming geometrical patterns, but she had abandoned that style and worked now in the tradition of the crazy quilt, using patches of differing shape and size, with a rich array of colour--and somehow, out of the jumble, there emerged, here and there, images of trees, clouds, swans, and helicopter. She used silk and burlap, satin and polyester, whatever she could put her hands on, cutting larger, swirling designs, brisk and daring, or small intimate forms that teased the eye with subtle allusions. And she sewed, she sewed. She played ovals against squares, rectangles against circles--everything deliciously unbalanced, and yet, trickily, there would be, in the whole, a mysterious sense of harmony, a sense that the pieces, no matter how unrelated in colour or contour, all fit together. "Like life itself," she wrote one night in her journal. "We're all so terribly different, every one of us--yet we connect, we belong. No matter how much we may hate each other!" Even as she wrote it, it struck her as perhaps overly optimistic, the part about the connectin and belonging. Nevertheless, given the bleakness of the alternative, she favoured optimism, thinking it better to hope and believe than to succumb to a darkness that had no meaning.
yes, better to live with a blind hope than to live with its alternative.. rather dumb and naive some may say, but who cares.
8:36 pm
gail.
loves anything new
gets caught up in causes, events, loves
but doesn't do anything about them.
professes to be a supporter of the green movement
but leaves the lights on
disapproves of mcdonalds
but eats there anyways.
godwise, the jury's still out.
schoolwise, fass rocks my socks
but why do i have like a ton of work to do?
familywise, i guess theyre/its great
we just need to figure out what to do around each other?
freindswise, hey you guys are awesome.
blogwise, realises that the profile section is crappy
but doesn't know how else to fill up the space.
