Perhaps it is true to say that it is when you learn to accept that you learn to expect less of everyone and everything around yourself. Sometimes, it is just about figuring out how some things work and how some things just don’t work your way. It’s not always that you are master of your fates. Sometimes, you just give in to forces beyond your control.

It’s not always what you want that matters, it’s really what you get.

You’ve just got to learn to think that tomorrow will be a better day.

[[ mood ]] contemplative

1 comments

There are just some Sundays where you wake up, knowing exactly what has to be done – deadlines have to be met the next day, essays need to be handed in on the following day and other assignments need to be written or typed by the same date. It really is quite puzzling how some lecturers can pile up a week’s work for your weekend. What’s a weekend if it’s a weekend of work? Then, there are some Sundays where you wake up, knowing exactly what has to be done only to find that the desk is a little too messy that there’s not much room for your day’s task. Sheets and sheets and countless sheets of paper all over your table. Books, read and unread stacked up. Yesterday’s lunch box still on the table, two mineral bottles from movies you’ve watched in the last month, chocolate bars wrappers from Christ knows when everywhere. Such is the life of a college student. Well, if you can tell a person from her working desk, don’t come to mine.

Let’s move on to the more private rooms in the apartment. The bedroom. Single sized beds are just not big enough for me just as one table is not enough for all my things. When one’s table gets overloaded by papers, lunchboxes, mineral bottles, chocolate wrappers, and the likes of such things, it is only natural to bring one’s work into the room. So, there you have my bed with a pillow and a comforter and all other things – books, chocolate bar wrappers, sheets and sheets of papers, homework and whatever else you can imagine. The towel’s lying somewhere on the chair, the laundry basket not emptied in two weeks, tomorrow’s shirt left not ironed and jeans that have not been washed for the past two weeks are left hanging. I swear that if the college hadn’t arranged for cleaners to come on a weekly basis, mum would have never, ever wanted to step into the apartment. In fact, the last time she walked into the kitchen, she started to clean the sink with the detergent I bought last February and took my trash out.

My mother has given up on telling me to clean up my room back home. She seems to have the natural maternal instinct to adapt to my room. She doesn’t say a thing. Well, technically, if she did say something about it, I wouldn’t have cleaned it anyway. My maids would have the right sense to only come into the room once in 3 days as opposed to my sisters’ once every day. I suppose the family is quite familiar with the sort of mess I make. It’s just something I come to do naturally. I step into the room; I leave the laundry on the floor, the wrappers on the table, books stacked up on the floor and sheets of papers everywhere. In fact, the only place that’s empty is the bed and that is solely because I need to sleep on it. I suppose your family isn’t your family for no reason. They understand and accept you the way you are.

In my defense, however, before all of you start scoffing and scowling at the mess I make, I really am quite comfortable with the mess. Some people, of course, could never quite understand how I could live with all the mess when I would refuse to draw a line without a ruler (Melss would know!) The irony of it all! To be fair to me, I don’t make messes on purpose. I just don’t clean up. Well, there is of course one consolation to it all – you can recognize my table from everyone else’s and my bed from everyone else’s. I am 19, a college student, living quite by myself – what would you expect my working desk and my room to look like?

I have to throw yesterday’s lunch box, the two mineral bottles, the sheets of papers and the weeks of newspapers away.


Cheerio mates.

[[ music ]] Sinatra's Can't Take My Eyes Off You
[[ book ]] C. S. Lewis - Grief Observed
[[ mood ]] blah

2 comments

I just have to say this.
I must say this.
How else, where else do you suppose I could express feelings of this intensity?
(I've got to learn to control myself.)
Although I wouldn't have thought I have come to this point to have to say this.
After all, who would have thought it'd be possible.
I wouldn't - at least.
Seriously ... WHO WOULD'VE THOUGHT?
You'd think that it'd be quite distant and out of reach.
Then **BANG** right in your face.
Some things just happen. And they happen in the weirdest ways.
Geez.



Anyway ...

Nabs got me my STEPHEN RAHMAN-HUGHES autograph.
*grins*


Thanks mate. I appreciate it - really - in a most sincere kind of way.
I love you - in a most unlesbian kind of way.

Cheerio.

[[ music ]] Les Poissons
[[ mood ]] hyper

3 comments