Pact

“I’m not scared.”
“Neither am I.”
I took a bite of ice cream from the spoon and handed it to her. She slid the spoon into her mouth and handed it back to me. My turn. And just like that, we made it official without slitting our wrists and smearing our blood in a tightly gripped hand shake.
Somehow, we were convinced that we were related and adopted by our so-called parents. Her with her tan skin and me with my semi-freckled cheeks. Somehow, we were convinced that it must’ve meant something for us both to be living in the same area, just a street away from each other. We thought about the uncanny fact that both our fathers loved wine and that they both visited this wine shop no one else seemed to enter. And to top it off, we both hated egg yolks. It was, therefore, only natural to assume that it was more than our brothers who had brought us together; it was fate. 

******

Years later, she says “imagine talking to your boyfriend like this.”
I’m sitting on top of the toilet lid, staring at my hands and patiently waiting for her to finish taking a shower.
“It’d be perfect!” I  smile to myself.
We then resolve that we’d date each other if either one of us was a guy, and it’s a reassuring thought.

******

Some time between then and now, we’re sitting on high stools with a plate of food between us, waiting for the light to dim, talking about our future children and how we would be the best god-mothers to each other’s children, spoiling them in ways we wouldn’t let ourselves with our own.
“Not many people have a best friend”, she says.
And I think they’re hard to find. 

******

People come and go. But if anything, I am thankful for the parts of me that have come from her.

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First week of senior year

Other than getting sick… I’ll try and condense my week:

  1. I was in my maths lesson pretending to do maths, watching the trailer for Kick Ass 2. I have yet to watch Kick Ass 1.
  2. I was thankful for what usually would be deemed as agonizingly long hours in school. That is what a week of tests does to you.
  3. I was reminded of how I always absentmindedly wonder off into another direction whilst talking to people. ALWAYS! My feet can’t help themselves.
  4. I chose to do a yoga lesson at school, thinking it might be fun. But no. I could’ve have fallen asleep doing the Child’s pose and I believe the Downward Dog screwed up my foot.
  5. Google helped me with self-diagnosis: I either have a stress fracture or an issue with nerve entrapment. :l
  6. I went to a cheerleading audition. Apparently, the ability to twerk = automatic acceptance into the cheerleading team. What. Half-white girls cannot twerk. The sooner I accept it, the better. Also, my foot got worse.
  7. Note to self: do not expect to get a table on a Friday night at Dan Ryans or Pizza express or any other restaurant for that matter.
  8. HOWEVER I was lucky and ended up eating quesadillas after half an hour.
  9. I can still hang upside down on monkey bars- an old trick that used to leave me struggling to come back down.
  10. I got myself a helium balloon from Dan Ryans and it made my day. My friend burst his. HA
  11. The weather here is so unpredictable! I was at the park by the mall and was suddenly pelted by heavy rain; the sky just gave up.  I usually like rain, the sound of it against the pavement or against the window, the feel of it, the way it sometimes drops so mercilessly that the world is veiled by a wall of diagnoal lines. Too bad I had already taken a shower and couldn’t really enjoy it.
  12. I slid down the railings of stairs and reminesced about childhood and about how much it hurt sometimes to slide down the other way.
  13. My friend wouldn’t let me pay for dinner. The note passed across the table back and forth, back and forth. So I sneakily slipped it into his pocket.
  14. I also had a Caramel Macchiato.
  15. I woke up at two on Saturday and barely did anything except watch the most recent episode of Suits (love) and finish Summer Break. It frustrates me how reality shows are scripted. I mean, why can’t they just change the genre and put it under another category? Such lies! Such beautiful lies… I’m enraptured by fake romance.
  16. Today, I went to church, Amaronies, and Page One. Revised for psych with Kwix!

I will be reading ‘Complete Short Fiction’ by Oscar Wilde, ’50 Psychology Classics’ by Tom Butler-Bowdon, ‘The Great Enigma’ by Tomas Transtromer and ‘The Mind Gym’ by Gary Mack shortly.

That would be all! Unfortunately not as exciting or as detailed as I had hoped.
From Sobe to Sobe to remember xx

Denial: I never get sick.

Cough cough cough.
Waves of pressure at the temples.
Weakness.

I didn’t think I was going to get sick merely from sitting in a sick person’s room for half an hour. I guess I should’ve noted the possibility as I spoke to her and watched her cough quite comfortably into the air in between sentences (especially since she’d probably been doing that night and day for about a week). I should’ve realized when I scanned the room and found balls of scrunched tissues scattered around her like wrinkled white petals. I should’ve, but I dismissed the very idea since I’m usually quite resillient to common colds and flus. So there I was with unwavering trust in my immune system, happily breathing germ-saturated air into my lungs.

See, I have this theory. I believe that people who are the most freaked out by germs are the people who are the most susceptible to sickness. The ones who take out their hand sanitizers before every meal and take the most care with hygiene seem to have the weakest immune systems. Obviously, I don’t roll around in dirt and I do value hygiene (like please brush your teeth and take a shower), but I have a confession: I don’t always wash my hands before eating. Maybe because I tend to use forks more often than not, but still… I’m not a huge germaphobe. Unless of course, I see a hair in my food or gunk on a plate. Yuck. So disgusting.

Anyway, to support my theory, my cousins have fevers all the time even though their parents fuss over them constantly, wiping and disinfecting everything that they touch. So, being #rachet sometimes isn’t so bad.  

🙂 Sobe xx

PUPPY LOVE

jealousy:
conjoined, yes, by all your ugly parts.
how you’re too stubborn sometimes –
too impulsive
because I’d hate to love a perfect thing.
see, I’d only hate myself.

irreconcilable:
conjoined, yes, by all your ugly parts.
how you’re too stubborn sometimes –
too impulsive
because I wouldn’t be able to love a perfect thing
see, what would we have in common?

Faith is acceptance of the unknown

Just the other night, a friend of mine was having trouble explaining her faith (and mine) to an ex-christian. He was convinced that religion is a placebo, that sensing a spiritual presence or experiencing comfort comes from the mere belief in the existence of a higher power. Although it did not cause me to doubt my belief in God, I had a hard time trying to think of an argument against what he had said. It made me feel vulnerable, ignorant and suddenly not very confident in my knowledge about Christianity. How can it be that I cannot defend what I believe to be true? How can I feel so strongly about something I cannot explain?

I first tackled his argument by revisiting what I knew about placebos and the conditions in which they work, such as in cases of mild depression, where placebos seem to be just as effective as antidepressants. They fail however, for patients suffering from extreme or severe depression, as placebos seem to work because of the power of expectation, and anhedonia (symptom of depression) is characterized by lack of expectation and motivation and the inability to experience pleasure. Without expectation, the power of placebos cannot be revealed. I thought that perhaps this could explain how some people at rock bottom seem to recover after divine intervention- when they experience God. But doesn’t seeking God in the first place call for an inkling of hope?

I then looked to the bible. I guess that’s where I should’ve looked first.

I used to wish that I could witness fantastic, large-scale miracles, thinking it would help me believe and grow stronger in my faith. Like, hearing a booming, earth shaking voice or seeing a message from God written in the clouds. I used to think that I needed to see to believe.  Funny thing is, He was living, breathing proof once. In Matthew 11:1-15, Jesus answers a question about whether or not He is the messiah with “Go and report to John what you hear and see: the blind see, the lame walk, those with skin diseases are healed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor are told the good news. And if anyone is not offended because of Me, he is blessed.” Jesus performed miracles and still, so many did not believe. When He was right there in front of their eyes, they did not believe! What?!

True faith is trust and the knowledge that there may never be concrete “proof”- the sort of truth that science provides. And even if God performed miracles (which I believe He does, albeit not as grandly?? as in the Old Testament), I’m fairly certain there would still be skeptics.

“…Those who believe without seeing are blessed.” John 21:29

Can’t think of a word other than grandly. Awkward.

French toast & other things

Eggs and jam are disgusting.
French toast and strawberry jam doesn’t sound too bad, but trust me… No. I’ll blame the horrid taste on the low quality jam and the soggy eggy bread combination. But whenever there is two of any kind of food and I have nothing better to do, I will eat it. And I should probably stop that.

I caught a taxi to school, thanked God for one just as I stepped out and onto my street and got to school early. We’re supposed to be signed in by 8:10, which used to be an impossible feat for my lazy self, and I’ve succesfully arrived before 8 for two days now.  Achievement!

I was also excited about the newly renovated two-floored canteen, where coffee is available and a salad bar casually chills. It’s just there. Against the wall. Looking fiiine. Unfortunately, it offers only one type of leafy greens. Lettuce. And the pineapples have that pale, canned look to them which makes them unappealing. Such a disappointment. And it turns out that the hot coffee is gross as well… But gross coffee is better than no coffee. I suspect the energy and feeling of productivity I felt today had more to do with the placebo effect than with the caffeine itself. But in thinking that its a placebo, does it stop working? :l Speaking of placebos: to ponder

I have also realized that I’m exceptionally good at spotting what people are looking at. When conversing with someone, I will always note whether or not they are looking into my eyes, at my nose, lips, shirt, or even the desk to my right. I don’t do it on purpose but I am always conscious of where he/she is looking. If people look away often, my mind will start to infer a reason for their behaviour. I’ll wonder if:
they’re shy
its a force of habit
I make them uncomfortable.

I don’t know.

I also worked hard today (compared to the Nothing that I do usually) so I feel good. & I’m happy hard work pays off. I was doing terribly in my internal biology assesments and was told that it’s one of those things that people either get the hang of or don’t. So basically, I was told that it wouldn’t make much of a difference to try again… But I went from an 8 to 15/18. !!! PARTY IT UP!
Encouragement that prayer and effort works.

That’s all that’s worth mentioning today.

From Sobe to Sobe to remember.

Little musings

not my picture just saying.

not my picture just saying.

This is also a place for little musings and thought-doodles.

1. Please get into a comfortable position.
2. Pour yourself a cup of your favourite drink (or whatever’s available).
3. Read if you care to know what sort of things come across my mind. If not, you’re at least sitting comfortably and have something to drink.

So, my first move was to christen this site ‘littlemusings’ but that was taken, along with 99 other web addresses I thought to create. It just goes to show how hard it is to be original when the internet has been around for this long. This led me to think about the many web addresses already taken, wondering how many are ‘left’ before people have no choice but to make up new words or create inappropriately long site addresses. I worry for any potential or future bloggers. If I had struggled to come up with ‘forhazydays’, good luck to them! It’ll be a whole new level of difficulty in another 50 years. But then again, by that time, people would have probably migrated and moved on from this site to another, as people now have done with xanga (where I used to post the most embarrassing tween-angst posts).

It’s kind of like my worry about phone numbers. What if there aren’t enough 8-number combinations for people in one place? Or are the possibilities too great a number for such a worry? Maths is not my thing… Too much cognitive effort (yes, just casually inserting that psychological terminology, thanks to Daniel Kahneman).

And where do web pages go when we die? Are they automatically deleted after a thousand years of existence? Terminated and obsolete after a set amount of time? Or will tumblr pages and other little musings on the internet be found as markers of the people that existed to write them? Just think of the billions of little corners occupied by people in the vast expanse of the internet and the overwhelming, unfathomable accumulation of stuff! Think of all the little planets and their people-shaped imprints in this boundless, infinite space. And think how many of them will be forgotten or remain undiscovered, hidden amongst old things, burried under the new.

I am in awe of technology and I agree with my grandmother. It’s like. Magic. But not. I would be forever grateful if someday someone could explain to me how it all works in a language I can understand. I’m just too lazy to get into computer science and I can live with curiosity.

& Daniel Kahneman is such a cool nerd.
Also, I love the blog name: thedoughwillriseagain (FOOD BLOG. GENIUS! #suave #sosmoothsowitty #wishiwereyou)
OH and school was ok thanks for asking.

Sobe xx

A kind of introduction

Hi. I usually do hugs- no handshakes because my hands get sweaty and that’s never a good thing (I’ve given away my secret). So I guess I’m a pretty good hugger with all the practice I’ve had avoiding handshakes.

Since you now know a flaw of mine and I barely know you, perhaps it’s easier to trust me. My spanish teacher once said that upon introduction, spanish people like to ask about bad habits/ little flaws: ‘cual es tu vicio?’ I have no idea whether or not this is true, but I found it an interesting challenge to find a flaw that is neither too damning to any potential relationships nor too pretentious…
And I’ve come up with something kind of pathetic. But hey, I did give it some thought.

I should probably explain what I’m doing here. See, I tend to stutter sometimes and I’m not so great at stringing together words when I speak- I find I’m better when I write. But I think it’s a bidirectional thing; the better you are at writing, chances are, the better you will be at speaking eloquently. So that’s one reason.
Secondly, I want to remember those fleeting, hazy days. The ones that pass by too quickly, leaving you to struggle to remember what you had eaten for breakfast or where you had gone or what you had said. The ones that seem inconsequential and the ones that carry only a vague idea, like: oh yeah, I remember, it was a nice day. Nice isn’t good enough for me. I want rich, vivid imagery. I want to hear, see, and feel again. And I want to be more attentive the second time around because there is no better way to learn than from your past. Every moment counts. Ha and here I am typing up a post when I should be finishing work for the first day of school tomorrow.
Thirdly? I like writing. I will leave it at that because I really do have to get to work.

Byeeeeee xx
Sobe (cause why not use an ugly name)