blow my cover
Oh shoot me. I haven’t exceeded my cap in about a year now…so I’m not happy to see a bill for $94.85. Gee, I never text. Lies, all friggen lies. I don’t have a boyfriend and I can’t even remember calling people – how on earth did I rack up this bill? UGH. If your name is Bill, I don’t want to meet you.
Talk - national $156.65 Talk - international $79.65 Talk - special $2.35 MMS - national $2.00 SMS $155.20 Total Cap eligible $395.85 Cap Discount - $301.00cr Total ($49 Cap + $45.85 usage above limit) $94.85
beautiful women
May I just say that growing up in this microwave, superficial, consumerism complacency (otherwise known as western’s twenty-first century), has embedded such perspectives of vanities within me that I am surprised when “beautiful” women try to make the world a better place.
Allow shallow reason to perceive “beauty”. Now, in the context of the narcissistic ignorance that engulfs the more fortunate halves of humanity, “beautiful” women should really just enjoy being “beautiful”. “Beautiful” women should play the world for the shallow love-sick thing that it is and sit in senseless adoration just because they can; because she is an opportunist, and whatever her occupation, she is loved because she looks good, therefore while she looks good, she’ll use the world – because it will fall over itself in hopeless blindness, because it is both hopeless and blind. I will not delve into the controversies and opinions around “beauty” because that is not my point or argument today. I simply feel the need to express adoration to the beautiful women I know who don’t believe in social standings and who are without conceit or arrogance, who see beauty in those who are not replicas of fashion magazines and whose words build up and heal those blessed enough to converse with them.
I look at these women and wonder where they got the heart from. Why are they less obsessed with the shallow and why do they love the people before them? How are they so humble? How did they put serving others and seeking to restore humanity before the mirror that flatters them? I see in these women absolute reproach for injustice, a humility that sees people as equals and not categories of fashionable, society and popularity (or lack thereof). Eyes that detect the gold in each silhouette, words that sooth the soul. She is equip with gentleness and kindness and a genuine interest in you. Her jokes were and are never at the expense of another, and when she laughs she triggers your own. She really cares. She rather sit in the corner and talk to the fumbling person whose conversation is not as entertaining than take a hundred photos of herself with a trained hand at vanity. Unafraid to look lowly, without a qualm for getting her hands dirty for the cause of another, and far from boastful. Mindful of correction and inquisitive of morale, open-minded enough to learn from a most unlikely teacher – she never knew enough but always more than everyone else.
I seem to have been very confronted by these women lately. I admire them, I am slightly jealous of them, I try to be like them. Are they only so selfless because they have everything? Or do they have everything because they are selfless? I am blessed to be surrounded by so many beautiful women. I kid you not, I am endlessly amazed by both the quality and quantity of these beacons of light that glare almost blindingly around me. It has assured me lately that all is not lost. There are pretty people I know who care less about being pretty and more about being pretty selfless and pretty good company. They make the world a better place. They redefine “beauty” and show contempt for no-one.
Thank you, to you women whose humility has clothed you in such splendor and proved purpose outweighs purtiness! The world is your oyster only because you dig through the stink to find the pearls.
I weigh your words and find them invaluable. Thank you for taking the time for me, a few moments here, an hour there. Thank you for caring for those I disregarded and thank you for being a hope through the of-late deprivation of everything deeply meaningful. I can’t believe half of you are single.
Where are the valiant men to compliment such as you?
You reflect the most Jesus of characters! Ahh Jesus, I love the You in them.
When I grow up, I want to be just like you.
we do, we don’t, we dance at home
When I dance at home, it's diverse, I look cool, I feel free and I'm the best dancer in the place. When I go to parties... I keep my amazing dance moves secret so that nobody else can copy them and be amazing like me. I can't dance very well outside of home...HOUSE PARTY IT IS!
life by quote
I was flicking through the nearly unnoticeable size 8 quotes, meekly centred at the bottom of an already dismissable daily-flip-calender. Its February display proved its engagement with timeliness was anything but frequent. Between phone calls at work, I managed to travel a quarter of a year: chuckling at a few, puzzling at two and writing down three. I suppose you could say these are applicable to my current travels through mind, space, life, everything:
Children have never been very good at listening to their elders, but they have never failed to imitate them
-James Balwin
If you want people to think well of you, do not speak well of yourself
-Blaise Pascal
If a cluttered desk is an indication of a cluttered mind, what is indicated by an empty desk?
-Anonymous
the highs of life
Sometimes, many times, very often I write something only to have a change of headspace a few hours later. As if by sitting in my own company I somehow fall into a concussion of emotion which verily surfaces for the sake of feeling something. I like how emotion makes me feel human, I don’t like my habit of inducing emotion when stimulated by somebody else’s.
Well! Contrary to the post prior, may I just report having returned from a most wonderful embrace in the midst of my church community. I love church. I love this belonging. This concoction of odds and ends people types – people with very different mannerisms, very different lifestyles, contrasting pasts and little in common except that we agree there is nothing better than to live for/with/in a God infinitely larger than ourselves. It’s nice because I didn’t have to do my hair today. Well I didn’t have time to. It probably sounds petty, but my hair is every other girl’s makeup. I don’t wear make-up, I do my hair. So it was a nice kind of vulnerable to have people see the unedited exterior and not be as unimpressed as myself and perhaps even liking my lack of style.
Anyway, I cannot complain about my life. I chose it. I am part of a loving family. I have strong friends. I have a purpose and a drive for life. I know the industry I will “grow up” in/as/for. I am accepted even when “undone”. I have been identified in Christ. I find conversation with strangers, normal. I have people I admire in reachable vicinities. I can write. I am with minimal scars, a sheltered past (mostly self-inflicted) of little/no trauma. I am appreciated. I am free. Oh, and I have an income.
This life, anyone can take away from me. But for the while that I have it, this current moment that I am blessed, I will appreciate. Forgive my complaints, I seem to make an art of lamenting and complaining; reminding myself of my needless imperfections and limited perspective.
Sleep deprivation is a small price to pay for my well endowed lifestyle, I’ve got it cheap! And even though my sleeps are shorter now, they’re still ever perfect and come swiftly, they don’t make this woman wait!
Ahh, joy – dear freedom, how did I forget that you follow me?
sorry spontaneity
My days, my weeks and my hours have been so tightly strewn together, with hardly an hour to sit aimlessly without one responsibility or another gnawing on my mind. I am twenty-one, I can’t just live for myself anymore. But now that I’ve discovered purpose, I miss purposeless. But of course! Discover one thing and discard the other only because there is no such thing as satisfaction. Not here, not in this life.
I give myself away and I commit to those whom I love. I give them all I can, myself and my abilities for a few hours, maybe a few days. I spend perhaps a handful of hours preparing for my servitude to the invisible contracts I signed with mine beloveds verbally and when I wrote their names in my diary on that certain date for that certain time. Because I misconceive “no” as being evil and/or mean.
I miss spontaneity, but I cannot leave organisation lest I disappoint you, I will disappoint myself. I feel sad writing this. It’s a selfish thing to do. But I rather it expressed here than have it permeate my conversation or my commitments with you. I do this…I do and don’t know why I do this. I love my life. If I go on a little more and get into pattern of denying myself, the joys I live will be yours and your joys that you live will be mine, and I will not have to complain about missing anything…I’m just not mature enough yet.
But a breath. But a day. But a moment. Being a Christian is only hard for now. Later, I will be alive.
this tune is never gonna leave me
Now I’m taking your love from above
You’re here and you’re never gonna leave me
I will carry you on for so long
Your love is never gonna leave me
YOU’RE NEVER GONNA LEAVE ME…
been singing it for the past week. sia sia sia sia, you’re voice is so clever, is it ever. The sort of tune I like to scream as I air-drum jumping on my bed. Speaking of beds, I’m sleeping in the sleeping bag on my bed…
because I can.
Sorry, I’ve been busy and void of inspiration, I know I know this post hardly creates ripples. I’ll try write something thoughtful soon…after this week’s ink drought has hopefully lifted.
4, 3, 2, 1
4 3 2 1 what we fighting 4 3 2 1 I don't know what 4 3 2 1 what we fighting 4 3 2 1 I don't know what 4 3 2 1
chorus is monotonously melodically beaut. incredible. makes me want to fight with someone just to sing its chorus.
i didn’t have to be brave
It’s incredible, the liberty of releasing layers. Letting prides fall to the floor and simply being as you felt, without needing translate it into civilised composure. Being weak because you felt it, being raw because you felt striped, showing pain because of injury and being apprehensive and afriad because of limited vision. Thank you, to she who met me. I didn’t have to smile, I didn’t have to get back up quickly, I could gradually recover from my distress and not have to cover it hastily. I suppose the reinforcement of being held together both literally and figuratively was a relief I hadn’t known for some time. I appreciated it. The words were rubies but I was a little hard of hearing with my ear against the front of your shoulder. It’s nice being able to lean on another. You must be strong.
Best. Mentor. Ever.
Thank you.
ideas for my dears
I have a plan and if it works she'll have a boyfriend and he'll be a man. She'll have a manfriend. I'll be a genius. It's flawless.
tell me more…
I can’t learn enough at the speed I wish I could. Recently, that single digit percentage of brain capacity we use at a time has become as obvious to me as a white suit at a funeral. It’s ironic like that… I near the “end” of my education perse – all 17 formals years of it, excluding preschool – and only within the last couple of weeks has my brain been set into an addicted momentum to learn more. I don’t what it is. I want to know about: every disability in the world, every disadvantage, how to event organise, everything architectural, engineering, sustainability, DIYs, business management, every apologetic’s response to every biblical debate, every other religion – all the ones I don’t believe in, successful entrepreneuing, the know-hows of cooking, how to keep a pet chicken, how to quit smoking, how to rehabilitate from every addictive substance, how to make shoes, how to gamble, how to drive every vehicle type (not just manual and motorbikes, trucks, forklifts, etc.), how to travel, sign language, history, how to defuse a bomb, how to shoot a gun, how to change a tyre, how detect a lie (wahaha- lie to me) and the list goes on.
But insomuch as my starved brain is curious, I wish not to affix yet summore years of formal education to the ridiculous clump of it to date.
I don’t have answers, and I’m going to try to make my own roads to knowledge
…just watch me fall as I climb.
the dance of the ink riddled fingers 
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