SA105

It's less than 48 hours till my LAST EXAM of my UNDERGRADUATE STUDIES. Holy cow. I'd be all reflective and shit if it didn't cause me so much distress - it being a paper from a different department with different nuanced requirements and all that. Thank God for Joaquin, who as Jia terms it is like a 'comfort blanket'.

Meanwhile London's become a holy hell blaze of heat. Last week I went out and bought 2 fans. One for my room and one for Joaquin's room. I couldn't sleep/function otherwise. As it was, I barely spent any time at home and opted to roam about in school working. As a result, my skin has turned into an utter bitch and my itchy eczema has returned in full force and I feel like I'm scratching myself to death. Even worse, the little patch that formed over winter has quadrupled in size and gone all gross. It was formed in a funny/nerdy way too. Basically when I read in bed at night, and lay on my right side, the spine of an average novel would always rest on the same spot. After a while, a dry/inflamed skin patch appeared, but at least it was amusing then. Now come Summer it's like a Goddamned torture device.

That picture made me burst out laughing when I saw it online.

26 Hours

In 26 hours, I will be having my first exam. ANDOHMAHGAWD I don't know what to do. Looking through my notes doesn't take that much time, and I don't exactly have loads of past exam questions to waggle through. Write things down I guess, but even the thought of that makes me feel panicky - like what if I can't write ANYTHING down?

On a level, this is so silly because this is definitely not the first university exam I've ever sat for, but it feels almost like I forgotten how to study/revise for an exam. That and knowing what to do with myself in the interim bit, while waiting for it to just be over damnit. Doing anything else but studying feels like a sacrilege, but on the other hand studying seems a dire option too. PFFFFTTTT.

Better than Xanax

Sadly I realised the best was to not be panicky/hysterical over anything in life (GV227 exam on Monday for me, in this case) - is to FALL SICK. I have that horrible sticky throat feeling and ARGHGU(TNIV@(%CN()N(QE()

KNNBCCB.

Ryan

I have a younger brother, and his name is Ryan. My brother has severe non-verbal autism, such that even at age 17 (he'll be 18 in July) he can barely say anything intelligible, and even that's confined to a mere word. Sometimes when I look back, I wonder how it was like growing up with a brother like that. But fact is, when I was growing up, it didn't seem like anything remarkable at all. He was just my brother, and everything felt normal. Like everyone else after school had a life just like mine. Yet at times I really wonder how I did it. Again when I think back into the past, I remember that despite the immense love my family gave me (I've got a very close knit family), I was a fairly maladjusted child.

My teenage years were a mess, and I encountered so many teething problems with trying to find my identity, hampered by the existence and presence of my brother. If I was raised to be slightly off-kilter (thanks individualistic rhetoric sprouting Dad), my brother just made me all the more incredibly different from everyone else. And teenage society does not reward those that do not conform to their vision of normality within 1 standard deviation. I was probably 5 standard deviations off, hahaha. But then of course I learnt of a reason behind most of my trouble: I suffer from dysthymia, so perhaps it wasn't my brother that led to me being strange after all.

And then there were times when I wondered whether I had strains of autism too. I have a fascination with staring at the washing machine - the front loading ones with the clear window that is - watching clothes go round and round and round. That's actually what inspired this post, cause Zhi Wei came out of the bathroom and saw me watching my clothes in the laundry machine. Though I must say it's only MY CLOTHES that make me want to watch the machine. Everyone else's clothes can gtfo. Dryers work too.

Then there is the fact that I have incredible trouble communicating my emotions verbally. This is especially bad when it involves strong emotions, like after a fight. I find that I cannot even speak. Meanwhile my brain shuts down, and I become catatonic. At best after some time, I can write things down, but I still cannot say them out. Even in day to day life, emotional things often leave me unable to function fully, which is of course bad because I have quite an emotional disposition.

Still, despite anything (and everything?), I've made it thus far. Living away from my brother in London for the past 3 years has been real nice, but I do miss him. Plus he is (along with the rest of my family) never too far from my thoughts. Not sure if I'll be singing the same tune when I'm back for at least a year in Sept though, ahahaha.

AND presenting, a rare photo of my brother and I, taken last year Sept.

May Day

Last night as I struggled to sleep, I felt myself repeatedly seeking refuge in the idea of cross-stitch. I imagined myself sewing, and sewing away. And then of course I had to stop and wonder WHY was it that I was so drawn to cross-stitch, and working with my hands in general. When I did pottery I used to fall to sleep thinking about carving and shaping (damn I miss pottery). And then there was my mad knitting stage. Still got 2 uncompleted projects back at home, gathering dust.

I came to the conclusion that I found it reassuring because it was Sure and Certain. If I do XX then XX will come out, with the occasional hiccup of an XY. But life and everything is such that often when you put XX into it, ABCD comes out. There are just too many variables floating about for any real certainty in anything, and this makes me Anxious as hell. Especially since I just introduced (half of me screams WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!?!) another variable into my life in the form of a Romantic Interest. One that, yes, makes me bloody happy, but another bit makes me go 'WTF why are you letting someone else control your happiness?!' lest anything go Southwards. That and the knowledge that I am horribly dependent on a Partner when I get one, but when I'm single I'm most (80%) fine with being emotionally independent.

Yes I am utterly paranoid, but at the same time I can't help but feel scared for Everything and Anything that is part of the Ominous Future. ARGH*%U($MU@(X@

Columbia/Colombia

I realised today, after texting Cielo that I was spelling Colombia the country as Columbia, the university. A few weeks ago, I had all my hopes pinned on getting into a Master's programme at Columbia. I learnt I did not get in, and spent the next few days moping about. It felt like someone shot an arrow right into my chest, like a big THUMP and a WHUMP at the same time. Then the next day, I met a Colombian, at Ronnie Scott's when I was there with Ianthe. Feels funny thinking about it now (plus I can still recall the WHUMP at seeing the Columbia rejection letter, and all the subsequent sad feelings). Consolation out of all of this? I am now seeing the Colombian, drug lord jokes aside, and he's one of the nicest guys I've known. HEAVE a sigh of relief at not encountering another jackass, and at having given him a chance. The sweetest guy that makes me feel a bit melt-y inside.

Anyway him aside, I've got another lovely distraction. A distraction that is probably more all consuming than him. Right after I finished my dissertation, I went online and bought a bunch of cross-stitch sets. Yesterday after they came in the mail, I spent most of the afternoon working on a bookmark (that I intend to keep for myself), before rushing off to meet Joaquin. It's funny how I chose a Mackintosh design, especially after Ianthe and I practically skipped Glasgow, the origin of all this style of art deco. Spent a good portion of today working on it too.

Photo Booth blurry but, it's still a lovely work in progress.

The Book of Human Skin

Life, mood and horrid new Blogger layout have all conspired to make me neglect my blog recently.

I am currently reading Luke Rhinehart's The Dice Man, and it is proving a most intriguing read. Reminds me a little of Bret Easton Ellis' sort of ultra-masculine, no-holds-barred, sort of narrative.

I read a book fairly recently (a few books back), called the Book of Human Skin by Michelle Lovric. While it was a book that made me stay up when I was tired, it proved unsatisfactory. Everyone in the book, was one dimensional, with little depth. Sure, there were adventures, a clear villain(s) and heroine, but it seemed a bit like a grown up Disney story, except less charming.

Another book which made me stay up was Jane Harris' The Observations, which proved to be an enjoyable read. It only came to my attention though, because of the recent Faber collection about Lies and Deception. It was a right old mystery, with strange happenings and hearsay, and a lovely narrator.

I guess there's just sometime about books which makes me flee towards them in such times. Such times as being relatively homebound now, because of exams and a need to study. Of wanting to escape and not be here. Ho hum.

Today's a Bank Holiday.