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Thursday, September 18, 2008
THIS... IS... ENGLAND!!!

Well, here I am again in England. Here I stay for a glorious month while my parents are frolicking about in France. Of course they refused to take me, because what possible use could I, the trilingual unemployed former student, be in France? I'll never understand their logic, you know.

I am here in England to acclimatise to the bitter cold, take in the culture and learn to do things properly by myself. Seeing as this is an exercise in self-sufficiency here, I'll be taking the train (all by my lonesome) to Oxford tomorrow to take a look around what I hope and pray will be my home for the next four years. And you all better hope and pray too. I really want to get into this school.

I've learned how to navigate maps of the Underground and everything, and I can switch lines and all of that. The Underground lines have such funny names... like Bakerloo... and Piccadilly. And don't talk for the stations! I happened to run onto the platform for District and Circle only to see that the approaching train was going to Cockfosters :P

Anyway, this is just a short little update on what I've been doing with my life since CAPE results came out... I bought Flowers in the Attic by V.C. Andrews, so I'm sure I'll be reviewing it here when I'm done reading it. And of course I'm buying presents for all my favourite people.

Frozen fingers aren't so conducive to typing blog entries... so I'll stop here for today.


Posted at 12:40 pm by Kaze-Heathen
Flame me. I dare ya.  

Wednesday, August 20, 2008
AAAGH OH GOD

Well, it's that time of year again. Yes, the time when the results for CAPE come out. Actually it was very much delayed this year, seeing as some intelligent people in Barbados decided to steal the test papers and sell them to equally intelligent Trinidadians for obscene amounts of money, causing the recall of all test papers and the postponement of all exams and, consequently, their results.

Anyway, this year's results are not so surprising. I've long ago learnt that CAPE marks people by banging their collective fist on a numeric keypad. However, I'm still a bit sad. I mean, I want to go to Oxford. Thanks to CAPE and its temperamental mark scheme, I don't have the requisite grades. Something NO ONE would have thought possible. And hearing them exclaim in disbelief just makes me feel a bit sadder about it all ._.

Oh well. My marks for this year are as follows:

  • Caribbean Studies (also known as bullshit) -- 1 (AAA)
  • French -- 1 (AAA)
  • Spanish -- 1 (AAA)
  • Lit unit 1 (yes, again) -- 2 (BAB)
  • Lit unit 2 -- 2 (BAB)

What I don't understand about this year's results is that I seem to have managed to get an A in the poetry module in lit. Why? I hate poetry. I suck at it. My poetry essays contain some of the finest bits of fudge outside of Godiva. It is impossible to look at one of my poetry essays and not say "This candidate knows nothing and is using flowery language to cover her own arse". Unless this is what CAPE actually wants me to do, I really cannot begin to understand why they marked me highest in my worst area. Drama, my beloved drama, my darling Shakespeare and Miller, got a B. Why? WHY when I worked so assiduously to gather genuine knowledge on the subject? WHY when I fed them so much Aristotle that the poor man's philosophy must be coming out of every orifice of these examiners?

Since I will never know what CAPE wants (putting aside the scary thought that CAPE wants waffle and improvisation), I will probably be soon migrating to the United Kingdom in order to do a one-year A level course just to prove to those admissions bastards that I can do English literature, despite what the Council has to say about it. You can tell I desperately want to get into this school.

Don't know what kind of marks Fifi managed to pull this year. I'll find that out later today when she goes to collect the results. This year's geography shenanigans were a bit more subtle than last year's. She got an extra sheet of grid paper to draw a map for a certain question, but decided that no way in hell was she drawing any map. So she folded up the paper and slipped it into her pocket. Then, underneath the question requiring the map, she wrote, "Map attached to back of answer booklet". It wasn't. I would have loved to see the uproar at Council headquarters... but sadly I could not.

Anyway, I'm off to try cheering myself up. Maybe I'll dunk my head in the pool. Or look wistfully at pictures of chocolate cake. Fuck it, I'll find some way.


Thursday, August 14, 2008
Somewhat disturbing...

About two days ago I got the new Disturbed album. Needless to say when I put it in for the first time and listened to it I nearly wet myself. Some people may call this album more of the same, but when this is referring to Disturbed it cannot be negatively construed Smile

So now I shall commence writing a paragraph on each of the twelve tracks of the album Indestructible.

Well it starts off with the title track, Indestructible. And I have to say that this is a tank song. An absolute tank song. I will listen to it while I go around killing shit in MMOs and revelling in the glory of being a tank. I will listen to it while working out. I will listen to it before important examinations. I hear that there's a video in production and I cannot wait to see it.

Next song is Inside the Fire, which has been out a while now, and it's about suicide and stuff, so I had plenty time in which to react to this song and its video. Honestly speaking the video made me cry, and the song itself... wah. It's just so brooding and whatnot.

Deceiver was one I wasn't expecting to like since it's track 3 and third tracks on CDs are usually my least favourite ones. But that theory has since been disproved. This was the first track when I became impressed and curious about David Draiman's vocal range. The notes he hits in this one just seem... so high. And to be screaming them out, it really blows the mind. The lyrics are also very heavy, especially around the second verse. And as always, the bridge is excellent. I just love Disturbed's bridges; they're always so nice ^_^

And now we come to possibly my favourite song on the album, The Night. I have not yet exercised my brain in order to try and figure out what this song is really about. I've been too preoccupied with the beauty of the vocals... What do I do to be able to sing like that? Seriously, what do I do? The melodies are interesting, I've been loving the harmonies, and the lyrics, although somewhat confusing to me right at this present moment, are the usual brand of poetic (in a good way). So yeah. Favourite track :D

I thought it was really cool that they decided to re-record Perfect Insanity, cause I had heard the original and wondered what they might do to make it epic. Well it's pretty epic. You've got a nice guitar solo (that's another thing I like about this album; you get a lot of guitar solos. I can sort of hear the Soundgarden in them sometimes), you get pretty harmonies that I really like, and the entire song actually became a degree more tuneful. This re-recording is great.

Now it's time to get Haunted. The verses and such are very hard and heavy, but the chorus is unusually soulful-sounding. I think it's very singy-alongy. However, I don't really have that much to say about it... *shrug* Weird, huh? Also, this song had a grammatical error in it that kinda broke my heart.

Track sevens are usually my favourites on CDs, but that position was already taken up by track 4. However, Enough is a very close second favourite. Dear God. To look at it on a really superficial level, this is a "bring the troops home" song, and what a song it is. Wow. This song contains what I think is possibly the most powerful lyric on the entire album:

When your heart is broken a thousand times
With every moment, is that enough?

Now tell me that isn't a perfectly fitting description of the agony and loss of dignity and hope that happens when inconsiderate and silly men decide to go to war. Or rather, inconsiderate and silly men send optimistic young boys off to war. But this song is the shit; it is like the best anti-war anthem I've ever heard since And the Band Played Waltzing Matilda.*

The Curse is another of those songs that I probably don't have too much to say about. However, what I like most about this song is the kind of rhyme-play David employs in the pre-chorus bit. It fits in so well with the percussion and everything else. And there he goes with those high notes again here. And I also really like the rhythms in the verses.

I consider Torn to be the foreplay track of this album. Yes, the foreplay track. It's slow and lulling and relaxing, yet it seems that it's preparing you for something big. Soundgarden used to have tracks like this on their CDs. I love the chorus melodies, and the harmonies in the last chorus... they make me feel like... well yes.

Once I had a friend (yes "had", I've quite lost him now) who wrote a short story. I don't remember what it was called, but the main character was attacked by vampires and after using his new-found vampireness to slaughter his enemies, was so sad about his state that he asked his lover to kill him. This is what I think of immediately when I hear Criminal, and I think I want to get my ex-friend to listen to it. The way the last note in each of the first two chorus lines goes UP at the end raises my pores. As always it leaves me wondering what drugs or herbs I could possibly ingest to be able to sing like David Draiman.

The lyrics of Divide are funny. Not in a bad way at all. When I say funny, I mean Heath Ledger's Joker kind of funny. They're actually darkly funny. So I give it a thumbs up for lyrics. I haven't actually sat and listened to this song very much yet, so I can't really talk about the musicality and instrumentation too much for now.

Faade impressed me in that I think this is one of the few Disturbed songs I know that seems wholly sympathetic towards a woman and her plight. That's just what I think. I may be wrong. I may be saying something horrible without knowing it. But anyway. The lyrics of the first verse are actually, for want of a better word, quite disturbing. And in the pre-chorus line "I can't believe she's still with him", I heard *so much rage* in that single word "him" that it scared me. Faade is a great song about something that happens in our world far too often.

So yes, that's the album for you. I purchase albums I'm really excited about, and this one definitely warranted the expenditure of my hundred and forty dollars. Well, my brother's hundred and forty dollars, seeing as he didn't buy me a PRESENT for my very IMPORTANT eighteenth BIRTHDAY. But I love him for it. So now I can look forward to a good few more months of my boyfriend calling me "Jarhead" because the US Army and I have the same taste in music. Oh well... it's just love.

 

 

*And the Band Played Waltzing Matilda is the most depressing song in the universe in which a young roaming traveller goes off to fight a meaningless war and gets his legs blown the fuck off.


Thursday, August 07, 2008
Scribbles

Since I've been quiet for a while, I decided that I would come back with something actually nice. So here I will publish some of my favourite comments I received on my school shirt on July 4th this year, the last day of school for the lower-schoolers, many of whom I may not see very often from now on (first names only, of course).

  • Bye K/H. Now who's gonna get me Animefest tickets?  Amanda
  • Morgan * Bye, K/H-- infamous psychopath person. Bye-bye!
  • Bye bye, I'll miss u lotz! Alix. P.S. and your cakes... cuz they're GOOD! P.P.S I'm stealing the cake... mmm... :D :D
  • REMAIN mad an' crazy K/H <--- Rubstinator <3 love ya!!
  • Dear K/H, hope you have a great time wherever you go and I hope you continue to inspire ppl the way you did 4 me and many others   Racine
  • To K/H hope you enjoy life.... u know u'll miss me
    Make sure u come visit and bring lots of cake... chocolate
    Yeah i'm kinda runnin out of room now lol. this is like a story. Make sure you have fun in life ^__^ and eat lots of cake... Shonae Shonae Shonae Shonae Shonae
  • Farewell dear Kaze-Tootz! I shall secretly stalk you in a non-creepy way in England. Plenty love, Lily.
  • Hey K/H! Wat's the dealio my fave art inspiration! Hot ghetto mess! Let's walk to the museum! & video vagrants! School will be empty without u trekkin thru it in BOOTS! Love ya, come back 1 day xoxo   Jess.
  • Reserved fi Darci    Baybee! Don't leave! We need u! St Joseph's Penitentiary would never be da same... I <3 u K/H mwarr   Darcy

I can't believe two people used the word "inspiration" to describe me. I guess I must have been somewhat important :P

It's very good for the ego.


Friday, July 04, 2008
Pss! Famalay!

Okay, just a small update to say something that's been bugging me for a little while. Men who "soot" (or is it "suit"? God alone knows) at women in the road need to be put in jail. They really do. I should not have to walk down the road and hear terrible little kissing noises for no reason.

I mean, by definition it is clearly sexual harassment, because it is unwanted sexual attention. Would anyone reasonably consider receiving this treatment a compliment? A man basically telling you with one little sound, "I would bone you if I had the chance"? No, this is not a compliment, and any woman who chooses to take it that way needs hugs. A lot, a lot of hugs.

What I want to see is how these men, young and old, would react if they happened to hear someone "soot/suit-ing" at their mother/daughter/sister/aunt/grandmother in the road. I can only imagine that this sort of attention wouldn't be too pleasing. As a matter of fact I can picture this situation leading to CUTLASS ATTACKS.

Yet it's hard to muster such a thought and express it to the perpetrators of such acts when one is walking on the pavement outside Convent's brother school. For some reason, I picture a family with Convent as the refined, sophisticated and progressive older sister, and this College as the marijuana-addicted and somewhat impaired little brother who suffers from Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder and is given to breaking things for no apparent reason, while older sister Convent plays the piano and shakes her head, trying to tune out his antics.

The young men attending this College-- and indeed the young men breathing the air of Trinidad and Tobago-- would do well to learn some basic manners. This would include learning not to laugh off a well-deserved reproach from someone whose rights you have just infringed upon. Or perhaps we should follow the advice of Fifi/Cornbeefgirl/whatever and pass a law that allows educated women over a certain age to possess guns.

Or maybe the solution is that I need to get out of this country.

 

I am pathetic. Look where my righteous anger goes: in a fucking blog.


Posted at 12:00 am by Kaze-Heathen
Flame me. I dare ya.  

Thursday, May 08, 2008
Bathroom Door: The New Garden Fence

This is an open message to those young women in the first to third forms who see fit to foul the bathroom doors with self-degrading and objectifying graffiti.

 

It is my last year in the Convent of Horrors... or now that I'm older and a lot wiser, I should call it the Convent of Wonderful People and Bad Experiences. Our year group is now at the top of the school looking down. Our last day of school ever has come and gone, and I am standing on the verge of graduation. I have lived in this world for eighteen years, but only for the past two have I begun to awaken to its injustices.

It was a form four girl who alerted me to the presence of overwhelming amounts of graffiti on the bathroom doors. I had seen this kind of thing before: the first formers had taken to fantasising about the male members of our student community (who would never consider consenting to any situation involving about a seven-year age difference) and putting these sentiments into words on the door for all to see. Of course they're not very sophisticated words, usually: just things like "Squeaky* is hot", or "Cunthole is the fowinest (?)", or even "I want to eat Pianoman's pizza face". But then you get somewhat more unsavoury remarks such as "Asperger put his penis in me. It was big". Obviously I'm paraphrasing here but I'm sure you understand the type of scrawl that commonly goes on behind bathroom doors.

This graffiti disturbs me greatly. Why are these first formers entertaining such lewd fantasies about their upperclassmen? Why are they trying to gain standing by fabricating lies about the insertion of penises into places where they should never have gone before?

Young ladies, please stop making fools (and/or sex objects-in-training) of yourselves. At such an early stage in your life it cannot be healthy. There are better things in life than Convent boys. And many of these Convent boys quickly become rather arrogant (as if they weren't arrogant enough already by virtue of being male) or completely worthless (I probably shouldn't say anything about this for fear of death threats :P) upon entering an all-female school, as though their testosterone is displaying some sort of immune response to being surrounded with oestrogen. It's very sad, really. All these people need hugs.

Everyone needs more hugs. And less softcore pornography.

I'll probably talk about this more coherently later.

 

 

 

 

*  Obviously not his real name: just a reference to his rather intriguing defining characteristic. Names changed to protect both the innocent and the complete assholes.


Posted at 12:15 am by Kaze-Heathen
Flame me. I dare ya.  

Wednesday, April 09, 2008
ABSOLUTE TERROR

Anyone who has watched Neon Genesis Evangelion should understand the concept of the AT field. If not, I will endeavour to explain it in layman's terms for all the ignorant using the analogy of personal space. Encroachment into your personal space causes you to put up a barrier, which is basically the activation of your AT field. It's what keeps human beings at a reasonable distance from each other, like two hedgehogs who can't get too close for fear of getting poked to death. Without it, all of humankind would just be one big swirling mass of orange juice.

A perfect example of this phenomenon would be the events that occurred on Monday the 7th of this month as I was walking back to school with the Dykemaster Fifi. We had just spent the day denouncing the injustices of the patriarchy, eating Subway, and searching sport-related establishments for examples of sexism in action, such as posters of male tennis players in mid-serve, and male footballers running and kicking, while a lone female tennis player stands posing with her racquet and smiles sexily; or the display of children's bicycles: while girls' bicycles are called "So Sweet" and "Radberry" and have colourful tassels hanging off the handlebars, boys' bikes have names like "Thunder" and such, and are without the said tassels.

So as we walked back to school after this fun outing, we encountered a first-hand example of abominable rudeness and the very patriarchical attitude we had just spent hours deploring. A group of young men in school uniform was approaching in our direction, and there was nothing for it but to pass through it. As we walked alongside the cluster of male youth, crass sexual comments were made, as is to be expected in such cases. But one intrepid fellow decided to take things to the next level. Young sir, while continuing to vocalise his crass sexual remarks, believed it to be in his best interest to grab me by the arm and pull.

Once again I address myself to those of my readers familiar with Neon Genesis Evangelion. Those who watch the series may recall witnessing scenes in which the Eva unit in focus activates its AT field, which manifests itself as a large, sprawling orange barrier of light off which Angels tend to deflect. A similar occurrence took place in this situation, which, needless to say, elicited my turning right around, grabbing away my arm and screaming at the top of my lungs, "DO NOT TOUCH ME". The general reaction to this flare of disapproval was mockery, and the penis-wielders decided to go along their merrry and vulgar way.

In response to this situation I can see Lynne Truss falling unconscious from sheer and overwhelming shock at the blatant disregard of the principles of social distance, and I can safely say that I would react thus had my ire not been provoked more by something else entirely. It wasn't his action that caused my towering outrage. No, ma'am. It was the attitude that motivated the act: the attitude of patriarchal entitlement, the mindset that "I should not do this thing, but as I am entitled to, as I am beyond reproach, and as I will get away with it, I am going to do it anyway". It is that which caused me to fume uncontrollably until I could get into contact with Leaves and tell him so that I could eventually calm down.

Incidents like these cause me to think that Trinidadian men are becoming less and less worthy of anyone's time. Their sense of entitlement is strong. And I've heard now from three different sources that I as a woman simply cannot do anything about it. I am told that I just have to accept that men are going to be assholes, and must comfort myself with the thought that this young man may eventually contract HIV, work at a thankless and low-paying menial job, and marry a promiscuous and uncaring woman.

In the meantime I can only wait impatiently for the hair upon my legs to grow a bit longer, and for the day when I feel like wearing bras again.


Posted at 11:36 pm by Kaze-Heathen
Flame me. I dare ya.  

Sunday, September 02, 2007
CAPE says I can't speak English

I recently got my CAPE unit 1 results. Now, when I was doing the exams, I had a little vision in my head of what the results were going to come out like. Spanish would be simply perfect, because I had no problems whatsoever during the test. The three papers and the oral were like a dream. Communication studies would not be so good, because the exam seemed very different from the past papers. I was asked to design a vegetable product and cocked up spectacularly. English literature was going to be okay, because for once, the poetry question wasn't awful... not like the mock exam when I wrote half an essay, not because I ran out of time, but because there was nothing in my head to put down on the paper. But out of all the exams, French would be the worst nose-up to be seen in history. Paper 3 was not so good. Paper 1 was terrible. Paper 2 was the examination from hell. I was expecting a two, or worse.

Now, here is what actually happened. I went to the school to collect my slip. The first thing I see is Andy in tears being supported by T-Nizzle walking away from the office. Not a reassuring sight. But I tramped reluctantly into the office anyway and collected my slip. I signed for it with a shaking left hand. I did not look at it. I walked outside with it, still folded, not looking at it, not wanting to look at it. T-Nizzle had divested herself of Andy, and was now standing alongside me, so I decided to give her the task of looking at it for me. She unfolded the paper and scrutinised it briefly.

"How is it?" I asked in trepidation.
"It's good," she replied, with a steady expression. "There's something wrong with English, so you shouldn't be upset about it."
"WHAT?!!?"

That was the exchange that took place. After that, I worked up the courage to regard the slip of paper. This is what it said.

Communication Studies    -                One (AAA)
Spanish                            -                One (AAA)
French                             -                One (AAA)
Literatures in English       -                Three (CCC)

Distinctions in everything but my native language. This has never happened to me before. I was awarded the regional distinction of Most Outstanding Humanities Candidate last year, so how do I go from that to getting a three in lit? I think something is extremely rotten in the state of Denmark. Or in the territory of Barbados. That must be it. I think I need to have a little chat with Dr. Harris, because people across the country are complaining of this massive affliction of threes in English literature, even in QRC and the east of the country.

There is also another example of anomalous marking evident in the results of Fifi. On the CAPE unit 1 geography examination for 2007, this student deliberately supplied the wrong answer to every question on the paper. For example:

      What are the possible effects of global warming?
      1. People will get dreadful sunburn.
      2. The death of humanity.

      Give the reason for this phenomenon in nature.
      
Because God said so.

A grade of seven is the lowest achievable grade in the CAPE examination. So why, then, did Fifi miraculously manage to pull out of her ass a grade five?

This and many questions relating to CAPE will just have to go unanswered until the new term starts tomorrow.


Sunday, July 29, 2007
Let's talk about tits (and other things).

Look up there. Do these make you horny? Do they make you uncomfortable? Do you feel that these are damaging you in some way? Have you ever asked yourself why?

I don't know whether it's a result of studying language and literature at advanced level, or just a consequence of getting older, but something has gone "snap" inside my brain recently on the topic of the sexualisation of women's bodies. I'm sure you've heard someone lament, or note sagely, "When a woman takes her clothes off it's sexy; when a man takes his clothes off it's funny." You may substitute "offensive" for "funny" if you so wish. This philosophy is put to great use in advertising. For example, have you ever wanted to purchase a Playstation 3 but were distracted by the HOT WII ASS being smacked in front of your face? Yeah, I thought so. The Burger King "Spongebob No-Pants" ad is another pretty good example. Seems innocent enough, doesn't it? Naked man standing in bathtub, covered in foam with a sponge on his head. I don't think there are a lot of women/girls who secretly flick their beans to visions of that guy. Hell, my mom laughed at it. Now let's just say that it was Mom instead of Dad who was there in the bathtub covered in foam with a sponge on her head. Can you imagine the public outcry? Pornography. That's what it'd be called. Pornography. A naked woman is pornography. A naked man is family comedy. Have you ever seen a scantily-dressed man posed next to a shiny automobile? Have you ever seen a male shaking his moneymaker right up in the camera lens in a music video? Have you ever seen a guy cradling a little doggie between his man-boobies with a big sign on top saying "BIGGER IS BETTER" and then saw that it was a dog-food ad?

This kind of thing doesn't really stop at grown women. It begins in the tween years, disgustingly enough. One Christmas night my brother and I were sitting in the living room of a relative's house, peacefully watching Christmas specials on Cartoon Network. All the children were lying asleep on the poofy armchairs. Suddenly an advertisement comes onto the television in bright psychedelic colour, and we see a bunch of little girls who look no older than eleven shaking their butts in the screen, wearing thongs. Thongs. Thongs with pre-teen-themed designs on them. Now honestly. I got my first thong when I was well into thirteen, and that was only because I asked my mom. I think I was having a VPL problem or something. Another example of sex-pumped girlhood is in a Colombian underwear retail store called Pasarela. My boyfriend and I went to Pasarela in search of cool things. As we stepped inside, we noticed two cardboard cutouts. One of a little boy, the other of a little girl. The little boy had all the lustre and glow of youth in his freckly smiling face as he stood happily and proudly in his navy blue boxer shorts, as if to say, "I'm a big boy now!" The little girl's half-lidded eyes and parted lips over her braces, combined with her seductive hip-shot pose made her seem like some kind of kiddie porn star, who, very unlike the boy, seems to be saying, "Come touch me and go to jail!"

But the main problem I have is society's obsession with BREASTS. I just happened to switch on the TV late one night and there was this woman talking about how she was harassed in a Toys 'R' Us because she was breastfeeding her seven-month-old child in a discreet area. The store employees told her, "You can't do that here. There are children around!" Oh yes! *dramatic whisper* There are CHILDREN around!! I guess it's a good idea to keep children from seeing exposed breasts, because, after all, they are vulgar and vile organs of lust and seduction-- not at all useful for nurturing and keeping children alive, not so? I mean, if they see it they'll just run away and cry. I don't know who decided that it was okay for a man to parade his moobs and not okay for women to walk shirtless, but I'd really like to find out who did and why. I mean, it's not like a man's nipples can't be used for sexual purposes... That's all they're really good for anyway. If the breast tissue of one of the genders had to be considered sexual, I'd say it was men's. I mean, it's not like they have an alternative use!

I bet all the people who know me that read this are probably envisioning the hair in my armpits beginning to grow and lengthen at breakneck speed and my entire bra drawer bursting spontaneously into flames. But I guarantee you that this is not the case. And it will never be the case. I am simply awakening to the strange ways of the world. I suppose all I can do in my situation is wait for the words of my history teacher to come true, when a woman can "walk the streets naked" without fear of reproach.


Friday, March 02, 2007
Sabishii...

For the first time in a long while, I'm going to write an entry that's actually about something, and not a big mash of updates in my life. And I'm going to make sense about it too. And if I offend anyone, I really won't care.

Sometimes I get angry with God. Sometimes I wonder why the friends we make are never the friends we keep. Why people change so drastically in such a short space of time. Why there are friends who are friends when you do them favours. Why they see you unhappy, ask if you're all right, and never speak to you again. What it is that poisons our hearts against those that we truly love, makes us hate them for no reason at all.

It's difficult when the people who surround you, the people who protect you from the attacks you receive every day, the people who save you from yourself, who pull you off the stupid girl you're clawing at to keep you from killing her, dwindle down to one. Clinging onto that one for dear life could have its consequences, couldn't it? Perhaps you could suffocate each other. Then it'd really be down to nothing after all.

You can watch someone you love in pain, see her change, see her take down the pictures of her favourite band, see her disappearing when she should be there, see her sinking her head into the arms of other people. All around you you're hearing the voices of people talking, people who know exactly what's going on. So you wonder why you don't have a clue. Try to sit next to her, to be nice, and she grabs your arm and moves you away. Try to ask her "Why do you hate me so much?" and the words stick right there in your throat, feeling like a nice acidic lump up from your stomach, just waiting to come out through your mouth.

Then it's Carnival. The season for festivity, for vulgarity, for unity with a pack of guntas. Your hands are caked with glitter that flashes blindingly in the sunlight that shines just for the now. From the upper window you can watch a pulsating wave of humanity acting like they've caught the jumbie. They dance, they sing, they jump, they go down the road. All you can do to join in the elation is sprinkle silver glitter on their heads from the window. You sigh, wishing you knew what it was like to be like everybody else.

You can find someone who seems like a near-perfect counter to your personality. You love to listen to him talk; lying with your eyes closed, you immerse yourself in an intriguing story, thinking to yourself, "Yes." It's all good. A good person. So why, after you do him a good turn, does he ignore you for the rest of the day? You watch him go by, but it's like he's looking right through you. And you feel bold and silly for thinking like that. After all, who are you to impose yourself on someone like that? Are you even friends?

You're sitting alone with a glaring white jelly doughnut in front of you. It's become the same thing every day now. Ten minutes of bonding with a jelly doughnut, and not a soul else. People are milling about but for some reason, they just don't notice you and your doughnut together having a good time. You're sipping on a Choc-Nut because they didn't have any Nesquik and staring around for a newspaper. These days, you don't read or watch anything but the news.

Later in the day you're sitting in the grass in front of the statue of the Virgin, wondering why the fountains are never on anymore. You always used to love the fountains when you were younger, but somehow they just stopped. Now the pool is empty and sad-looking. Just like you. Two younger girls walk up to you, bringing a crowd as they approach. They tell you that they come in peace. Something inside you stings. No one wants to be treated like an alien. Frustrated, you say bye-bye to the wasp and the ladybug and walk away.

Today that person looks at you and asks if you're all right. You reply affirmatively, and you think to yourself, those are the only words you're going to say to me today, aren't they?

You're right.

You don't know what to do, so you cry. You sneak into the shower at the end of the row and stand under the head, trying to turn it on, wondering what it would be like to walk around in a soaked uniform. The thing refuses to budge, though, so the only soaking you get is on your face. After a while you give up. Time to keep fighting.

You sigh and smile, thinking, "It's only Monday. Soon it'll be okay."

The nights are getting colder.


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