Your Own Kind Of Girl

Chocolate you’ve got chocolate on your mouth, oh you long to be, like the other girls, your not going to be ‘some other girl’

I didn’t realise how hard it is to grow up as a teenager in our society until I actually had to do it. Nothing can prepare a person like me for that. I knew what it was going to be like, but I didn’t know how much it we going to affect me. I tend to think. A lot. About feminism, about women, about men, about how men treat women, and about how women treat men. It admittedly makes me quite depressed. I dwell on things, things I can’t change, and the fact that I can’t change it makes me even more depressed. Vicious cycle. Not fun.

I have moments of weakness. More than I would like to admit. Seems to be happening more and more lately. It appears to be a constant battle, trying to not get sucked in. Sucked in to doing what other people want you to do, what other people are doing. It is even harder accepting who I am. It doesn’t fit. I don’t fit.

I know I don’t need to fit. But it would be nice sometimes. It would be nice for me to be more accepting of myself. But in order to be accepting of myself it means accepting that I have issues with accepting myself. Vicious cycle number two. Still not fun.

My will power isn’t strong enough to face all of those things every single day by myself. I don’t have to though. I have authors like Virgina Woolf and Sylvia Plath. I have songwriters like Fiona Apple and Natalie Imbruglia. And Clare Bowditch. She wrote the song Your Own Kind Of Girl, a line of which I included at the beginning of this post. I’ll post the rest of the lyrics at the end of this post, if you wish to take a look. I love the song to pieces, although I almost always cry when I listen to it. If you haven’t already, find your Clare Bowditch. It makes the world of difference, I promise.

Chocolate, you’ve got chocolate on your mouth,

oh you long to be, like the other girls, you’re not going to be like other girls,

some other girl

you’ve been reading the magazines,

again,

 comparing your sweet body, to the bodies of natures longest ones

smoothed out with air brush guns

you’ve been wondering when the answer is going to come,

it’s not going to come

till you realise you are fine,

you’re more than enough real world needs real girls to love

themselves enough

 I went on my first diet when I was eight years old, ten eleven twelve, through twenty one

when I came undone,

I thought oh someone tell me that more than this

So I understand thoughts get out of hand,

 I still know all the shame of falling for that same old shit time and time again,

that there’s some simple answer to a complex life, it’s only $29.99

so there they sit high in their towers writing lists about what women need,

with no regard to understanding no real care about the pain they breed,

my hope for you my darling girl be brave bulid your dream in own size

coz otherwise your buying crap that you don’t need to feed a world that will not feed you

that will not feed you

Chocolate, you’ve got chocolate, on your mouth, oh you long to be like the other girls,

 you weren’t born to be some other girl

You’re going to be your own kind of girl.

The Bell Jar

The bell jar was written by Sylvia Plath in 1963. The book isn’t an auto biography, however it certainly contains elements of Sylvia’s life thoughout the book. Sylvia Plath sadly took her own life in 1963.

I loved this book beyond the telling. There is something very different about it, it  is so incredibly honest. And real. I didn’t really understand why some people described it as depressing, which,yes, worries me a little a bit. But it is insight into a very different world. Towards the end of the book she talks about her depression, and then the book moves into her life in an asylum.

I found it interesting discovering the medical practices used only 50 or so years ago, and how different the practices are now. She also mentioned her experiences with shock therapy. Although I have outlined more of the depressing parts of the world, Sylvia Plath managed to write in such an engaging and sometimes witty manner I simply could not put it down.

Meet my grandmother, Emily Gilmore

Some of you would know my complete obsession and admiration for the television show, the Gilmore Girls. I quite literally want to be Lorelai Gilmore. It has always been odd how my grandmother and Emily Gilmore are so incredibly alike. I’m talking twins separated at birth. She has pulled many stunts similar to Emily Gilmore, and has the need to control everything all the time. But, also like Emily Gilmore, she does it because she cares. I hope.

Anyway, I didn’t realize how similar they were until she asked whether there was anything of hers that I would like when she dies. In fact, we had a conversation that resembles the one that Rory and Lorelai had with Emily. Although no one made reference to a Jewish comedian. And I had to bite my tongue to stop laughing at the coincidence. And yes, that took some explaining.

Writing about writing

I have had a ‘writers block’ for the past few months, and have had issues with coming up with something to write about. Since I have had a lot of time on my hands lately, I am trying to come up with blog posts. But for the mean time, I thought I would write about, well, writing.

I love writing. I love the freedom that you have, to create anything that you want. I love how you can convey feelings, and how you can express messages. I love how you can make others think, and how I can make myself think.

I can never really tell good writing from bad. If a writer lacks the basic structure of whatever he or she is writing, it tends to fall apart pretty quickly, but if a writer understands how a piece of writing is supposed to flow, really, I don’t see how anyone could be a bad writer.

I have read quite a few blogs over the past year, none of which I could fault the writing. And I have read quite a few different blogs, not just popular ones. Maybe there are a few common principles that writers have  in common, especially bloggers. Most blogs that I have read are extremely honest. If you decide to write a blog, you may as well give it your all, I guess. I think a lot of people would underestimate the bravery that requires.

My writing isn’t really like that. I tend to write about things, and give my opinion on it, instead of writing about me. I don’t know whether that is because I’m not brave enough or because writing about me would get very dull very quickly. Probably a bit of both.

Writing is very therapeutic, I take great comfort in it. It reminds me that there is something I can do. That is one of the big things I love about writing, is that anyone can do it. Even if they can’t physically write it down, everyone create something very unique with words. You don’t need to be unbelievably talented.

Why I hate New Years Eve

I hate the whole new years tradition. Everything about it. I hate News years eve, new years resolutions, and I even hate the beach, which is where most people in Australia spend new years eve. And yes, you are damn right to say I’m cynical, but I’m allowed to be, sometimes, aren’t I?

The only ‘resolution’ I have for the new year is to get though it. Seems like I’m off to a good start, right? I hate setting goals at the beginning of the year, just because its the beginning of the year. I think, for goals to have a high success rate requires a lot of motivation, and if that motivation is somehow magically discovered at the beginning of the year, and not when you first think of the goal, that there might be a few issues with achieving that goal. Put it plainly, it just isn’t an effective system for me. If it works for you great, if not, then you are like a large percentage of new years eve goal setters.

My hatred of new years eve is a strange one, and I have never identified the exact reason, although I do have a fairly good idea. I seem to have an uncanny ability to  work myself into an alarming panic attack state about the year before ending, and, even worse, the new year beginning. For the past few years I have had incredibly bad years, and now somehow subconsciously, and a little bit consciously, am convinced that it will never get any better. That paralyzing anxiety starts at the beginning of December and doesn’t end till the end of January. I don’t know why. I can’t wait for February though.

Conversations with my 13 year old self…

Can you be a feminist without knowing what a feminist is? This is one question that I have been asking myself over the past few days. On one hand it seems so incredibly obvious that the answer is yes, people can have a belief without actually knowing what humans have decided to classify it as, and that thought made me think that, case closed, I was a feminist before I actually knew what the terminology was.

But, on the other hand, I have learned so much over the past year about many people’s ideas and beliefs about what feminism is, and what it means to them, that the thought of saying that people can be something without discovering what it truly means to them seems most untrue. Until this year, I didn’t really express my thoughts as much as I do now. I acknowledge them a lot more than I did before.

For some reason, giving something a name seems to clarify a lot of things for me, and most people alike. It is kind of like looking at one tiny part of a picture, trying to figure out what it means, and then one day looking up at the rest of the picture, and then it all makes sense.

Knowing that there are in fact people that think the same way as me was really important to me, not because I am afraid of being different, but because you have like minded people you can talk to, and you aren’t trying to make the whole world see things the way you do.

I haven’t been debating this in my head enough to come to a conclusion, so I’ll let you know when I’m done to the final round. In the mean time, thoughts? I would love to know what others think about the subject.

Smile…It confuses people

I recently started a blog with one of my very good friends. We named the blog Smile…it confuses people (as the title implies) I am by no means going to stop writing here, I am just writing at 2 places now. Because I can. And it’s fun. If you want to visit us (which would be greatly appreciated) click here.

My new found love

I have fallen in love with travel. I always knew that I wanted to go places, but I was yet to experience the burning desire of wanting to go to different countries. But now I do and I just want to go. Anywhere, everywhere. I can thank the trip overseas for that.

The trip was amazing. And although many would assume that there would not be many differences between Australia and New Zealand, for me, there actually were quite a few.

The trip certainly was educational. I learned a lot about rugby, a lot about hot steam that comes out of the ground in Taupo, which was truly awesome, by the way, and I also discovered that bogans do not just live in Australia. There are bogans all over the world, which I found most fascinating because I honest to god thought that bogans were a special Australian breed. I was wrong.

The first time I saw wellington, I fell in love with the city, almost immediately. I think that was because it reminded me most of home. That and it is the coolest, weirdest quirky and simply amazing city.

By the end of the trip, though, I began to feel quite home sick, and I discovered that no matter how much I love to travel, I don’t think I will ever be able to live anywhere except Australia. It is home to me.

Sitting on a suitcase- not as stupid as it sounds

I am currently sitting on top of my suit case. One may ask why I would be doing this at this particular moment, and the answer to that is simple. I am a teeny bit of trouble fitting everything into my suitcase. Shouldn’t be a big deal, I’ll figure it out, and sitting on it seems to be compressing my clothes, and is actually helping, so that’s good. So there is a tip for you. The reason that I am sitting on a suitcase is because this time tomorrow, I am going to be in another country, and would quite like to have a different set of clothes. (It is really fun saying that, you should try it sometime.)

This is my first trip out of the country (again, fun!) and I still have a lot to do, I’m not sure how I am finding time to blog, but I am. It is funny how you find time to do things that you really don’t have time to do. Anyway, I am very excited. And I wanted to tell you all about it. I shall write more about my trip, as it happens, and shall document everything until my heart is content, so there will be a few pretty pictures along with my many and varied stories.

Wish me luck at customs, my traveling companions tend to break a sweat and look very guilty and nervous, even though they aren’t guilty, and haven’t done anything wrong. It will be an interesting day.

There is no denying it- money makes the world go around.

Oh wow oh wow oh wow. So this morning I was watching sunrise this morning, while frantically trying to get ready for school, when I saw something very surprising. My little Adelaide had made headlines on a nation wide breakfast show. This doesn’t happen often, because apparently Melbourne and Sydney are way more interesting than Adelaide, which, I guess, would be in fact true. Anyway, unfortunately, Adelaide was making headlines for all the wrong reasons.

The university of Adelaide has recently launched a new program, where you can pay $7600 to reserve your spot, and graduate high school in year 11, and start university in what would have been your final year of high school.

This is unbelievably unfair. Students should be allowed to attend university, regardless of whether their parents have $7600, and they should not get priority. We have taken several steps backwards here, and have gone back in time to when university was only an option for the rich.

So, the bottom line is, there goes everyone’s chances of getting in to Adelaide university, unless you have a large amount of money to back you up. I guess I can cross that university off the list of places I would consider attending. It is times like these that I wish that I was rich a immensely privileged. Maybe in my next lifetime.