Sunsets are such an enchanting cocktail of colours. Burnt oranges, warm reds, majestic purples... it's such a shame that this display of colour isn't quite as attractive on my knees.
If you'd have told me a few years ago that I'd go to dance lessons, I'd have laughed at you; if you'd have told me just one year ago that I'd be breakdancing, I'd have bought you a nice white jacket with extra-long sleeves. Regardless of who's sanity is in question right now, breakdancing is exactly what I found myself doing this Wednesday. Hence the knees.
No, I didn't spin on my head- does spinning on one's head seem like a good way to break (ahem) into it? It was only about six seconds of "light" breakdancing within a whole three to four-minute routine, but it still required strong enough leg, arm and core muscles to defy gravity for a few nail-biting moments. It was tricky. Failed moves were painful. I loved it.
Do you love baking, but don't consider yourself a baker? Love playing the piano, but don't consider yourself a pianist? Love superheroes and pop culture but don't consider yourself a real geek? I dance up to three times a week, not counting at-home practice (in the kitchen where nobody can see me) and I'm going to be performing in a dance show in April, but I still don't consider myself a dancer. Odd, isn't it? Where does one cross over the bridge of affirmation? I am a baker. I am a pianist. I am a geek. I'm not a dancer.
I dance, but I'm not a dancer.
It's not important, though: what's important is that, whatever I am, I have a great time dancing. During those years ago that I would have laughed at the very idea of me dancing, my permanent state of internal being seemed to be a foetal ball of pre-emptive embarrassment. Yes, I performed many times in front of hundreds of people when playing the piano, but music was always the one fantastically strange exception to my painful awkwardness. I've long since taken a few leaves out of the honey badger's* book (apart from the eating cobras and biting people parts), and now if there is something I want to do, I'll give it my best shot, not worrying about if I'll fail miserably or not. And you know what? I may not feel like I'm a dancer, but I can dance just fine after all.
(Although let's see if I say the same thing after the show in April.)
~ ~ ~
* Link included in case this blog entry is found in a hundred years' time** and the meme has long been forgotten
**Not probable but not impossible, seeing as once something's on the internet it's on there for good. Permanently. Forever. Including all of those drunken picture you upload. Sweet dreams.
Showing posts with label being shy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label being shy. Show all posts
Friday, 20 February 2015
Sunday, 7 December 2014
I don't Like Sarcastic People
"It's food," said the guy (a friend of a friend), seeing me dither at the snacks table. I had already eaten before getting to the party, not knowing that there would be food, so I didn't really need anything- I just wanted to be a gracious guest and accept the host's generosity.
"Awesome, I like food," I said a little foolishly, not knowing what to say in reply to that, but feeling like I should say something under his mildly inquisitive gaze. I put a small handful of chips onto my paper plate and moved away to make room for other party-goers.
"Well that looks filling," said the guy, quirking an eyebrow at my meagre portion.
"Haha," I said weakly, and joined the others.
I love sarcasm. Used at the right times it's hilarious, clever and makes people bond.
However, I do not like sarcastic people. Not people that use sarcasm (or I'd be in trouble with myself)- just people that seem to live in a natural state of constant sarcasm. It's like they live to make try to make others feel uncomfortable or stupid.
One of the things that makes me not get on with sarcastic people is that I'm a very literal person. Puns are often wasted on me- and even though as a writer I can make (apparently good) ones up, I don't really find them laugh-out-loud funny. My friends love teasing me because I apparently become indignant really easily, even though I know they're only teasing. It's not as if I have a thin skin; it's just that it takes me one or two beats longer to pick up on social cues than other people.
"Don't worry," my friend said, "he's always really sarcastic." This was after first being introduced to him as her friend from dance- he asked me very seriously what time I was on, and I looked at my watch (I told you I'm really literal).
It made me think of how I have (had?) this old friend who had a razor-sharp tongue. I used to admire her for how forthright she was and how acidic her humour was- but after a few too many years of her using me as a whetstone every now and again, I decided that she wasn't just naturally talented in the art of sarcasm- she was just a bit of an arsehole.
So with this new revelation, perhaps I'll become more sensitive to the way people might interpret the things I'm saying. I believe that when I'm being sarcastic, I'm being so obvious about it that there is no question that I'm joking about something- but maybe there are times I'm not obvious enough and end up hurting someone's feelings. Perhaps we should all use sarcasm a bit less, especially as a way to cover up our own insecurities. Perhaps we should all be more open with each other, so the world will become a better place.
As if.
"Awesome, I like food," I said a little foolishly, not knowing what to say in reply to that, but feeling like I should say something under his mildly inquisitive gaze. I put a small handful of chips onto my paper plate and moved away to make room for other party-goers.
"Well that looks filling," said the guy, quirking an eyebrow at my meagre portion.
"Haha," I said weakly, and joined the others.
I love sarcasm. Used at the right times it's hilarious, clever and makes people bond.
However, I do not like sarcastic people. Not people that use sarcasm (or I'd be in trouble with myself)- just people that seem to live in a natural state of constant sarcasm. It's like they live to make try to make others feel uncomfortable or stupid.
One of the things that makes me not get on with sarcastic people is that I'm a very literal person. Puns are often wasted on me- and even though as a writer I can make (apparently good) ones up, I don't really find them laugh-out-loud funny. My friends love teasing me because I apparently become indignant really easily, even though I know they're only teasing. It's not as if I have a thin skin; it's just that it takes me one or two beats longer to pick up on social cues than other people.
"Don't worry," my friend said, "he's always really sarcastic." This was after first being introduced to him as her friend from dance- he asked me very seriously what time I was on, and I looked at my watch (I told you I'm really literal).
It made me think of how I have (had?) this old friend who had a razor-sharp tongue. I used to admire her for how forthright she was and how acidic her humour was- but after a few too many years of her using me as a whetstone every now and again, I decided that she wasn't just naturally talented in the art of sarcasm- she was just a bit of an arsehole.
So with this new revelation, perhaps I'll become more sensitive to the way people might interpret the things I'm saying. I believe that when I'm being sarcastic, I'm being so obvious about it that there is no question that I'm joking about something- but maybe there are times I'm not obvious enough and end up hurting someone's feelings. Perhaps we should all use sarcasm a bit less, especially as a way to cover up our own insecurities. Perhaps we should all be more open with each other, so the world will become a better place.
As if.
Friday, 22 August 2014
Hey, I Just Met You, and I Am Crazy (Part 2)
I really wonder what on Earth is wrong with me, sometimes.
On Wednesday we were split into small groups during dance class to learn the next part of the choreography. I was hyper from dancing, as usual, and was chatting to another class member with whom I've never spoken with before. At the the end of the class...
"Well it was nice chatting to you!" they said, smiling.
"Whee!!" I skipped off at high speed.
... Told you I fail at meeting new people.
On Wednesday we were split into small groups during dance class to learn the next part of the choreography. I was hyper from dancing, as usual, and was chatting to another class member with whom I've never spoken with before. At the the end of the class...
"Well it was nice chatting to you!" they said, smiling.
"Whee!!" I skipped off at high speed.
... Told you I fail at meeting new people.
Sunday, 10 August 2014
Hey, I Just Met You, and I Am Crazy
"Sometimes, when I have a little left, I like to spray my hands and pretend I'm a robot." - Me talking about decorating cake with edible metallic spray about ten minutes into encountering a new human being.
I'm really bad at meeting new people.
No no, let me rephrase this: I'm really good at pretending like I know what I'm doing when I'm meeting new people at first, but I'm terrible at maintaining any sense of normality throughout the social situation. For instance, I'll start off seeming like a nice, normal person, and then only a few minutes in of talking to someone, sporadic flashes of crazy suddenly burst through the faรงade, like some sort of nervous reflex.
I visited a friend's house to play my first ever game of Dungeons and Dragons a few evenings ago- my character was a new addition to the campaign, and the group had already had two sessions of play. I already knew my friend of course, and I had already met her husband. It was the rest of the group I had to try to convince that I was 'cool'.
I had been talking like a nice, normal person to my friend's brother-in-law when the subject of what I'd used to make the cakes I brought silver came up (I'd sprayed them silver and gold like loot). Like a nice, normal person I explained how I'd done it. My friend's brother in law joked that he might end up looking like the tin man if he got any silver on him. And then, not at all like a nice, normal person, I cracked that remark about pretending like I'm a robot out.
At another point, we started discussing about how strictly we have to stick to our character's alliances and personality, and then ended up with a philosophical statement about how the inevitability of how our characters can and can't act could be a metaphor for life. And hastily and awkwardly added "Or not..."
During the actual game, I was absent-mindedly stacking the die up in a colourful tower. Another member of the group and pointed this out, amused. I felt a silly crooked grin appear on my face. "I like stacking things, stacking things is fun."
*Facepalm*
There were plenty of other moments like these throughout the evening, made worse by the fact that I was also trying to learn the rules of the game on the fly, stay in character and remember everyone's real and in-game names at the same time; and as the game commenced, I felt myself getting quieter and quieter. The group was fantastic- everyone was very welcoming and had the same cheeky, slightly avante-garde sense of humour as I did- but I was terrified of accidentally taking the joke too far, or stepping over the mark as the newbie. I started out being super friendly and slightly hyperactive, but by the end of the evening I must have seem very subdued, and perhaps even a little aloof in my awkwardness.
I used to be so painfully shy I wouldn't be able to talk to new people at all. Now I'm much better at pretending that I'm confident and at toning down my eccentricity to begin with, but this sort of suppression results in my eccentricity forcing its way out like water spewing from a cracking dam. Honestly, I'm not sure which one is worse.
Thankfully, the people that have stuck by me after these awkward first moments are both awesome and just as nuts to boot, so I needn't worry too much. After all, life is all about finding people with the same type of crazy as you, and those people become your friends.
I'm really bad at meeting new people.
No no, let me rephrase this: I'm really good at pretending like I know what I'm doing when I'm meeting new people at first, but I'm terrible at maintaining any sense of normality throughout the social situation. For instance, I'll start off seeming like a nice, normal person, and then only a few minutes in of talking to someone, sporadic flashes of crazy suddenly burst through the faรงade, like some sort of nervous reflex.
I visited a friend's house to play my first ever game of Dungeons and Dragons a few evenings ago- my character was a new addition to the campaign, and the group had already had two sessions of play. I already knew my friend of course, and I had already met her husband. It was the rest of the group I had to try to convince that I was 'cool'.
I had been talking like a nice, normal person to my friend's brother-in-law when the subject of what I'd used to make the cakes I brought silver came up (I'd sprayed them silver and gold like loot). Like a nice, normal person I explained how I'd done it. My friend's brother in law joked that he might end up looking like the tin man if he got any silver on him. And then, not at all like a nice, normal person, I cracked that remark about pretending like I'm a robot out.
At another point, we started discussing about how strictly we have to stick to our character's alliances and personality, and then ended up with a philosophical statement about how the inevitability of how our characters can and can't act could be a metaphor for life. And hastily and awkwardly added "Or not..."
During the actual game, I was absent-mindedly stacking the die up in a colourful tower. Another member of the group and pointed this out, amused. I felt a silly crooked grin appear on my face. "I like stacking things, stacking things is fun."
*Facepalm*
There were plenty of other moments like these throughout the evening, made worse by the fact that I was also trying to learn the rules of the game on the fly, stay in character and remember everyone's real and in-game names at the same time; and as the game commenced, I felt myself getting quieter and quieter. The group was fantastic- everyone was very welcoming and had the same cheeky, slightly avante-garde sense of humour as I did- but I was terrified of accidentally taking the joke too far, or stepping over the mark as the newbie. I started out being super friendly and slightly hyperactive, but by the end of the evening I must have seem very subdued, and perhaps even a little aloof in my awkwardness.
I used to be so painfully shy I wouldn't be able to talk to new people at all. Now I'm much better at pretending that I'm confident and at toning down my eccentricity to begin with, but this sort of suppression results in my eccentricity forcing its way out like water spewing from a cracking dam. Honestly, I'm not sure which one is worse.
Thankfully, the people that have stuck by me after these awkward first moments are both awesome and just as nuts to boot, so I needn't worry too much. After all, life is all about finding people with the same type of crazy as you, and those people become your friends.
Sunday, 25 May 2014
Small Acts of Defiance
I'm a pretty straight-laced kind of gal. Okay, I'm a rather kooky straight-laced kind of gal, but I'm no firestarter or rebel. The wildest thing I've ever done is break into a park at 2am with a couple of friends, a picnic blanket and some snacks and fruit juice to watch a meteorite shower (we crawled through a wall of bushes to get in, all the while worrying about angry badgers).
However, every once in a while, I'll demonstrate my disdain for society's more silly unspoken rules, in my own small way. Breaking into a park on a Saturday night to watch the stars and have a non-alcoholic picnic instead of going clubbing was definitely one of those times (I still believe that secretly no-one actually enjoys clubbing). I had another of those moments yesterday on the way to London Comicon.
I've been looking forward to this year's Comicon for ages, because it's only the second time I would have gone in full cosplay- wig and all. I'm pretty proud of my costume: it took a lot of time and effort to put it together. Originally I was going to go with a group of people, also in costume. However, at the last minute, it transpired that I would now be the only in costume, as a result of either people dropping out or others not finishing their costumes in time.
It also meant I'd be meeting my remaining friends at the venue, and that I'd be travelling alone in costume.
On public transport.
To hell with it. I did it anyway.
Of course, since this is England, no-one made eye contact with me- instead there was a lot of surreptitious setting of smartphones to camera mode around me. And of course, no-one will sit next to you if you look like this:
(Especially if you put on a creeper face).
But to be honest, this is London: there are far stranger folk on the London Underground than a girl dressed as an anime character (Homura Akemi from Madoka Magica, for the record). As I got closer and closer to the venue, I ceased to become the only person in costume on my carriage, anyway.
Still, it does take a bit of guts to do what I did: I did have to remind myself just to have fun since I wasn't hurting anyone, and not to care about people thinking I was weird. Okay, they may be right, but I'm not bad-type weird.
This is an age of of self-image, where you can filter your life to look however you want it to look on the likes of Twitter, Facebook and Instagram. However, it takes a lot more effort to actually *be* the person you want to be in real life, with no filters or editing. The person I want to be isn't afraid to do something just because others might raise a judgemental eyebrow. Sometimes, to be the person you want to be, you just have to stick your tongue out at quirked eyebrows and do it your way.
Like a boss.
However, every once in a while, I'll demonstrate my disdain for society's more silly unspoken rules, in my own small way. Breaking into a park on a Saturday night to watch the stars and have a non-alcoholic picnic instead of going clubbing was definitely one of those times (I still believe that secretly no-one actually enjoys clubbing). I had another of those moments yesterday on the way to London Comicon.
I've been looking forward to this year's Comicon for ages, because it's only the second time I would have gone in full cosplay- wig and all. I'm pretty proud of my costume: it took a lot of time and effort to put it together. Originally I was going to go with a group of people, also in costume. However, at the last minute, it transpired that I would now be the only in costume, as a result of either people dropping out or others not finishing their costumes in time.
It also meant I'd be meeting my remaining friends at the venue, and that I'd be travelling alone in costume.
On public transport.
To hell with it. I did it anyway.
Of course, since this is England, no-one made eye contact with me- instead there was a lot of surreptitious setting of smartphones to camera mode around me. And of course, no-one will sit next to you if you look like this:
(Especially if you put on a creeper face).
But to be honest, this is London: there are far stranger folk on the London Underground than a girl dressed as an anime character (Homura Akemi from Madoka Magica, for the record). As I got closer and closer to the venue, I ceased to become the only person in costume on my carriage, anyway.
Still, it does take a bit of guts to do what I did: I did have to remind myself just to have fun since I wasn't hurting anyone, and not to care about people thinking I was weird. Okay, they may be right, but I'm not bad-type weird.
This is an age of of self-image, where you can filter your life to look however you want it to look on the likes of Twitter, Facebook and Instagram. However, it takes a lot more effort to actually *be* the person you want to be in real life, with no filters or editing. The person I want to be isn't afraid to do something just because others might raise a judgemental eyebrow. Sometimes, to be the person you want to be, you just have to stick your tongue out at quirked eyebrows and do it your way.
Monday, 7 October 2013
I Did It! The Nodojiman Karaoke Contest at Japan Matsuri London
On Saturday I got up there in front of thousands of people and danced and sung Tsukema Tsukeru ('putting on false eyelashes').
It was EPIC.
Even though nerves made my voice go horribly strained and wobbly from trying to escape my throat, I danced by butt off and felt pretty epic. I had an amazing bunch of friends cheering me on, my mum and dad looking on in pride and amusement, and the other amazing contestants lined up behind me cheering and clapping along too. Sadly my voice let me down too much to be in the running for a prize, but I didn't mind at all. The winners were incredible (the winner of the first prize had a truly jaw-dropping voice), and I felt like I had leveled up in life. I got a lot of attention outside the competitions regarding how I'd done my makeup too, which was funny (falsies- of course, rhinestones around my eyes and lots of pink and glitter).
When I posted the video on my Facebook, my friend Ruthie- who I've known since I was at school- commented:
'Wow. had strange moments of remembering how shy you were when we met...and watching this... amazing xxx'
I replied:
'This caterpillar sure turned into one crazy-ass butterfly, huh? xxx'
Honestly, if you'd have known me those thirteen years ago- hell, even as little as three years ago- I'd have never dreamed of getting up on stage in the middle of London and potentially making an utter arse of myself in front of thousands of strangers. Sure I performed all the time on the piano at school concerts all the time and one or two other things, but I always felt secure behind a piano- but even after years of singing, I never liked singing in front of people. But you know what? Saturday felt fantastic. I'm definitely going to practise so I can do a better job next year, if I'm lucky enough to be accepted a second time.
In the meantime, I feel like I'm ready to venture back into music again- I do have a dipABRSM in performance and two additional Grade 8's after all and it would be a shame to let them go to waste... if only I could find a way to squeeze it in between baking, writing and the Mandarin course and Google Analytics course I've recently taken up.
In any case, I turn 26 next weekend. Bring it on, bitches. I'm ready.
It was EPIC.
Even though nerves made my voice go horribly strained and wobbly from trying to escape my throat, I danced by butt off and felt pretty epic. I had an amazing bunch of friends cheering me on, my mum and dad looking on in pride and amusement, and the other amazing contestants lined up behind me cheering and clapping along too. Sadly my voice let me down too much to be in the running for a prize, but I didn't mind at all. The winners were incredible (the winner of the first prize had a truly jaw-dropping voice), and I felt like I had leveled up in life. I got a lot of attention outside the competitions regarding how I'd done my makeup too, which was funny (falsies- of course, rhinestones around my eyes and lots of pink and glitter).
When I posted the video on my Facebook, my friend Ruthie- who I've known since I was at school- commented:
'Wow. had strange moments of remembering how shy you were when we met...and watching this... amazing xxx'
I replied:
'This caterpillar sure turned into one crazy-ass butterfly, huh? xxx'
Honestly, if you'd have known me those thirteen years ago- hell, even as little as three years ago- I'd have never dreamed of getting up on stage in the middle of London and potentially making an utter arse of myself in front of thousands of strangers. Sure I performed all the time on the piano at school concerts all the time and one or two other things, but I always felt secure behind a piano- but even after years of singing, I never liked singing in front of people. But you know what? Saturday felt fantastic. I'm definitely going to practise so I can do a better job next year, if I'm lucky enough to be accepted a second time.
In the meantime, I feel like I'm ready to venture back into music again- I do have a dipABRSM in performance and two additional Grade 8's after all and it would be a shame to let them go to waste... if only I could find a way to squeeze it in between baking, writing and the Mandarin course and Google Analytics course I've recently taken up.
In any case, I turn 26 next weekend. Bring it on, bitches. I'm ready.
Monday, 12 August 2013
Self-Marketing: A Case Study with a Surprise
Everyone has different facets of their personality. At least, people are rarely two-dimensional, and there are lots of things that make you, well, you. However, I believe everyone has a facet that they put out there as their main USP for the world to judge them with. It's hard for me to determine what my own main USP is, but my general geekiness is definitely one that I don't bother to suppress.
This weekend I managed to bust out two almost contrasting sides of myself, one day after another: the Geeky Dorky Girl (GDG), and the slightly rarer Sophisticated City Gal (SCG) . Where GDG has a shy, slightly bashful smile, is hesitant to meet your eyes and will suddenly become comically animated when you talk to her about sci-fi, Super Mario or fantasy, SCG is confident and collected with an easy laugh.
On Friday night I was SCG, and Saturday and Sunday I was GDG.
My friend Siu Yen came to visit me in London over the weekend, and we began by going to a cocktail bar on the Friday night. We both styled ourselves with nice-but-not-too-OTT dresses, tamed and styled our hair to enhance our natural looks (sleek and straight for Siu Yen, boho waves for me), and made our faces up with careful precision (again to suit our natural looks, because neither of us likes the heavy makeup look). Still, we were pretty polished, and looking at our best for the evening.
Siu Yen and I are both slightly dorky and cute but very intelligent, and we share a very similar sense of humour and way of thinking- but Siu Yen is a little more used to dressing up and partying in the more traditional sense than I am- don't get me wrong, I love doing girly stuff, but my time is more often taken up by nerdy things like conventions and visiting places. She seemed pleasantly surprised to see me all dolled up when we met for cocktails with another friend (that's how often I go the extra mile to look nice), and off we went to hit the bar.
The first person to try to strike up a conversation with me at the bar was a man old enough to be my father. I politely chatted with him without encouraging further questions until he moved on to rejoin his group of friends, and I turned to Siu Yen and lamented at how I only ever seem to attract much older guys (it certainly seems to be true, sometimes). However to my personal quiet relief, another guy started chatting to me, and he was more my age. Thank goodness it's not only older men that like the look of me, after all! I mean I know I'm awesome on the inside, but let's face it: in this unjust world, first impressions are everything. In any case, I wasn't interested, and after a few good-natured digs at each other's choices of drinks I re-grouped with my friends.
I couldn't help but wonder what would have happened if I was interested in the second guy, and I thought of how he'd probably run a mile as soon as he found out that beneath my charming, elegant exterior was hiding a slightly awkward supernerd who only properly styles her hair once every few months. I certainly found that the young professional guys during my social experiment pretty much eliminated me as a serious option the more they discovered how dorky I really am. On the other scale of things, when I'm 'off-duty' and just my normal slightly dorky self, there's still a professional,strong-willed and sharp person under that, too.
In any case, it gave me a bit of an always much-needed confidence boost. I often think that older men chat me up because they think I might be easier because I'm not as stunning as other girls in the room (I'm alright-looking, but I'm no classic Ten). It's nice once in a while when I get noticed by someone more my age in any case, even if on a selfish level because I'm not interested back. Anyway, at the end of the evening I took my SCG face off, brushed my immaculate SCG curls back into my hair's usual slightly fluffy shock of waves, and by the next day I'd morphed into GDG- my fallback facet.
I own quite a few nerdy T-shirts. A Big Bang Theory-themed one with the word 'BAZINGA' emblazoned on the front in large writing, a crossover one with some minions from Despicable Me carrying off the TARDIS, more than one My Neighbour Totoro T-shirt, one with the Thundercats logo, a pretty cool 3D effect from from Cyberdog... but my current favourite one is a picture of all the main characters of Marvel's The Avengers as cartoon cats. It's freaking adorable. This is what I wore on Saturday, with some cropped linen trousers and sandals. Not exactly 'hot girl material', but it was very me.
Ironically, I told Siu Yen about my theory about me getting more attention when I'm dressed up, but whenever I'm more like myself, no-one so much as glances in my direction. I noted how although I hate being the centre of attention and quite like vanishing into the crowd, I do feel kind of sad that the exterior of the 'real me' doesn't seem worth a bother. Does that mean that the interior that goes with it isn't worth a bother, too? That is of course ridiculous- but the problem of course is that you have to get to know me over time to realise there's more to me than that. It's the same for everybody- but alas, some people get a visual head start in life.
The irony of that conversation happened when Siu Yen and I went shopping, and I was paying for my stuff at the checkout of a semi-stylish high street store. The guy serving me at the counter glanced at my Avenger Cats T-shirt and quirked an eyebrow at me. I felt a little self-conscious, but stared back politely but defiantly. I assessed him quickly: gelled spiky hair, effortless smart-casual style, a slightly haughty stance- he probably didn't have a nerdy bone in his body.
"Nice shirt," he said, scanning the surprisingly) fashionable top I'd just bought.
"Thanks," I said, thinking he was being slightly sarcastic but deciding to play along as if he were being sincere. "Cats- awesome, Avengers- epic, can't go wrong!"
The guy grinned, and I suddenly felt slightly defensive.
"Sorry," I said, instantly mad at myself for apologising like I always do, "Super-geek."
He looked a little surprised, and then he said something that blew me away.
"Me, too. Marvel, games, Warcraft, love it."
Now I was the one judging a book by its cover. Great. Wait, Warcraft?
"World of Warcraft? I lost like, a good two years of my life to that game! I quit just before the Cataclysm expansion because I got bored of how long it took to get from level 75 to 80."
"Well I've lost eight years and counting, but I really got into it during the Wrath of the Litch King."
"That's when I started playing, but I got sick of waiting for the right gear to drop from bosses."
"I guess I got lucky, now I have three level 90 guys."
"Geeze that's dedication."
I was aware of Siu Yen grinning off to the side, a little non-plussed at the WoW talk having never played it. In the end I paid for my stuff, all the while chatting away about the nerdiest stuff ever, and left grinning like a lunatic. Finally, for once someone noticing the real (well, more genuine) me from the start! It felt amazing. Maybe I don't have to be SCG all the time to be taken seriously as a person. I spent the rest of the day in a great mood.
The next day, I came to the station with Siu Yen to see her off, wearing my BAZINGA top. When we were in the coffee shop, the girl behind the counter pointed to my T-shirt and said to me "amazing top, I LOVE that show! Where did you get it from?"
I was in a great mood that day, too.
So even I am guilty of judging people by the way they present themselves, and there are people out there that will notice me when I'm not all dolled up too. In which case, I should learn to look at people in a different way, and remember that there's more to people than what they put out there on the surface for the world to see. I know this. Everyone knows this. It's just hard to remember sometimes when you're wrapped up in your own world of facets.
This weekend I managed to bust out two almost contrasting sides of myself, one day after another: the Geeky Dorky Girl (GDG), and the slightly rarer Sophisticated City Gal (SCG) . Where GDG has a shy, slightly bashful smile, is hesitant to meet your eyes and will suddenly become comically animated when you talk to her about sci-fi, Super Mario or fantasy, SCG is confident and collected with an easy laugh.
On Friday night I was SCG, and Saturday and Sunday I was GDG.
My friend Siu Yen came to visit me in London over the weekend, and we began by going to a cocktail bar on the Friday night. We both styled ourselves with nice-but-not-too-OTT dresses, tamed and styled our hair to enhance our natural looks (sleek and straight for Siu Yen, boho waves for me), and made our faces up with careful precision (again to suit our natural looks, because neither of us likes the heavy makeup look). Still, we were pretty polished, and looking at our best for the evening.
Siu Yen and I are both slightly dorky and cute but very intelligent, and we share a very similar sense of humour and way of thinking- but Siu Yen is a little more used to dressing up and partying in the more traditional sense than I am- don't get me wrong, I love doing girly stuff, but my time is more often taken up by nerdy things like conventions and visiting places. She seemed pleasantly surprised to see me all dolled up when we met for cocktails with another friend (that's how often I go the extra mile to look nice), and off we went to hit the bar.
The first person to try to strike up a conversation with me at the bar was a man old enough to be my father. I politely chatted with him without encouraging further questions until he moved on to rejoin his group of friends, and I turned to Siu Yen and lamented at how I only ever seem to attract much older guys (it certainly seems to be true, sometimes). However to my personal quiet relief, another guy started chatting to me, and he was more my age. Thank goodness it's not only older men that like the look of me, after all! I mean I know I'm awesome on the inside, but let's face it: in this unjust world, first impressions are everything. In any case, I wasn't interested, and after a few good-natured digs at each other's choices of drinks I re-grouped with my friends.
I couldn't help but wonder what would have happened if I was interested in the second guy, and I thought of how he'd probably run a mile as soon as he found out that beneath my charming, elegant exterior was hiding a slightly awkward supernerd who only properly styles her hair once every few months. I certainly found that the young professional guys during my social experiment pretty much eliminated me as a serious option the more they discovered how dorky I really am. On the other scale of things, when I'm 'off-duty' and just my normal slightly dorky self, there's still a professional,strong-willed and sharp person under that, too.
In any case, it gave me a bit of an always much-needed confidence boost. I often think that older men chat me up because they think I might be easier because I'm not as stunning as other girls in the room (I'm alright-looking, but I'm no classic Ten). It's nice once in a while when I get noticed by someone more my age in any case, even if on a selfish level because I'm not interested back. Anyway, at the end of the evening I took my SCG face off, brushed my immaculate SCG curls back into my hair's usual slightly fluffy shock of waves, and by the next day I'd morphed into GDG- my fallback facet.
I own quite a few nerdy T-shirts. A Big Bang Theory-themed one with the word 'BAZINGA' emblazoned on the front in large writing, a crossover one with some minions from Despicable Me carrying off the TARDIS, more than one My Neighbour Totoro T-shirt, one with the Thundercats logo, a pretty cool 3D effect from from Cyberdog... but my current favourite one is a picture of all the main characters of Marvel's The Avengers as cartoon cats. It's freaking adorable. This is what I wore on Saturday, with some cropped linen trousers and sandals. Not exactly 'hot girl material', but it was very me.
Ironically, I told Siu Yen about my theory about me getting more attention when I'm dressed up, but whenever I'm more like myself, no-one so much as glances in my direction. I noted how although I hate being the centre of attention and quite like vanishing into the crowd, I do feel kind of sad that the exterior of the 'real me' doesn't seem worth a bother. Does that mean that the interior that goes with it isn't worth a bother, too? That is of course ridiculous- but the problem of course is that you have to get to know me over time to realise there's more to me than that. It's the same for everybody- but alas, some people get a visual head start in life.
The irony of that conversation happened when Siu Yen and I went shopping, and I was paying for my stuff at the checkout of a semi-stylish high street store. The guy serving me at the counter glanced at my Avenger Cats T-shirt and quirked an eyebrow at me. I felt a little self-conscious, but stared back politely but defiantly. I assessed him quickly: gelled spiky hair, effortless smart-casual style, a slightly haughty stance- he probably didn't have a nerdy bone in his body.
"Nice shirt," he said, scanning the surprisingly) fashionable top I'd just bought.
"Thanks," I said, thinking he was being slightly sarcastic but deciding to play along as if he were being sincere. "Cats- awesome, Avengers- epic, can't go wrong!"
The guy grinned, and I suddenly felt slightly defensive.
"Sorry," I said, instantly mad at myself for apologising like I always do, "Super-geek."
He looked a little surprised, and then he said something that blew me away.
"Me, too. Marvel, games, Warcraft, love it."
Now I was the one judging a book by its cover. Great. Wait, Warcraft?
"World of Warcraft? I lost like, a good two years of my life to that game! I quit just before the Cataclysm expansion because I got bored of how long it took to get from level 75 to 80."
"Well I've lost eight years and counting, but I really got into it during the Wrath of the Litch King."
"That's when I started playing, but I got sick of waiting for the right gear to drop from bosses."
"I guess I got lucky, now I have three level 90 guys."
"Geeze that's dedication."
I was aware of Siu Yen grinning off to the side, a little non-plussed at the WoW talk having never played it. In the end I paid for my stuff, all the while chatting away about the nerdiest stuff ever, and left grinning like a lunatic. Finally, for once someone noticing the real (well, more genuine) me from the start! It felt amazing. Maybe I don't have to be SCG all the time to be taken seriously as a person. I spent the rest of the day in a great mood.
The next day, I came to the station with Siu Yen to see her off, wearing my BAZINGA top. When we were in the coffee shop, the girl behind the counter pointed to my T-shirt and said to me "amazing top, I LOVE that show! Where did you get it from?"
I was in a great mood that day, too.
So even I am guilty of judging people by the way they present themselves, and there are people out there that will notice me when I'm not all dolled up too. In which case, I should learn to look at people in a different way, and remember that there's more to people than what they put out there on the surface for the world to see. I know this. Everyone knows this. It's just hard to remember sometimes when you're wrapped up in your own world of facets.
Saturday, 3 August 2013
Let Your Conscience be your Guide
I've had a pretty rough week. No, let me rephrase that: I've had a pretty productive week. It's just that it's been so productive, I'm shattered beyond belief, and there's still one more day of non-stopness to go. Every day after work I've been going out on errands and the like, and now it's the weekend I've been even busier running around for people (two consecutive birthdays = a lot of baking of Tashcakes). The only evening I had off in my diary to rest this week was Tuesday.
However, this changed on Monday evening. I was in town after work because I had to commute, my car being in the garage for its MOT. I decided to stop by my favourite bubble tea shop on the way home, because I was tired and fed up, and it was only Monday.
There are lots of bubble tea shops to choose from in Chinatown, but the small shop Cuppacha was the first to sell bubble teas in almost as many flavours as you can get in South West Asia- and even though since then a bigger, more internationally popular bubble tea brand with a bazillion flavours and options has set up shop right on the main street of Chinatown, I've remained loyal to Cuppacha. Why?
Because they smile.
They are always so friendly in Cuppacha, and an attitude like that is becoming tough to find in retail and catering. At the other places, you're not really a human being, just a talking, moving body. And even if all customers are just bodies moving in and out of the shop, a smile really makes a difference.
So I went in to get my tea, ordering a fancy one where the topping comes separately. The guy serving me double-checked that I knew the topping was 50p extra, and I confirmed I knew. I paid for my tea, put my change in the tip jar, picked up my bubble tea and left.
A worried little buzzer went off in my brain as I sat on the train home sipping my bubble tea, and I fished the receipt out of my pocket: I hadn't been charged that extra 50p. I'd effectively stolen a topping! What was I going to do?
Normally, I'd feel a tiny bit guilty but forget about it, knowing a small undercharge wouldn't be missed. However in this case I felt terrible. This little tea shop was beginning to struggle to compete against the bigger company in its prime location, and I felt ridiculously loyal to it for a silly old bubble tea shop. However I always go to it- how on earth could I go back and look them in the eye again knowing I'd stolen toppings?
So the next day, I went two hours out of my way after work to go back and give them the extra 50p.
I know I know, I'm mad.
I felt really embarrassed, but the girl that was serving that day gave the cutest, most delighted laugh I have ever heard and like magic I felt better. Of course, I also bought another bubble tea while I was there (see? Being smiley works).
Don't tell me you've never been in a situation where you feel like you've conned someone, willingly or not, and felt bad afterwards. Was I completely pathetic going back? Probably. But at least my conscience is clear.
~Fin~
However, this changed on Monday evening. I was in town after work because I had to commute, my car being in the garage for its MOT. I decided to stop by my favourite bubble tea shop on the way home, because I was tired and fed up, and it was only Monday.
There are lots of bubble tea shops to choose from in Chinatown, but the small shop Cuppacha was the first to sell bubble teas in almost as many flavours as you can get in South West Asia- and even though since then a bigger, more internationally popular bubble tea brand with a bazillion flavours and options has set up shop right on the main street of Chinatown, I've remained loyal to Cuppacha. Why?
Because they smile.
They are always so friendly in Cuppacha, and an attitude like that is becoming tough to find in retail and catering. At the other places, you're not really a human being, just a talking, moving body. And even if all customers are just bodies moving in and out of the shop, a smile really makes a difference.
So I went in to get my tea, ordering a fancy one where the topping comes separately. The guy serving me double-checked that I knew the topping was 50p extra, and I confirmed I knew. I paid for my tea, put my change in the tip jar, picked up my bubble tea and left.
A worried little buzzer went off in my brain as I sat on the train home sipping my bubble tea, and I fished the receipt out of my pocket: I hadn't been charged that extra 50p. I'd effectively stolen a topping! What was I going to do?
Normally, I'd feel a tiny bit guilty but forget about it, knowing a small undercharge wouldn't be missed. However in this case I felt terrible. This little tea shop was beginning to struggle to compete against the bigger company in its prime location, and I felt ridiculously loyal to it for a silly old bubble tea shop. However I always go to it- how on earth could I go back and look them in the eye again knowing I'd stolen toppings?
So the next day, I went two hours out of my way after work to go back and give them the extra 50p.
I know I know, I'm mad.
I felt really embarrassed, but the girl that was serving that day gave the cutest, most delighted laugh I have ever heard and like magic I felt better. Of course, I also bought another bubble tea while I was there (see? Being smiley works).
Don't tell me you've never been in a situation where you feel like you've conned someone, willingly or not, and felt bad afterwards. Was I completely pathetic going back? Probably. But at least my conscience is clear.
~Fin~
Monday, 8 July 2013
In Which I Conduct a Social Experiment: Part 3- Conclusion
Bloody hell you know how I was bragging about running two miles a little while ago? I thought I was pretty hardcore doing it when it was 22 degrees out. Even more hardcore when I did it in the rain. I just went out in 28 degrees C skin-spitroasting-sun weather and only managed a mile and a half before feeling like a dehydrated jellyfish. Utter fail.
Anyway, yesterday. It was alright! At least I felt happy enough, the guy was indeed fun to talk to as I'd suspected and the hour in the coffee shop before I had to go meet my friend Jules went pretty fast. I made the mistake of choosing a size Massive coffee after a week's coffee prohibition though and spent the whole hour trying to act as little like I was about to be sick and then pass out as possible, but I think I covered it quite well. I think. I've discovered that I have a weird automatic response to feeling slightly awkward in new social situations: shaking people's hands way too often. It's weirdly overly formal, I've got to stop that. In any case, it was fun hearing a bit about what it's like to be on the guy-end of speed dating and the like.
So he texted me his email a little while after, which I guess means I didn't weird him out too much. His email address does have '1337' in it though so there's a small chance I might have been trolled (if you don't know the significance of 1337, look up 'leetspeak' and then bear in mind it has the same trendiness as 'YOLO' nowadays), but that's just me being a smidge overly analytical. Other than that, I didn't spontaneously combust into flames of embarrassment and shame, and neither did he, so I'd mark that as a pretty successful interaction between two human beings, even if that's the last I hear from Daniel-Does-Not-Do-Comicon. Therefore I close this experiment on myself, and anything related to this experiment that may or may not happen afterwards will just be put down to Life. Or possibly Irony. Most likely a bit of both.
Oh, and although I failed at running in the heat today, my training is definitely paying off: when I realised that I'd left my phone in the coffee shop whilst I was waiting for Jules, I sprinted a whole 300 metres back to the coffee shop, where my phone was thankfully waiting for me, and then 300 metres back again to meet my friend on time. It was 30 degrees out. Win. Although the sudden caffeine spike may have helped...
~Fin~
Anyway, yesterday. It was alright! At least I felt happy enough, the guy was indeed fun to talk to as I'd suspected and the hour in the coffee shop before I had to go meet my friend Jules went pretty fast. I made the mistake of choosing a size Massive coffee after a week's coffee prohibition though and spent the whole hour trying to act as little like I was about to be sick and then pass out as possible, but I think I covered it quite well. I think. I've discovered that I have a weird automatic response to feeling slightly awkward in new social situations: shaking people's hands way too often. It's weirdly overly formal, I've got to stop that. In any case, it was fun hearing a bit about what it's like to be on the guy-end of speed dating and the like.
So he texted me his email a little while after, which I guess means I didn't weird him out too much. His email address does have '1337' in it though so there's a small chance I might have been trolled (if you don't know the significance of 1337, look up 'leetspeak' and then bear in mind it has the same trendiness as 'YOLO' nowadays), but that's just me being a smidge overly analytical. Other than that, I didn't spontaneously combust into flames of embarrassment and shame, and neither did he, so I'd mark that as a pretty successful interaction between two human beings, even if that's the last I hear from Daniel-Does-Not-Do-Comicon. Therefore I close this experiment on myself, and anything related to this experiment that may or may not happen afterwards will just be put down to Life. Or possibly Irony. Most likely a bit of both.
Oh, and although I failed at running in the heat today, my training is definitely paying off: when I realised that I'd left my phone in the coffee shop whilst I was waiting for Jules, I sprinted a whole 300 metres back to the coffee shop, where my phone was thankfully waiting for me, and then 300 metres back again to meet my friend on time. It was 30 degrees out. Win. Although the sudden caffeine spike may have helped...
~Fin~
Saturday, 8 June 2013
The Line Between Assertiveness and Rudeness
I bought some dried fruit from a market stall, today. There were two guys running it- one who seemed perfectly amiable who I was chatting to, and another who was quite mouthy in a way it was clear he thought was funny and edgy. As soon as I decided on what to buy, the mouthy guy brusquely took over from his colleague.
"So how much would you like?"
"Just a small handful, please."
The guy behind the stall grabbed a massive fistful of dried mango and stuffed it into the paper bag, to my dismay, and followed with a second fistful. He dumped the full-to-bursting bag onto the scales.
"That'll be eight pounds."
I gave an easy laugh to cover my annoyance. "I said a small handful! I don't think I can eat eight pounds worth. Can you make it about three pounds, please?"
Mouthy guy smirked and removed a small amount of fruit from the bag.
"Five pounds."
"Er- no, I said three pounds."
Mouthy guy grinned again. "Thirty pounds, did you say?"
"Three," I said firmly, trying to control my escaping patience. All I bloody wanted was a bloody bit of fruit. "If I can't eat eight pounds worth of dried fruit, I certainly can't eat thirty pounds worth of it."
"Okay okay, three." He finally took out enough of the bag to make a sensible amount of fruit, and I handed over a five pound note.
"Oh look," Mouthy guy said to his colleague, "She's given us a pound tip each!" The other guy gave a half-hearted 'ha-ha'.
"Sorry," I said, feeling my smile turn a little sharp. "I'm not that generous."
Mouthy guy finally stopped with the badly-constructed banter and handed over the change, and the other trader and I wished each other a nice day. Well, to seem less harsh, I wished a nice day back in both of their general directions. But really I only made eye contact with the less mouthy of the two (hah, take that. It's the small victories...)
Was I rude, by the end? I'm not sure. Not even sure I care. Hell, a few years ago I would have just accepted a gargantuan eight pound bag of fruit in order to avoid confrontation- but that's not me any more. I'm finding more and more that I'm able to take less and less crap. That can only be a good thing, right? I mean I've always wanted to be the kind of person who will treat everyone with equal respect and kindness, but there has to be a line between being kind and being a doormat.
Just last week I was in a bakery and this guy was completely blocking the aisle looking at something, bent over in such a sharp L-shape that his head touched one side of the aisle and his arse the other. My first polite 'excuse me' caused another gentleman to shift out of the way (and he wasn't really in the way to begin with, bless him). But the L-shape guy: nothing. My second polite 'excuse me' elicited no response from him, either.
My final attempt came out as a very acerbic "Excuse me". And by golly he moved- slowly and defiantly, but move he did- but not before giving me the most poisonous look I have ever seen directed at me. I mean it, too: I'm not in the habit of making enemies, but I'm pretty sure I made one, that day.
"Thank you!" I cheerfully trilled in a sugary-sweet voice, and almost danced past.
Again, did I cross the line of assertiveness and go over to the dark side of rudeness? Probably. Do I feel bad about it? No. Does a small part of me quite like this newfound power? Worryingly, yes.
"So how much would you like?"
"Just a small handful, please."
The guy behind the stall grabbed a massive fistful of dried mango and stuffed it into the paper bag, to my dismay, and followed with a second fistful. He dumped the full-to-bursting bag onto the scales.
"That'll be eight pounds."
I gave an easy laugh to cover my annoyance. "I said a small handful! I don't think I can eat eight pounds worth. Can you make it about three pounds, please?"
Mouthy guy smirked and removed a small amount of fruit from the bag.
"Five pounds."
"Er- no, I said three pounds."
Mouthy guy grinned again. "Thirty pounds, did you say?"
"Three," I said firmly, trying to control my escaping patience. All I bloody wanted was a bloody bit of fruit. "If I can't eat eight pounds worth of dried fruit, I certainly can't eat thirty pounds worth of it."
"Okay okay, three." He finally took out enough of the bag to make a sensible amount of fruit, and I handed over a five pound note.
"Oh look," Mouthy guy said to his colleague, "She's given us a pound tip each!" The other guy gave a half-hearted 'ha-ha'.
"Sorry," I said, feeling my smile turn a little sharp. "I'm not that generous."
Mouthy guy finally stopped with the badly-constructed banter and handed over the change, and the other trader and I wished each other a nice day. Well, to seem less harsh, I wished a nice day back in both of their general directions. But really I only made eye contact with the less mouthy of the two (hah, take that. It's the small victories...)
Was I rude, by the end? I'm not sure. Not even sure I care. Hell, a few years ago I would have just accepted a gargantuan eight pound bag of fruit in order to avoid confrontation- but that's not me any more. I'm finding more and more that I'm able to take less and less crap. That can only be a good thing, right? I mean I've always wanted to be the kind of person who will treat everyone with equal respect and kindness, but there has to be a line between being kind and being a doormat.
Just last week I was in a bakery and this guy was completely blocking the aisle looking at something, bent over in such a sharp L-shape that his head touched one side of the aisle and his arse the other. My first polite 'excuse me' caused another gentleman to shift out of the way (and he wasn't really in the way to begin with, bless him). But the L-shape guy: nothing. My second polite 'excuse me' elicited no response from him, either.
My final attempt came out as a very acerbic "Excuse me". And by golly he moved- slowly and defiantly, but move he did- but not before giving me the most poisonous look I have ever seen directed at me. I mean it, too: I'm not in the habit of making enemies, but I'm pretty sure I made one, that day.
"Thank you!" I cheerfully trilled in a sugary-sweet voice, and almost danced past.
Again, did I cross the line of assertiveness and go over to the dark side of rudeness? Probably. Do I feel bad about it? No. Does a small part of me quite like this newfound power? Worryingly, yes.
Monday, 31 December 2012
Serious Business: Mouse to Manticore in Eight Years
This is the story of my crystal necklace.
Everyone who knows me knows I wear a single AB Swarovski crystal drop on a silver chain. Everyone who knows me well enough knows that I wear it every day, and everyone who knows me better knows to avoid buying me jewellery because I've worn it every day since I bought it and little else. Some people know that I've worn it for eight years, from when I bought it in Venice.
The only thing about the necklace that has stayed the same over the years is the crystal: the chain has been replaced about five times, the clasp about six; I've even replaced the bail that loops the crystal to the chain. Even though the only surviving part of the original necklace is the crystal, I still view it as the same necklace. Like my watch (another item that's almost like a part of me), I put it on every morning on autopilot, not really thinking about it.
On Boxing Day, it went missing. I haven't seen it since.
I remember wearing it on Christmas Day, and taking it off with my watch when every time I opened the oven to check on my roast it heated up and burned me. I remember putting it on the coffee table with my watch. I don't remember putting either back on, nor taking either off before bedtime as usual, nor putting both on in the morning as usual. All I know is that when I came back from the shops on Boxing Day afternoon, I was wearing my watch, but my neck was bare.
I bought it in 2004, during my school's music school tour to Venice (I sang in the choir and played the flute in two other groups). We had a free day before a concert in the evening and were milling around the shops and markets of the city. In a shop full of trinkets and tat, there was a small stand on a table next to the checkout with a few odd necklaces going for a couple of Euros hanging off of it. Like a magpie, my eyes instantly caught the rainbow sparkliness of the single drop crystal necklace, and I bought it. I've always liked the rainbow effect of AB crystals (probably because my birthstone is opal) and around that time I was constantly wearing cubic AB crystal earrings, so this necklace matched perfectly. I ended up wearing the necklace long after I stopped wearing those earrings.
It was also around that time I had stopped becoming almost cripplingly shy and only a little bit shy. I had gone through the first few years of secondary school as quiet as a mouse, swinging from being unable to make friends to being in the middle of upsetting situations when I eventually did make them; more upsetting than your average teenager has to face (which can be tricky enough as it is). Now I was beginning to find my roar. Okay, so it was a quiet, almost apologetic roar, but still a roar. By 2004, which was when I was sitting my GCSE exams, I was talking to people more often. I think my necklace became a kind of amulet, almost like a lucky charm (even though I don't believe in them): something I subconsciously associated with this time of life and the gradual change in me. It symbolised that the bad and sad times were over, and that I was slowly but surely on my way up in the world: and so I wore it every day, only hanging it up to rest when ill, asleep or in costume.
I've lost it once before- it was about three years ago when I was still at university. I was heartbroken, and searched high and low for it. It turned up later in the day tangled at the back of my hair: the chain had snapped, and it and the crystal had luckily snarled themselves in my curls. I knew deep down I'd find it, though- quite often when I lose something I'll feel panicked, but if I'm liable to find it again I'll know at the back of my mind.
This time was different though: as soon as I went to twirl the crystal around my fingers- a habit I've picked up after the numerous years, and probably a contributing factor to my loss- and found it missing, I knew immediately: that was that. Maybe that's why although I was upset- of course I was upset- I wasn't heartbroken this time. I'd already accepted that one day I'd lose it forever when the chain finally snapped whilst I was out.
What has this got to do with the New Year? Well, it seems fitting to me that I should lose my amulet, my symbol of the New Me, days before a new year, and in particular this year- 2012 is the year of extreme ups and downs: my first heartbreak/ breakup with my first boyfriend (well... technically the second, but I don't really count the two months we got back together for after the first breakup); one of my closest friends getting married to another good friend; losing a total of two stone and feeling fantastic; the months of struggle to find a job; finding a job; going to Australia... many things and many more that have shaped me significantly yet again. I suppose I have changed again, because I also felt a weird relief at losing my necklace- there's no longer any sense of automatic obligation every morning to don my amulet. To sound incredibly melodramatic, I'm free from my past: because even though my necklace was a symbol of me changing for the better, it was also a symbol of the mud I had to wade through to get to that point.
I'm still nerdy and geeky, still a tad socially awkward* and still, at times, a smidge on the shy side (not always though- recently I went up to a total stranger in town to ask him why he was wearing a Banana Man costume to advertise online dating- hey, I really had to know**), but no longer a mouse.
So. New year, new necklace? I'm not going to get an exact replacement, and I don't think I'll ever have something that I wear day in, day out again. A shame opals are so pricey... I'd rather like a faceted Ethiopian welo opal (hint hint, for any randomly generous and wealthy passing reader! A girl can dream, right?) In the meantime, I do need a new everyday necklace I suppose. My magpie senses are tingling...
A very happy new year to you all- here's to all the changes that make us, us. Let's made 2013 amazing!
* As is apparent in almost every post in this blog- although I have a feeling being British has a lot to do with it, too
** He told me miserably, 'My manager told me it'd attract more attention.' Well... I suppose I can't fault that.
Everyone who knows me knows I wear a single AB Swarovski crystal drop on a silver chain. Everyone who knows me well enough knows that I wear it every day, and everyone who knows me better knows to avoid buying me jewellery because I've worn it every day since I bought it and little else. Some people know that I've worn it for eight years, from when I bought it in Venice.
The only thing about the necklace that has stayed the same over the years is the crystal: the chain has been replaced about five times, the clasp about six; I've even replaced the bail that loops the crystal to the chain. Even though the only surviving part of the original necklace is the crystal, I still view it as the same necklace. Like my watch (another item that's almost like a part of me), I put it on every morning on autopilot, not really thinking about it.
On Boxing Day, it went missing. I haven't seen it since.
I remember wearing it on Christmas Day, and taking it off with my watch when every time I opened the oven to check on my roast it heated up and burned me. I remember putting it on the coffee table with my watch. I don't remember putting either back on, nor taking either off before bedtime as usual, nor putting both on in the morning as usual. All I know is that when I came back from the shops on Boxing Day afternoon, I was wearing my watch, but my neck was bare.
I bought it in 2004, during my school's music school tour to Venice (I sang in the choir and played the flute in two other groups). We had a free day before a concert in the evening and were milling around the shops and markets of the city. In a shop full of trinkets and tat, there was a small stand on a table next to the checkout with a few odd necklaces going for a couple of Euros hanging off of it. Like a magpie, my eyes instantly caught the rainbow sparkliness of the single drop crystal necklace, and I bought it. I've always liked the rainbow effect of AB crystals (probably because my birthstone is opal) and around that time I was constantly wearing cubic AB crystal earrings, so this necklace matched perfectly. I ended up wearing the necklace long after I stopped wearing those earrings.
It was also around that time I had stopped becoming almost cripplingly shy and only a little bit shy. I had gone through the first few years of secondary school as quiet as a mouse, swinging from being unable to make friends to being in the middle of upsetting situations when I eventually did make them; more upsetting than your average teenager has to face (which can be tricky enough as it is). Now I was beginning to find my roar. Okay, so it was a quiet, almost apologetic roar, but still a roar. By 2004, which was when I was sitting my GCSE exams, I was talking to people more often. I think my necklace became a kind of amulet, almost like a lucky charm (even though I don't believe in them): something I subconsciously associated with this time of life and the gradual change in me. It symbolised that the bad and sad times were over, and that I was slowly but surely on my way up in the world: and so I wore it every day, only hanging it up to rest when ill, asleep or in costume.
I've lost it once before- it was about three years ago when I was still at university. I was heartbroken, and searched high and low for it. It turned up later in the day tangled at the back of my hair: the chain had snapped, and it and the crystal had luckily snarled themselves in my curls. I knew deep down I'd find it, though- quite often when I lose something I'll feel panicked, but if I'm liable to find it again I'll know at the back of my mind.
This time was different though: as soon as I went to twirl the crystal around my fingers- a habit I've picked up after the numerous years, and probably a contributing factor to my loss- and found it missing, I knew immediately: that was that. Maybe that's why although I was upset- of course I was upset- I wasn't heartbroken this time. I'd already accepted that one day I'd lose it forever when the chain finally snapped whilst I was out.
What has this got to do with the New Year? Well, it seems fitting to me that I should lose my amulet, my symbol of the New Me, days before a new year, and in particular this year- 2012 is the year of extreme ups and downs: my first heartbreak/ breakup with my first boyfriend (well... technically the second, but I don't really count the two months we got back together for after the first breakup); one of my closest friends getting married to another good friend; losing a total of two stone and feeling fantastic; the months of struggle to find a job; finding a job; going to Australia... many things and many more that have shaped me significantly yet again. I suppose I have changed again, because I also felt a weird relief at losing my necklace- there's no longer any sense of automatic obligation every morning to don my amulet. To sound incredibly melodramatic, I'm free from my past: because even though my necklace was a symbol of me changing for the better, it was also a symbol of the mud I had to wade through to get to that point.
I'm still nerdy and geeky, still a tad socially awkward* and still, at times, a smidge on the shy side (not always though- recently I went up to a total stranger in town to ask him why he was wearing a Banana Man costume to advertise online dating- hey, I really had to know**), but no longer a mouse.
So. New year, new necklace? I'm not going to get an exact replacement, and I don't think I'll ever have something that I wear day in, day out again. A shame opals are so pricey... I'd rather like a faceted Ethiopian welo opal (hint hint, for any randomly generous and wealthy passing reader! A girl can dream, right?) In the meantime, I do need a new everyday necklace I suppose. My magpie senses are tingling...
A very happy new year to you all- here's to all the changes that make us, us. Let's made 2013 amazing!
* As is apparent in almost every post in this blog- although I have a feeling being British has a lot to do with it, too
** He told me miserably, 'My manager told me it'd attract more attention.' Well... I suppose I can't fault that.
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