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Wednesday, 23 December 2015

My Conclusion of 2015

It was a big year. Then again, when is it never a 'big year'?

2014 was a year of ambivalence; of feeling happy, free and excited yet depressed, sad and hopeless. And although it was a year where so much had happened, where I began to really find myself and made relationships that have continued to influence and have an impact on my life, I'm glad 2015 was not the same.

The residue of how I felt in 2014 still followed me into the new year, affecting me and my actions quite negatively but with the help of my partner, the thoughts that used to dwell in my mind have gone and contentment has once again found solitude in my heart.
2015 is the year where I got a taste of money, as well as the real life. It's also the year where I found that an office job is not for me, and where I truly began to take my writings seriously. It's the year where I found myself even more, where I can be happy and actually enjoy being on my own without the help of alcohol or other substances.

It was a year of reflection; reflection of some of the most significant events in my entire life where I have then learnt not only so much about myself, but of my friends and family. Some of the perceptions I was leading of particular people have now been questioned and I see things so differently but have found understanding too.

Overall, it was a challenging year, and not at all how I had expected. I expected clubbing every weekend, taking advantage of being an eighteen year old girl, of getting up to mischief and being reckless but instead I grew a hell of a lot up. I took to my thoughts and trusted my instincts and in conclusion, have reflected, learnt and comprehended so much.

I have no idea what to expect for next year. No one ever can. Things can change as quickly as February. But that's the exciting part.
I used to hate change. No, despised it. I like to have expectations and I like my expectations met and if there was any real challenge I had to face this year, it was accepting disappointment and learning to not get my hopes up.

But I realise now that's all okay. Something else came out of it all. And I'm sure next year will be the same.

My sister and I


Monday, 14 December 2015

Social Experiment #1

Often I come up with odd and almost non-purposeful theories of society and people or other random aspects of the world, and I have decided to take my mere theories that come to me on bus rides into writing. A few theories I have received include 'Do the toys/games children play the most provide hints to the type of person/career they choose to have?' or 'Is the reason mermaids avoid shark attacks because they dwell in the depths of the ocean and sharks tend to feast near the surface?'

This theory I will however discuss is: do households that display many family photos around the house tend to be unhappier than households who don't?

I came to this idea when I began to wonder why my partner's house held no photos on display. This was strange compared to mine where photographs were literally framed everywhere, from the lounge rooms, hallways, kitchen, dining room and bar. Having photos of your family around the house is a nromal thing for me. Wouldn't my partner's family want to reminisce of the past and experiences their family has shared?
Then again, their house is perhaps the most positive and happy household I have ever come across. Communication is an important thing and discussions in the evening around the kitchen was an actually enjoyable past time. Whereas in my household, dinner was eaten in silence apart from the loud murmurs of the Channel 9 News in the background. Every member in my household also keeps to themselves and has their own room or part of the house they dwell, and diner aside, crossing paths and interacting with each other (apart from yelling or fighting about something) is not common.

Could photographs being displayed throughout the house somehow contribute to this? Probably not, but I found the tendency of this observation quite high. Perhaps it is because the photographs are fake, mostly taken in professional manners or 'family photo' styles and not 'in-the-moment'. The photographs in my house are not showing an experience but are showing people instead. Or perhaps it is because the display of photographs around the house encourages people to constantly look back, not forward, or in the moment? The photographs all display a happy family but then why do I feel we are the furthest thing from it?

My mothers house, where I don't live, also has only a few photographs around the house. There being a number of 5 children in that house means it is often hectic and extremely loud, with yelling and crying in the background but laughing too. Most of the time everyone is happy, the kids play and associate with each other and going there from my house where I live with my nanna and pop, is a much more pleasant experience, although a hectic one at that.

This theory also applied for my best friend's house where she no longer lives. Her house too, displayed many photographs of a family I honestly could not recognise. Her household was very negative, emotionally, mentally and physically abusive (at times). Her house was definitely worse than mine and if I had not been so close to her to witness these sad and negative occasions, I would have mistaken them for the family presented on their walls.

I'll continue to observe and add to this post of any more of my findings. Feel free to comment yours and or to share your own theory.

Thursday, 10 December 2015

The Key to Relationships (in my opinion)

I don't know the secrets to relationships. I don't really know how to impress a guy or get them to stay around. I'm as blind as anyone else, trying to avoid hidden land mines or bottomless pits. Besides, every relationship is different.

But if I have learned anything, and this I truly believe, that the hardest relationships are the ones that begin perfectly. They rarely last. 

Because let's face it, perfection isn't real. It's a facade people put on to impress one another. And at first it's fine. 'Perfect' should I say. But what happens when the 'cupcake phase' ends? What happens when people get lazy and their facade starts to slip? Or when their flaws are revealed or it starts getting tough? The realisation that your relationship or that person wasn't as perfect as you were lead to believe can often hurt more than the break up itself. These relationships, as perfect as they seemed are a lie. 

I'm not sure how to avoid this. Sometimes people can't help falling in love so irrationally. Perhaps that is where our walls come in; to protect us from the illusion that compels us. 

My best bet would be to take things slow. Get to know the good and the bad of the person you're giving your heart to. Because relationships aren't just us about seeing only the good in each other, it's about seeing the bad and loving them anyway. 

Now, I think I'll talk this as an opportunity to appreciate my other half. We weren't perfect for each other in the beginning, not at all. We clashed, annoyed each other and sometimes argued. But we saw potential in each other for something great. 23 months later we have grown, 'evolved' you might say. We become more 'perfect' for each other as times goes on. Through the good and the bad, his asshole moments and my bitchy mood swings. 

I'm still blind, avoiding land mines and bottomless pits, but I know if I did blow up or fall into darkness, he'll be there, catching me or picking up my pieces, no matter how ugly it got. And this I believe is key.

Thursday, 26 November 2015

Understanding


We lied in the ocean, floating on the still water while the sun shined hard on us overhead. I could feel my shoulders and cheeks beginning to burn but I didn’t care. You laughed beside me as I struggled to keep afloat while you did with ease. Then we both floated, holding hands with our eyes closed, appreciating the feeling of nothingness the ocean gave us, where we were weightless, and everything in our lives were too.

I tilted my head up, saltwater washing over my neck and chin as I looked at you. You sensed my gaze, opened your eyes and smiled at me, your big brown eyes squinting out the sunlight and your white teeth contrasting brightly against your olive skin. I smiled back with a slight giggle before returning to my thoughts and the bright red behind my eye lids. I squeezed your hand a bit tighter. I remember I didn’t want to let go. I wanted to stay there and be weightless with you forever. Under the harsh sun and in the salty water. Sand filling in our bikinis and sunburn covering our limbs.  Nothing mattered with you.

I remember sitting in the car with you when night had come. This was almost a routine for us; you in the driver’s seat and me in the passenger, going through music and instigating a sing-along session. Sometimes you were sad. Sometimes so was I. You’d park the car in the dark, where no one else was around. We’d talk about our day. Sometimes we’d talk about why we were sad. Put it into the open. Then we’d fill smoke into our lungs, talk about the ‘what ifs’ and the wonders of the world we tried so desperately to understand. We’d try to figure out people as well as we figured out each other. Perhaps we were scared of the potential other people had. We were scared they would be like the others we had known, who let us down. Perhaps if we understood everyone, how they thought, why they felt things and why they did what they did, it wouldn’t happen again. We would be prepared. We would understand and we would know. But we didn’t know this at the time of course. Perhaps you never did. These conversations that drifted into the early hours of the morning were associated with laughs, with light humor, with excitement. Then we’d dance in the street, laughing without a care in the world. We would laugh about things until our stomachs ached and my jaw was sore. We would forget what we were trying so hard to understand and get away from. I loved our nights like these.

Then I remember drifting away, finding another distraction that could love me in a different way that you couldn’t. Who gave me closure to the insecurities that I tried to suppress. And my grip on you begun to loosen, and our nights of trying to understand became less and less, and my need to escape began to dissolve.

I’ve had my heart broken before. It hurts. I know. So have you. But I never considered the fact that I had broken yours.

Wednesday, 7 October 2015

Week Away

My boyfriend and I booked time off from work for holidays. For months we couldn't decide whether to go to Melbourne or Bali eventually we decided to go somewhere a little close to home; Pemberton.



In case you weren't sure where Pemberton is located, please see the above map.

Pemberton is a very small town surrounded my huge forests consisting of the famous Karri trees, which are these massive and magnificent trees that grow up to 70 metres tall. We went during late July, which was the coldest time to go but also probably the loveliest, because due to the wet and cold weather, it made the surroundings even more green and for that week I felt like I was in an enchanted forest. 

It was a four hour drive, that was well worth it, and we stayed for four days at the Rainbow Trail Chalets (room below).

The room was so lovely, up high on stilts, and outside us was nothing but forest. Every morning while we drank our coffee on the balcony wearing a thousand layers of clothing, three or four parakeet's would sit on the rail and I'd feed them pieces of bread. 
Sipping wine from our balcony in the evening

On the first day we went horse riding at Tails of the Western Trail Ranch, for $80 per person. This included riding your own horse with a group of others for a two hour trail ride through the amazing forests, exploring both tight and large trails, up hill and down hill. I had never ridden a horse before so this was a really exciting and scary experience for myself. I had to walk my horse (his name was Mio) to the appropriate area to hop on and I was literally whispering to him, asking him to go easy on me, and thankfully he did. 

It was a great experience. The leader told us the appropriate ways to stop, turn and during my ride I even broke into a gallop several times which was an amazing personal achievement for myself. 



My only regret was organising the horse ride for the first day and leaving me practically disabled for the rest of our trip. Totally worth it though.

On the second day we explored the Karri forests and the famous Gloucester tree that you can actually climb. There is also a radio station available for when you are in the area, which tells you the history and significance of these forests to the Aboriginal people which was actually really quite interesting. 


The above was taken of the Gloucester tree while I was on my way down, trying not to hyperventilate and pass out. One of my biggest fears is heights and it took me almost thirty minutes just to reach the top. My boyfriend was so amazing though, staying right behind me, giving me words of encouragement and not letting me go back down when I began to cry (which I am appreciative of now because of the amazing view when you reach the top). 
It is so absolutely terrifying though and all you have is metal pegs poking out from the tree, and some wire surrounding the sides. I couldn't help but feel like someone could so easily slip through but my boyfriend reassured my fears by saying, "you're bound to grab on something if you do". Luckily my reflexes and grabbing-on-to-something-skills was not put to the test. 


Above is a terribly taken Panorama of the view from the Gloucester tree. In total the Gloucester tree is 61 metres tall above sea level and they were built in the early 1900's as fire lookouts. If you do ever climb the Gloucester tree and are in need of a slightly bigger challenge, 15 minutes outside of Pemberton is the Dave Evans Bicentennial Tree that you can climb and the lookout is located at 75 metres above sea level.

On our third and last full day in town, we spent it driving around Pemberton and its surrounds, having a relaxed and laid back day, appreciating the setting before sadly driving four hours back home the following morning.

We went four wheel driving around Callcup and saw the river meeting the sea, creating this strange red colour in the ocean and visited the Beedalup falls (below). 



Overall, a great experience. It was no Bali holiday consisting of merely sipping cocktails by the beach, but it was a well worth adventure.

Below I have also attached a video summarising our trip that I made in the evenings due to lack of wifi and insufficient amount of movies. 












Tuesday, 6 October 2015

Tesselate

Hi guys, so after seven years of starting and sometimes completing a hundred short stories, I wrote a novel. 

Below you can find the first chapter of Tesselate


Chapter One
Cecilia
The water had gone cold. Cecilia lied still in the bathtub, all but her face enveloped by the lukewarm water. Her loose pink floral pyjama shorts floated around her slim thighs and her transparent white cotton shirt revealed her baby blue bra. Her eyes had become heavy as she stared at the ceiling, her eyes finding and focussing on the worn grey paint that had begun to slowly peel away in the corners revealing cracked plaster.
An empty wine glass sat on the window sill just above the tub, after consuming 7 filled-to-the-brim glasses from her stash of half empty bottles of left over alcohol and wine from parties. She hid them in the laundry closet on the top shelf, behind the box of old video games and the Nintendo, where her mother was far too short to ever reach or bother to look.
Blotches of orange light from the setting sun danced on the frosted glass window, seeping through the leaves of the garden beside the house. Her mother would be home soon, she thought. But not soon enough.
She waited for the unconsciousness to take her. She was dizzy, but she wondered if it was just the alcohol and not the fact she had just swallowed half a packet of Nurofen and 11 of her mother’s sleeping pills.
Cecilia began to wonder how it had come to this. She used to be so happy. How had she become so pathetically weak?
She guessed she had always been weak. She had always struggled talking to people, her face lighting up like a flare when she met others; even through the layer of makeup pasted on her skin. She avoided arguments and held a poker face when she would overhear the other kids talking about her in school, terrified of confrontation.  She was even weak against herself and her thoughts that would scratch and tear at her; completely vulnerable to her own mind. But this was probably the strongest thing she had ever done.
She was ready. 
She thought about how her mother might feel. Cecilia knew she’d be sad, possibly even heartbroken. She would probably try to drag her out of the tub, hold on to her soaked lifeless body and scream for the neighbours. She felt bad for that. Poor mum, she thought.
She thought about what her father would think. Perhaps he would be regretful and apologise for all the times he had failed. She hoped so. Fuck dad, she thought. 
Then she thought about what he might say. Probably nothing at all come to think of it. He would probably reply to the news with nothing more than a slight wince - emphasis on the ‘slight’. He probably wouldn’t even talk about it. Probably wouldn’t even show up to her funeral.
“And fuck you”, she whispered, still staring at the cracked and peeling paint, half expecting the words to give her some sort of major relief, hope even, but if anything they left her breathless; any action a huge struggle now.
She could feel it. Her stomach began to churn and an ache was coming along. She thought she’d might be sick which would be lovely wouldn’t it – being found in a bath filled with the contents of your own stomach? Then she wondered why she had chosen the bath of all places anyway.
Perhaps it was because it was the place she would always find herself sitting in to get away, water or no water, writing in her journal and trying to make sense of everything. Perhaps it was because she just generally liked baths; they always made her feel better. Her mum would always tell her to have a bath when she felt sick. Her mother was right on that note.
She considered sitting up and aiming for the sink but all her energy had gone and her arm felt like a 20 kilo spaghetti noodle. Her eyes felt just as bad as they fought her to go to sleep. She closed them focussing on the red and black specs until she slipped into a deep unconscious almost immediately.
She had lived her last months the way she would die; alone. 
Molly
It was three in the afternoon, smoke hung like a cloud beneath the ceiling of Molly’s bedroom, despite her attempts at aiming out the window. Her back rested on the black frame of her queen sized bed, blankets ruffled and clothes lying in every direction possible, even draping off the shelves that hung high above her head.
She wore a large white men’s shirt – who’s shirt it was she wasn’t sure, that was more of a dress on her, purple ruffled pyjama shorts and last night’s make up. She had just woken and had yet to check the time, assuming it was only 10 in the morning; sure that she still had long to make plans for the day.
She held her make-shift plastic bottle bong that had begun to turn brown and the inner walls were covered with green debris. She tapped on it lightly with her index finger to the beat of the soft music while she refilled the cone piece with more weed, humming along.
Her mother was at work, seeing as it was a weekday, and Molly spent most of her days ‘looking for a job’ and making plans for the evening. Last night she had driven to her friend Cody’s, who was a beautiful girl thatt lived by the beach in a huge two storey house and tended to throw parties spontaneously, which was how last night had concluded. Most of the people in the ‘group’ also had that habit. There was no living slow with them – no time to stop and think. That’s how Molly had liked it.
After concluding that Molly was more than high enough to start her day, she hopped out of bed, stepped through her large room avoiding the endless amounts of rubbish and more clothes that lied on the wooden floors and skipped out and through the hall.
Molly had a very long hallway. A long hall was one that lasted perhaps more than 4 metres but Molly’s hall ran from one side of the house to the other, the doors lining it consisted of two doorways to the rest of the house, four bedrooms, two bathrooms, a store room, a laundry, a toilet and an oversized cupboard that Harry Potter would have died to have. And that was only half the house. Whenever a new friend visited Molly, without a doubt they will comment on the long and rather creepy hallway; most not being able to walk to the bathroom on their own in the night until at least their third visit.
Molly came from a wealthy family. Their house was one storey but large - so large you could be at one side of the house and no one else would know you were home, even with the music volume on full blast. Molly had also been given a twenty grand car the day she got her license, and her mother constantly left money on the counter in the morning before she left for work, though mostly twenties. Despite the generosity of her mum, and her dad when he was home (which was rarely), she would gladly trade it for a somewhat different family – one that didn’t try to buy her love at least.
“Next week”, she assured herself that she would take the whole looking for a job thing seriously, but until then, her plans were to get high, eat and receive more than enough attention from boys via social media and text messages.
Molly skipped to the kitchen, put a pan on the stove, opened the fridge, and began to make an omelette with cheese, spring onion, bacon, tomato, and she had the strangest craving for honey so she squeezed some on the cooking eggs, attempting to draw a smiley face before practically drowning it in its sugary goodness. Whilst grabbing a plate from the cupboard next to the microwave, she stood up and saw the digital green numbers on the screen, reading 3:23 pm.
After several long confused and worried moments of staring and contemplating whether the microwave was broken, Molly glanced at the oven and there on another tiny small digital screen read 3:25 pm. She stared at that too, perhaps for a couple moments longer, trying to recall what her last thought had been and why she was staring at the oven.
“Oh shit”, she muttered to herself, finally processing the time and also realising it was Thursday; her mum finished work early and would get home in approximately 35 minutes. She ran back to the stove, flipped the delicious omelette of all deliciousness onto her plate, scoffed it down too quickly, chucked the dishes into the dishwasher and ran back to her room to try and attempt to clear the smell of smoke and weed in the air, knocking the bong water over in the process.
~
It had been a while since the time when her mother was due home but neither of them said hello or even acknowledged each other’s presence, not that they usually did. Molly still hadn’t replied to any of the 6 texts that sat in her phone, such as Josh asking her if she would like to go to dinner, Daniel saying it was great meeting her last night or even Cody who asked Molly if she could come over so that they could have a girl’s night.
Molly couldn’t be bothered replying to any of them, and although the last thing she wanted was to have a plan-less night of getting high on her own, avoiding her mum and web surfing, listening to Cody talk nothing more than of other people (not the good kind), the number of likes on her Facebook photos or bitching about the boys in her life – and then practically jumping on their laps when she sees them, was surprisingly even less desirable.
Molly unlocked her phone, her screensaver flashing her with a picture of her and Cody in their matching purple bikini’s, posing with their arms around each other at a pool party and laughing at something that was going on to the left of the camera. Josh on the keg stand? Molly thought to herself, trying to recall.
Cody was her best friend – or the closest thing to it anyway. She had stayed with Cody when she got kicked out almost two months ago for back-chatting her mother and Cody practically jumped at the opportunity to be ‘roomies’, offering Molly her very own bedroom in her palace without having to pay a single thing until Molly’s mum eventually begged her to move back after a month.

But there they were, spending their days by the beach and their nights at parties. They didn’t have a single responsibility. They were in complete bliss, living in their own world consisting only of boys, alcohol, the beach and parties; their only worry was eating too much and looking fat in their swimsuits. Maybe Molly was bored. Maybe Molly wanted someone she could be her worst with, not this flawless image she had created in front of those people… Or maybe she was just high and was overthinking her mere existence, but while she was on her phone flipping through her contacts, there was one particular name she was looking for.


Wednesday, 1 April 2015

Big Girl Now

I got a full time job and it's hard. And by hard I don't mean physically hard or in the sense that I'm nearly incapable of doing it, but accepting the fact I'm growing up is actually quite difficult.


I swear I stress more about money now than I did when I was jobless and couldn't even afford bus fares. I can finally buy myself nice clothes, food and not to the mention a social life, but here in the business world daydreaming and being unrealistically ambitious where my career as a writer will take off in no time now and all this was merely to pass time, is unacceptable, not to mention frowned upon.

Am I really going to be sitting behind a computer screen for the rest of my life?
I can already feel my imagination wasting away. I kid you not, I was sitting on a park bench during my lunch break next to a tall garden of flowers and long leaves and instead of seeing myself as a tiny-fairy-like-small-person running through it as if it were a giant jungle filled with big ass bugs that I had to either fight or befriend, I saw only plants (what is happening to me???)

But I sure as hell won't go down without a fight.


On a brighter note, it's the LONG long weekend! Wooo


It's beginning to look a lot like Autumn


A picture I took of the lovely but extremely
ant-infested park nearby


Wednesday, 18 March 2015

Weekend



Friday night was spent eating at Jamie Oliver’s and attending the casino for the first time. Jamie Oliver’s restaurant did not disappoint, filling me up with fettuccini bolognaise topped with bread crumbs (genius), and my boyfriend with the most delicious steak and mashed potato, that even I who practically despises steak, got a tad jealous.


And what got me the most was the extremely affordable prices of the food with my dish only $22!
Our dinner also involved a proposal within the restaurant I believe (it was all quite crowded), but much to my sadness, the propose-d walked out of the restaurant and the propose-r followed quite distraught.
The night was then continued to the casino where we met some friends. I was quite blown away by the casino itself, however not so much the people as they stumbled around and proceeded to ‘hit on’ anything with legs.
Despite that and the fact that I went home $40 lighter, it was still quite a good night.

Saturday night was not how we had originally intended. It was going to be spent at Bassment which is this really awesome club where everyone is so nice, ‘rinsing’ is the only dance form and really cool drum and bass dj’s play. Only we have been quite a few times and the more we thought about everyone being less than 5cm away from the next person, drenched in sweat, and the whole place acting like a sauna, the more it seemed like a better idea to go again in winter and not after a hot day.

We then decided last minute to buy tickets via online to attend the state finals for Raw Comedy at His Majesty’s Theatre. The show consisted of 16 amateur-aspiring-comedians each having 5 minutes to do their stuff before announcing the winner at the end. It did not disappoint. I found myself in several fits from the terribly honest yet so relatable comedians.



It was also my first time going to His Majesty’s Theatre if you don’t count the several times I have stood outside on the pathway and admired from afar. The inside was also just as magical as the out. You could say I am a little obsessed with these old, marvellous and intricately decorated theatres, and transforming me to the early 1900's. Only the modern slang and common swear words in the stand ups could have fooled me.

Overall t’was a great weekend and I’d like to think that I actually properly experienced Perth and what it has to offer, rather than ‘getting loose’ and feeling crap every moment of the next day, particularly when I realise I have work the next day.

Sunday, 8 March 2015

Future Music

So long Summer. You shall be missed. I only wish I spent more days risking skin cancer and going on adventures rather than watching horror films with the air con on full blast. 

On the bright side I ended summer with a bang by attending Future music festival. Thank god the day after was a public holiday and I was given some time to recover before going back to work and pretending to be enthusiastic while I answered a hundred phone calls. 

There were a variety of artists playing such as Drake and Example but I found myself (or should I say 'lost' myself) rocking out more to the likes of Darude and Knife Party. 

I purchased my outfit from Transit spending pretty much my whole lunch break trying on clothes and finally feeling pleased with my decision of a chiffon play suit with ties two metres long and black and white converses. 



The first photo is a picture of me taken by people from General Pants & Co. and I was so stoked to find the following day that I was one of 5 people at Future Music to win a $50 gift card voucher for being a 'style guru'. It was definitely worth the golf ball-sized blisters I received from my new shoes and thank goodness I was too 'gone' to notice the horrendous pain that I definitely felt in the morning. 


It was also one of my best friends of 6 years, 19th birthday so of course we had to go extra hard. 


So although I may have some regrets of my summer, the way it ended was definitely not one of them and I by far had one of the best days of my life-making new friends and great memories (cliche but true). 

Thursday, 26 February 2015

Night Terrors

If you have never experienced those things that creep up on you in your state of vulnerability, then I don’t think you know true fear. I don’t know why they trigger that automatic reaction from us but a strong and literally paralysing fear rushes through us, inhabiting every fibre in our bodies.
My first encounter was very different and nothing to what you would expect. It was a sunny and warm day, less than a week before my eighteenth birthday. I was taking a nap.
I am not sure why I woke; maybe I sensed it but I remember opening my eyes and glancing at my curtain (exactly how it was when I had first fallen asleep), before I started to drift again. That was when I heard the sound of my bedroom door opening, followed by the playful sound of a small girl’s giggle. Before I could question the oddness of it as only my nanna was home, it touched my neck and proceeded to scurry back off, leaving only the sound of its feet tapping on the wooden floor boards in my memory.
I was terrified. I wanted so desperately to get out of bed and my room for that matter but the deepest of all deep sleeps washed over me and by the time I woke, I was left questioning whether it had just been a dream.

The second time was not quite so pleasant. My boyfriend had been over and as per usual we had fallen asleep. We woke sometime in the hour of 4 in the morning and so he grabbed his things and left. When I returned to my room I felt uneasy, scared and could not shake the belief that something else was there with me; the thought so strong that even in my dream that followed I refused to go into my ‘room’ with the belief that something was waiting for me.
In the midst of my slumber my boyfriend started talking to me and trying to wake me, which was odd as he had gone home. I opened my eyes to find not my boyfriend for that matter, but a dark and large silhouette of something that could closely be described a gargoyle, sitting only centimetres away from me on my bed, where my boyfriend had only been sleeping an hour before.
The sun had already started to rise so the image of it in front of the blue haze outside of the window was as clear as any other object in my room.

Just when I had thought it had all stopped and those strange dreams/encounters were gone, several months later and only several days ago, it happened again.
This time when I can feel the paralysation of my body and I suddenly develop a sixth sense and know there is something else in my room, I don’t dare open my eyes, in fear of what I might say. I lie there, eyes shut, pretending to be asleep in the hopes that these night terrors may disappear, but as if it could the sound of my heart pumping and my silent prayers, in climbs onto my bed by my feet. If I didn’t have that magical sixth sense that I seem to have in these ‘dreams’, I would have mistaken it for my dog innocently trying to cuddle my legs as it so commonly did. I can feel it climb over me, it’s weight on my legs, as it moves over my body. Not daring to see what had visited me, I suddenly feel its hands wrapped around my wrists and is holds me down.
It’s touch was as real as the blanket on my skin and try to move my legs even the slightest but my body does not respond. After what seemed like an eternity and its grip only getting tighter, I beg my body to move and although my cries and yells for help are silent, I manage a quiet whisper “go away”.
I dig my nails into its arm; its skin feeling scaly and dry like shedded snake skin. I stumble out of bed, taking it my surprise and although my body is weak, I use my skin to grip and slide the door handle open, running to my parents room.
I stand by their bed, their bodies sleeping peacefully unknown of the dark encounter only happening on the other side of the wall. I yell for them to help but not even a whisper is manager.

And then I woke.  

Wednesday, 4 February 2015

Overdue.

I am well over due for a post with just about two months passing of having not. I even avoided doing my ‘farewell 2014… I’d like to thank…. grew as a person so much…” and all that to end the year but it is now February and well I just cannot be bothered.

HOWEVER, last year I began the year naïve with little perception of just what to expect from leaving school and joining the real world, especially as I was neck deep in the world I created myself. I started this year with a full time job; starting my career, money in my account, realistic ambitions and not a single bad thought to keep me up at night.


My only problem is that I now stand among things that are just that; things, and around me is nothing more than just coincidences. Does the sun have any effect on us as a person? Nah. Do things happen for a reason? Probably not. Are we just mere bacteria trying to find meaning of our lives? Most likely.