Trevelyana

~*~ What is there to say about a whole nation whose people are incapable of forming a queue? Since I’ve been here, I’ve been in one argument over standing in line, and personally witnessed 3. It’s fair to say that where a line or a queue exists there exists a hoard of women, and occasionally men, that have formed a subtly pushing circle, arms will jab at you and reach over your head, and your foot will be stepped on…

Seriously, I’m not just complaining. There is a very basic and important problem here. Only animals are incapable of understanding basic courtesies. No my implication is not subtle. I’ve likened you to animals. And I dare anyone to get in my face and say otherwise.

Also, MANNERS. Before you’re Mr. so-and-so, or from so-and-so family, or minister of such and such, or a devout muslim yelling in my face about my veil, you need to be a human being capable of interacting properly with the rest of man kind.

Moo ma3gool.

~*~ Gosh.. on a more happy note, a bunch of relatives came by and brought some food and we had an impromptu dinner party. After the food cleared out, everyone remained in the dining room chattering and laughing. It’s moments like those that I remember why I love it here. Sometimes.

~*~ I’ve had the travel bug ever since I came back from London. I’ve opened up a can of worms. Now that I know I can get away with traveling alone, and how great of a time I had, I’m just filled with places I want to go. I just booked my next trip, just a bit of ways away and only for a few days before I start school. Hopefully if all goes well, maybe the Mediterranean next summer if I’m not studying for the boards. All leading up to my lifelong dream of backpacking through Europe in a couple of years.

All tentative, but all very exciting. I’ll just keep going until I find myself, or happiness, or a passion for something, or someone… Whichever comes first, I’m not picky.

Every once in a while I’ll visit this site, think to write something, and have nothing in mind. I’ll click on a random archive and read a random old post. This post made me think.

Given the choice, would you choose love or passion? Why..

Everyone,

Stop getting married, engaged, or shacked up.
Stop it just .. STOP IT.
Fucking christ.
Ridiculous. It’s like a race to repopulate, and piss me off.

A man full of hope is a man that has not found his grace.

My freedom is precious to me.

I do not particularly like the feeling of being a caged animal. I made my way.. I argued, I yelled, I reasoned, I screamed, I snuck out, I plotted and schemed… I got my way a lot of times, and I submitted many more.

Now my father is an old man. Suddenly–He’s an old man whose age is creeping up on him. He’s sick, he’s constantly tired, and he remains obstinate which exacerbates some of his illnesses.

My lifelong opponent is tired, but I am young and I still can’t control my reaction to the inevitable “NO”.
And he is still obstinate.

Does the end–a semblance of the life I wanted–justify the means?–a father I feel like I’ve worn down, and can’t be compassionate enough towards..

Rhetorical. I’ll think it through.

… Speaks to my soul.

I feel like I should say more, but that’s all there is to it.

One day, I want to live in a hostel for a month. Just work and live there, and meet random people, in some foreign place, and be someone else for a month; carefree and without an obligation in the world.

God I love hostels.

Hala left a comment telling me I’m tagged. Hala, I don’t know you, and I rarely read many blogs anymore, but reading your description of me honestly brought a smile to my face: “I have to choose six bloggers and I don’t follow many, so here they are (…)  Trevelyana, in support of her articulate and thoughtful search for correct answers and for Mr. right.”

I mean seriously.. LOL.. I never thought of it that way, but she is absolutely right. Thank you Hala, for making me realize that I’m not crazy. I’m just a straight-laced, straight-arrow in a very, very lopsided world.

Anyway, here it goes. My 6 unspectacular quirks (and don’t expect to be entertained, I’m thinking of these as I go along):

1- I know how to open a beer bottle with the butt of a lighter and my fist, don’t ask how I learned.

2- All my friends are dudes. My one gal-friend is manlier than any of my guy-friends, by their own declaration.

3- I have twigs for legs. Seriously twigs. I look at them things and think, dear lord how are you supporting my torso?

4- I LOVE listening to Celtic music, I must’ve been Irish in another life.

5- My apartment’s front-desk guy is my therapist, I stand there and taaalk and talk to him about my gawdawful day, life, career..  the poor guy should get a raise.

6- I have waaaay too many army pants.

I’m back at my family’s house. Everyone complains about the heat like it hasn’t been around for the past 30 years. I don’t think it’s that hot. It feels good.

Things have subtly changed every year though… My room has been remodelled to my sister’s taste. My old clothes and all those knick-knacks I gathered over the years are stashed away. My cell number, which was the same since I was 15, has been cancelled. My friends have scattered through the globe, while my friendship with those that remained here has scattered. All that remains is that psychedelic turquoise lamp I got from my best friend for my 16^th birthday, abandoned on the side bureau with a broken bulb and a film of dust.

It’s almost funny how surprised I am. I mean it’s been 5 years since I’ve lived here. Selfish prick that I am, I expect everything to remain the same should the big bad world prove to be too mean for my liking.

But nothing remains here but memories. Good memories. This house used to be filled with my plans, with my friends, with my laughter, with my crazy projects, and with my disastrous adventures. It was filled with blue-prints for the life I wanted, with ambitions, with precious childhood dreams… many of which I’ve made happen. When I’m gone, people miss me. What more could I want?

It’s time to leave the cradle.

I’m taking the lamp with me though. I’ll dust it off in my apartment and replace the bulb. I liked how it filled the room with these blue circles of light. You could twirl it too and the circles would spin and spin around the room. That should make for a good start.

Talk is cheap though. This whole thing will absolutely break my heart. This place was home. I was the big fish in the little bowl here, out there I’m just one little gold fish in a sea of marine life.

Dearest Jala. I wish you could realize that the world is black and white. You keep looking for the shades of grey, thinking there has to be more. There isn’t. You get my sympathy though, for few deserve your lot.

I often watch you with amusement. There you are, at a swanky restaurant with far too many utensils and a menu that would stump even a medical student. What a fetching outfit, a black dress with your back exposed to your waist. You read somewhere that the curve of a woman’s back is more sensual than a pair of knockers garishly displayed.

 Even so, you’re playing dress up and you’re completely unsteady on those heels, and there’s not a kohl dark enough to make you look old enough. The chap across from you is quite the spectacle too. Look at how many times he runs his hand through his hair, tucks it behind his ear, and untucks it again. You’re thinking ‘God… he’s spent more time in front of the mirror than I have, hasn’t he?’
Yet you know your part. So you toss your hair, tilt your head, pout seductively, and pretend not to notice how many times his hand brushes yours as he reaches for the salt, pepper, whatever. Really darling… you didn’t need a college degree for that did you?
Off to the men’s room he goes, probably to spray more of that abominable cologne, but you look sad. What? Not quite going your way? Mr. Perfect face, dripping charm, and 200 dollar shirt not stealing your heart away?

But you never learn the easy way.

The next night you’re sipping some coffee brewed from beans that allegedly passed through an Amazonian animal’s digestive system and then purified from its waste. How disgusting… how classy. Your hair is pulled back, glasses perched on the bridge of your nose, and beat-up flip-flops replace last night’s ridiculous heels. The chap sitting across from you this time has slanted asian eyes and a contrasting Afro. Really darling, is there a continent you haven’t considered? He drones on about Nietzsche and you have a ridiculous polite smile and an affected interested gaze. This one doesn’t care for your pretty eyes, your long hair, or your impeccably plucked eyebrows. He crinkles his perfect mixed-breed nose if you don’t understand his gibberish.

There you are, outside in the night air, he stands across from you and yet again you are politely rejecting a lift home; another name to forget, another phone number to avoid. You walk back alone again. You break my heart, you’re not even sad… just contemplative. You’re not unhappy, but you’re not happy. Neither you, nor even I, know what you are exactly… You simply exist. You see the good in people, but find that the world and its people are rigidly dichotomous; black or white, beauty or brain. Who cares for your sincere smile, your unexplained love for the Irish reel, your dream of walking the footsteps of the pilgrims from Chaucer’s tales to Canterbury, or your funny shoulder dimple?

A beauty or a brain. Just… just pick one darling, clearly you can’t be both.