After eleven weeks of looking forward to it, it's finally holidays again. Sweet! Not that I have much planned for the coming two weeks. No doubt procrastination and more procrastination. The pattern is predictable, really. At the moment I'm thinking that I'll get myself once and for all into studying, taking my study methods right from the seminar that we did at camp. But, about a week from now, when all my maths homework is done and there is nothing else for me to really catch up on, it'll all have died out and I'll be spending hours in front of the computer or whatever.

All I'm hoping for is that I'll read my Chem textbook, do a bit of my Modern essay, read some French aloud and maybe make notes on Maths. If nothing else, I must practise flute and get those pieces down pat. My exam is in September/October and that really looks a lot closer from this side of July.
I think I need to get my flute serviced - the keys are getting rather clacky. But I can't spare if for more than three days!

Anyway, what a load of boring crap that was. I swear I'm not actually that boring. Or at least I'm not willingly that boring. It's not my fault I have so few opportunities to go crazy. In fact, I feel like ever since turning sixteen I've bee wanting to go out and put my hands in the air and go wild(!). It's sort of died down since coming back from camp, though in the week after camp I could still feel the adrenaline wanting to manifest itself into action.

I can't really describe it. I mean, you know how I said that I felt no difference between being sixteen and being fifteen? Well, I suppose the change may be gradual, but very tangible. And basically it just makes me want to laugh for the hell of it, go jump up and down for the hell of it. Voilà.

Anyway, what else has been up? Today I did my end of term Chinese school test, and I am very happy to say that I got 100%. It's very gratifying to know that no matter how much you suck at Sydney Girls, once you do outside exams like Musicianship or Chinese school, you're instantly in, what, the top 10% of the candidature? Very nice.

That Modernist creative assessment was every bit as awful as I imagined. I basically narrated the whole thing, wrote about half a page less than everybody else and didn't use any modernist techiniques. I was fully going to go back at the end and edit what I'd written, slotting in metaphors and symbols and connotations as necessary, but as usual I ran out of time. Well, disaster as it was, at least it's over.

That's really all I can think of to write for now. I've been watching a lot of Hugh Grant movies lately - Love Actually, Notting Hill, Four Weddings and a Funeral... I don't know - it's just that he always plaus these really funny, awkward characters. Besides, if you look at what I've downloaded, pretty much all my movies are British. American movies don't have the same feel. American rom coms are especially unbearable, I find. Like He's just not that into you, which we watched at camp. A whole load of cheapness, and you can fully tell that the scriptwriters tried to cram like some "message" into the film. Really, the whole thing was just shallow and superficial and predictable. None of the multiple storylines were believeable.

Well, this is the second time I've blogged in less than an hour. Still unwilling to start work (this time more due to laziness than ideology) - I've just been looking at clothes and listening to the same five songs over and over again.

I have an English assessment tomorrow on writing a Modernism short story, and i am so sure that I'm going to fail basically because I'll be sitting there thinking about what to write. Normally I can't write more than a page and a half in 40 minutes, but now that it's modernist and every line has to have some greater meaning (pretty much), I'm going to be looking at one page only and the marker will be like "this is totally inadequate".

I can't wait 'til holidays. Furthermore, I can't wait 'til I graduate and get out of this place. I mean "get out" in a rather vague way because judging from the way my marks are going, it doesn't look like I'm going to get a UAI high enough to get into Cambridge, and even if I do going there won't be financially viable. So basically I'm looking at a Commerce degree back in Australia where all they ask for is a UAI of higher than maybe 95 which, if I'm lucky, I might just reach.

Oh well, I suppose it can't be that bad. I'll just go to Melbourne or maybe even Canberra - or I could stay in Sydney and lose another four years of valuable going-crazy time because my family is always keeping one eye on me. I'll have comparatively more money, less freedom and less adventure. I'd do paid work experience in the holidays, go overseas with the money I make from that and I won't miss Cambridge at all.

I'm getting increasingly bitter with all of that. Because here, I'm right on the verge of resigning myself completely to a life where I will never realise the dream of going to the faraway world of Oxbridge. Well, get over it, some people will say. Those would be the people who never dreamed what I dreamed. I think the worst part of it was convincing myself that if I worked hard enough, I could genuinely go to Cambridge and walk among those other brilliant people in ancient buildings. Now my outlook has changed radically. Now it's more like I know I don't work hard enough and even if I do I probably won't be able to bear the financial burden of going there.

It's harsh to give up your desires. Last week the lotto jackpot was 50 million and then 90 million, and since it was such an abnormally large amount, my dad went and bought a ticket both times. And we kept talking about all the things we would do if we had that money. We would go to Hong Kong and buy a bigger, nicer place so that my gradparents could live the rest of their lives in comfort. We could even buy a place in Kowloon Tong or The Peak, where all the rich stars lived. We would help my half-sister buy a house so that she could settle down once and for all and stop having to rent places. We could do so much stuff.
Well, no winning lotto put an end to all of those possibilities and it was disappointing having to give up all of those dreams, but no-one really expects to win. Giving up on going to Cambridge was sort of like that, except much worse because I had actually built up my life in my head around going to Cambridge! A whole four years of university! I hadn't seen my life after high school without Cambridge, and now that the dream has shattered I can suddenly not see what lies ahead at all.

On Thursday I went to this lunchtime talk about being an actuary. I can see myself as one. I'm convinced that I could be one, talking to people and translating it all into figures, distilling down what people are saying into clear-cut problems and solutions. They earn a starting salary of about $50,000 and are needed everywhere, therefore presenting the sort of international mobility that I want. On Wednesday we has a substitute teacher who advised that we go travelling after uni and find a proper job, because working in a bar or whatever isn't really a good idea. (About half the grade had come to school the day after camp so we just sat around doing nothing that lesson).

I might just do what she said. Whatever. Second best way to go about things. This is all so modernist, with the inability to act thing and all.

I'm angry. I'm angry because I was going to watch Rove for once (I never do even though everyone else does, but today he was going to interview the Harry Potter cast and it looked like it was going to be good), except my grandparents had come over and they were watching this DVD of a HK tv show that my dad had downloaded.

The one day I think I'm going to watch Rove is the one day that my grandparents come over and also decide to watch tv between dinner and bed. So I'm angry. Angry that I prepared myself to watch something I hadn't downloaded and watched in advance for once (unlike Doctor Who and Merlin), only to not do it in the end. It's very much like in a T.S. Eliot poem: he sets the reader up to think that something good might actually happen, only to continue reading and find out that life stays dreary etc.

I know it's only a tv show. But it's not just one episode of a tv show that doesn't particularly mean much to me - it's a whole combination of factors that ultimately shows how one little circumstance can crush you for a while. It's the fact that my grandparents had to come tonight, and just happened to want to watch that tv show.

I think that sometimes being petty is not a fault, and that one person's idea of petty can be very different to another person's. Society has this general idea of what is petty and what is not, and that is what we usually go by. But once you start pointing the pettiness finger, you will find that even this is flawed. So you say me getting so upset over not watching Rove is petty? Well, you (society in general) are making this huge fuss over the financial crisis! How hypocritical you are, preaching that money does not buy happiness, and then going into a flurry because bank CEOs are down to salaries of only several million so times must be bad! And having huge outpourings of grief when hundreds of people die in bombings/tsunamis/earthquakes. Are you aware that mourning doesn't actually bring people back to life? And what exactly makes Michael Jackson's life so much more precious than those of other people - he's not the only one who dies from drugs and/or a heart attack.

Sometimes I sick of how people make a big deal of some things that, in theory, they should treat as anything else. How can we preach democracy (which is basically that all people are equal) when we watch avidly the adoption antics of Brangelina and Madonna and ignore our own mothers? And how utterly arrogant is the human race to think that it is okay to let the Japanese continue killing whales so as to prevent and international "situation" yet hunt down any shark or dog that draws blood from a person? Not to mention the whole of the meat industry. We would hardly stand it if lions bred humans in captivity to be slaughtered for food like we do with sheep and cattle.
Finally, I completely disagree with how people refuse to acknowledge that their religion may not be the only true one. I hate religions that preach that you'll go to hell if you don't believe in them - that's a primitive idea that has no place in the 21st century. This is what the French Revolution tried to abolish way back in the late 1700s - the yoke of superstition that the Catholic Church had imposed upon the citizens for the past millenia or more. I do what I do and apart from legal, social, emotional or physical consequences, once I'm dead what I did will not stop me from decomposing in my grave.

Anyway, those are my thoughts. And screw writing my synopsis for my Modern essay - no tv, no working.

Damn Facebook and Maths homework and Solitaire. I came back from camp yesterday, with the firm intention of blogging about the past three days because if you don't blog about an epic camp... well, when else do you blog?

Anyway, crazily fun camp. The fun really starts when the sun goes down and it "bedtime" (techinically). This reminds me of some Lady Gaga lyrics that go "let's get up when the sun goes down". Never mind - I just feel that sometimes I've heard the perfect phrase to suit what I feel. Which is a good thing, I suppose; isn't the purpose of art to connect with the audience?

After I'd done my last-minute packing on Sunday, my dad drove me over to Bei's house, and I was in the car with her whole family. Bei's mum was rather scary, being all "don't talk in the car", and forcing us to go to the toilet when we pulled over after about an hour of driving because if we didn't, we apparently wouldn't last the rest of the way. I've never been in a car where the passengers weren't allowed to talk.

We got rather a bit lost because we missed some road or something, but still got to Collaroy at like 3:40pm, so we all went down to the beach where we walked around for about half an hour until we found the other people. Then we basically hung around between the playground and the beach until 5:30, when I went with Bei up to the Conference Centre. I'm grateful that the teachers didn't keep us there too long, because I don't think anyone would have liked it if they made us sit there while they read out a whole list of rules or whatever. They basically marked our names off and showed us to our cabins, and let us settle in and muck around.

From a logistic point of view, the camp was better than expected. There were two bathrooms with proper showers (I remember in year 6 the showers had shower curtains, which I detest - nothing like that here) and generally clean facilities, except for the bedlinen. The food was also quite decent. We had things like nachos, fish and chips, ratatouille or something similar and actual fresh salad(!).

The first night we had the "Adventure Challenge", of whose nature I was initially somewhat puzzled about. It turned out that it was some trivia thing interspersed with laughter and human energy expenditure. Overall very good fun.

The first night night, however, there was this partying thing going around, and I spent most of my waking hours after 10pm in Saloni/Amanda &c's cabin. Music was turned up, then turned down, Bei did a remarkable booty shake and Anne did a remarkably hilarious one. Our last hours there were spent all-out raving. This basically consisted of turning off the lights, screwing all and turning up the music, especially the bass, and jumping up and down with our hands in the air. Light was present in the form of a torch waving above the mass of about fifteen people by a non-raver (Dan, 'cause she was sick), and it was totally extreme crazy fun!!!
It ended inevitably (though still all too soon) when Mr Thomsen came in to tell us off (validly, I suppose) for having such loud music while there were people sleeping in cabins around us (yeah, right, it was only 12, 12:30 or so). It was such a strange moment. One minute we're all going crazy and next minute Thomsen appears at the door and everyone freezes and is like, "oh shit". Priceless. Mrs McDermott was behind him and counted sixteen of us in the cabin. After that, everyone who didn't belong in that cabin was told to go back to their own rooms, not that that really stopped anyone from settling down. I know that in my cabin we were sitting around listening to music (turned down softer), singing badly a bit and the like. It was 2am by the time we all got into our sleeping bags, lying side by side on two layers of blankets as mattresses, and 2:30 when we decided to all shut up because people like Cindy and Jojo wanted to sleep. 

I myself tried to sleep too, though I wasn't against staying up all night at all. Anne was next to me and I swear to god she was snoring in my ear, though she denied it the next morning. She sort of stopped after a while, me being still wide awake, then started again so I was like, "screw this" and decided to move myself, my pillow and my sleeping bag up to my bunk, where I slept until it was time to get up.

I was satisfactorily awake on Monday, despite the 4-5 hours of sleep. The obligatory study skills seminars (which were the only reason for this camp in the first place) proved less boring than expected, though that's not to say I wouldn't have preferred being able to hang out etc. After a whole school day of talks, we were allowed to fun around the grounds, play sport, go to the beach, and somewhat lamely I played catch with Jenny and some other people ('twas surprisingly fun, for such an basic game).

Dinner, cabins, more sitting around and entertaining ourselves, though this time we toned it down a bit because some people in the other cabin needed some rest. We had a good time toasting marshmallows over candles - one of the things that we'd spent a lot of time planning and anticipating, and then we talked about deep hypothical stuff 'cause apparently that's what the other cabin was doing. Were in bed sleeping bags slightly earlier than the night before, at 1am, and talked about creatiing our own bad (let's see how that turns out), and shut up at around 2am. Slept suprisingly well considering there were five of us crammed onto three single mattresses (we were smarter than last night as we replaced the blankets with actual mattresses to sleep on on the floor).

Were woken up - I don't know when - by some teacher - I don't know who - but ignored at. I skipped breakfast along with Svenja and Joyce due to our simple unwillingness to get out of bed. By the time we got out of bed it was a quarter past 8 and this was a problem because it turned out that the morning seminar began at 8:30 as opposed to 9, which is what we initially believed. Had a super packing frenzy, and I think we did it all in a fairly good time, though we were still the second last cabin to get down there.

That lecture was all about rape and protecting yourself from it, and despite the rather dodgy topic, it was actually quite entertaining. Did some "self defence" moves at the end, which I doubt I will ever master because I'm just too puny, then we had lunch and got on the bus and stuff.

The bus ride passed relatively quickly with some last minute moshing in our seats while people slept. I'm so reluctant to go back to my bland, normal life and leave behind the days of staying up late and partying! I mean, I know I only tasted it for two days, but I've gotten a taste for it. I can't wait 'til I move out. Anne and I plan to move in together, though we're quite unsure as to the logistics of this. Like money and location and stuff. We talk about it and dream about having a good stereo system and a large open space for partying and stuff. God knows how much this will all cost and the domestic arrangements like cooking and cleaning.
Haha and the going out late and coming home so hopefully those getting-out-of-date-rape tips will never have to be put into practice.
Bear in mind, this has got to be far out of my parents' reach.

Anyway, this camp was awesome. I'm guessing you we're too impressed by my account of the moshing, but trust me, my writing ability cannot fully capture the epic-ness of it all. And I have no photos of it, either, because when have real fun, I don't have the time to take out my camera.

First of all, WHO IS IT??? Who has left those three comments, so vague yet with a definite negative edge to them? Things like "you make me angry", "for someone who prides herself on her... supposedly superior intelligence, one would think... able to correctly use the contraction 'they're'..."
It's not like these comments freak or freak me out in any way. It's more the not knowing who wrote them, and what their intentions are. Do they leave them malevolently or jokingly? Do I see them at school every day yet not know that it is them who is behind this?
It can't be my sister, because she doesn't speak in this manner, definitely doesn't use words more than seven letters in length (let along several in one sentence) and certainly doesn't capitalise so well.
Hmm, actually there is also the possibility that all three of these comments weren't left by the one person. Perhaps they are from different people. This reminds me of the episode of the the Simpsons when Sideshow Bob was sending threats written in blood to Bart, and when they put all the threats on the same table, Marge realised that one of the threats was written in black ink, and that one was actually done by Homer after being pissed off by him son.

All in all, I don't suppose the whole affair above really matters. Today Michael Jackson died, or perhaps it was yesterday, because I heard about it as soon as I got to school (five minutes late- for some reason there was this huge holdup of buses for like ages until 8:40 when about five came all at once).

Hum, sorry, just got sidetracked by Facebook quizzes.

Anyway, it's strange that he's dead, because ever since year 4 at least (my year did a school concert permormance to Thriller and Bad that year) I've been aware of his existence, even though he crossed my mind extremely rarely.

Okay, I just got distracted again by looking up English public schools on Wikipedia. Most of these are boys-only anyway, what the hell?

As I was saying, his name has been familiar to me for so long that I can't imagine that I won't continue to hear it every now and again forever. I'm not devastated and it's not like I regret never having seen him in the flesh or whatever, like how in stories someone on their deathbed wishes that they had repaired their relationship with their parents. It's just... a jolt.

I finished my Modernist story at 10pm last night, which is quite a feat because it's not often that I finish English things before 11pm, the day before it's due. It is, however, without doubt the crappiest Modernist story that I think will be handed in. I failed to expand to any of the ideas I had, everything I wrote was superficial, forces and obviously a try-hard attempt at being modernist. Instead, it just ends up sounding lame.

Oh well, at least it's over. Camp from Sunday! Can't wait - last one and we have every excuse in the world to stay up all night and go hyper in the cabins, because it's our last one as a year group. It seems unlikely that we will ever find ourselves in a conference centre in an eight-to-a-room, bunk-bedded place ever again.

An odd place to end my blog, but I can't be bothered going over what I'm going to pack in my suitcase.

Yeah, fuck it indeed. I'm not intellectual enough to write something like that! This is all wrong, I could totally have succeeded at Modernism if we had done it in Year 9, 'cause back then my mind was all full of irrelevant thoughs and things (which is what Modernism is, if I understand it correctly). Except back then we were doing Romance, which I failed at but would probably do well at now, because I've been downloading all these movies like Atonement and Shakespeare in Love. So they end tragically, but I have a taste for heart-twisting grief now. Emphasis on the "heart", which is what's at the core of romance, right?

Whereas this Modernism... fuck, fuck, fuck. At the moment I'm addicted to Lily Allen's new(-ish) album, It's not me, it's you, which has this charming yet charged lightness. It's quite provoking.

Anyway I got my report yesterday and it's quite crap to an extent so I won't be showing it to my mother unless she asks for it expressly. And to be fair, it wasn't like, completely and utterly crap, except for my English mark. And it is without doubt that my mother will give me hell about that. Damn English. *wails* 113th?! I'm in the bottom third of the grade, and a full six per cent under average - a new low in terms of percentage under average. The way English is going for me, I'm looking at maybe 10% under av by the time I'm in year 12. There's no stopping the deterioration.

Also yesterday was the Talent Quest, which was god to an extent but nothing really spectacular. I for one was rather cynical as to the overwhelming presence of singing. There's simply too much of it! I mean, I appreciate a good voice as much as the next person, but it's the SGHS and SBHS combined talent quest, not Sydney High Idol. Talent is not restricted to singing - what happened to a bit of dance or impersonation or pantomime or whatever? Perhaps even other aspects of music?
The two standout items, I'd say, were the SBHS breakdancers (okay, a bit tryhard but it was different, at least) and the year 12 band (which sounded pretty professional and had a style that suited me). The judges must have thought so too, because those two acts won second and first respectively.

In fact, after a bit of contemplation, I'm sick of hearing singing with just piano accompaniment. It's so overdone.

Today it poured. While I was in the car to Chinese school, in particular. The roads were flooded-ish and and I don't remember ever having seen stormwater drains so defeated in their purpose. Despite the traffic, I had a fairly good time on that journey - rain all around but being nice and warm and dry inside a metal-and-glass box. And the rain stopped altogether just when we arrived at Chinese school so I didn't even have to rush to the classroom or anything.

I guess it's been a while since I've blogged. It turns out that just because it's not officially "exam period", doesn't mean we don't have tests to study for. And just because these tests don't count, doesn't mean I don't study feverishly for them.

And believe me, I do. Last week I had a Modern test on internal change in Japan during the Meiji Restoration, and on Friday I had a French test on the perfect and imperfect tenses.
Both of which I got full marks on (the Modern one surprised me most, though). Both of them were given back to us yesterday, and I must say that I get even one full mark is something to be proud of, but two on the same day?
Lets just hope the successes continue for my Maths test on Friday. It's a double topic one (Trig and Co-ordinate geometry), both of which I'm quite weak at and fail to answer half the questions.

Anyway, Parul's party (which I was so very excited about) was on Saturday, and even though I had to wake up before 10am on day off, I still wasn't tired at all (I had prepared for it by sleeping at 11pm on Friday - something I don't even do for exams when I really need my sleep).
First I went to Anne's house with Svenja and Jenny to make a cake. Drawing on this occasion and the pizza party that I hosted, one could say that for me, cooking with friends is an interesting experience... We made fried rise for lunch too, and making it in a saucepan is definitely difficult when you're used to woks. What kind of Asian household does Anne keep?! One without woks, obviously. What a travesty.

Parul's house was pinker than I expected (though I had already been given a heads-up as to its rosy shade from the invitation). It turns out that her parents also run like a childcare/kindergarten, so one side of the building is where they live, and the other side opens out onto an outdoor play area complete with sandpit and climbing equipment. Nice big open space and ideal for a party with about fifty invitees, really.

There were people from Hurlstone too, two of whom were guys and one of whom I hear Sydney tried to hit on - before finding out that he was gay. I'm so terribly disappointed that I didn't see it myself, because from what I've heard it would have been pretty damn amusing (make that hilarious) to bear witness to. Ahahaha, a lmao moment if I could ever think of one. Such a pity no-one caught it on camera!
Although, everyone I've asked seems to agree on the fact that he was good looking. Tall (very), lean but not scrawny, with Latino colouring and perhaps a Latino face as well - a bit reminiscent of Che Guevara dude n The Motorcycle Diaries. And he dressed well, and had decent intellect.
So you can't really blame her at all. Though I must get to the bottom of this: does shimmying waaay close to your target and saying "hi" in a "sexy" way really get results? All relationships must begin somehow, but that's slightly generic, is it not?

I guess this incident supports something that I've heard many times, a fact that has been referenced in chick lit and rom-coms alike: All the good-looking, well-dressed ones are gay. 
My God, does the outlook seem bleak. And fuck, am I screwed for trig.

I think the implications here are that all straight girls will be able to get is some ugly, badly dressed guy (I'm thinking jeans pulled up to under the buttocks and no further). Ugh.

Anyway, we ate doughnuts (donuts? Ugh, now that's oversimplification of spelling - such an American tendency) off strings (harder than it looks, let me tell you), attacked a pinata and played WAA!. And ate. Awesome fun!

I was supposed to get home "by dark", to quote my parents, except it turns out there was trackwork on the Yagoona line so I opted to go hitch a ride with Cindy to Fairfield, which is on a different line and as far as I knew, didn't have trackwork so it'd be smoother travelling.

How wrong I was. That line wasn't running either so I had to take a train from there to Merrylands, and get a bus from there to Strathfield. And that bus trip took like forty minutes (!). I definitely wasn't going to get home by 6:30pm as I had intended to. After a train from Strathfield and a bus home, I'd set a new record for latest time home. I walked through the front door at 8:00pm.

You might say that 8pm isn't that late at all. But actually, as my after-dark, solitary trips go... I really haven't done many. I know someone with a curfew of 3am, but me? I'm little and vulnerable and as much as I'd like to go trippin' around the city after sundown... I dunno. I guess I felt safe walking home on a dark street. I secretly suspect my aversion to coming home late is due to the fact that I know my parents are going "omg why the hell isn't she home yet?". And I really don't want them to freak out or anything. Couldn't they just act as though they weren't waiting to hear my key turn in the lock?

I slept early on Saturday night too, having had a fulfilling day. For your information, our cake turned out well - nicely spongy and moist, though perhaps we could have added more sugar.

On Sunday my sister had her birthday party (which, might I add, I pretty much planned for her, right down to doing the invitations anad planning the games and going shopping? And even telling her to wear jeans rather than trackpants to her own party). Around ten raucous year 7 girls, vapidly ooh-ing and ahh-ing over that dog and hell-bent on stuffing themselves with sugar. Kids these days...

Roxy came over with Amelia too, who is extremely cute and is great fun to hold, even when she's sleeping. She always looks at you in this inquisitive sort of way, and we say that she's trying to sort me or my dad out, seeing as we look so much like her mother yet are not.

That's all for now, some of these trig problems Mr Stokes can't possibly expect us to be able to do. Today we got a Modern History Essay/Research project to do, where you pick your own topic from 1500AD onwards and find your own sources and things. It's so exciting, having a topic of your own choosing to investigate! Except I can't think of anything good enough to pour all my efforts into. I've considered several things, all with their flaws. Now I'm going begging for more ideas. Sofar I've got: Jack the Ripper, casanova, Marie Antoinette (too obvious??), the history of divorce (too vague?), the rise of party politics in Britain (I don't think I'm politically minded enough). I'd like to do something dynamic, because sofar in Modern History we've been studying periods of mayor change and after that, something tame like erm... urbanisation just doesn't do it. I mean sure, it's got big geographical implications, but I'm out for something explosive.

I'll mull over it subconsciously, I'm sure.

I began writing my birthday entry (for want of a better title) yesterday a bit before midnight, except then my dad shut off the internet. And rather than raising hell to get it turned back on again, I resigned myself to saving it as a Word document to upload the next day, ie. today, one day after the fifth of June.

***

Well, my first day as a sixteen-year-old is nearly over.

I've already done the whole rant, I believe, about birthdays and their strange unimportance exactly a year ago. Basically, woohoo I'm officially a year older... et alors? So what?

Perhaps for some major birthday (only the 18th, really), you can go all out on the day and drink/fornicate/whatever else yourself stupid, after all those years of hanging in their wishing you could legally go clubbing or something. My past birthdays haven't really been about that at all; you feel mildly special for a few hours while you're at school and everyone's singing happy birthday and giving you birthday hugs and the like, but then it's the same old thing again once it's all over.

No wait, I've just remembered that the legal age for sex is sixteen. Except here I am at home at 12:01am - which, frankly, is the most likely time to sleep with someone if at all - which goes to show, well, that it being your birthday doesn't mean that you're going to feel a sense of liberation of suddenly being given the legal right to do something. And subsequently get at it.

Anyway, yeah, all-round alright day. Got a pack of tarot cards and a notebook from Bei, Kylie and Jojo (I knew they were going to buy it yesterday when they said they were going to the "library" after school), chocolate from Cecilia (I know it sounds like a cliché birthday present, but I actually wouldn't mind getting it for any reason. I don't see it as a lack of effort present at all) and the signature Joyce Chupa-chup (from Joyce, obviously).

Got licked by Julia, whilst being held down by Clare. Good God, that was scary (and disgusting - it's typical Julia and I hate it XD).

Anyway, sixteen and nothing special. Next year I'll be turning seventeen in the midst of exams. Is it just me or have birthdays possessed less of the "hoorray!" factor as time goes on? I used to have parties every year when I was in primary school. When I turn eighteen, I will hopefully be on my sort-of gap year while I wait to start at Cambridge. Who knows where I'll be? Fingers crossed for travelling. That could be both good and bad, depending on whether I have people with me to take me clubbing (which I will do once just for the experience). But how awesome would that be, to be overseas?!

Well, that's all, really. Nothing's been happening much. Long weekend. We sure are missing a lot of Mondays lately, having had Athletics Carnival this week (the rain held out until the very end of the day. I made a fool out of myself with my weak arms in javelin and shotput).

Colin Morgan is about 6 foot tall and Bradley James about 5 foot 10 (he's shorter than CM?! But his build…). Just for the record.

***

The thing about birthdays is that they are so quantifiable. On the day before you turn sixteen, you can technically still say you're fifteen, except once the clock strikes twelve, you can be nothing but sixteen any more.

And then of course, one year past is one year never to be reclaimed. Is there such thing as "a year without regrets"? If there is, then I certainly have never had one. If I'm not regretting something I did, then I'm regretting something I didn't do.

Anyway, I'm so excited about the end of financial year SALES! Damn this financial crisis, making me feel guilty about spending (more guilty than usual, that is). I've figured out what I'm wearing to Parul's party next Saturday (can't wait!) except I still need to fix a button, figure out what to wear under it (it's like a short pinafore thing, and I'm thinking tights but I want something textured) and get shoes! My boots have a broken zipper and they're really the only shoes I have that go with what I'm wearing...

Omfg I just checked out the Chemistry Olympiad homepage and it turns out that the 2009 International Chem Olympiad is being held in Cambridge. Eeep!

Obviously, I have not a chance to go because the teams that will go to Cambridge this year (if they make it) were all selected last year, and I did nothing of the sort in 2008. But still, if you get the chance to go so far if you're good enough at Chemistry... Here is another burst of determination. If I actually get into training, I will do my absolute (no compromising) to make the team!

You just watch me try... and fail, because who am I kidding - I'm not that great at Chem. But dammit, here is one of the several "ultimate" successes of the secondary student world: to go overseas and go head-to-head with other scarily successful high school students! I'm not Bei and not even Bei made it into the Biology team (and Bio is one of the softer sciences), but I won't give up. I thought I was going to push myself to at least finish cross country in a reasonable time, but that motivation died after about ten minutes. But this time, I will go down kicking and screaming, at least. Even if it's just for Tokyo.

Of course, my dream could just stop here if I don't get into training because of the gross negligence of not getting my form in on time. Oh, how many possible geniuses must never made it anywhere because of procrastinating with the paperwork.

Bloody sister!!! What is it with her and disturbing me when I'm trying to blog??? Or doing anything on the computer, for that matter?