I Like Writing At Night, Evidently.

Sometimes I wonder what essentially separates you and I. Are we all so different? If we are so different, it would seem implausible and unfair to compare us with each other, no? Haven't you heard of the saying where you simply cannot compare a fish to a carrot. Or... was it orange and apple? Yes, that sounds more sensible.


Don't you think that, in this scheme in which we call our "lives", that we are almost imperceptibly fairly advantaged and unfairly disadvantaged? It would appear unfair to the person who wants to be a scientist but is blessed with artistic skills instead; where he is inevitably doubted and scorned because the chances of him making a living is more difficult. Don't you think that it shouldn't be that way? Or do you believe in the principle of meritocracy? If I want to be cynical, meritocracy is to appease the wronged and to absolve the benefactor.


I never knew what I was good in. At this age, we are all jack of all trades, but master in none, aren't we? Look around you. See. Observe. Aren't we all like that? I liked words well enough, but I can't say i'm great in it with a straight face.What am I supposed to be doing?


Where am I going with this? I don't know. This is why I'm reading law. I twist things.


I'm not particularly very responsible, - as we all are - I like to tell myself. Or comfort myself, which is more succinct. But in a befuddling way, I always feel responsible for others and the good in us. I have a very... active conscience for strangers and life principles, that I can vouch for. Bloody hell, what kind of good will that give me? I think I deserve some substantial skill! One that will propel me somewhere I can SEE myself in and feel secured.


That is all we want. Or is it? This is why I'm young. I don't know what I want.


I suppose I come to you now because I didn't attend Friday's tutorials. I preferred the comfort of my laziness inducing bed. I can't help it, I have a weakness. Unjustifiable, really, because I only need to show up three days a week and yet, I failed.


This is the end. It is, I swear. You should trust me. Why are you reading it still?

Book Review: Atonement by Ian McEwan

*with spoilers!

I've recently learned about the Nazi Grudge Informer cases. If your wife is having an affair with another man, and wants to get rid of you the husband, all she has to do is testify that you said something insulting about the Fuhrer. If convicted, apparently, you'll receive a death penalty (banished to Siberia to starve and freeze, or some sort). The wife is probably jumping gleefully in her knickers guiltlessly.


Well, guiltless Briony Tallis is not. In this story, her 13-year old self's over-imaginative mind results in disaster -- disaster not just for her future self wherein she spends most of it atoning for her crime but more importantly, she ruined two other people's lives.


Due to her grave misunderstanding of Robbie's flirtations with her sister Cecilia (ie. the letter by Robbie: "In my dreams, I kiss your sweet wet cunt), she falsely accused him of sexually assaulting someone.

"Lush, detailed, vibrantly coloured and intense" I've never read any of McEwan's opus, thus, not privy to his "style" but the beginning was slow, languid and... hot. It was a lazy summer's day and it was an inevitability that my eyes were getting lazy too. If there was one thing which irked me was the pace. McEwan encompasses you in every minute detail, which can be a kiss of death. It was elegant and interesting in the beginning but the middle was excruciatingly slow. Much to my chagrin, the novel was terribly focused on details of World War II that I didn't give a flying arse about. It went unfortunately slow in places where I felt unnecessary.


"A love story, a war story, and a story about stories." However, I was impossibly floored with the third part where we hear from Briony's point of view as a nurse and also, the epilogue. It was grim, it was brutal and cruel. It was cold. I loathed the character whose narrative I loved. Some of the parts I read were some of the most beautiful things I have ever come across. Not in a Nabokov sort of fanciful and lyrical beauty, but in a way story telling is delivered as it should be. Poised and efficient.


How can a novelist achieve atonement when, with her absolute power of deciding outcomes, she is also God? In the end, it was revealed (very surprisingly) that the entire account is written by Briony herself. Even after 64 years since that summer's day, at the verge of dementia, she is still unable to free herself from the shackles she locked herself in. The fact that she glosses over the deaths of Cee and Robbie shows how there is no atonement. Giving them an alternate ending is a way to appease herself, not so much a kindness. Or, is it?


In the end, like Briony, I was also left with the characteristic emptiness and a tinge of sadness. However, for me, it is a rather welcomed sign.

Genre: Literary Fiction, War

Pages: 351 pages
★★★

This Is What You Should Do In The Shower

I was very disappointed when I found out the polish wasn't a deep red, but instead it was a purple with red undertones. However, the longer I admire it whilst showering, the lovelier it gets! Overpriced Elianto nail polish didn't disappoint much, after all.

And excusez moi, my hand looks monstrous! I assure you, that is not the case in real life. I have very proportionate hands.

*absolutely inane blog post.

My Face Alert

My lack of substantial content in this space is grating on me. I'm trying to plow through Atonement for a while now so I can talk about it. It's not a difficult read per se, but when events in one day make up almost half the book, you can see how the book's written. Therefore, as fillers till that elusive day when I'm finished with it, you get me for now. Or, at least, my face or smile. Not that anyone would want them, of course.

When I'm at home or just finished "socialising with society", my hair is almost always up in a ponytail. I just hate dealing with anything around my face lol. 

Thursday's look! I finally strapped my boots up and learned how to curl my hair using a hair curler, because previously I used a hair straightener to curl my hair (ironically) but that poor thing COMBUSTED whilst in my hand and I dare not use it anymore. So long, it has served me well. 

This was taken this morning and it's what's left of Thursday's soft curls, I quickly snapped one in front of the traffic police! I'm pretty sure the woman next to me was staring at me. I'm such a bad ass, aren't I? 

Today was so bloody hot, my legs were about to melt off my body. I had to peel my butt off the chair! Oh, and Hannibal the telly series came out. Ahmagawd. 

I really don't miss a lot of people all that much. Or care. Perhaps, a number of people (if you're reading this and you personally know me, it's probably you because only a select few read this space), but definitely not as much as I make it out to be. I miss the memories more. It is entirely selfish and uncaring of me.

The little things, in secondary school, we would all gather in the middle and talk, how I had time to read in the bus is something I can't do now that I can drive and how wearing the prefect's blazer was a nice but occasionally sweaty affair. I didn't pay attention when parents were chauffeuring me to college everyday too and I want that privilege to sleep in the car back :( I used to walk to class at 7am and the sun has not risen yet so it's a partially blind journey. How I'd study till night in college with friends and the walk to the washroom is also a partially blind journey. How comfortable everything was. Ah, I was grateful then but you'll never fully appreciate that point of time till you're far from it.

Yeah, I care selfishly. There is no need to pretend otherwise, is there?

Spots continue to hound me specifically on the right cheek. They luurrveeee my right cheek, I tell you. It's the pillow, I know, so I try to sleep on the left. But, I guess my sleeping self magically ends up on the right. There's one which is leaving a reddish radius on my cheek and I can only rely on a low quality camera to blur it away. Oh, c'est la vie! I'm currently reading Atonement and reading this book is like watching a girl (like myself) get ready. It takes forever and more but it's quite a pleasurable process so far. I fervently hope the end result will be a fashionable one.

One of the most fabulous people I know whom I steal chips from and he is also a creeper! I feel like I'm missing out on a lot of people's lives as well. 

We always see each other but seldom capture ourselves (because we're like hobos around each other). All we do is eat, shop and talk and walk but I always have fun and laugh my skirt off ;) You're an amazing person (but still blur, more so than me), not many can see that because you don't let them but I think in a way, it's a great thing, because it lets those who do appreciate you more. You deserve the best, girl. xx

Django Unchained was absolutely fantastic. I think I have a crush on Christopher Waltz's personality and German twang in the movie. But what amazed me more was the soundtrack! It's an amazing blend of old country and blues. From the comments on Youtube, I ain't alone.