Hey guys, the lovely Nymfaux passed on this award to me (thank you!) and I shall pass it on because it seems too delicious not to.
How it works:
Hm. That’s an interesting question. One I have not yet thought about. Honestly, I don’t know how anonymous you can be with your face staring out (looking down?) on the side – not at all I guess. I don’t blog anonymously because I air my opinions about other people’s work on this blog and I want them to know where my opinions come from. You know, like reading a work in context of its author and the time period he/she lives/lived in. My reviews and reactions to various works would make more sense if they knew a little bit about me. And no, I don’t wish I had started out anonymously. I don’t want to hide behind anonymity while expressing opinions that might (or might not) be controversial.
When we were supposed to move houses. I refused. I am comfortable where I am and nothing my family could say or do would make me change my mind. Heh.
I try not to look in the mirror if I can help it. Especially in the mornings when my hair is… okay. I see myself. I see potential. I see a woman who could be more, way more than she is.
I’m from Fiji. A land of perpetual summer. I’d say water but I have these memories of my dad making pineapple juice from scratch – chilled in the fridge. Or we used to have “ice blocks” as we called them. Popsicles we made from scratch (milk, sugar, water, glass, popsicle stick, freezer).
It depends on the mood I am in. I am never bored. Seriously. (Unless I’m in a science class.) I write, read, watch Asian dramas or Hindi movies. Or any other foreign movie that catches my attention. Sometimes I embroider. Or listen to music. Or I lie on my bed and stare at the sky. Sometimes I just think.
What do you mean still? I have yet to accomplish something. Heh. I’d like to rule the world someday. Okay, not really. I don’t think I could handle the stress. Long term goal? I’d like to write a book. (I know, I know, who wouldn’t?) But more than that, I’d like to tell a story. I’d like to be someone people respect. I’d like to be someone who’s happy with what she is, what she has and who is very confident of herself. Of who she is. I’d like to get As in all my classes this year too.
In Primary school (Grade school) I was an Orator. Basically we had these Oratory competitions (public speaking, you’d call them in North America) and I had to memorize pages and pages of speeches and then go out and orate, get judged and win perhaps. I remember the first time I entered a competition. It was my teacher’s idea. I was in Grade 3 – short for my age. The topic of my speech was “What I Would Do if I Ruled the World.” I went up and in front of about a thousand people, I forgot everything I had memorized, mid-speech. Then I took a deep breath and started all over again.
In High School, before we moved to Canada, I was part of this rebellious group of students who always got into trouble for pushing the rules of a conservative Muslim School. It was funny because our group also had the most number of school Prefects (think Harry Potter) and I was one. Actually I was the Deputy Head Girl. (Dude, we abused our positions so much.) I never fell for all the “blind obedience” spiel the teachers spewed. So I ended up in the Principal’s office (a short squat man who resembled a monkey) more times than not. It was okay. I once led the entire student body to attend school wearing regular clothes instead of the uniform. We got sent home as punishment but we went to the docks and ate ice cream instead. Then went home on the sugarcane truck.
If by poignant, you mean that your eyes still prickle with tears than the saddest moment of my life would have happened one night about two years ago. It was about 2 in the morning and my grandmother had been sick, on and off, so I was keeping awake so that I could hear if she needed help. That night I heard her making these strange moaning noises as though she was in a lot of pain. I screamed bloody murder and got the house awake in like half a second. She only recognized my voice and her hand feebly tightened on mine before relaxing its hold. The ambulance came and the saddest moment of my life was watching the ambulance drive away, it’s sirens blaring, knowing, somehow, in the deep recesses of my mind, of my heart that this was it. This was the end.
It used to be more difficult than it is now. Now I sort of detach myself from myself, if that makes sense. And structure my life as a story I can tell. As though the events are elastic and the actual happenings fictional. It makes it easier to talk about myself.
I’d much rather read. Anyone who knows me knows that I am not a phone person. I’m too easily distracted to pay attention for long periods of time on the phone. I’d much rather talk to a person in real life than on the phone.
Now to hand out this award:
Alissa – The Grammarian
Tina – The Book Couture