a moment's folly,

Oh we’re such beautiful people, even our own noses fascinate us. I’m going to make everyone pull that face, take a photo and make a collage to celebrate the end of year 12. And then blackmail everyone in it 10 years later when they’re all filthy stinkin’ rich lawyers/doctors/accountants/actors/actresses/marine biologists/pharmacists/horticulturalists/deadbeats that won the lottery/one-hit wonders.

Dear Year 12,

5 more days. 5 more days and the relationship is over. 25 more days till I can claim my life back from the front office ladies I abhor so much. We need your card before we give you your life back. Well guess what, I won’t be needing my student ID anymore and I certainly will not have to wait in line for 5 minutes when I’m the only one in line. Hah, goodbye. Anyway, even though you have stolen my precious shut-eye moments, taught me what disappointment really means, permanently tattooed eyebags beneath half-shut eyes, thinning eyelashes and fatigued gaze, introduced me to this strange elixir(that only works for 3 hours) known as V, increased my dependence on caffeine, induced an aversion to technology and its wirey digital friends, turned me into a textbook-eater and reinforced my obsession with good quality stationery, I still will kind of miss you. I’ll miss the friends, the laughter until our tummies hurt and we couldn’t breathe, the private jokes, the singing in class and annoying the teacher, the eating while we highlight our notes, the scribbling and doodling on a classmate’s book, the that’s what she said jokes in Physics and Chemistry, the Mr LeCornu’s epic demonstration of a flagella on a sperm, the drawing vampire hickeys on the sleeping person in class, the yodelling when we’re supposed to be doing our pracs, the lame pick-up lines, the really really bad till they were funny jokes, the lying on the oval avoiding homework, the long deep talks on the bus and during frees, the taking photos with inanimate objects around school, the walking through town barefoot on formal night, the planning to take down the hard-hearted campus head, the boring aimless SRC lunchtime meetings, the prayeries that ended up with us moshing to Parlez Vous Francais, the intense prayeries that united us, the study sessions, the awkward moments with the incredibly awkward CPSW, the Mr Carter going red in the face when he accidentally drew boobs when he was meant to draw atoms, Mr Godden never handing back our essays, Mr Fahim and his UNGA, the waiting at the deserted bus stop after tests, the telling people who were complaining after tests to shut up, the dancing to the Wombats at the bus stop and the many other interesting, endearing moments that made this year a laugh and a half. Make that a laugh and 5 halves that strangle my tummy like a snake strangling a donkey, a la The Swiss Family Robinson. I loved that book.

Thank you, for giving me a reason to open up and find some amazing people I wouldn’t usually hang out with.Thank you, for new friends and old that make me smile on the hardest days and believed in me even when I couldn’t believe in myself. Thank you, for teaching me that procrastination never pays off. Thank you, for showing me that coffee has the ability to put me to sleep. Thank you, for teaching me that sometimes, grades aren’t everything and passion gets you through the year and that I would have hated English Comms, even if I did do alot better than I’m doing now in English Studies. Thank you, for concrete evidence that further reinforces my decision to never, EVER become a high-school teacher. Above all, thank you for showing me that God is faithful, even in sucky circumstances and in the face of scary things like the UMAT and getting a C on a test.

I would like to point out, however, that I never want anything to do with you again. You’re like the Sec 2 Adventure Camp we went on; feral, disgusting, complete lack of a proper sewage system, flies in my food, mud fights, bonding with team members, great memories but best left in the past. Emphasis on the complete lack of a proper sewage system; remember those days when the water pipe burst, the toilets couldn’t flush for 2 days and everyone had to be sent home because no one could get rid of the poo in the loo? Yeah. You get the point.

Love, Cheryl, your over-caffeinated, sleep-deprived, Physics-textbook-dating, life-deficient, over-eating, soon-to-be-free owl of a student. Mwa mwa.

P.S. I have a record player. Oh snap. I have a record player and all I can do now is pretend to be a DJ and spin my 50-cent The Sound of Music record. Yodel-zip-yodel-zip-yodel-zipppp.

Mark’s 21st, 10th October 2009

Great, great friends: people you definitely have fun and enjoy being with, regardless of time, place, event, activity, conversation or no conversation, alcohol or no alcohol, through whatever circumstances that shits all over you, even in the lobby of an exam hall, on the grass in the sunshine, in dingy Chinatown toilets, in the midst of serious intense God moments, online, offline, boyfriend or no boyfriend, food or no food, lifegroup or no lifegroup, car rides home, tears or tummy-wringing laughter, out in the cold, in front of everyone else, in spite of everyone else. People who make your day by just being there.

Love you girls, with all my heart and guts and bodily fluids.

The reactions I get when I cavort the streets this self-tie-dyed used-to-be-aqua-green dress never fail to amuse me. Here are just some of them:

“You look like a hippie!” (I assume a stoner stance and start singing Yellow Submarine by the Beatles. They assume this is normal and that I have been smoking weed, as hippies do in their free time. Wait, that’s all they ever do in life. Besides championing for several bizarre causes.)

“You look like the sky!” (I proceed to tell them that I will jump off a building so that they can run about in circles announcing that the sky has fallen and that everyone should celebrate their last day on Earth. They stare at me; “Eldritch little girl.”)

“You look like the sea!” (I suppose the sea does reflect the sky, but this one got me thinking. If my friend wore the right glasses to school, that is.)

“If you leaped off the building, all we’d see is your face. And limbs.”

“OMG you blend right into that blue car over there!”

So I’m bleaching a few denim pieces right now and the house smells like cat’s pee plus bad mushrooms. And my grey denim jeans have turned mandarin orange. It even has the texture of a mandarin orange. Me and bleach aren’t getting along very well at the moment.

I think I’m going to start recording my visions here. And turn this into a vision diary. I’d like to think God put a state-of-the-art projector in my head because I can’t actually do anything but stop and stare at the projected pictures when He turns them on. Interesting.

HEY SARAH LOOK.

“Doesn’t it hurt when I bite your finger?” *bites own finger* “OH SHIT THAT HURT!”

“O! let me not be mad, not mad, sweet heaven;
Keep me in temper; I would not be mad!”

Hey God,

Thank you. Thank you for keeping me from going mad. Thank you for the peaceful sleeps and no more restless nights spent worrying and crying on my bed. Well, for another two weeks anyway.

“You can tell the size of your God by looking at the size of your worry list. The longer your list, the smaller your God.”

I’m liking my hair and the fact that no foreign colour has worked its way into my roots right now. Except fluorescent highlighters, back when I was little and couldn’t differentiate between fluorescent highlighters and hair highlights or you’re and your. Wait, I’ve always been able to differentiate between you’re and your. Hah.