Must-Read Article

It has been an absolute age since I have written anything. I know. And I completely understand your frustration (assuming you are, of course, frustrated). But blame it entirely on the stress of university decisions. I have been waiting desperately and in mental agony for the verdict for my future, and have been able to do little else. In fact, I have become so utterly useless, that instead of filling my unfathomable amount of free time (particularly due to my recent injury) with positive and productive tasks (for examples: writing!!!), I have been doing nothing but watching endless episodes of House M.D. I blame a friend for giving me the means to actually do this. 

It's all your fault that I'm a lazy ass! 

Actually, the fact that I'm a lazy ass has very little to do with him (key words: very little; he's still to blame to some extent), and mostly to do with the fact that I am a lazy ass. But that isn't the point. The point is that, after tomorrow, I will most likely be able to find topics to write about. And the focus. But right now, that is not the case. So this is a very short post directing you to two things that I found very interesting. The first is an article on the world's laziest countries. Canada did come in second, but I'm okay with that, because guess who came in first? In a list that you do not want to top.... Find out here.

The other is something that a friend pointed out to me. It's not really an article, so much as an informative poster/graph that shows the world's Internet speeds and costs. Surprisingly (at least to me, but that's most likely due to the fact that I'm naive in a very stupid way), we're not exactly up there. Unsurprisingly, Japan is. Check it out:

Interestedly (and anxiously) yours,
Aya

P.S. If you've got any suggestions for the blog's theme, let me know!

Free Health Care...?

If there is one thing that can take me out of my patriotic state of mind, it's today's trip to the emergency room. Or emergency ward. Or, basically, the hospital, since clearly the word "emergency" had absolutely nothing to do with it. 

Yesterday, I twisted my ankle while stepping off a Bosu ball. It hurt like HELL. I mean, as a tennis player, I've had plenty of injuries, including an ankle injury from around two years ago (occurred at the same gym and similar time-frame, ironically), so my pain threshold is pretty big. I had tendonitis in my shoulder for a couple years, and there was a point where I couldn't even lift my arm. (Since tendonitis tends to be chronic, it likes to say hello to me once in a while.) But nothing felt as painful as falling yesterday. You should have heard the crack. I think that sound alone sent me into a catatonic shock.

I got my ankle checked, and I strained a couple ligaments, so I'm off tennis for three to four weeks. There didn't seem to be anything wrong with my bone or anything, but my doctor(s) told me to get an x-ray just in case. So I had to go to my family doctor to get a referral, but instead of giving me one, she sent me to the hospital, saying that if there was something wrong with it, then they'd be able to put a cast on my foot right away. 

Before I start, can I just ask: WTF? Why the hell do you have to go get a referral to get an x-ray? Why? Why is it that nobody respects time? First I have to go all the way to my family doctor, wait, have her press on my bone so hard that I could have punched her in the face for not having learned the meaning of "gentle" after all these years, then be sent to a hospital, which is another fifteen to twenty minutes of driving, hours and hours of waiting, more pressing, finally an x-ray, and - after what seemed like an age - an answer. The verdict? No, my ankle is not cracked, just a tissue injury. Ice a lot, stay off it, and wear a brace. 

...I waited over three hours for a confirmation of what I already knew. In fact, I knew more than he did, because he failed to see that I had injured ligaments (to those of you know naught on the subject, that's pretty huge) - or maybe just failed to mention it- and said that if, in a week, it still hurts, I should go see a doctor again. In fact, if, in a week, it feels okay, I can even play the provincials that are coming up! 

Um...hello? A week? Was he for real? The last time I had an injury like this (three strained ligaments that time), I was out of commission for months. I mean, after a few weeks I could run okay, and jumping got easier, but it took months of wearing the brace, rehab, and being careful before it felt back to normal. And this guy says a week? 

By the way, I'm not just saying that, either. I had two other doctors (a chiropractor and a physiotherapist) look at it, and both agreed that it would take three to four weeks to heal. So I dunno...two specialists that I know and trust versus a guy I met only today, and who probably just wanted me out of his sight as soon as possible... Tough call. 

But my woes and life issues, as exciting as they are, aren't the subject of today's post. No, what I would like to cordially discuss is the concept of "free health care" in Canada. I say "concept", because I have finally, fully realized that there is no free health care in Canada. None. For example, today, I had to pay fifteen dollars to waste over three hours in an emergency room (increasing my chances of getting sick in the process) to hear completely useless advice. You know why? Because you have to pay to park your car. Yeah. Not only are you sick and in pain, you have to fork over buckage as a result of that very fact.
You would think that the already-unreasonable taxes we pay would cover that, but no. Oh, no. Teachers working with the York Region District School Board often have to give 46% of what they earn to the government, so that the money can be used to improve our school-systems, make health care better and affordable, look after our cities, etc. Strangely enough, I don't see any improvements in the school-system. In fact, the opposite is true (for proof, walk into any given high school, and you are guaranteed to find ten times the number of stupid people you would have found, say, two years ago). I don't see better or more affordable health care, either. For one, doctors in hospitals seem to glance at the surface of the issue and write you off, and then wonder why you're back a week later, feeling worse than before (answer: because the problem was two centimeters beneath the surface, but you were too lazy to dig that deep, asshole). Specialists are better, of course, actually taking the time to look at you from all possible angles, narrowing down the problem, figuring out proper treatment solutions - all the stuff that should always be done. But that's because you're paying them to do so, and usually, you have to pay a whole hell of a lot. Average physiotheraphy rate: $65-100 per hour. Average massage rate: $80-100 per hour. Average hospital rate: anywhere between three to infinite wasted hours, parking fee (charged by the minute), and the impossibly high costs of your medicine/recovery necessities. (For my ankle: ibuprofen and a brace, the latter of which costs around $85. It's lucky - sort of - I already have one.)

Oh, and let's not forget, ladies and gentlemen, that dentists aren't free anymore, either (thank you, Jean Chrétien). It's ironic, actually, because dental surgeries are the most common surgeries, and yet our taxes pay for the ones we are liable to never have to get. If your teeth are falling out and you need implants, that shit comes out of your own pocket, however bare it may be. You gotta go into dept for the sake of being able to chew your own food? That's fine by the government.

And another thing: why call the Emergency Room the "Emergency" Room, if it takes you a fucking age to get any attention? No, I do not want to get old waiting for a doctor to finally look at my toe (hypothetically speaking) and tell me if there's something wrong with it or not. I want immediate attention and care so that I can get on with my life. Is that so much to ask? (You know, this fact probably wouldn't be so infuriating if constant work was getting done. But it's not. While sitting in the Red Zone, I was a witness to the social banter going on between nurses and the one doctor, as though everything was fine and dandy. I don't care when your birthday is! My ankle fucking hurts!) One poor guy was sitting in his chair, bleeding non-stop, when a nurse came over and told him that his doctor would be with him in an hour.

Oh, that's fine. I'll just bleed to death while I wait, shall I?

Idiotic system. You realize we're going to be paying even more taxes now that the GST and PST are going to be one and the same, right? So before, when you were paying 5% for certain things, while 13% for others, you are now paying a solid 13% for everything. So that poor high school Math teacher who pays 46% income tax is now going to be paying even MORE money. Add to that property tax, and a whole slew of other taxes that I don't even know the names of, and we just can't catch a break, can we?

I'm starting to wonder if maybe Canada's full of shit...

If you have evidence to the contrary, please let me know, because I'm losing grip on my formerly firm belief that I live in the greatest country ever... I'm obviously seriously pissed off right now, so maybe tomorrow I'll change my mind completely and be back to loving this place for all it's worth. Nevertheless, as of this moment, that is not the case.

Dubiously yours,
Aya

Justin Bieber

I swore to myself I wouldn't do this. Actually, the first thing I swore was that, when (or if) I did end up writing this, it would be the most abusive amalgamation of words I could come up with. Unfortunately, I have a tendency to do research when I decide to slam people, if not to be able to make a stronger case, then to justify to myself that what I am about to write is okay. 

I am telling myself for the thousandth time that I should not have done that with Justin Bieber. 

So, for those of you who are (perhaps wonderfully) unaware of who this Justin Bieber is, let me Google him for you. I'll even add a picture: 

For everybody else, here is my surprisingly benign response to the world's newest celebrity.

But first - First Impression: little kid singing grown-up songs about falling in love with girls seemingly twice his height and age (this is purposely hyperbolic). Reasons to not like: 1) In spite of how obviously adorable this kid is, the point is that he is just that: a KID. He should not be singing songs that not too many twenty-year-olds can get away with. He needs to be at home, "building a tent-fort". (NB: Not my words. See ummmmheyyyy.) 2) In spite of how obviously adorable this kid is, he should not be flaunting his immediate effect on girls. It is not right. Or fair. 3) In spite of how obviously adorable this kid is, he cannot - and should not - get away with trying to act like Usher. He is not Usher. He is Usher's protege. There is a difference. (Uh...duh.) 4) He asked out Rihanna. In spite of how obviously adorable this kid is, you've got to be kidding me. And 5) He's Canadian. For some reason, that bothered me more than anything else. 

(Given my current patriotism, that one stuck. But not in the same way.)

So...I think this, more than anything else, proves that I am a truly shallow person. I am ashamed to admit that I judged him on these facts alone. (Although, in my defense, that is how one typically judges people, is it not?) And because of these facts alone, I have been judgmental to the point of hateful toward the young Justin Bieber, and for, it seems, all the wrong reasons. And thus, after some uncharacteristically thorough research, I have come up with a list of reasons why his fans have every right to be his fans, and my own opinion of him has done a 180.

THE LIST
1) When Mr. Bieber came out with his first few songs, he was 15. Admittedly, he looked younger than that, but that is hardly something he can be faulted for. "Haters" bash him for singing songs about love. After all, at 15, how can he know anything about the subject? Well here's a better question: who's to say he doesn't? There are plenty of people who are mature beyond their years. Hell, I felt I was capable of love when I was 15. I felt that way when I was 13. Many people did and do. Why shouldn't he? It's 15, not 5. We can therefore all scratch his song theme of choice as a reason to dislike him.

2) Justin has yet to fully hit puberty. That much is clear. That does not mean that he doesn't have talent. On the contrary, he is very, very talented. Shit, I wish I could play all the instruments he plays. Or sing half as well as he does. So his voice isn't a deep baritone. Big deal. He still sounds good, right? And don't say he doesn't, because that's bullshit. I had nothing against his voice even when I didn't like him. No argument.

3) The kid's cute. Let's all get it out now: he is a good-looking kid. His smile is worth screaming over. If you hate him for that fact, it's because you're jealous. If I were a boy, I'd be jealous, too. Luckily, I'm a girl, so I can get away with appreciating his looks for what they are: adorable. (New word of the day, folks.)

4) The songs. Let's face it: if Justin were four or five years older, it would be a lot easier to admit that his songs are good. Because they are. They're good songs. I refuse to listen to them on principle. (Actually, it's an act of self-preservation. As if I don't already feel pathetic, listening to a 15/16-year-old singing songs that I, under many other circumstances, would have no problem listening to on repeat is not the best way to make me feel any better about myself.) But that doesn't mean that there's anything particularly wrong with them, which is why there is nothing wrong with listening to them. The beats are pretty good, the lyrics are pretty good, and they're sung really well. Few of us have real issue with his songs - it's more the fact that he's the one signing them. (A stupid, petty reason, but we're only human.)

5) I accidentally came across a video of him playing live. He sings his heart out. He does it well. He can do it while playing on the piano or guitar. That is impressive. That warrants respect. And depression (at least, on my part, because I have yet to do anything nearly as impressive).

6) I equally accidentally (well, that's what I'm telling myself) came across a video of him with a three-year-old. It was sweet. He doesn't seem like an ass. That's commendable. And respectable. And depressing (because the list of reasons to dislike him just keeps getting smaller, doesn't it?)

7) He's got thirty million girls between the ages of 2 and 16 drooling over him (probably plenty of girls older than that, too). Big fucking deal. You want thirty million guys to be drooling over him? Thirty million adults? What? He appeals to that demographic. You have a problem with that, then you probably just have a problem in general. (Note: however, in spite of this, I refuse to believe that any of these fans have reason to cry when they see him. Why obsess over him if he reduces you to tears? Seriously. If you're a fan, smile and laugh, because you're supposed to be happy to see him. Not depressed. Unless you're me, but that's a whole different story.)

8) He didn't just happen to fall into where he is. He had to learn to play those instruments. He had to somehow show the world his voice. From what I have learned, he was on YouTube for years before he was discovered. And then when he was, it was down to work: learning new songs, singing them, recording them, filming videos, compiling CDs, traveling to play live, traveling to concerts, traveling to do interviews, publicity...on and on and on. It's hard work, people. Do not undermine what he does by insulting him.

9) Possibly amongst the most important: he's Canadian. How awesome is it that we seem to come out with so many talented people? (Irrelevant side-note: Hahahahaaaaa....I love how I can turn anything into a slam against the U.S. I have a feeling this might become a common theme.)

I believe all the above are reason enough to excuse the fact that he tries to act "G". He idolizes Usher. He wants to be like him. We all have our dreams, our hopes, our wishes. He does, too, and who are we to put him down for it? Who are we to try and demoralize him just because we may not necessarily agree with everything he does? 

In fact, who are we, really? Do you know who I am? No. Do I know who you are? No. Do we know who he is? Yes. Case closed.

In summation, I have nothing against Justin Bieber. In fact, I respect and admire him, something I am not used to saying about someone younger than I (and will therefore not repeat more than is absolutely necessary, i.e. to make a point). What he's achieved is pretty incredible. Plus, he's not Miley Cyrus, so that's huge.

I'm not saying that I'm going to be joining the throng of Bieber-obsessed girlies crowding elementary and high school hallways (makes me especially glad that I graduated the latter a semester early), because, like I said, his success depresses me. It makes me wonder why I haven't done anything to the same avail. Nevertheless, he is undeniably an inspiration, and deserves the respect of everyone, no matter who they (or you) are.

Docilely yours,
Aya

P.S. This will probably be the last positive post I write for a while, because so much shit has hit the fan recently, that there is tons of potential for wonderfully sarcastic and cynical rants. See you soon!

Brooklyn's Finest - oxymorons at their best

I never thought that I would leave a movie theatre with more reason than ever to dis the great U.S. of A., but here I am. I would like to remind the world two incredibly obvious, but crucially important, things: 1) Hollywood is in the States; 2) so is New York.

Earlier this evening, my friend and I planned to watch Shutter Island. Twenty-five minutes into the movie, I just couldn't stand the suspense (i.e. continuous close-ups of Leonardo DiCaprio staring at things while eerie music plays in the background). Oh, that, and the fact that the dialogue sucked, the actors sucked, the movie's set-up sucked, and the first twenty-five minutes really, really sucked. Maybe the rest was better. I don't know. Didn't bother sticking around to find out.

So my friend and I hightailed it out of there and slipped into another theatre, where Brooklyn's Finest was about to start.

Brooklyn's Finest. Hah. Hahahahaha.

Hahahahahahahaahahahahahahahahaha.

Brooklyn's Finest is euphemistic for Hollywood's Worst. Or Amongst Hollywood's Worst. Seriously. It was like watching Public Enemies all over again, except with a modern twist. I kept waiting, and waiting, and waiting for the action to start. Then, before I knew it (without giving away the sordid details), the movie was over. The ending, while realistic(ish), sucked (word of the day - er, night, ladies and gents).

I hate movies with no plot. I hate it when respectable actors are forced to try and act out mindless dialogues in movies with no plot. I hate movies that are graphic for the sake of being graphic, as opposed to the sake of the plot. Oh, right, I forgot - there was no plot. Brooklyn's Finest - hahahahahahaha! - was a combination of The Hours, Public Enemies, and The Departed. Thing is, though, both The Hours and The Departed had depth, had meaning - had plot! (Confusing, maybe, but it was there.) Not so much Public Enemies. Hell no, Brooklyn's Finest.

(By the way, my respect for Leonardo DiCaprio in such movies as The Departed, Blood Diamond, Body of Lies, and etc. only added to my disgust that he couldn't even put on a decent performance in Shutter Island, a movie that was destined to be bad from its opening scene.)

I am honestly shocked at how bad the movies that have been coming out lately are. Can no one come up with a half-decent idea? All those movies that Amanda Seyfried's in now? Like...wtf? Honestly? Even action movies - my favourite genre - are seriously lacking. What is going on? Do all writers have a block? Holy shit...

Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe it was a good movie and I'm just being a bitch. Maybe I'm too shallow, and require a movie that I can easily enjoy. Maybe what I mistake for depth is really a clear-cut story and is presented in such a way that you simply cannot mistake it for something other than what it is. Maybe I'm just stupid.

But probably not.

SO: warning against Shutter Island and Brooklyn's Finest. Both are Amongst Hollywood's Worst. And A Waste of Your Money.

Angrily yours, 
Aya

Canada vs. the U.S. = no match

So, following the defeat of the U.S. in the finals of men's hockey, heat between Americans and Canadians has reached an all-time high. Everyone wants to prove that his or her country is better. Such debates are filling up comment spaces on such sites as Youtube, under such songs as "Oh...Canada" by such artists as Classified.

I find this hysterical for a number of reasons: 1) Americans can't find anything bad that's either new or true about Canada, continuing to repeat the typical spiel on igloos, fat-asses, and scrawny (or as some moron said, "scrony") weaklings; 2) Americans seem to forget that they have more fat-asses per square kilometer than we do people, and seem to be trying to block out the fact that we beat them in the most important sport in the Olympics (who's weak?). Plus, they have deluded themselves to the point where they think that starting moronic wars all over the world is a sign of strength, as opposed to unadulterated stupidity; 3) Americans refuse to believe that Canada has everything they do...and more. They still think that the U.S. is the better place to live in spite of us having consistently better quality of life; 4) the U.S. fucks the world over, but we're still standing with hardly a scratch; 5) Americans can't even articulate their insults well, sticking to a variety of "yo mamma" jokes that are excruciatingly simple, excruciatingly dull, and excruciatingly misspelled. Canadians rightly wonder what the hell these people's imaginary affairs with their mothers have to do with our country; and 6) because of how self-assured Canadians are, and because of all the information and proof they have as resources, they have been able to come up with some truly hilarious and witty comebacks to all the pathetic cracks taken at Canada. One of endless examples: 

"Only in America will a pizza get to your house faster than an ambulance." 

I don't know about you, but I loved that one.

What Americans have yet to realize is that we clearly win, simply because we never start the fights in the first place. We're okay with ourselves. They, obviously, are not, and don't want us to be, either, therefore do everything in their power (so, not all that much, when you think about it) to try and demoralize us. Too bad it's having no effect, huh? 

They just can't win. We have way too many advantages. Like the advantage of (in my completely unbiased opinion) a much better country. 

Patriotically yours,

Aya

P.S. Read the comments for yourself for Classified's "Oh...Canada". 


NOTE: This post has been written purely for entertainment and in jest. I don't actually have anything against Americans, and respect the United States. If not, I wouldn't be trying so hard to go to university there. 

Happyhappyhappyness

GO CANADA!

Yes, by some miracle - one that I still cannot, even now, believe occurred, and executed by none other than the magical Sidney Crosby himself - we won the Gold Medal for Men's Hockey, the only medal that mattered to our entire country; it mattered without question for sport-serious fans, and it even mattered to those who have no interest whatsoever - like me - in hockey. Today, our entire country was paying attention to the goings-on in the final between the United States and Canada, even if they weren't directly watching it. I, an infamous hockey-hater, sat glued to the screen for the whole thing, just like I did with the match against Russia. As much as hockey is far from being my sport, this was clearly a game not to be missed, an opinion so ubiquitous throughout Canada - hell, throughout all of North America - right now, that I'm pretty sure most of you can relate. 

If you can't, you're missing out. It's a great feeling. In fact, it's such a great feeling that I felt like posting a short and [almost] completely non-cynical post stating my happiness over the fact that such a glorious thing has occurred. And I would also like to mention that never before have I been so proud to be Canadian. I realized it when I inexplicably started bawling during the Olympic Opening Ceremonies, and further reinforced by the numerous instances when tears would hit my eyes at every slight success or (understandable) shortcoming by a Canadian. And, of course, the gut-wrenching, heart-throbbing anxiety that overtook me whenever I was watching one of our own do his or her thing, and the unexpected blooming of happiness in my chest whenever we won. 

Like the Gold Medal in hockey. That was easily the best feeling of all. 

I don't drink, ladies and gentlemen, but there is absolutely no doubt that I AM CANADIAN. 

Please party responsibly, designate a driver, or have a cab company on speed dial. You don't want your celebrations to go to waste x]

Ecstatically,

Aya

Positive Negativity

Okay, let's face it: the world loves negativity. I'm not talking about the disasters that ravage unbearably unfortunate parts of the world (although there do exist some sadomasochistic psychos who actually enjoy others' misery), or depressing events, or sadness, or in general any tangible form of negativity. No, I'm talking about negative outlooks, negative tones, pessimism, realism (which is just pessimism in disguise, when you really think about it), etc. This is usually brought forth in the form of sarcasm, irony, cynicism, annoyed rants, aggravated rants, angry rants, rants of any form, really...the mediums and methods are endless! (Well, maybe not endless, but I just can't name everything off the top of my head right now.) 

Think about it: nobody wants to read the happy blog entry of some girl who won her volleyball/karate/tennis/etc tournament; they want to read the laugh-my-ass-off sarcastic articles and editorials criticizing politicians, celebrities (especially politicians), current events (especially where politicians are involved), countries (being led by incompetent politicians) and their pathetic governments (specifically what each politician is doing wrong, how, and why), and any other topic that interests a great number of people. (Of course, I'm exaggerating the amount of abuse politicians get, but it's a popular topic in my family, so it carried over.) People don't want cute stories about birthday parties and puppies; they want to read about misdeeds, about stupid occurrences, about huge mistakes - in short, about anything that will make them feel superior and better about themselves. After all, it's easy to call someone else stupid when all we're doing is watching from the sidelines. 

Which, I might add, is something I do all the time. I'm kind of a hypocrite that way. 

But anyway, it's true. Think about it. The most interesting articles and essays are sarcastically amusing ones that detail all the faults of this world and its creatures. (For example: amongst the biggest hypocrites on this planet - the one and only Al Gore! He claims he wants the world to go GREEN, and yet his ginormous house consumes more energy in a few weeks than most houses do in a year...oh, and by the way? Buying carbon credits? Bullshit. It's a way to feel better about yourself when you're really one of the biggest polluters on the PLANET.) And from my own personal experience: I get ideas for topics from things that really annoy me. In fact, I read a quote in a book once. It went something along the lines of this: "There's no point in writing if you can't piss somebody off."  

Looks like a prayer out of a journalist's bible. 

You have to wonder why that is, though. Why do humans find the negative aspects of our lives so compelling, while the cute and happy stuff is deemed mundane, uninteresting, and, thus, ignorable? And why are things the most interesting when they're shown through a negative light? Why does the majority of humanity see the glass as half-empty instead of half-full? Why does the negative stuff influence us more than the positive stuff, even if it's sometimes in a positive way? (There's a twisted question for you.) That is to say, sometimes people only take things into serious consideration when it's presented to them in a cynical, sarcastic, or ironic form. Why is that? (By the way, this is a generalization, and I may be wrong in my assumption, so don't be offended or take this the wrong way.)  

Not to get all philosophical on you, but if you have a thought, let me know. And if I ever come to some semblance of an answer, I'll post it, too.


Wonderingly yours, 
Aya

Online Communication

Or rather, pathetic online communication. I got an email today, and it gave me an idea for a post. (Oh, the irony: I haven't had anything to write about in weeks, and suddenly my head is brimming with ideas on one night - it's still the 18th as I start to write this. And I have another idea, too, but it's way too late now...)

The topic: terrible online communicationalists (wow, that sounds so good...too bad it's not a word). Specifically in terms of emails and instant messaging (any form of instant messaging, including MSN, Skype, AOL, whatever). [Note: I don't have Facebook, or MySpace, or Twitter, or anything similar, so I can't really comment on those, but I'm pretty sure my rant will still apply in some ways.]

Ironically, the email that gave me this idea was a really good one. Not just because it contained a good message, but because it was so...different. From all the other emails I get, I mean. More creative and, thus, far more interesting. The title was an inside joke, but while it was funny and meant one thing, it was also the opposite, and implied something more serious. The message itself was short, but it actually meant something, and it wasn't written plainly, but in the complex type of wording that can make an impression on someone. Well, on me, anyway. 

It was this particular email, though, that made me realize how pathetic and boring the other emails I get are. No interesting titles, no captivating words or letters, nothing to make them stand out in my mind. One of my pet peeves is forwarded emails (although there is one person who is good at this, sending on only the ones that are actually interesting or worth reading). Why people think I want to figure out my fortune, or find out who my soulmate is, or read about fake people who want to raise money for some fake ailment (God help me if, in fact, these people and ailments are not fake, and I am simply a cruel, heartless bitch), or other generic and brain-cell-killing topics is completely beyond me. And who creates them in the first place, anyway? How bored do you have to be to waste precious hours and minutes on something so completely useless? I have better things to do with my time. (For those people who don't and actual enjoy these emails, I do not apologize if I've offended you. Seriously. This is how strong my opinion is.) 

I also hate junk mail, but I think that can be agreed on unanimously. 

When it comes to emails, I guess all I want to say is that I wish I got more that are as interesting as the one I got earlier. Something different. Something that actually makes me smile or laugh (I admit to being a person who uses the abbreviations "lol", "lmao," and "lmfao" excessively, with an extreme lack of emotion when it should be there. For example: Someone: Hey, what's up? Me: Not much, you? S: Not much, just doing homework. Me: lol OR S: omg, i really want to see [insert movie here]. Me: lol, yeah, me too. I mean...it's not funny that someone is doing homework...and it's not funny that we want to see some movie...and yet "laugh out loud" is there. Why? Why would you laugh out loud at that? WHY ON EARTH WOULD YOU LAUGH AT HOMEWORK? I CRY at homework. And yet I didn't say, "bmeo" (bawl my eyes out); no, I said L-O-FRIGGIN-L. I say lol all the time. Everybody does. It's a conversation softner more than anything. If you want somebody to know that you're happy and relaxed, you say lol. Otherwise, they start thinking you're pissed off and moody. It's impossible to carry on a normal conversation through instant messaging. AND ON THAT NOTE, I WILL CLOSE THIS PARENTHETICAL SIDE-NOTE! *Ha ha, bet you forgot that this was bracketed. Bet you forgot what this paragraph was originally about, actually. Because I did.*)

Speaking of instant messaging conversations, this is the other online communication failure I wanted to discuss. In all honesty, how many times have you been forced to partake in conversations like this: 

Person A: hey
Person B: hey
A: what's up?
B: nm, u?
A: nm, jc
B: lol
[...*chirping crickets*...]

[NB: For the record, I am one of those people who refuses to use shorthands like "nm," "u", "jc," etc. It does not take much longer to type out you than u. It is this abbreviated MSN-speak that is going to be North American Literacy's demise. (Although I'm not anal enough to care about capitals.)]

What kind of conversation is this? Person A, if you are starting a conversation, that means - for some reason, however inexplicable or expected it may be - you want to speak to Person B. If this is the case, it is then your job to keep the conversation going - you accepted this responsibility by default when you started the conversation. In most cases, Person B didn't do this because Person B had nothing to say, and therefore did not feel the need to say something for the sake of saying something. (I say most cases because, of course, there is an exception to every rule...or theory.) If you have nothing to say, though, and have started the conversation for the sake of starting a conversation, here's a word of advice: don't start the conversation. This will be a rude awakening for many, many of my friends, but I hate conversations that start with a "hey" or "hey, what's up?" and basically end there. Unless you actually care about what I'm doing, or you have something interesting to tell me, or have something to ask me, or have a legitimate reason for talking to me, do me a favour: don't. It's true that conversations with a purpose can taper off to nothing, too, but at least they start with something. Conversations that are nothing from the very start are doomed. (It is important to note that when a conversation is interesting, it usually continues on for a long time. Unfortunately for the human race, such interesting discourse is difficult to come by. It requires an emotional attachment or involvement that is rare on the web. In fact, you have to ask yourself: if you want to talk to this person so much, why not call them? Why not meet up with them? Why keep talking online? Of course, there are many reasons, including the confidence being unseen gives, or the fact that you can take time to calculate and concoct a witty response with no one realizing that that is what you are doing. But still...)

Oh, and another thing that annoys me! (Wow, aren't I just a little ray of sunshine?) People who take forever to respond! And I don't mean once or twice, because that's understandable. Most people do things other than chat when they're at their computers - or at least, let's hope so - and sometimes they are involuntarily drawn away from their computers, but they can explain themselves when they return. But when people continuously take two, three, ten minutes to reply, it PISSES ME OFF. If you don't want to talk....WHY'D YOU START TALKING?! Otherwise, if you're busy, TELL me you're busy and that you'll take a while to reply, so that I don't feel like hunting you down! Actually, if you're busy, SIGN OFF. Do yourself AND everybody else a favour. But do NOT take five minutes to reply. DO NOT.

*FUMING*

Oh, and in fact, I hate responses like this (some of which I'm guilty, but only in cases where I dislike or am annoyed with - not a rare occurrence - the person I'm speaking to): cool; nice; sick; i dunno; i see, and etc. If you have nothing to say, or if you don't want to talk, tell the bloody person that you're busy and stop wasting their time (unless you don't give a shit about them, and want to waste their time, or want to make them feel bad; in that case, you have the green light. Don't forget that you're wasting your time, too, though...)


Oh, and while I'm on the topic of pathetic communication, let's touch on text messages, shall we? I hate having conversations through texts. The irony of that statement is that I do it all the time. But I hate doing it. I don't even know why I do it. Same with lol. There are just some things that aggravate me, and yet it doesn't seem like I can avoid them (or rather, I can, but not without isolating myself entirely.) But seriously. If you want to talk, CALL the person. It's not as hard as it sounds.

So, in summation: boring emails, strained and dull conversations, and poor conversationalists are all things that need to be eliminated.

Cheers!
Aya

University Hype

"Hey! How's it going? Good? Yeah, me too! I know, I hate school, too! I'm so sick of it, honestly. So, have you decided where you're going next year?" 

Everyone at, around, or over the age of 18 knows what I'm talking about. The moment you're the age when most people start getting ready to head off to university or college or whatever - even if you've got a few years of high school to go - this question will inevitably - and I mean inevitably - pop up in conversations. Often. It's as though, now that high school is almost over, it's time to talk about something that no one has any real clue about, but loves to discuss as though they do. For example:

"Oh my God, I'm so screwed for next year. I know nothing."
"Oh my God, I'm so screwed for next year. My marks suck." 
"Oh my God, I'm so screwed for next year. My study habits are atrocious."

And then there are the people who don't care about the actual academic aspect of going off to post-secondary school, but think that the only good thing in attending university or college is that they will then be faced with a minimum of four years full of nothing but a) drinking, b) partying, c) sex, sex, sex, and d) getting drunk at parties and having mindless, uninhibited sex with everyone in sight. I am being extremely cynical and stereotypical in this assumption, of course, but let's face it: people like this do exist.

That's not what bothers me about university hype, though. After all, for many people, post-secondary school is an opportunity for independence, a broadening of horizons, new experiences...all that good stuff that attracts the worst of students. No, what bothers me is the way people ask the question "What university are you going to go to?" Especially when they ask it at the beginning of the grade twelve year. Because how the hell are you supposed to know? Unless you've already applied, and already been accepted everywhere, and thus have your pick of schools, how the hell are you supposed to know where you're going to go? You may know where you want to go, or where you're going to apply, but that's an entirely different question (one that, of course, is discussed nonetheless).

The other option, of course, is that you know where you're going to go because you've decided to go somewhere you are 101% certain you will get in. If that's the case, then I have to wonder why you've decided to go to that school. After all, if you know for a fact that you will get in, why not try to aim higher? Why not stretch or challenge yourself? Of course, it may be that this precise school has exactly the program you want, or maybe it's really cheap (or is giving you a full scholarship or something), and is conveniently close to home, or a variety of other possible scenarios that could affect a person's decision. (I know someone who is incredibly smart - above 90 average for sure - but decided to go to a school that requires a really low average. But he's going to grad school, so his reasoning is that he'll save money over the four years of undergrad, be top of his class, and go to his choice of graduate schools. A pretty good argument, and I still say he should have gone to a better school.) Otherwise, I personally think it's not a good idea to just settle; everyone owes it to themselves to give it their all and strive for the best.

Before I get preachy, I'll continue my point. If you haven't been accepted to any university yet, how can you state where you are going to go? It irks me to no end. Oh, and the other thing that bothers me is when people try to convince you to go somewhere particular, some school that either a) they want to go to, or b) they think you SHOULD go to. Why? Why do people think they know what's best for you better than you do? I have decided that I want to go [here], therefore this is where I will go if I get in, so stop trying to convince me otherwise. No, I do not think that school is amazing. No, I do not think its campus is amazing. No, I do not think its programs are amazing. No, I do not think anything remotely related to it is amazing, so STOP BOTHERING ME ON THE SUBJECT.

To add to my endless list of annoyances, can I just ask why everybody feels the need to continuously and repeatedly talk about subjects related to post-secondary school? Seriously. Why? Is there nothing else to talk about? Are current events too dull for our tastes? Do our lives revolve around getting accepted to some school, and then go there to "pursue" our "dreams"? Are we not living our lives until we become freshmen at unis/colleges? Or WHAT? What is stimulating all this university talk? I understand being asked once or twice, but when the same people ask you the same question over, and over, and over again, I'd be surprised if you aren't ready to snap. Frankly, I see uni as yet another obstacle to overcome before we no longer have to worry about homework and being graded. Everybody else sees it as some doorway to another universe. Really? I mean, I guess if you chose a career path that actually requires a university degree - or multiple university degrees - then, sure, knock yourself out (something you're very liable to do at one point if you've decided to become a doctor or lawyer), but otherwise, stop sitting around on your butt, waiting for some professor or program to kick-start your life. If you know what you want to do, DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT. And talk about THAT, instead.

Don't get me wrong. I think that university should be a part of everyone's life at one point. Higher education is the only thing that will keep civilization civilized. High school curricula are dumbed down more and more every single year, so a graduate can't really consider him- or herself all that smart and accomplished anymore. University is the only thing that will really take learning to a new level, and even then, a bachelor's degree isn't all that special or respected anymore (even though it should be). We should continue getting an education after high school. Not necessarily till half our lives have flashed by, but at least until we get a good sense of the world, a good knowledge of something, a good base for our futures. It's just...can people please STOP TALKING ABOUT POST-SECONDARY EDUCATION? You'll have plenty of opportunity to do that once you GET THERE. Now, enjoy everything ELSE. Like the free time that you won't have in the future. And being able to manipulate teachers. And skipping class while not suffering for it. All that stuff that makes high school what it is.

On that note, hope all's well!
Aya

P.S. Sorry for the crudity of some of what I said...but it had to be done.

Dear John

Okay, I've rethought the purpose of this blog, simply because it does not seem liable to work. For one, I haven't been able to get as much writing done as I had originally hoped, but on top of that, every time I do write something, I always end up going back and revising it, which is really just a nice way of saying that I basically rewrite whatever I have down (case in point: I now have a fourth version of the beginning of my story, the first and third of which you have been exposed to). Seeing as I don't want to have to keep putting up the beginning, I just won't put up anything at all. I feel less pressured that way, anyway.

That being said, I will, from this point forward, do what I seem to do best (at least in person): rant.

Today's topic will be "Dear John," by Nicholas Sparks. I will admit that I was excited about buying the book, particularly because I have been in the mood to read sweet, romantic love stories lately. I did my research before getting it, too, reading a few excerpts, watching the trailers for the movie that's coming out based on it. I even read a few reviews (although, in all honestly, I went this far only because I was left with no access to either a bookstore or library at the time). The reviews were all good, too, expressing that it was a typical Nicholas Sparks story, set in a small town, beginning through sheer spontaneity, faced with a difficult situation, fueled by unsinkable desire and longing - all that fun stuff that elicits envy and desire in most females (very heavy emphasis on most). It didn't seem like it would make a long-lasting impression on me, but it seemed good; seemed like something I was in the mood to read.

Which is why the first thing I am going to stress is that I was extremely, extremely disappointed when I read it. I felt almost betrayed, in a way, by all the hype. I have read numerous reviews on the book, and I've yet to read a single bad one. Maybe I'm looking in the wrong places - I don't know. What I do know is that I only recommend reading this book if you are a) looking for something to use as a bad example, or b) desperate for some form - any form - of literature, and it is the only, only thing you have. (I may be exaggerating, but if I am, only slightly.)

Theoretically, the idea isn't bad: former bad boy meets naive good girl; boy is in the army, girl is studying how to help the mentally ill in college; boy falls head over heels for girl, and vice versa; time spent together; much, much longer time spent apart; after the first time, difficulties set in, etc., etc., etc. But the whole bad boy/good girl thing is so overplayed that Sparks' only saving grace is the somewhat different situation. Well, that, as well as the fact that the ending more or less makes sense, and that there are a number of underlying messages that make the story a lot better than it otherwise would have been.

But that's where my positive feedback ends. Maybe I'm being a little harsh, but so be it. I actually enjoyed reading "The Notebook" (not so much the movie), and absolutely loved "A Walk to Remember" (both the book and movie were spectacular), so I guess I was expecting a lot more from the world-renown Monsieur Sparks.

The story starts off with the main character and narrator, John Tyree, describing his life, explaining his reasoning for joining the army. He's home on his third leave, and is sitting at the beach, resting after a day of surfing, when two girls walk by. One of these girls is Savannah, the other main character and John's love interest. John calls out a greeting, and while her friend rolls her eyes and turns away, Savannah calls back. And kaboom! It's love! While John is somewhat interesting, Savannah, in my opinion, is not a compelling character at all, and neither is the way Sparks words her description. John mentions a lot about her "kindness" and "sweetness", but there really doesn't seem to be much else about her that would attract someone like him to her. She has an open face, and a good heart, and she volunteers to help the unfortunate, and she cares about everybody...straight-A student...valedictorian...very pretty...naive and innocent... I mean, come on. That just isn't enough. I didn't find that there was a truly engrossing aspect to her personality that could have pulled someone like John in. And yet somehow, she does. And then her bag falls into the water, and of course John is the one who gets it out, and their eyes meet, and he feels something (the Sparks spark) - again mentioning the kindness - and he never wants to look away. They end up spending that evening together, and the next, and the one two nights after that. So after knowing each other for a whopping four days, they are deeply, beautifully in love - and say so, too. Seriously. That's where the "I love you"s come in, and the situation could not have been any more unrealistic and unromantic.

Maybe it would have been more believable if Sparks had done a better job developing the emotions that played out, or by giving more details to the three days spent together, or just by giving more details. But there just wasn't enough of that. They don't do anything particularly exciting when they're together, and their conversations seem both unnaturally boring and conditionally improbable. (In fact, the dialogue throughout most of the book seems pretty stiff and unreal.) There's nothing gripping about them, so I don't see how they could have fallen so deeply for each other so quickly. I'll concede to the fact that Sparks did seem to try and make it seem as though their relationship was different, as though it stood out: Savannah took an uncanny interest in John's father (because "he was the one who raised [him]"), and John felt an irrepressible jealousy and protectiveness whenever around her, even that first night. But it was all just too dry. It wasn't captivating, it didn't entice me, and it certainly didn't move me. Seriously, four days and they're completely and utterly in love? Fighting a week in because there is now such a depth to their relationship that family is now involved in the emotional roller coaster? Entirely committed to each other less than two weeks later, as John leaves for the army? Really? I can only see that happening if they spent many, many hours together, bonding over unique and unusually romantic activities. I don't even know how to accurately explain what I'm trying to say: there just isn't enough development of the relationship.
 
So after the less-than-two-week-long period together, they manage to survive an entire YEAR apart through letters, occasional phone calls, and a ritual to look at the full moon every month and remember their two weeks. That way, they wouldn't ever forget. When John returns, things are smooth sailing at first, then troubles ensue - as they should. But the troubles, in all honesty, are pretty trivial, and they don't seem like the type that would arise if their relationship was plausible...and then the "solutions"...

Okay, I won't give away the ending, but all in all, this was a disappointment. In fact, I am going to return the book - something I never, ever do, because even books that I don't exactly love I tend to keep. But this one just does not belong anywhere in my collection. I refuse to have it anywhere on my shelves. It would be an insult to all that I stand for. You may think I was harsh, but I'm only being honest.

In all candour yours, 
Aya

The Indefinable

So, I've finally gotten some writing done. Not a lot, mind, but enough to make me happy. It's been pretty slow-going, though, so I hope you like what I've done so far. I've changed the beginning up a bit, and this is still part of the introduction, but I guess I want to know if you guys like what I'm writing before I post any more. Here it is:  

Confusion had become the dominating theme of my life.

It happened without warning. I lost my footing on what had never seemed to be a tenuous reality, lost my sense of complacency. Everything I did rode on a feeling of insecurity and hesitation: it seemed as though nothing I did was right. For the first time since I could remember, I began to question myself, my decisions, and the path I had chosen (a path that was not really a path at all, but rather an agreement between the two halves of my brain that I would be allowed to bide my time in deciding…whatever it is I was supposed to decide). I felt like I could no longer be the strong, independent individual everyone had always considered me to be. Of course, the newness of my situation forced me to invariably maintain a façade that conveyed this image, while effectively hiding my “inner turmoil,” a clichéd label for what I had cynically considered to merely be an attention-seeking act employed only by those desperate enough to do so.

But there I was, in exactly the same position. I struggled to find answers that seemed entirely out of my reach, and that in itself required an explanation that could not – or would not – reveal itself.

So maybe it was this that resulted in my reaction. At least, that’s what I told myself, sitting on the floor in the empty hallway right outside my first period class.

It was the first day of school, and I’d arrived only ten minutes before the main bell, the one that told everyone that stress was about to once again become very much a part of their lives. My first period class, World History, was inconveniently located in the remotest corner of the building, giving me a perfect excuse for going there directly from the parking lot, bypassing any and all opportunity to commingle with the friends that I had missed so very little.

To my surprise, the class was already full, although there was a pair of empty desks standing at the very back of the classroom near the windows that seemed reserved for me. I wound my way through the bags left carelessly on the floor to the desk right beside the window and sat down, dropping my tote on top of the other to ward off potential seating partners.

Looking around the room, I realized that every other seat was filled, but not by the bookish types that I had come to associate with History courses. A third of the boy’s soccer team was there, along with our star basketball player. A gaggle of girls, apparently dressed for the beach, surrounded them, their voices high-pitched and incessant. A few of the Brains were there, too, sitting with impeccable posture at the very front, often shooting annoyed glances back at their more popular peers.

And then there were the people that composed the vast majority of our school’s population: Everyone Else, or the EE’s, the ones that did not fit into any of the defined categories (consisting of the Brains, obnoxiously studious students that did not have any true intellect, but rather an immense and unnecessary knowledge of all of the school’s textbooks; the Athletes, unimaginably ignorant boys and girls whose sole purpose lay in missing numerous classes on account of yet another basketball-soccer-volleyball-you-name-it tournament; the Girls, shallow, fad-obsessed females completely unaware of the outside world, preferring to surround themselves with expensive toys and Athlete boys to increase their so-called appeal; and the Dead Ones, so often drunk, high, and/or passed out that teachers had ceased to realize they were still enrolled), but sometimes wished they did, because even the Dead Ones seemed to garner more attention than they did. You may think I’m kidding, but there is a section in every yearbook that names the following year’s potential Brains, Athletes, Girls, and Dead Ones. It is a baffling school tradition that cannot be deterred.

There was another category, though rarely mentioned and never written. It was the one that the “definable” ones feared, because it was the one thing they could never be, and yet everyone wanted to become: the Indefinable.

Smart+Harvard=DNE

Don't judge me by the title. At least, not yet. Hear me out first. Thought actually went into this post. See, I've realized that, in order to regularly post bits of the story that I'm writing, I actually need to be writing the story. Thus far, I have made no progress, and cannot count on it in the next little while. I'd say that I'm suffering through writer's block, but it's more of a confusion. I have a plethora of ideas (my new favourite word, by the way: plethora), but I don't know which ones I should actually use. I feel like I need to put everything together to create the ultimate novel, but at the same time, I don't want to have a garbage dump of a story. For this reason, I will simply rant today. 

So on to the main topic of today's post. It's random, yet not-so-random. I went on a visit to Harvard a couple months ago, and I was extremely excited. I wanted to meet new and interesting people of incredibly high intelligence and talent so that they could inspire me to become a better person myself. Unfortunately, I realized very quickly that intelligence and Harvard don't always relate to one another. Of course, the campus is swarming with wannabe and potential Einsteins and Bill Gateses, but there is also an almost equal amount of people who, according to its reputation, just don't belong there.

Case in point: As part of my trip, I got to stay in a girl's dorm-suite. It consisted of a living/rec room-style open area that led off to a bathroom and four bedrooms. These ranged from closet-size to bigger than my own room at home, and there was no equitable way to decide who gets what. But moving on, the girl I was staying with, to my immense surprise, turned out to be a complete bitch. A spoiled one who didn't display any semblance of intelligence throughout my entire stay, I might add. Her tasks consisted of showing me around campus, introducing me to people, and giving me an overall impression of what Harvard was like. Instead, she abandoned me in her suite for over three hours, alone with nothing to do but my homework. When she finally returned, she talked to me for all of two minutes before one of her roommates came back. Incidentally, that day had been this roommate's 21st birthday, and so very loud squealing and excited babble quickly ensued. (Considering how loud and high-pitched their voices were, I'm surprised there weren't any complaints. In fact, I'm surprised that they were that loud at 11 o'clock at night to begin with. What about respecting their fellow dorm-mates? Guess not.) The two sat down on the couch and proceeded to utterly ignore me while gossiping about a whole slew of people I felt grateful never to have had to meet. I had a feeling that even knowing one of them would put me in their "Marked to Kill" list.

This lasted for about twenty minutes when, suddenly, Miss 21 sprang up from the couch and screamed, "Ohmigod! I totally forgot!" She ran into her room and a second later...came back out with a pair of the most hideous boots I have ever seen in my life. My host squealed yet again, also jumping off the couch, and the two started examining every inch of the rubber (which resembled something used to make car tires). When I heard what the price was, I nearly choked on air, while my host said something about it being a good deal. Say what? They're RUBBER BOOTS. They look like what the people who work in sewers wear. No lie. After a close examination of the boots, they sat back down on the couch and started a discussion of clothes. CLOTHES. Really? I mean, I have nothing against that, and am a fan of fashion myself, but when you have someone visiting from another country, that seems like a dubious choice for a topic of conversation. 

Ten more minutes passed by, and a third roommate walked in. She quickly proved herself to be exactly as shallow as the other two, but with a slight difference: she was a little slower (read: a lot dumber), and therefore needed continuous confirmation that her opinions were, indeed, the right ones. 

The following morning, after an almost entirely sleepless night, my host and her boyfriend were leading me to breakfast. "Breakfast" was a relative term, and consisted of a couple starch muffins and a Styrofoam cup of lukewarm tea consumed on-the-go. To make matters even worse (didn't realize, at the time, that that was even possible), after a bit of conversation, their already condescending way of speaking to me got even worse when they started ridiculing the fact that I was Canadian. An example? When I mentioned something being 12 meters in length, the two glanced at each other and smirked. The girl said, "What is that in feet? I don't do meters." Her despicable boyfriend? "You mean like...parking meters?" 

Yes, asshole. That's exactly what I meant. 

There were more instances, but I won't mention them because it will take way, way too long. Now, don't get me wrong, I am not saying that Harvard is a lie. It's not. To my relief, I did meet two people who seemed very normal and actually smart, just like what people imagine Harvard students to be. But I met a total of maybe twenty people, and only 10% of them I didn't dislike. That's not very good.

Don't judge Harvard by my experiences, though. My friend went there and absolutely loved it. Maybe I just had a very unfortunate trip. Maybe I just happened to meet all of the unlikable people that go there in one and a half days. Maybe I just happened to come at an extremely bad time, causing everyone I met to be in a disagreeable mood.

Then again, maybe not. But I can never be certain. All I know is that I never want to have to go there ever again.

Candidly yours, 
Aya

NOTE: I had to rewrite this post twice because my computer crashed. I tried very hard the first time around, and it was really good. I got very upset. You better like this one.

Inaugural Post

Hello to those of you who somehow stumbled onto this blog. I'm hoping that, eventually, this blog will generate enough attention and views to actually make some difference in my life, but in the meantime, I'm considering myself lucky that you are reading it at all.

What this blog is supposed to be for is to share my writing with the world-wide web, and I was thinking that maybe each time I post a blog, I will add a small portion of the story that I am currently writing. So far, I've tentatively titled it "A Complicated State of Affairs," and it concerns a young girl in her final year of  high school. I've been trying to come up with what the book-jacket might say, and this is what I've got so far: 

"From the moment she could first string thoughts together, Riley Durham had always had her entire life planned out. She was in charge of her present and her future, and everybody wanted to be her. But then something happened that changed her, and she hadn't been the same since...
       Now, three years later, Riley is entering her last year of high school, more uncertain about her life and her own identity than ever before. She desperately seeks answers to a plethora of hidden questions. What she never would have expected, though, is that her new history teacher would be able to help set things right again. Perhaps a big, dangerous secret is exactly what she needed...until the one person she would never have wanted to find out discovers it." 

[I'm having some issues with the very last sentence (it sounds a bit awkward to me), and I'm not sure the summary does a very good job of really grabbing a person's attention, but it's the only thing I've got so far, so that's what I'll use for now. If I get any new ideas, I'll post them. If you have any ideas or feedback, let me know!] 

So...interested in what the big, dangerous secret is? Well, if you are, then you should start following along... (Yes, I am a big fan of ellipses.)

Every few days I'll put up a bit more of what I've written for A Complicated State of Affairs. That is, of course, assuming I've written anything at all. I think this is common in many writers, but I am very erratic: sometimes I will write ten pages without even stopping for a drink of water, and sometimes I will hem and haw over one paragraph, trying to get it just right. If somebody starts reading this and decides that they like it, then I will be over the moon. The more views and comments I get, the more I'll post, obviously, because I have a tendency to give up if things don't work out (a habit that I am furiously trying to drop, I might add). So if you are actually interested in my stories, be sure to comment! 

Hope everyone is having a wonderful start to the new year!

All the best, 
Aya  

-----------------------------------------------------------

A Complicated State of Affairs beginning: 


Confusion had become the dominating theme of my life. Everything I did rode on a feeling of insecurity and hesitation, and I repeatedly questioned my most mundane actions and choices. Eventually it became quite clear to me that some turmoil was taking place within me, one that was affecting every single aspect of my already complicated life. 
      Why? How? I did not know. I sought answers that seemed entirely out of my grasp, and that in itself required an explanation that could not – or would not – reveal itself. 

To be continued...