'Well now I'm back at home and
I'm looking forward to this life I live
You know it's gonna haunt me,
So hesitation to this life I give...
You think you might cross over,
You're caught between the devil and the deep blue sea,
You better look it over,
Before you make that leap
And you know
I'm fine,
But I hear those voices at night,
Sometimes, they justify my claim
And the public don't dwell on my transmission
Because it wasn't televised,
But it was the turning point-
Oh what a lonely night...'
What IS this madness?! I have had that song stuck in my head for the past THREE WEEKS. It's got to the point where I can replay the whole song in my head without any hesitation or mistake.
Rahr. Somebody help me. :( It's a beautiful song, but sometimes levels of obsession can be too high :(
It's either Spaceman, or The Masterplan, by Oasis. I don't even like Oasis that much.
I NEED NEW MUSIC TO GET INSIDE MY HEAD.
Blah.
Helphelphelphelphelp.
Sunday, 29 January 2012
Friday, 27 January 2012
Flashbacks and The Curious Effects of Hormones
So...
I nearly got hit by a bus today. A great big double-decker one.
It was... scary.
And when I say scary, I don't mean in the: 'ohmygodI'mgoingtoDIE' kind of way, but in the: 'holyshitnotagainthisisgoingtofuckingHURT' kind of way.
This is the second time. I was once crossing the road at a yellow light, and a minivan was speeding and I wasn't looking and it hit me and it was right before my end of year exams last year and it hurt and I was so freaked out and I just wouldn't stop crying. It wasn't even on purpose, I just felt really panicked and the tears kept on falling- I didn't mean for or want them to fall :/
So yeah, the same happened today, but with less tears and no collision.
I need to be a bit less careless. It's going to really hurt one day...
Paha. As if. I always forget to take care. I guess you could say I'm the overly reckless type. :P x
I nearly got hit by a bus today. A great big double-decker one.
It was... scary.
And when I say scary, I don't mean in the: 'ohmygodI'mgoingtoDIE' kind of way, but in the: 'holyshitnotagainthisisgoingtofuckingHURT' kind of way.
This is the second time. I was once crossing the road at a yellow light, and a minivan was speeding and I wasn't looking and it hit me and it was right before my end of year exams last year and it hurt and I was so freaked out and I just wouldn't stop crying. It wasn't even on purpose, I just felt really panicked and the tears kept on falling- I didn't mean for or want them to fall :/
So yeah, the same happened today, but with less tears and no collision.
I need to be a bit less careless. It's going to really hurt one day...
Paha. As if. I always forget to take care. I guess you could say I'm the overly reckless type. :P x
Thursday, 26 January 2012
Stream Of Consciousness
1.
2.
3.
4.
When I was very small, and fairly a young girl, I slept with a teddy-bear. A teddy-tiger, rather. It was small and fluffy and fit perfectly in my small arms in my fluffy pyjamas.
I... have a sister. When she was born, I had dressed in my pinkest finery, and, dripping with gentle jewellery, I had rushed into the hospital to greet my new small baby playmate. She was cute and small and teddy-bear like.
When I was born, I had been drugged up on pethadine.
Apparently so heavily medicated that I didn't even make a squeak.
My dad and his brother were down at the pub, and apparently it was my uncle who was first to hold me, not my dad.
I, personally, find that hilarious.
I was told today that I'm never serious, and I never ever take anything seriously. I contradicted them by saying that I had been deadly serious when I received my Physics mocks results (YESTERDAY).
Then I ruined it by bursting out into laughter.
I can't help it.
I'm always like that.
I find everything amusing. There's so much to laugh about in the world. So much to find ridiculous, so much to ridicule, so much to be amused by. Sometimes happy-genuine amused, sometimes patronising-condescending amused, and other times bitter-mocking-cynical amused.
But whichever it is, whether it's light or dark or black or cruel or kind or vanilla or naughty, there's so much to laugh at. To make fun of, to be amused at.
Why wouldn't I?
Sometimes I contemplate the possibility of the pethadine overdose at birth being the cause of me behaving like this. So still and silent when born, so determined to live and laugh in the middle bit.
Then I stop and think on what I just thought, and realise how utterly ridiculous I can be. :)
I'm the way I am because I want to be, not because of any early external influences :P
Anyway.
Life laughs, laughs live, we're all a happy family...
PAHAHAHAHAHA.
This is supposed to be a 'stream of consciousness', where everything I write is completely spontaneous - anything, anything and everything and nothing at the same time, probably completely nonsensical and most likely of poor, imbecilic standard.
Psh.
I'm just making it up as I go along. (Which I suppose is correct, as it is intended to be spontaneous)
Ella's drawn a pentacle onto my hand, and it's weird and doesn't look pretty and it's awkwardly clashing green with red on brown skin...
Christmas colours.
There's also an awkward hole in my tights and they're too small so they keep on slipping down and my 'p's are quite pretty, and this is completely and utterly irrational.
I... want a party.
With balloons and everything.
And music and dancing, and pretty dresses in flashing colours and clever people with cleverer jewellery.
It'll be gorgeous.
It'll be...
Spectacular.
I hate physics.
2.
3.
4.
When I was very small, and fairly a young girl, I slept with a teddy-bear. A teddy-tiger, rather. It was small and fluffy and fit perfectly in my small arms in my fluffy pyjamas.
I... have a sister. When she was born, I had dressed in my pinkest finery, and, dripping with gentle jewellery, I had rushed into the hospital to greet my new small baby playmate. She was cute and small and teddy-bear like.
When I was born, I had been drugged up on pethadine.
Apparently so heavily medicated that I didn't even make a squeak.
My dad and his brother were down at the pub, and apparently it was my uncle who was first to hold me, not my dad.
I, personally, find that hilarious.
I was told today that I'm never serious, and I never ever take anything seriously. I contradicted them by saying that I had been deadly serious when I received my Physics mocks results (YESTERDAY).
Then I ruined it by bursting out into laughter.
I can't help it.
I'm always like that.
I find everything amusing. There's so much to laugh about in the world. So much to find ridiculous, so much to ridicule, so much to be amused by. Sometimes happy-genuine amused, sometimes patronising-condescending amused, and other times bitter-mocking-cynical amused.
But whichever it is, whether it's light or dark or black or cruel or kind or vanilla or naughty, there's so much to laugh at. To make fun of, to be amused at.
Why wouldn't I?
Sometimes I contemplate the possibility of the pethadine overdose at birth being the cause of me behaving like this. So still and silent when born, so determined to live and laugh in the middle bit.
Then I stop and think on what I just thought, and realise how utterly ridiculous I can be. :)
I'm the way I am because I want to be, not because of any early external influences :P
Anyway.
Life laughs, laughs live, we're all a happy family...
PAHAHAHAHAHA.
This is supposed to be a 'stream of consciousness', where everything I write is completely spontaneous - anything, anything and everything and nothing at the same time, probably completely nonsensical and most likely of poor, imbecilic standard.
Psh.
I'm just making it up as I go along. (Which I suppose is correct, as it is intended to be spontaneous)
Ella's drawn a pentacle onto my hand, and it's weird and doesn't look pretty and it's awkwardly clashing green with red on brown skin...
Christmas colours.
There's also an awkward hole in my tights and they're too small so they keep on slipping down and my 'p's are quite pretty, and this is completely and utterly irrational.
I... want a party.
With balloons and everything.
And music and dancing, and pretty dresses in flashing colours and clever people with cleverer jewellery.
It'll be gorgeous.
It'll be...
Spectacular.
I hate physics.
Monday, 23 January 2012
RawrBunnies
It started with a low light,
Next thing I knew they ripped me from my bed,
And then they took my blood type,
It left a strange impression in my head,
You know that I was hoping
To leave this star crossed world behind,
But when they cut me open,
I guess that changed my mind
And you know, I might,
Have just flown too far from the floor, this time
Cause they're calling my name,
And they're zipping white light beams,
Disregarding bombs and satellites,
And that was the turning point,
That was one lonely night.
The songmaker says it ain't so bad,
The dreammaker's gonna make you mad,
The spaceman says 'Everybody look down,
'It's all in your head'
That's been running through my head non stop since last Monday. It's Spaceman, by The Killers. Brilliant song. :) Brilliant lyrics, beautifully sung, excellent accompaniments. What more could you want?
I received four of my mocks results today. They weren't that bad- 3 As and 1 A* - it's a good start, I suppose. But... Perhaps it's not quite good enough for my parents, Asians that they are. :)
Tomorrow, I think we'll be getting English back. I'm quite nervous for that, because I fell asleep in the English Language mock and as a result, missed a ten marker, which is absolutely awful, and will probably drastically hinder my score and cause me to lose any chances of an A*, which is dreadfully depressing - because English really ought to be my best subject. :/ Oh dear. Guess I'll learn to get a bit more sleep next time. :P
Ciao now :)
Next thing I knew they ripped me from my bed,
And then they took my blood type,
It left a strange impression in my head,
You know that I was hoping
To leave this star crossed world behind,
But when they cut me open,
I guess that changed my mind
And you know, I might,
Have just flown too far from the floor, this time
Cause they're calling my name,
And they're zipping white light beams,
Disregarding bombs and satellites,
And that was the turning point,
That was one lonely night.
The songmaker says it ain't so bad,
The dreammaker's gonna make you mad,
The spaceman says 'Everybody look down,
'It's all in your head'
That's been running through my head non stop since last Monday. It's Spaceman, by The Killers. Brilliant song. :) Brilliant lyrics, beautifully sung, excellent accompaniments. What more could you want?
I received four of my mocks results today. They weren't that bad- 3 As and 1 A* - it's a good start, I suppose. But... Perhaps it's not quite good enough for my parents, Asians that they are. :)
Tomorrow, I think we'll be getting English back. I'm quite nervous for that, because I fell asleep in the English Language mock and as a result, missed a ten marker, which is absolutely awful, and will probably drastically hinder my score and cause me to lose any chances of an A*, which is dreadfully depressing - because English really ought to be my best subject. :/ Oh dear. Guess I'll learn to get a bit more sleep next time. :P
Ciao now :)
Friday, 20 January 2012
Charles Xavier and Sneering Like Draco Malfoy
So. I'm quite grumpy at the moment.
I had a lovely day today. It was the last day of mocks, and so I went in, chilled for a bit, had DMCs (Deep and Meaningful Chats) with various people, and then did my exam in the afternoon. A lovely day, in general.
And then we decided to celebrate by going to Oxford Street, so it was even lovelier, as I bought a few more pairs of tights, (in December I'd gone wild and bought eleven :P) found a gorgeous jumper and a pretty bracelet. So, basically, everything I'd wanted.
Life was good.
And then I came home. It was alright at first, my dad was pretty cool and I chilled. Mum came home and literally. ruined. EVERYTHING.
Rawr, it was so annoying :(
First she shouts at me for going to Oxford Street. Then she shouts at me some more when I countered that particular grievance with the fairly reasonable: "But you'd said I could this morning."
That made her angrier, and she retorted that I should have known that she didn't want me to go.
Well, sorry Mum, I'm not telepathic, and you have a poker face like no other. I can never even tell when you're happy. Which is rarely, admittedly, but still.
I didn't actually say that. My reply was, again: "I told you that if you didn't want me to go, I wouldn't. I told you that I'd listen to you if you'd said no."
She sneered at me- yes, she actually fucking sneered like fucking Draco Malfoy or something- and told me not to pull the innocent lamb act, because she of all people would know what a deceiving little liar I was. Then she stormed down the stairs.
It's so nice to have such a loving, caring mum.
Bitch.
So. That ruined my day. Blahh. I'se still grumpy :'(
I'd intended to post something bubbly and fairly interesting today. But now my mood has been SHOT TO PIECES AND STAMPED ON AND THEN SHREDDED WITH A BLUNT PENCIL BEFORE BEING SQUISHED INTO WEIRD LITTLE SMEARS ON THE CONCRETE PAVEMENTS BEFORE FINALLY BEING BURNED SLOWLY AND PAINFULLY VIA SUSPENSION OVER LOTS OF CANDLES.
Yeah, I'm talking about how my feelings have been treated here, not what I wish would happen to my mum. I would say she's not usually that bad... But usually she's a obsessive controlling dictator whose interactions with me completely depend on how she's feeling at the moment (i.e. smiley/content = much love. Even vaguely annoyed = evilandIhateyouandyou'readisgustinglittlelyingcheat. That, possibly apart from the 'Ihateyou' bit, is unfortunately all true.)
So yeah, now that my happiness has been brutally murdered, I am unhappy and sad and I can't remember the happy thing I wanted to post.
:'(
On the other hand... I now have about twenty five to thirty pairs of really sexy patterned tights. I may just take a picture for you :)
But not now, because I'm still grumpy and I think I'm going to express my moodiness by staying up all night and stalking people on Facebook.
Or just staring at the screen blankly, wishing that I could telepathically control my mum so she wouldn't be so goddamn moody all the time. Blah. Where are you, Charles Xavier, when I need you?
Oh that's right, stuck in a) Eric Lehnsherr's pants, b) the films, c) the comic books.
Rawr. I want my happy mummy back. :'(
I had a lovely day today. It was the last day of mocks, and so I went in, chilled for a bit, had DMCs (Deep and Meaningful Chats) with various people, and then did my exam in the afternoon. A lovely day, in general.
And then we decided to celebrate by going to Oxford Street, so it was even lovelier, as I bought a few more pairs of tights, (in December I'd gone wild and bought eleven :P) found a gorgeous jumper and a pretty bracelet. So, basically, everything I'd wanted.
Life was good.
And then I came home. It was alright at first, my dad was pretty cool and I chilled. Mum came home and literally. ruined. EVERYTHING.
Rawr, it was so annoying :(
First she shouts at me for going to Oxford Street. Then she shouts at me some more when I countered that particular grievance with the fairly reasonable: "But you'd said I could this morning."
That made her angrier, and she retorted that I should have known that she didn't want me to go.
Well, sorry Mum, I'm not telepathic, and you have a poker face like no other. I can never even tell when you're happy. Which is rarely, admittedly, but still.
I didn't actually say that. My reply was, again: "I told you that if you didn't want me to go, I wouldn't. I told you that I'd listen to you if you'd said no."
She sneered at me- yes, she actually fucking sneered like fucking Draco Malfoy or something- and told me not to pull the innocent lamb act, because she of all people would know what a deceiving little liar I was. Then she stormed down the stairs.
It's so nice to have such a loving, caring mum.
Bitch.
So. That ruined my day. Blahh. I'se still grumpy :'(
I'd intended to post something bubbly and fairly interesting today. But now my mood has been SHOT TO PIECES AND STAMPED ON AND THEN SHREDDED WITH A BLUNT PENCIL BEFORE BEING SQUISHED INTO WEIRD LITTLE SMEARS ON THE CONCRETE PAVEMENTS BEFORE FINALLY BEING BURNED SLOWLY AND PAINFULLY VIA SUSPENSION OVER LOTS OF CANDLES.
Yeah, I'm talking about how my feelings have been treated here, not what I wish would happen to my mum. I would say she's not usually that bad... But usually she's a obsessive controlling dictator whose interactions with me completely depend on how she's feeling at the moment (i.e. smiley/content = much love. Even vaguely annoyed = evilandIhateyouandyou'readisgustinglittlelyingcheat. That, possibly apart from the 'Ihateyou' bit, is unfortunately all true.)
So yeah, now that my happiness has been brutally murdered, I am unhappy and sad and I can't remember the happy thing I wanted to post.
:'(
On the other hand... I now have about twenty five to thirty pairs of really sexy patterned tights. I may just take a picture for you :)
But not now, because I'm still grumpy and I think I'm going to express my moodiness by staying up all night and stalking people on Facebook.
Or just staring at the screen blankly, wishing that I could telepathically control my mum so she wouldn't be so goddamn moody all the time. Blah. Where are you, Charles Xavier, when I need you?
Oh that's right, stuck in a) Eric Lehnsherr's pants, b) the films, c) the comic books.
Rawr. I want my happy mummy back. :'(
Thursday, 19 January 2012
Revision Techniques
Yep. This is what I do with my time when I should be revising for mocks. Fixing chipped nails or adding prettier designs.
Oh dear...
Aeneid 2 and Small Insignificant Crushes
This is dangerous. This is very, very dangerous. I should not be courting fate so close to my exams.
It is six in the morning here, and I woke up early for the very specific reason of revising my Latin Literature (Book Two of Virgil's Aeneid if you're wondering)
However, because this is a new blog (it's only five hours old!), it still retains its shiny entrancing allure, and is therefore far far more interesting than silly things like Aeneas' domestic issues (His city's burnt down, his father doesn't want to leave said destroyed city, his son's head catches on fire, and his wife gets lost in the turmoil like the ditz she is. It's hardly surprising that Virgil dedicated close to a 1000 lines to its retelling).
However, my own personal issues (of a Very Serious and Important Nature) have been warring within me for far too long, and I really do need to rant.
So basically, the issue is: I appear to have a... crush on someone. The distaste I feel for that word alone is almost unbearable. 'Crush' is such a juvenile, vulgar term. I would much rather say, 'fancy' (i.e. I've taken a fancy to someone) or even the rather more puerile option: 'like'. As in 'I like like him.' At least those terms don't have the childish, somewhat commercialised American connotations that 'crush' does.
Also, I've just managed to successfully use three synonyms for immature in one sentence. Check it ;)
Yeah, I'm a snob. I shop at Waitrose and everything.
Anyway. Back to the 'crush'. I, for some unknown reason, have just decided to start feeling fluttery and weird whenever this boy talks to me. This is stupid and completely nonsensical, because I have met this boy just once in my life and even then we only spoke for all of two minutes. Most of my interaction with him has been via Facebook. However, by dint of continuous stalking, I have managed to come to the conclusion that this guy is a bit of a legend. And I know that this isn't just me being affected by... unwanted chemical reactions, as even some of my friends have waxed lyrical about his legendariness (Yes. This is now a word).
And now one of my friends thinks that something is going to happen, even though it really won't because I've been far too much of a spaz when talking/bantering with him over Facebook and also I'm not really the kind of person who people would go for and also eww. Relationships with people means they get to touch you. And expect things from you, like constant texts and affection. Eww.
Another thing that makes me feel slightly depressed is the whole 'inter-racial relationship' thing. No one wants to do it. I mean, Asian girls (most of them) are usually more than happy to go for white boys (or girls), but I don't know any white girls (or boys, to be honest) who would be happy to go out with Asian or black boys (or girls).
This is depressing. This is depressing because it shows two things. One, people aren't as cool with the whole otherpeopleothercolour thing, even on a subconscious level which is probably where these decisions are made, which clearly implies an uneven, slightly broken, if not outright fractured, society despite most people's best efforts. The second thing it shows is that it's going to be even harder for me to find someone I might possibly be interested in. 'Crushes' don't count - just because I like the idea of someone doesn't mean I'd be cool with them kissing and touching me. Eww. That is going to require effort on both of our parts. Yay.
On a brighter note: threesomes sound fun and cute. I have no idea why, but the idea sounds appealing. Maybe it's because your attentions are divided between two other people, so you don't have to deal with the pressure of just one...
Yeah. I have control/trust issues. And some weird insecurity thing that I don't understand going on.
Blah.
It is six in the morning here, and I woke up early for the very specific reason of revising my Latin Literature (Book Two of Virgil's Aeneid if you're wondering)
However, because this is a new blog (it's only five hours old!), it still retains its shiny entrancing allure, and is therefore far far more interesting than silly things like Aeneas' domestic issues (His city's burnt down, his father doesn't want to leave said destroyed city, his son's head catches on fire, and his wife gets lost in the turmoil like the ditz she is. It's hardly surprising that Virgil dedicated close to a 1000 lines to its retelling).
 |
| Aeneas and Dido in Carthage. Just an example :) |
So basically, the issue is: I appear to have a... crush on someone. The distaste I feel for that word alone is almost unbearable. 'Crush' is such a juvenile, vulgar term. I would much rather say, 'fancy' (i.e. I've taken a fancy to someone) or even the rather more puerile option: 'like'. As in 'I like like him.' At least those terms don't have the childish, somewhat commercialised American connotations that 'crush' does.
Also, I've just managed to successfully use three synonyms for immature in one sentence. Check it ;)
Yeah, I'm a snob. I shop at Waitrose and everything.
Anyway. Back to the 'crush'. I, for some unknown reason, have just decided to start feeling fluttery and weird whenever this boy talks to me. This is stupid and completely nonsensical, because I have met this boy just once in my life and even then we only spoke for all of two minutes. Most of my interaction with him has been via Facebook. However, by dint of continuous stalking, I have managed to come to the conclusion that this guy is a bit of a legend. And I know that this isn't just me being affected by... unwanted chemical reactions, as even some of my friends have waxed lyrical about his legendariness (Yes. This is now a word).
And now one of my friends thinks that something is going to happen, even though it really won't because I've been far too much of a spaz when talking/bantering with him over Facebook and also I'm not really the kind of person who people would go for and also eww. Relationships with people means they get to touch you. And expect things from you, like constant texts and affection. Eww.
Another thing that makes me feel slightly depressed is the whole 'inter-racial relationship' thing. No one wants to do it. I mean, Asian girls (most of them) are usually more than happy to go for white boys (or girls), but I don't know any white girls (or boys, to be honest) who would be happy to go out with Asian or black boys (or girls).
This is depressing. This is depressing because it shows two things. One, people aren't as cool with the whole otherpeopleothercolour thing, even on a subconscious level which is probably where these decisions are made, which clearly implies an uneven, slightly broken, if not outright fractured, society despite most people's best efforts. The second thing it shows is that it's going to be even harder for me to find someone I might possibly be interested in. 'Crushes' don't count - just because I like the idea of someone doesn't mean I'd be cool with them kissing and touching me. Eww. That is going to require effort on both of our parts. Yay.
On a brighter note: threesomes sound fun and cute. I have no idea why, but the idea sounds appealing. Maybe it's because your attentions are divided between two other people, so you don't have to deal with the pressure of just one...
Yeah. I have control/trust issues. And some weird insecurity thing that I don't understand going on.
Blah.
The Beginning: The Big Bang, As It Were
Hello.
How are you? I'm fine. Actually, I'm feeling pretty cool right now. I've got my own blog and everything.
See? Sexy.
Anyways.
'Why?' You may be inquiring. 'Why are you taking up my time with this odd little blog, when I could be doing so much more interesting things, such as YouTubing or Facebooking?'
And my answer is this:
Everyone needs someone to talk to. Some people talk to their mums, other people to their best friends. I know some one who talks to their invisible friend Algernon. And here, is where I want to talk to you. About everything and anything - from boys to school to politics to music to MarioKart to exams to best friends to obsessions to quiet contemplations on muddy fields.
Anything.
So to start off with, my name is Tara. I have a best friend called Ella and a twin (in everything but blood) called Fran. My parents were born in India, but I like to pride myself on being completely English - from the way I speak to the food I eat. That's not to to say I don't take pride in my parents' country - I do, it's just not my country- it's not the place I was born and raised in, not the country I love.
I love England. I really do. I don't know why - people always complain about the dreary weather and the hostile inhabitants and the ever growing influx of foreigners. Or at least, they do in London. (Where I live, if that wasn't obvious :P)
So England is hardly the place people dream of living in, nor is it the dream holiday destination, but life knows I'd hate it if it were. I like the rain and the odd wet dryness that we get so often, and the summer in the spring and the spring in the summer, and skipping autumn to go straight into winter. I love it. It's different and it's special and not even Germany has it, and Germany's one of the few places I've been which is probably the most relatable to England.
England is home. London is home.
What could possibly be better than home?
I like to talk. I wouldn't say I'm the most extroverted in reality - for some reason, despite the fact that there always so many things to say just teeming in my mind, I can never manage to get them all out. I usually end up looking like a complete spastic :P
Words are so brilliant. Words can paint a whole new world, a secret haven to escape to when you're bored, a place you can take anyone who'd care to read your work. Words are the keys to the heart and the mind and the soul - they express everything you could ever feel, everything you could ever dare to dream. Words are freedom, without them, we are nothing but shells, mere copies of our simian ancestors. But when we have words, when we have the freedom to express ourselves through words, we can go soaring towards the heavens; with words, we are entirely free.
So this is my blog. My lovely blog with words and words hidden inside, waiting to be typed out and shown to the world. This is my freedom. My way of reaching out to everyone, to show them me.
Hello. My name is Tara, and this is my blog. And may I be so bold as to say, I am so very, very glad to meet you.
How are you? I'm fine. Actually, I'm feeling pretty cool right now. I've got my own blog and everything.
See? Sexy.
Anyways.
'Why?' You may be inquiring. 'Why are you taking up my time with this odd little blog, when I could be doing so much more interesting things, such as YouTubing or Facebooking?'
And my answer is this:
Everyone needs someone to talk to. Some people talk to their mums, other people to their best friends. I know some one who talks to their invisible friend Algernon. And here, is where I want to talk to you. About everything and anything - from boys to school to politics to music to MarioKart to exams to best friends to obsessions to quiet contemplations on muddy fields.
Anything.
So to start off with, my name is Tara. I have a best friend called Ella and a twin (in everything but blood) called Fran. My parents were born in India, but I like to pride myself on being completely English - from the way I speak to the food I eat. That's not to to say I don't take pride in my parents' country - I do, it's just not my country- it's not the place I was born and raised in, not the country I love.
I love England. I really do. I don't know why - people always complain about the dreary weather and the hostile inhabitants and the ever growing influx of foreigners. Or at least, they do in London. (Where I live, if that wasn't obvious :P)
So England is hardly the place people dream of living in, nor is it the dream holiday destination, but life knows I'd hate it if it were. I like the rain and the odd wet dryness that we get so often, and the summer in the spring and the spring in the summer, and skipping autumn to go straight into winter. I love it. It's different and it's special and not even Germany has it, and Germany's one of the few places I've been which is probably the most relatable to England.
England is home. London is home.
What could possibly be better than home?
I like to talk. I wouldn't say I'm the most extroverted in reality - for some reason, despite the fact that there always so many things to say just teeming in my mind, I can never manage to get them all out. I usually end up looking like a complete spastic :P
Words are so brilliant. Words can paint a whole new world, a secret haven to escape to when you're bored, a place you can take anyone who'd care to read your work. Words are the keys to the heart and the mind and the soul - they express everything you could ever feel, everything you could ever dare to dream. Words are freedom, without them, we are nothing but shells, mere copies of our simian ancestors. But when we have words, when we have the freedom to express ourselves through words, we can go soaring towards the heavens; with words, we are entirely free.
So this is my blog. My lovely blog with words and words hidden inside, waiting to be typed out and shown to the world. This is my freedom. My way of reaching out to everyone, to show them me.
Hello. My name is Tara, and this is my blog. And may I be so bold as to say, I am so very, very glad to meet you.
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