It is sort of strange why I am staying up now instead of sleeping because I am not watching those silly “WELCOME 2013!!!!!!!!!!” shows that are showing on the various channels now. I always find such shows relatively meaningless, I mean whether you welcome the new year or you don’t, the new year is still going to come right? Why are people behaving like it is such a rare thing?
Oh I get it, it happens once a year.
I am in a terrible mood because I was just going through Facebook and then I saw that a lot of my Facebook friends posts quite a lot of selca (meaning: self camera; self-taken photos) on Facebook. Most of them are just so so. But one or two are quite good looking and I must admit that I am pretty jealous. Why can’t I be pretty without the jealous word behind? Argh, why is it while others are there looking like they have just walked straight out of a Vogue magazine while I am stuck here with all my fats?
Retribution, I call it.
Retribution for every bar of Crunchie chocolate I gobbled down, for each piece of truffle that I jam into my greedy mouth and each delicious McSpicy which I had carelessly consumed. Speaking of which, I am starving.
Sometimes I get really angry looking at the lovely photos of the others and then glancing back on my own, I am like “UGH!!! Why can’t I look like that?” And then sometimes I get so angry that I keep wishing that whoever who posts yet another selca on Facebook would get a bad acne breakout. Ha! Alright that was a teeny wee mean. But, if you look good, then please do go ahead and look good without letting the whole world know please?
Alright I get it, there is no point to looking good if the whole world didn’t know it.
I must exercise. If I can throw off a couple of pounds and then throw in a plastic surgery or two, then I am going to look good.
I do try to comfort myself too, you see. It would be like, telling myself bracingly, “It’s okay Kira! You don’t look the best, but your blog is the awesomest! (or something lame like that)” only realizing that while it is true that I don’t look good, my blog is definitely not the best.
I recalled my mom telling me that sometimes we don’t have to be the best. Sometimes we really just have to float somewhere around the famous there and be that middle section of unnoticed people. Or maybe if you are good enough you can come in second, or third.
My point is, what is the point of coming in second or third?
When is this society ever concerned about the second and the third place? You tell me. Yes yes this is all the foul thinking of an elitist mindset, but then let me ask you this, who is the second place in golf? Who is the second place in swimming? Who is the second man to climb Mount Everest? Who is the second person to walk on the moon? Haven’t got an inkling of an idea have you? And you call me a realist?
Go, go google it, then tell me. I will be fascinated to know who is the 101th person to climb up Mount Everest.
Wonder why I am getting all emotional and mumbly. Maybe I am disappointed in myself, maybe I am feeling sorry, feeling bad, but I do keep reminding myself that it’s okay, it could have been worse, you could have looked worse, you could have been born with the terrible fibrous displacement. But I was not, and instead of being grateful about it, here I am, whining about my eyes not being big enough and my nose bridge not high enough and oh-my-not-another-pimple-that-is-the-third-one-this-month. Instead of being grateful for all that I have, I am here becoming more and more querulous with my complaints of my IQ being not high enough and why do I have such fat thighs?
Such nonsense that I come up with.
*pats myself on my back*
You see, that is why I need a blog, and I need to write things down. I have this kind of argument that goes on and on in my head for hours and hours and sometimes it just hurts my head to even think about them a moment further. I easily feel sorry for myself, like when I realized that I didn’t have a decent camera for my blog pictures, I felt so sorry for myself that I wanted to curl up and cry. Then the better me would tell the spoiled me, like hey stop it, you are acting like a spoiled brat. There is nothing to moan over. So I would pick myself up, go read Harry Potter and feel better that I am not stuck with an idiot of an aunt and uncle and a bully of a cousin.
I am struck with another horror.
JC begins in exactly 2 weeks time.
I honestly don’t want to go there.
I know I should be grateful that I can receive education and all that, but it is not easy to feel gratitude when you are scared out of your wits on what is going to happen in school. I keep imagining myself tripping over everyone’s feet on the first day of school and eventually kicking the will-be bully in the face, and thus making use enemies from day 1. Oh great. It would be Amazing Primary School Transfer Experience all over again.
More than that, I am really quite scared to be in a mixed school after four years of being in a girls’ school. I loved a girls’ school much more than I think I would, and I do think that some girls are nicer when there are no guys around. *coughs and thinks about my P6 class*
I was making this sort of war plan in my head called “How to Deal with Junior College
when There are Too Much Testosterone for Words” which includes the following:
- Focus on lessons and ignore everything else.
- Offend no one.
- Don’t lose your temper.
- Smile neutrally even when offended.
- Um, I can’t think of anymore.
This is bad, really bad.
I am glad that Phiephie and I had arranged to go to school together on the first day because I can’t imagine what sort of horror that awaits me, and I DO NOT FEEL EXCITED ABOUT GOING.
And I am starting to miss NY. *sniffles* And that’s saying something for someone non-sentimental like me.
Boohoos, I shall go read
Happy Hairy Harry Potter again for now and try not to think of all these.
Tomorrow shall be a Muggle-Day Celebration to commemorate the founding of all Muggles and Muggle-borned.
Goodbye, good night and Happy New Year:)