Hand me the rap rod, plate captain...

The history of every major galacgtic civilisation tends to pass though threee distinct and recognisable phases, those of Survival, Inquiry and Sophistication, otherwise known as the How, Why, and Where phases. For instance, the first phase is characterised by the question "How can we eat?", the second by the question "Why do we eat?", and the third by the question "Where shall we have lunch?".

- Douglas Adams

Similarly enough, my blog has gone through recognisable phases as well. There's the initial phase of great inspiration and excitement, in which posts come regularly and on a wide range of topics. Then comes the first stale phase, in which I post nothing but images, videos and eventually, nothing at all. Then comes one, or more, revival phase, in which I promise to update my blog regularly, and subsequently fail to do so. Then, last of all, comes the sentimental nonsense, in which I talk about how odd I feel nowadays, and is thoroughly disgusting.

So, in order to break that terrible trend of emo posts that have been coming out of my head recently, I shall rave about h2g2 for a while (yes, HHGTTG is an actual abbreviation for The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy as well), the original BBC radio series in particular. It's pure brilliance. Period. 

Here's the first episode: 

A considerate YouTuber by the name of Conan Salada was generous enough to upload all five series.

Go listen, you froods. 

Throwaway time...

That's it. I'm tired of hiding. It may be hard as hell to tell someone these things in person, but to anyone reading this blog (if at all), here's a list of all the things that I am/do that are generally frowned upon by the society in which I live:

1. I'm pansexual. Or bisexual, fine. The number of male celebrity crushes I have outweighs the the number of female celebrity crushes I have, but it isn't a rule in real life, where I tend to get along better with girls.  

2. I'm a nudist. It's awesome, you should try it. 

Only 2? Well, well. It seemed like there were many more. I find it mildly amusing how I tend to exaggerate things in my head based on how they will be received by people. 

In which I confess to being an odd adolescent...

I remember, very clearly, an incident that took place at a clothing store back when I was 12. I had picked out an oversized army-green T-shirt with the word 'REBELLION' printed in large bold letters on the front, when mum said something that would haunt me every day since: "But you're not rebellious!"

She was right. But I really wanted to be. There was no scope for rebellion, with liberal parents and a liberal school. There wasn't even any point to rebellion. 

"You're not rebellious!"

Aged 15, I would burn things in secret, pretending to be a pyromaniac. An abused child. Like the kid from The Heart Is Deceitful Above All Things. I was kidding myself, and I knew it. I wanted to rebel. Against myself, if no one else.

"You're not rebellious!"

I pretended to be depressed, damaged. Like the guy from The Wall. I was far from it.

"You're not rebellious!"

In trying to become a rebel, I hurt myself. But isn't that the point of teenage rebellion? We can't allow ourselves to be happy. Nope. Never. That would be playing it safe. If we're unhappy, we can yearn for happiness. Happiness achieved somehow by becoming more and more unhappy. Catch 22. The less happy we become, the happier we think we will become. Which can obviously never happen. 

The Afternoon Bus Ride

Note: The following story is fictional, but is based on an amalgam of real-life events.

A fourteen year old you takes your seat by the window, headphones and all. The big red bus is filled with the sort of people you would hate to interact with at a dinner party- obnoxious middle-aged aunties, loud cricket fans in the midst of a heated debate about whether the T20 format meant the death of the gentleman’s game, and obviously, those random creeps who stare at you the whole ride for no apparent reason.

You stare fixedly out the window, pointedly avoiding the gaze of that old man, his eyes burning into your very soul. As the bus slows down approaching the next stop, something, or rather, someone catches your eye. A lanky boy- about thirteen, or perhaps a girl. You've had several embarrassing experiences before, confusing genders, and this specimen could be either. Short black hair, but a mild look about the mouth that boys of that age seldom possess. The kid is wearing  a black t-shirt with a large white triangle printed on it. You've never seen that symbol before, but, then again, you live under a rock, so you’re hardly surprised. He, or she, wore dark blue jeans,  neither low-waist nor skinny, which instantly makes you feel connected to him, or her. Humans are weird that way. What strikes you most are this person’s shoes. They’re the same Converse shoes, but one is yellow, the other, blue. As stated earlier, the fourteen year old you lives under a rock, where everyone adheres to their parents’ fashion sense and obviously wears shoes and socks of the same colour. The bus grinds to a halt, and the stranger looks up with large brown eyes that remind you of your family Labrador, and rushes to get on. The seat next to yours is empty, and you, very consciously, pray that the new passenger sits in it. You’re more disappointed than you care to admit when, instead, they, with whom you already believe you've formed a bond, slip into a vacant seat across the aisle, two rows ahead.

As the bus suddenly lurches forward, you drop your iPod  as you try and skip to the next track. It makes a louder noise on striking the floor than you expect, and a few curious heads turn to investigate. Your heart skips a beat when, on picking up the source of this mild embarrassment, you notice your stranger (your overheated adolescent brain has already claimed him, or her, as your own) looking at you. Your eyes meet for a fleeting moment, and then, as the bus accelerates, the contact is broken, and your stranger is already staring out the opposite window. You, of course, look in their direction every few minutes, throughout the forty minute ride. When your stop approaches, and you get out of your seat, you almost want to bid farewell to them (you actually want them to disembark with you, but you obviously don’t admit that to yourself). Your stranger doesn't even glance away from the window as you step off. As you turn to watch the bus proceed on its way, you catch a glimpse of those big brown eyes again, but they don’t catch a glimpse of you. You walk away, captivated, and slightly dejected, knowing both that your day has been made infinitely better by the stranger, and that you may never see them again.

You didn't find out what their voice sounded like. You didn't find out what the white triangle on their shirt was meant to be. You didn't find out why one of their shoes was yellow, and not blue. You didn't even find out whether your stranger was a boy or a girl.

In which I start out somewhere, and end somewhere else altogether...

I don't have much to say, but I think it's a good thing. It's been far too long since I have done nothing. Far too long since the things that make my day are insignificant to most. Far too long sice I've climbed trees and gotten hot, sweaty and dirty. And far too long since I've listened to Canon in D major.
Everything is slipping by much to fast, and I seem to have found some respite in the last few days. Finally, time is standing still again. It won't stay still much longer, but it's standing still now.
There's so much to be done. So many more trees to climb, so much more of summer to revel in, so much more of childhood to remember, so many more LOTR marathons to sit down to, and so little time to do it in. My life is just beginning, but much of it is ending. It's customary to believe that the end of childhood is the dawn of puberty, but it isn't exactly true. In fact, childhood can last forever if it has to, but it can never remain the same as it was. That's the rule. It wouldn't be so special otherwise. I think, at last, I can feel it. Closure. The death of the old, the birth of the new. These last two years have been quite an adventure. I started out at an insecure child, controlled by my notions of what I should be, and here I am at the end, having broken notions, stereotypes, dreams, fears, hopes, and meeting so many people just like me, and also so different from me, along the way. Thanks everyone, for teaching me that there's absolutely nothing wrong with being who I want to be (gah. I'll formalise this into a proper post sometime).
In short, I'm quite ready for another adventure. But not just yet. I have time. I have summer. The last school summer I'll ever have. I need to make the most of it.

New headphones...

Title says enough, methinks. Finally, finally.

Back...

Done. Forever. Never again will I have to write a board exam.

Now I;m just jamming to The Cat Empire and watching loads. LOADS, of Tropfest shorts. Short films are definitely my new favourite genre.

I can finally start working on my language now. What a relief!

Nothing further to report.

Over and out.