Fish-kites

I always liked airports. Because an airport equals airplanes and airplanes (unless you're just seeing someone off) equals travel.

Flying itself may not be the most fun of processes, but I like the high you get when you know that in a day, you'll be in a completely different place. Doesn't really matter where I'm going really. Whether is just next door or in a different time zone, going away or coming home - I'll never get sick of traveling.

See you soon, I guess :)
nk

Can We Talk?

Allow me to begin with the following disclaimer: 
If identical images are used to illustrate different points, it is for the sake of efficiency and uniformity. Not because I have truly underestimated how difficult it is to finger paint attractive stick people.

There. Now down to business. In the wind down of what has been a more-down-than-up summer, I have come to realise a couple of things. Firstly: I may be a spoilt brat.

I know, it's a shocker.

Let me explain. This is me now:

Stick limbed, vaguely triangular in body, bald, and most importantly - unhappy with my small pile of kryptonite-looking cool stuff. (hint: Only one of the above is true IRL.)

And this is where I want to be in about 15 years:

If you thought: skinny limbed, still bald, queen of a small island nation and owner of Superman's cape and a shitload of REALLY COOL STUFF, then you serrah, are correct. 

Because context is necessary to understand, I shall elaborate. I have recently updated my before-30-bucket-list (you come up with a better name) and while discussing some of the less personal goals/wishes with my mom, she commented amusedly, that she'd never thought of these kind of things when she was younger. Now I'm paraphrasing, but she basically explained that she just went where the wind took her, and she was happy. I got a little agitated at this, because I couldn't understand how someone just 'settles' for whatever gets flung their way. And then I thought it over, and I realised that I may be a little spoilt.

I mean, its not like my parents have left me wanting - I visited Disneyworld, a solid chunk of Europe and Australia well before I turned 15, and Irvin and I were given anything we wanted within my parents means for the fair price of doing well in school. I'm in a good university (though maybe not the one of my dreams) doing a very respectable course. And yet, I bitch and moan that if that list hasn't been completed by the time I turn 30 (35 at the most) I will not die happy.

To give you an idea of the utter whimsy of this list - Item 23: visit Madagascar and see those really cool alien-trees.

I guess what I'm trying to figure out here is whether I'm entitled to want all this stuff, or have I fallen into the astrological stereotype of the Pisces dreamer and I need to find someone to slap me really hard and get me back to planet Earth. Should I stop saying 'I'd be happier IF...' and just take stock and be grateful? Or would that be settling? Is it 'spoilt' for me to dream of bigger things when I have friends saving up for flights in piggy banks? Is it okay that I think I wont die happy if I never write a book, go backpacking with my brother, work for Bioware, finally master the violin, sing in a professional choir or eat funny-sauced french fries in Brussels? What if I never learn to scuba dive? I guess if my worst fear comes true and I'm eaten by a shark that wont really matter... And what if I finish everything on that list and i'm STILL unhappy/unfulfilled/clinically insane?

Can I, Should I, What if... Ugh. Someone point me to where I can find Answers.

Excuse the lack of segue, but now to problem no. 2.

This is me on a normal day:

Now you see why I needed that disclaimer.

And this is when the world decides to take a crap on me.

Lately (and by lately I really mean over the past two years) it seems that I've been asked either directly or indirectly to help with shit that people really should be managing themselves. Its not like I don't care for them or anything, on the contrary, I love these people -that I shall not name either by name or by title- to bits. But your emotionally taxing problems + my overactive brain + occasionally PMS afflicted emotional control = No sleep for me, or a lot of crying and yelling. 

These problems usually file themselves into two categories:

1. You're adults, you shouldn't be burdening me with this crap so SOLVE YOUR OWN SHIT.

or

2. I managed it by myself, why do I need to hold his/your hand?

I know that problem solving comes with the oldest-child territory since apparently all oldest children are inherently gifted in mitigating and all have Phd's in 'getting things done'. And I'll do it too! I'll figure out  all this shit to the best of my ability because I know that I can help, and because I know to a certain extent I should, and because I care. Even if I've been told that the feelings-fixer part of my psyche is going to doom me to a lifetime of attempting to cure, and being attracted to broken people. But I don't want to get suckered into the emotional equivalent of curing cancer or brokering world peace, yknow? Especially if Helping and my sanity are inversely proportional.

I'd just like to say that I'm perfectly happy dealing with my own pile of problems thank you very much. If you haven't noticed, its SMALLER than Mt. Other People's Crap. But if I point this out, I run the risk of being a Horrible Human Being.

Happiness is a pain in the butt.



nk.
Todays conclusion is brought to you by too much chocolate cake, a handful of potato chips and evil!goatees. 

Springeth Cleaneth

So I finally got off my arse and decided to test out my new sketchy-doohickies on the iPad, and viola! New blog header!

Also got around to clearing out some of the less than satisfactory posts, so if you're one of my more die-hard (HAHA) readers and you notice something's missing, that shit GONE.

Yes, this would be me taking baby steps to get my life in order before uni starts again. It seems insignificant (maybe it is, I'm weird when it comes to mine own literary works of any kind) but like I said: Baby steps.

Crawl before you can run, child. We'll figure out flying and all that other shit later.

Here's to 2012/2013 being awesome-r than last year!




Hopefully I remember to study this time.

nk

RVP

Turning my little patch of internet real-estate into Football-Punditsland could not be further from my intentions, but I have to get this one little thing off my chest. I'm all for the 'let the haters hate' mantra, but twitter on game day has gotten on my nerves.

The issue: I don't see the logic in the whining and complaints (not even from Arsenal fans, mind you) that Robin Van Persie has gone all insta-hero on the red side of Manchester.

RVP signed for close to 25 MILLION pounds. And we can't go a little crazy because the guy's proving that he's worth the money? I'm not suggesting we tear down the 2OLEGEND* banner on the Stretford End and plaster v. Persie's face across the stand just yet, but 4 goals in 3 matches INCLUDING a hattrick to pull us out of the fire against Southampton? I'd call that a bloody good start.

But I must be missing something important because a handful of people seem to think that we ought to ease Van Persie's transition into the club by pelting him with eggs or something.

Did Chelsea boo Torres when he joined them from Liverpool? Did the Citizens rain rotting produce on Tevez as he ran around in sky blue after only just recently ditching red? I think not!

(Correct me if I'm wrong though, flying eggs and vegetables would be quite entertaining.)

I understand that football comes hand in hand with friendly banter and, more often than not, not so friendly banter. And that's cool y'know. You are entitled to your opinion. You sing your songs, we'll sing ours. We'll bitch about the hordes of players that joined you for cash, and you can counter with the shitloads that we're paying our players. Touche.

But as a fan, I speak from experience when I say that football is much like Saurons Ring.

It's pretty and it's magical, but it can also make you a horrible person.

Y'see what I mean?

And what I'm trying to get at in this unfortunately long winded manner, is do us all a favour and go be a horrible person in private.

As for Van Persie... I say take a bow, good ser. And welcome to Manchester. We promise we wont pelt you with eggs.


nk




*Ole Solskjaer, you will always be my hero.