(im)perfection

I can feel the chip on my left tooth.
I can see the bruise on my thigh, the freckles across my nose, the wild mane that always manages to get itself out of the ponytail,
and the cuts on my feet from getting too excited about the rock pools at Collin's Bay.
I don't want any of these to be different. Then how would I remember the stories that got them here?

Imperfection is memories.

It's the night you got your corona bottle knocked at a year 12 party.
The afternoon you ventured rock jumping from a loony height.
The day you forgot the spf 30.
The time you cared more about looking at limpets than the state of your feet.
And the decision to cut off all your locks without thinking about the repercussions of a grown-out mullet 6 months later.

I wonder how many bobby pins I have gone through in my life?

Lilliputian · [lil-i-pyoo-shuhn]

This is the cutest thing I have seen in yonks.

It's all little, and furry, and fluffy, with its squinted- closed eyes, and miniature whiskers and miniscule ears.

How can such a pewny thing have me gushing so much over it?
I need to get a grip. But fuck, this is just a kitten, and boy is it adorable much.

1.42

It starts. The music pulls my body with it, not caring for limits, not caring for pain, not caring for anything but the love of it.
The beat tunes with my body's.
My head is thrown with my arms like everything's detached.
The heaving breaths are lost in the muggy air, my dripping hair stuck to my face.

I'm alive.

This is when my smile and tears come at the same time.
This is when I don't think.
This is when I just do.
This is the minute forty two.

Wanting

Sometimes the anticipation is better than the moment. And the desire is better than the result. And the number that isn't called is more painful than the bruised knees. The replaying is easier than the acceptance. And the questions have more possibilities than the answers.

This is when you don't get what you want.

My rules for the new season? There are no rules.

Numbered sentences as to why womens' magazines are nonsensical:

1.) Why are we told what not to wear? Not to accessorize the accessory. What if I want to fucking accessories the shit out of the accessory? What if I don't want to accessorize at all?

2.) HARPERS BAZAAR: get back to me when you come up with something that's a little less sheer than Wolford sheers because YOUR RULES FOR THE NEW SEASON just aren't cutting it. I don't want rules.

3.) I could go on but then I'd be wasting my time writing about something that really grinds my gears.

Buy NAT GEO.

Eskimo Joe

An Eskimo has no permanent possessions to be stolen, no towns to be invaded, no class system to be slotted into. And while they might not have the labels, they wear real fur. While they might not have an iPod they make their own music. And while this may never be read while an Eskimo, I think sometimes, I would like to be one.

The flavour to savour

When you eat your favourtite food it always seems a little unfortunate that the last taste is tainted with a goodbye. Maybe the frist taste is better, and then it goes on to get less and less satisfying the more you eat. This usually happens with everything-bar toasted foccacia and kalamata marinated mixed stuffed olives-. (specific)

I am embarassed to admit that whilst writing this I had in mind eating eating a bag of cheeseballs. Delicious at first, but the more you eat the more your fingers become stained orange.
OLD HABITS DIE HARD.

The heart of life

Sometimes life can be as simple and complicated as the heart of it all. No matter how many labels, words, and explanations, there some things we will never quite grasp. It can be as intricate and scientific as it looks, or it can be as simple as staying alive.

Jiminy Cricket

I've cashed in on too many advantages.
I've listened to Jiminy Cricket when it suits.
I've wasted $80 to get somewhere 5 minutes faster.
I've procrastinated too much.
I've tried to change those who shant.
I've yelled at my parents when it is them who are there night after night.
I've made excuses to justify the inexcusable.
I've wasted my money on too much shit (but tantalising) American food.
I've become too good at being impulsive.
I've said too much hastily.
I've been too stubborn.
I've preached what I haven't always practised.
I've been vexed inasmuch of not being a better person.
So this is the last time will have to write of this because I wont do it no more.

Errr, money on the shit (but tantalising) American food might slip. But I think I can deal.

Noises

I don't think time makes you know someone.
I don't think that a ring rectifies things.
I never want to know everything.
Discovery was meant to be a wonder.
I think that sometimes the truth is too frightening.
Sometimes things are complicated.
Situations can be so sad.
Emotions have the ability to provide a longer slower death than anything physical.
Sometimes putting the headphones in is better than hearing.

The eye of the beholder.

When the world keeps spinning, and you think about how it does; scientifically, metaphorically, personally, how do you comprehend it all? What do we chose to comprehend and how? I often wonder why I think what I do. And then find myself thinking about what I think about. Bewildering.
Why is it certain things that touch you and others that get looked past or not looked at at all.
Do we look at things with a cynic's fate or a dreamer's destiny?
Or do we not look that far, scared of what we might realise? Worried that if we see it now chance might not play its role. Like writing on a keyboard and even when you backspace you still remember what you saw.
And in life not all actions have a reaction. Because both unlike and like science, there are too many catalysts that speed things up. And there are too many reactions that find themselves deterred.
Some things come, others go. Some things forgotten, others not.
In the beauty of something a portion of the credit always belongs to the eyes that it is being seen through.

The sleep, perchance to dream.

Sleep is not wasted when one has the ability to dream.

Mind if I smoke? Care if I die?

How can a lithe piece of paper filled with tobacco be so fatally attractive in the eyes of some?

What's good company when someone is better friends with the cigarette?
Needing their company every five minutes rather than yours.

Does one not realise that as they joviantly laugh at the grotesque picture on the pack, that picture is nonchalantly becoming their reality?

Riddle me why it is not self indulgent to be paying to kill yourself slowly but surely?

And 50 years on, the tobacco stained skin, the husky voice and the lined face don't quit when you do.

But behind the anger it evokes, the naivety it exposes, the scars it leaves, maybe, just maybe one day, you will see why it hurts more than anything else. You will see when one of the people you love the most gets lung cancer 30 years after he has quit. But his 40 years of not having quit came back to haunt him. Because unfortunately it put up the unbeatable battle. And just when you think you've won you find that 5 years on he dies because his lungs are too scarred to keep working.

And now, maybe now, you can begin to fathom why it is the hurt that outweighs all the rest.
And that now the rest means rest in peace.
And the good bye you used to say to him, you instead have to say to his coffin.

I miss you Grandad.

We pass this way but once.

May your kind smile be the one to linger with us till our last days.
May you let us see the world through your twinkling hazel eyes.
May the love you held for us give us strength through these trying times.
May your creased skin still hold all the memories even now that you're gone.
May your kind voice echo in our thoughts when it is you whom we think of.
May it be your face that lights up the night sky if we cannot now have you in our days.

All I know is the sun is shining.

Writing an essay is a little bit like the a cloudy day.
If you think about it, the sun never actually goes out. Someone, somewhere, in the world always has it. And even when it is cloudy, above the clouds is the sun, smiling down with its big cherry face giving you the answers. The clouds are merely the procrastination one utilises to avoid doing the essay, the procrastination that tells you there isn't the information up there to do it, to get on with it. To nail that shit. To A+ the mother fucker.

But the clouds always clear at some point and even if there are only those few rays of sunshine pounding down on the pavement it's enough to make the start.

Have a sun shiney day, not a cloudy one.

I like this word.

I got that idiosyncrasy.

I don't.

Modelling bridal wear. Makes you think.
Is a wedding really just the same as a runway show? You have a straight line to walk, an audience to impress, and a nervous smile that shakes.
Do the people watching you realise a wedding is the start of a marriage or just a day to look pretty and sip Moet?
Does anybody really remember that a marriage isn't a transaction, signed sealed and delivered by a wedding?
Does all romance go out the window?
Are we just a society who like the look but don't care for the work?

I can't help but think, as I am painted with pink lips, taught how to hold a boquet appropriately, plastered with hairspray, and told I am not smiling enough as I totter down the runway, even in the love drenched audience watching me, that perhaps they are more in love with the dress. Or the ring. The cake, or the car. The honeymoon, or whatever sparkles.

14 definites. 1 wonder.

I've learned that, being yourself is only not enough for those who don't love you.
I've learned that, though I have green eyes I am not a green eyed monster.
I've learned that, without trust a world doesn't spin.
I've learned that, everybody has insecurities. It is not wise to play on them.
I've learned that, people who take your confidence as arrogance never knew you enough.
I've learned that, if you are a black sheep you shouldn't worry about not following the white flock.
I've learned that, at least if others are talking about you, then one less person has to suffer the cruelty of their words.
I've learned that, if it's raining your hair is going to go curly, which was more interesting than straight anyway.
I've learned that, peoples' reactions aren't a reflection of you, rather themselves.
I've learned that, just as one door closes, another opens. But something may keep the one behind you slightly ajar.
I've learned that, those who don't believe in love haven't yet felt.
I've learned that, there is something about needs. Sometimes when you get them met, you don't need them anymore.
I've learned that, every dog has his day.
I've learned that, there is always the exception to the rule. I live by this.
I've learned that, some things never need to be questioned and the day you start may be the day you lose.
I've learned that, when relationships end, cynicism is an easy camping ground. But not a necessary stop.
I've learned that, destroying the evidence doesn't have a hope in hell of fading the memories.
But i've wondered; if you have mastered the forgiveness and not the forgetness can you ever truly forgive?

Hannah.

Thinking of you.
The smile that lit up the world, could turn even the saddest face from blue.
The little purple bow,
traveled all the way to India you'll be happy to know.
Told it's story to many about the fragility of life,
but how to live it in the most passionate light.
To be true to yourself you taught me so well,
because if you don't, no one else shall.
Indebted with thanks I am to you, for you showed me how to walk a mile in someone elses shoes.
To light up a room, to a grin from a gloom.
To live each day as it might be the last, to not waste the time that will soon be the past.
You are where the poppies lie,
writing your purple across the sky.

What about do's?

To the woman taking our tutorial.
It was like being back in school again! I didn't know whether to hate it or love it.
"Would you like to share the joke?"
"Uhhh it wasn't really a joke..."
"Good then be quiet and LISTEN TO ME."
Then there was silence. Then giggles in my head, for I was too afraid of this little leprachaun woman to possibly make them physically heard.
So most of what we got for the hour was "don'ts." Positive Priscilla she was feeling today. My, I would not want to upset her, not with the likes of grammatical errors, non Harvard style citing, nor over use of commas. Guilty as charged.
What did we take out of that tut?
A gazillion donts.
But hang on, no wait.
What do we do?

(p.s both of those 'do's' would have been italicized if I could figure out just how to do it. So you should just imagne they are when you read it for extra effect. PLUS this was also a good excuse to use my on going obsession with brackets.)

This IS also the 6th time I have to edit this in order for it to make sense. OCD much? Jesus. (Christ Superstar!)

Stop and Stare.

Appreciate what is around you. Stop for a second, even two everyday just to have a gander. Beauty was there before diesel trucks existed. And it never left.
Don't look in the mirror too much, you're attached to this face for the rest of your days. Have a look at someone else's. The story it tells, the emotions it bears.
Never ceases to amaze me what you can find.

These boots are made for feeling.

Walk a day in somebody else's shoes.
Take a hike in them.
Spend a moment.
Then you will feel.
Feel what it's like to take the words you dish out.
Get your own helping.
A serving the size of your words.
One that yells them back at you from a cold china plate.
Feel them.
Now, don't do it again.

"Yellow, why?"

A heart that weeps.
A soul that's broken.
Nostalgic is the love for someone, something, anything.
It's a mindless job, the hands do and the brain fades.
What was once talent and genius is now passionless. But it provides a nice income.
Love or money.
Money buys you stuff. Lots of stuff. Cluttering appears not only in a house.
But love is priceless. Though, it won't buy you a thing.
Funny how the best feeling, emotion and gift in the world can never be bought or sold.
I can hear the sorrow in his voice, as tears start to well in mine. I can see the effort, know it's not going to waste.
Don't stop trying, there's not just another side, there's as many as you like.
The world isn't black and white.
It's a mellow yellow.
A tickeled pink.
The blue moon.
A whiter shade of pale.
The greenest grass.

Your face lights up, as it does sometimes. Yellow is written all over it.
Remember what made you happy.
Stop making it easy to remember the bad things and forget the best. Stop, please.
Know how much you make me cry with laughter. And how much your words helped me when I was halfway across the globe.
Know how they made me cry with joy to know you have always been here, thinking of me when you should've been thinking of yourself.
I would never wish you any different, just happiness.
Words may never have made much sense but hopefully you stumble upon this one day in your office and
maybe you'll stop and smile. Like you do. And your face lights up, and writes its' yellow.

Tickled pink.

How can one/ I explain that I am content. Not how, nor why. Just content.
Supposedly you can only bring that feeling to those around you, but essentially it is our own doing that carries us alongside this.
I don't feel that being content is about losing wants and needs. I enjoy wanting, a lot of people thrive off wanting. Often it can be the wanting that is more enjoyable than the getting.
To me being content is being immersed in a moment. Knowing that on matter how you got there, looking back is a fading memory. And that sometimes answers aren't needed. That looking for them keeps from enjoying the question.
Live for the question marks.
Strive for the exclamation points.
Write your own story.
This one's mine. Chapter three so far, anyway.

Blank.

Observing gathers answers, though who felt answers were always so necessary? Can we not just have a question to follow without bringing the journey to a halt with an answer? The answer is not always static, maybe it has crossroads, lined with concrete-hand-painted-zebra-striped barriers. One that comes to a pause at the toll boxes, demanding the printed paper, the precious thing we value so.

The Doorman.

And as the gear shifter is jerked into place we roll on, sitting here in a trance- like state. The man beside me coughs, as once more he gets up to close the bus door. Why did he do it again? Why did he take this job upon himself? Knowing it would only aggravate him, having to re- close it repetitively or sit in the chilling draft constantly.
But maybe that is not what he knows. Rather, what I know. Though not what I feel.
The bus comes to a halt once more and once more the man shall rise to close the door.
The waiting game...
It's cold now, more than drafty. Refreshing for a short time, but it passes along with the kilometers.
NO.
This time the man asks the money collector to close the door. He has still done his job.

Life,

is so dandy!

Cinderella and her Step Brothers.

All the men in the Collie family are tidy. Give or take a few. To begin with I couldn't help but thinking; clearly I have the more masculine gene being the totty pig that I am when it comes to keeping a room tidy. Though this wasn't always entirely true. Sometimes I failed to sleep knowing that my room was in such a state. Believe it or not my conscience also nagged at my untidy habits. Jiminy Cricket was perching there on my now overly boney shoulder having a rant. Tis a bizarre thought to acknowledge that one of the filthiest countries has turned me into a neat freak. To need everything in place before I go to sleep. To have the clothes folded and in their correct piles.
Why is it easier to do dishes here in a sink with no plug, cold water, and a trickle at that? Yet previously I would literally fight off doing the dishes at home which included a sink with a plug, hot water, a tea towel and detergent. Woah! Exciting prospect. That wasn't sarcasm, I am being serious on this one.
Yet here I bother to do the dishes, knowing that a son is too lazy and chauvinistic to help his disabled mother tidy up, despite her just cooking for him. Believe me, cooking chapatis with two hands is task enough, let alone one. Yes the males I live with are brilliant cooks, though a little heavy handed on the spice for me (but so is KFC India and I'm not even talking Hot Wings. Original recipie got switched up.) On the cleaning up while they go, and afterwards though, here is the downfall. Here is the argument I just had. Here is where I struggle with not stashing my food in my room because it is seldom to have the males purchasing food. I just struggle to understand how difficult it may be to put peelings in a bag while you go instead of throwing them all over the bench as if you were waiting for pet guinea pig to crawl from the plug hole and hoover them up.
Perhaps the maternal gene showing through, trying nicely to explain why it is important to wipe down the floor in the bathroom after 'showering'. Otherwise it turns into a big muddy, hairy, wet mess. Resembling that of a colossal bathroom monster that is only achieved through general lack of personal care and hygine. At mid twenties you would think this would be established.
And drawing comparisons between now and two months ago, it is funny. Funny how it was the Indians who once frustrated me and now it is the outsiders. Maybe because they are the ones who should know better. Who have merely had the oppurtunity at education, at being feed regularly, at having someone who actually gives a shit.

The heart on my sleave.

At this time exactly, give or take about thirty seconds, I have just truly discovered what it is to be free and feel free in love..To be free in life. And in thyself. To have memories, but only cling to the beautiful ones and free oneself of the undesirable ones, knowing that the lessons have been learned.
(S)omeone was correct, to love you are free. To love you gain strength. In yourself and in your love for your own sandy creature. Whatever and wherever they may be for you.
I have loved with all of my heart and learned with it too, to my beloved. Initially it was not till after Hannah's death that I truly let be. Freed myself from the un- necessities lingering.
Though being here, dealing, not dealing, allowed me to slip back into habits. I allowed myself back into those habits. Ones I do not desire in myself. Certain weakness' that if given enough thought gain the momentum to be destructive.
So, after twelve days spent with a lover and a friend, soul mate and my partner in crime, we found ourselves the time of our lives. Thus far.
Coming back to the village was different this time. Different to the days of the girl in the mirror. The lost lonely soul. I have found you are only lonely if you choose not to see all those around you. Love is free. It is also everywhere. And it comes in everyone. Amount doesn't apply. It cannot ever quite be expressed in words but one will never stop trying.
This time I have found myself without forcibly digging deeper. Feelings float to the surface, bubble their way up until the pop with something more. Something new. Something blue. (I just liked the sound of that last sentence, forgive me for feeling marital.) And actually if they were any colour they would be yellow.
I now understand what it is to be the daughter, the sister, the friend, the lover and the soul mate. The niece, and the cousin. To be Nicola.
I know who I am and I know where I am going.
Life is chapters. This is a jolly dandy one!
Are you with me?

For you.

10 days with hundreds of stories to tell, the face, the smell, the person, the company that will never grow old.
Talking to this space in the back of the car where you sat just less than an hour,
Ago is where our adventures stay,
Up here is where those memories will never fade.
To challenege, to love, to meet at half way,
Yes, this journey is the most rewarding place.
To free thyself of what seldom clings on,
It is in this nest the branches become so strong.
Or under the rock, beside the sea,
We talk of Liberace and how beautiful it is to be free.
That smile you do, no you don't have a clue,
How much is said through those sweet eyes of blue.
No matter the time nor the place,
You can say it all through that beautiful face.
As you rough out your ringlets.
They'll only come back,
How they curl round your ears and down the neck to your back.
Time is never enough when you must say see you later.
My alligator.
Just in a while
My crocodile.