Hamartia Overload
Hamartia – fatal flaw that brings a hero to his tragic end.I’m
not a hero, but I’m
full of hamartia. I know that people, especially hormone bags like teenagers, should look at the brighter side and celebrate the good things and not the bad, but there are some of us who just
can’t blindly
ignore the imperfections that come with puberty and genes. That’s where self-talk (an inner speech that includes the questions and comments you address to yourself) comes in. Occasionally self-talk works with me, but most of the time – screw self-talk – I’m so pessimistic that even transposition can’t change this negative sign I carry around, even inverse property becomes a zero property to me. (I’m talking Algebra – awfully weird).
Since these imperfections will forever stay as imperfections, I got around to making it easier for me by ridiculing myself and/or by noticing other’s flaws and comparing who got it worse. (These are
Hamartia 1 and
Hamartia 2.) I’m fully aware that doing so is terrible, but that’s how I get through the day without having to hang myself in the closet or do pathetic and masochistic things to myself and my body. Sometimes I have it worse; sometimes I feel good about myself. But before I reach the I Feel Beautiful Land and sing
this song with conviction, I need to pass through ugly roads and patchy detours.
And right now I will once more take the painful ride… and sucks for you, you’re coming with me. (Put your seatbelts on for a rocky ride! Geez.)
Hamartia 3: I hate myself for being insecure. Before, I remember I didn’t have a lot of insecurities. Not that I was in love with myself for being ridiculously gorgeous or slim or perfect, but I was
contented with who I was and what I had. I didn’t wish for new clothes or smart gadgets. I didn’t care if my phone is so old it’s phased out. I didn’t care; I had more pressing things to press flat. But, God, now I do. I care. My insecurities are piling higher and higher every day. I look at the mirror, and “Crap”. I look at my unflattering body, and “Crap”. I look at my social life, and “Hopeless”. I don’t know where all of these are coming from. I’m even starting to think that the “Intelligent Girls are Sexy” is already a non-existent mantra. Yes, I believe I’m
not dumb. (School is where I basically excel. Only. Except Gym, of course.) But right now, I don’t think having an obese brain matters anymore – even personality. It’s just all about
face face face. Can’t it be
brains brains brains? I will be waiting for that time when smart girls run the world.
Hamartia 4: I am nosy. Nosy doesn’t mean “big nose”, okay? Nosy means snoopy (not the dog), prying, always curious. That is me. I’m always curious. I told myself to always ask questions even if they’re annoying because the great Albert Einstein once said, “I am neither especially clever nor especially gifted. I am only very, very curious.” For all the world knows I can be the next Trying Hard to be an Einstein. Although I have a problem with my being nosy: I have itchy hands. Nope, I’m not stealing things. I merely pick things and observe them up close or read them or sit on them or anything.
Without the owner’s permission. I always forget to ask them if I can look at their things or read their notebook. Every time something catches my attention, I grab them without hesitation. I’m so curious I’m already
inconsiderate and
disrespectful. I can’t help it: every little thing interests me.
Hamartia 5: I had mentally killed too many people. It even surpassed the number of cockroaches I’d murdered. I’m such a perfectionist. I hate making shallow mistakes. I hate people who can’t comprehend or follow simple instructions. Basically, I’m a
nightmare for a leader. I get frustrated easily and I don’t take blames for mistakes I didn’t make (why would I?). Most of the time, I subtly tell people their mistakes, but when I don’t, I kill them in my mind. I kill them with detrimental words that even I can’t spell. I’m judgmental. Every night I pray and ask God’s forgiveness for my growing list of victims… but the next day I do it again. It’s so bad that even my little good deeds can’t make up for it.
Hamartia 6: It’s all about me, me, me. It’s the reason why I made this blog in the first place. I’m quite self-centered even if I always declare that I hate spotlights and all the attention shits. I still hate spotlights (they bring red splotches on my face and chest and some wetness under my arms), but sometimes I need to be
appreciated. I want to be seen and thanked and praised every so often. That’s the only way I feel good about myself without doing either Hamartia 1 or Hamartia 2. I need friends who share the same interests as mine so we can have something to talk about, or if we have clashing hobbies, I need someone who can at least
understand me and
accept the screwball that comes with being my friend. I need friends who can appreciate the smarts I sometimes possess and the arts I make out of boredom. I’m so full of myself I’m bloated (literally and figuratively).
Hamartia 7: I’m so weird. And I like it. It’s one of the few imperfections I proudly embrace. Weird is good, weird is wonderful, weird is special. I like being weird. I feel good when I blurt things out in the middle of a class that make everything awkward. I love it when I talk the Book Language. I hate it when I freak out, but that’s who I am: I can’t do KEEP CALM and BE AWESOME. I’m more of the CALM THE SHIT DOWN and WEIRD IT OUT. I
don’t regret being weird. We are all weird anyway, some of us are just good at hiding it (God knows they make snow angels on their beds and pick their cereals by color). Let’s all embrace weirdness!
Phew! Now I feel good. Oh dear, you look nauseated. Get off my blog before you throw up.
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a woeful & chaotic diary since 071409
Hamartia Overload
Hamartia – fatal flaw that brings a hero to his tragic end.I’m
not a hero, but I’m
full of hamartia. I know that people, especially hormone bags like teenagers, should look at the brighter side and celebrate the good things and not the bad, but there are some of us who just
can’t blindly
ignore the imperfections that come with puberty and genes. That’s where self-talk (an inner speech that includes the questions and comments you address to yourself) comes in. Occasionally self-talk works with me, but most of the time – screw self-talk – I’m so pessimistic that even transposition can’t change this negative sign I carry around, even inverse property becomes a zero property to me. (I’m talking Algebra – awfully weird).
Since these imperfections will forever stay as imperfections, I got around to making it easier for me by ridiculing myself and/or by noticing other’s flaws and comparing who got it worse. (These are
Hamartia 1 and
Hamartia 2.) I’m fully aware that doing so is terrible, but that’s how I get through the day without having to hang myself in the closet or do pathetic and masochistic things to myself and my body. Sometimes I have it worse; sometimes I feel good about myself. But before I reach the I Feel Beautiful Land and sing
this song with conviction, I need to pass through ugly roads and patchy detours.
And right now I will once more take the painful ride… and sucks for you, you’re coming with me. (Put your seatbelts on for a rocky ride! Geez.)
Hamartia 3: I hate myself for being insecure. Before, I remember I didn’t have a lot of insecurities. Not that I was in love with myself for being ridiculously gorgeous or slim or perfect, but I was
contented with who I was and what I had. I didn’t wish for new clothes or smart gadgets. I didn’t care if my phone is so old it’s phased out. I didn’t care; I had more pressing things to press flat. But, God, now I do. I care. My insecurities are piling higher and higher every day. I look at the mirror, and “Crap”. I look at my unflattering body, and “Crap”. I look at my social life, and “Hopeless”. I don’t know where all of these are coming from. I’m even starting to think that the “Intelligent Girls are Sexy” is already a non-existent mantra. Yes, I believe I’m
not dumb. (School is where I basically excel. Only. Except Gym, of course.) But right now, I don’t think having an obese brain matters anymore – even personality. It’s just all about
face face face. Can’t it be
brains brains brains? I will be waiting for that time when smart girls run the world.
Hamartia 4: I am nosy. Nosy doesn’t mean “big nose”, okay? Nosy means snoopy (not the dog), prying, always curious. That is me. I’m always curious. I told myself to always ask questions even if they’re annoying because the great Albert Einstein once said, “I am neither especially clever nor especially gifted. I am only very, very curious.” For all the world knows I can be the next Trying Hard to be an Einstein. Although I have a problem with my being nosy: I have itchy hands. Nope, I’m not stealing things. I merely pick things and observe them up close or read them or sit on them or anything.
Without the owner’s permission. I always forget to ask them if I can look at their things or read their notebook. Every time something catches my attention, I grab them without hesitation. I’m so curious I’m already
inconsiderate and
disrespectful. I can’t help it: every little thing interests me.
Hamartia 5: I had mentally killed too many people. It even surpassed the number of cockroaches I’d murdered. I’m such a perfectionist. I hate making shallow mistakes. I hate people who can’t comprehend or follow simple instructions. Basically, I’m a
nightmare for a leader. I get frustrated easily and I don’t take blames for mistakes I didn’t make (why would I?). Most of the time, I subtly tell people their mistakes, but when I don’t, I kill them in my mind. I kill them with detrimental words that even I can’t spell. I’m judgmental. Every night I pray and ask God’s forgiveness for my growing list of victims… but the next day I do it again. It’s so bad that even my little good deeds can’t make up for it.
Hamartia 6: It’s all about me, me, me. It’s the reason why I made this blog in the first place. I’m quite self-centered even if I always declare that I hate spotlights and all the attention shits. I still hate spotlights (they bring red splotches on my face and chest and some wetness under my arms), but sometimes I need to be
appreciated. I want to be seen and thanked and praised every so often. That’s the only way I feel good about myself without doing either Hamartia 1 or Hamartia 2. I need friends who share the same interests as mine so we can have something to talk about, or if we have clashing hobbies, I need someone who can at least
understand me and
accept the screwball that comes with being my friend. I need friends who can appreciate the smarts I sometimes possess and the arts I make out of boredom. I’m so full of myself I’m bloated (literally and figuratively).
Hamartia 7: I’m so weird. And I like it. It’s one of the few imperfections I proudly embrace. Weird is good, weird is wonderful, weird is special. I like being weird. I feel good when I blurt things out in the middle of a class that make everything awkward. I love it when I talk the Book Language. I hate it when I freak out, but that’s who I am: I can’t do KEEP CALM and BE AWESOME. I’m more of the CALM THE SHIT DOWN and WEIRD IT OUT. I
don’t regret being weird. We are all weird anyway, some of us are just good at hiding it (God knows they make snow angels on their beds and pick their cereals by color). Let’s all embrace weirdness!
Phew! Now I feel good. Oh dear, you look nauseated. Get off my blog before you throw up.
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a woeful & chaotic diary since 071409
Profile
Already several months had passed, and I am missing
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry more and more each fleeting day. There are just some things in life that we can never forget – especially that something that had given us knowledge, skills, strong relationships and a second home. I am glad that everything in the magical world is now at peace, since Voldemort (yes, I can now say his name; no need to be afraid) had died. I had secretly admired Tom Marvolo Riddle (Voldemort’s birth name) though, because of his intelligence, passion and love for magic. Wasn’t he very clever to think of and conjure his seven
Horcruxes to preserve his life, or form a clan of
Death Eaters who were very loyal to him and would give up their lives just for him to succeed? Not everybody can acquire that much loyalty from people these days. I do not, however, admire him for the way he had carried out all of his plans. He had a good agenda, his means just weren’t morally right. But he still is one of the darkest wizards of all time… and let’s leave it that way.
Oh, for all those who are baffled of what I’m saying here and who the heck I am, my name is
Christine Faye Ordas, and I am an alumnus of Hogwarts. I came from the bronze-and-blue-clad house of the smart ass witch Rowena Ravenclaw and her dictum
“Wit beyond measure is a man’s greatest treasure.” And yes, I know the wonderful Luna Lovegood (she’s such a darling) and Harry Potter’s first crush Cho Chang. I had just left Hogwarts last May. Right now I am trying to pursue a career in magical researches, literature and writing. It’s my dream to inscribe intellectual books, publish and sell them in
Flourish and Blotts for the future Hogwarts students’ use. I am also planning to credibly write for the
Daily Prophet, the magical world’s primary news bulletin. And of course, I will be very much honored to contribute to Mr. Xenophilius Lovegood’s
Quibbler (hence, my interest in magical researches). I have always found the Lovegoods a fascinating family, and I bet working with and for them will be very exciting. Or maybe, in Merlin’s beard’s time, I can write legends and bedtime stories like the famous – and wickedly brilliant – Beedle the Bard.
And that’s how my life goes these days. I am utterly missing my old school, my friends, the Great Hall, the bronze eagle knocker just outside the Ravenclaw common room, Professor Flitwick (the head of our house), Hogsmeade, the Quidditch matches (although I didn’t actually play for the house), the moving portraits, the castle ghosts, the pumpkins on Halloween, the giant pine trees on Christmas, Rubeus Hagrid’s (Hogwarts’ gamekeeper) tea and treacle fudge – even the crabby Argus Filch (Hogwarts’ caretaker) I miss. Maybe I can visit the school grounds sometimes and see how the magical world’s been doing since Voldemort died (I’ve been spending my months in the muggle world, you see). I’ve heard everybody’s been moving on and starting all over again; the ministry is back on work under Kingsley Shacklebolt; and Harry Potter’s scar haven’t been disturbing him since.
All is well, indeed.
And because of that, we should celebrate and drink firewhisky! Oh, I still don’t drink firewhisky; I can take butterbeer or tea or pumpkin juice – just not firewhisky, please.
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