Selfies
I’m two decades and a few weeks old already. Can you believe that? I can’t. I still feel like I’m this wild, IDGAF person I used to be when I was a teenager and overflowing with hormones. Well, yeah, maybe I’m just pushing this too far and too fast. Maybe after six months, I’d be the grown up adult I need to be.
God, I sound
pathetic.
Anyway, this post is entitled “Selfies” because I like taking at-arm’s-length photos and posting them online for everyone to see how un-photogenic I am… NOT. This post isn’t about that photo fad spreading like wildfire in our Timeline and Feeds. No. This is “Selfies” because this is about – what else –
me (*insert my many troll faces here*). For the past two decades I’ve learned a lot about myself that can send me to the nuthouse. With these “characteristics” I posses, I actually have the right to own the
Resident Weirdo position at Dumbledore’s Army. Darn it, I love being weird!
(But really, I just want to explain myself and be the center of attention. What a fucking miserable kid.)
I love walking. Not only do I save a few coins and tone my legs (“gym” isn’t part of my vocabulary) when I take the few meters on foot, I also get to be alone with myself. I like being alone actually. Not that I abhor people or anything, but sometimes it’s good to have a me-time to reflect or drill myself with questions I can or cannot answer. When I’m walking and alone, I think about a lot of things: school, my dwindling social life, what I’d do when I see Great Crush, the shoes I really want to own, etc. I tend to
over think. Sometimes I really think I’m seriously a demigod because of my brain’s hyperactivity, and maybe the monsters haven’t heard of our country yet so they’re not hunting me down. My imagination can be overboard sometimes, too.
I have a hard time trusting others. This is a bad thing when you’re a leader. This is my dilemma. Because I can’t trust anyone with anything, I always end up doing everything. My logic for this: if I’m the doer and everything fails, there’s no one to blame but me, right? I don’t like pointing fingers because it’s frustrating, and it’s really immature. Next, I don’t trust because I just don’t. I know people around me have talents and skills and all that, but so far I haven’t seen any of them. I tried once but they broke it, so my trust is forever fragile. And I think my trust issues are affected by my reading: in a lot of novels, the person who the protagonist thinks is his friend will most probably turn out to be the source of his misery. So okay, maybe I just can’t separate fiction from reality.
I don’t have a talent. Seriously, though, in my twenty years of breathing, I haven’t mastered any talent yet. I thought I can sing, but when I started recording my singing and deeply listened to it, holy cow how I
suck! And dancing? What the
heck is dancing?! I’m a miserable kid when it comes to these things. I can write and read all day long, but I believe they’re more of a skill than a talent. I also suck at sports – big time. The only sports I know are volleyball and table tennis, and well, I’m not fantastic at both.
I cannot eat stress. Since I don’t hit the gym or the court, my means of releasing stress are through writing, reading, watching
The Vampire Diaries and eating –
a lot. Sometimes I just want to pig out and not care about the money I’m shedding and the pounds I’m gaining. Sometimes I just want to go out and try every delicacies of every food stall I see. I want to indulge in sweets and street food and be sick at the end of the day. I’m actually an adventurist at heart, but
not by body.
I’m not the colored-face type of girl. Maybe it’s my childhood that ruined my femininity, but really, I’m not the type you’d see with a foundation on or colored eyelids. I don’t bother with prepping myself up especially if all I’m going to is the school. Why would I waste my time painfully fixing my hair just to end up with a wind-ruined one? Why would I apply makeup when the sun would just melt it off? I abhor makeup because: 1) it’s itchy, 2) I have sensitive skin and humongous pores, 3) it smells weird, 4) I can’t find the right shade of lipstick for my skin tone, 5) the makeup blunders I see in people and magazines are
traumatic, and 6) makeup makes me look like a clown. The farthest I’ve gone with the cosmetics are applying eyeliner and mascara and a dab of melon colored lip balm – which is the
lamest look in every fashionista’s handbook.
These selfies are worse than my vanity photos, right? Watch out for “Selfies 2.0” then! I will make your life miserable. *insert evil laughter here*
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a woeful & chaotic diary since 071409
Selfies
I’m two decades and a few weeks old already. Can you believe that? I can’t. I still feel like I’m this wild, IDGAF person I used to be when I was a teenager and overflowing with hormones. Well, yeah, maybe I’m just pushing this too far and too fast. Maybe after six months, I’d be the grown up adult I need to be.
God, I sound
pathetic.
Anyway, this post is entitled “Selfies” because I like taking at-arm’s-length photos and posting them online for everyone to see how un-photogenic I am… NOT. This post isn’t about that photo fad spreading like wildfire in our Timeline and Feeds. No. This is “Selfies” because this is about – what else –
me (*insert my many troll faces here*). For the past two decades I’ve learned a lot about myself that can send me to the nuthouse. With these “characteristics” I posses, I actually have the right to own the
Resident Weirdo position at Dumbledore’s Army. Darn it, I love being weird!
(But really, I just want to explain myself and be the center of attention. What a fucking miserable kid.)
I love walking. Not only do I save a few coins and tone my legs (“gym” isn’t part of my vocabulary) when I take the few meters on foot, I also get to be alone with myself. I like being alone actually. Not that I abhor people or anything, but sometimes it’s good to have a me-time to reflect or drill myself with questions I can or cannot answer. When I’m walking and alone, I think about a lot of things: school, my dwindling social life, what I’d do when I see Great Crush, the shoes I really want to own, etc. I tend to
over think. Sometimes I really think I’m seriously a demigod because of my brain’s hyperactivity, and maybe the monsters haven’t heard of our country yet so they’re not hunting me down. My imagination can be overboard sometimes, too.
I have a hard time trusting others. This is a bad thing when you’re a leader. This is my dilemma. Because I can’t trust anyone with anything, I always end up doing everything. My logic for this: if I’m the doer and everything fails, there’s no one to blame but me, right? I don’t like pointing fingers because it’s frustrating, and it’s really immature. Next, I don’t trust because I just don’t. I know people around me have talents and skills and all that, but so far I haven’t seen any of them. I tried once but they broke it, so my trust is forever fragile. And I think my trust issues are affected by my reading: in a lot of novels, the person who the protagonist thinks is his friend will most probably turn out to be the source of his misery. So okay, maybe I just can’t separate fiction from reality.
I don’t have a talent. Seriously, though, in my twenty years of breathing, I haven’t mastered any talent yet. I thought I can sing, but when I started recording my singing and deeply listened to it, holy cow how I
suck! And dancing? What the
heck is dancing?! I’m a miserable kid when it comes to these things. I can write and read all day long, but I believe they’re more of a skill than a talent. I also suck at sports – big time. The only sports I know are volleyball and table tennis, and well, I’m not fantastic at both.
I cannot eat stress. Since I don’t hit the gym or the court, my means of releasing stress are through writing, reading, watching
The Vampire Diaries and eating –
a lot. Sometimes I just want to pig out and not care about the money I’m shedding and the pounds I’m gaining. Sometimes I just want to go out and try every delicacies of every food stall I see. I want to indulge in sweets and street food and be sick at the end of the day. I’m actually an adventurist at heart, but
not by body.
I’m not the colored-face type of girl. Maybe it’s my childhood that ruined my femininity, but really, I’m not the type you’d see with a foundation on or colored eyelids. I don’t bother with prepping myself up especially if all I’m going to is the school. Why would I waste my time painfully fixing my hair just to end up with a wind-ruined one? Why would I apply makeup when the sun would just melt it off? I abhor makeup because: 1) it’s itchy, 2) I have sensitive skin and humongous pores, 3) it smells weird, 4) I can’t find the right shade of lipstick for my skin tone, 5) the makeup blunders I see in people and magazines are
traumatic, and 6) makeup makes me look like a clown. The farthest I’ve gone with the cosmetics are applying eyeliner and mascara and a dab of melon colored lip balm – which is the
lamest look in every fashionista’s handbook.
These selfies are worse than my vanity photos, right? Watch out for “Selfies 2.0” then! I will make your life miserable. *insert evil laughter here*
← older / top / newer →
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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