Just Stuff, Maybe
This blog post is very inconsequential it’s sad. I haven’t been blogging so much these past weeks, and it scares me because I think I’m slowly losing my writing skills. I’m not sure what’s wrong: maybe I’m not inspired to write; maybe I can’t find inspiration around me; maybe I’m not putting much effort in finding inspiration; maybe I’m procrastinating a lot; maybe I just don’t have anything to write about. For many times, I’ve thought of writing about my best friend, about the current state of my education, about my plans in the future, about my indefinite decision to not get married (oh, maybe I will write about
that next time). Right now I can maybe write a little bit about everything. This is like that “What’s happening?” box in every social networking sites, only longer.
(P.S.: This will end abruptly, with no closing statement whatsoever. I’m a bad writer like that.)
One: Our thesis is doing good. In our class, my partner and I are the only ones who are progressing and meeting deadlines (*champagne*). We’ve done our survey and interviewed respondents that were either too enthusiastic or too bland. But what’s funny is that, despite the heat and the strain and the constant fear of being mobbed, I enjoyed our little trips to the communities. We’ve encountered diverse sets of people that share stories where we learned a thing or two. Our thesis looks promising, but being the pessimistic and cynical person that I am, I’m both sure and dreading that something bad is
bound to happen. I just hope we’d be able to fix things without losing everything, including our minds.
Two: I’m reading too much. In the beginning of the year, I’ve set my reading goal of 25 books. By midsummer, I’ve reached that goal, so I adjusted it to 30. As of press time, my number of read books has reached 72 and I don’t plan on adjusting it again. I look at this number and almost believe that there’s something
wrong with me. I read too much. I know there are other people out there who read 300 novels every year, but it still scares me. I’m being an introvert again. Once, my college mates complained about being stuck at home and dying of boredom. And I was, like, “What’s wrong with staying at home? I love being at home. It gives me time to read. I’d stay in my room and read and read, and I’d be surprised that I’ve been reading for five hours straight.” They gave me a “this girl’s crazy” look. I could’ve said “I like being bored” and not make a difference.
I just like to read. What’s wrong with that? Anyway, I’m currently reading
Gone series by Michael Grant, and you know, the kids in here are kind of insane.
Three: I’ve concluded that I love indie music. (Gosh, I sound like a hippie.) Lately, I’ve discovered great bands that I’m guessing are indie music people. I don’t actually do genres because, to quote
Brian Dales of
The Summer Set, “great music defies all genre.” But it says “indie pop” or “indie rock” in their Wikipedia pages, so I guess I do genres afterall. I’m getting eargasm right now from
The Colourist,
The Royal Concept (my neurons catch flames every time I listen to “Cabin Down Below”) and this electrosoul something band,
Years And Years. Besides my awesome love for reading, I take pride in the diversity of music I listen to. I feel special every time I discover that people around me aren’t familiar with the music I adore. It’s like, “man, you haven’t lived if you haven’t listened to
The 1975.” At the same time, it frustrates me that others aren’t
open to different artists or music genres. When you check their playlist, you’d see pop, mainstream songs, and different, ridiculous renditions of “All of Me.” They box themselves in a certain standard. One of the ways to stay creative is to listen to different types of music, and I know they don’t give a fuck about what I say, but it doesn’t hurt to troll around Youtube and discover that “Sweater Weather” isn’t the only song
The Neighbourhood has.
Four: I’m still craving for awesome, intelligent conversations that blow my mind. My best friend is very busy with work right now so I couldn’t actually talk nonstop with him. My friend, Aram, is living thousands and thousands of miles away from me and talking on Facebook is stupid. My other friend, Mary Ann, works at night and sleeps when I’m awake, so I can’t burden her with my impending insanity. I just miss these people so much. I’m trying to find other people that I can talk to and learn from, but so far I end up disappointed. They give me weird looks when I ask unusual questions; they stop listening when I get all hot and gesture-y; they laugh at the wrong time; they don’t
challenge my reasoning. I don’t crave for conversations and intellectual arguments so I can feel superior; I crave for them because I actually want to
lose. I want them to prove that I’m wrong. What would you feel when you tell someone that Hermione Granger should’ve been in Ravenclaw instead of Gryffindor, and he’ll say
yes, you’re right, you’re very right, period? (You’d be lucky if they know
who Hermione Granger is.) There’s no argument whatsoever. And for the record: Hermione is a true Gryffindor because she’s more than just brains.
Sigh. Can we customize our friends’ personalities?
Double sigh. I find myself really annoying.
← older / top / newer →
a woeful & chaotic diary since 071409
Just Stuff, Maybe
This blog post is very inconsequential it’s sad. I haven’t been blogging so much these past weeks, and it scares me because I think I’m slowly losing my writing skills. I’m not sure what’s wrong: maybe I’m not inspired to write; maybe I can’t find inspiration around me; maybe I’m not putting much effort in finding inspiration; maybe I’m procrastinating a lot; maybe I just don’t have anything to write about. For many times, I’ve thought of writing about my best friend, about the current state of my education, about my plans in the future, about my indefinite decision to not get married (oh, maybe I will write about
that next time). Right now I can maybe write a little bit about everything. This is like that “What’s happening?” box in every social networking sites, only longer.
(P.S.: This will end abruptly, with no closing statement whatsoever. I’m a bad writer like that.)
One: Our thesis is doing good. In our class, my partner and I are the only ones who are progressing and meeting deadlines (*champagne*). We’ve done our survey and interviewed respondents that were either too enthusiastic or too bland. But what’s funny is that, despite the heat and the strain and the constant fear of being mobbed, I enjoyed our little trips to the communities. We’ve encountered diverse sets of people that share stories where we learned a thing or two. Our thesis looks promising, but being the pessimistic and cynical person that I am, I’m both sure and dreading that something bad is
bound to happen. I just hope we’d be able to fix things without losing everything, including our minds.
Two: I’m reading too much. In the beginning of the year, I’ve set my reading goal of 25 books. By midsummer, I’ve reached that goal, so I adjusted it to 30. As of press time, my number of read books has reached 72 and I don’t plan on adjusting it again. I look at this number and almost believe that there’s something
wrong with me. I read too much. I know there are other people out there who read 300 novels every year, but it still scares me. I’m being an introvert again. Once, my college mates complained about being stuck at home and dying of boredom. And I was, like, “What’s wrong with staying at home? I love being at home. It gives me time to read. I’d stay in my room and read and read, and I’d be surprised that I’ve been reading for five hours straight.” They gave me a “this girl’s crazy” look. I could’ve said “I like being bored” and not make a difference.
I just like to read. What’s wrong with that? Anyway, I’m currently reading
Gone series by Michael Grant, and you know, the kids in here are kind of insane.
Three: I’ve concluded that I love indie music. (Gosh, I sound like a hippie.) Lately, I’ve discovered great bands that I’m guessing are indie music people. I don’t actually do genres because, to quote
Brian Dales of
The Summer Set, “great music defies all genre.” But it says “indie pop” or “indie rock” in their Wikipedia pages, so I guess I do genres afterall. I’m getting eargasm right now from
The Colourist,
The Royal Concept (my neurons catch flames every time I listen to “Cabin Down Below”) and this electrosoul something band,
Years And Years. Besides my awesome love for reading, I take pride in the diversity of music I listen to. I feel special every time I discover that people around me aren’t familiar with the music I adore. It’s like, “man, you haven’t lived if you haven’t listened to
The 1975.” At the same time, it frustrates me that others aren’t
open to different artists or music genres. When you check their playlist, you’d see pop, mainstream songs, and different, ridiculous renditions of “All of Me.” They box themselves in a certain standard. One of the ways to stay creative is to listen to different types of music, and I know they don’t give a fuck about what I say, but it doesn’t hurt to troll around Youtube and discover that “Sweater Weather” isn’t the only song
The Neighbourhood has.
Four: I’m still craving for awesome, intelligent conversations that blow my mind. My best friend is very busy with work right now so I couldn’t actually talk nonstop with him. My friend, Aram, is living thousands and thousands of miles away from me and talking on Facebook is stupid. My other friend, Mary Ann, works at night and sleeps when I’m awake, so I can’t burden her with my impending insanity. I just miss these people so much. I’m trying to find other people that I can talk to and learn from, but so far I end up disappointed. They give me weird looks when I ask unusual questions; they stop listening when I get all hot and gesture-y; they laugh at the wrong time; they don’t
challenge my reasoning. I don’t crave for conversations and intellectual arguments so I can feel superior; I crave for them because I actually want to
lose. I want them to prove that I’m wrong. What would you feel when you tell someone that Hermione Granger should’ve been in Ravenclaw instead of Gryffindor, and he’ll say
yes, you’re right, you’re very right, period? (You’d be lucky if they know
who Hermione Granger is.) There’s no argument whatsoever. And for the record: Hermione is a true Gryffindor because she’s more than just brains.
Sigh. Can we customize our friends’ personalities?
Double sigh. I find myself really annoying.
← 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.
Accounts
FACEBOOK
TWITTER
INSTAGRAM
GOODREADS
