DIARY OF AN INTERN: SICK...OH WAIT, NO.

I seemed to be coming down with a bad flu which had been spreading around the VIVA office, so I took the day to rest and recuperate. This morning I looked like a scarecrow that had given up its duties, but by early afternoon, under the constant vigilance of my Aunt Judy, I feel quite fine and am shaping up into some sort of Gladiator.

I woke up at 10am to find on my bedside table, a glass of apple juice and a glass of water, both bundled up on a pretty tray close to a handful of vitamin and medication bottles. My aunt would’ve added to the mix her own massive bottle of Seven Seas Cod Liver Oil Multi-vitamin capsules, but I made sure to put out my own mini bottle upon arriving to keep her happy. After downing all of that, I took a shower and sat working my way through my emails.

“Miss Kara!” she bellowed next to my left ear. Everytime she talks to me, I am snapped into constant fear that I did something unforgiveable, like leaving the toilet unflushed after delivering a baby of pure muscled waste. “I am going to the gym, then I’m going to run some errands. You better have drank three more glasses of water by the time I get back, and have had something to eat. Did you eat anything yet? What did you eat? And tea doesn’t count.”

With my toes curling and scraping at the immaculate white tile flooring, I decided, “Well…I was about to get up and have a bowl of organic oatmeal porridge?”

“Well, alright. That’s good for now. When I get back I will boil some wholewheat pasta and leave it on the stove for you. Martin and I are going out tonight. Will you be alright? Keep warm and CHILD! You really shouldn’t be having your Commandments on the floor!”

For a minute, my heart stopped. I thought, had I accidently thrown her worn gold-fringed bible on the floor? What the hell was she talking about? I looked around frantically, and saw nothing but my own two dry feet.

“Put some slippers on. You say you’re coming down with the flu and yet you’re walking around on cold floors barefooted. Oh, child…”

My Commandments? I pondered this for a full hour, on the breaks I took between each chapter of the novel I was reading. Where on earth did she get that from? I thought, staring at my toes. Then, I realized I had ten of them…?

I watched as she hauled her tiny self up into her maroon SUV, then sped off. I reluctantly walked down to my aunt and uncle’s kitchen to organize my porridge, wondering if she was crazy enough to check her bin’s contents for ripped up Oatmeal Porridge packets. I poked around to see what I’d be eating while here; jars of preserved fruit, every one of God’s beans, peas, grains, nuts and seeds in their respective Tupperware containers, only every single cereal with Bran in its title, vanilla soymilk, teas in every colour (white, green and now black, brought by me for my mornings) and the honey or raw cane sugar that would go with it. Last night for dinner, 6/8’s of my plate was sautéed vegetables, 1/3 of them I was learning of and tasting for the very first time.

I imagine that since she has no children, that that is why she saddles and straddles my back day in and day out to make sure I am constantly sorted. She has been packing me well-thought-up vegetarian lunches for work which include everything from a zip-locked package containing mug, silver spoon and oatmeal packet, to a teabag and mint supply that I could share with the entire 10 member office team. Just before I got the bus home, I had to reluctantly gobble down half of my packed lunch, guiltily binning the rest, because my father, when dropping me off at the house, had wished Aunt Judy good luck, and had been telling everyone in his circle that I was anorexic. When I got home, she would quiz me on what my stomach held at the end of the day, then suggest, Military style (whatever that means, because I suppose there’s no ‘suggesting’ in the Military) that I add this or that to it before bed.

I can only hope that after lazily flipping through her Essence magazine archive, and 90’s copies of Vogue and InStyle, that I fall asleep before she gets home. That way, I’ll only receive a note in the morning as I rush off for work, instead of a full-on dietary discussion and debate.

As a result, that old Sesame Street song has been stuck in my head.

Am I sad to know it? The Street is great, man...

LIVE FROM DUBAI

Already two more days then my work week is complete!
Hi guys. Been real busy at the office, researching for features and content and what have you. No news, no pictures, no interesting tales. I just know a few things:

1) It's very difficult trying not to spend too much in the city when THE BEST HUMMUS IN THE WORLD is literally three doors away; as well as a decent sushi place.

2) Once it hits 6pm (or sometimes earlier) I am outta here like nobody's business; and in all corners of my existence too, mind, body and soul. It's not that I'm not having a blast. It's just if I have ever worked as many hours as this in my short lifetime, it has been in the later part of the day steering clear of my beauty sleep, and in comfier clothes. Also, it hasn't been this BLOODY SWELTERING!

3) My father has the coolest friends in the world. They really stick together and have each other's backs. They all did pilot training when they were teenagers back in Trinidad, flew for the same local airline, and when it got bankrupt, they all eventually split and met back up in the Middle East working for another airline. I have been surrounded by this sort of pilots and their families culture, and it's quite amazing. It's like having 5 godfathers. They always look out for me being my father's daughter. So, this month, one of them has taken me in and provided me with generous accommodation (own room, own bathroom, free internet and food(I get packed lunch everyday and am forced to eat by the pilot wife), another picked me up from work yesterday, after perching near the bus stop for nearly two hours with a half melted Toblerone, and another (my actual godfather) gave me $300 US this morning!

4) Although I feel all proud and grown-up strutting down the street madly and purposefully in heels and fancy clothes, it's great to wake up to the occasional packed lunch (complete with fruit, vegetarian meal, bottled water, raisins, mints, porridge packet). Reminds me that I'm still a well taken care of fresh youthling. Yeah, I think I just made that up and I love it!

5) I STILL haven't seen Sex and the City okay? Shove your Manolos down your throat and get over it. That movie will never come to this country; this country that won't let us feature gay men, won't let us write an article on Darfur for our magazine, and deport us for getting pregnant!

6) What with all the research I do for the magazine, I've been finding the most amazing articles. Have a read...
Latest Indian Jones movie inspired by crystal skull-worshipping community in Mexico - http://www.latimes.com/news/nationworld/world/la-fg-crystalskulls8-2008jun08,0,3549594.story?track=rss

Middle-aged bank employee running gladiator school in Rome-
http://www.latimes.com/news/nationworld/world/la-fg-gladiator8-2008jun08,0,2128413.story

Naked cyclists pedal the streets of Mexico City to promote Emission-free lifestyle- http://www.latimes.com/news/nationworld/world/la-fg-gladiator8-2008jun08,0,2128413.story

Bank run by and for street children in India- http://www.latimes.com/news/nationworld/world/la-fg-bank7-2008jun07,0,3767951.story

(THIS HAD ME IN TEARS) Albinos killed in Tanzania due to local superstitions-
http://www.nytimes.com/2008/06/08/world/africa/08albino.html?ref=world

Anyways, it's about that time in the office so I'm out. Have a great day! And Happy Belated Philippines Independence!

SALAAM INSTEAD OF HELLO

Finally. I'm home. Abu Dhabi. My friends back in Trinidad would wring my neck for saying that. Always a true trini, but with many a home elsewhere. I'm tired talking about the strenuous week I was under, packing and moving, so I won't apologise any further for my absence.

Nothing much is going on at the moment though. I went to Chili's rather reluctantly for lunch today with my brother and his girlfriend, (after consulting my I-Ching), which surprisingly turned out to be great fun, even though it took me 20 minutes to receive my guacamole for my shrimp quesadillas. And while poking at each other's chins coquettishly, my sibling and his other half argued over whether a diced vegetable on his plate was cucumber or zucchini. Apart from the girl's keen interest in green foods, she seemed rather caught up in every little bit of ramble I had to say; with eager nodding of her sweet little head and epileptic fits of laughter. And already, I have excited invitations to a club this weekend called Zenith ("just dress like a slut and you'll get in"), her birthday party and their prom.

"Your brother's friend Grahm can be your date. Do you have a dress?"
Honey, I ALWAYS have a dress. And no, 17 year old Grahm can't. Not happening. Zenith? I will consider. I am yet to be turned down by a bouncer.

She also cheerfully said she'd like to see me drunk, and has heard many a drunken tale of mine.
"Really," I muttered, un-impressed and eyeing my brother.

We were also with her older sister who was calling up friends complaining that she found a picture of herself clubbing on Facebook and that it needed to be eradicated....fast. ahhhh muslim life...

That's all the tales I have for today. I'm spending quality time with the old man; movie marathon with our respective laptops and dead silence, save for "pass the popcorn, please." I tell you, we are the exact same person, minus the nose hair and male parts. 'The Prestige' is next! Salaam!

13 GOING ON 30

I've been saying it. I'm so old and lame now... *whines*. YOU GUYSSSS, My sister turned 13 yesterday. Do you know what it's like to be born in '95? Weird, huh? I'm filling up like a tank of gas with dread and fear right now.

CHICKEN POX REACTION

"Mum, what do you think will happen if I take one of my old Prozac pills?"

"Um I don't think you should do that. Why do you want to do that? Do you need to take them?"

"Do you think anything will happen? No, right?"

"Kara what's wrong?"

"Um, just the mere dilemma of whether to mess around with a pill or not. I'm fine, geez."

"Well, I say no."

MY BROTHER GOT CHICKEN POX.

"Anyway, honey, I was looking up some information on chicken pox for your brother and there was a link for depression so I checked that out as well. They say people who are depressed should stay clear of alcohol, coffee, uhh tea, um, um, even soft drinks and.."

"What are you doing? I'm happy. I'm fine. Have you taken the time yet to compare and contrast the present me with the past me? I'm fine."

"Well, if you're sure...So what are you up to?"

"Watching Prozac Nation. It's about to start back. See ya!"

"Oh Lord..."

TODAY THINGS

Salaam from Abu Dhabi, and Happy Good Friday to those who care; because no one here does. I finally ventured out today so I have things to talk about.

1.BREAKING NEWS! My ex-boyfriend has finally conformed to the Blogosphere and now has his own rant corner called the mind of a eu-phe-mism. Nothing up yet except this hilarious 'About Me' passage:


A site where we try to find the euphemism's of the world. I plan to talk about Politics, Food, Films,Travel, Science and Technology... basically things that interest me. This site is called Euphemism, because I think the word defines who/what I am. An offensive and blunt person with the charming exterior of a choir boy.


Exterior of a fuckin' choir boy. Tis all on that.
YA, so check it out. I'm adding it to my Link List like...now...


2. Went to Egypt today to do some shopping for respectable internship clothes at Forever 21. Also got my sushi and starbuck's fix; no, not at the same time. That would be ventricular suicide. Okay, so in case you didn't catch that, no I didn't breezily go to Egypt for the day to shop. I went to the Egypt Section of Ibn Battuta mall in Dubai, which is a mall split up into different parts of the world and decorated in their theme. For our family, 2pm means 5pm and it takes about an hour and a half to two hours to get to Dubai from Abu Dhabi, so we got there at 10pm and didn't get to visit the rest of the world. But I think shopping at Forever 21, while slurping Starbucks and then my family and I indulging in sushi and sashimi, kebabs, and sweet and sour chicken with chop suey means we pretty much got a taste of a ton of cultures anyways so it doesn't matter. It would've been great to have pictures of the rest of the place for you guys but personally I didn't miss out because I've walked through the whole place already on my first visit. I'm too tired to go trying on outfits now for you so that will have to wait another day but here are some Abu Dhabi/Dubai pictures.

ABOVE THREE: Egypt Court at Ibn Battuta Mall, Dubai

BEHOLD: the stupidest name for a mexican restaurant IN.THE.WORLD.

A massive billboard in homage to the late Father of the Nation, Sheikh Zayed Bin Sultan Al Nahyan.

A...coat monument on the Corniche taken from my car window.

3. My mom and I are waking bright and early tomorrow to go to 'the white pearl of the Gulf'', the newly finished Sheikh Zayed Mosque. After 12 years of construction, with an estimated spendage of 2.167 billion Durhams, the mosque opened last year for Ramadan. It's one of the 10 largest mosques in the world and can house 40,000 worshippers. It only opens from 9am-11:30am apparently so...gotta catch an early night tonight. And by early I mean 2-ish? I can't do early. My body clock is fucked to bits. This is the best I can do so far, picture-wise (from google) but hopefully tomorrow I'll have a good picture day.

4. According to my ridiculously whacky and fun sources, this month, among other things, is 'National Talk to Your Teen About Sex' month. Now, I like to think that my 17 year old brother, and soon-to-be-in-a-month 13 year old sister, are my teens. I know I am still one, but barely. I am ONE OVER-PROTECTIVE BIG SISTER. You would NOT believe. Today, as the family drove through a highway of nothingness on our way to Dubai, my mother snapping her little fingers to her brazilian music on the 5 track, my brother informed us that tomorrow was him and his girlfriend's monthiversary, marking four happy months together. My sister laughed along with him and blurted "That's all?! I..." She punched feverishly at her Motorola keypad a short and sweet message that read '5 months'. WHAT. THE. HELL. Well, anyways, as crazy as that is for me, the world is heading that way. I'm old. I'll get over it. So, back to my brother. I came home from the gym the other day and found he had a handful of friends over, including this ...GIRL, wearing his hoodie. He tickled her chin when I came in the door and said, "Isn't she gorgeous?"

"Uh huh," I managed.

The two of them usually congregate in his room for hours, and I CAN'T STAND how loud the air conditioning is in this house and how thick and expensive the doors are. I couldn't get an inch of a decibel of sound back to me from that room. All I know is that later, my brother did something clean I have never seen him do. He changed his sheets. OH, TAKE ME BACK! TAKE ME BACK TO MY CAREFREE DAYS! I feel an old crone. My neck hurts and I have knots in my back from all this. He is now on the Corniche (the waterside) fishing with friends, one of whom is THAT GIRL. Fishing my ass...

5. My mother decided to tell me today that she just remembered that the London Philharmonic Orchestra is playing at the Emirates Palace this weekend and next week is Swan Lake. I love how breezily on-dope she is about remembering. Naturally, they are exaggeratedly sold out. And OH YEAH, Dubai Fashion Week ends tomorrow and I already missed Abu Dhabi Fashion Week *mopes*

HOLD THAT THOUGHT

I started bitching to my mom about cheerleaders and ambition and short stories, and while she was plucking on same fake eyelashes in front of her full wall bathroom mirror, she said, "Why don't you write about cheerleaders, then?"

*rolls eyes* Why do moms do ingenious shit like that?

HERE GOES...(sorry about paragraphing. stupid blogger)

Loss (Draft 4)
By Kara Martin

There was a death in the family. Nothing too scary, just cancer. All his children, and their children, waited so long for it to happen, that we eventually forgot it was supposed to happen anymore. That old man really challenged us. He just propped himself up on the porch every day and lived. But he didn’t.

I remember how it went. I came home on Thursday afternoon from violin workshop. It was summer but it was raining heavily.

“Mummy! Mum? Where are you?” I called. I found her on the phone crouched low over the varnished desk in her room. She was talking to someone about floral arrangements. “Mummy? Can I go to the beach with Dominique Lee on Saturday?”
“No. Sorry, you can’t.” She didn’t even look at me.
I paused, “Are we having some sort of huge boring party again? I don’t need to be here, you know. Those people just like telling me how they knew me as a baby and I have no idea who they…”
“You can’t go anywhere, okay? Not this Saturday.”
I began to get desperate. I really wanted to go. Summer was boring. “Is it because Dominique’s dad is a funeral director? I mean, I know some of the kids at school are freaked out by that but…” I stopped because she was staring at me as if about to hypnotize me; stock still with wide focused eyes.

So, that is how I found out. Apparently Lee’s funeral home had been trusted over the years to take care of all the deceased relatives I didn’t know anything about; the ones at those huge boring parties that patted me on the head with vein-strapped feeble arms and told me about my childhood, while I stood quizzically quiet. I managed to get out of workshop practice on the Friday, which was great because I could never talk to Dominique Lee again. I had already ignored several calls from her that afternoon. I figured my mother needed me. Not really. My four aunts and five uncles on her side were having a family meeting in the kitchen. The kettle whistled noisily all day. I hid away in my room so I wouldn’t have to fake emotion, and thought about Dominique popping into the basement to ask her father the square root of one thousand or something, and her seeing my grandfather naked on a cold steel table.

Saturday was the viewing of the body, which I had been dreading all night long the night before. I stood under the modest Lee’s Funeral Home sign. And just above it, I saw drawn purple curtains in a French window and figured it was Dominique’s room. Inside, grey chairs were lined up in a dozen neat rows, on a sea of grey carpeting, all within white walls. The chill of the room had me wondering if the cold was really from the air conditioning or from that other presence old people told you about. I walked up the aisle with my brother, sister and mother, past two dozen or so cousins, aunts and uncles, all dressed in varying shades of black and grey. Some had rushed over from their busy New Yorker and Londoner lives to see him one last time. Soft jazz could be heard from a little green CD player in the corner that one of my cousins had brought. At the front of the room lay my grandfather, the famous jazz pianist; the first person to teach lawn tennis in Trinidad; the ‘Captain Carib’ comic strip artist; the reason I played the violin with a fine-tuned ear and drew brilliant doodles in class that my friends, like Dominique, wanted to keep. Well now we weren’t friends, but…

Up there things were much more cheerful and lively, compared to where we were all sitting. Who was really dead here, and who was alive? He lay in this beautifully varnished open coffin amid fresh flowers and great lighting. But I wouldn’t have called it a coffin. It invited me to lie on its soft cushions, like a bed. The man lying in it looked the same as yesterday, the day before and on my ninth birthday; very dark, bushy eyebrows, short grey curly hair, droopy yet plump cheeks, the constantly creased forehead. He wore a nice bright blue plaid shirt and simple black trousers. Everyone around me conversed very loudly while I mentally picked out who would cry among us. I watched and waited for the afternoon’s sobbing fits to begin.

“He smells a bit funny, don’t you think?” My aunt blurted in her polished British accent, nodding her head incessantly and frowning. She wasn’t too far off, I thought.
One of my older cousins leaned in to me and whispered, “You know, they have to put on adult diapers on them because they’re obviously no longer in control of their bodily functions. Something like that.”
“Mr. Lee did an excellent job with his face. The make-up is subtle yet it makes him look so much healthier,” the sisters chimed.

A little girl in a grey chair placed near the coffin nodded at everyone and their comments. She wore a stunning light blue 60’s knee length dress. She sat small in her chair, her bottom lip hanging low and her eyes glazed and drooping. She looked like a lost whimpering dog, like me. She was probably thinking how unfair the world could, like me. Only then did I realise she had sleek, shiny, grey hair pulled back into a neat bun. And when she looked my way, I saw it was my grandmother.

Finally, the women started rummaging through their bags frantically and pulling out clean tissues that soon became soggy and dirtied brown and black from their heavy powder and eyeliner. My other siblings and relatives my age and younger sat at the back trying to look as sombre as possible, heads down, hands on laps, giving the elders some space. We were all strangers in that room, and did not belong there. I begged myself to cry. I made myself think of all the times I spent with my grandfather but they were all so uneventfully boring, and so few. I knew nothing about this man, and he knew next to nothing about me; not like my friends.

This is what I knew. When my mother parked the car in their drive, behind the run down powder blue Saloon, we were told to greet Grandad warmly and kiss him on the cheek. He would grunt a reply and we would run off to play. All he ever was was worn out and he sat with his eyes closed all day on the porch in the chair that was branded his own (we still have a little trouble deciding whether or not we can sit there). He dozed, listened to tennis and cricket on the radio, or one of his grandchildren read the newspaper to him, and he took medication. The only time he sat somewhere else was when he was in front of the grand piano, revisiting his jazz band solos. And you could tell his band was fantastic and really popular, by the way his fingers weren’t shaking, like they always were, and by the way he got mad when a little kid somewhere in the house was shrieking over his runs. Whether he knew I was there or not, I loved listening to him in the corner, eating sweet bread, which I was told he made, but didn’t believe. He was blind! But then…he was sitting playing “Take Five” in front of me…

I was jolted back to the present by my grandmother’s wailing and shuddering. She moaned and let out enormous sighs with drooping shoulders. She did breathing exercises, she screamed, she spoke to herself and she spoke to him. I was afraid that she was going to collapse, ending her life right there and then. I didn’t realise I was crying until I heard myself heaving great breaths and felt that my face was wet and burning. A few close girl cousins hooked onto me with their red eyes and took me outside.

The sun blazed and we were all choking on our saliva and tears whilst cars hissed past with loud music. And then I noticed Dominique. Two girls I knew from the Viola section were talking in the back seat of her older brother’s idling Honda Civic. I started to cry louder, and turned away. How could you? Betray me like this. How could you be the funeral director’s daughter? I turned back. She walked slower to look at me as she loaded a heavy wicker picnic basket into the trunk of the car. I couldn’t stop staring back at her, blurry-eyed and red-faced in my cousin’s arms. So I gave a crazy frantic wave, with my fingers stiff and splayed, just for the hell of it, to see what she would do. She hesitated, but waved back, quickly looking away again to grab the water floats and beach bags.

OLD PEOPLE

I've been thinking about the idea of aging a lot lately....well, more than usual. Every year since I turned 18 (ok so that only makes two years so far) I've been crying on my birthday. 17 will always remain one of the biggest, craziest, best years of my life (I doubt lol). I thrive off of the fact that people admire how much I've already done at such a young age. People over here are constantly amazed that I will be going into my third and final year of University at 19, and graduating at 20, ready to start a life in the US on my own; independent. But that is so useless to me. If only they knew the life I lived when I was younger. ULTIMATE OVER-ACHIEVER! And now that I think about it, I guess that's why I was bullied so much. Then, with my depression, I just stopped...achieving, period. I didn't give a shit. And I was the most popular kid around. EVERYONE wanted to be my friend, and they would still tell me how great I was, which made me even MORE depressed. And now, I feel all washed up. I want it back; the skills, the envy, the admiration. There are kids on here like Miss Couturable who make me feel like dirt. Anyways, I guess, reading this passage over now, I see that it has just been something I needed to get off my chest. I hope it makes me start working my ass off now. I AM NOT OLD. Someone please tell me. People laugh at me for crying on my birthday and I am not even legal in the US yet. Tell me. I HAVE A LOT AHEAD OF ME. I HAVE NOT YET LIVED. I AM NOT. OLD.

Yesterday, my parents and I were having a serious and seriously long discussion on Skype about my accommodation situation here in London. My particular course (Creative Writing) doesn't have exams in it so we finish the school year much earlier than everyone. This year, I'm finishing by the end of April, while people are staying on 'til June (SUCKS TO BE YOU!). But then, it also sucks to be me too in this case. Basically, I'm on campus, and have already paid off my accommodation fees for the Spring term, which means I'm set to fuck about in this room until 6th April. Then, the summer term begins..and we have to pay £868 to stay here from April 7th to June 5th. So...I emailed the accommodation officer to tell her I would be going back home on May 1st, and only staying 3 weeks into the summer term (which at £90/w I calculated would be only £270). She emailed me back to tell me I would still have to pay the whole thing. So I freaked. I started packing my suitcase and everything! Because I WASN'T DOING THAT!

Why is this related to old people? Well, my Grandfather is my only remaining London-based UK relative. The three other families I have to run to in the UK if I ever needed a place to stay are:
1. My aunt and uncle and their 4 kids who just moved to Cambridge
2. My aunt and uncle who live in Derby
3. My aunt and her two kids who finally got tired of London's ridiculousness and moved to Qatar a month later after being offered a job.

BUT! My dad told me his father (my grandfather) was back in Florida where he has another house. 'He told me he would be back since November!' I cried.
'Well, things happen. The house in Florida has serious flood damage so he is stuck there fixing it. Did you know, his wife, your grandmother's birthday is today and she fell and broke her collarbone? So he is staying longer because of that too. Please take some time today to call or email her,' said my dad.

So I do NOT know where I will be living in April, because of old people (yes, the accommodation officer is also old with a stern jaw and reminds me of Glenn Close's character in 'The Devil Wears Prada'). I. Hate. Her.

MORE OLD PEOPLE NEWS!
One of our assignments for class on Tuesday is to take a piece of writing we did back in Year 1 in our Life Writing class and try to re-write it the way we would like it to be written now; with regards to the knowledge we gained in the past year on what would work better for a story etc. So, over the past few days I've been looking at one about my grandfather dying called "A Death in the Family", now renamed "Loss". It was pretty good but I had a lot to change about it this time around. Instead of it being a real life event plucked from my youth, I sort of fictionalized it this time to make it more interesting. Because, really, all it was before, was me talking about my grandfather dying...and....whether we like it or not, people die all the time. So, I've been deep in the past recently, re-thinking that whole incident and what my grandfather's life was like. It's been a sad, pensive couple of days.

BUT he also helped me realise something! I don't think I told you, because I was afraid to do so before, but I am entering the Vogue Talent Contest for Young Writers this year and one of the entry requirements is a piece on someone who has been an inspiration to you, and that's been the toughest bit of the entry for me thusfar. Even though I don't know who the hell I am at 19 with severe mood swings, the 600 word Autobiography bit took me 45 minutes to write! And I am already ready with something to nail the 600 word contemporary arts review. But...now, I'm thinking I should talk about my grandfather as an inspiration.

I have also been inspired...by...I don't know what/who, I guess dead people everywhere, to share with you said short story. I've been so afraid all these years to share my work but Year 2 has really been an impactful, life-changing year for me so it turns out, I am now ready to share! I am now ready to get a move on with life, I guess. Which is great because I thought I would die before I ever got my work published because of my fear. But I AM YOUNG, and there is nothing I can do wrong at this stage. So, why not? What's the worst that could happen? (that was me trying to be positive about age). I'll post it in the next post since this one is dreadfully long.

MY WEEKEND PT. 2

Bare with me people; it's been a weird one. I mean a weird time for me at the mo. I'm pretty busy now that the week has started and seeing as it's already Tuesday here and my weekend was spent in a puddle of tears, I decided that even though a blog is for dwelling on things, I think the best thing for me to do is not dwell too much on how bad of a time it was. I must remain positive about the here and now.

I can't say it was ALL bad though. I mean apart from breaking my shopping ban to buy a heavily discounted GHD hair straightener, not kissing and making up with my best friend from a raging religion-fuelled row(which is so taboo. NEVER TALK ABOUT RELIGION AND POLITICS WITH PEOPLE!), and crying once again into the wee hours of Monday morning on Skype with my ex, I had a great Sunday. My favouritest Londoner cousin Barmaid Becks turned 20 on Sunday and we had such a super and cultured day. I missed the Tate Modern Man Ray exhibition part of the day because I woke up late and was busy searching for Bjork tickets for us; which are now at £100! But after that we met up and went to Riverside Studios in Hammersmith for a Hamlet play.

Oh but this was like no other Hamlet play, my friend. It's a group of over 100 actors who take turns putting on this VERY VERY improv performance. I mean, the audience had to bring our own weird and interesting props, some of us had to play some of the roles, we were even ushered off to watch each scene in a new setting unknown to the actors, and Hamlet wore an awesome neon David Bowie t-shirt, skinny jeans and white Chucks. It was the coolest experience and it is very underground, so they gave every one a letter in the end to tell us more about them. It starts like this:

"Thanks for all your involvement in tonight's performance of Hamlet.

The success of each night is entirely down to you the audience members.

The production hopes to continue moving around each week, to as many varied and interesting places that we can find to perform in."

"Due to the nature of the show, we often don't know where we will be performing next. In addition, we have no money, and don't spend any money on advertising."

"We love the fact that since its first performances in September 2007, we have secretly performed to enthuasiastic audiences, who have kept their ear to the ground and have found out where and when we are performing."

So, I grabbed some of their uber cool badges, stickers and wallet cards at the door to spread the word. I think you'd like it. Also, you gotta promise to add their group 'The Factory' to your Facebook groups. I'm doing so right now. I especially liked that the crowd was so involved and had to supply the props. I walked with a particularly large push point pen which they eventually grabbed from me and used as a sword or something, not sure. Barmaid Becks' bottle of Heinz ketchup was of course used for the blood (Ophelia smeared it all over the stage and her face, and slapped some on people's wrists in the crowd. UGH!). Some of the cooler props I saw when they told us to raise them over our heads before each act for the actors to come around and choose were:

A Ghostbuster's ghost catcher pack (what were they called?)

A head of lettuce (which was shredded on stage)

A large carton of skimmed milk (which was poured on someone as poison)

Various goblin masks, and

Two large packaged cookies baked into the shape of breasts complete with M&M nipples

Convinced you have to see it yet? I love how they ended the letter as well, because it's true!:

"We'll hopefully see you again at another show, which will be entirely different!"

ACT 1 was in a cold dank tunnel just outside the theatre. We lined the walls while they performed runway style.I didn't get very many good pictures but I like this one because it looks like my friend Fi(pink scarf) is in that scene in Garden State where everything is moving lightning speed fast around a motionless Zach Braff.ACT 2: Inside studio 2 of the theatre.My friend Charlie's prop; a parrot he claims is from the Welsh rainforests; watching on.

My prop, the large pen and the awesome Hamlet stickers I got, one of which is now on my laptop :)

HIGHLIGHT OF MY WEEKEND

So, I fell in love with a place called Shunt, had AMAZINGLY CHEAP AND ALWAYS GOOD vegetable curry w/ rice at Chop Chop, enjoyed myself thoroughly alone, just me and a cuppa hot chocolate at the cinema for Be Kind Rewind, which is actually a pretty sad flick, as well as laugh at loud, got my yoga fix and did a substantial amount of creative writing and reading this weekend. But the highlight of it all would have to be my 17 year old brother's joke (he's home in Dubai now IMing me):

Brother: KNOCK KNOCK
Me: Who's there?
Brother: It's me, your brother, and I'll always be there for you.

He's not really that lame, he just says corny things like that to make me smile, and it works! He's coming to Manchester, UK soon with my dad for a football match. I'm thinking of meeting them. HOTEL ROOM FUN! ...As in room service and things like that...