(no subject)

After doing so much on 'journeys' at school, it's almost inevitable that we start applying the stuff we learnt in English into our lives.

Yesterday, I went to the wharves, again. Somehow, I was drawn to them, again. Not because of what happened there, rather for the atmosphere: the fact that nobody goes there much, the way the sea is just in front of you, the way the north shore lies just across the water, the way the bridge spans beautifully across.

But of course, I would be lying if I said that what happened there was of no meaning whatsoever. Remember that insight into journeys: it's when you come back to the place you left that you realise how much has changed.

Well, that's exactly what I did, and I suppose I'm grieving for the loss of that, and for the loss of a part of my innocence. Of course I don't want to go back to it. The loss of it has already formed itself into my 'self': into the way I define my experiences and memories. But at the same time, one can not help but think about those memories.

Oh, haha. Also happened to lose a thong there. My brown ones. Perhaps it's a metaphor. The way the sea carried it away on its waves was really quite symbolic. I ended up throwing the other one away with it. Just realised how cathartic that was: if I'd kept it... I'd be worrying over myself way too much about what it means that I couldn't let the other thong go! :-)

So that's my spiel for today. Haven't written here for a long time as well. Perhaps this is another example of coming back to the place one started at and looking at it again in a different light.

It's refreshing.

Ach... ich habe etwas vergessen: the five stages of grieving.

Denial: definitely went through that very quickly.
Anger: perhaps at this one now.
Bargaining: won't go through this one... innocence is not something you bargain for.
Depression: perhaps a little of this one now.
Acceptance: almost there... :-)

(no subject)

Alles ist unbedingt total verrückt geworden. Ich weiß nicht wirklich wo ich anfangen sollte.

1. Volljährig
Diese Wochenende werde ich 18. Natürlich bedeutet es nichts viel im Praxis. Aber trotzdem habe ich das Gefühl dass irgendwas verändern würde. In der Seele.

2. Der Jung
Wir sind jetzt gute Freunde. :) Ich freue mich.

3. Uni

(no subject)

Mundanities. mundanities. mundanities.

Leben: eine Folge von den.

Bitte erzähl mir wann meine verrückte Kopf halten würden. Bitte erzähl mir was los ist. Bitte erzähl mir wie ich alles reparieren kann.

Ach, wie emo.

(no subject)

Ich weiß nicht ob ich noch schreiben soll, weil manche Leute haben meinen Blog total mit Google übersetzt. lol. Na ja. Schreibe ich auf Jedenfalls. Wenn man eine Sprache richtig lernt, weiß man dass man nie eine Internetübersetzungsmachine benützen darf.

Also, die erste Ding, die im Kopf kommt ist die Musikfest. Aber will ich unbedingt nichts darüber was wir getan haben erzählen. Es macht einfach zu viel Schmerzen. Ich fühle mich total scheußlich: wie EE (ich sollte keine Namen sagen). Aber wer weiß? Vielleicht geht es gar nicht so schlecht. Die Zukunft ist komisch.

Und ja... ich bin noch verliebt. lol. Es fühlt sich ganz interessant. Genieße ich das? Ja. Unbedingt. Macht mir es Sorgen? Ja. Auch unbedingt. Aber, jedenfalls will ich ihm lieben. Er ist... einfach... *zuckte die Schultern*. Ich habe mich nie so gefühlt.


Es ist wirklich (sollte ich ,in der Tat' benutzen?) ganz lang seit ich letztes Mal auf deustch geschrieben habe. Leider ist es vollig klar wie schlecht es geworden ist. =( Aber man sagt dass es besser ist wenn man irgendwas spät macht, als wenn man irgendwas nicht macht. Also übe ich wieder und hoffentlich wird es noch besser.

Na ja. Schule fangt ganz bald an... und habe ich so viel Angst. Ich habe nicht viel in den Ferien gearbeitet... (die Gründe erkläre ich bald). Zum Glück habe ich gut genug Noten gekriegt für Mathe dass ich Philosophie machen darf. Deshalb habe ich entschlossen Wirtschaft abzuwählen. Auf der anderen Seite, finde ich dass ich eigentlich ganz schlechte Noten für Mathe bekommt habe...

Ach, meine Schreibungen haben überhaupt kein Struktur. =( Das ist nicht gut... in besonders weil ich so viel Englisch jetzt mache...

Allerdings, verstehe ich die Gründe. Ich weiß nicht ob ich schon erzählt habe... aber bin ich nach Canberra für Mathecamp gegangen. Und darüber möchte ich jetzt schreiben: ich bin in jemanden verliebt. Absolut und total verliebt.

Ach... bin ich nicht konzentriert. Eigentlich soll ich Musik machen. Morgens machen Rosie, Jacs, Alix und ich Musifestdinge. Muss vorbereiten.

ps. je mehr ich versuche nichts über ihm zu denken, desto schwieriger wird es nicht zu denken!
  • Current Mood
    blank blank

(no subject)

Heute schreibe ich vielleicht das letztes Mal über Mathe.

Nein.. Eigentlich muss ich nächstes Jahr schreiben: ich habe noch die Sommerschule. (wie peinlich...:$)

Na ja. Heute kriegen wir unseren Noten. Nicht schlecht... aber auch nicht besonderes gut. Wenigstens habe ich jetzt Erfahrungen für den Prüfungen und ein Ziel für 2008.

Wenigstens habe ich irgendwas zu verbessen.

Die beste Stück ist, jedenfalls, dass ich würde in dem Leistungskurs akzeptiert. (<-- war das richtig? Ich verstehe nicht völlig das Passiv) Das bedeutet dass ich nächstes Jahr Philosophie lerne. Super, oder?!?! Ich bin so glücklich. Und muss ich jetzt sagen dass es sich lohnt Mathe ein Jahr früh zu lernen (nur für Philosophie).

Zum Schluss, möchte ch nur ,Frohe Weihnachten und gutes neues Jahr' sagen. =D

Wir sehen uns im 2008.
  • Current Mood
    cheerful cheerful

(no subject)

I didn't know that I had stopped breathing for awhile on Saturday night.

But as Australia greeted its new Prime Minister... Gosh, oxygen feels good. :-)

I knew I had stood for something.

Although in many ways, I don't agree with the Labor/Green policies: i support workchoices to an extent and we should also have some presence in Iraq (we made the mess; we should clean it up).

But taking Hugh Mackay's words: I am waking up from the slumber of indifference. I know that I care, and that I will continue to care, to engage, to inform myself and others around me.

I know that the economy is not what makes the world go round. I know that just because a policy is economically viable doesn't mean that it should stick around. I know that i live in a community, not a world where people are assessed according to their ability to contribute to production. I know that people have hearts and minds, rights, responsibilities, morals, consciences, standards.

To conclude with another of Hugh Mackay's quotes: 'The fear is not that a new government will change things. The fear is that it won't move quickly enough to catch the turning tide.'
  • Current Mood
    awake awake

(no subject)

Hier ist eine Geschichte, die ich geschrieben für englisch habe. Not that anyone's going to read it or anything... lol

Four increasingly dissonant chords began the first motif; the strong, rich and distinctively brassy tones formed pillars of sound in the dome of the concert hall. Eight bars later, a light tremolo started to emerge from the violins. One would have seen the dozen bows held above a dozen finely tuned strings. Furrows were etched upon the first violinist’s brows as she rubbed the fingerboard. Tension continued to escalate when the timpanist added a roll to the already dense layers of sound. Relishing the moment with her orchestra — the finely crafted, well oiled machine — the conductor raised her hands to cue the flute’s entry, when –


The whine plunged Justine back into reality. Her hand fell against her side as the music washed away with the frothy toothpaste, down into the black hole in the middle of the sink. A small boy with a light sneer on his face looked into her eyes and shoved her carelessly out of the way. Justine stole a last look at the oozing mixture of froth, saliva and water slowly making their way into oblivion, and left the bathroom.

It’s going to be another long day.

In fact, she has gone through the same — almost automatic — long day for the past five years now. It always started with the same morning procedure: get up, make breakfast, wake the boys up, take them to school. Justine inwardly sighed. Stuck with a husband she did not love and two boys who see her as their readily available target practice instead of their mother, life’s tedious routine has become a monotonous ostinato, threatening to consume the last strand of her own, faltering melody.

‘Better hurry up. Or you’ll both be late for school,’ she vaguely muttered to the painting in the doorway.

Some time later, just as one of them strapped himself into the car, the other turned on the radio to release a blast of strange techno beats. The synthesiser radiated an exaggerated bass line while a distorted voice added cacophonous lines of unnerving, meaningless lyrics. A badly played electric guitar added to the already awful, grating noise to form what is supposedly a song. The boys screamed along, joining the traffic outside to create an even louder chorus.

Justine bit her lips, and tried not to listen to the shrill crescendo of frustration at the back of her own head, threatening to take over. She imagined herself back in her mother’s music room instead…

It was a present for your birthday. Even though you already know how to play — your sister’s old half-size is enough to begin with — you’ve never owned a violin before. You run your fingers down its maple wood body: the smooth varnish coating a perfectly hourglass shaped bout. You realised that the strings are already tuned as your fingers can’t help but try to pizzicato. You then reached for the bow that sat perfectly in its wooden case. A few rubs of resin and it’s ready to go. You stare up into your father’s eyes as you put the laid it carefully onto the E string and drew it across. As the note reached your ears, it also reached the recesses of your soul.

As the years went by, monotonous ten bar studies were gradually replaced by ten pages of concertos and sonatas; the little girl turned into become a young woman… and the music? Well the music, like a virus, consumed you.

But your father didn't really like that.

“No way. There is no way that a daughter of mine would become a musician! How are you going to support yourself? Your mother and I can not feed and clothe you all your life. And think about it: how many artists eventually make it? All you have seen is the good side of it. Trust me. A choice made as a teenager won’t not last long.”

You wanted to argue back, to scream at them, tell them that you would be able to do it. But what did you know? They were probably right.

‘Your parents only want the best for you, my dear,’ the other people kept saying to her.

Beep. Beeeeep.

This time, it was a car horn that brought Justine back into the present. She looked out of the window. It was as if someone else took control of her hands and feet: the car was safely parked outside a large, plain sandstone building. If the outside was unremarkable, the inside of the building as even more so. Yellow lights barely illuminated an almost threadbare carpet. Apart from the small rooms on each side of the one corridor and a few scrawls of graffiti, there was nothing. But anything the place lacked, it made up for with the melodies pouring out of every orifice of its body. Justine walked by high trumpet fanfares, to sonorous saxophones, sweet flutes – but there was a particular tune, coming from just beyond the next turn. Was that Tchaikovsy’s Variations? Justine followed it until a large set of doors at the very end.

It was a concert hall. There was a multitude of stand, chairs and desk lights, pieces of music strewn across the floor in random piles. Rehearsal has probably finished: the lights were off and it was empty, except for an old man, standing in the middle. He continued to play…

Vitebsk, 1970

It was yet another snowing day in the small town just outside of St. Petersburg that Moishe lived. He was going home to help his grandmother prepare the Christmas decorations in time for the dinner tonight. Behind him was an old goat: something from his uncle. If he runs just a bit faster, he might make it home in time to grab a spoonful of the pudding before anyone notices…and sneak a peak under the tree.

Bad luck! The little cousins were already there, and the pudding already in the fridge. Even the tree was off limits to everyone except his father and uncles.

“Moishe! Don’t just stand there! Help set the table!” his mother called out.

It was only after another two hours that the family sat down next to the tree. It was another thirty minutes of carols and stories before they could open the presents. When his anticipation could no longer be contained, his father finally handed him a large box.

It was a violin. A light brown, wooden, curved body, fitted with four strings stretched over a fingerboard. He lifted it up to his shoulder…

He knew then that this was going to define his life.

That night, the conservatory put on a Tchaikovsky retrospective. Just like Justine remembered, the violin opened the first movement with the motif in its lowest register, followed by a repeat a fifth above. The flute joins in followed by the rest of the wind section, until the brass come in with four strange and jarring chords. The strings re-emerge with a tremolo. The piece stays paused until the conductor finally releases with a climactic rendition of the first motif by the entire orchestra before it resolves into the second movement.

As the music swirled around her that night, Justine could no longer hold back the rolling tide of deep, racking regret. Everything here called to her heart, telling her all that could have been. The conductor’s hand lifted again…

Moishe started his solo. He doesn’t think, only feels; playing with his heart to release the music in his soul.

Sometime later, the piece ended.

Tears rolled down Justine’s eyes as she saw what could have been.

Meanwhile, he turned around, receiving the thunderous applause.