RE: 10 Hours of Walking in NYC as a Female

"Each time a woman stands up for herself, without knowing it possibly, without claiming it, she stands up for all women."

Dr. Maya Angelou

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First and foremost, I would like to reinstate the definition of the word 'harassment', because I feel that its definition is lost when applied to this occurrence. Google defines 'harassment' as the following:

Please note that harassment can come in the form of 'annoyance', 'irritation', 'bother', 'force', 'hassle', and 'pestering', all of which I felt upon watching the video '10 Hours of Walking in NYC as a Woman'. Harassment is defined by Hollaback!, the institution responsible for acting against street harassment, as 'culturally accepted as 'the price you pay' for being a woman'. Their mission statement, if you please, comes in the form of a video and is a rather interesting watch. Upon watching it, one gains an insight that is not as shallow as the insight gained by watching 10 Hours of Walking in NYC as a Female alone:

Secondly, I would like to remind people that despite my being female, I am a human being who should be treated equally even if I have an extra amount of fat on my chest that unfortunately constitutes as some sort of sexual symbol all thanks to the media, when really it aids in the natural course of breastfeeding if I were to become a mother or aids in my restlessness at nighttime due to the fact that it becomes difficult to sleep on two extra body pillows, per se. Please note, also, my vast hips as they are the way that they are due to my experiencing of puberty, wherein it is totally normal for the hips to expand to give the womb a copious amount of room for the comfort of a potential child, or for the harbouring of blood clots which seep out of my genitalia monthly, also part of a natural state of my femininity. My gluteus maximus, might I add, is the way that it is, quite large, not for sexual attraction, rather because I sit on it all day because I am lazy, an aspect of my free choice. My free choice will also allow me to improve, in my eyes, its shape, if I permit myself, for myself, and not for another being. Discussion of exercising aside, the size of a gluteus maximus may be hereditary and not due to laziness in some cultures due to the variation of DNA, another fact that cannot be addressed when it comes to social issues regarding women.

Good. Now that I have physically distinguished myself and my body parts as a natural member of the female species, I feel that I can go on to explain my discomfort in the opinions of most male species, in terms of other areas disregarding the natural female physical state, which by owning, should not under any circumstance, albeit the varied measurements of such parts, make the owner the victim of derogatory terms used to offend certain people with a frequent sex drive. The reason as to why I make this distinction comes in later in this post.

The video below depicts actress Shoshana B Roberts walking through the streets of Manhattan over the course of ten hours whilst wearing a pair of jeans, and a crewneck t-shirt. She was to perform this entire walk silently, as part of this social experiment, choosing not to answer all the catcalls she would receive on her journey, so as to possibly entice additional comments which would further the annoyance that is feeling liable to talk to strangers if they find you visually appealing. I have decided to place below the video a transcript of all that was said in it.

"How you doing today?"
"Smile."

"I guess not good."

"Smile!"

"What's up beautiful, have a good day."

"Hey, what's up girl? How you doing?"

"Somebody's acknowledging you for being beautiful! You should say thank you more! ... For real?"

"God bless you, mami" (proceeds to examine her gluteus maximus) "Damn!"

"Hey baby."

"Hey, beautiful!"

"How are you this morning?"

"Have a nice evening."

"Nice!"

"Damn. Damn!"

"Hi beautiful. God bless." (also proceeds to examine her gluteus maximus, and upon observation, adds:) "Sexy American Eagle!"

"Hello, good morning. God bless you. Have a good day, alright?" (this man then proceeds to walk beside her for five minutes)

"Damn!"

"How you doing?"

"How you doing, good?"

"Sweetie?"

"Hey, look it there! I just saw a thousand dollars."

"Damn, girl!"

"You don't wanna talk? Because I'm ugly? Huh? We can't be friends, nothing? You don't speak? If I give you my number, would you talk to me? Huh? Too ugly for you?"

"What's up, Miss?"

"How you doing?"

"Have a nice evening, darling."

Indeed, Roberts did receive an array of compliments, but the compliments are beside the point. Please note again, as stated above, that harassment can come in the form of 'annoyance', 'irritation', 'bother', 'force', 'hassle', and 'pestering'. Compliments can pester, bother, hassle and annoy. I personally am affected by compliments in this manner, particularly compliments from a stranger. Yes, you can wish a stranger a good day, a good afternoon and a good night as you cross paths, but you cannot expect to have the person you compliment owe you a response, because that person, apart from not needing to abide by your expectation, needs to have their personal life experiences taken into account, especially considering the fragility of a female figure in the wrong place at the wrong time. 

Such is the case with this actress. Roberts was a victim of sexual harassment, saying that in the duration of the filming of this video, she "felt like crying", and due to her "occurrences in [her] past of sexual assault, [she] wasn't even aware necessarily of all the times people were saying things to [her]. [She] was going over in [her] head and reliving [her] memories while [she] was walking. [She] wanted to break down in tears". Amidst the array of compliments, some catcalls which involved the examining of her gluteus maximus were uncalled for. Most people are appalled at this video, taking into account only the compliments and not things like "you should say thank you more", which leads to my interest in the quote, "verbal harassment is in the ear of the beholder", said by Dana Perino, on The Five, Fox News, while discussing the issue at hand. And that is indeed true. While to most, this was a video depicting the absurdity of what is considered harassment, to others it is the very epitome of harassment.

Also on the board of people on Fox News' The Five, Greg Gutfeld makes an interesting point that highlights the ease of slipping through dirty remarks amongst compliments in public, wherein he says that "catcalls are possible [in this case] because the situation is fluid, so men don't have to deal with the rejection because the woman keeps walking". I align with that comment because it is proven as most of the men shown saying the dirtier remarks, as per the man who compliments the back of Robert's jeans, only said so after she was a metre or so past them. Gutfeld goes on to say that "nobody catcalls in an elevator, where there's awkwardness and the woman can tell you to shut up." With this said, Gutfeld hints that men have a sense of shame when it comes to saying things in the vicinity of a woman in a secluded space, rather than in the public domain. If they meant it in an utterly complimentary manner, though, would they still feel ashamed? I recall an incident where I complimented a woman's shirt on my university campus because it had the same image of a wolf as my backpack, and I still remember the look of horror on her face which melted into a look of relief as she realised I complimented her. Most people, me being one of them, feel a state of discomfort walking in a public space, let alone having strangers talk to them, even if the stranger may mean good. Gutfeld also states that, "there were, probably, no doubt, jerks in there. But you can't throw all men into a pile", which brings me to my next statement: indeed, not all men should be generalised to suit the intents of those with bad intentions. This post is by no means aimed at generalising, for it did acknowledge the obvious complimentary words thrown towards Roberts in the above video. 

"She got 100 catcalls, let me add 101. Damn, baby, you're a piece of woman. 

[...] She's a good-looking babe, wouldn't you say something?" 

- Bob Beckel, Fox News. 

It is in what is said by this man, on the same show as Gutfeld and Perino, that truly disgusts me. I am disgusted because what he says is what I call a shifty compliment, a compliment that appears innocent, but really has sexual undertones. The issue(s) here, is that Beckel is engendering Roberts by defining her femininity through her appearance, by stating that appearance is a determinant in whether or not a victim is catcalled, and by missing the point completely, by aiming to prematurely stall her intentions so as to indicate and prioritise his. 

Why should women feel as though what they are wearing determines varied sorts of public reaction? Why should there be public reactions at all? Why cannot women wear what they please so as to please themselves and not please or displease others? My overall concern with this video and its results is that it has shown that the public domain has agency over what a woman wears and how a woman acts if a woman does not comply to the unwritten laws where compliments or catcalls should be answered. Harassment happens physically and verbally. While actions are taken to decrease physical harassment, who is to say that actions to decrease verbal harassment should be stopped?

And irony exists in the comments section beneath the video 10 Hours of Walking in NYC as a Female, where verbal harassment is happening, where death threats and profanity are aimed at Roberts for her willingness and bravery in stepping up to make a change in our society: 

We cannot expect to live in a harmonious society if we dispel the realities of females and their struggles.

I would like to finish this post by sharing words that Roberts said herself, as per her reasoning behind agreeing to be filmed in 10 Hours of Walking in NYC as a Female:

Police Brutality

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If you want a picture of the future, imagine a boot stamping on a human face — forever.'

George Orwell, Nineteen Eighty-Four. 

Back when I was studying in high school, in the holidays before my final year, I was asked to read and analyse George Orwell's Nineteen Eighty-Four in order to be prepared for analyses of it in class when school began again. 

I looked at the cover - it was bleak, dark, and hard a chair on it. It made me feel weary and claustrophobic just looking at the cover, and I felt no desire to open the book and acknowledge its content. However, having forced myself to, I managed to get through it - barely. I simply could not connect to its storyline. I was politically passive, and had no opinions of my own because in my naivety, I was not affected by any of the problems that arose in the storyline. Thus, I completely disregarded it from my state of mind.

Until I graduated. When I graduated, the portals to the real world opened to me and I was exposed to the disgusting side of humanity, the side where authoritative figures have agency over other humans who sit below the government, governed by laws made up by other humans who sought to dictate the actions of others. I began to form my own opinions. I saw cases of maltreatment and began to feel a sense of angst that has, to this day, been burning bright. 

And now I realise that Orwell was right. All of the statements he implied in his novel are unfolding right before our very eyes. It is we who are dehumanising ourselves; most particularly, it is the figures of authority who are dehumanising others. The image below shows an officer, Edward Krawetz, kicking a handcuffed drunk woman in the head because she did not wish for him to penetrate her purse with his authoritative fingers. She attempted to protest by lifting her leg, failing to kick him, and so he retaliated by kicking her head so hard it smacked onto the kerb.

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Police brutality is rising. It is rising now more than ever, and it has evolved into something racially prejudiced. Numerous African-American males have been killed this year by members of the police force: Eric Garner, a sufferer of asthma was held in a chokehold position until he died because he intervened on a fight and stopped it, however allegedly he was selling untaxed cigarettes - whilst on the floor in the chokehold position, he repeatedly gasped, "I can't breathe! I can't breath!" and was ignored; John Crawford, shot dead inside a Walmart store whilst waving a BB gun in the air; Ezell Ford, lying on the ground, complying to officers' directions when they shot him in the back - dead; Dante Parker, tased to death because of being a suspect; Michael Brown, Sean Bell, Oscar Grant, Frank Jude, Johnathan Ferrell, Kathryn Johnston, Kendrec McDade, Timothy Standsbury Jr., Kenneth Chamberlain, Timothy Thomas, Robert Davis, Rodney King, Amadou Diallo, and many more.

'White officers kill a Black person, on average, 96 times per year.' I now regret having hated Nineteen Eighty-Four, for if I had not, I think I would have been in the law field, giving a voice to the voiceless, giving a chance to those who are without. 

References:

http://www.motherjones.com/politics/2014/08/3-unarmed-black-african-american-men-killed-police

http://northdallasgazette.com/2014/08/20/2-black-men-per-week-are-killed-by-a-cop-in-america/

Successful Partnering

I always wonder how I will be like in the event of finding my true spouse. I wonder whether I will be able to act in the insane ways that I currently do without feeling a sense of shame.

But most of all, I wonder whether I will have both the courage to be able to release flatulence in their presence or the ability to withstand the releasing of their flatulence without ending up with an upset stomach and a foul mood.

"This is about those less than ideal moments, 

the times when we're simply human; 

a loosened booger, trap-door opening and closing 

with every breath, 

[...] conversations on a toilet? 

If you can't love me in this awkward speech, 

just live in this filthy, stinky moment, 

what are you gonna do when it really gets bad? 

Will you still love me?"

The performance poet, Jesse Parent, always tends to nicely and expressively and satirically lay down my thoughts and make them appear as foreign to me as a friendly stray cat is to an unfriendly stray dog. In the above quote, taken from the above video, he states in a flawless manner the importance of being with someone who accepts you as a fellow human being, as a person prone to sickness and a person with a working digestive system that will most likely interrupt conversations.

I suppose, then, the day that I fart by accident and another person farts back to relieve me from my public humiliation will be the day that I ask them to be my spouse. For if I fart and they fart then the ice that exists within the broken ice that cannot be broken, will break, and from it, a successful, smelly, shameless relationship will spawn. 

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Extremities

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Within the same hour, on the same television but on different channels, I watched on one channel a mindless Beverly Hills actress who was selling one of her eighty cars to buy an island for her husband, and on the other, a mourning pack of Muslim people protesting after the main family having received the body of their eldest son, alongside his head.

What frightens me is that most of us believe the world is mildly equal, and those who disagree do so either because they see that marriage equality is not considered pertinent nor legal in most countries and states, or because they are aware that Africa is poverty stricken. Yes, these two facts are true, but so is the fact that there exists amidst our technological lives places where terrors of war and religion are claiming the lives of many, and unfortunately for me, I know of this and I see this daily.

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My parents see it fit to have a Lebanese satellite box rather than Foxtel or Netflix because they believe their cultural roots to be of higher importance than the seven o'clock news - even if they flick back to Australian television every now and again to eavesdrop on their country of residence.

The world is interconnected with the help of technological advances, yet war and its terrors are slicing through this connectivity. Sometimes I consider moving out of my parents' home just because of their viewing choices, and at other times I am thankful for seeing these atrocities because they remind me that the world is not a beautiful place, and that beauty is simply an illusion.

Profanities

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As of late, I have been attempting to reduce my level of profanity. In fact, I have been able to go days without swearing once. The other day, I walked past a woman who reminded me why this was a good decision on my part.

This lady, somewhere in her fifties, is the type of person who speaks on the phone and wants all onlookers to hear her entire conversation. Her conversation, though, was based on something that is not meant to be paired by accompanying words of profanity.

From what I gathered, thanks to her loud, beaming voice, her six year old son has a rotten tooth.
"F**king idiot can't brush his f**king teeth!" she screamed, looking around at me to make sure that I heard what she said. "F**king hell!" She proceeded to carry on in this manner to her friend on the other line, who, I presume, was enjoying herself. Fancy enjoying herself if the call had been about her, lead by her mother and her mother's friend?

My blood boiled. I walked faster in the opposite direction towards my class so as to not be tempted by her thunderous expletives to turn around and smack her nose into her face. I was so proud of myself for not executing what my fight and not flight instinct was telling me to execute. 

What is stopping that mother, though, from teaching her son how to brush his teeth properly so as to save himself the pain of rotten teeth? What benefit does she obtain in parading around university grounds screaming ill-natured things about her son, who is going through what most children go through? 

Some mothers make me reconsider my stance on abortions.

Miss and Mister Lebanon

I think that the more I am around my relatives, the more observant I am. And as of late, I have come to the realisation that my family is surrounded by gender constraints from television viewings of their choice.

There goes by not an evening whilst seated at my grandmother's house along with my family where I do not come across a negative comment aimed at the restricting of individuality. These comments are sprayed from the mouths of my parents, my grandparents and my aunt and uncle. Their sprayings fly at the television screen and bounce off, flying to the faces of my younger cousins who are, despite their mature ages, still rather impressionable. 

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It is almost ritualistic. It happens the most when Mister or Miss Lebanon is being televised. My father begins the ritual, spitting into the air, literally. He spits in order to show his appreciation of the physical appearance of the females presented on the screen. My mother, against all relationship odds, spits along with him, and as far as I can note neither seem concerned at their actions. Neither seem concerned that they are constraining their own daughters and nieces to conform to the looks being presented. They do not seem concerned about how horrible that is.

It is worse when Mister Lebanon is being televised. I still remember when it happened - my father sent my mother a text message informing her to hurry home with me and my sister because Mister Lebanon was on. So we did. Me, involuntarily. He may not realise it, but in his viewing of this show he is constraining himself as a male as well as my sister and I as females. 

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It was alarming to see packs of men with no bodily hair to be found on them. It was alarming to see their beaming white smiles, their tan, toned bodies gleaming from the spreading of oil, and their falsified answers that underpin the necessity of winning. Are you an exemplary figure if you are televised, toned, fit, and make no verbal sense? Or are you an exemplary figure if you perform good deeds without the need for them to be broadcasted all over the world? The status quo prefers the former.

My family is not aware of the unsightly visual and verbal messages that they are confronted with when they press the 'on' button on the television remote. This frustrates me because I am, and it worries me because they are not. Why cannot humans thrive in the comfort of their own natural skin without the application of status quo pigeonholing?

The Dirty Art Sink

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The other day at university, in my other art class which is based on the craft of painting, I was appalled. 

My art teacher does not like to roster her students to clean up after themselves, I suppose because she expects us to be able to apply our common sense after the commencing of our art classes and be able to clean our own messes - apparently, this is not the case.

Ten minutes before twelve in the afternoon on every Thursday, there remains always me and either one or two students, the others having rushed off to catch the rest of the day. Their gigantic easels remain where they were last left when they are meant to be folded up again and placed in their storage place, and the sink as dirty as ever.

For the past three months, there has been a rancid smell that has been coming from the sink area. Nobody dared to investigate it, rather they would wash their hands and belongings and walk off before anyone noticed their noticing of the source of smell. I decided to investigate. Two washcloths, abandoned at the end of the sink for maybe a year were the source to this smell. I ordered the teacher to retrieve some sort of bag, she brought me the rubbish bin and I picked these cloths up and as I moved them to the bin the smell followed. How I managed not to bring up my breakfast, I know not.

I was infuriated. I told my teacher about some of the horrible artrooms I have noticed whilst on placement, and I told her that people should feel blessed that we have some sort of fresh water supply to wash our belongings with. She responded, "yes, that is true, however I think it because of the area the university is in that the sink stays this way". 

You cannot blame the locality of a university for the laziness of people. I have grown up in the proximity of my university, and I have grown up to know that leaving a wet object submerged in water and chemicals for a year will result in a rancid smell. 

It amazes me how my peers know that they are scheduled to be at university at certain times, yet they disobey the timetabling and leave several minutes beforehand. What is the rush? While you rush off, mould takes its time making itself comfortable in a place that has been given to you to maintain hygiene. 

Oh, the irony.

The Alarm Caused by the Alarm

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It was rather funny and saddening at the same time to witness the alarm caused by the testing of the fire alarm and evacuation siren the other day at university.

We sat, our minuscule art class, working, cutting apart expensive interior decoration and art magazines so as to obtain a sufficient amount of pictures to collage a room showing perspective for our art journals. We all were quite occupied with our works, all eager to obtain the right sorts of photographs so as to destroy them and paste them eternally on blank pieces of paper, aiming for that sufficiently high mark that will satisfy us enough to justify the amount of money we pay for our presence in that class.

It is amazing the level of silence one encounters when one finds a group of students each trying to impress the teacher. Immersed in slicing through the highly finessed work of others to create our own somewhat finessed works, we treaded through magazines as though their contents were effortless and their contributors were useless nothings who have no conception of what a better looking decoration looks like. 

Too excited with gluesticks and scissors, we forgot the outside world. We forgot signs of life outside of the realm of magazine-cutting, and we were thus rather startled when we heard on the speakers a loud siren, followed by a deep voice, "sorry for this test, this is a fire alarm test, please ignore it".

Everyone began to panic. They winced their eyes at the shriek of each siren, which, mind you, was not that loud at all despite their failed attempts at a crescendo, and I sat there thinking of my parents and my cultural heritage.

My parents fled Lebanon from the atrocities that are still going on to this day. Bomb sirens are a normal thing for them, and to think that the people in my art class were frightened of a fire alarm siren is of high interest to me. 

Some people simply do not take into account the lives or circumstances of others. These people are not aware of how blessed they are in their ignorance. For what they do not know, literally will not kill them.

Darwinism and Pesticide

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Once upon a time, a lovely old man named Charles Darwin brought forth the idea of the 'survival of the fittest'. We thought it fantastic for years, we applied it to our modes of thought and modes of action, yet as of late, I feel that it is eliminated because we are cheating. 

We are mistreating some animals, indeed. We are sending millions of animals to slaughterhouses a day in order to keep our iron levels up, indeed. We are putting live animals in little contraption hanging off keychains to sell - well, at least the Chinese are - indeed, however there is one thing above all that I am referring to, and that is we are not giving pests a chance.

I just killed off an insect that was drowning in the soap area on my bathroom sink. It was floating there, its wings caught in a bubble. I looked at it and all I could see, from the accumulated fear built up inside of me, was a puddle of brown around it. It was not really there, though my immediate reaction was to get rid of the bug and the puddle of water it was in. So I flooded it out, sending it to its death faster.

And I felt horrible. I felt a sense of relief from being far away from that insect, however I began to reflect on all of the insects and bugs whose deaths I am responsible for, and I felt rather awful. Are insects not animals? Do they not deserve rights as well? 

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Most of the insects we kill are utterly harmless to us. If anything, they are only responsible for our temporary adrenaline rushes. I have seen some people handle tarantulas like they are pancakes and I have seen people who scream at the sight of a little ball of fluff mistaking it for a spider. I think the difference is how family members react to insects while these people are young. If I was raised to not mind spiders I would have a pet snake instead of a pet bird. 

It is interesting to see what animals we consider 'pests'. I wonder what Charles Darwin would have thought of this.

Dealing with Stress

Our Father,
art thou in Heaven?
Doth it exist? What be thy name?
To thy kingdom I will come
if my essay is not done
for there is no failure in heaven.

Grant me an A and some bread,
forgive me my profanity,
as you forgive others who profane against stress,
and lead me not into temptation to drop out or procrastinate,
and please deliver me from Facebook and all other evil social networking sites.

Amen.


It has come to this, then, the rewriting and modification of the Our Father in order to fit it in with my current mode of thinking due to my high stress levels. And they should not be this high, asks you, considering I have been writing an essay a day?

Well, theoretically you are indeed correct, my fellow reader. However I have gone, as of today, nine days without writing an essay. That means that I have to catch up on writing nine times. Nine times the initial work that I had planned to be sprawled out. Nine times the stress, on top of other work that I must finish in this busy semester for uni so as to not have to repeat an entire year.

I stumbled upon the above video whilst scrolling through - yes - Facebook. I had promised myself that I would not do any scrolling through this book of faces, however I had broken that promise and from the breaking of it, found a video that I would watch a quarter of and throw out of my mind and onto this post. 

The entire four minutes, all I could think about was how many lies this woman told to herself in order for her to be up there lying to everybody else. There is no way, no way that stress can ever be anybody's friend. I have been well acquainted with this 'stress' fellow on numerous occasions, and I maintain that stress is no friend.

In fact, stress visits me so often that I have no time for any other visitors. Stress is, instead of a friend, an impeding, clingy leech that seeks to suck on your happiness. Do not let it. And most importantly, do not attempt to befriend it. There are more productive things to befriend, such as the latest blockbuster. 

Istanbul

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Marriage is a funny thing to watch after the couple has been together for over twenty years. Shame is eliminated, and aspects of jealousy turn into products of hilarity. 

This is highly the case with my parents. They have been married for over twenty-two years now, me being the product of their sensational honeymoon. I can recall one recent night when From Russia with Love was on the television, and after a copious amount of intimate scenes, my mother thought it necessary to reflect on one of her marriage proposals.

James Bond had happened to be in Istanbul, and that kicked off my mother's story. 
"He promised to take me to Istanbul as a honeymoon. He said that if I accepted his hand in marriage we would leave right away."
My father was quick to inquire before my sister and I. It was as though his ears perked up at the sound of this treachery. "Who?"
My mother laughed to herself. "You wouldn't know him if I said his name!"
He tried again, this time a little more frustrated than the last. "Who is it?"
My mother gave up and surrendered to my father this mysterious man's name. "Josef."
"Josef?" my father erupted into laughter. "Josef! Josef backwards is fart, 'fes-we' in Lebanese, means fart! You were proposed to by a fart?"

My mother laughed. "The power of jealousy!" she exclaimed, "you are so jealous!"
"I'm not jealous!" replied he. "At least my name isn't fart! Go to Istanbul with fart, I don't care!"

It is interesting how despite the lengths you make in life, your past always lurks in your subconscious. Your past always has a way inside your current life - if you are smart, though, you laugh your past off and leave it hanging around in Istanbul, awaiting your arrival that will never come because you are far better off in Melbourne, Australia, honeymoon-less and farting along with and on your spouse as the rest of your family members crawl off into the distance, suffocating.

In the Core of a Juicy Apple

It is a peaceful night. It is what I have been yearning for all day. I decided to end it with a nice warm bath. I hopped out of the shower and felt both thirsty and hungry. 'No, Nicole,' I thought, 'do not eat something that you will regret eating. Just have some water and you will feel fine.'

I drank some. I was no longer thirsty, yet still hungry. I walked to the fridge, peered inside, rattled around with a few plates and shut its doors. I then proceeded to walk to the cupboard. Cheese and biscuits did not entice me enough. So I chose an apple.

This certain apple came from a bunch that we have bought from our local grocery store. I have never had apples this tasty in my life. They are large in size, and rich in both flavour and moisture.  The one pictured above is the second one that I have had today. The first one, I cut up prior to eating it, de-coring it, and that is the way that I usually approach the consumption of apples. But tonight, I decided to stray from the usual.

Mid-crunching into this superb apple, just when I trusted consuming the rest of it without looking at it, a strange taste interrupted the delicious sweetness that my tongue had gotten itself accustomed to and acquainted with. A strange, bitter taste that was not pleasing to my tastebuds at all. I looked away from my computer screen, and dared to look down, and to no surprise at all, I saw what I had anticipated. This apple was too good to be true.

The one time today that I do not cut an apple prior to eating it, I bite into the nest of a worm. A little white worm, equally as juicy looking as the apple itself. My teeth, ravenous intruders to its sanctity in a naturally-sweet space, hungry for more of its surroundings. This is probably the sixth time this year that this has happened to me, that instead of de-coring an apple, I bite into it only to find myself intruding on a worm's personal space. Thankfully though, this time I did not take half of the worm with a bite of its home like I did the other six times.

Now, I do not only regret eating at all tonight, but I regret choosing something healthy instead of something destructive. I have learnt, for the seventh time, that in the core of a juicy apple waits a white worm equally as juicy.

The Walking Dictionary

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Ever since I have plunged into my literary interests I have been considered my family's personal dictionary.

It is interesting. Coming from a family that lacks academic interest, I have now become their portal into the accretion and scaffolding of their vocabulary. If a member stumbles upon a word that they cannot identify, pronounce or define, I am summoned to assist with all three elements. 

Sometimes it comes at a great annoyance to me because of the fact that I have such high expectations laid upon me. Indeed, I am a literary fanatic. Indeed, I tend to read and write a fair amount and I tend to divulge myself in the creation and appreciation of all forms of academic essays, and indeed I tend to know and use uncommon words, however it is inequitable of anyone to fall under the assumption that I am the personification of a dictionary.

I am content in conversing in a converged manner, that is speaking of things that are unknown to both me and the person that I am conversing with, because that improves both of our knowledges on things unknown and makes the conversation quite interesting. But to be placed on the pedestal wherein those sitting on it are deemed the givers and explainers of all things English is not the place that I would like to sit.

I can understand that that is the commonplace for me in an educative setting, for only in that scenario can the exploitation of my mind and what I know and what I can offer be justified. However in settings where people place themselves below me and place me so high that if I cannot solve their word riddles I am kicked down below them, I am not content with. 

I do not consider myself that overly intelligent to begin with. I am acquainted with certain individuals who I do consider to fit that descriptor, and I am appreciative of their funds of knowledge however I do not exploit them, for it would be like drinking from the fountain of youth and draining all of the liquid so as to stop anybody else from getting younger, and to deplete the entire point of the fountain itself. 

Sleeping In

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It is a fact in most cases that a child takes after her or his family and their habitual activities which range from eating to sleeping. Apart from eating, sleeping patterns in my family have heavily influenced me. 

It was Sunday morning. I was awakened due to my bowel movements. It pestered with me at 7:30am, so I got out of bed and tended to its needs. The house was unusually quiet. I bumped into my mother who also happened to be awake due to her bowel movements - perhaps another habitual family trait that we share - and upon inquiring into why the shop has not yet opened, she notified me that it would in an hour. My father opens the shop late on Sundays so as to acquire some more sleep. She asked whether I was up for the purpose of homework or not, then went back to sleep. The house was then terribly quiet yet softly alive with the sounds of snores. 

We are like a little community. Rather, a little herd. A rebellious little herd. In fact, if we had been a herd, we would be the type of herd that hogs the drinking area excessively due to being so full that we cannot move. We would lay there immobile after a large meal and a large drink of fresh water to suit, out of scheduled hours, so long that we would annoy all of the other herds and be exiled from the land which we would have once called home.

Alas, we are not a herd. We are a quadrant, we are a group of lazy humans who share a passion for food, movies and sleep. We would prefer waking up late each day and on the days where we must wake up early, share the hatred of having to do so. Parting with our beds is no simple task, yet we push on. We do not actively support each other, yet we passively are there for one another in our supportive actions. Or lack of, when it comes to the acquisition of sleep.

How then, can one break free from a habit such as sleeping in when every person that is surrounding that one shares that habit? Families frame who we are, and since I am a lazy person, preferring chocolate over the company of others, who has a pale complexion from avoiding the sun and enough weight to remain warm without heaters and who enjoys sleeping in, then I suppose you are acquainted with my family too.

Art: A Reimagining of the World

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As a student majoring in Art as well as English, I am seldom asked what Art means to me unless my reasons are wanted to fulfil a criterion in an assessment. So today, I had a reflective look into my most desired form of recreation. I decided to pick it apart and look at it from an utterly different view. And I found that when the act of creating art is broken down, it becomes rather interesting.

Looking at an artwork allows you a long and meaningful glimpse into the mind of the artist. It shows you the breadth and width of the artist's mind, spanning moreso deep into the form that the artwork comes in. My 'Fragmented Self-Portrait' is a canvas with my face split into two artistic forms. When I completed it, I thought nothing of the delivery to my recipients. I thought no sort of liberating reactions would come from their viewing of it because I did not see the point of being amazed by a self-portrait. But I was wrong. I only realised now that my audience did not take, or so I think, an interest in my face alone, rather in the portrayal of my face and the background and the context and what it all could mean. Subconsciously, I suppose I wanted people to attempt to decipher it, and I had achieved just that. With its accompanying poem, it stands tall today in my art coordinator's office, waiting to be hung in the university as by the order of the Dean. That art piece stands as a reminder that a viewpoint proves rather interesting once exposed, particularly in the art form, no matter its content.

If you look at objects as objects, then you will identify them as objects alone and you will find it difficult to stray from thinking that what you are observing is an object and not the mixture of hues and lines. The creation of Art is a recreation of our world, in its simplest context, portrayed complexly - or simply, depending on the style of the artist. Artists thus see the world differently, like the way a scientist sees the world through atoms and metaphysical existence, artists see the world as pigments and textures. We offer another veneer to reality, one that is implemented through creative stylisation, promoting harmony within artistic elements and principles.

Art itself is a reimagining of our world. It is not always the realistic depiction of something within it, which it can be mistaken for, rather it can be the most surreal or abstract replica of it. Art can never be identical to that which it represents, this it is mimetic of aspects of our reality in the same way that a realist fiction text represents society. The most special thing about art, though, is its ability to do this through the eyes of the artist. And the most peculiar thing about it is that it comes in many forms, not just the illustrative kind - it comes in the form of music, dance, media and crosses into varied domains.

That is why Art is crucial when it comes to students. If one cannot think, act or express in an abstract way, then one grows up living a bland existence, lacking enrichment and lacking excitement. 'Earth', as the picture above describes, becomes 'eh'.

The Wizard of Oz and DNA

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Upon viewing Tom and Jerry and the Wizard of Oz, something crossed my mind, and that is what role the Wizard of Oz actually plays in the story.

Emerald City itself can be metaphorically viewed as a land of rebirth, with the Wizard representing a scientist, one that specialises in the genetic modification of persons, or perhaps the personified version of what we deem 'God', animals and things so as to grant them their very desires. Each character visiting the Wizard of Oz seeks a trait change, whether it be physical or mental, Dorothy set aside in the time being because she desires a 'home', or to 'go home'.

It is of peculiarity that the characters chosen to represent the wanting of a trait are particular animals or things - the tin-man, made of cold steel with a hollow inside seeks a heart. This can be metaphorically seen as cold humans seeking emotions, so to speak, seeking a to love and to be loved, seeking to push out the coldness within them and replace it with warmth.

The lion, what is meant to be a brave leader, the king of the entire jungle, seeks out courage. This could represent all those persons who act confident in order to feel as though they are and in order to avoid others thinking that they are not. True courage, though, is what is needed because one may fool others, but one certainly may never fool themselves. What is the point of appearing confident when one can be and feel confident? Alternatively, the lion can represent persons fighting their inner demons, and they want the courage to be able to see a new day without prematurely leaving the earth.

Finally, the scarecrow. The scarecrow could represent all those in society who are loaded with falsities, or hay. The scarecrow seeks a brain, seeks the desire to think cognitively, to think before it acts and to act realistically.

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One could argue that Dorothy is a conglomeration of all three characters. She seeks a heart so as to love truly; she seeks courage so that she may face reality when she returns to it; and she seeks a brain so that she may not let those like Almira Gulch get their way. The taking of Toto, thus, can be viewed as the taking of her innocence, yet she retains her innocence throughout her journey and thus remains true to herself in this rebirth of some of her traits.

Tess of the d'Urbervilles

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At times where I have a copious amount of tasks to complete, I loathe having to feel accountable for reading six novels in less than ten weeks. But in forcing myself to immerse myself in varied forms of literature in a short span of time, I have found the burden in the lack of time lifted from me because of accurate-to-the-text film adaptations.

Tonight I viewed the 1998 film adaptation of Tess of the d'Urbervilles, and I must admit that the very beginning bored me. I thought that the next three hours of my life would be filled with regret, but little did I know that it would indeed be so not because of the lack of plot, rather the depth and breadth of the plot to the extent where the outcome and the events leading up to it upset me. 

And what is more perplexing in this entire ordeal that is the storyline is the fact that apart from Tess falling victim to rape, she fell victim to other forms of abuse, the most crucial being blame. In fact, the very moment that Tess was raped proved itself the most innocent of ordeals compared to the ones that attacked her thereafter. 

Coming from a traditional family where marriage between man and a 'pure' woman is still valued above all, especially above food which is surprising considering my mother cooks for an army every day, my anger speaks for me, or it would if it could at least. The entire time watching the film, I felt horrible for Tess as the subject of 'purity' was thrown around. And that brings me to the argument that I always put forth for my mother to justify - why is it that brides are to remain pure, and it does not matter whether grooms are or are not? What justification has anyone as to the retaining of a woman's virginity for her wedding night, and not the retaining of the groom's virginity on his?

And I never have received an answer for that. I suppose that I never will. I am content with the fact that what my family believes and what I believe are two very different things because on the case of equality, traditions value anything but. 

The Ice Bucket Challenge

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I would like to take a moment to show my appreciation of all of society's role models who have taken the time to create and share on their social media sites videos of themselves having buckets of ice floating in water poured onto them.

I would like to show my appreciation to the 28 million people who have actively taken part in the latest band-wagon craze, that has surprisingly not yet been the leading cause of the rapid increase of pneumonia - I await the news headline for that. 

I would like to show my appreciation to all those who have made themselves prone to the acquisition of pneumonia by dousing themselves in icy cold water in order to avoid contributing money to the charity responsible for finding the cure of Amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, formally known on all social media platforms, or formally known, rather, as of late, out of absolutely nowhere, as 'ALS'.

And we have this buffoon to thank - Chris Kennedy, a golfer from Sarasota:

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This man thought it was necessary to perform this strange act to raise awareness for 'ALS' - how? Quite frankly, I do not know. I am hypothesising that temperatures have soared so much so in America that most of its population now finds it necessary to have an icy shower and peer pressure from the sharing of the recordings of these showers have created the reenactment of this in countries all over the world, like my own, Australia, who is currently suffering from temperatures probably lower than the temperature of the icy cold water itself, otherwise known as 'winter'.

But really. I appreciate all of those celebrities whose videos continue to flood my news feed on Facebook. It is so nice to see fresh drinking water being put to good use! Who needs all that water, anyway? It is perfectly fine, it is not like we need to walk for kilometers and fetch it from a well and walk all the way back to our homes in order to share the bucket of water we walked so long for with the rest of the members in our family who are dying of malnutrition and the lack of food but need to maintain their water levels just to see another sunrise. No. Not at all. By all means, please, let us all join hands in harmony and waste water, film it, upload it and watch scientists look into microscopes that will assist them in finding the cure for ALS, a disease that kills two Americans per hundred thousand a year, because who cares about the 5 million Africans who die every year from hunger and thirst, an average of ten every minute? Certainly not former president George Bush. Nor does Bill Gates - but then again, Bill Gates cares for nobody.

I look forward to seeing more of these 'ice bucket challenge' videos - maybe one of those videos will actually contain a person who cares for the cause and not for the publicity! I hope we continue to film them until plants overrun the planet and they eat humans because of the lack of water left. Bathe, precious humans, bathe in the greed of your benefits and sense of denial.