Change of Blog

It's time to wrap things up here on blogspot.

My new link is adrianodejanovic.wordpress.com.

Countryside At Last!!

I have an acute migraine whilst sat on a Virgin train home to “WIGUN NUERTH WESHTERN” (sound it out to get embrace the Northerness) and it feels like a fat boy banging his oversized fists against the fragile window of a closed bakery shop.

It is SO GOOD to see so much greenery out of the window right now as opposed to being visually numbed to the sight of grey concrete day in and day out. It brings to mind a New York Times architecture special that concluded on the note humans aren’t designed to live in ‘concrete jungles’ but creative buildings can mitigate the negatives.

Being home for my birthday is going to be so much fun seeing as I spend practically all of my time in London and contact with my family has shifted to being phone-based. I can’t believe I’m going to turn 20, a fifth of a century old…tomorrow! The very thought of it makes me slump into any seat I’m sat in (provided I don’t get more stuck as I slump further and further into it) and as I like to pronounce to everyone during any discussion of age and birthdays, I was always quite happy to be 17; doing my A-Levels, commuting to school, going to the Starbucks in St James Square, Manchester armed with Discrete Mathematics homework and Economics papers on the then housing boom. Just thinking about this brings back very fond memories, the sorts of memories that make for good anecdotes to float around in dinner conversations or just sentimental statements. I think I’ve pulverised Annabel a pulp with the amount I’ve subjected her to these 2 years.

What I need to do when home is to recharge my batteries and let the country wind air out my lungs; I feel as if I’ve been lugging about 2 packs of stale Hovis bread in my chest!
But I’m already excited and looking forwards to seeing ‘everyone’ on Friday. Luck doesn’t even mark the spot when I think about how I got to know all my dearest friends. Let’s hope hitting 20 is the best year of my life yet.

Run.

After an exhausting evening shift at work, I spilled onto Fulham Road as if I had no vertebrae and was desperately trying to hold my head, body and limbs together.
It was hilarious as always to see bands of complete strangers absolutely drunk to a tee whilst I couldn’t be more sober than…a rabbit on speed! (I didn’t want to say judge…).

Despite having to work, today was particularly relaxing; I spent a considerable amount of time in Habitat and Heals looking at and buying new things for the flat, items that inevitably redefine the notion of student living; gorgeous plates with French swirl designs, colourful peacocks emblazoned on terracotta plates among others! Buying things for houses and flats is one of the small things in life I do enjoy as it permits one to admire the items for many years to come, their life spans extend well beyond that of a vodka shot purchased on a hazy Saturday evening.
Anyone with the displeasure of popping round to see me at the flat will at least be compensated with a lush cup of tea with its water boiled from a crème and chrome kettle with the insignia-esque label, ‘Prestige’ conspicuously inscribed on its front. HOW PARFAIT.

I exited to Tottenham Court Road and hailed a taxi to shove my 3 bags of shopping into. I did mull over catching the tube but the thought of being pushed and shoved and not to forget mention of those nosy little somethings who spend their tube journeys peering into other people’s shopping bags and eyeing up their clothes, was not particularly appealing. Not to forget, on my way home I was sat next to a very interesting girl but interesting in the vicious sense. She had bright goldish blonde hair, a white dress with frilly detail at the ends and a chunky gold belt slung around her waist. But her most intruding feature was just how ORANGE she was. I was just sat there thinking, ‘YOU’VE BEEN TANGOED’ and ‘There’s a fake tan…and then there’s a fake tan…’. She looked as colourful as an orange bowl with ‘TANG’ in it (Tang is an Arabic orange powder you add hot water to and hey presto, there’s one cuppa orange juice).

Gush, well I’m completely stoned on the smell of pot emanating from the living room. My flatmate does enjoy a hench spliff. I think I’ll sleep with both windows open.

Inalienable Traits

I do have to say this week has witnessed my transformation into a minor film buff; Paris Je T’aime on Tuesday, The Elephant Man on Friday, Memoirs of a Geisha on Saturday and Silent Hill today. Having watched such a varied genre of films has left the contents within my cranium somewhat fried and I’m certain it largely explains my conversational lethargy. Yesterday, I was frustrating Chloe with my slow comprehension of Memoirs of a Geisha buttressed by a blank facial expression as I glared at the screen, remembering to blink every so often so my eyes wouldn’t turn into dry static cubes.

In hindsight, I have to say watching the Elephant Man is the one I will remember the fondest...the fact it was aired in Somerset House puts it in pole position too! I honestly thought it would be a lot sadder and heart wrenching than it was but it was done with justice and the emotions the makers wanted to convey came through crystal clear. What touched me the most was the irreducibility and purity of the Elephant Man’s sentiments; his love for the theatre, his sincere words, his humbleness as he believed he was a disappointment to a beautiful mother he spoke only of in reverence. It was quite hard not to feel simultaneously sad and happy…it was just a question of balance that tipped one’s state of mind into hope or despair.
At the end of the film as we were walking out, I set Chloe into hysterics as I produced one of my classic sentimental statements that were mistook for pretentiousness, to quote Ms Day. I’d sighed loudly and said, ‘Ohh, perhaps there’s an Elephant Man in all of us’. But I stand by my guns! Our resolve to hold things out, our gratitude to those who help us and of course, our ability to love. Once I manage to get an internet connection running (my days spent lazing around risk pushing the flat into a pre-1990s era) I’ll be sure to add one of Joe Merrick’s quotes, ‘I have lived a full life, because I know am loved’.

And that quote got me thinking. At the opposite end, is a life filled with wanton sexual conquests, absurd luxury and satiation of the 7 sins at some point, necessarily a life that is not full? My former boundary-obsessed moral self would be inclined to uphold this conception without question but having finally started to move with the times, fullness is a very subjective state of mind and I respect that. Yet, I can’t help but think this state of mind is achieved through the endurance of hardship. A hardship that strips a human being to his most rudimentary coat of feelings and instincts. This is the Elephant Man within us.

Going Nowhere.

The grey clouds today appear as if a child has taken a hoop from his small bottle of soapy water and tried to blow bubbles. They seamlessly curl in on each other.

My bedroom window gives me a perfect viewing point to just stare aimlessly at the hundreds of people moving past; some are running, some are pacing, and there are those with time on their side and stroll confidently in this knowledge…or perhaps just because they think they look pretty damn good today!

With all this movement of people, I have to raise the question, where are they all going? I think the stereotype of Londoners being busy and unsociable creatures retains some merit. With the exception of ‘chill out’ days that you spend alone or with friends watching a movie, eating etc (the list is never exhaustible) we always seem to have somewhere to be, something to do, people to talk to.
I fondly remember one time when my sister brought me out to a Law function of hers, that I met a young barrister and we struck up a witty yet standard ‘hoo-hah’ kind of conversation filled with ‘hmph’ and pretentious ‘no, no, no’es as we discussed the plight of the dollar, human rights and at the time, Blue’s latest single which he took quite a fancy to. After 15 minutes had elapsed, he pardoned himself and gave me his card and as he did, said, ‘It’s been good chatting to you but I have to pop out to see to some important things’. I found him 10 minutes later at the function’s bar, downing a whiskey and ordering another scotch.

It’s possible we like to give the impression to close friends as well as strangers that we constantly have something to do because to do is to complete, and to complete is to progress with life. I certainly believe it can be the case that we do for the sake of doing rather than it amounting to something in its own right.
As always, there’s a sliding scale that most people can be fitted on and to borrow from my mother’s wisdom, ‘there are the lazy’ and, ‘there are those who do to impress. They are the ones to look out for’.
I know I wrote, ‘mother’s wisdom’ but feel free to construe this as a pan-Chinese cultural paranoia.

When Days Are Numbered

Lukewarm peppermint tea, slow traditional Koto music, a New York Times bestseller lazily sitting on the corner of my desk with so many page folds it would be fit as a razor. Such things can only spell one thing…just another Sunday has elapsed.

It has been so long since I have mustered up full-blooded inspiration to write in this journal but moving to Old Street has certainly compounded my desire to do so and this vibrant area of the City, bursting with those non-conformist, coming-of-age young adults seeking solace in alternative brands of music, radiates an energy that I and countless others absorb. As I bask in the bright lights of City Road that pierce my curtains, I know that time at my Stoke Newington flat, soon to be confined to the past for purposes of reminiscing, is limited and the Time Keeper is interminably waiting to extricate any memories I have not safely padlocked in my box.

Of course, when I moved to Flat 2, Allen Road at the start of September 2007, I was carrying suitcases and bags full of memories that only served to slow me down; most were emotionally draining to consolidate given that I had no idea how to unpack them. I remember vividly that those were the days I had lost myself; I was not able to ‘shout’ as I had no voice, not able to look at someone and see them, not able to see my worth before others. Those were the dark days where I descended into an unfathomable sadness that left me bereft of fellow-feeling and overwhelming consumed by bitterness. However, I’m sure most of my friends would dispute this has changed at all!

But as always, there is darkness before dawn, and I slowly emerged from this glum state to see the clouds for the sky and enjoy doing all those small things that used to make me happy; rolling individual slices of Parma ham and eating them unaccompanied, dipping hearty Digestives into my tea and rearranging my room every so often so as to make it feel new and fresh.
It is also funny how I have turned to food and still do in times of need. Upon a discussion with Freddie the other week about the general level of our sinning, we concluded, or rather he did, that I have replaced any uncontrollable desire I may have for sex and alcohol, with food. I hereby proudly proclaim Gluttony as my saviour! My reasons for this are that Sex at my age is so far meaningless given that my earmarked Shining Knight is still stuck in traffic on the North Circular Road. As for alcohol, I do not particularly want to be used in a clip for ITV News at Ten showing me clutching my head in my hands post-vomit against a backdrop of girls in short-skirts and guys fighting. Although I must say, I do enjoy a good tipple now and then.
In essence food is incorruptible, food is love and food can be whatever you want to be. Literally.

I must say at this point that my love for food bolstered the friendship I share with my Stoke Newington flatmate Jo. His innate aptitude for cooking and penchant for attention to detail produced the most delicious array of dishes that certainly redefined the term ‘student’ living.
‘Cider Marinated Pork Chops’, ‘Lemon and Garlic Thigh of Chicken’, ‘Thai-style Egg Fried Rice’ and our personal favourite, ‘Sesame and Peanut Noodles’ were all dishes to lick our lips over but not quite like Heath Ledger did as the ‘Joker’…
Jo’s qualities do not stop in the kitchen. In particular, his serenity and modesty of character has made me aware of different perspectives and to consider tolerance before judgement. In his own subtle and unconscious way, he has helped me come to terms with many salient issues that extended well before my emotional low of last summer.

All I can hope now is for my time at the Old St flat to be equally rewarding. This year will not be about restoring my self-esteem but doing my utmost to work hard at Economics & Japanese and to reinforce my academic credibility.
The clock is already ticking.

Turning and Churning

AHHH. I'm back on the comfortable cream carpet in Meagan's NJ home all spread out like a man who's fallen from the sky; I don't intend to make any heavenly inferences there...I'll admit I'm quite the opposite.

Despite only having spent the past 4 days in NYC, I've started to develop an affinity for the place. Before this trip, I would probably have felt it apt to produce the same static comparison of NYC to London. Of course, it would always have entailed a pro-London/anti NYC bias; 'there isn't that much ethnic diversity', 'it's not as relaxed', 'the excessively high buildings makes the place impersonal'...etc etc etc. But this time round, I'm more able to appreciate strong things NY has got going for it.

I love how friendly the people are. How you don't feel stupid whilst asking people for directions or merely commenting on the heatwave. Compared to Knightsbridge, 5th Avenue is not filled exclusively with tourists and those upper-middle class plus somethings who grasp their Louis Vuitton bags, exaggerate their shoulder movements as they walk and questionably have an unpalatable obsession with creamy shades of secondary colours. 

To invoke a cliche, the city has a real vibe about it. There was a real anticipation imprinted onto my face as me and the others walked from block to block looking for restaurants and bars. It was like a beautiful but simplified maze; no nasty shocks, no minotaur and certainly no need to have a piece of string tying me back to the place I started.

And this fresh attitude towards New York was buttressed with several days of drinking...I can assert without doubt that one can bond best with something/someone through drink. For my own legal protection, I will now enter a clause 'Please drink responsibly however'. There, I can't be sued now. But srsly, I have to say I haven't drank 3 days in a row since Freshers week. Ohh the nostalgia.

So last night, me, Meagan and Freddie stayed in a gorgeous apartment on the Upper East Side in Manhattan. The living room had high ceilings with no decorative detail defining it except for a varnished fan attached to it. An Indonesian table supported by these stone wolves and wall-mounted African face masks delight all whose attention they capture. But I lost my attention once I took a gin and tonic to my lips at 8pm. The witty Adam Dalva had just arrived at that point and Sofia (owner of this gorgeous flat) offered drinks within a Manhattan minute of his arrival. More people arrived and more drinking ensued, I had hopes at the start of the evening that the nasty 1.75 litre bottle of Bacardi, from the previous night, might actually be finished (this turned out to be a forlorn hope and to the best of my knowledge now, I believe it still lies unfinished on an oak phone table).

I have to say the night really started to turn once we began playing a drinking card game. 

2 is for you

3 is for me

4 is for floor

5 is for guys

6 is for chicks

7 is for heaven

8 is for mates

9 is for rhyme

10 is for category

Jack is for make a rule

Queen is for question

King is for pouring into the 'glass of  shit' (as i slurred last night)

To my horror, I selected the last King to everyone's cheer and delight. I took a sip and Adam was such a gentleman in offering to help me finish it. I could barely stomach the first sip and as Adam handed it back to me for a second sip, I felt a small tempest manifest itself in my stomach and mish mash the delicious chips I had eaten before playing the game and the concoction of gin and vodka. I discreetly proceeded to throw up in my mouth, but my oesophagus demanded to remove more from my stomach and 5 seconds after that fateful 2nd sip, I found myself carrying a full load of material in my mouth. I ran like 3 muffins to the toilet as everyone went 'HOOHHHHH' and I deposited my load with great accuracy, into the pits of the toilet bowl. Stayed posted for the video on Facebook, I'm pretty sure Meagan will be putting it up at some point for purposes of reinforcing my dignity.

We resumed the game and Freddie continued to attack a bottle of rum for which he paid the price for in the afternoon (we only slept at 4.30am);dragging his sluggish body through the Whitney Museum and bemoaning his inability to focus.

God Bless New York. Post-prohibition laws never stood a chance with us determined drinkers.

The Heart Demands Pleasure

Proud flags perched carefully on the front of houses.

Meticulously trimmed bright green hedges.

Swarms of 4x4 vehicles meandering their way from home to outdoor malls on the widest roads.

A slight obsession with Motorola flip phones.

Of course, people who know that I've fled the London scene, will know it's the USA brief I'm describing above.

The journey so far has been a nice mix of sedated suburban life and a potent cocktail of alcohol and ADHD based shenanigans.

Saturday was pretty relaxed; I arrived in Philly circa 2.45pm and faced a barrage of questions, dipped in a 'I've just had a heavy late lunch' breath, by the Homeland Security border control officer sporting a maroon brown shirt and thick framed glasses. And the Answers of which I provided, I wanted to elaborate to do them justice but was obviously constrained by the possibility of being deported.

The Boring Answers:

"What is your full name" - "Adrian Yiu Hung Fan"

"How did you get to know your friend?" - "We met whilst she was on a term-abroad scheme at my university in London"

"Why are you here?" - "She goes to Swarthmore College"

The Heart-felt Answers:

"What is your full name" - "Adrian Yiu Hung Fan. And tonight Matthew, I'm going to be, Celine Dion"

"How did you get to know your friend?" - "We met in ULU whilst I was drunk and stoned because I thought I was being offered a cigarette which clearly wasn't the case in Freshers Week. She kept calling me Alvin and I said to her I was going to attack her vigorously if she didn't stop miscalling me"

As for "Why are you here?" - "I don't really know my purpose as of yet. I'm just 19 y/o and finished what can be summed up as an emotionally tumultuous 2nd year at school. All I know is that I have a penchant for being cynical, un-pc and trying to self-improve in a world as such.

After being approved for entry and collecting my bags, I paced myself to the arrivals area where I found Meagan and Freddie clinging to the chrome rail in anticipation and it was nice to feel the warmth of their smiles on my face. As I hugged Meagan, we were both making ridiculous noises...I think it resembled something like a chipmunk being drowned in a huge swamp of bubbles. Of course, mine and Freddie's embrace was less symbolic as I'd seen him the Sunday before as he was slurring his words and oblivious to the fact my flatmate Jo was on the sofa wearing a bright green SOAS hoodie.

They say you can never find happiness when you search for it, but I came over to see Meagan and this happiness I feel with me, her and Freddie being in the same place is precious. As Jon Lo described us, we're a very animated 'television show'.

It's hard to reconcile.

I write off my 2nd year as the perhaps the most tumultuous period in my life, period.

Expect an elaboration when I finish my exams on Friday and have all the time the world could possible give me, to type a new blog.

Strength Through Time.

Having just finished watching 'I Am The Elephant Man' on Channel 4 I can't help but take away with me a collective medley of emotions of sadness and hope. 

After the guy had undergone an operation to remove the tumours on the right-side of his face, his mother and brother entered his room and his mother was calling his name repeatedly. And it was so heart-aching to see her motherly calls go unheeded as her son laid still on the  hospital bed in agony and the blood seeping through the thick white bandages. Yet he managed to raise his hand, as if to be reaching for the person who brought him into this world whilst seemingly passing through another. Even after the operation and back at his small village, all he hoped for in having a 'normal' life was to be able to fulfill his duty as a son and look after his parents in old age...and this hope is what gave him the strength to live.

This human fragility is something that is particularly able to generate feelings of compassion in myself and more so poignant as I'm often dubbed as a rather cold person. Also, this helplessness seems to stoke an inner sense of responsibility to help and care for those who are less able to provide for themselves. If anything, responsibilities now have fallen to the societal steamroller that is hedonism and a rights-based culture.

But most fundamentally, I can't help but think, is this powerful resolve of the Chinese Elephant Man innate to all or is it self-learned through pain and denial of good things?

Return Of the Queen

Oh how my heart is filled with complete and utter glee at the moment. I'm still on a high after Meagan called me earlier on yesterday afternoon to tell me she'd got the job with CC in Canary Wharf. I'm so happy to have her back in London and revel in the moments we've shared since she came during first-term SOAS.

Her coming in June couldn't be more perfect. Me and Freddie will hopefully (if we manage to get our acts together) be coming back on the same flight and I'll be starting my job in the City mid-June onwards. It's fairly exciting. I know for a fact I won't be as non-chalant with work this year compared to last year's dread tax office experience buttressed with the medical typist position. 

Oh how i remember last summer as the hardest time I'd ever been in for quite sometime; having quickly exited an intense, 'long-term' relationship where I was left with anything but a fair and sincere explanation which had completely shattered my self-esteem. I remember for a time last July, I sat with an empty notebook in Starbucks and spent 3 hours trying to write down how i felt. I went home the same evening with 'broken' scribbled in fine blue ink on the first underlined page. 

I'm certainly on higher emotional planes right now but all the thoughts and feelings I'd managed to push out with the passage of time did rush through me again; that sudden heartbeat that reminds you of the suffocating situation where one can do nothing but accept a stalemate and move on. 

But I feel like the luckiest guy alive right now. Meagan's coming back is effectively going to be a partial reunion for the original group at SOAS. I wish Steph would come home and complete us!!!!

SQUEEEEE.

FAAAAAAABRIC.

So Me and Cheryl got off to a rather debauched evening of sleaze and drink at Farringdon's (and London for that matter) Faaaaaabric. Me and my friends like to pronounce it that way to honour a certain German girl who has rather crazy pronunciation!

Akiko Kiyama was absolutely fantastic. We stayed in Room 1 and just danced and danced and just danced! I remember I pissed off some Japanese girls because I was that wasted, I kept shouting random Japanese phrases I'd acquired over the year.

'Toshokan e ikimasu ka?'

'Chichi wa nan sai desu ka'

'Chokore-to ke-ki ga suki desu!!!'

Which literally translate to, 'Are you going to the library?', 'How old is your father' and 'I like chocolate cake'. hahaha. They were such a miserable bunch but the rest of the drugged up crowd were letting their hands and hips do allll the talking.


I believe the guy with the ridiculous hoop around his neck asked me for ecstasy...

This guy was part of the Japanese lot...he still manages to put on a very good subservient Asian look whilst drunk.

Cheryl <3

KIYAMA-SAN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Stalking Streets

Is it me or does anyone else find the rain of today and yesterday refreshing and invigorating? Just feeling the wet wind brushing against one's face is so satisfying; being at one with the elements marks a certain fragility of man's relationship with nature.

I lazily removed myself from bed at 11am but in defence I had perhaps the most uncomfortable night's sleep ever; constantly turning over like as if i were in a freshly pressed tortilla wrap! But I didn't start the day without much energy...my English breakfast with OJ was later followed with a Pret Latte that AWAKENED THE SENSES (those familiar with You Tube's Chris Crocker will understand!).

Seeing as Dominique's just started work at Banana Republic, it was fitting for a Friday afternoon to go for a stroll around Central and pop in to see her. I have to admit, the store is impressive and does not contain the self-sustaining sleeze as in Abercrombie's store; as soon as you step into the latter you feel as if you're in an elaborate porn set or club where both sexes share toilet cubicles with each other...hmm!!!

Dom looked like a real BR girl; hair tied back, dressed in black and wearing her comfortable Ugg boots. I was wary of talking to her whilst on shift so we scheduled a coffee for her 'lunch' break at 6pm. And what followed that, was a 3 hour trek around W1, taking photos, braving the momentary hail and I discovered this amazing Nordic bakery just on Soho Square. Ohh how my heart leaped as I saw its sign. Those of you who know me well are well-acquainted with my obsession with Norway and most certainly Sweden; in the people, the food and absolutely the cold climate (I like to be so cold it amounts to nothing less than torture through freezing...).

The window display in Liberty's; collaborating with V&A featuring an exhibition on the Chinese toy industry.



Picture of Soho Square just as i left the Nordic Bakery. Hailing had stopped at this point!
I love this picture because it reminds me of the States so much.



Shop on Beak Street that caught my eye.

Before passing the shop above, I randomly popped into a hairdressers called 'Tommy Guns' and booked myself an appointment to get my Korean wig/bird's nest tended to. It was quite funny as i literally imposed myself on the poor guy at the reception.

"Hello, can i book an appointment now or does it have to be by phone?"
"Uhm, you can do it now, sure"
"Great. Do you have anyone who is proficient with Asian Hair?"

At which point he paused and looked up from his appointment book. I'm sure he must have been thinking, 'Who the fuck says proficient in a hair salon? Who is this joker?'. Of course he met me with a rather sincere. "That would be Gareth". And so, after a rather awkward moment like as if it were being translated from some other language, I have a date with Gareth and his scissors!!! It does feel funny as i haven't been to any other hairdresser other than my Mancunian one since 2005. I'm very monogamous with hairdressers and anyone who gives good head gets my vote.

The warmth from the heating is making me drowsy so pardon me as i collapse on the table.

Fusion of Heart to Work.

WAHHHH. In the library at the moment with a paper due Monday and guiltily, I have half the Amazon rainforest sat in front of me in Jstor high quality PDF print? - click yes - format.

But it's all good! I'm so buzzing right now after a ravenous Pret a Manger session with Dominique and sure to see Habon at some point during this mammoth library session of mine.

I've taken inspiration from Linda and Kharunya to just start taking my camera around with me and taking pictures of things. As the saying goes, a picture speaks a thousand words and what better than to hold to our hearts vivid images of the things we love, the things that imbue us with inspiration and the small things that make us tick.

It could be premature to say but I'm feeling things click into place. Naturally, i wish it happened earlier on in the year where this enthusiasm to self-improve gained momentum but to concentrate on this would be to defeat the object of having reaching this positive conclusion now. 

And so I must return to, 'The Conditions for Export Led Growth' by Buffie. But there's the small distraction of wanting to watch a Family Guy episode i just downloaded...

Art Room, What Art Room?

Oh what a fine day is. Despite the ever stoic expressions being worn on peoples' faces as a knee-jerk response to the rain and the wind, I can't help but feel alive; the rain against my skin and the wind rushing through my hair. I'm not suggesting at all it gives me an adrenaline rush equal to bungee jumping but just physically feeling the elements draws me closer to nature.

I've been in the SOAS library art room (which  i only knew existed 2 minutes ago) studying with Rachael and I can immediately gauge the hostility of others to myself and her as we exchange notes like as if at high school and as i try to subtly, but unsuccessfully, peel apart a packet of Oreos.

Surprisingly, it isn't like a blast furnace today and my jeans are not sticking to the chair. There's the added bonus of also not sitting next to a 'on the large side' bloke who hasn't been introduced to the joys of Lynx. I tend to wonder whether odorous people get married but that's out of the realms for this blog.

4 more days separate me now from the end of the term. I can't believe this is it. 2 years effectively completed, with exams and practice tests waiting to greet countless others on the other side of Easter Break. I don't want to invoke the classic cliche of 'Where does the time go', I know we all feel somewhat displaced by knowledge of not applying our time in the best way now and then, but I don't feel there's a need for such a clinical treatment of time that is synonymous with having to be constantly productive. That would be TOTALLY UN-SOAS.

I must return to my work as the Draconian librarian hovering in and out of the art room is some what making me nervous that amounts to nothing less than 'YOU THERE, STOP PRACTICING FREE-SPEECH ON BLOGSPOT AND GET ON WITH YOUR WORK" to be belched from her ever-unkind mouth.

Congratulations to Nizam and Marya for their election to the SU. It's fair to say i'm tired of national politics being perpetually thread into the fabric of the SU.

NIZAMARAMAAAAAA. *ahem* 

Blossoms are upon us.

WOW WOW WOW, and no I'm not making a reference to the drab song Kylie has just released but the ridiculous fact i'm still awake at 2.45 in the morning. How i will look back on these days fondly as the time i frittered my youth away with each click on a website link and of course, 'amounting-to-nothing' facebook activity (i used the quote marks for a reason!). But i will remark to myself during my mid-life crisis just how good these days were!

The African cultural show is definitely going to be the highlight of the coming week. It's comes naturally for me to make the assertion it's frankly, going to be fan-bastardly-tastic because I know first hand just how much effort has gone into setting everything up. Seyi's going to be singing as well which means my desire to go is absolutely COMPOUNDED; ever since knowing her at the start of SOAS, I've been there every step of the way with her public singing appearances and extra requests made of me...I'm not going to stop that now; I want to be carried away by the tone in her voice and melt like a block of butter sitting on Nigella Lawson's kitchen top as Seyi pushes her sultry words through my frankly thin body. I could make a damn good Brita filter but I don't think that's particularly marketable given hygiene standards.

Having just finished my Japanese work, I'm surprised I can type in a manner that flows...i tend to slur and my sentence construction just breaks down. Most people tend to think i'm drunk when i speak to them after 2 hours in the Japanese class every Wednesday. Naturally, this is made worse by the 2 hours of friggin' Econometrics afterwards. The popular notion that, 'TV rots the brain', I feel, is equally applicable to Econometrics...not only does it rot the brain but it completely screws over your emotionality whereby you feel completely unable to talk to people afterwards. hmmm.

Virgin Active beckons tomorrow. They have repeatedly called me to confirm my account details since Saturday seeing as they repeated failed to clear. I thought i'd given them my right details but Abbey had to make me look stupid seeing as the account number printed on my card is not the one on my bank statements. So a lip-biting apology ensued and now i have full time gym membership that i seek to use to substitute either facebook time or generally getting rid of the hideous amount of energy I have locked away. It's like this morning, Jo woke me up and told me to check the news...and i jumped out of my bed with still-fuzzy eyes after learning Hillary has polished Obama off in Ohio and Texas. That sudden burst of energy was the only reason why i went to Japanese today. Otherwise? I would have just lingered in my cot of a bed and wrapped myself in my duvet like a slug and proceeded to run around the flat assuming this state when everybody had left.

I can hear the birds singing which means its probably best for me to take to sleep like Peter Stringfellow takes to wearing his thongs. The dirty git.

That Which Falls, Has No Saving Grace.

This week has probably been the busiest week to date; 2 presentations, 2 papers to be thinking about (and of course doing 1), multiple people heading into the city from school etc. But despite all this happening, I just feel as if it's all passed in one massive smokescreen. 

I can't remember anything, there isn't one finite detail I can recollect that means anything. Is this how it's meant to be? That we're all hardened to routine so much that even meeting with friends is reduced to nothing more than an intangible  memory? Perhaps it's just my pre-exam season anxiety, perhaps it's a phase that will pass after the weekend, perhaps it's something profound and life-long.

Whatever it is, I don't like it. 'Indifference is the worse thing anyone can feel', as i fondly recollect my mother telling me at a young age. But it's like as if it's inbuilt to our nature...whether in exhibiting a polite tendency to  go with the status quo or plainly because we're just not bothered.

Life at 19 shouldn't be this nonchalant. I mean, where the hell is the energy? Where is the passion to live, to breathe, to desire? Oh how passive we are to the moment yet so keen to tune ourselves into the power of retrospect. I remember something myself and Cheryl typed to Meagan whilst tipsy the other night and although whilst tipsy, it inspires, 'Live as such without regret and love like you mean it'. 

Breaking free of the tendency to be indifferent and drawing closer to my purpose is definitely going to be hard work but fulfilling once I crack the nut. All i know, is that i do not want to surrender my life to painstaking sadness, a life of stoicism and complete removal from the ability to be compassionate.

Alala Alala

For the whole week, my essence has been sitting on a bubble being carried away with each thudding beat in Digitalism's soundtrack. I have to say, I haven't felt this good in ages!!!

I also spoke to Cheryl whilst on a quick Starbucks session after my class and she has regained that magical sparkle to her voice...much like the happiness a person experiences when finding a £20 note in a coat pocket that they'd forgotten about!

Ahh, what a lovely end to the week. The world rages on; more developments unfold in the primaries, the rioting in Serbia but on a less international scale, SOAS has been good. I think i've learnt to accept it's shortcomings and just immerse myself in the monolithic element that is popularised as 'The SOAS Spirit'; synonymous with love for the planet, love for each other (unless you're right-wing) and a quasi-obsession with the conflict in Burma, Pakistan and plight of Africa but that's all appropriate seeing as it is the School of Oriental and African Studies.

It's been a difficult few weeks but i'm getting the knack of doing several hours of work a day regardless of my time table. Honestly, getting into the habit of just doing something has required nothing more than a complete break with past habits. We've all been through the phases where we're trying to reassure ourselves, 'OH, I'LL WORK HARDER NEXT YEAR AND DO BETTER. YEAHH'. the funny thing is we said that to ourselves in our GCSEs, our A-Levels and it's certainly transferrable to university. I honestly think UK universities in general lack the same inbuilt ethos to study as our 'on the other side of the pond' East-Coast equivalents. Also, the competition at SOAS isn't as ferocious. This works for some but i need competition, i thrive on it. Not to the point where i sustain myself on the relative failure of others but just knowing where i am positioned in a class and the quality of my work hence.

So the plans for tonight? It's Tim's boifday and he's going for pre-drinks at some pub and moving to LSE Crush. I envy the fact LSE has it's own club...where the hell is the SOAS equivalent?...Dare i say given the alternative and non-commerical vibe at SOAS, their idea of a club and music would probably be some guy up a tree banging some drums and fingering a banjo. FANKS BU' NO FANKS.

I'm so hyper right now, i'm dancing around whilst on the phone to Adam. OOF.

Fresh Beats Comin Atcha

With left foot perched on the bed frame, right foot arched on the carpet and both hands typing vigorously away only to pause for a momentary ejaculation of ideas in my head. I type away the end of this frankly busy day. 

I've just returned home having spent a few hours with Josh going through Econometrics lecture notes. That shit fries my brain every time and we spent so much time arguing about the concepts and why this wasn't that and what the point of semi-logging was when we could lin-log a model...or so we thought. It degenerated into a quasi-Jeremy Kyle show but without the drunks, the deadbeats and emotionally retarded or numb...maybe a blend of both. Nonetheless, we endured the pain together through collective consumption of a packet of Oreos, copious amounts of Orange and Honey tea that were buttressed by two episodes of Gordon Ramsay's Kitchen Nightmares. That sexy bastard.

Running out of milk is not something that bodes well with me given my obsession for milk-based drinks. I'll probably pop out to the not very late, 'late night shopper'; a newsagents that closes at 11pm...now forgive me but i thought they'd be meaning 3am where i could pop in after a night out completely mushed, slushed and positively gushed and still be able to pick up my milk and breakfast oats for the morning that awaited after I embraced my bed. 

Also, the boy in there is rather (forgive me lord), 'ghetto'. With his body adorned with Adidas track jackets and low-rise baggy gym pants he can't help but raise a few of my thin black hairs or so. But he's missing a gold neckchain...the sort that is actually sprayed with gold paint and possibly poisons a person to death seeing as its rusts at the slightest exposure to rain.

It's been a good start to the week. Listening to New Young Pony Club and Digitalism has really perked me up which is inappropriate given the fullness of evening but i'll be able to sleep like a new-born puppy tonight if i manage to somehow release the energy...

On that note i will force myself to jump on the spot for 40 minutes, heart permitting, and just see whether or not i can burn myself out. 

A Private Reverie

For the first time in 9 or so years, I have taken ibuprofen...I'd always been so resistant to commerical, mass-produced drugs but given the severity of my headache after last night's shenanigans with Cheryl I just had to nip the pain some how.

Last night was tres tres tres good fun. As i'm sure Miss 'This Cake Is Raw' will put up pictures later to show off our collective triumph, we attempted one of Nigella's recipes titled, 'Slow-roasted garlic and lemon chicken'. And boy oh boy Nigella was not kidding...slow-roasted translated into leaving the chicken for 2 hours in the oven whilst mine and Cheryl's stomaches made the most varied of sounds but all leaning towards a reasonance of outright hunger.

I've never had to deal with a whole chicken before and given Nigella's insistence on the use of a whole chicken and to get 10 pieces from it, I had no choice but to dislocate the chicken thighs from the sockets and its poor wings aswell. Of course, I like to play with my food and was faffing the wings in the air pretending i had finger extensions to the amusement of Cheryl. My mother on the phone who i'd called for moral and cooking guidance...was not.

2 hours passed and as 'As Good As It Gets' played itself out 'ever so slowly' to quote Cheryl, a deep aroma of lemony garlic filled the pits of our stomachs and made us yearn to eat the fruits of our labour. I have to admit, when it did come down to eating...our first time at making such a dish wasn't too bad. The chicken wasn't overcooking and we'd glazed the meat with just the right amount of oil. Tres delicieux in all.

True to my friends' words, Sylvester Stallone was on the Jonathan Ross show. It must have been a good week for him; BAFTAs, Dorchester, BBC Studio. And he's probably out on the circuit promoting his new film which i reserve no opinion on as of yet. He's not just going to be another giant hulk moving around the forests of somewhere in South East Asia fighting rebel soldiers again. There'll be something more to it...I'm sure...

Given my acute onset of headache today, i conclude that wine will never touch these lips of mine again. But of course there'll be other ways of getting round it...like injecting it into my arm. Oh dear.

Dream About Me

It's ridiculous o'clock in the morning in London and rather than being in bed, I am waiting for a Family Guy episode to load! Oh what a pointless sacrifice for something so sweet as sleep but after spending the past 5 hours doing Japanese, I need to relax!

The weekend was rather spendidoso. My sister came down from the North to visit me and boy oh boy...we had fun. We took a long walk around Central London on Saturday that was followed by watching Mikado at the London Coliseum which was absolutely hilarious. I love the way they parodied the Japanese as a cruel, brutal race. Oh the contemporary twists and pedantic well-pronounced cast members they incorporated naturally echoed that classic British wit and humour! A must see for all I consider.

Having finished up there, I received a call from Freddie asking me whether or not I wanted to go out. He was extremely irritated at me on Friday for turning him down and seeing as he was flying to China on Sunday I figured that i owed him that respect to do so and enjoy his final night!

I won't go into good depth but the night started off terribly and only did things improve when i dragged Freddie away from the delights of NW1; some seedy place called 'Positively 14th Street' hardly got me gasping with excitement...if I was gasping, it was for air because i was choking on the air of debauchery inside. 

We ended up at his favourite hide, G-A-Y and little did we know that the Feeling were playing! Despite the time being 1.30, we still managed to see them play 3 of their best songs they'd saved till last and morevero, TO SEE THEM DRESS UP AS MEMBERS OF THE SPICE GIRLS. Naturally I'll have to play devil's advocate and say that was for wooing a loyal gay fan-base!

We'd ended the night on a positive and it is with little hesitancy that i assert we were both rather...mushed. I made my way home and he walked it back to Azeeta's place!

Come Sunday morning, i was definitely reeling in the hangover of my own making but this passed as i took to a place of Egg's Benedict my sister made me accompanied with a jug of water just to re-hydrate my self. Oh it was delicious and i savour every moment she makes such a treat for me!

So Sunday was the day she'd booked a tea session at the Dorchester Hotel. How civilised! Our alloted time was from 14.30 till 16.15 and given my sister's anal tendencies to be early (despite my use of the word anal, i accept it's definitely a good thing), we left the house 1 hour and 30 minutes before we were due at the Dorchester.

After taking to the bus, then the tube and alighting at Hyde Park Corner, we had to navigate a series of chicanes in the road that led us eventually (and on time thank goodness) to the Dorchester!

Oh the ecstasy that followed was immense. Everyone is quite aware of my tea-obsession; i live it, i breathe it and i most certainly drink it. I tried the 'East Frisian' blend that was absolutely decadent. It was strong and bold on it's own but once i added two sugars...it had a subtler, refined taste to it. Oh how a euphemism is dying to drawn from that.

Nonetheless, the highlight of the tea session was marked by the entry of Sylvester Stallone into the promenade!!! WHAT A TREAT, my sister and I pondered.

He looked as fresh as he did 26 years ago when he'd finished casting for Rambo 1. He has defied age terribly well and he entertains a 'swaggish' walk that every man should aspire to recreate at some point during their lives. My sister at this point had inundated her friends with texts and responses were naturally geared towards getting an autograph. One of her friends had said she was such a fan of Stallone that she named her dog after him. My only reply to my sister at this point was, "I somehow don't think he will be too happy with knowing his prized name was used to call a dog". But it was all jokes. These two ladies from Wales melted in their seats as Stalone walked past them. I can only attribute this to the radiation from his testosterone.

The episode's finishing loading! COME ON MY SON.

Smokescreen.

So this is it. Reading week is tomorrow. 

Whether or not I am able to make a break with the past and gain inspiration from the desire to self-improve and increase the agility and speed to which I work will all be decided this week. I need to remove the distractions, stop wasting ridiculous amounts of time and just surround myself with positive, studious equals.

I guess it'll be my own little 'Super Tuesday' allbeit at a less glamorous stage and where I'm still trying to carve a place for myself in this big world. Sigh.

Fear Strikes

So I'm just about to pump half a gallon of caffeine into my body before attempting the UBS online numerical test. I don't know why I feel so jittery about doing it, perhaps it's because I've convinced myself that there is so much at stake and that i need to get this in order to 'push the button' for a concrete slab to fall in front of me that allows me to progress to the next stage.

But it has to be done. I can't not do it, how ridiculous would that be? I'm going to just sit here and let 'Anthems for a Seventeen Year Old Girl' carry away any doubts i hold inside myself.

It's about time i believed and replace those ethereal cobwebs with a quiet confidence.

Ahh. So is life. Reading week begins this Friday and all I can think of is how closer and closer exams in May are coming...the preparation beckons indeed. Nonetheless, I'm hoping to just sit down and get on with it. My time at Swarthmore College imbued me with so much hope for the future, so much motivation and a desire to live...not to solely exist. 

I can't wait to see my special girl again for her graduation, it inspires me to work so hard so as to allow me to feel as if i deserve to be there, that i deserve to share in such a momentous occasion. I miss her so much!!!

And I'm sure everyone, who are frankly more than aware of how attached i am to Hillary, will appreciate the fact that i'm half way through her biography and that means I am just 250 pages away from starting Barack Obama's autobiography. I'm looking forwards to reading it. I just don't understand why everyone assumes i hate him. I don't! I just have a preference, that's all! 

10 Packs of Ibuprofen Please

Having just returned home after watching Cloverfield, it is with little mental effort (and thank god) i can assert that i'm feel suitably nauseated, disoriented and cranially submerged in some sort of post narcotics taking state. 

I'm yet to be able to get my head around all the sharp, rapid and graphically intense images that my poor frontal lobe has had to absorb. Many have told me it isn't worth the hype which i can agree with but i don't think it's the poorest film by far. Yet, one of my deepest criticisms is just how exposed the 'thing' was so early on in the film. At times, it was insipid and lacking in something but then i just guess it's appropriate for the setting; these people are completely disorganised and equally, if not, more disoriented than I am! Nonetheless, there were exasperated sighs of disappointment among the audience as the ending drew to a close. 

I'd like to think of the film as the New York enduring a similar structural battering as London did in 28 weeks later. I'll never be able to forgive the Americans for firebombing my beloved Canary Wharf in that motion picture and naturally it was a masculine gruff who gave the command to do so. However, now is not the time for me to be embarking on a discourse into stereotypes of men in media.

GOOD NIGHT.

A Novelty

So I've gained inspiration from Cheryl to condense my thoughts into the expressive realm that is internet blogging. Liberating I'm sure it will be.

The school day has finished! Hardly long and arduous given the fact that my only class was from 10 till 11 am. But even so, I encountered great difficulty in removing myself from the retirement home-esque comfort that my double bed offers me. Nonetheless, I concluded I would learn nothing whilst trapped in the confines of my gargantuan duvet that so separates me from the fresh cold air seeping in through the window and the stagnant warm layer inside.

Given that it is a Friday, I'm certainly lacking in a party mood. Freddie definitely tried to stoke some enthusiasm up whilst on the phone to me before; I don't want his efforts to be wasted so I figure I'll go for a run around the park or just do something that's engaging that somewhat lifts me onto higher emotional planes. The past week has been pretty rough, the recognition of many sharp realities and long-running ritual mistakes have yielded the need to be treated immediately rather than postponed to a time of a better mood. As vague as I will leave them now  but sure to be elaborated upon at a later date, they have to be nipped in the bud now when the ground is still fertile and chance still remains. However, I have found a safe sanctuary in the pages of Hillary Clinton's biography and frankly, it's positively engrossing. At the times my bag is full, I'm happy to parade her face on the bus and tube as I take her in my hand to and from places. I think this quasi-obsession is growing...sure, it possesses negative connotations but it's something I need to embrace. I need to feel inspired and am now looking West of this country to attain it.

For the moment however, I need to nap, refresh and then sit down to a warm cup of Earl Grey whilst pondering what lays ahead for the day.