Stories of an Ordinary Girl
I went home last weekend which was a visit, I feel, was long overdue.
But thats another post!
I was at my cousin’s wedding and we happened to be talking about this blog and Kyle said, ‘You always write about silly little things. Like cats and sandwiches and not about the interesting things we do.’ A statement I’m not going to contest as the evidence is plainly there. This got me thinking as to why I would rather write about my funny experiences with taxi drivers, sandwich ladies and the like?
Suppose I lived the life of a Hilton or Osbourne, I’d be more inclined to tell my everyday encounters with the o-so-chic and famous? Then again if I was a Hilton I’d probably also have a huge following and feel obligated to share snippets from my glamorous existence. I could, perhaps, pretend that I was one and go to exclusive parties, get photographed on the way and make a K or two? Oh what a convoluted little fantasy world I indulge myself in.
I digress. And no, I’m not a Hilton nor will I ever be paid to party or what ever it is that those two do. What a drag you say! Listen to her whine and bitch about her life in Singapore doing what she always wanted to do! Oh the nerve.
On the contrary really, I’m happy where I am except for the occasion when I stamp my feet and clench my fists when things don’t go my way. What it really is, this blog malarkey thing that is, is that my everyday to day ramblings are so mundane I see it of no use to anyone (myself included) to record let alone feel the need to tell anyone about it.
It’s the occasional little human encounters that fascinate. I generally can’t understand a lot of people and often come off as insensitive which I have no intention of being whatsoever. So sometimes I find myself either meeting a stranger who might make me laugh – which, mind you isn’t very hard given my strange sense of humour I’ve been told to have – or sometimes, and this will sound odd to those who don’t do it themselves, continue my conversation with them on my own.
I’ve grown to tone this habit down over the years. There is a memory I have of my dad taking me to the golf course as a girl of probably nine or ten. Probably not the best place to take a child with an affinity for mud pies. Quite literally. Although I think I may have grown out of making deserts out of unidentified ingredients by then – a compulsion I’m afraid to say got revived during my first three years of University. So anyhow, after having successfully kept me occupied for a few hours and telling my mum how his game went, I distinctly remember my dad saying ‘oh yes, she had a good time talking to the birds.’
Crikey what an eye opener. Even if they were ten year old eyes. Surely all that happened in my head?! Was I going to grow up into one of those crazy old ladies who talk to themselves or even worse, the birds? How could I stop doing something that I didn’t realise I was doing? It didn’t help that at school we ‘learnt’ from wrote and I was often sat in exams mouthing the answers into the back of someone’s head. Luckily I was never caught doing this and have to face being called a cheat or even worse, admit that I talk to myself? Even more lucky is that by University I managed to tone down the talking to myself turning it into in-comprehensible complicated rambling (out-loud) which eventually impressed someone because I made it though relatively unscathed.
The little things that I observe and the things I read throughout the day make it that little more interesting and I like to think contribute to my understanding of well.. my surroundings if not the world. After all what is the point of travel if not life, say, if we went around looking for all the big things and missed the details which make them worth being sought after in the fist place? What a grossly missed opportunity would a life be, lived that way. Somthing that happens more often than not to my knowledge.
Having said that, I have no intention of glorifying my explorations and observations of the world because that is, quite simply put, what they are. xxW
But thats another post!
I was at my cousin’s wedding and we happened to be talking about this blog and Kyle said, ‘You always write about silly little things. Like cats and sandwiches and not about the interesting things we do.’ A statement I’m not going to contest as the evidence is plainly there. This got me thinking as to why I would rather write about my funny experiences with taxi drivers, sandwich ladies and the like?
Suppose I lived the life of a Hilton or Osbourne, I’d be more inclined to tell my everyday encounters with the o-so-chic and famous? Then again if I was a Hilton I’d probably also have a huge following and feel obligated to share snippets from my glamorous existence. I could, perhaps, pretend that I was one and go to exclusive parties, get photographed on the way and make a K or two? Oh what a convoluted little fantasy world I indulge myself in.
I digress. And no, I’m not a Hilton nor will I ever be paid to party or what ever it is that those two do. What a drag you say! Listen to her whine and bitch about her life in Singapore doing what she always wanted to do! Oh the nerve.
On the contrary really, I’m happy where I am except for the occasion when I stamp my feet and clench my fists when things don’t go my way. What it really is, this blog malarkey thing that is, is that my everyday to day ramblings are so mundane I see it of no use to anyone (myself included) to record let alone feel the need to tell anyone about it.
It’s the occasional little human encounters that fascinate. I generally can’t understand a lot of people and often come off as insensitive which I have no intention of being whatsoever. So sometimes I find myself either meeting a stranger who might make me laugh – which, mind you isn’t very hard given my strange sense of humour I’ve been told to have – or sometimes, and this will sound odd to those who don’t do it themselves, continue my conversation with them on my own.
I’ve grown to tone this habit down over the years. There is a memory I have of my dad taking me to the golf course as a girl of probably nine or ten. Probably not the best place to take a child with an affinity for mud pies. Quite literally. Although I think I may have grown out of making deserts out of unidentified ingredients by then – a compulsion I’m afraid to say got revived during my first three years of University. So anyhow, after having successfully kept me occupied for a few hours and telling my mum how his game went, I distinctly remember my dad saying ‘oh yes, she had a good time talking to the birds.’
Crikey what an eye opener. Even if they were ten year old eyes. Surely all that happened in my head?! Was I going to grow up into one of those crazy old ladies who talk to themselves or even worse, the birds? How could I stop doing something that I didn’t realise I was doing? It didn’t help that at school we ‘learnt’ from wrote and I was often sat in exams mouthing the answers into the back of someone’s head. Luckily I was never caught doing this and have to face being called a cheat or even worse, admit that I talk to myself? Even more lucky is that by University I managed to tone down the talking to myself turning it into in-comprehensible complicated rambling (out-loud) which eventually impressed someone because I made it though relatively unscathed.
The little things that I observe and the things I read throughout the day make it that little more interesting and I like to think contribute to my understanding of well.. my surroundings if not the world. After all what is the point of travel if not life, say, if we went around looking for all the big things and missed the details which make them worth being sought after in the fist place? What a grossly missed opportunity would a life be, lived that way. Somthing that happens more often than not to my knowledge.
Having said that, I have no intention of glorifying my explorations and observations of the world because that is, quite simply put, what they are. xxW
posted by Widarchitect at 2:07 pm
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