Does there ever come a moment in life where you can accept death and think I can die happy. I have honestly achieved all I’ve wanted to and lived a good life. That feeling must be one of the most satisfying and gratifying feelings in the world and to experience it, you must truly be blessed. More often than not, we forget that we aren’t invincible. We are a perishable item with a due date. We get bogged down in the mundane necessities of life, myself included. Work/uni gets in the way of things as you settle into a monotonous routine, safe and secure but is it worth it? We put off up really makes life enjoyable for the next day, the next time, til the years flow past without our knowledge. How many can actually say I’ve lived life to the fullest, at the end.

First year of architecture, done and dusted. A year composed of skipped lectures spent instead chilling at maccas. Early morning presentations accompanied by the ever constant companionship of coffee. Late nights of model making and autocading, proceeding slowly from frustration to resignation. Bad jokes, course language, quick insults. Car rides filled with taylor swift and one direction, and driven on zero sleep, one times too many. Skype conversations carrying on for days, questionable singing and lyrics included. Lost cars, kfc family meals, bench fights. A mess of words… of memories to describe this first year of university and only two others can completely understand.

Thanks for making this year enjoyable and here’s to another four.

White capped stalls lined up in rows in the distance against the misty light sprinkle. Vibrant spots of colour, here and there as people shield from the rain. Despite the weather, a surprisingly good turnout, as people of different ages, ethnicities, backgrounds wander excitedly from stall to stall. A carnival atmosphere encapsulates the surroundings as people call out their wares, samples are presented to eager little grubby hands, and bustling lines form for popular stalls. The sizzling and wafting aroma of fresh steaks, gourmet sausages and roasts on the grill make the mouth water easily. Whilst for the sweet tooth, freshly pounded ice cream and selection of homemade desserts are readily available.

I myself got to share a delicious hot steak sandwich, kylie kwong’s gourmet sausage with shitake mushroom and greens, thai curry roast pie along with numerous numerous samples. The perks of having an older brother with a wallet. Also buying home a spelt flour sour dough loaf, and tiramisu and vanilla bean panna cotta. yumm.

Her eyes were dead as she stared at the illuminated screen, her entire body still except for her right hand drawing line after line, her left inputting repetitious numbers. All around her silence reigned, except for the quiet ever constant ticking of her wrist watch, warning her of the passing time, preventing her from succumbing to her fatigue. Every now and then her head would nod, her eyes open but mind vacant. In an instant, jerking back from the micro sleep to resume. And thus it continued, not only for the rest of the night but for the many nights to come.

Such is the woe of an architecture student. 

Sometimes I wonder if people actually like me or just stand me cause circumstances threw us together...

Four weeks. Four weeks more of an ever constant impending pressure weighing upon our shoulders before freedom. Pure and simple. Nowadays, every single thought is accompanied by mental lists, a monotonous whisper on loop at the back of your mind.

Transport. 2000 words. Due Monday. History. 3 A3. Due Tuesday. Design. Final autocad designs and model. Due Wednesday. Construction. Interim model. Due Thursday.

This ridiculous amount of stress and pressure is stupid really, a malicious cycle which only worsens with time. The sort of stress where you’re completely overwhelmed by the amount of work to do that it incapacitates your very being til you feel like rolling up in a ball and giving up on society. Yet that is exactly the opposite of what needs to be done, and so the stress worsens as the monstrous deadline approaches.

And like I was discussing with a friend, over and over, we whisper next time. Next time we’ll do better, be better, but all for naught as it is a next time that never comes. Tomorrow may be a new day but why does it feel like a simple replay, rerun of the last.

So I eagerly wait for four weeks/10 assignments, two interims/three exams to past for a proper rest and a proper restart, because after all a new start to a semester ought to be more successful, no?

I’ve always been a reader. A bookworm, one of those girls whose perfect morning would be defined by a thick novel and a cup of steaming coffee, whittling away the hours curled up in a comfy armchair. From my earliest recollection, I remember knowing my primary school library inside out, stealing my older brother’s fantasy books to read, and skipping past the meagre collection of teenage fiction to the much larger adult collection. I even remember being scolded by my strict religious catholic primary school for bringing The Da Vinci Code to read to school, not that I cared.

I loved books. Fantasy, romance, slice of life, it did not matter as long as it was well written, spinning a tale as vivid as day, as you hold your breath awaiting the next page. And that’s where the magic lies, from merely stringing a few flimsy words together, a story is woven, the reader’s imagination invoked. It doesn’t magically transport you to another world, nothing can do that. But it does take you away from the day in day out of your mundane life. Taking your mind off the constant whisperings of thoughts, overcrowded and bustling in that small space, jostling for prominence. Giving you quiet as each mental word rolls off the tongue, fabricating a brilliant image of colour.

I’m the sort that literally cannot put the book down, impatient for the story. Give me a good book, and I’ll have it finished in a few days no matter the thickness, a week at most. It’s not very beneficial when you have homework piling up on the side, but then again the homework fades from mind from the first word and it is that from which I seek to escape.

Being sick is a terrifying thing. Unable to think clearly as if a fog had seeped into the nooks and crannies of your brain, leaving all your thoughts hazy and misty. Unable to sleep two nights in a row as the wheeze of each breath is a shriek and subsequent rattle in your ears. Feeling like a fifty year old smoker as each breath you take is only half, for the overwhelming pressure on your chest erupts into a barrage of coughs least you grow greedy. Not only mentally taxing but being physically weak and drained. Going from jogging an entire hour to feeling light headed and out of breath from one flight of stairs… that scares me. Makes you thankful for being born healthy and whole.

Thankfully, I’m on the mend and my lethal mix of fever, cold and cough are fading. Now I no longer have an excuse to lounge around in bed instead of getting through that last minute holiday homework. Sigh.

Sometimes it’s nice to escape to nature. Surrounded in all directions by trees, silent and solitary. Makes you realise how small and insignificant your world really is. Silence reigns as not a spoken word is heard, as the mechanical, blaring white noise of the urban cityscape engrained into your very being fades into a distant memory. But when a breeze from places unknown chances upon you, your silent surroundings explode into a symphony of sounds. The soft chime of millions upon millions of leaves dancing with the new breath of air. The trees themselves swaying from side to side, completely in sync to an age old song that only they could hear. Overhead, the echoing cries of a bird gliding above, a single black speck framed against the lazy white voluptuous clouds.

Time takes on a transient quality, for once in our busy lives the ever present hands shifting with each passing second grow silent, mute against the sounds of Mother Nature. You marvel, you wonder, you ponder til you can no longer delay the beckoning calls. It’s time to return to reality.

Though I'd share. Such an amazing piece of writing, thanks to a friend for linking me this. Hopefully, one day in the future, I'll be able to write to this standard. 

http://thoughtcatalog.com/2011/dont-date-a-girl-who-reads/

Fact: bouldering is awesome.

Had an amazing day today, just chilling and climbing with friends. You'd think bouldering's a pretty individual competitive sport but it's not. Not the slightest bit. You get so much support from your mates, constructive help with moves and routes, cheers and pushes. You truly only compete with yourself*, aim a little harder, give a little more to send another route. And the company is great, everyone is connected and passionate about the same thing and hence you never lack something to talk about. Climbing after all is only half the time on the wall, the other half sitting and resting, talking to others, watching and learning. I love my main climbing gym, ECAT, because the people there are so good natured and chillax. I'm not the most outgoing person but over there I'm constantly meeting new people, and making new friends making my climbing experience all the more worth while. I might be reluctant, tired, whatever beforehand, but I never end up regretting going.

As you can probably tell, I had a great session today, five hours total. Sent six fives, most fives I've ever done in one day and also tried out and succeeded at a few hard moves, traversed the entire length of the top rope wall, and finished three reps of my friend's torturous ab/core workout.

I'd say I kicked off this sem break to a good start.

*my brother is the only exception, we be very competitive in a fun way.

will uni always be this tiring? frustrating? physically and mentally exhausting?

draft sketches for an assignment, the scanner didn't pick up the pencil very well so they turned out a lot lighter. Designed by James Barnet.


North Face, not completely proportional.

pumped.

It's one of life's simple pleasures to catch up with a close friend you haven't seen in a while. To meet up and talk as if not a day has passed since high school ended, completely comfortable and relaxed. To chill, cook, laugh and talk about everything and anything.

I had a good day.

Rock climbing or more specifically bouldering has become such a big part of my life and I swear it’s the weekly session that keeps me sane from life’s monstrosities. Now that I think about it, it’s been sixteen months, way back to the start of year twelve since I started. At the beginning, last year of high school and all, I skipped weeks at a time and it was a rare treat between the tutoring and exams. But nowadays no matter what is going on, it is the one thing I make time for because when you truly love something, having no time is no adequate excuse. I’m not sure exactly what draws me to it, maybe it’s the exalted feeling when you stick a hard hold, finish a climb you’ve been working on for weeks, or finally go up a level. It’s that amazing feeling when you set and break your personal goals. But not only on an individual personal level, it’s also a team sport, and the cheers and encouragement of your mates and patience as they teach and reteach a climb, that too is a integral part.

Now when people ask me what’s the best job in the world, I’d definitely say a professional climber, travelling the world, discovering and conquering the best climbs, promoting what they love and competing with like minded individuals in competitions. The lack of limitations and restraints and just doing something you love every day. In the future, I would also like to progress to outdoor climbing, but for now I’m content with indoor gyms.

And that is what climbing means to me, hopefully for years to come yet.

Also announcement I have a photo blog tumblr for pictures I've personally taken cause I enjoy taking pretty pictures and editing them to make them look even better.


http://unspokenconversationss.tumblr.com/

You know how when you’re in the heat of the moment and are lost for words, but minutes, hours, days after, all the words come back, reasons and justifications but it’s too late to say it. This is basically my jumbled written response.

I understand that university grades are important, that they determine your future and your job opportunities, but that doesn’t mean they are everything. It doesn’t mean I should abandon all my interests and the things I love to study twenty four seven. Because that will only make me miserable, I don’t know what I would do without climbing. University is meant to be one of the best moments of your life, and it’s meant to be enjoyed. And not to be cliché or anything but it’s true you only do live once. I don’t even know why I need to justify my reasons to you. Nor do I even go out much, I’m always trying to make it home for dinner so you don’t eat alone. And you think university is easy, that architecture degree? Piece of cake. But you sleep at eight every night, you haven’t seen the late nights I pull for drawings, assignments and models, and when you greet me at six in the morning, you think it’s just cause I got up early instead of being up all night. Granted I do procrastinate a bit on the internet, and have awful time management but it’s my nature, I’m trying to change it but if this is how I’ve worked for the last eighteen years of my life, do you really think it’s that easy to change? Truthfully, the reason why I think you’re nitpicking on my minor faults is because I’ve been too good, never had that crazy teenage stage and act up, and have an amazing brother who has never made you think twice about anything.

The last thing, I understand your words, that you mean the best for me but just think about the way you say it, it makes such a big difference and it’d go a long way to making me listen to you. Hurts less too.

Lack of inspiration for fictional writing. Every time I start planning something, it just feels so cliché and superficial, so overwritten and overdone. I don’t know maybe cause of my naivety I didn’t notice it before but now it’s really bugging me.

Silence.

One of the most horrible feelings is being ignored without a reason, without an explanation. You don’t remember fighting, or any harsh words. Yet you can’t shake off the feeling of despair pooling in the pit of your stomach, and you know something must be wrong. Why else would they avoid your gaze, refuse to be near and not respond to your words. Yet they still laugh and joke around with your friend. You stand off to the side, invisible, feeling more alone than ever and unable to focus on the task at hand. Then they walk away, finding somewhere else to sit. Can they not even bare the sight of you? That morning was dreadful, those few hours spent anxious and afraid, running over and over in your mind the past few days, flashes and glimpses of memories now no longer relevant, no longer important. What had you done wrong? It hurts, even more so than when the words are finally uttered “it’s not working out.”

Today I woke up stressed, completely and utterly stressed. I’ve been lazing around while the workload has been ever increasing, still in the mindset that gets created and firmly established in the four month break from hsc to uni. Deadlines fast approaching while I stand dazed feeling like an animal caught in the blaring headlights of an oncoming truck in the darkest depths of the night. Willing to move yet unable to move.

Two weeks into architecture and I’ve just submitted in my first assignment, definitely the first of many to come. A slight weight has been lifted off my shoulders as four becomes three. But I must say compared to other courses, architecture has definitely been quite full on. By the end of another two weeks, I would have already designed my own building, exterior and interior, into a game program which then can be physically explored by a character; drawn, analysed and altered my own home to become more environmentally friendly and sustainable; drawn out the site plan, floor plans, elevations, axonometric technical drawings of a building complete with rendering totalling most likely more than thirty hours of drawing and researched a building, compiling 60-100 hd images from the resources of all three uni’s.

Pretty crazy right?

I guess the sudden bout of stress is good in a sense to boot kick me into action. Albeit a bit late, but better than never. Let’s hope I start pulling my weight awfully soon.

Been pretty lazy with updating because first week of uni has been absolutely hectic. Been to uni four days so far for four different subjects and already have four different assignments ranging from 10% to 70% worth. Add in another two days sick with fever and cold and you have my first week uni experience. Bleugh.

Though I can say that the teaching material is much more interesting than high school English essays and maths equations. We even sketched a capsicum for two and half hours which is my sort of lesson. I’ve already made new close friends who I look forward to spending these next few years with.

So right now I’m just hoping that things settle down soon and that we won’t be constantly bombarded with assignments.

Sometimes I wish that there was some unknown force that could tell you what to do, what direction to take, and in my case what course to study and hence job to do which I will be happy doing for the rest of my life.

See, from the earliest of my recollections, I’ve always wanted to be a vet. Probably from the time I first found out the definition of the word, I must have wanted to be one. So as it goes, that aspiration has literally held for years, a decade at the very least of my eighteen years.

Stemming mayhap from a mere childish wish, as the years went by, it seemed a step closer and more realistic. It’s all I’ve known and wished to become.

But now I’m not too sure anymore. I’ve taken a step in the completely opposite direction, enrolling in Architectural Studies as I was unable to achieve the marks required for Veterinary science. Why didn’t I do the natural course of action of a year of veterinary bioscience and transfer? Well there’s the Asian parent factor for one, preventing me from taking a course with too low of an atar cut off.

So now the question is, at the end of this year, if I make the marks, will I still want to transfer? Should I attempt to transfer no matter what? If I happen to like architecture, should I still take the risk and transfer to vet, which I have no guarantee is right for me nor that I will like, except a childish dream decided when I was probably in year three. I really don’t know.

All I can do I guess, is hope by the end of this year, the answer will be clear to me, and hopefully it’s the right one. Sorry for rambling, just trying to figure it out by talking to myself.

The streets strewn with little red ripped shreds, left over from firecrackers. Empty canisters of fireworks at every corner, different shapes and colors indicating the variety. And the fireworks themselves, in a city not banned from lightening them, bring color to the sky in loud booms and whistles. Where one stops, another starts. It's to be expected in a city with a population of 23 million.

Inside, families gather together to share food and talk, as new members are introduced or those come to visit from another country are welcomed back. Children are given red bags, which they graciously receive, all the while behind sweetly smiling faves are already scheming what to buy. a majong table to the side is often full, while children imitate the adults betting peanuts as they play at Big Two.

But all are seated when the food is ready, around round tables with little elbow space. Dishes are piled onto the table, with no less than two dozen at the very least. The talk gets louder, as the rice wine flows freely, and laughter resounds through the small room after every story.

Well at least that's how Chinese New Year is celebrated in my family.



A/N: Another post which i wrote awhile back but then again better late than nothing right?

Homesickness. It creeps up on you slowly yet unexpectedly. In an unfamiliar environment, new sights and sounds, languages and cultures to experience, the last thing you would expect to miss is boring old home. But as the days past, you begin to miss the familiar things, your bed, your room, your routines, and your friends. Til eventually your holiday can no longer be called such and instead becomes your own prison blurring into a countdown of days, of hours, of minutes til your safely back on a plane home. A week left.


A/N: This was written on the 28th of Jan, except I have no access to blogspot in China hence the lateness. Happy to be back in Aus.