Well then. Exams were an utter flop! It's been so long, I actually forgot about this blog.
I miss being able to write about life to my wee heart's content on this thing. I think ill start again because I really need this blog.
I got a new laptop which is amazing, but it was V. EXPENSIVE.
Maybe I'll post more often now.
Cas
Wednesday 18 November 2015
Tuesday 19 November 2013
Blog Entry 10.
Hey there.
I've been away for a long while... Got do much to do!
Though I've been a lot happier lately! And I'm getting a lot of reading done... It's hard to keep up with everything though.
I'm trying harder now. Everything is twice as hard, but I'm determined to be better than this family.
So all I need to do is study, do homework and ACE my exams. It's a struggle.
We'll see what happens next.
Saturday 5 October 2013
Blog Entry 9.
It's not often that I share things here anymore, I'm always too blurgh.
Since Tuesday, I've been doing work experience at a nursery in my town. I got to work and play with all of the children, run errands, complete task and had such a great time. It's probably been one of the best few days in a long time.
Yesterday was my last day. The picture in this post is of a card that the children made me and it is absolutely amazing. I almost cried because of how much it meant to me.
I feel so privileged to know them, even for such a short time.
This entry is to show my appreciation. 
Sunday 11 August 2013
Blog Entry 8.
I had to write a personal essay for English. Just going to post it here...
Personal Essay
I pray before we leave for the funeral. The chapel is freezing when we arrive. Everything is quiet, silent, like the dead. My family avoid eye contact as they grieve. Those who do look at me give me a meek smile. Their eyes glisten as they try to hold back the tears. Stay strong, I tell myself. Don’t cry. I lower my head as we walk down the aisle. Every second pains me, makes me wish none of it had ever happened. I mentally sieve through the good times with the one I lost. I bump into my sister, knocking my train of thought. My mother urges me into the pew we’ve stopped at. The service begins.
The priest or maybe minister- I’m not too sure. I have no interest in religion anymore- begins the service with the usual spiel; “We have been gathered here today...blah...blah...blah...celebrate the life of Vincent Goundry...may he rest in peace...will be missed greatly.” I blank him out because, how would he know? He never knew Vincent. All he cares about is the money he’s getting for this whole palaver.
If it had been any other occasion, I wouldn’t have thought that. But I need someone to blame! I’m angry, angry with my uncle for dying, angry with myself for not being there, angry with God for letting it happen! This shouldn’t be like it is. My uncle should still be here. Why? Why was he taken from us? How will we cope? My poor Gran will be alone now. Furious thoughts swim through my head, though no one would even suspect. My face is so vacant and expressionless. I’m snapped back into the chapel when I hear the organ playing, when I see the coffin.
I can’t stop myself; tears flood my face in a matter of seconds. My mother passes me a tissue then puts her arm around me. I glance over at my father, only to find that he isn’t there anymore. He must have slipped away whilst I was lost in thought because at another peak at my uncle’s coffin, I see him among the men in our family carrying it. Their walk down the centre is slow and painful, but it eventually comes to an end as my father, uncles and cousins rest the dreadful coffin on a table at the front of the chapel.
The priest, or whatever he’s called, continues to babble on about good times and religious fables. People mourn, hymns are sung. A few people stand up, some of my cousins. My mother pushes me up too. I almost forgot I’d volunteered to read out. I reluctantly walk up to a massive stand on the far left of the room. I hold a sheet of paper with the script of sorts that I’ll be reading from in one hand, my used tissue in the other. My cousins walk behind the stand to ready the bread and wine for when I’m finished. When at the stand, I fix my skirt, straighten my back, take a deep breath and begin to speak.
I don’t remember a thing I’ve said as soon as I finish. No one claps for me, though I wouldn’t expect them to. It’s a funeral and it wouldn’t be right. As I walk my way back to my seat, family members meet my eyes and smile at me. Some even say a quick word like- “He would be proud.” Or “You read beautifully.” But I think they’ll say more at the Wake. I find my seat again and lower my head solemnly.
The two of my cousins who had stood up with me now stand at the centre of the ‘stage’ holding bread and wine. Anyone who wishes to gets up and forms a line to drink the wine and eat the bread. The first in the line are complete strangers. It takes me a moment to realise that they are from the choir, who have been sitting at the back rows of pews to show respect. I’ve had enough and shut down.
What seems like hours later, everyone seems to rise from the pews and the organ begins to play again. Oh great, another hymn. I don’t sing. Not because I don’t know the words -we have them in front of us- but because I don’t like them and I know Vincent wouldn’t have either. The man holding the service says a few final words before everyone begins to leave. A lot of my family members walk toward the front and I follow, curious as to what’s happening. One by one, they pick up a candle and light it. I vaguely remember the man holding the service saying something about lighting them at every mass for the next few years, but I wasn’t listening much. I do the same as the rest of my family and follow the long, slow trail to the exit of the chapel, readying myself for the painful wake to come.
I don’t pray anymore. Not since my Uncle Vincent’s funeral. Chapels scare me to death and the cold walls make me shiver. I never look people in the eye at funerals for fear of seeing the pain their faces hide. I don’t even bother to hide the tears or hide my fragility. Wishing for things to have turned out different doesn’t work, I’ve learned. And all I can ever think of are bad memories and recollections of things gone wrong. I always make sure I don’t touch anyone or anything and stay out of everyone’s way to stand at the very back. Before I know it, the service finishes.
Personal Essay
I pray before we leave for the funeral. The chapel is freezing when we arrive. Everything is quiet, silent, like the dead. My family avoid eye contact as they grieve. Those who do look at me give me a meek smile. Their eyes glisten as they try to hold back the tears. Stay strong, I tell myself. Don’t cry. I lower my head as we walk down the aisle. Every second pains me, makes me wish none of it had ever happened. I mentally sieve through the good times with the one I lost. I bump into my sister, knocking my train of thought. My mother urges me into the pew we’ve stopped at. The service begins.
The priest or maybe minister- I’m not too sure. I have no interest in religion anymore- begins the service with the usual spiel; “We have been gathered here today...blah...blah...blah...celebrate the life of Vincent Goundry...may he rest in peace...will be missed greatly.” I blank him out because, how would he know? He never knew Vincent. All he cares about is the money he’s getting for this whole palaver.
If it had been any other occasion, I wouldn’t have thought that. But I need someone to blame! I’m angry, angry with my uncle for dying, angry with myself for not being there, angry with God for letting it happen! This shouldn’t be like it is. My uncle should still be here. Why? Why was he taken from us? How will we cope? My poor Gran will be alone now. Furious thoughts swim through my head, though no one would even suspect. My face is so vacant and expressionless. I’m snapped back into the chapel when I hear the organ playing, when I see the coffin.
I can’t stop myself; tears flood my face in a matter of seconds. My mother passes me a tissue then puts her arm around me. I glance over at my father, only to find that he isn’t there anymore. He must have slipped away whilst I was lost in thought because at another peak at my uncle’s coffin, I see him among the men in our family carrying it. Their walk down the centre is slow and painful, but it eventually comes to an end as my father, uncles and cousins rest the dreadful coffin on a table at the front of the chapel.
The priest, or whatever he’s called, continues to babble on about good times and religious fables. People mourn, hymns are sung. A few people stand up, some of my cousins. My mother pushes me up too. I almost forgot I’d volunteered to read out. I reluctantly walk up to a massive stand on the far left of the room. I hold a sheet of paper with the script of sorts that I’ll be reading from in one hand, my used tissue in the other. My cousins walk behind the stand to ready the bread and wine for when I’m finished. When at the stand, I fix my skirt, straighten my back, take a deep breath and begin to speak.
I don’t remember a thing I’ve said as soon as I finish. No one claps for me, though I wouldn’t expect them to. It’s a funeral and it wouldn’t be right. As I walk my way back to my seat, family members meet my eyes and smile at me. Some even say a quick word like- “He would be proud.” Or “You read beautifully.” But I think they’ll say more at the Wake. I find my seat again and lower my head solemnly.
The two of my cousins who had stood up with me now stand at the centre of the ‘stage’ holding bread and wine. Anyone who wishes to gets up and forms a line to drink the wine and eat the bread. The first in the line are complete strangers. It takes me a moment to realise that they are from the choir, who have been sitting at the back rows of pews to show respect. I’ve had enough and shut down.
What seems like hours later, everyone seems to rise from the pews and the organ begins to play again. Oh great, another hymn. I don’t sing. Not because I don’t know the words -we have them in front of us- but because I don’t like them and I know Vincent wouldn’t have either. The man holding the service says a few final words before everyone begins to leave. A lot of my family members walk toward the front and I follow, curious as to what’s happening. One by one, they pick up a candle and light it. I vaguely remember the man holding the service saying something about lighting them at every mass for the next few years, but I wasn’t listening much. I do the same as the rest of my family and follow the long, slow trail to the exit of the chapel, readying myself for the painful wake to come.
I don’t pray anymore. Not since my Uncle Vincent’s funeral. Chapels scare me to death and the cold walls make me shiver. I never look people in the eye at funerals for fear of seeing the pain their faces hide. I don’t even bother to hide the tears or hide my fragility. Wishing for things to have turned out different doesn’t work, I’ve learned. And all I can ever think of are bad memories and recollections of things gone wrong. I always make sure I don’t touch anyone or anything and stay out of everyone’s way to stand at the very back. Before I know it, the service finishes.
Wednesday 17 July 2013
Monday 8 July 2013
Blog Entry 6.
Ever just wish you were a vampire?
Age-less, immortal, graceful.
The strength you would possess. The skills you would develop.
Learning how to fight. How to attack. How to kill.
The irony taste of blood in your mouth.
The pale skin, the beauty,
Inhuman speed.
An eternity to live.
Think of the money you would gain over the years. Enough to buy anything you could ever want.
To truly live. With no limits.
I wish I was a vampire.
Friday 14 June 2013
Blog Entry 5.
Know what I like about this blog? No one reads it. I can get all of my feelings out with no one giving me abuse about being an attention whore. Which I do not believe I am.
If you are unfortunate enough to find this blog, I apologise. I just need to get all of this out. And this is the easiest way. So, I would recommend not reading any more posts.
I'll go now...
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