let your will displace me on the ledge

Yesterday I fractured someone’s cheekbone.

I had been doing really well with both forehand and reverse shots on goal when we were warming up at our hockey game, doing the usual “pass-pass-shoot at goal” drill… but then for some reason a teammate of mine was crouching behind the goal. I’m not sure why – picking up a ball maybe? No one saw her there – even the goalie wasn’t aware of her presence because she was crouched down by the backboard – until she suddenly stood up just as I had taken my shot on goal, which either pinged off the post or whizzed right past it, I’m not sure. Either way, it ended up smacking her square in the cheek, and down she went. I felt awful. And still do. Even though technically it is entirely her fault and not mine, this is the second head injury I’ve given someone at hockey – regardless of the fact that both times have been caused by the carelessness of the person injured, ahhh!

Anyway, I’m glad to finally have the time to blog, now that I’m on semester break. The last couple of weeks have been absolutely hellish, and during repertoire assessment week, I was just rehearsing and playing hours on end, trying to get things right. It was mainly for other people’s assessments as mine was the second out of the entire bunch so I already had it out of the way first thing on Tuesday morning. Somehow, sometime in my very very busy week, I managed to scribble out this poem in the space of five minutes or less in bed:

Fragile Contents

Can I give you my entire heart
place it in your palm
let your fingers trace
around its edge–

Can I entrust you my entire heart
place it in your care
let your will displace
me on the ledge–

Can I tell you my entire heart
though tainted, broke,
has long been yours;
an accident

please be sincere
not careful

I don’t know how I do stuff like that. When I write, it kind of just magically happens, so fast that I don’t know what I’ve written until I go back and read it afterwards. Also, I finally grew some balls drew up enough courage to put up some writing in the WRITING PAGE (or click on the page in the navigation at top of page). It’s taken me ages, but I think I’m going to try and keep putting stuff there, despite the largely personal nature of my writing – I guess I just got over it and thought, oh heck, why not. So if anyone ever reads anything, please do share your thoughts.

Also, I know I’ve probably regurgitated this topic a million times, but it’s a recurring theme lately, and this blog post has reignited the whole identity crisis once again (I have lots to say with regards to the blog post I linked, but I’ll go on that tangent another time). I suppose I’ve always been pretty torn on the idea of “art” in general. I’ve always thought that art is rather self-indulgent, and yet I can’t help but think of myself as an artist in general. Not just as a musician. Which, there in itself, is a tough topic to wrestle with. I know I’m a jazz student and that’s how a lot of people initially or primarily identify me as these days – because, you know, this is the age during which everyone becomes “defined” in an annoyingly large way by what degree they’re studying at university or whatever (which later in life turns into what job you have); but I’m really tired of the title of it and would rather just be known as a general creative, artistic person. Or, not even that, I’d rather just be known as me, and be attributed with artistic creativity and intellect. As I was just saying to the boy a couple of hours ago when we were walking his dog at the beach, I’m having a really hard time feeling focused on just jazz. I do love and enjoy it (despite complaining about how this is a very expensive and painful way of spending three years of my life), but at the same time I am hungry for so much MORE, all the time.

I write hungrily, lustily, as if all the words flowing out in black ink was fulfilling and feeding me in some way: rather than the idea that what I write is actually output, it actually feels like input. When I was younger, I read as if I was consuming something, and I could read very, very fast, yet somehow still retain what I was reading. But these days I’ve been reading at a much slower tempo. OCD habits and a shortage of time aside, the main reason and difference is that I feel like I am absorbing all these beautifully crafted sentences and letting them inspire ones of my own. I finally finished the Great Gatsby the other day, and it took me a few hours to read the last hundred pages of it at the boy’s house – the reason being, I felt like with every few sentences, my mind was forming new concepts of its own. I now seem incapable of just purely reading, instead I’m involuntarily analysing the damn thing as I go along. Wow, the choice of diction in that sentence. The style in which that was said and how it helps to portray what is being said. On and on. I can’t stop. It’s driving me insane. Which is also why I get so annoyed whenever the boy asks, “have you finished it yet?”. It pisses me off so bad. It’s like, ARGHHH when I do find the time, I can read fast, I just seem incapable of doing that right now because of how many channels what I’m reading is being processed through.

But back to what I was saying earlier. The other night I had a short chat online with a former teacher of mine, and for the zillionth time I got told “I had always thought you would be a lawyer”; and prior to that a friend had joked “but who’s going to handle my divorce?” – and once again a wrench was thrown into my system. My friend David and I were discussing last night about how we both miss the academic, analytical, use-your-brain-and-pick-things-to-pieces-from-every-possible-angle business that being a music student just really doesn’t quite fulfill. He’s a composition major overseas whilst I’m doing performance. He could have done med or anything else he wanted to, but stuck to his artistic “talent”. And what do I make of genuinely enjoying the boy’s practise law essay questions and wishing I had the academic means of answering them? I don’t know what by, but the academic side of my brain needs to be fed. More. And the jazzically (yes, I made that word up) creative parts of my brain needs a desperate top up of inspiration because I’m running dangerously low, if not empty already. I’m such a scatterbrained person that I need something really concentrated and direct to keep my attention – so how do I focus on an art form that is so… scattered? The rule is to “learn the changes, then forget them”, but my gosh that is far easier said than done. Just as I thought I had smothered this quarter-life crisis, it rears its ugly head in again. But one key thing I must point out is that this whole “what should I have done/did I do the right thing/what will I do after this” in reference to studying jazz instead of law, and whether I should be doing either, neither, or both of them has plagued my mind since last year – so I hope that clears up any confusion with people thinking that the boy has influenced any of this. If anything, I think he would raise an eyebrow if I ever told him, “right, I’m going overseas and studying law” after this.

In the meantime, I think I am going to rearrange my room a little (or at least tidy it) for a bit of freshness, and enjoy my mother’s quiche. I found these 4-month-old photos the other night and started craving quiche. A craving which my lovely mother was kind enough to cater to the very next day. Yum!

Something like a phenomena, baby, You’re something like a phenomena

It’s about to be my 20th birthday. I have mixed feelings about not being a teenager anymore, and it’s scary considering I was still 19 when I went to the supermarket this afternoon and once again didn’t get ID’d for buying alcohol! Earlier this evening, I went over to the boy’s house “for dinner”, thinking it was just going to be another fun but casual dinner. Turns out, they had cooked me a feast of lamb shanks (done superbly with probably the same recipe as mum, score!) and fresh brownies out of the oven with fancy ice cream on the side for dessert. It was such a sweet, sweet surprise, if I wasn’t so takenaback I probably would have jumped and given Donna a hug! I probably should have. Ahhhh. Anyway, I’m still in awe of how nice it was, to whip me up a hearty family meal to celebrate my birthday for me, when my family are away – I will never forget it. What a nice way to round of my teenage years.

Sooo… I decided to spend an afternoon (which turned into evening, which turned into all night) digging out old photos from my years of being a teenager. This is one of the weirdest things I’ve ever done because – in case you hadn’t noticed – I rarely post photos of myself. And when I do, it’s usually ones I’ve taken, or got other people to take under my strict strict instructions. So what is beyond that “Continue Reading” link is actually hundreds of photos (mostly of me) showing my transformation during the ages 14-19. There are gazillions more photos somewhere, but I don’t have access to mum’s stash of photos at the moment, so I also don’t have any one hand from when I was 13. Regardless, even if no one is that interested in what little-Amanda looked like, I had a LOT of fun doing this, recalling so many events and memories that I had long forgotten about. I’ve posted things in order of age, and almost in perfect chronological order, so be impressed. It’s a little funny turning 20, because in New Zealand it’s not a big deal like 18 or 21 is, but in Taiwan, 20 is a big deal. It’s like NZ’s 18th and 21st birthdays mashed together, sort of. To put it in perspective, I can’t renew my Taiwanese passport on my own without a parent’s signature until I turn 20 tomorrow. Which reminds me I really need to get onto it.

Looking back, I’ve obviously grown up a lot throughout my teenage years, but I’ve also stayed the same in more ways than I had expected. I’ve done a lot of things that I’m proud of, but also a lot of things that I’m not. But I’m pretty happy where I am right now, and I’m just trying to look towards the future optimistically. And if you know me at all, you’d know that I’m not generally an optimistic person. Like… how I have to spend 13 hour at uni tomorrow on my birthday… I’m sure it will turn out fine though. Also, the exhibition opened yesterday, and I’ll probably post the official photos in the next entry, but there are photos of the gallery at the bottom of this post!

Oh, and you may be surprised to find that I hardly look different at all.

Age 14:

Taken at the house I “grew up in”. I wish my hair was that long again.

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Call your office on the phone, You can say you won’t be coming home – You’re dancing vacations on

I know that lots of people who know me IRL read/browse through my blog, but I obviously don’t care who reads this. Yes, I’m airing dirty laundry online, but at least my clothes are all intact. I’m not going to become one of those facade-bloggers that only blog about the bright and cheery stuff in my life as if I’m living in utopia even though in reality, everything is hectic, fucked up, stressful, and makes no logical sense. I think… really, this blog post is about how apparently I have to constantly lose things that are important to me(?!!) In order to truly appreciate what I still retain, things and people that tend to slip under the radar but whom I wouldn’t be the same without.

In my last post I had said that something wasn’t right and was hoping that it would work out. Well it didn’t. Long story short, my “best friend” came over to my house and broke up with me as a friend. Complete with a bag full of my stuff. As if she were breaking up with some guy. Who the hell does that?! This is someone who I had held in tremendous regard, who was my closest confidant for the past year or two, and we did and shared everything with one another. I guess not anymore.

I thought it was a given that when people cease being friends that they either have some kind of huge falling out, or they end up drifting apart. No one I know of has ever heard of someone ending a friendship like how you would break up with a lover.

I guess I was wrong, and once again placed trust and faith in people who ultimately let me down. Before anyone even tries to say “maybe she’ll come around” – no, she won’t. She’s too proud and stubborn for that shit, and I’m too dead-set on my own life now to waste precious time and energy hoping. Come on – who gets over a friend just like that?! And what’s wrong with becoming more casual friends that occasionally hang out and usually don’t speak at all? Rather than completely annihilating the whole friendship as if it was a complete dream based on bullshit. It’s not the fact that it’s happened that bugged me most, its the way it happened, and the stupid series of events that led up to it. And yes, it’s a long story, but I’m not leaving anything important out – there was no great life-changing catalyst that caused this. None that warrants this emotionally-immature of a response anyway. The motto I tend to live by is that if something’s wrong, you try and fix it. And if you can’t fix it, then you live with it, hopefully in lesser doses. I’d always been envious of the way how she’s been so (relatively) sheltered both physically and emotionally, and she’s even said in the past how she can’t imagine having gone through and having to deal with half the things I have, and I’m not even 20 yet. I was envious because sometimes I would think, wouldn’t it be so great if I were a little more ignorant, suffered less pain, and a whole lot more innocent because of it? People have said that all those things have made me who I am today, and I wouldn’t change the things I’ve learnt, but now I’m not envious of being sheltered anymore. I’ve been through worse fights, yell-fests, public shaming and humiliations due to arguments/conflict/friction with friends before… but the most important people that I’m closest to have stuck by me through thick and thin regardless of the wrongs we had done, and the things we said in voices too loud, out of spite or the spur of the angry moment. I just kind of feel sorry for both of us now – her for being cruel and cold and her inability to care; and me for caring, wondering who will have to throw her “surprise 21st birthday party” in six months’ time, for giving a shit, and all the hurt and pain that comes with it…

All of the frustration, hurt and anger aside though, it’s just a pity really – all the things we have in common and both enjoy are still there. The things we agree and disagree on are just the same. I don’t know why it had to be so melodramatic. It feels like, “boo hoo Amanda, tough shit that you care and I don’t give two shits”. She said she knows it’s cruel, but my response to that was “don’t you dare try to pretend that you know how inhumane this is”. Don’t get me wrong, she was an amazing friend while it lasted. But honestly, how do you purge yourself of a former best friend? Am I supposed to rip a few things off my wall now, because they were from or relating to her? I mean, WHAT THE FUCK.

Irrelevantly, I’m suddenly really glad (don’t take this the wrong way) that I’m completely heterosexual, with no chance of ever striking up a same-sex relationship. I can’t imagine how badly female lovers would treat each other! As I was saying to the boy earlier tonight, the dumb questions that females ask because they need reassurance, urgh. Anyway, I’ve fucking had it with losing best friends. Up until this broke the record, what with being 2011, I’ve lost one every other year of my life since 2002 (04, 06, 08, ’10). Just as I was getting my hopes up that for once that someone who hates so much the “atrocious things girls do to each other”, wouldn’t be the same – well apparently she is capable of the exact same, if not worse crime.

On a compleeetely different note, aren’t these the cutest things to receive for Easter? “Charlie the Easter Chick” was from the boy, and the delightfully cute mini eggs are from his mum. I’m pleasantly surprised and proud of myself for having managed to savour them over a week, rather than devouring them all in one sitting.

Last night the boy and I went to his friend’s house for a bit of a gathering as three of his friends had returned from studying out of town and abroad. Whilst most of us were having fun chucking down junk food and beers with the (unneeded) aid of drinking games, two of them decided to be a bit on the anti-social side, and watched the royal wedding instead. A bit surprising, really. I don’t hold much interest otherwise, but I’m glad that Middleton’s dress was by McQueen. It was executed magnificently.

As a side note, it was interesting to see how people responded to the “quote” at the end of my last blog post. Interesting, because just as I had predicted, people took what it was saying far more seriously and thought about it a bit more, because I had quoted it rather than just put it as a paragraph in my post. Basically, I quoted myself. I know the first line sounds a bit “off”, but it’s all a bit out of context and things relating to it were taken out, so that’s why.

“Strength is Happiness. Strength is itself victory. In weakness and cowardice there is no happiness. When you wage a struggle, you might win or you might lose. But regardless of the short-term outcome, the very fact of your continuing to struggle is proof of your victory as a human being.” – Daisaku Ikeda

You seem very well, things look peaceful. I’m not quite as well, I thought you should know

Sometimes, some things just aren’t okay. And don’t feel okay. And… well they just aren’t okay. And when there’s nothing more you can do about it, when you’ve done your very best according to you and everyone else you can find solace in, then what are you supposed to do and feel from here? I hate that so many things are great in my life right now, but it seems that fate will never let all external factors be okay with me. I know, I know, life’s not meant to easy. Neither are friendships and relationships with everyone and anyone in life – but it just seems like there always has to be something wrong in my life. When it wasn’t drama with one friend, it was drama with another friend, or drama with classes, teachers, classmates, drama on the sports team, drama in the music ensembles, drama in the family (okay, that never seems to and I know will never go away, but it at least has its calms), drama with boys, girls, more boys and more girls, drama oh drama drama drama, all the time. And it sucks so bad when it’s with someone so close to me, who I so badly want to talk to, hang out with all the time, and it’s not reciprocated. In this post from back in September of last year, I expressed the pains of breaking up with a former best friend, and how it feels like – if not worse – than breaking up a romantic relationship. It’s different of course, but you know. Anyway, some really messed up and traumatic thing from about 15 or 16 years ago unwittingly surfaced for me recently, and I’ve finally managed to deal with it head-on… and afterwards it just made me think, gosh, the things I really want to say, and the people I wish I could tell them to right now – the shoulder that I really need… isn’t there.

I was feeling really shitty and end-of-mid-semester-break-blue today, and got really cheered up by the surprise revelation that classes don’t resume on Tuesday as I had thought they were – classes actually don’t start until Wednesday! I was all frantic and “WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME?!!!” to the couple of people I was txting who replied with “I thought you knew”-type responses, but heck it made my day. Also, instead of getting anything legitimate done (okay, I did some more writing, but that’s not uni-work, thus not “legitimate”), I devoured three films with mum today. One was a Chinese film which at first seemed like commentary on life, romance, priorities, marriage, etc – but with a really warped and twisted sense of humour – but then it ended up really depressing towards the end when someone died of cancer and decided to hold their funeral while they were still alive so that they could attend it. I don’t know if there’s a proper name for when they do that, instead of an uhh “funeral”. And the latter film was Robin Hood. You know, the one with Russel Crowe, which I had largely questioned about the casting of, and was initially skeptical about but it ended up being enjoyable enough and wasn’t quite as the mother and I had expected it to play out as.

I’ve had a huge up-and-down of a long weekend, starting on Thursday night when the boy and I decided we were going to make it an overtly indulgent and decadent evening of fine dining and wining at home. The highlight of dinner was my chicken cordon bleu with pesto, and my god we drank so much wine that night that even with the copious amounts of food, I was drunk enough to doze off whilst watching Boston Legal – and it’s my all-time favourite, funniest show, so that’s saying a lot. The wines were a mix of his 21st birthday presents and leftover party wine, plus some Villa Maria that I had bought on sale ages ago that’s been stashed at the back of our pantry. Neither of us are habitual wine drinkers, but we’d been talking about it for sometime now, and watching the film Sideways the other night had helped to kick it off. Four bottles that night. Or technically three and a half. Not a bad effort. It was fun to mix and match up Riesling, Chardonnay, Sav Blanc/Pinot Gris (and also some Merlot) to see which best matched what food.

I’m hungry, just looking at this now.

A lot of capsicum. I had  kiiinda forgotten how expensive they were, but my god I love capsicums. Or as Americans call it, bell peppers.


Brock’s Italiano salami – my favourite – and brie. Another favourite of mine. Ahh!


These photos were all taken before I got too “happy”…

Another night later, another bottle of wine.

So many calories to burn off, but hockey training is getting tougher, and to make things worse, a fitness regime is also kicking in. But we are still young and must live close to the edge while we still can. Before we are too self-important, and too heavy with weights too dear to bear the risk of toeing the edge. And I will leave this post with this:

“Honestly, honesty never gets you everywhere. It may get you a lot of places, likewise your pretty face and ratio between your waist and hips, and those glorious breasts of yours that both sexes visually devour. But you hate that you can’t take any credit for how you look, so you feel more and more empty every time someone does a double take at you, or when strangers cross the room just to meet you. Because all they like thus far is to look at you, and maybe some of them like to hope that there is more to you… but alas, most often there isn’t much to them either so you’ve learnt to not get your hopes up. You need to learn what it’s like to look forward to something again, to be so excited for something that you’re counting down the days, hours and minutes as if nothing further down the line matters. You need to learn what it’s like to be free and young again. And worst but most of all, you need to remind yourself that you are indeed still young.”

Oh, and I ended up finishing Looking For Alaska the day after I started it, and am back to The Great Gatsby. Hopefully reading stays on track as my life starts to veer again.

This is more than I can take, I fear my heart will burst or break. If there’s a thing as too much joy, I will be taken away

I’m still completely physically shattered from the events of yesterday, so this is going to be a very image-heavy post. So yesterday I finally played my first game of winter hockey since 2009! The good news is, we won 5-nil and our captain got a hat trick. The bad news is that after five (if not more) shots on goal, I didn’t manage to get a single one in – one flew wide and the rest somehow narrowly got away or were saved, ahhh! And the worst catch was, it was pouring down with torrential rain. It was raining so hard that I had to constantly wring water out of my shirt and skirt so that it wouldn’t stick to me as much whilst I was running. On top of that, it’s obviously not the easiest thing in the world to hold onto, as well as exert force with a hockey stick, without losing grip of it. I put in a lot of reverse hits at the goal, although they weren’t flying high enough towards the preferred far corner, but for now I’m just really happy that I executed them all and didn’t skin my knees too badly in the process. New turf is skin’s worst enemy!

The rest of post and photos follow after the cut off. Photos courtesy of mum, from far far away at the top of the spectator stands where it was nicely sheltered, but you can see on some of the photos just how hard it was raining the whole time. In chronological order (I played as either Centre Forward or Left Wing throughout the whole game, in the #6 shirt):

I have no idea why or how my legs and feet look really awkward there.

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