June 22, 2010 § 5 Comments
Meet Tony Stonem. Popular, intelligent, handsome, the boy all teachers and parents love, the choir boy. Oh, and he’s a sociopath too. Tony likes to fuck around with everyone around him, especially his best friend and his girlfriend. You know the ones who actually tolerate him and still love him? Yeah, them. Tony is a prick. No lie. Sir Douchebaggery himself. His capacity to emotionally abuse people should be considered a talent. And just when you start to hate him. No, just when you start to hate him MORE, he turns around and does something that makes you just want to hold him as you weep together *sigh* I think everyone falls for Tony at some point. My moment came when Effy overdosed, and those cunts were trying to make him sleep with her. His pain was tangible, you know? Ah, Tony…
Then in the finale of season 1, Tony seems to finally be growing up. He’s talking to Michelle on the phone and tells her he loves her. TONY STONEM! Oh, but then he gets hit by a bus. Fun.
Change. It’s a wonderful thing. You know how subatomic particles don’t obey physical laws? They act according to chance, chaos, coincidence. They run into each other in the middle of the universe somewhere and BANG! Energy. Well, it’s the same as that. That’s the great thing about the universe – it’s unpredictable. That’s why it’s so much fun.
Season 2 is tough. Tony’s basically forgotten everything about anything. The break between seasons lets us skip passed all the primary healing that he needs to go through, but his pain isn’t in any way lessened. He needs to start from scratch and it isn’t easy. Suddenly, the boy wonder has lost everything. His friends aren’t as present as they should be (and who can really blame them? It’s tough), he can’t remember his girlfriend, he can’t even write his NAME. But you know what? It makes for a much better Tony. Some aspects of his character don’t change, but we heart this Tony. We really do 🙂
Also, how hot was it when he fucked that girl at the uni? Rawr!
A wise man once said, life moves pretty fast. If you dont stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it…and that would be a shame.
I’m not going to go fully into everyones’ character. This is just basic. So do yourself a favour and go watch Skins. You want to. Trust me.
June 22, 2010 § 5 Comments
And so once again, I over-estimated the amount of free time I have. Just like with my attempt to take the challenge to write 250 words a day, my short-lived joining of NaBloPoMo, I bit off more than I could chew thinking I could possibly write just one long post and that would be it. Truth is, even though I swear I spend most of my time procrastinating and/or sleeping, I just DON’T have time. I think uni has officially already been given the title as the busiest period of my life…so far 🙂 Anyway, I decided to break up the one long post into several shorter posts. Makes more sense.
Oh lord, I don’t even know where to start. I’m obsessed with Skins. OBSESSED. I found it on one night when I couldn’t sleep. I think I was 16 then, or just about to turn 16 anyway. It was the 2nd episode. I’ve watched it a countless number of times since then. It’s so beautiful and honest and raw. And grey. Because nothing is black and white. You simultaneously love and hate everyone. It’s magic.
Okay, basics – Skins is a British drama that follows the lives of form 5 and 6 students. Originally created by Bryan Elsley and Jamie Brittain – father and son. It’s been really popular because everyone who works on it is really young – the writers, the cast, the producers, the directors, everyone – and because it’s so REAL and gritty. So far, there’ve been 2 Skins generations, and apparently there’ll be one more. Each generation gets 2 seasons. Season 3 and 4 were interesting and shocking sometimes, and by all means watch them, but I think any true Skins fan will agree that season 1 and 2 were simply insanely beautiful. So I’m going to focus on the first generation.
Okay, quick confession – that’s an assumption. I’ve watched season 1 to 3, but I haven’t watched 4. I hear it’s the highest rated so far though, so maybe not ALL Skins fans agree that the first generation was the best 😛
They are also planning on taking Skins (or have they already..?) to the American screens. It’s supposed to be set in Baltimore. Seeing as practically every attempt at Americanizing Brit stuff ends with its senseless massacre, Mr. MTV, please spare us just this once? I don’t think I believe your promise to make it not suck.
June 15, 2010 § 7 Comments
So. I just decided to check out my blog rating here because I like cheap thrills and was shocked to find out that it’s RESTRICTED. Really..? Well, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle! Apparently it got that rating because it contains the words death, suicide, sex, knife and torture. Well, first of all, I don’t recall writing the word ‘knife’ in any of my posts so I’m really suspecting this site, but even if I did, are these really the parameters that are used to rate content?? What if my blog was discouraging suicide especially by stabbing yourself with a knife because your death will torture the people close to you? Also, don’t use sex as a method of escapism. Will my blog still be rated R? It all seems kinda stupid to me. Blaming the media for being too lazy to educate your children properly on right and wrong.
And so my next post is going to be about Skins. I’ve been meaning to write it for a while, and now I’m really inspired to since it’s also generally rated R 🙂 If you haven’t watched it yet, and you plan to, don’t read my next post – lots and lots of spoilers. Also, if you feel it’ll ‘offend your delicate sensibilities’, don’t bother 😛
Also, I decided to display the rating on my blog. So now you know.
May 23, 2010 § 9 Comments
In the midst of life we are in death. Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust.
(Book of Common Prayer, The Burial of the Dead, First Anthem.)
Death leaves a wound that never quite heals. You can stitch it up, you can cover it with a bandaid, but it’s somehow always fresh, torn open by a sound, an image, a smell, a thought…a memory. That’s not necessarily a bad thing. Some people may let the wound fester and never clean it and end up with a stinking pus-filled sore, but you can also accept that the wound will always be a part of you, and occassionaly fondly remember the body part that was once there and is now no more.
A year ago today, my sister lost one of her best friends, Esther, to cancer. They had been classmates all through high school, and then went on to medical school together and four of these best friends decided to move in together. I don’t know if you’ve ever lived with someone who you didn’t HAVE to live with (i.e. family)? It’s not easy. You have to adjust to someone else’s habits, you have to learn to be accommodating, you have to be accepting. I don’t know how they did it, but they all lived quite happily together. First year medical school is high stress. Then you go on to second year where not all the subjects you take are examinable that year, and you suddenly have a lot of free time on your hands. So my sister couldn’t understand why, despite all the time they had to just chill, Esther was still missing quite a number of classes. The thing is, she never told anyone she was feeling unwell and my sister chalked it up to laziness (she told me later how guilty she felt about that). Esther only finally admitted to being unwell when the physical manifestations of it couldn’t be ignored any more (her stomach had swollen and she looked pregnant), and even then, getting her to agree to a doctor’s appointment was a battle. The doctor told her it was a cyst and would have to be removed in surgery, and since there didn’t seem to be any real rush, her parents told her to wait until she was done with her exams. When she finally went for the surgery, they found it was cancer, so they removed what they could but ‘didn’t get all of it’.
I remember no one even told me it was cancer. I mean, I knew she was sick, but it was only when my mum let slip that Esther was going for chemo did it hit me how serious this all was.
Now the thing with cancer is it’s not just like you’re here today, gone tomorrow. No. It lays waste to your body until you become a skeleton of what you once were. It tests your faith in humanity, and your faith in God. It gives you hope, and then yanks it away from you again so suddenly that you’re left stunned. Esther was in and out of hospital, and at one point things were looking much better. The cancer had apparently shrunk and they were going to operate to remove the remaining bits. When they opened her up again, they discovered that nah, it had actually spread, and oh yay, we have to perform a hysterectomy on this 20 year old girl who loves kids. There were trips to South Africa, and trials of new drugs (“We heard that this worked for someone-we-know’s someone’s someone”), and an endless number of other hardships. And it was rough, to say the least.
Esther’s parents live in another country altogether, and though they would try to come down as much as possible, they couldn’t exactly just up and leave their jobs when they have so many children to support (six? seven?), all except one being in university, and a hospital bill that could make you weep. And so my sister and 3 others became her family. They were the ones who were let in the hospital at odd hours, the ones who slept in a chair through the night so that she wouldn’t be alone, the ones she asked for when she was so sick that she couldn’t talk, couldn’t move, couldn’t bare to be seen. And they sat with her, laughed with her, held her, texted her jokes at random hours, brought her music, threw her a birthday party in the hospital, and most of all, loved her.
I learned a lot from Esther, my sister and her friends. I learned what friendship means, I learned about selflessness, I learned to always ALWAYS fully appreciate the moments of joy you have in life regardless of how fleeting they are. This girl underwent the worst possible torture I can imagine, and still was the most positive person. I’m not saying she didn’t have her dark moments of anger, despair, desolation, but she remained a light in the lives of those around her.
On the 23rd of May 2009, Esther passed on. My sister saw her the day before, and Esther held on until her mother arrived (she was flying back home) before she finally let go. Even during her last hours, she was still selfless enough to give her mother a final gift of seeing her alive one last time.
I write this in tribute of Esther. It may not mean much to anyone, but she’ll always be a saint. Because this is written anonymously, it’s not meant to provide comfort to anyone, I’m simply honouring her memory. And she deserves to be honoured.
And I write this in tribute of my sister who, regardless of how we may not address emotions while together, will always be my role model, and my living breathing guardian angel. And the fact that she regards herself as the farthest thing from that, only makes me love her more.
And though I never mentioned his role in all this, I write this in tribute of my father. The greatest man I’ve ever known and will ever have the honour of knowing. To go into everything he did for Esther, her parents and my sister would take more time than I have. But I acknowledge that I have the greatest family, and I would give my life for any one of them. Any time. I’m blessed 🙂
Death is never easy, even when it’s inevitable. I can only hope there’s an after-life. There has to be a point to all this, right? After all, dying is the day worth living for (never thought I’d one day quote The Pirates of the Caribbean!), right?
We’re all going to die. So regardless of how cliché this may sound, get out there and LIVE!! I fully intend to.
One short sleep past, we wake eternally, and Death shall be sitting in the kitchen in his underwear at three in the morning, doing last week’s crossword puzzle (The Time Traveler’s Wife)
I read this once in one of the newspapers, and I figured I’d share it because it makes so much sense to me:
Life should NOT be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in an attractive and well-preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways – glass of wine in one hand, chocolate in the other, body thoroughly used up, totally worn out and screaming, “WOO HOO, what a ride!”
Or as Michelle put it so eloquently when talking about Chris after he died (if you don’t know what I’m referring to, please be ashamed of yourself and find a way to watch Skins – the first generation. It’s poetry and magic on screen): “He said, ‘Fuck it, I’ll do it my way and the people that love me will understand why I’m doing it because they love me. Fuck it’.”
Death, be not proud, you stupid motherfucker.