Being the weird kid

Ten years after primary school, I returned to (insert school name) for my sister's graduation and in so doing unintentionally entered nostalgia lane. It sounds magical, reminiscing about a time of innocence and playfulness trying to conquer the game of hee (US: Tag. UK: Tip/Tig) and memorising hand-games. In some ways, it was magical but mainly, I wish I had stayed home and binge-watched Justice League instead. I'm sure everyone would agree that learning about ourselves and how we fit into society wasn't so easy during our school days. For me, it was a nightmare because while I had an amazing circle of friends, I felt that I still didn't really fit in.

Maybe a lot of us felt that way, I don't know but I didn't just feel that way. I was fortunate enough to have people tell me repeatedly about how I didn't fit in.  I was weird. Weird wasn't the only word being used but it probably was the most favourable. 

I didn't really help my case. I couldn't help that I was scrawny but throw in socially awkward with a tendency to transform into a hyper goofball at random moments and you have yourself a walking tragedy. Added to that when you're biracial, there are identity issues you're still trying to sort out without having other people trying to tell you who you are. 

Being quirky and awkward was a huge disadvantage because I was always missing social cues and it put people off who were trying to interact with me.  As fate would have it, my one great talent was not in sports or music or dance. Nope. I had to be a writer. 

I was the person whose head was always in the clouds. Talking to oneself or to pigeons tend to put people off.

So what's my blog about today? It's going to be weird but here it is:

I'm not sure how or when it happened but suddenly, being weird and awkward was the cool thing to be. 

You have people on their Instagram posts, Facebook posts, Youtube videos bragging about how weird they are. You have celebrities like Taylor Swift, Jennifer Lawrence, Emma Stone and Amy Schumer as representatives of weirdness and awkwardness. 

My favourite idol of awesomeness and weirdness is Lilly Singh, a well known Youtube Celebrity with the username Superwoman. It's the in-thing. "My friends and I are super weird." "Me and my weird friends LOL"

Is this awesome or what!? I am finally accepted into the community!! Right!? Right?!

No.

It's funny actually. The very same people that love to hashtag about their weirdness seem to find less to celebrate about it when its thrown back at people like me. 

Am I weird? I've been told I am and not always in nice ways.

So what's being weird really mean? Everyone probably feels weird some time in their life. We all feel that we're different in some way. We all feel sometimes that we stand out and embrace artists like Lady Gaga to remind ourselves that it's okay. Art is usually the only way we can make people really appreciate difference and the beauty of diversity. There's this idea that weird people are more "deep"or "profound" or "intense".  Being unique really is something to be proud of and something we all share but at the end of the day, some of us are just too damn different.

Here's a random picture of Celine Dion

I don't want to say, "you're not really weird unless this, this and this" because there are no requisites for being weird. It's actually that I don't meet requisites for the norm that I'm weird in the first place. It can be painful sometimes to be different from others, tolerating microagressions or even bullying and other times its empowering because who else brings about change but weird people? People who are thought to be crazy. People who don't fit in. People who can't be put into a box.

I've never been cool and as someone who is still considered "weird" it still isn't cool. It doesn't make me better than anyone or worse. It makes me, me. 

This whole diverse inter-sectional crazy world is full of people we won't be able to "get" and in the same way, we all will feel like we're at the other end of the confusion some time in our life. Take it from someone who always feels like that.....try not to brag about your weirdness when you're not willing to accept the same in others.

So here's to all you crazy kids out there reading this weird blog, YOU'RE AWESSSOMEEEEEEE.

Embrace the fro, Nesian!

Note that the following article is a rant session and was inspired by real-life experiences. 

I'm not sure which beauty standard it is that alienates a lot of women and men from owning up to their gorgeous humidity-sensitive ball of frizz- "The Fro".

From Maybelline commercial-like hair to a shiny bald that reflects better than a newly varnished mahogany antique table, if you were born that way, then surely you have every right to flaunt it. It's a pity that some of our Nesian brothers and sisters try desperately to be rid of their fro.

There's nothing that should make us feel more royal than our very own natural tiara.  Now don't get me wrong, there's nothing wrong with straightening, perming or curling your hair. I straighten mine for Occupational Health and Safety (OHS) reasons but it does become a little annoying that I get questioned if I happen to have a fro.

It's always the same questions and the same statements. Why is your hair so bushy? Boy, you have so much hair. Your hair is so big. What's up with your hair? Is it alive? Does it house citizens of Liliput? That looks like kutu nation in there. Your hair is crazy. Don't you tie your hair? Why don't you tie your hair? Oh, did you lose your hair tie?

Really?? It's much worse when it comes from someone who naturally, would have curly or frizzy hair. Do these people think they inherited their gel over-dosed hair from their fore-fathers? Sorry folks, but back then clothing irons were used for clothes....only. 

We only have to look at albums from the '90s and earlier to see that it was quite popular and normal for our women AND men to be spotting fros as high and crooked as the Leaning Tower of Pisa. Actually, it's pretty sad that not many of our women in the cities keep their bui ni ga.

I hear a lot of things about afros being untidy, unmanageable, ugly.....Why are we bowing to beauty ideals that are going to change in a decade? Sure there are a lot of lists floating around online about the burdens we afro citizens must face, but can we focus our attention to the awesomeness that we project through our majestic gravity-defying hair. 

You don't need a hair tie! You don't have to bother with escaped tendrils of hair and having to retie your hair. 

You're free!!

Save money on those weaves and expensive hair relaxers.

Make your own fashion statement.

Embrace that fro, Nesian!!

Musings of A Journo Apprentice: Racism: Alive and well

Musings of A Journo Apprentice: Racism: Alive and well: We're not strangers to the concept of racism here in Fiji. We always strive for diversity and peace in our multicultural society but rac...

Keep up-to-date on book to film adaptations

It's a pity that cobwebs and dust are starting to collect around this blog but I can't help that I've been too busy with university. I can barely keep my e-portfolio updated, much less my student blog, with everything that's been going on. My online novel, Warrior Vula, hasn't progressed past Chapter 1 and Chapter 2 is sitting as a half-written blog draft.
Recently though, my Goodreads activity has started to pick up and I'm contemplating starting up a book-news blog or vlog on youtube. I know, my plate is piled higher than Mount Everest, but it's something that's had my interest for a while (two days).
As it is, I don't have much time on my hands to be keeping a project like this alive but I'm still pondering on how I can make it work. I've started up a Goodreads group called Goodreads Imagination where I'm starting up this project for fellow book nerds like myself.
The group keeps fans and members up to date with film adaptations of novels, especially best-sellers.
I might change Random Writings into a book review blog or book news blog.
Still not sure.
Maybe start up a vlog?

Well, these are all just projects I've lined up. Stay tuned in case I do make a return to the blogging world.

They're Out There...Everywhere

It was a chilly day and many had piled on warm clothing to combat the shivering whispers of the wind. Not many students loitered the corridors considering how early and cold the morning was. I was making my way down some steps towards the newsroom, having just been browsing the supermarket vainly for something affordable to buy. Noodles was available but a taunting thought from high school reminded me of the words of a girl, "It'll dry up your uterus if you have too much." Tin fish too, I passed because I hadn't with me a knife or can opener. Snacks would have only made me thirsty and I had enough problems as it was to worry about. There was nothing except some fruits that I did not bother with.
Sorry, I've gone a bit off topic.
Anyway, I was returning to the newsroom both hungry and meters away from poverty. There was a girl not far off who I noticed had stopped mid-stride, making me pause a bit in confusion. Then I noticed her eyes go wide as if a ghost had suddenly appeared before her. She clutched her chest and I panicked, wondering if I was witnessing a heart-attack. Was it a seizure? A panic attack?
I wasn't sure and I was so hopelessly lacking in any first-aid training that I hesitated, moving only one step ahead. My mind raced through every possible scenario that this was a dire emergency and despite my lack of training, I was going to save this girl.
I heard her loud gasp and the way she began to shake in what I would have guessed was a bout of fits or definitely a seizure. This was it. I had to do something.
Her gaze was focused somewhere behind me and she let out a shrill squeal that I familiarized with a rodent's mating call. It pierced the quiet of the morning and I knew, by now the campus would know someone was having a seizure. Help should be on it's way. The security nearby should have heard by now. Her shrill scream rose in volume and it was suddenly joined by another that I quickly glanced around worried that a group of male rodents in heat were responding.
No. I was wrong.
It was another girl standing behind me who was suffering the same symptoms as girl number one. With horror, I realized this thing might be contagious. A virus!
How then, did it jump me?
I saw her move, so quickly that I stumbled trying to get out of her way. After all that time denying The Walking Dead, I was witness to the surreal experience of running into zombies.
They ran towards each other, arms out-stretched and I briefly noted how much they would resemble airplanes if they'd gone with a more guttural pitch.
Then they threw their arms around each other while simultaneously jumping to which I concluded was a result of how cold the weather was.
They had reached each other, safe, unharmed and now with a higher body temperature than a few seconds ago. Why were they still screaming?
I was aware then, that I was still standing there gawking at them. Awkwardly, I moved to the newsroom, hoping they wouldn't notice me and keeping my distance.
I didn't have to worry.
They saw nothing else but each other. Out of breath from the rodent mating call and aeroplane run.
Then one of spoke.
"Mann, nish nish ga nomu profile pic, lewa."
I bolted into the safety of the newsroom, my mind reeling from what I just heard.
I was safe. Away from those zombies. Away from their guttural slaughter of the indigenous language.
I knew then, what I had to do. I was on a mission...
I have to find out what plagued them before it spreads.....I have to make people aware.
They're out there...in the dark.

Note: Not meant to be offensive to anyone. Just craving a bit of need for blogging.

My New Blog

www.journolocks.blogspot.com

Guys please pop by, like and comment!!!!!!

Random Writings will always be my baby but I've got to start up a blog that is "professional" and talks about the serious stuff I've otherwise avoided here

The Car Horn

The image below depicts a car horn.

I do not own this image.

Car horns play a major part of the daily life in the city. The loud blaring sound emitted by these devices dominate the environment; mainly around the Suva bus stand.

95% of motorists who use them are a-holes while the other 5% accounts for the use of motor horns to signal trouble and for traffic purposes.

According to the Conball University, the word "horn" was derived from the colloquial English term "horny" where studies have shown that the car horn is culturally used as a mating call when an attractive member of the opposite sex appears by the road side. This is optionally followed by either a howl or whistle by the horn user.

The horn has proven to be the most unsuccessful courting ritual existent among all other human cultures of the world. This can be attributed to the suddenness of the loud beep that the car-horn admits or the pervy shit-eating-grin held by the horn user.

In other cultures, the car-horn is a means of time-travel. The car-horn is called upon when the horn user is late to his/her destination. It is also used in traffic-jams to magically transport horn users to their destination faster.

These two uses listed above purport to the 95% of horn users.

5% of horn users use the horn as a means of warning to other motorists in case of a traffic violation or road incidents.