226 - Not knowing the difference between 'unconscious' and 'subconscious'

I'm sorry if I sound like an English/psychology professor, but this is a mistake that really annoys me and I come across more frequently than I would expect. The difference between the words 'unconscious' and 'subconscious' is actually not that difficult to decipher if you just think about it and recall the meanings of the prefixes un- and sub-.

un- implies 'not', 'the opposite form', 'the reversed action', and/or 'deprived of'. This can be seen in words like 'uncooked', 'unknowable', 'unassuming' and 'untidiness'. So the adjective, 'unconscious', means the inability to recollect information to the conscious mind. It is not defined primarily as the notion of being 'knocked out'. The man who suffered a traumatic brain injury and entered a comatose state can be described as unconscious, because while he lies there, unresponsive to external stimuli as he is, he cannot mentally recall any information, because he is not awake to consciously share it. If he were to wake up, he might still not remember what happened to him as the trauma clouds his memory and represses the facts. Although he is awake, he would still be termed as 'unconscious' of the information in question. The term 'the unconscious mind', as applied by Freud, Nietzsche and other 19th-century philosophers, can encompass not only the memories of trauma, but also simple untraumatic memories, desires and logical thinking that all remain far outside the conscious mind. We cannot 'pick it out' of our heads, even if we try really, really hard.

sub- means 'under', as in 'subway', 'subcategory' and 'submarine'. So the 'subconscious' is the collection of information that lies just beneath the conscious mind. Things like your full name, your password, your phone number, your e-mail address and your bank details are part of your subconscious mind. Unless you're filling out a form or talking to another person that asks for such information, this information is not consciously being perused, but subconsciously retained in your mind until you should need to 'pluck it out' for your conscious mind to ponder.

So say we're talking about the story of Hansel and Gretel. Now you're consciously thinking about it. But the fact that you can easily recall the tale of two children, the breadcrumbs and the witch demonstrates how that information is in your subconscious mind.

If I were to ask you how you first came to know that fairytale, did someone tell you that story, or did you read it, then that would prove to be a bit more difficult, wouldn't you say? This information therefore lies in the unconscious.

Capiche?

225 - Not showering for days

Today, for some reason, I seem to be a magnet for filthy slatterns who do not shower. Since I woke up this morning, I have seen nine slobs - oh, wait a minute, that's the incorrect verb - what I mean to say is, on nine different occasions, I smelled particular stenches, looked up, and then found slobs present before my eyes.

Nine times, I've seen long, slick hair sweeped backwards carelessly behind a head all greased up by the owner's own natural oils, and if you were to look down in search of comfort, you would unsuccessfully find instead, moisture, soil, and God knows what excrement, darkening the shade of denim blue at the ankle hemlines, and should you wish to look back up again, you will regrettably observe a great abundance of earwax, shades of yellow and orange, formally watery, initially runny enough to ooze down to the mouth of the ear canal, but on exposure to the air, now dried and viscous enough to adhere to the rim of the concha and remain there as an unslightly spectacle for those unfortunate enough to have caught a glimpse of it, and assuming you draw your eyes downwards again to avoid further analysis of his aural secretions, you will discover sweaty, clammy hands, with nails fraught with rubber shavings-like clumps of dirt, and finally, on the occasion you may look upwards at his face once more, in some morbidly humorous way, for a fifth demonstration of sickly squalor, you will notice a horrifying dentition, teeth ruined by poor oral hygiene and persistent nicotine smoking, yellow like Dijon mustard, reeking a breath reminiscent of grandpa when he used to lean towards you to tell you one of his most valued secrets.

I swear one of them even smelled like vinegar - his sweat was so old and musty that it stank like expired milk, reeked of rotten eggs, funked like decaying meat, the pH level decreased so low that it was caustic, unbearable for me to even stay near him for ten seconds longer.

I'm not asking that people shower everyday like I do... I'm not even offering my hygienical recommendation. If you smell bad, take a shower, because you're upsetting one of my senses, in fact the one that gets disturbed the least, which makes the crime all the more depraved. Otherwise, please, do us all a favor, and don't leave the house at all.

224 - Hating things "with a passion"

What does "I hate calculus with a passion" even mean?

If by passion, you mean intense hatred - abhorrence so strong you want to crucify it (as in the Passion of Jesus Christ) - then you're just really weird, because as we all know, you cannot kill calculus by nailing it to a cross. What - you're going to hammer a couple of integration questions to a crucifix and stand it up atop a hill?

I don't think so.

You can't simply just say "I hate maths", full-stop? What's wrong with just saying "I hate maths"?

You're pretty much undermining the word hate... You're saying that the word hate is not good enough for you, it does not fully articulate the vehemence you experience. I personally think that the word hate works fine on its own. There's no need for the addition of such nonsense to emphasize. I hate the phrase "with a passion", with a passion!

223 - Being noisy while I'm blogging

I'm writing this post to the sound of Santana's Nothing At All. Not that it isn't great, but it pretty much distracted me so much as I was trying to type what I originally wanted to type. I'm sitting in a computer room here at university, because my laptop hasn't been working for the past few days. This computer room is so great because the lights are always on, the internet access is free, there are no restrictions on online games or anything, and it's always very peaceful and quiet...

...between the hours of 10pm and 6am.

At 6am, the cleaner lady comes along, and I don't know what she's doing, but she makes a lot of noise for something like six hours non-stop. She's always pushing the vacuum cleaner with wheels around, or her little trolley thing that holds her brooms and mops and cleaning stuff, and it rattles inside the trolley, and it feels like she's cleaning the place again and again and again and again. After noon, it's then around ten hours of students coming in and out, talking on their phones, talking to each other, grumbling in frustration at their computers, stomping, coughing, sneezing, ruffling through their bags...

...and I can't bloody concentrate on my blogging during these hours. And right now, this doofus two rows in front of me thinks it's cool to play music loudly. What if I was to watch my American Idol episodes loudly, huh? It's not fair.

Okay, it's Santana, but even though it's good taste, I can't concentrate in the presence of any noise. I just can't.

There are also two guys seated on my right that are chatting about cars. One guy appreciates Lambourghinis for their design, but prefers Ferraris as it suits his personality. The other guy's favorite brand is the Maserati.

If you ask me, my favorite brand of car is Shutthehellup. I can't blog properly, damn it!

222 - Running into football posts

If someone were to ask me what was the funniest thing I've ever seen in my life, the following story would be it. If someone were to ask me what was the stupidest thing I've ever seen anyone do in my entire life, this would be it. That is why it deserves a post here today - it is senseless, it is laughable, and it is totally ridiculata.

When I was in my second year of high school, we had a physical education class in the late afternoon, and as a warm-up exercise, the sports teacher told us to run around the football pitch three times. At that age, I wasn't so competitive yet, so I was always content just running in the middle of the pack. One of my close friends and I decided to maintain our place just behind all the sports and activity enthusiasts.

Jogging just a few steps ahead of us was a girl I was tragically infatuated with at the time. She was Australian-Chinese, brunette, sweet smile, fit body, funny, clever, charming, and beautiful. She was trotting along beside this other guy, an English dude who loved nothing more than football, sweets, and his clarinet. (Seriously, the box that he used to store his clarinet in had a sticker on it saying 'I <3 MY CLARINET'.)

This guy who had the sweet tooth... I forgot what he was saying exactly, but as we were doing our three laps, he was definitely trying to flirt with the girl of my dreams. I remember thinking to myself, as we rounded a corner of the football pitch, about what a twerp he was, and how he was polluting my very schoollife in every conceivable way.

And then, the most miraculous thing happened. He turned his head to ask my gal another question, and had no awareness at all of the football post that was fast approaching. For the tiniest fraction of time fathomable, I had the opportunity to call out his name and warn him about the pole he was about to collide with, but I refused to - the figurative devil stuck his pitchfork into my shoulder angel's heart - this guy was going down.

And in 3...

2...

1...

*CLUNK*

And I Laughed. My. Ass. Off.

His temple had come into contact with the football post, and he had fallen to the ground instantly. I continued laughing as I kept on running, my close friend running beside me was laughing, another friend jogging behind me laughed, and even the girl who was talking to this poor fella didn't stop to bat an eyelid - she continued to do her three laps of the field as she laughed as well.

My friend and I jumped to avoid trodding on him, we caught up with the girl and had a brief chat as we finished our third lap, and left our beloved clarinetist moaning, groaning, grumbling, and rubbing the side of his head, like any guy who had just run into a football post would do. I bet there was a real ringing in his ears at the time, stars spinning over his head. To me, that was pure magic.

There is not one single time when I relive that moment and do not find it funny. The physical comedy does not wear off. If I go to Heaven, I bet God would grant me the option of viewing that scene ten thousand million times.

But let's face it, judging from this story, I'm probably going to Hell.

221 - Using my bank account to purchase dieting pills

On the 18th of January, after a month of winter holidays, I came back to my cosy room at university, and five parcels at my door. Four of these boxes at my door contained books which I had frivolously bought online during the Boxing Day sales, and the fifth package had two small plastic bottles (pictured above), containing what seemed like some medication. One was labeled AcaiBerry Detox, and the other, Reservatrol Extract. I Googled these names to see what they were, and AcaiBerry Detox was for burning fat, while Reservatrol Extract was for 'cleansing the body'.

I never have, or ever will, purchase pills, for losing weight.

So I then Googled the return address labeled on the package. Apparently, it had originated from somewhere in Scotland near Edinburgh. I Googled the phone number also labeled, and managed to find a forum, where all these people who had actually purchased these pills were talking about how it was actually all a big scam.

Apparently, there were some adverts displayed on Google and on MSN.com, offering an opportunity to people to try a free trial for these new dieting pills. Signing up for them meant that you were signing up to pay for it, and immediate entering of your banking details was necessary in order to complete the order for the trial. People who received the pills, would then be given 15 days to cancel the order for more if they found the product dissatisfactory, and if not, the company that manufactured these pills would then deduct seventy U. S. dollars every month, for a monthly supply of these pills. The people on the forums all stated these sad, sad statistics, saying they had lost $210 so far, $230, £150, $77.... To top it all off, the pills apparently caused stomach sickness, and brought about no healthy weight loss effect whatsoever.

This scared the crap out of me of course, so I went to check my bank account details online. I had been checking occasionally during the holidays to see when the money for the books I ordered would be deducted, but I had overlooked the fact that some douche called SUP*EXCLUSIVEBERRY had actually taken £4.19 out of my bank account, as shipping cost for the pills to be brought to me.

So I called up my bank, and apparently some malicious hacker had gotten hold of my bank details, and used it to purchase these pills. My bank gave me a new bank card, a new PIN, a new everything, and reimbursed me for the £4.19. It took five days for the new card to get to me, and that was the end.

The internet is a dangerous place, folks. Be careful of what you do on the computer. People can be very mischievous, and very mean. They can insinuate that you're fat.

220 - Everyone looks at you when you enter a place

Whether it's a train station or a lecture hall, whenever someone new enters the premises, there's always one conteingency that precipitates - everyone already standing or sitting in the room turns their heads towards the general entrance area to look at you. Everyone checks to see what kind of idiot is going to the bathroom in the middle of the movie, everyone judges the deliquent pedestrain who jaywalks across the street, everybody wants to see who didn't turned up late for the chemistry exam, and all eyes are on the people that are getting on board the bus. They check out who you are, male or female, old or young or middle-aged, what you're wearing, the expression on your face, what you're carrying, just for a brief second or two, until they've taken in the information that they want, they go back to their book, or their newspaper, or to talking to their friends.

Does every place have to be a public bathroom or changing room in order for people to mind their own business? I mean, must we all be peeing in urinals, self-consciously pulling up our underwear with a towel wrapped round our waists, or  touching up our make-up in front of the bathroom mirrors, in order for people to respect what is not of their concern?

Do we have to be at church, where it's commonly considered inappropriate to face any other direction than to the altar at the front?

I can understand if you're working at a restaurant or bar, when anticipating incoming consumers is more than befitting, or when you're a salesperson in a shop making sure there aren't any customers who might need a helping-hand.

But otherwise, pretend you're seated in an airplane, and continue reading your paper, reading your book, or staring straight in front of you - you're already settled into the room, but others aren't, so make it easier for them by simply ignoring it.

219 - Misuse of the word 'insomnia'

I've seen a lot of people say how they hate their insomnia, or are proud of their insomnia, but this is all but just a big exaggeration of what's really going on. Insomnia is defined as the persistent difficulty in falling asleep or staying asleep despite given the opportunity. It's a medical disorder - there is an inability to initiate sleep, not an unwillingness to. Just because you stay up all night playing online games and chatting to your overseas friends doesn't mean you have it.

There are actual insomniacs out there that suffer from serious, serious symptoms, like chronic depression, and obesity, and severe anxiety disorder... it's insulting to those people that pay thousands of dollars just for professional help. It's like proclaiming you have cancer just because you'e developed a new mole on your arm.

So long as you actually put your head on your pillow, (maybe with the aid of a Dickens book) I bet you'd eventually enter a state of slumber. Please, stop misusing the word insomnia.

218 - Dishonesty

Advertisers, politicians, lawyers, reality show contestants, and children under the age of twelve, are all known for their tendency to skew the truth to achieve their own means. I know I'm not completely without fault as far as today's topic is concerned. There are times when I lie, and times when I say things that I don't mean. I've told many white lies, I've kept the truth from those who deserve to know it, and I've tweaked the truth to, in my opinion, make life easier for myself and others.

But hey, I assure you - I really, really assure you - I am trying my best not to, to keep dishonesty to a minimum. I don't like having things to hide. Even though it made me very uncomfortable at first, I eventually publicized my blog to all my friends and family. Although it took a while for me to adjust to the level of care required, I eventually got used to having my family as Facebook friends. With my parents, it's definitely taken years of hard work to make it an open and honest forum when I have conversations with them. I want to live a life that's open, and I'm not afraid to be myself. It just takes time for one to work it out. Change in one's situation must come from changes within.

You can fool some of the people all of the time, and all of the people some of the time, but you can not fool all of the people all of the time. - Abraham Lincoln

But some people, they feel the need to be deceitful, to exaggerate, to tell a partial truth, or a tale sprinkled with implimenting alterations, in order to gain money, power, property, trust, praise, confidence, sympathy, or popularity. Or, in the case of compulsive liars, joy. There just is no good reason in their case - it simply makes them feel good.

A lie has speed, but truth has endurance. - Edgar J. Mohn

It's sad when people have no idea that they're lying constantly, sadder yet when they're lying to themselves, deluding themselves into believing that all's good and there's nothing wrong with them. This denial is hard to overcome, especially after years and years of devoted belief in particular maxims, or when they've been brought up by a family that doesn't face the truth along the way, all in the name of love and keeping each other happy.

You know what I mean - like the family that tells their eldest that he/she sounds great when they sing, voice similar to that of Whitney Houston, Adele or Michael Bublé - and then they go on American Idol or X Factor (take your pick of overly publicized talent show), and they end up being laughed at and ridiculed by people all over the world the next day.

So who are we kidding when we try to convince others of things that aren't true? Ask yourself, why are you trying to make it out to be something that it's not? Don't you know that the only person you're fooling is yourself?

217 - Belittling what other people choose to learn or do because we don't understand it

I'm acquaintances with a guy who I haven't been to school with or spoken with in a while. I think the reason we drifted apart and no longer talk came down to my fondness of contemplating different subject matters in great detail, for long periods of time, while he preferred to keep conversations simple and avoid overthinking the things we talked about. He would complain to me about the work we had to do in class, and ask me why we had to read Philip Pullman's His Dark Materials trilogy or 500-page Dickens novels, and when I asked him in return why he was having such an awful time, he would tell me that it was because he hated authors who went to great lengths to describe the different sceneries, writers who kept the plot going for far too long with all the twists and turns, and who used old-fashioned and unusual vocabulary and sentence structures, and incorporated themes and symbolism that he couldn't grasp without someone else pointing them out to him.

I respected his way of thinking, I understand the appeal of it, and I wish the world was simple too. The bigger the phenomenon (e.g., love, life and the pursuit of happiness), the simpler I wish it was. But I believe from a very early stage in our lives, we are meant to learn to adapt to the complicated, mazy reality we live in. And one cannot be afraid to expose oneself to knowledge and experience, because otherwise, we will forever be naïve.

A lot of people tell me that they hate science and maths because the concepts are so abstract and dealing with numbers and equations is just too confusing. Some people tell me they don't get art, because it's hard for them to grasp on to the idea of actually reading an artist's expression and finding meaning through their painting or sculpture. One person once told me they disliked economics, because the way economies work most of the time is in a sporadic, seemingly senseless manner - prices rise, productivity falls, import spending increases, but government taxation decreases, consumer spending goes up, then prices go down when they were going up to begin with...

As for me, I find the study of politics and history very complicated. The same goes for music theory. I'm actually afraid to expose myself to theoretical music, because as a kid, I never played any musical instruments and it was just too hard when I finally tried it. Musical theorists and skilled instrument players astound me and I could never do what they do.

On the topic of music, I have another old acquaintance that once said to me he hates music, all forms of it, in all genres. He thinks it's all noise, and he thinks it's stupid that mankind have conceived of 'such aural abuse', as he called it.

It really, really gets on my nerves when people disparage what other people do and know just because it's different. It's definitely not okay to undermine what science, art, economics, politics, history or music does for society, just because it's too complicated in our point of view. Without any academic facet of the humanities, and the sciences, and the arts, our world just wouldn't function properly. Although it is alright to state your disinterest in particular subjects, calling psychology pure crap, or art pupils too stupid to do anything else, or science and maths students too geeky, or the study of philosophy too convoluted, does nothing but demonstrate a great deal of insensitivity and narrow-mindedness.

Without all the other people in the world that don't lead your life, you'd be dead. The world ain't simple, and they make sure it works for you. So, be a bit more acceptant, please.

216 - 'Half empty' means pessimism, 'half full' means optimism

I would say it's half full.

It means I'm an optimist???

Oh, yay! I feel so positive and good and happy, and that makes me want to smile and laugh and I want to draw with crayons and paint things orange and yellow, and I want to make pancakes, and serve them with ice-cream, and eat cotton candy and candy apples at the carnival, and I want to go prancing in the meadow barefoot, and pick blueberries and daffodils, and pick up ladybirds, and lie on the grass with my teddy bears and watch the clouds go by, and spot a rainbow!  And tomorrow, we can go to the beach with our shovel and pail, and build sandcastles for our rubber duckies to live in, and we can hold hands as we kick the water on the seashore, and we'll blow bubbles at each other, and tie up each other's hair, and drink pink lemonade, and exchange home-made presents when we get home!

Because after all, if I see the glass as half full, then that means I'm an optimist.

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I would say it's half empty.

It means I'm a pessimist?

Oh, no. What ever am I going to do now that I'm a pessimist? I don't feel like doing anything anymore, I don't feel like getting up in the morning, I just want to bang my head on the wall, stick needles in my voodoo dolls, finish one bottle of vodka every two hours, and start a bonfire with my eucalyptus scented candles, and listen to 80's screamo and dark-cabaret, while I put my chains and crucifix around my neck, and line my eyes subtly, yet dramatically, in a color that suits my jet black hair, in preparation for dinner with my financially stable, middle-class, normal (in every conceivable way) mom and stepdad. I can't eat too much, though, because it'll mean I feel hunger, but I only feel pain, and I publish my poetry on my MySpace page to express that pain, and I take drugs to relieve that pain, and I cry myself to sleep in pain.

Because after all, if I see the glass as half empty, then that means I'm a pessimist.

Oh. And I cut myself.

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Please, the oldest philosophical postulation in the book is nothing but a depthless triviality that reveals nothing about one's character, so don't you dare ask me that again trying to present to me some awareness that I didn't have before - the glass of water is there, with some water in it, and it doesn't mean anything, and it doesn't enthuse me.

215 - Getting angry

I cannot count the number of times in my life I have ever gotten angry at someone else or a particular situation. Recently, I have come to realize, though, that people get angry an awful, awful lot, too often, and it has made me reflect upon my own character, and has made me strive to be more tolerable of other people's opinions and needs. It's hard to explain why we get angry so intensely and so often, but most of the time, those who experience anger say that the rage they feel inside is aroused by "what has happened to them", something that happens immediately before the anger experience that provokes the individual to lash out. Anger serves as a means of expressing hurt feelings to the people around us, to the source of the disturbance if applicable, and often carries the subtle and underlying intention of protecting oneself from further damage, and forgoing even more of one's psychological well-being. In our society today, we are too often afraid to admit we are hurt by external (or even internal) disturbances in our lives, so we use angry gestures and behavior to tell the world that we are in emotional pain, and we deserve other people's attention.

In most cases, we stop focusing on what others have "done to us" after we begin to see how our displeased behavior is affecting other people. Anger is a release, it's a way of stating the hurt we feel inside, and it's uncomfortable to be around, it's unsettling, uncontrolled and simply relentless. However, releasing bottled up emotions can be a critical step in achieving harmony with other people and one's own conscience. Anger aids in making the hurt person more self-aware of his own needs and wants, and spurs him on to take action to fight for what he wants, rather than letting the hurtful experience continue or come back.

Getting mad over superficial, petty things, I'm sure, is something that everybody gets irritated by. It's childish, and there's no need for blowing things out of proportion. If your problems were handled more calmly and less emotionally, then maybe other people could assist you more efficiently, and life could move on a lot quicker.

But the more I think about it, the more I feel that all anger is unnecessary - whether it is socially acceptable to be angry or not - even if a country were to bomb one's own nation, even if a serial killer were to choose a member of my family as their next victim, even if someone were to walk up to me while I'm having a drink at a bar and punch me in the face.

Because anger does nobody any good. Sure, people are jerks, and life is unfair, but let's just cut the big reactions and just get to the open discussion and forgiveness already. Anger distracts you, from the multitudinous things you have to do everyday, and from the actual problem at hand. Anger causes you to be irrational and do things you don't mean to. Getting mad doesn't help anyone. There are better ways to carry yourself.

So dial down the temper and let's just learn to calm down, 'cause I'm so tired of the shouting, stomping and the slamming of doors. Take a chill pill. Make peace, not war. Just relax.

214 - Leaving a perfectly good bag next to a hot lamp

As you can see from the photograph above, the side of my schoolbag has a great, big hole in it. I had actually left it in contact with the light bulb of my bedside lamp, and after I fell asleep reading a book, the intense heat of the bulb burnt the bag right through. I woke up to the smell of burnt fabric - not cloth, though - nylon infused with plastic. And we all know what burnt plastic smells like.

There's also a problem with the heater in my room. It seems that the university wants us to feel like we're on a tropical island. I think they might be a little paranoid in thinking we're sensitive to the cold, because they've adjusted the entire building's central heating system to provide to us, via each and every heater, with too-hot-to-even-wear-a-T-shirt temperatures. That's right. I'm not wearing a shirt right now. And I'm still sweating. And this is happening in all the rooms. We didn't pay for a five-star suite, so we don't get to moderate our own room temperature. Ridiculous, isn't it?

I've accidentally left a few electrical cords lying on top of the radiator emitting the hellish heatwaves, the electrical cords I use to supply my bedside lamp, or phone charger, with electricity. The rubber coating of the cords has melted slightly and has been deformed. Another example of my carelessness before going to sleep. And I feel pretty stupid about that.

And I hate it.

Sorry, folks, for this is not being a very inspired post. I haven't slept in two days, so I'm pretty exhausted right now. But have you, or anyone else, ever been a fire hazard?

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213 - Disobeying rules on a commercial aircraft

There are many rules that they instruct you to follow on a plane, such as when taking off and landing, you must bring up the tray, bring the foot rest up, ensure that your seat is back in the upright position, switch off your mobile phones and all other electronic devices, open up the airplane windows, and be seated with your seat belt on.

All of them seem pretty straight-forward to me, so why do some bozos continue resting their feet on the foot rest, or continue reading the paper, with their wrists on the tray down behind it? Is a reminder from the flight attendant really necessary? Could it not be avoided?

The people who fail to put on their seat belt when told to by the pilot through his speaker system are so irritating. Putting on your seat belt is pretty much the very first rule they give you, along with 'no smoking'. Hell, they even give these two rules their own little special place above each and every seat, just to screw it into our heads for those who have bad hearing or lack cognitive skills. Yet people still stand up like there's no flamboyant, effeminate air steward, wearing mascara, foundation and a little pink scarf, that's going to come along, and exclaim your clothes are tasteless, and then tell you that they're going to have to ask you to sit down, since the plane is landing soon.

The rule (or should I just call it an announcement from the flight attendant that interrupts the music, games and television shows on our screens) that everybody seems to ignore is the one telling us to get our headphones ready to return to the airline. It manages to go into some people's ears and out the other, and then five minutes after the flight attendant has made this little bulletin, in the middle of listening to one of their favorite concertos, or watching Ice Age 2, UH OH! It's time to give them back to the lady with the bag full of headphones!

And after the lady with the bag full of headphones walks by these passengers, I know that they're sitting there thinking to themselves, "Damn, they really should have warned us earlier. I was enjoying that song/film/episode/game..."

DOH!

Sometimes, I really hate flying, but it's got nothing to do with heights or enclosed spaces...

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212 - People staring at me carrying a big suitcase

(I'm a little drunk right now, so bear with me.)

Over the course of my life, I've been traveling very, very frequently. Every country is different, every country brings its own unique personality, its own people, its own language, its own food, everything is special. However, there is one thing common to all my tourist destinations, one thing that pervades all communities, all nationalities, all people from different countries - and that common theme is the act of staring at a foreigner when they're dragging a large suitcase around town.

Yesterday, I came back to university. I had to lug around a suitcase, filled with books and clothes and other things, heavier than I was. It took me around three hours, and the whole way back, people in the train, in town, at the bus stop, and at the university, were staring at this weird Asian guy trying to push around a suitcase 6kg heavier than he is. (An incredible feat for a human being and something I'm quite proud of, I must say.)

While they were staring at me, all that was going through my mind was, "Why are all the English people staring at me?"

You know, when I have such a big suitcase with me, being Asian, being a new immigrant to this country, with nobody in Canterbury I knew from before to go through this with, there's nothing that makes me more humiliated and self-conscious then having fifty people observing every little thing I'm doing.

Anyway, before I go off on an outrageous tangent in my drunken state of torpor, I'm going to stop here and just wish you all a good time. Hahaha.