Hana Yori Dango (Boys over Flowers)

EDIT:

Below is the rational, overall review, below that is the fangirl one.

Hana Yori Dango (Boys Over Flowers)
Air Date: 2005
Favourite Aspects: This is my favourite drama ever. I loved everything, the chemistry, the tension, the pace, the actors, brilliant. Also, Domyouji's transformation.
Least Favourite Aspects: Nothing much, actually.
Rating: A+ (5/5)
Overall Review: This is my favourite drama in the world. It's crazy, whacky and draws you in. The drama has a wonderful compelling quality that makes you want to do nothing but sit and watch as well as sigh and cry at the same time. Matsumoto Jun and Inoue have the best on screen chemistry I have ever seen, and Oguri Shun is an excellent Rui character who carries the right amount of ambiguity and mysteriousness. The change that progresses within Matsumoto Jun's character is gradual and believeable, which simply displays his remarkable acting talent and being able to accomplish such a change so smoothly. The last episode especially was beautiful, it wasn't cheesy, it was perfect. One of the best and most fitting love confessions for both their characters. Excellent.

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There’s just something about Asian Dramas that always seems to get me. They’re completely different from Western Dramas. They lack the flair of the Hollywood signature bubble as well as our complications and idiosyncrasies and yet still manage to encapsulate the universality of the human condition. In my opinion, it is quite a good thing that they don’t encompass the “Hollywood” feel, which is why I love them. Asian Dramas are not afraid to be cheesy. Sometimes we need cheesy. Deep down we love cheesy. We revel in it. If we released our inhibitions, we would be living in houses made of macaroni and cheese because we love cheesiness.


One of the best (and major cheesy) Japanese Dramas around is 2005’s Hana Yori Dango (Boys over Flowers) meaning, boys are more important than flowers. This is the live-action drama version of the anime and manga originally written by Kamio Yoko. This series throws cliché at you but damn, those clichés are difficult to recognise – and thus we love them. A friend of mine is a rabid Matsumoto Jun (Domyouji Tsukasa) fan and thus of course she has watched this, along with perhaps everyone else. For three years I’ve been begged, bugged, pushed and prodded to watch this series and all the while I refused. Why? For the simple reason that I do not possess the internet download limit to support an entire series, as well as the fact that watching Dramas consumes a lot of time. But boy, I had totally forgotten that they are so worth it.

This series is excellent. It begins with our very strong, vivacious female protagonist, Makino Tsukushi who happens to be the only “poor” (in fact she’s not that poor, she’s middle class) student who attends Eitoku Gakuen, the richest, most prestigious and most elite high school in Japan. This school is home to the children of politicians, company and business tycoons and movie stars. Everyone arrives to school in a limo, have been (or lived) overseas and sports labels such as Gucci or Chanel with enough gall to flaunt that they bought said “school” paraphernalia in places such as Las Vegas, LA, New York, Paris and London. It’s enough to make a gal feel dejected. But not to be deterred, our strong Tsukushi endures the superficiality of her school, but most especially the F4. The F4, simply put, are the bane of Makino’s existence. Meaning Flower 4, the F4 are the richest sons of Japan and believe it or not – they rule the school. Literally. Because their families are filthy rich, they donate unhealthy sums of money so the faculty allows these students free reign. The F4 is headed by Domyouji Tsukasa, son and heir to the Domyouji financial group, followed by Hanazawa Rui, Mimasaka Akira and Nishikado Soujiroh. These boys don’t have to go to class, (frankly, they’re very intelligent) don’t have to wear a uniform and if you as so much look at them in the wrong way you’re dead. You receive a red notice. Red notices are serious business. You receive one and you are the weed of the school. Everyone (it’s frighteningly mob-like, really) taunts you, teases and harasses you to no end. That is, until one of the F4 – Domyouji usually – beats the living shit out of you.

Makino hates the attitude of the school. They fawn over the F4 relentlessly and are equally relentless to those who receive red notices. She hates the F4. So when viciously standing up for a friend, she receives a red notice. Domyouji Tsukasa is not pleased. A girl has never received a red notice before, and she’s the only girl who doesn’t worship the ground he walks on. Better yet, Makino has punched him in the face. However, in way of Domyouji’s (not to mention the whole school’s) rage, there comes an unlikely knight in shining armour – Hanazawa Rui. He’s cool, he’s calculated and mysterious. She begins to develop a bit of a crush on him.

That’s all and well, but how does Rui feel? Better yet, why is Tsukasa suddenly jealous of his best friend? Makino is the only girl who doesn’t like him, yet why does he suddenly focus his attentions on her?

I hated Domyouji in the beginning and loved Rui.

Now I am in love with Domyouji. He’s absolutely adorable. Rui it seems, is a good friend. But gaaaah Domyouji is so adorable and, well, different.

I was like okay, you’re only going to watch 2 episodes. Which is what I did. Then I couldn’t handle it. I wanted to watch one more, then one more, then one more and the next thing I knew I was getting caught up in this, laughing, crying, shouting. My word, I watched the whole thing. Now I’m desperate for more.

Five out of five stars on this one.
I loved it.

Save Fail

My Computer is on a Save Fail so I have been unable to save the beginning of a fic I began. So I'm posting it here just to have some kind of record of it.

He had no idea what to say.

There she sat, in her white linen hospital bed, engulfed by a gaggle of her red-haired offspring. Some of them had straight hair like the rest of the carrot-topped family. Some of them resembled their grandmother, and like Gryffindor lions and lionesses they sported unruly, recalcitrant manes. All of them were Weasleys, of varying generations. Her children and grandchildren, of course.

Speechless, he had every damned intention to pivot one-hundred and eighty degrees and march straight back to the nearest apparition point. For Merlin’s sake, what was he doing here?

“What are you doing here?”

Good question.

Draco sighed, and carefully turned on his dragon-hide boots – fresh from the box – to face the pride of crimson-maned lions gawking pointedly at him. Their gazes were almost accusatory as though he was an unwanted guest, and most likely, he was. The older of the Weasley children, the adults, were quick to judge with menacing glares sealed with bequeathed suspicion and hereditary enmity. They looked upon him with slight condescension as though he were the inebriated neighbour who occasionally stumbled drunkenly through the white picket fence and into the yard, crushing the meticulously trimmed gardenias. Or at least that’s what he assumed the Weasley hovel – correction, house – looked like. In all his years, he had never gathered the courage or the audacity to check.

“What are you doing here?”

The question repeated. It was the older Weasley, her son, the one with the horrid misnomer. Ah, yes. Hugo. Scorpius had mentioned Hugo a few times in the Ministry. Pain in the arse, that one. Like his father.

“I was invited.” Draco stated promptly, allowing a hint of his customary drawl to permeate his speech. Naturally, as a Malfoy he harboured an exceptional aversion to being unwelcome, or looked down upon. No one looked down upon a Malfoy. Especially not the Weasleys. Hugo responded with a dubious look. However Draco Malfoy was being far from mendacious. He was invited, by the only other person in the room that did not boast red hair. Hugo’s oceanic eyes immediately shifted towards his mother and her frail lips moulded themselves into an upturn quiver. Despite her feebleness, she accomplished the traces of a reassuring smile and an expression that conveyed it was safe to leave.

“Are you sure?”

She nodded solemnly and clasped his hand in hers. Reluctantly Hugo turned from his mother and led the herd out, meanwhile granting Draco a contemptuous front of bravado. Draco gritted his teeth to prevent himself from scowling at the boy.

“I don’t care if you’re Scorpius’ father. You hurt her and you’re dead,” he whispered as he left.

Like he said, pain in the arse, that one.

So the Malfoy patriarch and the Weasley matriarch remained staring at each other across the gulf of standard issue hospital linoleum and the silence that spanned in between.

He decided to break the silence.

“What, Granger?” He couldn’t bear to associate her with that name, and refused to call her anything else other than the name that was hers. His voice was gruff, clearly uncomfortable. At this, she broke into a genially radiant smile.

Life Kicked Me in the Proverbial Balls. Again.

I swear. If I were a male living in metaphor-land, I'd either be developing some serious Prostate Cancer OR would have already lost my ability to father children.

Regardless.

I am much more intelligent and far more stupid than I previously thought.

What a wonderful thing it is to discover two days before Christmas. He is now with someone else. There, I said it. There, I am acknowledging it. But am I accepting it? We shall see.

How am I feeling. Odd. I cannot quite define what exactly it is that I am experiencing. It is like being born again, I feel as though every previous experience I’ve had (however limited) should have prepared me for this moment, assisted me in buffering for such a loss but of course, it hasn’t. Nothing could possibly prepare anyone for this, unless they’ve dredged themselves through this predicament before.

I do believe that Kate Winslet’s character Iris in the film, ‘The Holiday’ reiterates my circumstances both succinctly and truthfully.

“I understand feeling as small and as insignificant as humanly possible. And how it can actually ache in places you didn't know you had inside you. And it doesn't matter how many new haircuts you get, or gyms you join, or how many glasses of chardonnay you drink with your girlfriends... you still go to bed every night going over every detail and wonder what you did wrong or how you could have misunderstood. And how in the hell for that brief moment you could think that you were that happy. And sometimes you can even convince yourself that he'll see the light and show up at your door. And after all that, however long all that may be, you'll go somewhere new. And you'll meet people who make you feel worthwhile again. And little pieces of your soul will finally come back. And all that fuzzy stuff, those years of your life that you wasted, that will eventually begin to fade.”

Kudos to the scriptwriters.

Of course, I wasn’t in love with him. Just highly infatuated. Whether it be love, infatuation, like or a crush, overcoming the adversity of the unrequited requires both time and patience. Love will take deep root in your heart and a mere crush will barely seed. To varying degrees, time will always be taken, wasted, obliterated, in order to make yourself feel whole again. Varying degrees of time will always be taken to get over that impossible someone. But the pain? Oh yes, the pain. The pain is universal.

As I said, I am more intelligent and far more stupid than I previously thought. When I initially embarked on this fortuitous and educational expedition, I knew that all we could be was friends. I KNEW. I had harboured the insight and intellect in which to predict this. Thus, I am more intelligent than I initially perceived. But of course, I’m a romantic, maudlin pathetic individual. Did I listen to myself? No. Because I decided to fall head over heels and because despite our differences, despite the distance and all the circumstances creating a gulf of separation between us I refused to believe that love would ever deprive us in such a way. In my naivety, I desperately hoped to believe that love would work the way we all wish it work, that for once, it would be my turn. I desperately wanted to believe that God and whatever fated being that governed us all would grant me just this once chance, this one opportunity to really feel, to really love and be loved like so many others have before me. I created a picture of beauty and perfection, something that omitted or condoned all flaws. I clung to it, convinced myself that one day he would see me, acknowledge me and somehow by some unspeakable magic, he would call and say that he felt the same. I clung to that picture with blinding hope, with every will and fibre in my body as a drowning man would commit to his last breath. And now, as a bubble, I watch it rise and float away.

I first responded to this tidbit of information quite positively actually, I surprised, curious, amused, even. It was morbid fascination that compelled me to discover more about her, and yet it was my defence mechanisms which had ceased such actions altogether. I refused to torture myself by comparing myself to her. If he couldn’t see me, well then, I suppose that’s his loss. I could then feel the resentment creep in, burgeoning a deep obsidian within my psyche. And then, finally it really hit me, like a slow but heavy sledgehammer it hit me. It was then that I snuggled into my quilt, closed my eyes and pretended that I couldn’t feel the droplets of moisture roll down my cheek. I wondered, pondered, perused and analysed every memory, everything we shared, simply wondering how, or why, where I could have read it wrong and misunderstood. It was exhausting, I assure you.

To tell you the truth, we’re still getting to know each other, he doesn’t know me. And nor I him. Thus I know that I could have never have loved him. My previous affections for other guys have been mostly of pure lust. However, with him how can the lust exist if I’ve only ever seen him twice this year? I actually began to fall for his personality. That isn’t at all as shallow as lust, this, this begins to take root in your heart, while lust may be perfunctorily swept away. When I needed to get over AA, I merely yanked that plant out and that was the end of it. While this, I may sweep this away with my curiosity and amusement, I may ignore it, I may yank 95% of this plant out. But, I know, that there will always be that 5% left remaining, the piece of root that had dug in the deepest. It lies there, behind everything that is me, and waits as it grows and festers, poisoning everything in the darkest of all midnight shades.

I likened the loss of him to when your computer crashes and all your important files are deleted. I can live without him, I know I can, I simply don’t want to. I suppose it isn’t the loss of him that hit me the hardest last night. It’s once again coming upon the dawning realisation that life simply doesn’t ask you what you want. It hands out all the gifts to everyone else and hands you the dodgy leftovers. I can’t say that I’ve liked anyone more deeply, and it is because of this that I walk away wounded, a mobile casualty. I walk away a little more wounded, a little less complete and a little more cynical – and that my friends, is the pain. Pain, undoubtedly, is difficult - but getting used to that pain, growing accustomed to that festering ball of darkness in your heart, that’s simply sad. Here I stand, a beacon of it. But now is not the time to wallow in self-pity – it’s Christmas, and quite frankly, although that five percent of him will always be there, I know that I’ll be okay.

I will be okay, and that’s a fact that I well and truly am aware of. It’s not the end of the world. However, that too is a source of pain. Because for some unknown and masochistic reason, I don’t want to be okay, I want to feel, I want to know that heart-wrenching unequivocally life changing pain. Why? I don’t know, perhaps it’s because for some pathetic reason, you’ll know that you truly have loved someone enough, and in that way, to make your life paradoxically yet blissfully complete. To feel that pain is to know that you have loved someone with every fibre in your being, and that perhaps, in return for loving someone with such fervour, potency and intensity, they may just love you back.

It’s stupid, I know. That’s my hopeful self talking.

Enough with the angst. I’ve been caught in a whirlpool caged in a prison for nine months now. I’ve been emotionally tossed and turned, I’ve been high and low. I refuse to wallow in my own sorrow. I refuse to think of myself as inferior. I refuse to feel sorry for myself anymore.

I wish to see this as an opportunity, as a gift.

What is that gift, you ask? Well my friends, this is the gift of freedom.

=)

CHRISTMAS CONCERT!!!

The Christmas Concert last night was awesomeness!! It was such an amazing experience, both in spiritual growth and within the maturing of our characters, and of course indeed in the utilisation of our talents!

OASIS rocked their socks off :) It was so awesome-o. I can't believe how nervous I was though. In order to relieve my tension I began to play piano as I find it a highly cathartic experience :) Then Tim comes along on the drums and we had a brief Jam session lol! Who knew that drums could actually meld into Yiruma's "River Flows in You"? I certainly didn't!

The Christmas Concert was so awesome though! Being an MC is so exhilarating, fun and yet sooo stressful at the same time! It was developmental experience, one which had "brought me out of my shell" I suppose, or in Pat's words: "You really came out of yourself." Singing "Lean on Me" with the crowd was amazing! Especially acapella where everyone can be heard. The sense of community truly evoked the Christmas Spirit!

OASIS was awesome of course, I had to run around dancing, singing and MC-ing. All in all it was an awesome night. Saw Chris there too!!! The dance was so funny though, I really thought that I was going to fall off the stage. ALSO MY HAIR WAS SO WINDSWEPT I LOOKED LIKE A MADWOMAN! I should have put it up! argggh, but anyhoo. Meeting the Councillors was also something I'll always remember! I was so honoured! Thank the Lord that it didn't rain!!!

:)

I want to say more, but I need to study!

Bye bye!

Stage Parents

Somehow I can actually understand how she feels.

I hate Adrianna, I think she's a complete ignoramus. However, there seems to be a glimmer of humanity within her in this episode despite the fact that she OD'd and practically crucified her altruistic best friend because of her own vice.

I blame her mother. Clean and simple. It's her mother's fault for dumping on her daughter that the onerous responsibility of being the sole breadwinner of the household. She's such an megalomaniacal stage-parent who strives to be bloody Dina (Deena?) Lohan.

Although, as much as I despise Adrianna's character, I can somewhat understand how she feels. Tonight, my parents were also being 'Stage Parents' towards me. They consistently have been haranguing me about joining the blogging revolution or making some grand fucking debut on the internet with my stories. They're such capitalists these days and they're willing to sell anything due to their web/marketing-seminar they've been attending - including my talent. I swear, they've been so financially-oriented these past few months that all they can discuss with me is the prospect of me selling my stories, pimping them out there for the world to see.

They just don't understand. They over-estimate my ability. I'm not bloody Stephenie Meyer or JK Rowling, or bloody Beatrix Potter for that matter! I'm not that bloody kid who won dozens of writing competitions and finally got published at age fifteen. Who is going to read the machinations of some insipid teenager who happens to have a certain aptitude for writing? No one. No one bloody cares. It's the freaking internet for crying out loud!

They've become such capitalists that all they want to do is stuff me like a Thanksgiving turkey with ideas for websites and writing and all this other technological crap. They don't know my world like I do. They don't know my writing like I do. Gosh it's so infuriating! I understand their stance and sure, why not utilise what I've got? But the way they're going about it, I might as well be so capitalist I might as well be that girl who's auctioning off her virginity for money! Her excuse? She's a capitalist!

My parents want me to go about this the easy way. They want me to shuck my morals and ideals and short cut my way to success. I DON'T WORK LIKE THAT. I believe in hard work, I believe in doing things the right way. I believe in honesty and integrity and making sure that whatever I may post on the internet is 100% my own. They don't understand that. My dad keeps telling me that I'm too idealistic. Well, at least I'm staying true to myself! I holding on to what I believe in! What is wrong with that?

Talk about selling your beliefs!

They're being so ridiculous.

It's like they're stage parents and they see me as a commodity, a tool to simply poop out stories like a rabbit and expect them to be high grade quality. It doesn't fucking work that way. I'm not a vending machine - and besides, if I were, no one wants a vending machine that only stocks second-rate wannabe brands of cola.

They also don't have any concept of time. The only thing I need on my mind right now is the HSC. IT'S ONE WEEK AWAY AND THEY SPRING THIS ON ME. Why do I need other things occupying my mind and distracting me right now? I DO NOT NEED THIS! I must study! Not think about ways to sell my soul.

Sure I love writing, but it's not everyday that I'm suddenly always motivated. I don't write fast, producing a short story for me takes days, weeks even. I cannot simply run by supply and demand. Inspiration doesn't work that way. I don't have any confidence in my writing anymore. All I only write when I have to now and despite the fact that I don't like it, it's all I can do because I HAVE NO BLOODY TIME to do anything of leisure due to the fact that MY HSC IS NEXT WEEK AND I HAVE SCHOOL TO THINK ABOUT.

Why do they have to keep thrusting this upon me? I mean, yeah it's a great idea and I'm up for it, but the way they are handling this with me is all wrong. They say I'm too idealistic when really everything for them is black and white. I can't simply shove all my stories on a website and go here ya go! Next week I'm uploading something new! I've never worked that way, and when I did, everything I produced was long, drawn out and crap. Utter crap. A waste of the english language.

Here comes the part I hate most:

My parents have never read anything I've ever written.

They never read anything I give them. They don't bother. It's like a sporting dad who pushes his son to constantly train and train and train and then never showing up to his son's soccer matches or whatever. I hate it. I don't feel supported. They go yeah, sell it. But they don't even know the product that they're endorsing! It's stupid!

Gosh, I NEED TO CONCENTRATE ON THE HSC.

I CAN THROW AWAY MY MORALS AND IDEALS LATER.

LATER, I CAN EXPLOIT MYSELF. LATER, I CAN BLOODY SELL MY VIRGINITY WHILE I'M AT IT.

ADRIANNA, I TOTALLY UNDERSTAND YOU.

If I had drugs right now, and a complete lack of self-respect, I might OD myself.

Limerence is About as Sweet as a Lime

Unfortunately, my Dostoevsky perusal mission has resulted in a failure as I was sufficiently distracted with other texts such as: The Virgin Suicides, Howl’s Moving Castle and Breaking Dawn. The Virgin Suicides was excellent and I was delightedly shocked to recognise the term ‘fin-de-siecle’ in there, also highly intrigued by the perspective the novel is written in. Howl’s Moving Castle is like any other folkloric fantasy novel and Breaking Dawn became an addiction, I couldn’t put it down, I almost cried, laughed many times and thoroughly enjoyed it. Although it was written like a bloody piece of good indulgent fanfiction, I think that’s why it was enjoyable. I am also okay with Jacob now, I like him. That’s sacrilege, I know as almost a year ago I wanted to slaughter that mutt, now he’s like the likeable cousin because he released Bella and imprinted on Renesmee. Renesmee. Seriously. Meyer! Demonstrate some creativity please!

Goodness, I’ve developed a ridiculous tangent. My apologies, I digress. I am not blogging today to discuss books. When one has six days without school or exams, aside from reading, one suddenly obtains a ridiculous stretch of time in which to think. When you’re me, you think superfluously. I think I think too much. Even now, I’m over-thinking things. Anyway, yes, I was thinking extensively, and also had a huge chunk of time to cultivate quixotic emotions especially when one reads a novel such as Breaking Dawn. (Honestly, boys, adopt Twilight as your female BIBLE and Edward Cullen as your heathen-god leader.) Coalesced with such rumination I have delivered myself to the onset of an unhealthy, festering inferiority complex. I won’t indulge in such inferiority complex, I believe, well, I hope I am more intelligent than that self-flagellation. Life’s a bitch like that, but what can one do but eat one’s own damn lemons? Other than making them into lemonade and selling it for fifty-cents a cup, of course (just the mark of my metaphorical thinking in line with our capitalist society).

Quixotic emotions, limerence and lime, inferiority complex? Who else could I be referring to, but him of course? Built in or programmed into the female psyche is the ridiculous tendency to analyse things. It’s brilliant when one is in an English class, but disastrous, stressful and arduous when such analytical ability is immediately (and unfortunately instinctively) utilised in the courting arena. So we play the courting game. I’ve decided to blog and document everything relevant I possibly can from the moment I met him. I need this cathartic release. He’s dominating my thoughts and that won’t do. I will not accept that. I am an independent woman whose mind does not require subjugation by the dominion of a guy, well, man, really. I’m hoping that releasing these thoughts and ponderings from my system will reduce the thoughts of him swimming around my head.

Him. That’s all I’ll dare refer to him as. Him. He’s something beyond comprehension. You really know how to pick’em Dana. Really. Why couldn’t choose someone a little less, unattainable? A little closer to this planet? A little more in my own world, a little more convenient, less far beyond my league? Sometimes I think that this can only end in heartache. This isn’t about ‘the thrill of the chase’ either. I’d rather that there BE NO CHASE. I wish life were as simple as imprinting. Sure, by human nature, the forbidden is exciting and alluring. It’s arousing and intoxicating. Why do you think I love DHr fanfiction so much? The temptation of the forbidden, of the unattainable is potent and carnal, regressing us back to our childhood needs and desires where rumination was not so deep, but rather instinctual. It’s pure pleasure and pain. I see that. It’s beautiful in its complexity but honestly, why can’t things just be bloody SIMPLE? On second thought, he isn’t exactly ‘forbidden,’ is he? Just highly unattainable. Believe you me I am receiving no ‘high’ off this stupid chase. I’d rather he be mine already.

But I’m not so much like that. I know me, and sure, I’m human I’m ridiculously selfish at times. Yet when it concerns romantic love, I am all giving. It’s all or nothing with me, I will bare my soul to them. I would do anything for that person and that’s a fact. (Remember the newspaper run?) If he says ‘no,’ or ‘sorry’ – however he may phrase it – I would accept it immediately and leave it at that, be his friend and pretend such feelings never took root in my heart and smile warmly, laugh pleasantly and support him when he does decide to chase the girl of his dreams. Because that’s what love does to me. Oh well, I can’t say I’m ‘in love’ with him, just highly infatuated. Despite my feminist beliefs, I am granting him liberty and free reign over our relationship and he doesn’t even KNOW it. I really wish I didn’t feel this way. But why does he have to be so damn wonderful?

This is why I only wanted to be his friend primordially. From the beginning I only wanted to be his friend despite the fact that I knew I liked him deeply, because what am I to expect from the unattainable? I can only expect nothing and everything from him. I want to expect nothing from him and am schooling myself to expect nothing from him because I am aware that my feelings are not reciprocated, this is unrequited, as always. Expecting anything would lead to unbounding disappointment. He already failed twice to meet me, so I’m quite sure I should expect nothing from him. But how can I expect less than everything from someone so beyond anyone I have ever met? How can I expect nothing less than everything from the boy who is so much more a man than all the guys I know put together? How can I tell myself to treat him platonically and expect nothing from someone so wonderful and awe-inspiring? HOW?
Such is my predicament. But I’ll concede, that since I’ve been attempting to change my mindset, I’ve relaxed around him. I’m trying more now than ever to be myself. The other day he informed me that he made it to the debating finals - that was brilliant, excellent and wonderful. It just made me like him even more, I am so proud of him and yet selfishly wish to live my would-be debating glory vicariously through his success. I must attend the finals, and so I began perusing their school website for the date (result was a fail) but discovered, shockingly, a section of the site totally dedicated to him where they promulgated his success as if he were the risen Messiah. I was shocked, awed, and also felt like some idiotic fan girl wowing at his celebrity status. Nevertheless, I could feel an inferiority complex stirring from within me. He had all these other girls at his fingertips, ready and willing to be with him. They were of the same social class, status, education and proximity, who attended the same events with the same interests. They are, dare I say it, compatible in every single way. What would I bring to the table? I have no idea.

I know I’m not going to go on this self-flagellating guilt trip. I’m not going to wallow in self-pity or doubt. That’s highly unattractive and counter-productive when I’m trying to better myself. LOL I feel like Bella when she’s around Edward. Only the envy doesn’t arise from the physical. I know that I must be thankful for at least knowing him personally, this much, anyway. I am thankful for God granting me the gift, the miracle even, of me knowing him at least. He makes me humble myself, but also he instigates this passion and drive within me to reach for my goals NOW. I’ll be eternally grateful to him for that.

The disappointing factor introduces itself when I realise that I’m not a priority in his life. I’m not a priority, I’m probably a good, reliable friend who he can flirt with. There’s potential there but considering the way his priorities are arranged, relationships are far from his mind. In expecting nothing from him, that fact is slowly taking residence in my brain and I’m slowly accepting it. Of course I’ll go on liking him, it’s fun, and I’ll enjoy the solitary honeymoon high while it’s still happening, but as much as I want to wish for it, I doubt I’ll get with him. There’s always hope though :P But I keep my emotions in check like I have a personal Jasper and I make sure that I don’t hope too much.

Wow, I can still remember the first time I ever saw him. Vividly. He entered the room and whoosh, suddenly his presence was filling it. When he began talking I was scared shitless, I knew immediately that Stef was going to lose. He awed me, I never knew any one remotely like him. He was amazing, in true form. Physically, I thought he was quite handsome, although someone I’d never personally go for, he was too unattainable, nothing would amount from it even if by some stretch of the imagination I managed to talk to him. He wowed me. I left their school happy and blushing. He was amazing. I memorised his name immediately. Of course, this is the abridged version.

I’ll continue this blog later. I’ll vlog the rest. I think I’ll be able to document it better that way.

But this was good release.

Until next time –

- Deeh xoxox

What am I to You?

Thinking about him depresses me.

This, basically epitomises what I'm feeling right now.

What am I to You? - Norah Jones

What am I to you
Tell me darling true
To me you are the sea
Vast as you can be
And deep the shade of blue

When you're feeling low
To whom else do you go
See I cry if you hurt
I'd give you my last shirt
Because I love you so

If my sky should fall
Would you even call
Opened up my heart
I never want to part
I'm giving you the ball

When I look in your eyes
I can feel the butterflies
I love you when you're blue
Tell me darlin true
What am I to you

Yah well if my sky should fall
Would you even call
Opened up my heart
Never want to part
I'm giving you the ball

When I look in your eyes
I can feel the butterflies
Could you find a love in me
Could you carve me in a tree
Don't fill my heart with lies

I will you love when you're blue
Tell me darlin true
What am I to you
What am I to you
What am I to you


The worst thing is, is that I think I may already know the answer to that question - and I know I don't like it.

Well, it could be worse.

He could be... urgh, no. I won't go there.