i have converted

hello everyone. i have switched from wordpress to blogspot! 


it is for a number of reasons, but primarily because most of the blogs i frequent are blogspot ones. 



feliz navidad!

christmas, christmas, christmas. to be frank, christmas came and went this year, without any special happenings or unspecial drama-ings. i don’t know, i suppose the novelty wears off quite quickly. 

i do love the 25th though, it really is a day of family. and i managed to block out the distractions for a solid 12 hours! i was quite proud of that. 

FOOD! i ate my weight in deliciousness yesterday and our fridge is overflowing with left-overs (everyone knows everything tastes better the next day too). i allowed myself to indulge, and i felt too good. it was glorious. nothing beats christmas turkey and gammon, and special salads and the MOST YUMMY gingerbread ice cream-y pudding butterscoth-y magnificence that has ever graced my taste-buds ohmyword. 

 my favourite ‘present’ was my cooterboy notebook from my darling best friend and sister. she gave it to me, on one condition though; that i become a journalist in my later life. ha, i wish. the dream the dream! 

it feels so good to write today, bliss. 



Wide-eyed and innocent he stands


on the vessels of scrutiny.

He watches the mindless precision of the Brown Shirts

as they march to the death of their own free will,

structurally waving goodbye to their humanity.

He holds the hand of his friend.

The pretty one, with the dark eyes and playful curls.

Having been each other’s playground protection

for eight years,

they cling to each other for assurance of familiarity

in a sea of unfamiliar thoughts, symbols and insignia.

The power, passion and position

in the emotionless eyes of the marching puppets

cause his pale blue eyes to flicker.

Scraps of his dignity flash before him,

forcing him to relive the mortification of

juvenile incidents in school corridors.

Seeing the wild admiration in his eyes,

she intently fastens her hold on him.

Desperately trying to keep the thought

of her presence in his

Impressionable and volatile mind.

Visions cloud her deep brown eyes.

Nightmares of a young blonde-haired,

pale blue-eyed man

in an impenetrable mud green suit of armour

send shivers of terror through her.

Her love, her light,

marches raptly in front of her.

With every orchestrated step and salute

he loses fragments of his compassion

and shards of his courage.

Coming back to reality,

she no longer feels his warmth on her hand.

In front of her she notices

an outstretched, raised right arm,

structurally waving goodbye to his humanity.

– Robyn Paterson

this is a poem i wrote for a history assignment. we were asked to creatively respond to a visit to our local Holocause Centre.

fool me twice, shame on me.

in my meagre seventeen years, i have learnt that when something sounds too good to be true, its because it usually is. cynical? perhaps, but its true. and if you can accept this sad fact-of-life, then  you will most certainly be saving yourself from sad, silly, hopefulness and subsequent disappointment. 

i am feeling rather angry today, because i allowed myself to become hopeful about a situation with a special person, and to no-ones surprise, i was disappointed. im not angry at the special person in question, but i am very angry at myself, because i allowed myself to become hopeful and i was expectant of something that would never be. 

so today, i was a silly robo-cop. 

but tomorrow, my happiness will definitely not be dependent on someone else. 


im on my end-of-year holiday now. from school, grade eleven to be exact, so i am officially in my last year of school. 

how strange is that? to many kiddies, school is this big black hole, sucking all the vibrancy and individuality out of us. i find this incredibly ironic though, school and learning is what teaches us that our individualism is in jeopardy. 

as you might have gathered, i love school learning. 

being a sponge is my favourite hobbie.