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Dixie currently feels:

 Depressed

 

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Blog #20

The Silence Contest...

 

 

Wake up - no more snow.

Alright - no problems with iceballs and chavs today.

 

Language was tolerable - we weren't discussing/working on the dreaded coursework - we started a new unit and spent the entire lesson making posters.

 

Then came the beasty break - I spent most of the time playing Solitaire on my iPod.

Couldn't be arsed going into town - spent the next two hours in the LRC.

Stupidly, I challenged Ash to see how long she could be silent for - she didn't speak for 40 bloody minutes.

 

Then we tested out writing with our lesser-dominant hands.

I now have a piece of paper that says "My name is Ashleigh and I sneeze like an old man" 11 times on it - in several different handwritings.

 

Ash actually writes neater when she writes BACKWARDS.

Then she holds up the paper - she's spelt her name wrong and wrote sleep instead of sneeze.

Rofl. :)

 

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Then came Photography.

Exam papers - fucking nice one.

 

Five questions - the SHITTEST QUESTIONS ON ANY EXAM PAPER EVER.

 

I have two ideas - they're fucking shit.

Time for Dixie to fail this subject.

 

I didn't go to school yesterday since it was my grandmother's birthday. It's the first birthday that shes dead and I couldn't contain myself. I was too depressed to go and I asked my mom to take me to her grave-site with her. As of right now, we're all chipping in for her headstone along with my grandfather's. It's really expensive, but we think they deserve that much. =/

But I'm okay now. My grandmother marks her 1 year death anniversary on April 29. Dunno how I'm gonna feel then, but I think things will go okay. I'm pretty sure I got enough support from my friends and family.

 

On to other things, I was going grocery shopping for my mother today. On my way out of the supermarket, I saw this old man trying to get up the stairs to enter. There was a ramp, but he didn't use it. He looked like he was having alot of trouble going up so I offered to help him. But he told me he didn't need it.

Its not like he sounded like one of those old farts that wish they were 70 again and he looked like he was at least in his mid-eighties. He was very polite about it.

"I'm okay, miss," he told me, "I'm not handicapped yet, I can do it myself." I was amazed at how he kept on up the stairs. I also felt like an ass since I used the ramp to get to the store. But this old man was unaccompanied and went up the stairs himself.

I can never see myself using a ramp again.

 

But ANYWAY, I'm not trying to make this post depressing or anything. So...time for something completely random:

 

 

And with that, I ish off! <333

What can I say about my journey? I want to write, but every time I sit down to describe my experiences I just can't quite get it out. Yesterday I sat down to write about the little Chinese woman in the Malaysian  post office who was so kind to me. But how do I describe her tiny voice and Chinese accent, how she batted my hands away and insisted on repacking my boxes so I would get a better rate and, when the weight was just a tenth of a gram over, she ignored it and wrote that it weighed just 5kgs instead.

How can I explain the things I've seen and been a part of when they are such tiny moments every day. So many tiny moments and I don't know if you would "get" them--or if I can even describe why they are so profound.

And also, there is this sense that the outward journey isn't the importent part. That as great and amazing and wonderful (and sometimes terrible, uncomfortable and frightening,) as it all is that these things are only ephemeral and that the really importent journey is that which is occuring  within myself. I've compared my journal with that of the other bloggers and worried that I wasn't giving enough detail to the outward features of my journey. What exactly it was like to spend ten hours on a government bus from jodhpur to jaisalmer.  How I sat with five other people on a metal bench made for three and how a kind man tried to kill me by forcing me to eat uncounted bananas.

How I sat next to an old man with a little girl, no more than eight or nine years old man who I thought was his daughter until I noticed the toe rings, anklets and gold bangles of a bride. She had the mehendi, too. How I camped in the desert with the Raika, in the center of 200 men and was never hassled (but they prayed outside my tent at 4AM every morning under the full moon.

How my driver in South India took care of me like a daughter. Or how I lived for a month in a hotel in the family's apartment, taking my meals with them and helping their daughter with her homework. Why haven't I been able to put these stories into words? I'm so afraid their record will be lost.

This is what has happened since my last blog:
*I listened to podcasts
*Cleaned my room
*John's friend came back from England
*got stationary for school
*John git his Uniform
*Created a new website "Candy Striped Chaos"
*Went on gaia pretending to be a 97 year old man and i had a war with the government coz they were trying to steal our cinnamin pancakes we attacked with toothpicks.
*got yelled at for playing loud music
*saw our old neibours
*Did some drumming
*Opened a new minishop
*wasted time
*wrote a blog...
yeah so it was pretty boring...
then i wrote tags