Those Little Things


The cold hard reality is that I just can’t get out of bed on Mondays. I burrow into the blanket and cling on like it’s a superhero cape that can repel all the things I know will eventually tug-o-war me from my warm sheets. I’ll get bitten by winter when I get changed, eat slower because I’m reading at the same time and inevitably sulk when I miss the bus by that one traffic light. Boy, it feels like a midlife crisis at nineteen.

Monday mornings are hard, no doubt about it.  Still, I like to think that if you make the effort to leave the comfort of the heavenly bed, you’ll come across something that will make you glad you did. It doesn’t seem to be working when I miss the train because of that runaway bus, and then miss the connecting bus after that – but it pays off eventually. Usually. With a little bit of luck.

And that’s why Monday is blog day!

So – five things! Here we go:



I’m so nervous and unprepared right now that the last thing I should be doing is writing about it. As a speech pathology student, we spend one semester this year doing clinical placement. Tomorrow is my first time running an entire therapy session on my own. I’ve got resources to prepare, activities to rehearse, confidence to scrape off from the reject store and, and – gaaaaahhhhhh, so many things can go wrong! I have less than 24 hours to find myself a ctrl+z command!



On the brighter side… I apparently won a $50 EFTPOS voucher from a survey I did at the start of the year! I don’t think I’ll believe it until I get the evidence in the mail. I never win anything. The ironic thing is, I looked at the email subject while the contents were loading and thought “Winners announced, huh? Won’t have anything to do with me. It’d be a nice surprise though… nah, keep those hopes down. Why is this taking so long to load?” Aaaaaanddd… what do you know? I suspect there weren’t that many candidates in the draw but if it is true… time to hit the bookstore!



I always tease my boyfriend for only reading books with pictures a.k.a. manga. Lately I got him into ‘proper’ books. I told him that books have magic and that they let us live lives we wouldn’t otherwise experience in our lifetime. We bought each other a book for our fifth month (he wanted Just One Day by Gayle Forman and I was after a zombie survival guide. Go figure.) I also lent him my copies of Jay Asher’s Thirteen Reasons Why and Alice Sebold’s The Lovely Bones. He read them in that order.

Little did I know that I had unleashed his inner poet. He posted this insight yesterday and gave me permission to quote him:

The past two weeks, I’ve managed to finish two books and am about to finish the third book. What I have learnt in this period of time; I learned that literature had a sound, that language mattered more than story, that rhythm haunted the imagination, and that love and grief and loneliness interested me more than any other subject.

He amazes me. He really, really does.



I hope I’ll never forget yesterday’s memory of my mum playing Fruit Ninja on iPad. Immaturity is hereditary. Watching her, I thought that I’d much rather forget to act like an adult than lose an opportunity to let my inner child play under the sun.

Yes, I am in denial. I’m not in my last year of teenagehood. I’m turning twenteen, alright? Shhh.



I saved the best for last, because something very special happened that I’d like to share.

One of my friends at university told me today that she was moving to a new residence (she’s an international student). I would’ve thought it was nothing special if she hadn’t so clearly set me up for the backstory – and it was a jaw-dropping backstory indeed! Last week, she volunteered as a tutor at a science event for handicapped children that our uni was hosting. There, she met a hearing-impaired boy and his mother, and spent some time teaching the boy. She got on well with the mum because they were from similar backgrounds and as they talked more, she made an amazing proposition to my friend:

“I have such a hard time helping my son with his schoolwork because of my poor English and I really empathise with you because I know what it’s like to be alone in a foreign country. My husband and I will treat you like our daughter, if you’re willing to treat my son like your brother. Would you be interested in moving in to live with us?”

I was stunned. Such an unexpected offer – and so sudden, too! They wouldn’t even charge her rent. After I had stopped blinking, I started honestly contemplating this with my friend. “To tell you the truth,” I told her, smiling and shaking my head at the same time, “I was briefly worried that this is all just a ploy to gain your trust so they can tie you up and sell you off to dark places.”

We laughed because the same thought had crossed her mind. “The thing with the 21st century in cities,” I continued, “is that we’re actually very closed in to unexpected kindness. Your day is immediately ‘not normal’ if a stranger suddenly starts chatting with you on the street. Things always seem too good to be true, because we know that all it takes is one misjudgement to change your entire life. But we keep forgetting that there are kind people in the crowd – lots of them, in fact! I don’t want to say we should trust everyone but you know, sometimes we need stories like yours to remember that these nice things still happen.”

Then I paused, looked at her and added as solemnly as I could, “But I really hope you’re not getting sold off.” We had a great laugh.

She told me she’s moving in July, and it’s further from uni than the place she is currently staying at. We looked up train timetables and realised that if there was a 9:00 class, she would have to get up at… 5am. She almost stopped breathing! We went through the timetables again and finally worked out an alternative route that would save her 1.5 hours of sleep. Crisis averted!

On the way home, I suddenly felt very happy; happy that my friend had found a free home, wonderful people, and that she wouldn’t have to get up at the crack of dawn. I thought I could write a book about this and the feeling just wouldn’t be the same. I wondered if the world’s first and best storyteller is quite possibly life itself.

Now isn’t that a funny thought?

feature image by aoao2

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