SayJapanese

January

2012-02-13T07:10:00.001Z

To sum up my first month in Japan would take more effort and patience than I have right now, so I'll give a brief overview. I got a job. I got my alien registration card. I got malnourished.
Maybe that was a bit too brief.

I got a job; in Kawaguchi with children. It's great cos I don't have to set up anything. They've got a clear curriculum. I just show up and sing & dance (learning the songs are a bitch though). Co-workers are great too.

I got my alien registration card; that's exactly like it says on the tin. I applied and I picked it up around the 31st. I'm legal.

I got malnourished; apparently 7Eleven doesn't have everything you need to help you grow up strong. That combined with not having eaten meat in 3 weeks left me sleeping constantly and anaemic.

Other than the anaemia, Japan's been treating me good, so long!

Things I like about Japan

2012-02-03T09:59:00.003Z

7 Eleven; open 24hrs a day, who knew!
Prawn tenpura bento
Nakano station
Mandarake in Nakano
Green tea (still hate black though)
Ramen
Udon noodles
Being able to walk on the road (freaked me out at first)

The wait is over........

2012-01-19T00:57:00.000Z

.........and not in that crappy Rihanna way. I finally moved to Japan, Tokyo to be exact. While searching for accommodation I came across a guesthouse in Nakano, just like one of the main characters in Murakami's Kafka. It was a sign, I thought.

So here I am in Nakano and this isn't a sweet, delicious gingery/ lemony hot drink.

More to come hopefully...

Time Travelling vol.1 chp 1

2011-11-01T12:11:00.000Z

In the months before I left, I didn't think too much. I tried not to think about the fact that I wouldn't be living in my house anymore, I wouldn't see my family anymore, I wouldn't my friends anymore, hell... I wouldn't see England anymore. I was moving on and taking the big leap. If I thought about it too much I would worry and fret over the fact that I'd be by myself in a foreign country with only my un-streetwise ass to rely on. Oh I was scared alright, I was scared shitless. But no one needed to know that; if they did, I'd be talked out of it.

Ding Dong Sheila's Dead

2011-09-14T23:42:00.002+01:00

On a sad note...I got rid of my Toshiba laptop: Sheila. She just gave up. She is survived by her a replacement Vaio Laptop which will remain nameless out of respect for Sheila. She was a slow, power hungry bitch but she was all mine and will be missed... a little bit ^_^

...and, yes, that is my foot.

Working Girl

2011-09-14T23:25:00.000+01:00

So I got a new job. No more McDonald's and all the shit. I've moved up from crew member to Catering Assisstant which basically means a 45p pay rise. No more minimum wage. Can you feel the joy? The thing about new jobs is that you get new bullshit to deal with. To some extent I appreciated the McDonald's zero tolerance for bullshit attitude. This new job has me constantly facing off attempts at brain washing; I don't like being told to be enthusiastic, I don't like shouting woohoo and high-fiving. Maybe it's the English in me. I believe that those things come naturally with time and I don't see the need to force it. It's seems to me that Company Speed (the imaginary name of my employers) has adopted a uniquely American brand of business courtesy of companies like Gap and Apple. I don't buy into the crap!

And then there's the baby... not my baby (thank God) but my sister's baby. Cute though she may be, crying is not my idea of fun. All she does is sleep, eat and shit - in that order.

In the end, I can't complain that much, not just because my wallet seems a bit fuller, but because I'm gonna be out of here soon. I leaving on a jet plane, I don't know when I'll be back again...

The Shit has hit the Fan

2011-08-08T22:45:00.000+01:00

As if life wasn't crappy enough. We're in a recession/ suffering the effects of it. We hardly have any money and what money we do have goes to pay for the basics. The basics that are too expensive. Basics like bread, eggs and milk. People are having to make decisions about what not to eat in order to heat their homes. And naturally that brings about apathy...I think they call it anomie, at least that's what Durkheim says; events out of our control have deeply impacted us resulting in normlessness. While that is the reality, and it's a cruel reality, it doesn't excuse all the shit that's going on.

On a more positive note, these looters, anarchists and ne'er-do-wells are like the UN of looters, anarchists and ne'er-do-wells. It's a muticultural riot. Tony Blair (aka the devil incarnate) couldn't have wished for more. We've come so far.

The September Issue vol.1 chp8 I like not being able to ride a bicycle...

2011-07-10T20:58:00.002+01:00

...but you don't, I told him. What's so wrong about not being able to? I can take public transport, or a cab, or hell, I could walk. Sōsuke was on a crusade. Apparently it was unnatural, unthinkable that I couldn't ride a bike and I needed to learn immediately. I tried to convince him that I was too old and too easily bruised to worry about crap like that. But as I said he was on a crusade and wasn't taking "No!" for an answer. That's what led to me laying flat on my back in pain everywhere except for my ears.

He'd woken me up at 8 am that Saturday and considering I'd gone to bed at 3 am I was not pleased. I was hoping that if I ignored the doorbell long enough he'd get tired and berate me later. So I waited it out and he did leave after about 10 mins so I went back to my fantasy with classic Wentworth. All of a sudden I heard my front door open and my landlord's booming voice. The fucker had gotten my landlord to let him in. I was so incensed I got up without thinking. Two things happened: first, I exposed myself in my panties white, with a pink bow; second, I had a tumble - I suffer from chronic low BP, if I get up too quickly, everything goes black, I loose my balance. And that's just what happened. Luckily I was standing next to the wall so it braced my fall. It took about 15 seconds to clear up and when I could see again, there he was. You couldn't leave it alone could you? He grinned and said that he was worried. An obvious lie. I told my landlord that I was okay. He left and I went to the bathroom. There was no fighting with this idiot today and I was never gonna get my time with Wentworth back.

After I'd gotten dressed and he'd raided my fridge, we headed off to the park. We found a quiet spot on a hill-ish area and he started going through the basics of cycling ie. peddle, breaks...wheel. I asked for training wheels but he said those were useless. He was on a mission to teach me and there was no stopping him. While he was spewing some crap about Voeckler and Sanchez I found myself wondering how the hell we got hear. I was a shit English teacher as it turned out; the only things I ever manged to get across to him were the swear words, but maybe that was because of my unruly student.

I finally got on and he pushed. It all happened very quickly. He said something about the best way to learn as he did so. I don't know what I replied but I'm pretty sure it wasn't PG-13. I don't remember much else. I'm pretty sure that my mind blocked out the trauma. I never actually passed out or anything but when I heard his footsteps I pretended to. He should be made to feel bad. I was soar, bruised and generally pissed off because of him. I've never in my life seen my melanin-rich skin so bruised. When we got back to my flat and he settled me on the couch, I told him that we were never doing that again. How about training wheels he said. We both smiled. As he got up to leave, I asked if he'd had a good birthday. The best he replied.

Interimission

2011-07-10T20:32:00.000+01:00

I feel bad. I've neglected the blog I've come to love so much. And tthere are no proper explanations. I was busy, but I wasn't busy with anything special. In fact it was bloody boring stuff. In between that busy and boring stuff it was easier to not write or think about writing. But now I'm on this ricketty old PC on a Sunday with nothing to do and I get the urge to write. Truth be told I've been thinking about writing for the past couple of weeks except I have no pens in hand when this lightening bolt strikes and so the idea I had about the announcer at Waterloo or the woman with three bags is filed under my things I'll eventually get around to doing list.
What was it I was gonna tell you again...? My life, my impending doom and my constant waiting. Well, all of those things are still going on and I'm okay with that, people (I mean my family) still piss me off but now I'm gainfully employed. Yes that's right, I have an income. Unfortunately, it's an income courtesy of your local fast food restaurant (it rhymes with Ronald's). Normally I'm pretty miserable about it, but then I see my pacheck and little it may be, it's my own.

The September Issue vol.1 chp 7 A Short One

2011-04-17T00:34:00.001+01:00

I don't know any of my neighbours in my building, but I didn't know any of my neighbours back in london and I lived on my street for at least twenty years. It didn't bother me and it didn't bother them. Here, in Japan, I like felt the needed to try. There was something about the alien surroundings that made me want to try harder, but old habits die hard. I'd said hello to neighbours in passing but that was it.

I was heading out to do some much needed snack shopping. I'd just closed my door when I heard my neighbour's door open. I turned to look and out popped a salt and pepper head that stood at 4'11''. She was wearing trousers and a simple pink top. I said Ohayou gaozaimasu. She stared at me blankly and my smiled widened. I looked like the cat from Alice in Wonderland. Just as I was about to leave she said that normally people introduce themselves when the move into a new place. I told her that that was one of the Japanese customs I was unfamiliar with and thanked her for telling me. She seemed crabby, but all old people are crabby for various reasons. I know this because my mother was a geriatric nurse, so I left it at that. I wouldn't normally write such a short post about a non-event but I realised that I didn't much care whether she liked me or not. It would have bothered me a few years ago but not now...

Open Days and the Evil Monkey in Chris' room

2011-02-06T02:51:00.000Z

If you've ever watched Family Guy you'd know that Nick Griffin's son, Chris, has this evil monkey living in his closet but nobody believes him. This evil monkey with jagged shark-like teeth always pops out of the closet and point maliciously at Chris.While i don't have a closest or an evil monkey living in that closet, I do have my commitments and every time I enter my bedroom and see them staring back at me maliciously, I think about Chris.

I went to the SOAS open day today. I hadn't slept the night before cos I normally sleep at 6am and I ran the risk of oversleeping if I tried to get a couple hours in. I took the central line to Holburn and changed to the Piccadilly. As soon as I got out, I realised that the map I'd printed of was gonna be useless. I was sleep deprived and kinda blase so I decided to wonder about/ follow any student-like people I saw. Just as I realised that I was going down the wrong street, I encountered a fellow applicant who was just as lost as I was.I think I was unconsciously sending off a 'Help, I'm bloody lost' beacon. She asked how to get to SOAS and I told her that I was wondering the same thing. We wondered about for a minute longer, talking about what courses we'd applied for and our names... the general "How do you do ?" stuff. She was Spanish and applying for Linguistics, other than having SOAS in common we were both totally jaded about religion. We didn't seem to be making any progress so we decided to ask a bystander.

We got there with time to spare and my hair was a mess. There was an introductory lecture in which I found out that SOAS was teaching Twi; maybe I should have applied for that. I think I'd have a better chance of getting in. Luckily for me the Japan and Korea lecture was held in the same room so I didn't have to get lost/ follow student-like people again. I'd give the main event a 3 out of 5. It seemed like they were free-styling it, which wouldn't have bugged me if they weren't reading off directly from the website (Japan more so than Korea). The thing about waiting is you get a lot of time to read. I've read all of the BA Japanese specification including the module specs many, many times. The most interesting thing I found was that even if Korean wasn't my major I could still organise a visit on a 6 week course.

I left after the lectures because I wasn't planning on living away from home and I figured I'd get a proper library tour if I was accepted. I slept on the train home.

I got home around 1:30pm to find that they were showing Only Yesterday, which I kinda love. I fell asleep behind it and woke up around 7pm. Watched Grand Designs, JLC: Turning Japanese and Question Time. The monkey was watching right along with me. I think it's gonna be a long night.

That age old resolution

2011-01-30T20:34:00.000Z

Everyone has a new year's resolution of going on a diet and exercising with the aim of loosing weight. Maybe not everyone but definitely every woman does, I know I did. But my usual procrastinating self got in the way of that. I've decided to get back on the band wagon which involves portion control and some form of exercise. I'm thinking ラジオ体操 (Radio Exercise), it's only 3min and I'm not into hardcore exercise so it perfect, plus the piano music's just delightful. I'm gonna try to keep it up for a month. Wish me luck!

The September Issue vol.1 chp 6 Sōsuke's garden

2011-01-30T02:57:00.000Z

Sōsuke's the name of the main character in one of my favouritest (I'm aware it's not a word but it's so apt) films ever, Gake no ue no Ponyo. When I told him that he said that he preferred Spirited Away. Don't get me wrong, Spirited Away is great but Ponyo's... Ponyo's just spectacular!!!

We were sitting in the cafe, again. I was beginning to think that we needed a new hangout. He had a cup of coffee and I had a cup of hot chocolate. I was wondering about his tattoo, so I asked, luckily he was wearing just a T-shirt and a hoodie so he took it off and rolled up his sleeve. I'd expected something cliche and ordinary like a dragon or a snake but I should have known better, Sōsuke's not ordinary. It was a beautiful garden with jasmine; like my mother's back in London, crocuses with violet tips that bleached into pastel lilac that bleached into pale mauve and the peonies, oh the peonies; peachy pink ones with hints of sunset orange, white ones; not stark or clinical but with depth like ivory. Each flower was perfection. I couldn't help myself and before I thought my hands were reaching for his arm to touch, to get a better look. I stopped when he twitched and remembered to ask if it was okay. He chuckled and said it was. The peonies hang down from his shoulder caressed by the deep green shrubbery of jasmine which itself was spotted with tiny white jasmine flowers while the crocuses exploded from his elbow down to his forearm. I leaned in to smell as if it was the most natural thing in the world, as if the garden on his arm was alive. I laughed at my sheer stupidity. He cocked a questioning eyebrow. I ignored him and carried on studying this garden which seemed to follow the subtle undulations of his arm. Just then I had a thought that it would have been spectacular if he could have tattooed a peony on his palm so that he was always holding it. I told him I was pretty much indifferent to gardens but this was officially my favourite. He chuckled again. Apparently it had been his original design so my praise was very much welcomed. We talked about why he got the tattoo and why I hadn't. I told him that I'd somehow convinced myself that keeping my body a blank canvas was just as big a statement as being covered in a huge one. He laughed again. Apparently I was very funny today.

But today was my turn to ask the question and so I reminded him of that. I beamed as he ran his thumb and index finger across his mouth like a zip. When I asked him what he was doing working in the cafe he remarked that it was something to do while he figured out what he really wanted to do. Seeing as I'm a bit of a late bloomer I could understand. I asked if he was a native of Tokyo. Nope, he said he was from Gunma and that he'd moved here to be closer to his brother. His family owned a fabric company and they specialised in dyeing. I popped up like a bunny, my ears were at attention. I'd been resting on the table as I listened but this really got my attention. It was like my book, my Japanese fashion book that I'd bought years ago and still adored. I asked him if he knew of the processes in dyeing and he gave me a "of course I do", playful, chiding kinda look. Ever since I'd read that book I'd been interested in fabric dyeing, alas none of my attempts came to fruition because my vision was often too complicated for my amateur skills. I tend to get overly ambitious about projects I lack the skill to finish.

Hold on a sec, your little brother doesn't look like he's fully Japanese I said. So you finally realised who he was, he said. I nodded and waited for an answer. He was resting his head on the palm of his hand while his eyes wandered around the room for a couple of seconds before they came back to mine. He said that his parents were divorced and that his mother had remarried a French guy. So your father's still in Gunma. Yeah, he replied, he was running the business. He didn't seem like he wanted to linger on the topic so I told him his brother was cute but sneaky. He grinned as if he knew just how sneaky he was.

I told him that he was a bag of wonders and that reminded me to ask him about our first meeting. I told him that I thought he was having a bad day and that I was making him work harder than he needed or wanted to. He laughed again, he was a barrel of laughs today. He said that he had been having a bad day because he'd had a cycling accident the day before and his back felt like shit and he'd preferred to have sat at home in pain than stand at work in pain but he couldn't afford to miss a day of work. That explains the Mintease, I said. Actually it was Tiger balm, he replied.

When we got to the station, he asked if I'd be willing to tutor him in English. I said sure, I enjoyed his company so I'd be willing to help him out. He didn't need to pay cos I felt bad taking money from him when I was getting as much out of our conversations as he would get out of my tutoring. When I told him as much, he looked uncomfortable at the idea and I could tell we were gonna have to compromise on that one. It seemed as good a time as any so I told him that lesson one was formal introductions.

Hello, my name is SayJapanese. It's a pleasure to meet you.

The September Issue vol.1 chp 5 Robin who?

2011-01-29T19:22:00.001Z

Robin Hood, that's who. He's forever engraved in our history for stealing from the rich and giving to the poor, using a bow and arrow, at least according to Kevin Costner. The only thing I still don't get is why he couldn't put on a solid British accent instead of that posh American one. Don't get me wrong, that doesn't detract from the film; it held my attention from beginning to end, there was a solid cast and no one was tanned. But what's my point? My point is that I've decided to join the archery club at one of my schools. I was watching the film a couple of days ago and I remembered that Kyuudou (Japanese archery) was one of the 'things to-do' on my mental 'things to-do' list. I get a uniform, a bow and probably some arrows. I'm gonna be practicing with the kids, hopefully they won't beat me up and steal my lunch money.

Man Bras

2011-01-27T22:05:00.000Z

Justin Lee Collins, the greatness from Bristol, is in Japan trying to immerse himself in the culture. It's already way better than Kelly Osbourne's Turning Japanese but that might be because he's funnier. He's looking at some of the biggest crazes in Japan at the moment, which includes a visit to the producers of men's lingerie. Yeah, Japanese men wear lingerie. For me and you that would mean that they were cross-dressers, but for the Japanese it's a stress relief. What happened to drinking, massages, extreme sports, long baths...SEX! I think I read about this on GaijinPot a while ago, but... wow! It's different seeing the live action version.

A day in a life of monotony

2011-01-27T18:57:00.000Z

I get up around 12:30 in the afternoon.
I shower.
I go downstairs to eat/nibble.
I go back upstairs to study.
I sleep at 6am after updating my blog.

My life of teaching myself Japanese, Psychology and Sociology is a quiet and sometimes boring one - a bit like this post, lol.

The September Issue vol.1 chp 4 My New Friend

2011-01-26T16:35:00.001Z

Turns out Perky Ken was actually the older brother of a student. With all the reluctance I got from the beginning, he sang like a Canary when I asked him if we'd met before. Apparently I had had enough of an impression on the student for him to tell his brother about me. It's a small world; the chances that I would go back to that cafe, that he would put two and two together are probably like one in a million but I hate math so I'm not even gonna try guessing. I couldn't recall his brother's face at that moment - I had met so many kids since I got here - so I just nodded and smiled and pretended to know.

Perky Ken was pleasant looking, now that I was taking a proper look at him, in the way Asian men are. I'm not sure how to describe it, but for the most part, I'm not attracted to Asian men and I would never call one sexy, so I just settle on pleasant. It's not like I wouldn't go out with an Asian man, it's just that I don't react to most of them. Then again I've got odd taste in men... but that's another post. The even funnier thing is that I don't react to black men either, even I think it's weird considering I'm black. I kinda think of them the way I think of my male family members, except they're not.

Like I said Perky Ken was pleasant. He was about 5'10"; but being as short as I am everyone seems tall to me. He had black neck length hair in a ponytail/bun thing and a scruffy beard. He had light brown eyes and an ear piercing, the tragus type. I once had delusions of getting that piercing done but body art of any kind should be done on impulse coz if you wait, you won't ever do it and I waited. He had on a pair of jeans, a Radiohead T-shirt and underneath that was a long-sleeve grey T-shirt. It didn't seem long enough to cover his arm so I could see the beginnings of a tattoo just beneath his wrist. It was a big. I like big coloured tattoos that cover a substantial portion of the body. I also had delusions of a torso length tattoo made up of an assortment of stars, as in twinkle twinkle. I figured if I was gonna have a tattoo it was gonna be one everybody would know about, again I waited. I think it's called a sleeve when it covers the entire length of the arm. I suspected it was a dragon but I couldn't get a good look and I didn't want to stare. He was leaning over as he rattled on about his brother, he smelled of some eau de toilette (I'm not good with perfumes) and Mintease??? I hate the smell of anything menthol based do I offered him a seat to stop him from washing over me.

We talked about me, his brother - just as I figured out who he was - and what's always on everyone's mind: "Why did you wanna study Japanese?" The funny thing was, there I was using the politest Japanese the situation required and there he was talking to me ask if I was a childhood friend. He was odd. His enthusiasm was intoxicating. I was drunk on it and so I wanted to know more. He was odd but I liked it, he wasn't shielded like everybody else.

After about 20 min his boss called him to get back to work and I realised that I hadn't asked his name which, thinking about it now, was kinda random because we'd been talking for the longest time I'd spent talking to anyone here in a casual setting. I hadn't asked and he hadn't offered. So as he got up I asked. I should already know his name he said. I smiled and he said "My name is Sōsuke", I smiled wider...

You once asked me...

2011-01-26T16:14:00.000Z

...'How did we get here?'. And I had the answer straight away because I could never forget.

It was the first week of 2011 and the year hadn't started off the way I thought it would. I saw 2011 as my turning point. But nothing happened. I had trouble with university, or the lack there of, my A'levels and my dependency on Mother. I was in a funk, a depression. I wasn't supposed to be here, you see. I should have been in Japan loving or hating it. My room should have been empty.

In the beginning, I'd wake up everyday at 11am: have a bath, go downstairs and sit in the chair closest to the adaptor. I felt nothing so I said nothing. I was tired and sad and at that moment I wanted to be by myself. Unfortunately, all of you were home for the holidays. I wanted out... I couldn't breathe. Nurse was revising at the time and after having sat through three days of it your voice was like nails on a blackboard - I couldn't bare it. You remember, Nurse, you sat in the adjacent three-seater (which was her chair), and Mother was in the single beside me. Mami, you came down late so you got the floor, you were pregnant then, and we used to laugh about how you were having twins cos you were showing so early. I had to get away from you all and crawl into my bed and sleep because that was all I could think of doing that would help. As I got up I remember Mami asking me if I was going up to study and I said yes. What I was really thinking was "Whatever makes you happy. I can tell you'd prefer to sit on a chair so, enjoy".

I slept that day. I didn't eat or drink. I remember Mother poking her head in to ask what was wrong, and I remember thinking that you didn't really want to know, that maybe this was more of a formality for you. I told you I was tired and you were happy to leave it at that. I slept the next day. I ate a little. No one came to my room.

I started my A'level revision soon after, but I stopped going downstairs and I hardly ate. I thought about going to the Doctor but I was unsure and I couldn't will myself to go.

What upset me most was that you were all so willing to accept that 'she was just upstairs in her room and would come out when she felt like it wasn't our place to interfere'. I wanted someone to talk to; someone I could tell that I felt stuck and isolated and a failure. I needed someone to poke their head in my door and ask if I was okay. Someone to know me well enough to know that me saying I was okay was a lie. I wanted someone to sit at the edge of my bed while I lay in it. I wanted you to eventually ask me again what was wrong. But you never did. And having me as the absentee family member seemed to work for you guys. So I stayed upstairs and I studied and slept and ate...sometimes. And after a while it was like I was never there.

Mr. LaMontagne

2011-01-23T21:37:00.000Z

In between depression, kanji and stupid A'levels, I realised that I love Ray LaMontagne. I feel like he's giving me a hug when he sings.

Claude Debussy/Tokyo Sonata

2010-12-14T02:24:00.007Z

I don't know much about classical music and I've never attempted to expand on that. I know that I like piano music and I know the greats like Beethoven and Mozart but, in the Western world, you'd have to have been living under a rock not to know those people. I don't know their music, though. My one and only true classical love affair has been with Claude Debussy's Clair de Lune. It is my definition of beauty. When we talk about such things we often refer to the tangible, but I believe that this is the sound beauty makes. The first time I heard it I imagined water, water from a brooke approaching new territory, nimbly finding it's way through a trial of jagged rocks. It slowly and tirelessly made those rocks into supple stones. It did so elegantly but with tenacity, never yielding. In the subsequent times I've listen to this piece I've discovered the wild through my mind's eye; a dense, overwhelmingly green forest that dazzles the eyes while humming the tunes of trickling freshwater into your ears.

I just finished watching Tokyo Sonata... I wasn't in love. The parents where morons, the elder brother was a flake, I only truly empathised with the youngest son who had to live in that lunacy. I once had a dream of playing the piano but I knew my parents couldn't afford it so I never brought it up, but this kid did. When they said 'no' he found a way to have his opportunity regardless. I admire his courage. The kid turns out to be a prodigy according to his teacher but it is not until the very last scene that we experience this. He was the films saving grace.

He performed Clair de Lune by Debussy, he played it perfectly. Exactly like my Francois-Joel Thiollier copy. He commanded my attention as well as his audience's. Not only was he beautiful, in that moment, but he created beauty with his tiny adolescent hands. He made me see that forest. Now, at 01:49 am, I'm wondering if I should let go and start creating my beauty...

The September Issue vol.1 chp 3 Perky Ken

2010-12-07T16:09:00.000Z

I went back to that cafe. Not to look for him but to make a new friend. I wouldn't normally seek out friends but I realise that, along with an unlimited access to the world wide web, friends are necessary for my balance. I entered the cafe with a ding-a-ling (it still had an effect) and sat in my little corner. Unfortunately, the jaded waitress was absent - probably her day off. She'd been replaced by a super perky waiter with a super smile; perky creeps me out. He approached me with a sincere, wide-eyed smile and I couldn't help but do the same; it was an unconscious reflex, my go to instinct like how a moth is compelled to fly towards the light, I am compelled to smile. It's a curse. I missed the jaded waitress. I could remain indifferent with her. My shield of sugar and spice and everything nice had seen better days. It wasn't because of Japan. In my 'good first impression' mode, I gave no opinions on my beliefs, interests...TV, I was a cordial vault. Back in London I wasn't constantly meeting new people so I could relax every once in a while. This place, this new place made it difficult to get to know anyone or for anyone to get to know me. My defences were permanently up.

Perky's cheeks started to twitch. It was a bit devilish but I smiled back wider and he followed with his eyes screaming irritation which made me smile even more. I decided to order because it was getting cruel. I ordered a hot chocolate, of course, and an omelette. It came and I ate. It had mushrooms, and spinach; I'm not a fan of mushrooms but once something is placed in front of me I feel compelled to eat. Maybe it's having lived in Ghana for all those years; you dare not leave perfectly good food on the plate. It wasn't about the poverty, it was about culture. You did what you were told without question.

So I finished everything and ordered some water from Perky Ken while I tried take two of reading Norwegian Wood. He came back with my water, I thanked him and went back to my book. I expected to hear his footsteps as he walked away but it never came. I eventually looked up to find him staring down at me, intensely. Something had piqued his interest. He looked like, for the first time in the 20 minutes we'd known each other, he actually wanted to talk to me. I figured it was because of the book. I titled my head to the right and gave him the warmest smile I could muster. It was my best comforting teacher look, the look were you pretend that you're understanding and neutral and a haven. I'm not normally underhanded with my powers but he'd piqued my interest. He didn't bite. He excused himself when he caught me looking. I watched as he went behind the counter and came out with a wipe, pretending to be busy, wiping clean tables. So I bit.

The story so far

2010-12-06T20:17:00.000Z

So I've been away for a while. I can't really explain it except to say that I didn't feel like it. I recently sat the JLPT N5, which is a proficiency test for Japanese, it's the most basic level. I'm pretty sure I failed. And I know this because throughout my academic years I've learned that when I think I've failed, I've failed and when I think I've passed, I've passed. I can't guess and I can't wing it. It's a curse. My vocabulary was great, because all I do is Kanji. But that's not the problem when it's only a third of the whole test. I'm not that upset because now I know where I need extra help on in my studies, but it cost me 70 quid to figure that out.

The September Issue vol.1 chp 2 Who the hell was that guy?

2010-10-30T19:21:00.001+01:00

I didn't notice him at first; but that's what I do, I don't notice, it's necessary for my sanity. He was standing outside one of the boutiques I'd visited the week previous. He wanted shelter, like I did. It was pouring and I had my 'fro out so there was no way in hell I was gonna walk home through that. I wouldn't even if my house was 2 feet away. In case you don't know, afro hair shrinks severely in water. The day hadn't started out that badly; it was bright, a bit chilly but the warmth of the sunshine made that okay. It reminded me of England, I seldom missed England but on days like this it reminded me and when I remembered I missed. I was busy cursing the clouds when I realised that he was there. I noticed the smoke before I actually noticed him. Second-hand smoke is a no no for me. I wanna die because of something I did and not because some moron decided to pick up an addiction. I took two steps away and covered my nose with my scarf, it probably did me no good but at least it smelled delicious, like a flowerbomb. I didn't care if he knew why.

It poured and poured, there was no sign of it ending so I retreated to a near-by cafe. He followed. It would have creeped me out if I was back in London but I was in Tokyo. I didn't really find any single person threatening, mainly because I was often viewed as the threat. Maybe that's too harsh, maybe I should say that I was viewed as an intimidating figure. But like typical Japanese they went out of they're way to be polite. It always amused me in the sporadic occasions when I bothered to observe the world around me; there's nothing intimidation about my stature.

As I entered the cafe there was a ding-a-ling...you know, that ringing sound from the shop bell. For a split second I felt like a magical woodland creature and that ding-a-ling was innate, an effervescent way of announcing my presence, it came from within me and it brought a smile to my face - my brain was quite fanciful today and I was enjoying it. The cafe was empty and on the small side but clean and kinda cosy like everything in Japan. I love cosy, I can't get enough of it; after 19 years in a London terraced house, I like small. I once visited my cousin while he lived in Atlanta, I often found myself house-bound when he went work. It wasn't that Atlanta was boring or anything like that, it was the roads... they freaked me out. They were huge and intimidating and they had matching huge and intimidating cars riding on them.

It was near empty; just an old guy sitting in the corner nearest to the entrance reading the day's paper while sipping on something hot, coffee maybe. I hate coffee, the smell pungent and the taste bitter. But the cafe was perfect for me because even though the old guy was sipping on the Devils hot drink there was enough space for me to get away from it. I found myself a corner similar to the old guys and glanced over the menu. I hardly read magazines or leaflets or things like that, I just skim-read looking for keywords, in this case it was 'Hot Chocolate'. I heard a ding-a-ling and there he was standing in the doorway, I quickly looked back at the menu and tried my hardest to read it. He had my attention though. And when I finally looked at him, I mean stole a glance and really looked at him I had a physical reaction to him. My brain was on fire, my neurons were like fireworks, they were lit in succession so that each flare corresponded to each stolen glance; something new and intriguing was revealed each time. It was like Guy Fawkes Night.

He wasn't Japanese, he was a westerner so he stood out. I make it a point not to hang around too many westerners; they form groups and they get into a bitching hold. He was tall, anyone is tall to a 5ft nothing like me but I'd say he was about 6ft 2in, he had dark brown hair and matching eyes. He was wearing an Iggy Pop T-shirt and a pair of stone washed jeans. He must have been cold but I did appreciate the love for Iggy. He looked marvelous. I thanked the gods, even tough I'm pretty much an atheist, that I decided to dress up today. He had a bit of a beard, not so thick that you couldn't see the skin beneath, but thick enough so that you could call it a beard instead of a shadow. He looked irritated, or at least that's how I perceived it. I ordered a hot chocolate from the jaded waitress, probably cos she was working a solo shift. I was drawn to her blase... maybe I'd visit again. I nursed my beverage while I tried to re-read Norwegian Wood. The rain stopped after a while and I hadn't gotten any further in the book. It felt like we'd been there for ages and I was acutely aware. I took the reprieve as my opportunity, got my things together and left with a ding-a-ling. I wanted to know more but I'm kinda inexperienced when it comes to the opposite sex. I glanced back and he was looking which was good, but he still looked pissed, which I just didn't get.

It happened 2 weeks ago but I forgot to write it

2010-10-17T21:22:00.000+01:00

We were in the downstairs showroom and by we I mean the Henry VIII and the Sidekick who, according to her, went home early that day to study; not to disappear and never come back. After much observation I realised that her boss, the Brazilian, exaggerates things and anything he says should be taken with a grain of salt. We were trying on clothes, cos that's what you do when there's no supervision and the opportunity arises, and cataloging them when they're boss, the Brazilian, (I feel like I constantly need to say that cos it more sensory, when I say Brazilian you think a Rio de Janeiro - which he hates - and Miss World and tropical temperatures and cocktails and it all just seems so exciting) comes in and it's decided that he needs to try on some 5 inch heels. I'm not at all surprised when he finds a pair of heels that fit or when his buddy, our interim boss, the Dutchman (I'm running out of creative names) decides that he needs accessories so he adds a belt and one of the fake crowns we have lying about, and I'm not surprised to see that the Brazilian's waist is smaller than mine. I'm not surprised at all. In fact I'm laughing my head off. What I am surprised by is the way he struts in those 6 inch heels AND dances in them, like a regular at Stringfellow's I might add. Does the can can and so forth. It's a riot. It was a good afternoon but that was 2 weeks ago.

New Plan

2010-10-17T09:40:00.001+01:00

I've decided to reject that bloody college. If they're willing to give away my place just because I was badly advised by an incompetent employee and just because they couldn't tell me, over the phone, that the fee would be 1,482 pounds then they don't deserve to have me studying in they're institution. At least, that's how I'm reconciling it. I've set my sights on self study, which I've been doing with Japanese so how hard can it be with Sociology and Psychology, she says (nervous laughter). I've found a place to take the exams and I've downloaded the spec for each course.

I feel good about the situation because sitting around another year was too painful to contemplate. I think in terms of wasted time as opposed to what's meant to be.

The Back-up

2010-10-02T12:46:00.000+01:00

I had a back-up plan that was pretty air-tight. If I didn't get into the Japanese degree program I would re-do my A'levels just so I met the entry requirements of the course... it was a really solid plan. Nothing goes the way I want it to. I'm thinking about getting a horseshoe, a four-leaf clover, maybe even finding a pot of gold at the end any rainbow. Anything that would give me some luck would be perfect because I feel like the most unlucky person in the world. I can't re-do my A'levels this year because of some moron's bad, bad advice. The thing that bothers me the most is that it's another year I have to spend waiting, I don't want to mature or wait for fate because I don't believe in that shit. I'm mature enough and I'm ready.

The September Issue vol.1 chp 1 Departures

2010-09-14T14:52:00.005+01:00

I've packed my bags. I'm ready. I'm so excited that I can't sleep but I need to sleep because I'm flying tomorrow and I don't sleep on planes. Economy is uncomfortable, even for 5ft nothing me. I could take a Tylenol but that would leave me sluggish in the morning and I don't want that. I'm full to the brim with anticipation. I'm going to Osaka tomorrow. Sayonara London. Sayonara UK. Sayonara Europe. ^_^

You know nothing about people

2010-09-14T14:48:00.000+01:00

You'd think that after spending several weeks with some people you'd know them. But I don't. I don't know what about they're families or their journey to get here. I don't know them and I don't make it my business to. I enjoy writing on my blog and a key part of that is to be observant but I find that I care less and less about the people and things going on around me. I'm apathetic about most things right now. Maybe I'm going through one of my depressions, maybe I'm just jaded. I don't know...

It's just a fucking Cape!

2010-09-07T22:52:00.001+01:00

Have you met that person who thinks that they know everything about fashion and therefore whatever they say is law. What they say is beyond reproach and a conversation that should have lasted only a few seconds ends up taking minutes of my precious time, which could have been spent daydreaming and lazing. It ends up as a mini argument and the subsequent silence all so that you can forget about the whole saga by the next day. It's boring, it's a waste of time and it's annoying. That person insists on arguing with everything that you say, just because they have thunder thighs and have to be very careful about how the dress. And in the end I think about how I didn't really care that much about the topic in the first place and I was only trying to banter and that she's 29 and this is so lame. I think about how I need a job so that I can get a hair cut and buy some lovely clothes instead of the clothes I've had for five years plus. The clothes I wore when I was 18. I think about how I'd love to be shopping in Japan and away from this situation because I'm bored, unbelievably bored and restricted. It's just a fucking Cape!

The September Issue vol.3 chp 1

2010-09-05T16:33:00.006+01:00

I'm one of those confident types, I wear want I want when I want and anything I can't afford I make. I've realised all of my dreams. I'm as artistic and free as I ever wanted to be. I live in Japan. I started off in Osaka and after a year I moved to Yokohama, Tokyo. I hang around in Shibuya, Omotesando and Daikanyama regularly. I experience the street fashion I'm obsessed with and better yet I learn the language, the culture, the people. I am right where I want to be. I have my own dinky, minuscule tatami mat flat. I'm losing weight but that's welcomed. I'm on a budget and that means no matter how awful my cooking, I have to eat it. My closet space is non-existent but I pack lightly. I use a futon that I air out when the weather permits. The neighbours aren't very chatty - not like in Osaka - but I figure it's only a matter of time.

I work as a English teacher. Everyday I wake up in the morning, brush my teeth, shower, do my hair and get dressed; preferably something quirky but formal... not too formal, mind you; I'm not part of the herd of office, business, all-round serious people in this world. I work with these really great kids, some of them are called delinquents but I've seen worse. No one expects too much from me, they treat me as the foreigner, always different, never Japanese. It doesn't bother me that much because I'm still wondering around Japan with rose-tinted glasses. I take part in after-school activities like archery and film club. Commuting back from work, I stop by the 100 yen store to pick up some underwear and slippers.

On weekends I tutor a student for an hour; just for conversational English. We sit in a cafe and I have some type of fruit juice in the summer or hot chocolate in the winter; I don't drink tea or coffee. My student's a boy, he's painfully shy but I suspect that's because I'm foreign and not just any foreign, I'm black foreign. It doesn't bother me, though. He's a kid. Talking to him is like pulling teeth but I don't care because I'm still getting paid. One day we'll find a common ground, somewhere we can connect, I hope.

After tutoring I call my girl, we're going to see a movie. We're not sure which, we're just gonna get there and then decide. My Japanese is pretty solid by now so I can watch a Japanese film with no worries. She's really cool. I met her at one of those uber cool vintage shops in Harajuku called Kinsella. She was rummaging around the scarf rack. I have a penchant for scarves. For some reason (I can't remember why) we start talking and we took it from there. Looking back it was very unusual for me to make a friend like that; I'm a bit of a loner, I'm an accidental loner... but a loner all the same. I head home for a clean up of my flat and I make a list of what I need. I head off the the mall in my high-waisted apparel jeans rolled up at the ankle and a cropped top I made out of African wax print. It's a warm enough day, though and I meet someone at the music store. We exchange numbers ^_^.

I get back home around 4:00pm and I'm out of my place just as soon as I got in. I need to get to the cinema's.

Post-August 19th

2010-08-22T12:21:00.001+01:00

In My Reality: San was empty because that's exactly what happened. NOTHING. On the night of August 18th I found out that the university wasn't accepting any home/EU students through Clearing, effectively cancelling Clearing 2010. I never got a chance to try...

In My Reality: San

2010-08-19T15:26:00.000+01:00

In My Mind: Ni

2010-08-19T09:39:00.000+01:00

In my mind this is how I want the conversation on August 19th to go:

Tutor: What were your results?

Me: Three C's.

Tutor: You can't really do any of our courses...

Me: I know, but I got those grades like years ago.

Tutor: I see...

Me: For the past 3 years I been studying Biology at Queen Mary. Last summer I decided to drop out (I'm not sure whether I should add in the fact that I failed) and pursue Japanese full-time. Alongside studying at QM I've been teaching myself Japanese. I feel that I need guidance in my study, short of moving to Japan I don't know how else to best improve my Japanese skills. I really have a genuine passion for any thing Japanese, I want to know anything and everything. I think this uni has the perfect atmosphere to nurture that.

Tutor: Uh huh, uh huh..........Welcome aboard. Give us your clearing number and you can enroll in September.

Me: Woooooooooohoooooooooooooo.

THE END

In My Mind: Ichi

2010-08-18T19:49:00.005+01:00

In my mind this is how the conversation on August 19th will go:

Tutor: What were your results?

Me: Three C's.

Tutor: You can't really do any of our courses... (Thanks to this shitty economy and even shittier Coalition Government there aren't any places left in clearing.)

Me: Not even Chinese? (I figure I could get my foot in the door.)

Tutor: NO!!!

ABRUPT END

Pre-August 19th

2010-08-17T22:50:00.000+01:00

I'm bloody nervous and it's only August 17th. I have a plan. I have a speech. I'm gonna bombarded them with info about why I'm such a great prospect. I'm not gonna take no for an answer. I'm even thinking about bribing them, but that's for when I'm really desperate. I don't know whether I should write about what August 19th means to me because I don't want to jinx it... but I guess it's OK cos I'm not gonna publish it right away.

August 19th is an important day for any 18-ish year olds in England because the A'Level exam results come out. It's a day when you find out what else you're gonna be studying for the next 3-4 years. My results day was filled with tears because I got three C's, what a waste of tears: a) three C's aren't that bad; especially since I hardly studied for them, b) I would've been failing Biomedical Sciences at King's instead of Biology at Queen Mary. You can see that science was not in my future but I was trying to force the subject. At that spectacularly crap Catholic school I was always good at Art but I didn't pursue it. I didn't think that it was a 'serious' person's subject, so I did Biology and Chemistry... that's what 'serious' people do - you can see how green I was. I couldn't see a future in Art because I never felt like I was particularly good at it, I wasn't particularly good at the Sciences either but I thought I could get better. Why didn't I think I could get better at Art? I was short-sited (I really am short-sited if you saw my pics, hihi) and immature, but that's what you expect of a kid. I wish I'd had more guidance.

City of Westminster College is my back-up plan. I'm one of those people who didn't particularly like school. I'm also one of those people who give little effort or emotion to things that don't interest them. I don't want to go back to that college setting to do Biology, Psychology and Sociology just to get the A'level entry grades for BA Japanese. I might need to, though. Why would I want to go to university? University's a whole other kettle of fish, in my opinion. Queen Mary wasn't even that bad, I just hated Biology. I think studying something I love at a great uni would bring out the best in me. I mean, seriously...I'm a Ghanaian studying Japanese by myself. If I didn't have a passion for it I would have giving up when I started trying to memorise Kanji.

So here I am, wishing that I was Irish or a Leprechaun, praying that someone really fucks up their exams and I get their spot - I kinda feel guilty for that, though. Phone lines open at 9am, so I'll start ringing at 8:58. Fingers crossed, wish me luck. ^_^

You really get to know people

2010-08-15T19:31:00.001+01:00

I had a great conversation with Henry VIII the other day. I said earlier that we hadn't really started yet but I think we have now. We talked about university; he told his school that their courses were shit even though he basically failed each year and still managed to graduate, I'm starting to think there's something wrong with me. Why couldn't I tell Stan that his course was shit but he should still let me progress to the third year even though I... ahh, he has the gift of the gab - a gift I'm trying to imitate come August 19th but that's another post. Then we went onto Japan; the lucky bastard got visit a friend in Tokyo the year before, I can at least say that my Japanese is better than his...but that's not really worth shit cos I really want to be in Japan. We even talked about Ghanaian food because he'd tried fufu, this coming out of a English boy had me pleasantly surprised ^_^.

The Queen and her Sidekick: these are two new characters in the saga that is my internship. They're generally pleasant, but they can give off this attitude. I'm not sure whether it's immaturity or the much documented black girl attitude; it doesn't help, in this world, to have that attitude. You have to behave in public, that's all I'm saying. You have to learn to put on a pleasant face when you're pissed off because, guess what, this is an internship. Even if they don't keep you on, you get the experience as well as something great to add to your CV. But they don't get that, the latter more so than the former. Maybe if they'd spent a year in exile, unsure of the future, unsure of plans laid, unsure of everything they would appreciate this opportunity more. I just found out today that the Sidekick left. Just up and gone. She went on her lunch break and never came back. I was chatting with the Showgirl about what a waste it was. It wasn't that bad, but she gave up becuase it wasn't worth it for her to grit her teeth and bare with it. I wonder if that's because of a lack of maturity. When I think about my situation last year, when I think about that sinking feeling and the need to get out of the situation as quickly as possible I wonder if giving up was that simple for her. Granted, she was a moody little cow, hihi (even the models thought so), but she could really talk to people when she wanted to. She could be really charming so that she built up a rapport with the clients - a skill I've only incrementally improved on. She even told me about the clients she had gained, her CV would've been great, what a waste.

I was studying Biology because I didn't take a breath after my A'Levels to truly understand what best suited me, I can be at peace with myself over the decision to quit a degree I had no intention of utilizing except to get my visa for Japan. The Sidekick is a fashion student, can she guarantee that she won't meet any of this people ever again? That they won't remember?

Look! It has Wiiiinnnggggssss

2010-08-12T22:13:00.005+01:00

Do you like them, do you? Don't worry if you don't cos I do. Flaunt anything with a Japanese style heel or pleats (preferably not together) and I'm sold. I go crazy for these VW + Melissa Plastic Dreams Rocking Horse shoes, but alas I'm poor. Feel free to buy them for me in any colour, I really don't mind. I'm a European Size 5 (I'm a 5 and a half really, but no one sells that). ^_^ ............. .....and this.

She Judo Chopped me

2010-08-08T17:22:00.000+01:00

So, during the busiest week yet at this internship I was Judo chopped. Yes, JUDO chopped... OK, maybe I'm being a bit dramatic. I'd been on my feet all day helping the models change into and out of their clothes. I'd had lunch courtesy of the company but it was awful. I had a Falafel melt from Pret; it's a wrap filled with Feta, sauteed red onions, tomato sauce and Falafel, of course. Don't ever get it, it's pure acid. The Falafel was drowned out by the lemon acidic, tomato puree sauce (hey Pret, you have to balance tomato sauces with sugar or the equivalent) and the Feta just intensified the sharp, biting taste. The only relief came from the sweet red onions but they were scarce.

Anyway, I was on a roll; unzipping, buttoning etc. I had just finished unbuttoning a garment and I was about to place/chuck it onto the model's chair. BAM! She got me! It was purely accidental, but in a blink of an eye my glasses were on the floor in two and my vision was a blur. The model was filled with apologies and promises to fix them. She was surprised at how calm I was but... I really didn't care that much, I was too busy and I had another pair; they're not the same prescription but they work. I've been wearing glasses since I was in year three so that makes it about 12 years. My eyesight is bad but not awful. I can function without them but I can't drive, or read or see people very well... that sounds quite bad, though. Thinking about it now, my eyesight is shit. I wouldn't even be able to cross the road. My boss sent me upstairs to get a replacement to assist the models and to fix my glasses, I offered to carry on but she wasn't having it. I don't know what I was thinking, I can just imagine it now; unbuttoning the clothes with them 2cm from my face because that's the only distance at which they weren't a blur, lol.

My boss's boss examined them and decided that because it was a clean break they could be super-glued together again. I was up for it cos I wanted to get back to work. She glued them back together and they were like new. You wouldn't even know that they had been broken. Moral of the Story; don't get too close to the models ^_^

You get to know people

2010-08-07T18:02:00.001+01:00

First impressions aren't always true. You hang around the same people long enough, you find that you peel off a new layer each time. This past month and a half I've learned a lot about the other interns. Some of them have revealed their ages in their stroppy behaviour, while others have revealed their adaptability, their street savvy.

I feel like I'm jumping the gun because I didn't write a post about the Spring/Summer interns of '11 - I planned to but I didn't get to it, mostly because I was feeling lazy; that's how we ended up with Newbies. I think I mentioned before that there were nine of us in all, and of that nine there were only two guys so I'll start with them. The first guy, I'm gonna call Henry VIII cos he looks like Henry VIII, the early years; I wouldn't compare him to the fat, bed-sore ridden, "hoist me onto my horse" Henry VIII in his latter years. He's more like Henry the hunter of game, the lover of sport and trophies. He's 6 ft ish with a bit of a belly though, lol. He's got a really cool fashion sense for a straight guy, and he wears a lot of expensive brands which I'm still not sure how he gets his hands on. I figure he's either a rich kid or he knows someone who knows someone. The type who has a lot of connections. He wears tailored trousers, rolled up so that he reveals his quirky striped socks and brown, leather shoes as is the fashion in London nowadays. Yesterday, he donned a black, sequined cap; it was so wrong but so right. Henry's a Chatty Cathy in a really good way, that's the first thing I noticed about him. He fits in so well. Initially, I thought that he was a permanent member of staff; he'd only started a week prior to me but he knew everything and whatever he didn't know he was quick to learn. He was able to talk to the staff as a colleague and not as an unpaid intern. I don't think that we've gotten off to a good or bad start because we haven't really started. That's what happens when you have so many interns that work on different lines, you can go the whole day without talking to each other or even seeing each other. But when we do see each other it's usually at the office and he's crazy funny, and witty and knowledgeable.

The other male intern is the Raj, he's very friendly and inquisitive. He's really dedicated to his work - which I admire. I think he comes from an affluent family because he's an oversees student, who's still here during the summer. And he goes out for lunch - a luxury I can't afford, lol. I think he's sweet and by sweet I mean gay. Why? The swish of his hips as he walks is unlike any other heterosexual man I have met in my life. We all know that straight men pretend to be unaware of they're hips unless they're dancers. I think we'll get on fine ^_^.

The other interns are OK, there's not much to say about them because no particular personality stands out to me. I'll just say that I can see some issues between certain girls, but we're girls; I don't think we could call ourselves females if we didn't dislike each other at some point during the day, lol.

Why the Fuck are you Here?

2010-07-25T11:28:00.004+01:00

So far, at this internship, we've had pretty good clients. They range from pleasant to seriously funny. Today we got an über bitch. The type of bitch you read about in books like The Devil Wears Prada, she was just so pissy. She came later than her colleague, for whatever reason, and I ended up having to greet her at the door. With a smile Julie Andrews would be proud of I greeted her and with a sour-ass face she greeted me, no that's wrong, she didn't greet me, she registered my presence. She was a heavy set woman, which was probably why she insisted on wearing a boring, black, wrap-around dress that skimmed over her. I wouldn't have pegged her for a buyer at first glance. They normally have a sense of style even when it is simple, she could have been on Fleet Street with the way she was dressed. She had blonde hair; not the nice kind, no, it was dull, unnatural... like she'd been dyeing it for some years. I knew this wasn't gonna go well.

I took her upstairs - oh, I forgot to mention that she was so late that her colleague had already picked out the collection she thought would work best for them. She walked in like a tornado and said 'No. No. Don't like it. Can't sell it.' All with a sour-ass face. She didn't like anything that made the collection unique. She wanted safe and easy. I despise safe and easy. When she left as sourly as she came in, her colleague quietly apologised to my boss for her boss. But this is the fashion industry, there are pricks and sour bitches everywhere you turn.

A Cocktail and a Farewell

2010-07-24T16:36:00.004+01:00

That lucky bitch got to model for the Designer. I'm sorry to jump straight into it like but I'm so green, so what if I'm barely 5' 2'', so what if I have a hips that hate me. I could have done it. Okay, so I've had my rant and I've left la-la land. Life's comme ci, comme ca - if your wondering. I've been at this internship for a month and I'm definitely starting school this September... I just don't know where. I'll either be at a university or at a college. I don't have to state which I'd prefer, do I?

I was reading wanderinginmiyazaki today, she was leaving Japan after a 2 year stint as a teacher. I was... what's the word... not as strong as melancholy but thereabouts. I was sad to see her go because the blog was great and real and welcoming. But I could still see that she had had a great experience and it was time to move on. She seemed like she had learned and grown from life in Japan. Good Luck ^_^

Newbies

2010-07-09T23:14:00.001+01:00

Interns are plenty, for the showroom alone there are nine. We don't get travel but we can help ourselves to biscuit and diet coke - as long as we don't gorge. I give myself a coke when I've worked particularly hard but I try not to make it a habit, don't wanna be accused of stealing. We do anything and everything ranging for getting tea, coffee, lunch and aiding in general sales. We work in pairs for each brand, I work with a showgirl... at least that's what I'm gonna call her. I know a lot of people that would dislike her, but I'm not one of them. Why? Cos I don't give a shit. We work together and have pleasant conversations. That's it. I don't take her too seriously. I think it's that attribute the makes it easier to live in a place like Japan, which has a pretty homogeneous population. I'm spectacularly unobservant.

The Players

2010-07-08T15:18:00.004+01:00

I got an internship thanks to some much needed nepotism, my CV is quite scarce. The interview was so informal; it seemed more like a formality, really. It took place in one of their offices with my soon-to-be boss, her boss and my sister. When they invited my sister to sit in we both looked at each other with that 'what the fuck expression?'. Thinking back, that look could have been because she was off in la-la land on account of the cold/flu that had been going around the family. She looked like hell that day, so she donned on some sunglasses - thanks to the freakishly warm English summer - and the simplest maxi she could find. I escaped relatively unscathed with a brief cough. It went by really quickly, but that might have been because I was still in shock about my sister sitting in. You see, I had a plan. I had questions to ask and things to tell them. That all went to hell though.

On the first day of work I was introduced to the players, like one of those crime capers where you get a rag-tag team of crude but skillful crooks trying to get their biggest score. There's the Boss Lady; tall and as friendly as you'd expect your boss to be. She has a continental accent but I still haven't been able to figure out her origins. She was lovely at my interview but as a general rule I try not to look her directly in the eye - it's been a habit of mine since primary school to limit eye-contact with persons of authority. The Kooky; she's my boss, she's great, she's funny, she's mad about the World Cup - a person after my heart. As a general rule don't ask her to explain how to do anything, ever - you can see her mind bouncing around like an energised bunny. She's the only one in the office who wears heels, which I have to applaud her for. I only wear heels at home, on my carpet for like 5 minutes at a time (just to show off to my sisters how much smaller my feet are then theirs and why I have inherited mum's vintage shoes instead of them, haha. (A bit off topic, hihi).

The rest of the gang have small but important roles in my education, there's the Jeweller; a fan of all things animal print, he's amusing and a wonderfully eccentric - in his fashion sense - Italian. I worked with him for the first week because Kooky hadn't received her stock. I didn't know that I would love bags and jewels sooooo much but I really, really do; I've been using the same bag for like 4 years, so you can tell how much importance I normally place on accessories. Maria the Nun; outspoken (very much so) and has a wacky dress sense that I can very much appreciate. The Brazilian; an avid fan of my hair, whenever I walk in without the curly fro he shouts in his accent 'Why you not doing your hair?!'. And last but not least the Man; he's really easy going and cordial but there's more to him than meets the eye... but that's for later.

Oh, and a big Fuck You to the Jobcentre ^_^

Decisions

2010-07-02T18:25:00.000+01:00

I decided to drop out of my course, no more Biology, no more unhappiness. I have to go back to school to get some more A'levels because I've decided to gonna study Japanese as a degree. I'm really excited about something for the first time.

Balancing

2010-07-02T08:19:00.000+01:00

So, I've been neglecting my blog lately. It's 8:16 am and I'm about to leave for work (unpaid internship). I promise I'll tell you all about it when I get home, cos HEY it's Friday!!!!!!!!

Word of the Day: Indolent...

2010-05-08T15:57:00.001+01:00

...yes, that's me. Indolent, faineant, otiose basically I'm a lazy git. Today I remembered that I have an exam on the 7th. When I told my mother she laughed while she remarked that she worries about me. Me?! Why? She said it was because I didn't like learning. I had to correct her. It's not that I don't like learning, it's that I don't like what I'm learning. If I despised learning I wouldn't have decided to learn a whole new language all by myself. It's not easy and really requires dedication. I haven't had time to blog lately and I feel like I've been neglecting SayJ, unfortunately it's gonna have to go on for a bit longer. My mother's having the kitchen done and I'm studying for my resists. I promise after the 24th I'll be back with some more anecdotes ^_^... .. . .

A Quickie

2010-04-16T23:05:00.001+01:00

I'm supposed to be studying know, so this one's gonna be short. My mum's having the kitchen done so we only have the sink and a portable stove at our disposal. The neighbours are playing obscenely crappy loud music again, which wouldn't be a problem if my mother would just give me the landlady's number. She thinks I'm gonna be nasty to her but I'm just gonna be a bitch.

Miscellaneous

2010-03-26T11:07:00.026Z

The elections are looming, personally, I'm not going to vote. I never have but I actually have a reason this year. They're all the same and they're all crap, but not just any old crap... you know what I mean. All they do is steal and throw stones, and these are the people who a supposed to have had the most highest of education. The people who are supposed to lead us out of the Recession. If you ask me the problem with the politicians in the UK is that they have all been galvanised with a thick, glossy coat of shit. They look fine to the untrained eye, they even look like everyday professionals in suits... except for that extra glossy coat. It's a coat you gradually build up with experience, the older you are the thicker the coat. Having said that David Cameron's pretty young for a party leader, but he's got 'dodgy' written all over him; especially with the eerily smooth face of his, it has no character at all. Then the James Gordon Brown, he's got more than enough lines but then he's got the creepy jaw thing. I don't believe any of them and if there was a "none of thee above because you're all f**king liars" option I would get off my arse come election day to my old primary school and tick that option.

And on a plus note I made something, I made some scarves. They involved a lot of stress (not really), tears (definitely not) and pain (well that's actually true, crochet hurts). Oh, and I found some pics of some 'interesting' sweets my friend Steph gave me.

Me... an Officer... hhmmmm

2010-03-04T10:24:00.001Z

I had to laugh. I'm not that fussed, anymore, about the things the jobcentre makes me do. I just tried to apply for a job as an Applicant Enquiries Officer at a university. Me. I had to do the standard registration thingy; the first question they asked was: Do you have A levels? So I answer YES, then they ask: Do you have any customer service experience in student applications? or something like that. It was one of those questions that everything hinges on, I could tell, and so I answered NO. 'I can not tell a lie'. It quickly takes me to another page with a message saying: 'Unfortunately you have not proceeded any further'... blah, blah, blah. Gee, I didn't see that one coming. I had to laugh. The job offered a £23,000-26,000 salary. Why would any employer in their right mind give me that much money, knowing that I have no customer service experience and that my last job was as a sales assistant in year 9 on my work experience. I had to laugh. Hehe.

Today's the Day

2010-02-27T08:50:00.000Z

I'm not blonde and I don't have a ribbon adorned grey cat as a sidekick - my mother wouldn't let me - but it is my birthday. Another year has gone. I'm a bit older, at least that's what they tell me, but I don't feel like it. I'm 21 today, I still can't drive, I'm still gonna be in England and I'm still gonna be in school. Maybe I'll get my new laptop, maybe I'll get a job. I'll keep holding my breath ^_^.

Racist MF

2010-02-24T18:56:00.000Z

So my mother and I went to sign the papers for our new kitchen, we're in dyer need. We have one of those seriously dated kitchens. I think it's the original kitchen from when she bought in the 80's and that's exactly what the kitchen is, 80's... seriously. It's got this worn, crappy, white gloss facade on MDF. I despise MDF. That's one. The hobs, as far back as I can remember have never worked at full capacity. Out of the four hobs only two have ever worked. And of those two only one emits a full flame. That's two. The grill hasn't worked in ten years and the oven burns anything facing it's parallel heating filaments. Imaging getting a sun tan only on your arms and legs, leaving a white strip of untanned skin. When that happens with your roast chicken you end up with raw chicken in the middle. That's three. I'm not gonna miss that kitchen, in fact, if I could, I would help the builders dismantle it.

We finished signing and paying; I say 'we' but it was really my mother, I was only there for the technical stuff. I wanted to go buy some wool because I'm obsessed with making my own socks right now, so I spilt up with my mum. I was waiting for a bus to take me to the shopping centre, all the while thinking 'It's fucking cold!'. The bus finally came but the bus driver wouldn't open the door, he could see me but he didn't care. Only opening the exit doors instead, it pissed me off. He was thin, like willowy thin. He had dark circles under his eyes, not from lack of sleep though, I think it just some hyper-pigmentation thing. His hair was shaved pretty low. I gave him a couple of seconds and then knocked on the door.

Me: "You gonna open the doors?"

He didn't say anything, but instead did a hand gesture I didn't understand. I looked ahead and noticed that the bus in front was changing drivers so I figured that was what he was waiting for. He started to move, getting ready to change shifts. I looked behind to see a female driver ready to take over. He opened the doors and stepped out.

Me: "You couldn't have opened the doors to tell me that?!" You're in public service, you're supposed to be courteous.

Racist MotherFucker: "$%?£?$!!!"

Me: "$%£^&%!!!" What the fuck's wrong with you? Psycho!!!

We carried on like that swearing back and forth for a few more seconds then an older black gentleman came and told the Racist MF not to talk to me like that, but the Racist MF just directed his attention and misguided anger at him instead. Then as he walked away he said:

Racist MF: "You're like the colour of my shit."

Now if that isn't racist I don't know what is. If he'd just said 'you're shit', that would have been different because only he would know what he truly meant by that. But he said the colour of my shit. The funny thing is that the Racist MF was Asian, ie. Indian, Pakistani etc. I am very aware of the country I live in. I am very aware that I'm a minority and that's the first time I've ever seen overt racism. What he doesn't realise is that together we make up 7.9% of the total population. This isn't his country. He's viewed with the same contempt I am. What a piece of shit. No fucking respect. I filled out a complaints form and I hope his racist arse gets what's coming to him.

Oh Fanny!!!

2010-02-23T23:59:00.000Z

I'm watching Oprah, I feel it's necessary right here and now to state that I'm not a fan of the show. It's boring and stupid and boring most importantly. It's basically Oprah talking to middle aged housewives who hang on her every word, thus spending the duration of the show oohing and ahhing and clapping like puppets. It's gross, repetitive and monotonous. Unfortunately I don't have control of the remote. She's interviewing Martha Stewart pre prison sentence (we get lots of re-runs) and that got me thinking about the home cook goddesses we have in England: Nigella Lawson; who oozes sex, Delia Smith Queen of Patronisation; she actually did a show about how to boil an egg and the original Fanny Cradock. Now she was something.

We get to watch her shows around the Christmas holiday because of the nostalgia, the first of her kind. She had those old school eyebrows drawn in after shaving her original ones off, giving them a manufactured hooked shape. And then there was her roller set overnight pale blonde (sometimes reddish brown) hair framing her powder pale face. She spoke the Queen's English. She was definitely a lady of her time. She was no nonsense. She was spectacular but I wouldn't recreate any of her recipes.

The first time I watched her show I was taken aback, she did this segment because apparently no one in England during the 1970's could carve their chicken properly at Christmas and she was on a mission to fix that. It scared the shit out of me, not enough to make me hate chicken (nothing could do that) but... maybe I was more grossed out than scared. Watching it again I think my reaction was due to the insipid, anaemic appearance of the chicken.

Something Funny

2010-02-14T16:44:00.000Z

In between being Pissed Off

2010-02-10T09:28:00.000Z

I was waiting to be probed about not applying for that crappy job... no wait, those crappy jobs.

Guy at Jobcentre: Are you Muslim?

Me: No. What?Huh?Why?

Guy: Then why is your head covered.

Me: I'm a black girl. I have a hairstyle I don't want to expose the general public to. (reference I Am Not My Hair) You're black too, should I be explaining this to you?

Guy: Oh. Understanding nod, he's been around a lot of black girls

Me: I'm not religious.

Guy: Why? You don't believe in God?

Me: I don't believe God is all-loving. I don't think about God in my everyday life... I don't believe anything will happen because I faith in God like they say I should... and I don't believe things happen because of God.

Guy: Oh, okay. Uh oh, went overboard

Guy: I have a theory about that: there is no original thought/idea, everything is based on the previous. And at the previous there is God. He's definitely been waiting a while to tell someone this.

Our conversation was interrupted by my case worker who told me I could go home. I do believe in God, I just don't believe the pretty omnipresent, omniscient, omnipotent and all-loving God. Not when things like The Tsunami and Haiti happens. Yes, I believe that there is a God, but I believe it cares about me as much as I care about it. Negligible.

I didn't see that one comin'

2010-02-08T15:16:00.001Z

I went to the jobcentre again today for my weekly appointment. I was almost late because I'd just engulfed the porkball soup my mother made with the cheddar scone my sister made. You know how you get all sleepy after a good meal. I think it's because of the heat released when you're breaking it down in your stomach. Anyway I couldn't help it, I wanted to have a nap, a siesta. I had been re-reading Frank Herbert's Dune, but my lids were heavy, really heavy; the type of heavy that would make you read the same sentence at least 3 times. I decided to give it a rest and instead concentrate on the Judge Judy episode, it was just getting good when the shutters came down, DRAT. It was around 11.15 when I fell asleep and my jobcentre appointment was at 11.50, this had to be a quickie. I vaguely remember Judge Judy going off on some idiot teenager accused of harassing another teenager. I woke up at 11.45 which gave me just enough time to walk over to that place. I had to hustle but I got out of the house in time.

The thing that bugs me about the jobcentre is that everything related is just as fucked up as the jobcentre itself. Even the route to the jobcentre is littered with shit, literally, there's dog shit all along the pathway, like breadcrumbs leading the way. Not any old dog shit mind you, it was the kind others, less conscious than I, had stepped into and smeared along the path in an attempt to remove the shit. So to recap, I have to walk under the underpass which is littered with shit, chicken bones and every piece of crap you can think of to get to the jobcentre. And thanks to the diligently crappy English weather, it was too dark to see were I was going. Not to mention my really shitty eyesight, even with my glasses. If you saw me from afar you'd think I was playing hop scotch with all the side stepping I had to do.

I got to the jobcentre and went upstairs to wait for my case worker. That changes pretty regularly but I recognised this guy, I'd had him before (not in the creepy way it sounds). He was bald, no vestiges of the hair follicles he rocked during the 60's. He had a goatee though, stubbled with grey hairs and glasses. I think they were one of those frameless ones, but to tell you the truth I wasn't paying that much attention. I try to go in and out as quickly as possible, if I'm too attentive I have to stay there longer. I still wanted to make it back for the rest of Judge Judy.

Him: So how are your job searches going?

Me: Fine. Keep the answers short

Him: Mmm...aahhhhh...hh Doing that annoying mumbling thing again

Him: Did you apply for these jobs?

Me: No, I forgot. Hurry up

Him: So... aahhmmmhh... you didn't apply?

Me: No. I forgot. Redundant

Him: Mmmmhhhhh...aaaaaaahhhh Uh oh, that's an extra long 'mmh'

Him: Excuse me.

So he left for a while, I thought he was printing off some job searches for me, but to my surprise he comes back with a form. An official form for me to fill in and sign explaining why I didn't apply. It's not like I didn't do any job searches, I just didn't do those ones. I'm very much a fan of the expression 'beggars can't be choosers', I'm not at the stage in my life where I'm a beggar so I ain't gonna do some crappy job just cause they shove it in my face. He made me wait for some guy to interview me about why I didn't apply. I'm really pissed off. I missed Judge Judy.

Music's My Business

2010-02-05T12:10:00.003Z

I can't sing and I can't dance but I like my music. My mum went halfsies with me for my birthday present. I got an Ipod, the last one I had was a mini which broke down shortly after I gave it to my sister ^_^.

I Am Not My Hair pt.2

2010-02-03T19:51:00.001Z

I was happy with the result, no more running out of the rain like a cat. My hair was now permanently straight (at least until the afro hair roots started to grow again, we in the community call this re-growth, lol). They told me that I was eligible for another relaxer after 8 weeks minimum. Then the relaxer could only be applied to the roots of the hair; the new, tough afro hair in dire need of taming. The only downside, at the time, was that you had to fork out 40 to 50 quid every 2 months. Which prompted you to buy a damn good blow dryer and take the best care of your hair possible just to make that 40 quid worth it's while. I could go up to 4 months without a relaxer because my hair was surprisingly easy; it stayed moist, it grew easily and it didn't get split ends.

I also found out that the burning was subjective; my sister told me that she didn't feel a thing when the relaxer was in her hair. What the hell? Her scalp was like concrete while mine was silk chiffon. I wasted My mother wasted a few more hundred pounds in the next 2 years on me so I could sit in the salon and burn the shit out of my scalp on a regular basis.

I think it was Christmas of 2008 when I decided that relaxing was full of shit. I mean before that I had been dabbling with the idea but it was a lot of effort to get rid of the relaxed hair. Effort involving cutting most of it off, I didn't want to think too much about that. I went to the hair salon as usual and the relaxer burned the shit out of my scalp as usual... it was f**king painful, it left f**king scabs. And I thought 'why should I ever have to put myself through that shit?', that was it, my decision was made. I just wish I made it before I went in. I could've saved my self 50 quid and some hair, lol.

The funny thing about afro hair is how much it shrinks when you wash it, literally. The hair shrinks as a reaction to water, a bit similar to they way caucasian hair curls when wet but this is more extreme for black people. When I wash my hair it shrinks so much it reminds me of primary school haircut, the one I had when I was 'fresh off the boat' from Ghana and hardly spoke any English. It's really short, lol. Nowadays we have the godsend that is the blow dryer, I can go from freakishly short hair to cute short hair ^_^. But before that, when I was in primary school my mother would braid my hair.

She used to section my hair into 6 then apply a generous amount of blue magic to my hair. It's very greasy and very heavy but it works. As she applied the magic (lol) to my hair she would comb out all the knots with a Matador; the only comb that didn't break or bend in my hair. The thing that gets me about my hair is that even after conditioning it still has knots. It hurt then and it still hurts now, but I'm getting used to it all over again. She would do this to all 6 sections then the real work began. I would get black thread ready with a knot at the end; something thick and strong enough, something that wouldn't break easily. I would give it to my mother and she would wrap it around my hair. She used as much thread as needed until the whole section of hair, from the root to the tip, was wrapped in the thread.

The best way I can describe the end result is that it looks like six sticks glued onto my head. It's really tight and I feel like I've had an instant facelift. Literally, I feel like my eyebrows are touching my hairline. Luckily I only have to wear it for a couple of days.

So, this is how I grow my hair now. Utilising the wisdom of my ancestors ^_^. The idea makes sense when you think about it. By pulling the hair and creating that tension it forces the root to grow to relieve the stress. You get used to it, although having said that I had to take an ibruprofen the last time my mother did my hair; one side of my face was throbbing like a son of a bitch, lol. The things a girl is willing to go through for her hair.

I Am Not My Hair pt.1

2010-01-30T18:51:00.003Z

India Arie, Testimony: Vol 1 Life & Relationship. It's a great album, truly. I very rarely listen to the actual words of a song, mainly because they're all the same and sometimes because I get distracted by all the hoopla. But not with this, no, I Am Not My Hair made perfect sense, it was clear, she was clear. I even like Akon on it and I DON'T LIKE AKON; it's nothing personal, I just dislike his voice. She describes the numerous processes her hair went through, all because society decided that afro hair wasn't attractive. She starts off with a presser curl, then a Jheri Curl and finally a relaxer before her hair breaks off. Not a pretty sight, trust me. There's nothing worse than the day you realise that there's a whole chunk of your hair missing all because you liked you hairband a bit too much.

Having lived with an afro all my life because I'm black (applause), I know that there are just some things you can't do to it. It may look tough because it's so bushy but it's actually very brittle. DON'T put too much heat into it, DON'T apply more than one chemical process to it at a time and DO condition like your life depended on it.

Each generation has their own schtick, we don't know when my grandmother was born because for Ghanaians, in those days, there wasn't a need to know. I suspect they were busy trying to live past the age if 5. When we went back for her funeral I saw some pictures of her in her hay-day, she had thick, lush hair and because she was having a special picture taken she wore her hair straight. I asked my mum about it and she said that she had pressed her hair with one of those old school hot combs, probably the ones that you have to heat on the stove, then she curled it with metal rollers.

My mother was born in the late 40's. I found some baby pictures of her when we went to the funeral too, but she didn't think much of her hair back then. She remarked about how tough her hair was (has always been) and how her scalp was chronically sore for one reason or the other. By her late teens she'd started relaxing it because it was an easier way of maintain the highly sort after straight hair. She had few hairstyles in the coming decades, but they revolved around faux afro wigs like the lady in the black and white photo.

She started braiding my hair for me in '95 when my sister and I first came to live with her in England. I had a boys hair cut back then. A 1cm long No.1 haircut, because in Ghana, school girls have boy's hair cuts. Don't ask me why, it's one of those unanswered questions, like why Mariah Carey decided to get a boob job. I think I first relaxed my hair the summer before Sixth Form (College), I was tired of walking around with my afro hair. I didn't know what to do with it and I stood out, mainly because of the way I wore it but partly because I was the only student in my year group that had afro hair that long.

For those who don't know, a relaxer is a chemical treatment used to straighten obstinately curly hair. The first time at the salon was an eye-opener, the hairstylist distributed the relaxer from the root right to the ends because my hair was all afro (virgin hair). I think she took about 15 minutes to get the relaxer in, I don't know the right amount of time but I know now that it's best not to dilly-dally. I hadn't washed my hair for 2 weeks in anticipation; that's not as abnormal as it may seem, not washing afro hair for that long I mean. It began to tingle as soon as she was done applying the relaxer. Several minutes passed and that tingle started to spread enough that it become an itch I wanted to scratch, desperately. I resisted the urge because the hairstylist used gloves as she applied the relaxer and I'll be damned if I was gonna stick my, unprotected, hand in my itchy head. While I was busy thinking about not scratching, the itch started to burn ever so slightly. And then it grew, the burn I mean. It brought heat on top of heat. It spread like a wildfire on my scalp, increase in coverage and intensity simultaneously. It burned like hell.

Learn Japanese, it's Easy

2010-01-29T15:00:00.002Z

NO. It is bloody-well not easy. It's hard to keep motivated because even when you don't have a job and you've been kicked out of school (temporarily), you can get easily detracted. i.e. We just got the Food Network over here in England, and TV in general's kinda crap so my sister put it on the Food Network just so it's not too quiet. We're watching Grill It! with Bobby Flay: Chef Extraordinaire or so he thinks. Why is he so obsessed with chillis? Even though I don't care for food adorned with cilantro, it's still better the taking those two steps to my Japan Centre Kanji Book. I'm rambling aren't I?

p.s. Why do all American cooking shows revolve around a 'battle of culinary masters'? Ever heard of Rick Stein?

Bikram Yoga... Break my back more like

2010-01-28T18:33:00.001Z

So, I started Bikram Yoga. They were doing a New Year's deal because everyone's put on some pounds since the holidays and made all those crapy resolutions. It was a 20 quid for 14 days thing, which is pretty worth it considering a drop-in session cost 15 pounds alone. I went with my sister to to one of they're many sites in London to register and feel out the place. Bikram yoga is no more strenuous than Ashtanga yoga, which is what I normally do, except you don't have some guy telling you to relax your anus, ^_^. The postures are different and in the 40 degree celsius heat it's particularly hard; not only are you stretching and tensing all the muscles in your body, you're also trying to do it all while breathing through your nose AND sucking your stomach in. You go in looking like this...

...but you come out feeling like this, lol.

You sweat bucket loads even if your technique isn't that good.

The picture says it all.

2010-01-18T12:48:00.005Z

My year in exile's taking it's toll on me. I just went to the job centre, I despise the job centre. I really do. They give me 50 quid a week, but it's not like I need it, I'm luckier than most because I have a lovely mother. I only go because I don't want to burden her too much. But... it's taking it's toll on me. I feel like I'm ready to go but... I'm stuck. And frustrated... and I can't breathe. Today's not so good.

Ice Age... that's what they tell me

2010-01-16T21:04:00.077Z

We had some bad weather after Christmas. Seeing as I'm a bit of a recluse I didn't notice. They were droning on and on about it on BBC and SKY though. There were stories, lots of stories about the injuries and disruptions associated with the snow. Stories about the villages cut off, but surprisingly none about the abundance of the supposedly scarce grit on Oxford Circus and the Kensington area. We can't have the rich slipping and spraining an ankle or worse yet cracking a skull. Oh no, the working class, without which the city would not run, would fair better doing the slip-slide all the way to work... in the city.

Personally, the funniest moment for me was when they realised that public transport would be shittier than usual as a result. This from a city who's trains can't function during Autumn because of leaves on the tracks. Oh yes, London's that far ahead. London's the city of the future, didn't you know? There's always this crap about attracting international businesses to London because it's this and it's that. Well I'm here to tell you that it's overpriced... normally you'd have more than one critique of whatever you're hating on, but for me this is it. It's overpriced. It's bollocks. And it's on it's way to worse, why? Because the recession hurt the UK more than the US, because the US manufacture and there's always gonna be a demand and because our un-elected Prime Minister is a ditherer. James Brown (the name he keeps secret from anyone with a sense of humour) can't make decisions, so why is he in politics? I don't know either.

My whole point is forget about the snow, there's a huge economic storm to weather and we (in London) are gonna feel it in full force after the 2012 Olympics. Maybe that's why I'm so eager to get out of here.

Q. Does anyone like the Logo?

The World of Suzie Wong

2010-01-12T13:37:00.001Z

Suzie Wong was a proactive, savvy girl, but most importantly she was stylish. Personally, I think it's hard not to find a stylish women in the 1950's. Don't get me wrong, I very much appreciate and admire modern fashion, but it can never match the effortless glamour of the decades past.

The plot is pretty simple, architect Robert Lomax (William Holden) wants to be an artist so he moves to Hong Kong to see if he can make it. On route he meets Mee Ling aka Suzie Wong (Nancy Kwan) who unsuccessfully tries to have him arrested for stealing her purse. They go their seperate ways. Lomax has limited funds so he looks for lodgings at Wan Chai district where he stumbles across his accuser coming out of a hotel. Lomax goes into the hotel and rents a room for one month. This comes as a shock to the landlord; his rooms are only rented for a couple of hours at a time. Yes, you've guessed right, Suzie's a prostitute. Lomax asks Suzie to pose for him and they strike up a romance in the process. They fight, they laugh, all the things never absent from a love affair. There's more but that would be spoiling it for you.

It's a great oldie to watch when you have some time free.

Ol' Mag

2010-01-02T23:25:00.002Z

The name of my new blog theme Old Magazine by Blogger Themes, I love it 0_0. I'm a bit bored... I should stop talking/writing now.

p.s. why doesn't Apple ever go into sale???

'09 Year's End

2009-12-31T17:52:00.006Z

I love New Years. I know, shocked right? But I love New Year's. It's celebrated all around the world. I think the Solomon islands are first to see the new year. I love most of all watching as BBC 24 goes around the world, showing how each country makes the last few seconds special. The fireworks (hanabi) displays, the countdowns, the new year. And with the new year comes New Year's resolutions (made to be broken), new hopes, new aspirations, new dreams, new desires and in some few cases conclusions. Yes, New Year's is one of the best, it's quick, if you blink you'll miss it. It's always exciting.

Happy New Year everyone xx

Side Story: Boxing Day

2009-12-28T01:53:00.007Z

It was Boxing Day, the day after Christmas Day which makes it the 26th. I woke up around 10 am then spent the next 10 minutes trying to regain consciousness. I have freaky low blood pressure so I tend to have blackouts and sleep a lot (at least that's the excuse I'm using for that one). I trudged down the stairs with my heavy ass Toshiba, soon to be Apple, laptop. My older sister was getting ready for an outing I still haven't asked her about. My other sister and mum were gloating about a successful attempt at the "world famous" Banana cake. I sat down and plugged the energy-sucker (my laptop) in. Apparently, it can't go an hour and a half without charging. I stared as the energy-sucker slowly, very slowly reanimated. Then it hit me, it was so tremendous, so powerful, like a flood washing all over me. The New Year was imminent and I was waiting to go to school not waiting to go to Japan. I had set my life back a year. A year in exile. I felt helpless, like I was gasping for air in that flood. I couldn't breathe. My eyes started to well up, and I felt embarrassed most of all. I didn't want to show that emotion to the rest of my family. I didn't want anyone to see me like that.

I'm used to sorting those things out on my own. And that's exactly what I did. I locked myself in my room, cried a bit but slept mostly for the rest of the day.

I'm a bit better now. It's the 27th. I think I'll be okay, eventually.

This Christmas: Day

2009-12-24T14:32:00.024Z

Trading Places circa 1983, to the left Louis Winthorpe III. Masterfully played by Dan Aykroyd, the ultimate privileged, yuppie idiot who gets turned on by his "own kind".

The film doesn't have that much to do with this post, I just think it's a classic. I'm always filled with disgust and the wonder and then disgust again when I watch this scene. Wonder because I'm surprised that anyone would wear such a filthy Santa suit. Disgust because that's salmon that he's eating, eww. Personally, I'm not that into Christmas. I think it's kinda boring.

We don't behave any differently than we would any other time of year, no, that's wrong; my family irritate me more than they would any other time of the year, lol. The day's schedule is as follows: wake up (at some point), dress up (most of them don't want to), drink some cocktails, eat some Walker's Sensations and eventually have the Christmas meal including the dessert. I could do that any other day of the year with less fuss and get a nap in between.

The most annoying thing about Christmas for me is the insistence that I wait till Christmas Day to open my present. I'm 2 months shy of my 21st B-day, do I really have to wait to open my presents, apparently yes. Why? I suspect my family gets some sort of sadistic joy from making me wait.

The Christmas tree's a whole other kettle of fish. Every year I have to get it out, I have to decorate it and I have to pack it back up around New Year. It's even more irritating because I'm not the one who insists on putting it up. It's definitely not for the children's benefit because I'm the youngest in the house and I outgrew Christmas like 10 years ago. Bah Humbug. The icing on the cake is that this year my mother had to buy a new one because the black whole known as her bedroom swallowed up our beloved 15 year old Christmas tree. We've searched high and low but it's nowhere to be found. Can you believe it a whole Christmas tree has disappeared from my small English terraced house.

For those who love it, Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year xXx ^_^ and if you haven't watched Trading Places you should. It's a great film.

This Christmas: Eve

2009-12-23T22:21:00.037Z

This meal is important to me, not because it's Christmas Eve but because I haven't had it in a while. A Ghanaian classic of Waatse (pronounced Waatche), which is similar to the West Indian Rice and Peas, but we use black eyed beans instead. In Ghana it's eaten mid-morning because no one wants to be farting late into the night, lol. It's an unusual breakfast item but that's what happens when you live in a hot country. There's always and excess of chilli and salt, just the way I like it.

I remember my older sister used to buy it for breakfast when we lived in Ghana. It came packaged in a Banana leaf with extra Shito (not sure if I spelt that correctly ;0), because she loved the stuff. To her Shito is like Ketchup, lol.

Shito is made out of prawns generally, but Sprats today because that's what my mother could get her hands on. Any seafood would do basically. dried chilli peppers, oil (lots), onions, some salt or a Magi cube (I think it's made out of prawns compressed into a small concentrated bar). It is stewed until it turns black et voila, you have Shito, it's a peppery hot condiment. I can't eat too much of it personally, because I'm a light weight when it comes to peppery hot stuff. I'd rather have chilli in my food than not though. I always find myself nauseous when its not there.

My mum also fried some Sprats (those tiny fish that you can eat whole) and prawns. Apparently, in Ghana they eat shell and all. My memories of the motherland aren't as clear as the used to be. It has something to do with the benefits of the calcium… OK, that’s a lie. But it could be true.

Along with that you get some tomato sauce, and Gari which is Cassava I think. It's shredded then dry fried, I think my mum mixed it with some of the oil from the Shito. The thing about Gari is that it's rock hard, so whatever your going to eat it with you need to dampen it a bit. All that's left is the egg, which I don't quite understand the reason for, but who cares. It's delicious. Well, that was my Christmas Eve feast.

P.S. I hate Blogger's picture uploading system.

New Moon and Roger Federer!!!

2009-12-20T19:46:00.015Z

So I went to the O2 arena, formerly the disaster known as the Millennium dome, with my friend Steph. I dragged her along, willingly, to watch the second installment of the Twilight Saga: New Moon at the Vue cinema. I like to watch a new film the week after its release, and preferably on a weekday if it's a child friendly film (they tend to ruin it for me).

The film was OK. I mean Robert Pattinson was great as Edward, it was like reading the book. Taylor Lautner was better than I thought he'd be, but I worry about his longevity in the movie business. He seems pretty one dimensional to me, that's okay for life in general but not for Hollywood. Personally I like Kristen Stewart, I'm not one of the stupid, hormone-ridden fans who hate her purely because she gets to play Edward's love interest and may be the real life love interest of Robert Pattinson. Most of these kids won't or can't make the distinction between the character and the actor. I appreciate her because I hardly know anything about her. That's the type of relationship I want with, specifically, the up 'n' coming celebrities. The problem is I don't think she plays Bella effectively, she just doesn't do sad that well. She does awkward, teen angst great but that's about it.

We were discussing the film as we left the cinema, when Steph dealt me a huge blow by telling me that she would've picked Jacob. After the initial nausea I thought, who am I to try to convert or judge her icky tastes. I won't hold it against her... much. We decided to explore the O2, the great thing about that place is that you never have to worry about getting lost. It's a circle so you always end up where you started.

The O2 was also hosting the ATP Master's end of year tournament with the world's top 8 players. They battle it out through 2 rounds: first is the Round Robin; were the play against every member of that group, the two best out of the group proceed to the next stage. Second is the Knock-out stage; they play to the death (not really), they play the best of 3 sets, only if you lose this time you're out for good. We stumbled upon a tennis court and we (I) decided to hang around for a bit. First I saw Roger Federer's father, then his mother. I knew they wouldn't be out there for any old reason, so we lingered around a bit longer. Steph was getting restless but around 3 o'clock he finally came out. It was great, it made my day. I wish he'd been practising with Rafael Nadal. That would've made my year.

Neighbours from Hell... or in that direction

2009-12-20T19:31:00.008Z

So yesterday the neighbours decided to make themselves known. My relationship with the neighbours is a lot like my relationship with the strangers I encounter on the London underground; they're invisible. I mind my own business and they mind theirs. These neighbours are African but I'm not sure which part they're from; I know that they're not Ghanaian but that's all I know.

I don't know what type of music the were playing, nor do I particularly care, but when I could hear it in my bedroom that's when I got irritated. At 6pm, or there abouts, they started with that crappy music. Normally I wouldn't be dismissive of other people's varying tastes in music, but these pricks just pissed me off. A couple of hours later when the music got louder my oldest sister and I decided to ask them to keep it down. When the neighbour opened the door he told us that they were having a baby shower or some shit like that. Who has a baby shower with obscenely loud, crappy music. It was bloody cold in England that night so we quickly retreated to our house and waited 10 mins. No change. I walked 7 whole feet, in the bloody cold, to they're door for nothing. That was it. I got on the phone to the police who redirect me to the noise division of my local council, meanwhile my sisters went back to knock and ask the neighbour for the SECOND time to take it down a notch. No Change.

I got a hold of the council, which did me absolutely no good. The noise division arrived around 11pm only to tell us that they'll send a letter to the neighbours. A letter, that's it, what a waste of time. So my Saturday night was filled with mostly expletives aimed at the neighbours.

What will I do? Well, they rent so as soon as my mother locates the landlady's phone number I'm going to let her have a piece of my mind. My anger has been redirected at her because in the past 2 years that she's owned that house every single one of her tenants (and there have been at least 6 different ones) have been either illegal, dirty or both. She's either lazy or stupid, I'm going to find out. My mother suggested that I should go along the lines of "...I want to be a good neighbour..." blah, blah. No. That's not going to happen, I prefer to subtly threaten her with informing the council about the type of tenants she places in the house. But, with the amount of time my mother is taking to find the phone number, (I suspect deliberately) I'm running out of steam. Bah Humbug!!!

Dawn Porter, Geisha Girl!

2009-11-14T23:02:00.005Z

I watched a documentary a while ago on Channel 4 about the search for love, normally I'm not into flighty stuff but it's first stop was none other than Japan - Kyoto to be exact - which is nowadays the only way to peak my interests. Dawn Porter the narrator wanted to experience the life of a modern day geisha, I think we got on the wrong foot when she revealed that her understanding of a geisha was akin to the high class prostitutes of the west. At first I thought 'how rude' then I thought 'what a fucking idiot'. I thought it was good practice to research a subject before you spoke about it. Maybe she wanted to view it with fresh eyes, but that still didn't mean she could approach the topic with such a negative impression. Granted, her position did change, eventually, but it very much irritated me. Maybe it's because I recently re-read Arthur Golden's Memoir's of a Geisha, that I felt so outraged by her assumptions.

After arriving at the Kyoto okiya to meet Mother and the other maiko and geisha living in the house, Dawn was set to work. First she had to learn the correct sitting position of a geisha; sitting on her shins gracefully (which is the key word here) making sure that the kimono is not ruffled in any way, making sure it looks smooth and beautiful, making sure it's effortless. This doesn't seem that hard on paper so I could understand why Dawn was taken aback by the pain. After getting used to sitting, she had to learn how to stand gracefully, effortlessly etc. Maybe it's too simplistic to say effortlessly, it actually involves a lot of muscle control due to the fact that you have to put all of your body weight on one leg while maintaining your balance to ensure that you glide up instead of wobble up. Not to mention having to not do the thing that comes most naturally to you when you're in that position, 'DON'T STICK OUT YOUR BUTT'. Dawn received many smacks on the arse, it was a steep learning curve. The hardest thing about this initially for a western girl who is used to showing what she feels, when she feels is maintaining a perfect, pleasant mask. As if the squats, from sitting down and standing up, hasn't left her with seemingly permanent pain whenever in a crouched position - if you can't tell, by the way, I hate squats. She did a days worth of work which completely wore her out, I can sympathise because I'm unbelievably weak and not afraid to admit it.

Later on that day Dawn got to chat with a fellow (using the word loosely) geisha. She wasn't just curious, or at least that's not the impression I got. I could happily accept genuine curiosity. She seemed like she was trying to get the girls to say that 'yes' their lives were hard, 'yes' it's not always the happiest place to be and 'yes' this wasn't really what they wanted of their lives. Well, 'NO' Dawn, sometimes women make unusual choices and it's not your job to show them the supposed error of their ways.

The next day Dawn was allowed to dress in full maiko regalia, a $100,000 kimono, white make-up, red lips and the hair. It was wonderfully grand, wonderfully dramatic and wonderfully heavy. Maybe that's not so wonderful. Upon seeing her reflection in the mirror Dawn was displeased, not because the clothes weren't to her liking but because of the discomfort resulting from the kimono. All the padding around her waste to prevent the kimono from riding up restricted her breathing and hid her waist line. The make-up didn't look as good on her, I somewhat agreed with her on that point. Her lips were painted white except for the very centre of her lips which were painted a vibrant red to give the illusion of a much smaller - in length - plumper lip than her own. On her eyelids was the same vibrant red, following her eyelids. It seemed that red was very much the theme because there was yet more red on her eyebrows. I think on a more delicate looking western girl it would have looked just as good as it did on the Japanese girls. When they finally changed her name she was ready to be presented to the world, Dawn was now Kikutari. All this time Dawn felt that little by little everything that made her Dawn Porter was being stripped away to be lost forever. Yes, she was that dramatic, I think she lost perspective. The more I watched, the more ridiculous I thought she was, you're doing a job for Channel 4, from which you're getting paid a hefty sum to go talk to a few Japanese people. It's only temporary.

I fully admit that I'm a bit biased. OK. A LOT biased. But, I would've felt the same about anywhere Dawn Porter went, I think my issue is mainly with her method of journalism. I think with cultural differences it's imperative to observe and discuss without bringing your culture into it.

She's gone and she's never coming back

2009-11-07T10:40:00.008Z

My supervisor's gone, she left the country and headed back to Germany. I'm sad, she was lovely, always patient, always answering our stupid questions and always with a never ending source of flies for us to use.

She left about 2 weeks ago, I'm not good with dates but I know it was around the end of October. Eleanor and I decided to get her a little going away present in the form of anything we could find in the local Mile End shops. We snuck out while we were trying to clean our fly tubules; one thing about my project that always grosses me out. The problem with incubating flies for 2 weeks is that you end up with fly stew; often a mixture of dead fly, mould, fly feed and paraffin. It's quite a tedious job because of the need to remove the paraffined (yes, I know that's not a real word) end of the tubule using piping hot water. Then, placing the tubules in the death contraption that is the Autoclave; it relies on the production of steam to clean and therefore reaches great, explosive pressures. We tentatively, always tentatively use the autoclave.

We told her that we were going out for lunch; something we rarely do because we often get too engrossed in analysing our data. We walked along the Mile End road stopping in shops to check out their card and chocolate collections. We settled, after several minutes of debate, on a card adorned with black cats against a yellow background, on the interior was a night-time landscape; midnight blue with swirls of various lighter shades of blue to highlight the clouds. And yes more cats, but not the whole cat just the eyes. Across the A5 piece of card there were at least 15 sets of eyes staring back at us, Eleanor loved it, I was a bit dubious but not bothered enough to argue. We went on, to another shop, to buy her some chocolates, one standard Cadbury's chocolates in a box shaped a bit like a Christmas cracker and some Smarties, not just any smarties though. These were like easter egg smarties except instead of an easter egg it was a penguin which sound like maracas when shaken, now that I liked.

We skillfully hid our presents in Eleanor's big coat when we got back to the office, unfortunately she was knee-deep in a conversation with one of the Phd students in the lab. We had to wait. So, we thought it would be best to start analysing our data. I'm not going to go too far into it but my data was faulty so I couldn't analyse. With the intention of correcting the problem I walked - in total - 12,255 steps that day, trekking all the way from the office to the fly lab was a bitch. I'm not fit and I've never tried to be but the always broken lift (I think I've mentioned this before) left me with 5 floors to walk up at least 4 times that day. I was not pleased.

When she'd finished with her colleague and we were finished with cleaning the fly tubules we handed our card and presents to her. She was genuinely shocked and grateful. She opened her card, which she loved because apparently she was a big fan of cats. Unfortunately, her husband was allergic so she couldn't have any. So, she had resigned herself to collecting cat statues from all over the world. She gave us a hug and a Ferrero Roche as a thank you. We said our goodbyes and that was the last time we spoke.

I'm gonna miss her.

I'm back....................

2009-09-29T13:18:00.004+01:00

..........and I'm sure all three of you who read my blog are happy about that. I've had a life altering summer mainly due to the fact that I failed my exams; I'll have to sit out a year as a result. I'm not gonna postpone my trip, for me its not an option.

In the mean time, I have a year a spare on my list of 'what to do's': to prevent my brain from rotting any further I'm gonna get a job; any job for that matter, in this current economy everyone's a beggar and can't be a chooser. I also have to do some internships to bulk up my CV, which is seriously barren of any work experience.

On a positive note Stan was surprisingly nice about the situation, he asked which one of us was sitting out a year of school and then said he was more than happy for me to continue with my project. I suspect he was pleased with the fact that I actually wanted to finish of my work but, he's pretty hard to read. Eleanor and I noticed that the only person he was ever really happy to see was one of his Phd students. Comparing the two men I can see many similarities: they're both tall, both lean, wiry men and both have cherub-like curls. Which brings me to my main point, I recently cut my hair (courtesy of my sister) because the afro roots of my hair couldn't cohabit with the straight relaxed ends. In my attempts to render my new hairstyle as acceptable I ended up with some-what cherub like hair. I think Stanewsky greatly appreciated this as I reminded him of his favourite student.

Unfortunately, my supervisor is leaving in about 2 weeks, we'll be very sad to see her go. This is gonna be a short post but it's nice to be writing again.

Things we lost in the fire

2009-08-16T13:34:00.008+01:00

the shed
the contents of the shed
the downstairs toilet
the downstairs toilet window
the green tub we were gonna have to bathe in
the gas
the electricity
the water
the bathroom
the bathroom window
my naivety

We really did have a fire and I really was scared shitless. There were hysterics (on my part) and lots and lots of men to help put it out, for now all I can think about is Ganbatte; there are too many useless relatives roaming about.

Stan Strikes!!!

2009-08-13T12:34:00.012+01:00

It's like any other Friday, this summer, I wake up then have a bath and brush my teeth........make myself pretty (don't know if it works). I try to make the cheapest journey I can to station, cos I'm a student......cheapskate's my middle name. I leave the house around 9.10 am - I got side tracked watching E! news (guilty pleasure) - and top my oyster card off with 4 pounds. In England, no in London we pay extortionate travels fares. Before 9.30 am a 1-day travel card costs almost 10 pounds, for the rest of the day with my student discount I pay 5.80 pounds, it's a huge difference amidst the Credit Crisis. I get on the bus around 9.20 am, get to Stratford at 9.45ish. When I get to the station there's a problem.

As I try to exit, the barriers make that off-key beep.....the 'you don't have enough money' beep so I go over to the assitance counter, no one's there. I knock on the window but it's made out of that triple thick plastic so my knock is barely audible to me let alone the tickets operator. I conclude that my voice would be far more appropriate in this situation so I say 'Excuse me' - using my grown up voice - no answer, I wait 23 seconds (not that I was counting or anything) then I shout 'EXCUSE ME!'........it works. I yield and part with 2 pounds to top-up my oyster card, I don't need to ask the operator 'why the beep?'; the barriers gave me the 'you don't have enough money' beep because I was cutting corners. I storm out of the station onto Mile End road and head for the Lab, I'm running a tiny bit late.

The week prior the lift was broken, so as I enter the building I pray to the gods that it has been fixed. It hasn't, after cursing son of a bitch and the like I decide to make the herculean journey to the 5th floor. After the first two flights of stairs I'm already worn out, I admit it I'm very, very unfit.......but do I really deserve to be tortured for it. Note to self: make offering to gods so that the damn lift can be fixed. I get to the 4th floor gasping for air while resting all my weight on the railing, I proceed down the corridor towards another flight of stairs and then Fly Lab, Valhalla for the unfit. Eleanor calls wondering where I am at 10.02 am, she's looking for any reason not to be in the lab with him, Stanewsky, I tell her I'm on the 4th floor and we curse the school for not fixing the lift.

As I approach the lab doors, which we finally have access to after 4weeks of phone calls (on my supervisor's part) and waiting, Eleanor opens the door and tells me that Stan's there and he's grumpy. What the hell is he doing here, he's not supposed to be in on Fridays I say, she agrees. We decide it a safer bet to sit on the couch (the brown, old but surprisingly comfortable couch) than to sit in the lab all alone with him unable to speak. We have a chinwag about tennis and Wii, blah, blah....one of the scientists who makes the Drosophila feed (haven't learned her name yet) tells us that she'll stop our experiment for us so we go with her to do all that - pretty boring stuff really. She is really helpful so I kinda feel bad for not knowing her name. We go back to the couch because he's still there, then my supervisor comes up (always late) this time she has a smokers cough so we hear her before we see her - doesn't sound good. We do some more Biology stuff and she tells us to wait so we go back to the couch, this is all around the time he (that's how Stan will be referred to from here on out) decides to go back to the office. As he walks past I see a special glint in his eye, he can't resist: 'nice to see someone making good use of the couch' he says, he smiles so I smile (it's a bad habit, I smile stupidly like that all the time). I turn to look at Eleanor and we look out the window then back at each other, no words are necessary. He just made a 'sarcy' (sarcastic) comment!!! Was there any need? NO. He just couldn't help himself, from that we can tell that we are in his bad books and there's nothing we can do about it. We resign ourselves to not making eye contact with him to 'provoke' him.

After putting our flies into the fridge to make them sleep we head over to the office to analyze our data, get out as early as possible and stay out of his way - that's the plan. It works for a little while. The office is small and there are at least 6 people coming or going at a given time. We find ourselves a little corner and begin the analyses, all is going well when he walks in....we're on alert. He heads over to the corner they have set up as the canteen, which happens to be exactly where I'm set up and wastes no time in seizing the opportunity to remark. I don't mind what he says, it's how he says it; he tells us to move up so as not to obscure the canteen, that's fine. And then he shoos us away, the way you shoo a pet away from your food, as though we are beneath him and need to be shooed as opposed to being told. If you could see the way the professor scoffs up his food you would understand that the canteen means a lot to him (it's kind of surprising considering he's a thin, wiry specimen of a man). We move, what else are we supposed to do? A while later the office fills up, people are eating and talking, I might add, and he is oblivious......when it suits him; he doesn't tell them that this is a place of work and not chatting. Eleanor realises that we are not gonna leave before 3pm so it would be best to go get lunch, we tell our supervisor, take our money and we are on our way.

Eleanor takes me to this secluded restaurant called The Jasmine Kitchen, the place is great because it's like a secret - only known to a select few. The staff are friendly and the food is good, I forget the name of what I ordered but I know it's chicken with rice and broccoli (I love broccoli because they look like little trees) and carrots and crispy fried golden shallots and Coke. After we lick the bowls clean (not really) we head back with heavy feet. When we get back to the office everyone's back to work, thank god, and so we get back to our work.

The hours drag on, Eleanor goes to pee and I carry on creating PDF's of my analyses. He walks in again and he's getting something at the canteen, again, and I try to honour the promise I made with Eleanor when he shooed us away: 'don't make any eye contact whatsoever'. I try to keep my eyes on the computer whilst I am urging, willing the Adobe to get it over and done with. I can feel his eyes borrowing a hole into my head, he's wondering why I'm not typing....ehh 'because I'm waiting for Adobe to make the PDF file!!!!!' I resist the urge to shout, no bark that at him, instead I avert my eyes trying to look interested at anything else in the room. It works and he leaves when his food/drink is ready......phew. We work until 7 pm doing little bits and pieces.

As we walk to the station it feels like we're 7 year olds, just let out of school for home-time. We talk about the day and how funny our supervisor can be consciously and unconsciously, how much worse he's gotten. We head home not to think about the professor ever again.............until Monday that is.

Girls do the funniest things

2009-08-12T15:16:00.013+01:00

I went to an all-girl Catholic school for 5 years of my life, within that situation I met I range of girls. Some were ghetto in a dangerous way; a classmate once actually set fire to the school toilet, which promptly resulted in her exclusion from the school; some couldn't be further from the word ghetto and some were ghetto only in humour. This was the majority because St. Angela's was a school sustained by African and Carribean students; in Newham, London you wouldn't expect anything else. There was a small minority composed of the remnants of Cockney East-End London, those girls were what you would envisage when you think of England. I probably didn't fit into any category because my first 6 years of life were spent in Ghana with Ghanaian peers and the Ghanaian school system (basically you get caned if you disobey a teacher, caned if you don't learn quickly enough, caned just because.......cane, cane, cane). I wasn't an outcast but I wasn't in the in-group either.

Out of all the girls I encountered in secondary school one person explicitly stands out, purely because she was a contrast..........she was ghetto (at times), she was an atheist (all of the time), she was a theologian, she was well read and she knew it. Some would call her a snob because of it. For me intimidating springs to mind, I imagine that her name was synonymous with bitch because she did have a chip on her shoulder. If I hadn't been in the same class as her for 5 years I would have been indifferent in regards to Chontel, and that would mean that I would quickly put her out of my mind - she would be negligible. When you actually got beneath her veneer she was really easy to talk to, she could take a joke, she could be sweet....but she marched to the beat of her own drum; mainly because she was, I suspect, just as unfit as I was.......still am.

In university there are more people and less confined spaces, you don't have to talk to people you don't want to or simply make nice anymore. For the first time however, I've met snobs.......they're annoying, pretentious and mostly girls. In the university subculture you find most people diverge according to their race: the South Asians (Indian, Bangladeshi, Pakistani) who are given the option of Doctor, Engineer, Lawyer while they were in the womb by their parents. Followed on by the Asians mostly Chinese and finally you have the English country girls, by country I mean there's lots of greenery.

Of the South Asian girls there are those who are insanely loud and chatty and often given the evil eye as a result.......but what do they care, they sit in the back of the lecture theater (like me), ignore the lecturer (like me) but they like school (unlike me) - it's like a playground for them. They are okay to talk to, for a short time, because they are actually willing hold a conversation; you'll quickly get bored and they'll quickly get distracted. When you see them you acknowledge them then go about your business. The studious, sensible subgroup of them know you only when convenient, case in point Meera: I met her at the beginning of my university life, I don't think we hit it off but I made sure to acknowledge her when I saw her because I still remembered those early days when we walked around like headless chickens grabbing onto any and every friendly face we saw (it was a lawless time). I'm not worth recognition anymore, according to her.........but when she needs a slide of drosophila embryo she suddenly knows me again. They're interesting like that...........they are opportunists to the core....ugh, nothing disgusts me more. These subgroups are distinguished by their make-up, the chatty girls with the attention span of fruit flies wear bucket-loads of eye make-up, Kajal, Kohl etc. They don't seem to mix, the chatty and the studious.

I mentioned earlier about the Asians, we have (as far as I can tell) Chinese and Japanese students in our university. They have their own distinctive wardrobes and love of the peroxide, the Chinese girls favour kitten heels and bejewelled denim. The Japanese girls are a rarity, I don't know why and of the few I have seen, Keds are a big hit........girls after my own heart.

Finally, we have the English country girls, unfortunately the girl in question shares my name....yes, she's an Annabelle (don't know how she spells it though, I'm fussy abut stuff like that). I've gone through most of my life being the only Annabelle so I was curious when I found out there were 2 of us. She's autistic, not really, but isn't that what you call a person who lacks 'theory of mind'. A person who speaks sooo (extra o's) loudly you know - even if you don't want to - that over the holidays at, get this, MUMMY and DADDY's she drank a whole bottle of wine to herself, I'll let you take that in...........a) who gives a shit!!!, b) she's an alcoholic - who drinks a whole bottle of anything by themselves and c) who gives a shit!!!!!!!!! I soon awarded her the title of 'the Real Uggs'; over in England there has been this phenomenon over some thick Australian Farmer looking boots called Uggs. I've never donned on a pair because I think boots are the devil (I like them on other people but not on me). They're pretty expensive to buy over here but they're damn cheap in Australia, and because of that most students buy the cheap equivalents here, she wears the real ones so to me she's a 'Real Uggs'. Along with the Uggs they (the Real Uggs, there are more than one) dress like they're ready for action, I don't mean for sex, I mean action........like they could climb up Mt. Snowdon at a drop of a hat.

SayJapanese goes Loco

2009-08-11T17:08:00.012+01:00

I took a personality test on Facebook a while back, which told me what I already knew...I'm very, very agreeable. The problem I find with the agreeable label is that people think that your a meek or dull because of it (at least that's my impression), and that is something I am not. I think I scored so highly on agreeableness because I view it as bad manners and often offensive to scoff or disagree with another's cultural point of view. This is limited however to new people, people whose boundaries have yet to be tested. I'm not one of those extroverted people who tells anybody and everybody about my whole life story over a cup of tea/coffee (I hate both so you would probably be doing the drinking). But I'm mostly okay with that, I think it's one facet of my personality but not something you could pin me down as.

Recently I started reading the works of another blogger by the name of LOCO (not his real name apparently but I like it), a New Yorker; I had previously been particularly loyal to Wandering in Miyazaki (another New Yorker) who's situation was similar to what mine would be in Japan and had a killa 'fro I could only aspire to. He's pretty interesting, having lived in Japan for about 6 years and being a man, he gives me a completely different and sometimes not so nice perspective. His actions are interpreted with acute eyes, he is far more aggressive and 'dangerous' when he walks, when he talks, when he gestures emphatically all because he represents the unknown to a very homogeneous, insular population. Loco often gets the 'I'm scared shitless of you' stares (on public transport), which I would guess gets very boring very fast. I think it's mostly to do with the fact that he's a man, in general humans are more afraid of the unknown man than the unknown woman. How dangerous can a 5'3'' girl be compared to a 6' plus, broad shouldered man.........I'll have you know that within my armoury are some very sharp teeth, which could cause unspeakable damage.

I assume that anyone who lives or has lived in New York is very ballsy and not one to mince words, so the contrasting environment in Japan makes for a sometimes explosive meeting in LocoWorld. My suspicion, no, my belief is that New Yorkers and the Japanese are like chalk and cheese; one practices Honne and Tatamae while the other says what they think or feel in whatever situation; no New Yorker worries about how a sudden efflux of emotions would affect others. I'm not saying New Yorkers are impetuous, capricious loud-mouths or anything like that, they just don't use the same restraint over their emotions that the Japanese do, like most people in the western world. Mainly, because in their culture it's perfectly normal to express their distaste, joy, apathy, glee over life in general.

My thoughts about Loco......he's an articulate, smart, middle-aged man with a quick wit and a general love a ladies, ladies, ladies. I highly recommend. As I read through Loco's posts I realised that though I could sympathise with his trials I could not, at this point in time, empathise; it is because of that that I can say his reactions are the polar opposites of mine. I have this ability to be completely fine with whatever another person's perception is because I can accept that is just the way it is. I don't attempt to understand why, often because I feel it would be disrespectful to them to question. Having said that I do realise that you can genuinely ask questions and debate out of curiosity and not the desire to prove someone else's practices wrong. I think I come across as uncaring, don't get me wrong there are times when I couldn't careless but that is restricted snobs - I've met a lot of them. I don't think Loco is wrong for the way he handles some situations because everyone has their limits. It just made me realise that not every Gaijin in Japan instantaneously embarks on a love affair with it, most have a love/hate relationship. My only hesitation is that my agreeableness doesn't render me Japan's doormat lover, who nods accordingly and loses the ability to have independent thought.

I want Japan to be my means of metamorphosis, I don't need to be a butterfly.....I'm happy being a moth as long as I'm better than I was before. As long as I have grown.

Any comments are welcomed........

The problem with Ghana

2009-08-04T09:40:00.015+01:00

I am Ghanaian who doesn't want to live in Ghana, ever. It's not due to any deep trauma I experienced during my childhood living there, it's due to the culture itself. Don't get me wrong I greatly appreciate the fact that there are no civil wars like most other African countries, but there's this mentality of 'I'll get to it when I get to it'. People do things in their own time when they want and when it benefits them, there's no sense of urgency.

There has always been this myth perpetuated about 'coloured people time', which is supposedly the clock that black people run on; it's generally 2-3 hours behind normal time. I'm black and I run on normal time, it's not that hard and nothing irritates me more than arriving late using that as an excuse. I don't mind when you arrive as long as it's the time that you told me you would arrive. A general piece of advice I'd give to anyone dealing with a chronically late person is to tell them to arrive before the actual gathering begins, tell them the party starts at 1pm when it starts at 3pm. I remember attending the reception for one of my many cousins' wedding ceremony, it started officially at 5pm but people only arrived at 7pm apparently they got lost during their 10 minute journey from the church to the reception venue. It's as if they want to make an entrance by arriving late like supermodels and celebrities do, but after you've seen these people on a dance floor you realize that they are anything but models or celebrities.

The wedding ceremony itself is drawn out as long as possible, why???...I have no idea but it's a waste of time. Church in Ghana generally is long, laborious and many a time involves receiving the spirits/Holy Ghost. I haven't been to church in a long time so I'm not too clear on the mechanics of it but I do know that they often fall down and speak in tongues when they receive the spirit. It's quite a sight.

Heaven forbid you don't have enough food at the reception, Ghanaians riot over things like that. The most well-known tribe in Ghana is the Akan which has several subdivisions within it, the one thing that holds them together is meat. Yes, I said MEAT.....beef, goat, chicken you name it they eat it; I think they associate it with wealth and good health so they gorge themselves on food in general but especially MEAT. At big Ghanaian events not a spot of green can be seen at the buffet table, who needs vegetables when you have: chicken wings, KFC style chicken, chicken kebabs - do you see a trend? - , beef kebabs, goat kebabs, fried fish, Jollof (a traditional rice dish), Waatche (rice and beans) etc. I should give credit to the side dishes that very faintly resemble salads but have had all vestiges associated with the healthy benefits of vegetables removed. The Neo-Ghanaian salad includes potato salad and coleslaw; containing extravagant amounts of mayonnaise and salad cream and as little vegetable as possible. You end up with this heap of cream coloured food, and there isn't a speck of green in sight unless you count the green pepper which is one of three vegetables. Don't get me wrong it is tasty but needs to be eaten in moderation, a word that is not utilized in Ghana.

The other problem with Ghana is the constant pay-offs, haggling and double talk. I'm used to saying what I mean and meaning what I say, anything else is annoying and futile. You can't get through customs without having to pay a little more attention to the customs officer; that means switching on your charm gene, smiling and batting your eye lashes all the while thinking what a f**kin' idiot the customs officer is. This is all in aid of getting them to process you quickly and thoroughly like they should already be doing as part of their sad little job in sad little Kotoka airport. In some cases the customs officer may even take some of the food your carrying; I know what your thinking 'that's not unreasonable, countries need to protect their environment', but do they need to protect it from canned food. My cousin experienced the hunger of a customs officer (a stupid, power saturated customs officer at that) who confiscated some of his food. Well he didn't even give a legitimate excuse so it wasn't a confiscation, it just happened that a can of kidney beans took his fancy for no other reason than it being exotic and free. I remember a couple of years ago when we missed our flight back from Accra, in any normal situation we would have waited for the next flight with free seats. In Ghana however, we paid someone off (a hefty sum I might add) and that was it we were on the next flight home.

My sister recently revealed to me that in her old age she would like to retire to Ghana, I was shocked because she felt the same way as I did about Ghana and was very vocal about it. I don't know were I'm gonna live in the future but Ghana definitely is not an option.

Settling with Stan

2009-07-25T14:14:00.018+01:00

So, as you can see I have re-vamped my background theme and I know what your thinking 'this isn't like a fireworks display seen through the eyes of a short-sighted person'. It's what I settled on after my cousin stopped answering my e-mails. I don't want to make a habit of writing such short posts but I thought it would be best to explain the differences in my background descriptions.

Back to the joys of Drosophila, Stan's my third year project person (haven't quite figured out the best way to address him), as friendly and laid back as he tries to come off he's pretty rigid. My project partner Eleanor and I were sitting idly in the lab office waiting for a data analysis program to be uploaded onto our laptops, so we did what most 20 year old students would do in that situation...we talked about Robert Pattinson. We were not loud and there were 2 other adults, who if they needed to could have told us we were being too loud, present. In walks Stanewsky, who recognizes us for the first time in 3 meetings, he comes over to us and tells us that this is a place of work; a place of work with countless bottles of alcohol, full ones, empty ones, the place was full of them. He goes on to tell us that if we wanted to talk we should do so in the lab, huh... the LAB of all places. He says all of this with a smile on his face and adds that we can still talk if we want.....would you talk after your professor basically tells you that your being too loud according to him.........I don't think so. Even our supervisor thought he was being ridiculous. My aim know is to steer clear of him.

Blogging out!!!

2009-07-01T09:11:00.022+01:00

So, I tried to update my blog page.....I liked the black but I also wanted bursts of colour. I thought it would be easy, I mean in my family I'm the go-to-gal for computer problems. Comparatively speaking I'm a computer genius in my family, I've grown up using Microsoft because that's what we generally use in England. Realistically speaking I'm not amazing but I'm solid, so when I found the perfect blog theme on the Wordpress site I was unbelievably excited. I would describe it as seeing a fireworks display through short-sighted eyes, if your optically challenged like me you would understand. I thought it would be easy; click download here, click run there and ta-da, a wonderfully colourful blog theme. Wouldn't it be great if life worked that way a click here and there and your done. Well it didn't, instead I saw words like: html, php, Xml. What are these things, and why can't they be found in my Collins English dictionary????SPEAK ENGLISH!!!!

After a solid 24hrs of clicking anything and everything I settled on e-mailing everyone. Replies from my cousin in England included phrases like "I uninstalled my local server stuff so I can't even try trace steps"......aaaaaagghh!!! she was doing it too, I mean what the hell does that mean????At that point I seriously began to think that there was a conspiracy. My cousin in Ghana offered an escape from the world of html and notepad. Apparently there's some Xml rubbish stuck in there.

That was a week and a half ago and I have been waiting, waiting, waiting (sound familiar). My computer genius cousin apparently doesn't know how to open e-mails. I am giving up hope, I even tried to install Wordpress for like the third time. I can tell I'm getting pretty whiny, but it's hard to not be when you have your heart set on something. I went as far as asking my sister her opinion on a alternative theme and she chose something with sunflowers and some other pinkish flower...DO I SOUND LIKE THE FLOWERY TYPE!!! I give up, I'm gonna leave it black to represent my despair...I just filled in my yearly quota of overreactions and histrionics.

Waiting

2009-06-28T21:10:00.015+01:00

It's my last free Sunday, from now on I must study earnestly. I must prepare for my resits (I'm not quite ready to talk about that situation yet), I must increase my kanji vocab......KYAAA :) and extra reading necessary for my third year project on Circadian clocks of Drosophila melanogaster....yay (can you feel the joy). Obviously learning learning Japanese is the best part of my summer plans, the only problem with learning a language by yourself when your a Ghanaian with no Japanese friends is that you don't have anyone to practise with........wnd we all know "Practise makes perfect". I guess you would be thinking why doesn't she just make a Japanese friend....but for a shy, modest lass like myself it's not an option, I'm not that extroverted. Maybe it's my Catholic School upbringing but that would be a lie because I barely believe in God, maybe it's due to my unbalanced rearing; somewhere, somehow I got really withdrawn and lost my spark........alas that is the biggest tragedy of my life........so far??????

There are so many things Japan represents for me; I get to be independant by living alone and all that jazz, learning a new language because speaking as a Biologist that hates Biology or any science for that matter, I am not planning on having a career in it. Why did I commit myself to this degree.....that's another story for another time. I get to meet with people and a culture completely different to anything I have ever known. This is my first ever blog so if only 1 person reads it I would say thank you and sorry for being so scattered.